Comedies and tragedies written by Francis Beaumont and Iohn Fletcher ...

THE CAPTAINE.

Actus primus:

Scaena prima.

Enter Lodovico, and Piso.

Lodovico.

THe truth is Piso, so she be a woman And rich and holsome, let her be of what Condition & Complection it please, She shall please me I am sure; Those men are fooles That make their eyes their choosers, not their needes.

Piso.

Me thinks I would have her honest too, & handsom.

Lod.

Yes if I could have both, but since they are Wishes so neare impossibilities, Let me have that that may be.

Piso.

If it were so, I hope your conscience would not be so nice To start at such a blessing.

Lod.

No beleeve me, I doe not thinke I should.

Piso.

But thou would'st be I doe not doubt upon the least suspition Unmercifully jealous

Lod.

No I should not, For I believe those mad that seeke vexations, A wife, though she be honest, is a trouble, Had I a wife as faire as Hellen was That drew so many Cuckolds to her cause, These eyes should see another in my Saddle Ere I beleeve my beast would carry double.

Piso.

So should not I by'r Lady, and I thinke My patience (by your leave) as good as yours, Report would stirre me mainely, I am sure on't.

Lod.

Report? you are unwise; report is nothing; For if there were a truth in what men talke, I meane of this kind, this part of the world I am sure would be no more cal'd Christendom.

Piso.

What then?

Lod.

Why Cuckoldome, for we should loose Our old faiths cleane, and hold their new opinions: If talke could make me sweat, before I would marry, I'de tie a surer knot, and hang my selfe; I tell thee there was never woman yet, Nor never hope there shall be, though a Saint, But she has been a subject to mens tongues, And in the worse sense: and that desperate husband, That dares give up his peace, and follow humours (Which he shall find too busie, if he seek'em) Beside the forcing of himselfe an Asse He dyes in chaines, eating himselfe with anger.

Piso.

Having these Antidotes against opinion I would marry any one; an arrant whore.

Lod.

Thou dost not feele the nature of this phisick Which I prescribe not to beget diseases, But where they are, to stop them.

Piso.

I conceive ye. What thinkest thou? thy way of the widow Lelia?

Lod.

Faith thou hast found out one I must confesse Would stagger my best patience: From that woman As I would blesse my selfe from plagues and surfets From men a war at Sea, from stormes, and quicksands, From hearing Treason and concealing it, From daring of a Madman, or a Drunkard, From Heresie, ill wine, and stumbling post horse; So would I pray each morning, and each night (And if I said each houre, I should not lye) To be delivered of all these in one, The woman thou hast named.

Enter Iulio, Angilo and Father.

Piso.

Thou hast set her in a pretty Letany.

Ang.

Pray take my councell.

Jul.

When I am my selfe Ile heare you any way; love me though thus As thou art honest, which I dare not be Lest I despise my selfe. Farewell.

Exit. Iulio.

Piso.

Doe you heare my friend: Sir are you not a setter, For the faire widdow here of famous memory?

Fa.

Ha? am I taken for a Bawd? oh God To mine owne child too? misery, I thanke thee That keepes me from their knowledge: Sir beleeve me I understand ye not.

Lod.

You love plaine dealing. Are you not percell Bawd? confesse your Function, It may be we would use it.

Fa.

Were she worse, As I feare strangely she is ill enough, I would not heare this tamely.

Piso.

Heer's a shilling To strike good luck withall.

Fa.

Heer's a Sword Sir To strike a Knave withall, thou lyest, and basely, Be what thou woult.

Ang.

Why how now Gentlemen?

Fa.

You are many: I shall meete you, Sir, againe, And make you understand, y'ave wrongd a woman Compard with whom thy Mother was a sinner. Farewell.

Exit Fa.

Piso.

He has amazd me.

Ang.

With a blow? By'r Lady twas a sound on; are ye good At taking knocks? I shall know you hereafter: You weare too blame to tempt a man so far Before you knew him ce••••••ine: h'as not hurt ye?

Piso.

No I think.

Lod.

We were too blame indeed to goe so far, For men may be mistaken: if he had swinged us H'ad serv'd us right: Beshrew my heart I think, VVe have done the Gentlewoman as much wrong too, For hang me, if I know her In my particular.

Piso.

Nor I; this tis to credit Mens idle tongues; I warrant they have sed As much by our two mothers.

Lod.

Like enough.

Ang.

I see a beating now and then does more Move and stir up a mans contrition Then a sharpe Sermon, here probatum est.

Enter Fredrick and Servant,

Ser.

What shall I tell your Sister?

Fred.

Tell her this, Till she be better conversation'd And leave her walking by her selfe, and whyning To her old melancholly Lute, I'le keepe As far from her as the Gallowes.

Exit Servant.

Ang.

Who's that Fredrick?

Fred.

Yes marry is't. O Angelo how do'st thou?

Ang.

Save you Sir, how does my Mistris?

Fred.

She is in love I thinke, but not with you. I can assure you, saw ye Fabritio?

Ang.

Is he come over?

Fred

Yes a weeke agoe: Shall we dyne?

Ang.

I cannot:

Fred.

Pre'thee doe.

Ang.

Beleeve me I have businesse.

Fred.

Have you too, gentlemen?

Piso.

No sir.

Fred.

Why then let's dyne together:

Lod.

With all my heart.

Fred.

Goe then: Farewell good Angelo, Commend me to your friend.

Ang.

I will.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Franck and Clora.

Clo.

Doe not dissemble Franc, mine eyes are quicker Then such observers, that do ground their faith Upon one smile or teare; y'ar much alterd, And are as empty of those Excellencies That were companions to you; I meane mirth And free disposure of your blood and Spirit, As you were borne a mourner.

Fran.

How I pre'thee? For I perceive no such change in my selfe.

Clora.

Come, come, this is not wise, nor provident To halt before a Cripple: If you love Be liberall to your friend, and let her know it, I see the way you run, and know how tedious 'Twill prove without a true companion.

Fran.

Sure thou wouldst have me love.

Clor.

Yes marry would I I should not please ye else.

Fran.

And who for gods sake? For I assure my selfe, I know not yet: And pre'thee Clora, since thou'lt have it so That I must love, and doe I know not what: Let him behold a pretty handsome fellow, And young, and if he be a little valiant Twill be the better; and a little wise And faith a little honest.

Clo.

Well I will sound ye yet for all your craft.

Fra.

Heigh ho! I'le love no more.

Clor.

Then one; and him You shall love Franck.

Fran.

Which him? thou art so wise People will take thee shortly for a witch: But prethee tell me Clora, if I were So mad as thou wouldst make me, what kind of man Wouldst thou imagine him?

Clo.

Faith some pretty fellow?

Fra.

With a cleane strength, that cracks a cudgell well And dances at a wake, and plaies at nine holes. O God what pretty commendations thou hast given him' Faith if were in love, as I thanke God I doe not thinke I am; this short Epistle Before my love would make me burne the legend.

Clor.

You are too wilde, I meane some gentleman.

Fra.

So doe not I, till I can know'em wiser: Some Gentleman, no Clora, till some Gentleman Keepe some land, and fewer whores beleeve me Ile keepe no love for him, I doe not long To goe a foot yet, and solicite causes.

Clor.

What thinke you then of an adventurer? I meane some wealthy Merchant.

Fra.

Let him venture In some decaid Crare of his owne: he shall not Rig me out, that's the short on't; out upon't: What young thing of my yeares would endure To have her husband in another Country Within a moneth after she is married Chopping for rotten Raysons, and lye pining At home under the mercy of his fore-man? no, Though they be wealthy, and indifferent wise I doe not see that I am bound to love'em.

Clor.

I see ya're hard to please; yet I will please ye.

Fran.

Faith not so hard neither, if considered; What woman may deserve as? she is worthy: But why do we bestow our ttme so idely? Preethee let us entertaine some other talke, This is as sickly to me as faint weather.

Clor.

Now I believe I shall content you Francke, What thinke you of a Courtier?

Fra.

Faith so ill, That if I should be full, and speake but truth, 'Twold shew as if I wanted charity, Prethee good wench let me not raile upon 'em, Yet I have an excellent stomach, and must do it; I have no mercie of these infidels; Since I am put in minde on't, good beare with me, Can no man fit you? I will finde him out.

Fra.

This somer fruite, that you call Courtier, While you continue cold and frosty to him Hangs fast, and may be found: but when youfling Too full a heate of your affections — Upon his roote and make him ripe too soone, Youl' finde him rotten 'ith the handling; His oathes and affections are all one With his apparrell, things to set him off, He has as many Mistrisses, as Faithes, And all appocripha; his true beliefe Is onely in a private Surgeon, And for my single selfe, I'de sooner venture— A new conversion of the Jndies, Then to make Courtiers, able men or honest.

Clo.

I do believe you love no Courtier, And by my troth to ghesse you into love With any I can thinke of; is beyond Either your will, or my imagination. And yet I am sure y'ar caught: and I will know him, Ther's none left now worthy the thinking of; Unles it be a Souldier, and I am sure, I would ever blesse my selfe from such a fellow.

Fra.

Why preethee?

Clo.

Out upon 'em firelockes, They are nothing 'ith world, but Buff and Scarlet, Tough unhewne peeces, to hack swords upon; I had as liev be courted by a Cannon, As one of those.

Fra.

Thou art too malitious, Upon my faith me thinks they're worthy men.

Clor.

Say ye so? I'le pull ye on a little further. VVhat worth can be in those men, whose profession Is nothing ith' world but drinke and damn me, Out of whose violence they are possest VVith legions of unwholsome whores and quarrels; I am of that opinion, and will dye in't, There is no understanding, nor can be In a soust Souldier.

Fra.

Now 'tis ignorance I easily perceive that thus provokes thee, And not the love of truth; I'le lay my life If God had made thee man, thou hadst been a coward.

Clo.

If to be valiant, be to be a Souldier; I'le tel ye true, I had rather be a Coward, I am sure with lesse sin.

Fra.

This heresie must be look'd too in time: for if it spread 'Twill grow too pestilent; were I a Scholler I would so hamper thee for thy opinion, That ere I left, I would write thee out of credit VVith all the world, and make thee not beleev'd Even in indifferent things; that I would leave thee A reprobate out of the state of honour. By all good things, thou hast flung aspersions So like a foole (for I am angry with thee) Upon a sort of men; (that let me tell thee Thy mothers mother would have been a Saint Had she conceiv'd a Souldier) they are people (I may commend 'em, while I speake but truth) Of all the old world, only left to keepe Man as he was, valiant and vertuous: They are the modell of those men, whose honours VVe heave our hands at when we heare recited.

Clo.

They are, and I have all I sought for, 'tis a souldier You love, hide it no longer; you have betray'd your selfe; Come, I have found your way of commendations, And what I said, was but to pull it from ye.

Fra.

'Twas pretty, are you grown so cunning, Clora? I grant I love a souldier; But what souldier VVill be a new taske to ye? But all this I doe imagine was but laid to draw me Out of my melancholy.

Clo.

I will have the man Ere I forsake ye.

Fra.

I must to my chamber.

Clo.

May not I goe along?

Fra.

Yes, but good wench Move me no more with these fond questions, They worke like Rubarb with me.

Glo.

VVell, I will not.

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Laelia and her waiting woman.

Lel.

How now? who was that you staid to speak withal.

Wom.

The old man forsooth.

Lel.

VVhat old man?

Wom.

The poor old man that uses to come hither he that you call Father.

Lel.

Have you dispatched him?

Wom.

No; he would faine speake with you.

Lel.

Wilt thou never learn more manners, then to draw in such Needy rascalls to disquiet me? goe, answer him I wil Not be at leisure.

Wom.

He will needs speak with you; and good old man he weeps so, That by my troth I have not the heart to deny him, pray let you are not in love Him speake with you.

Lel.

Lord how tender stomach'd you are grown of late? With him, are ye; if ye be, strike up the match; you shal have Three, l. & a paire of blankets; will ye goe answer him?

Wom.

Pray let him speak with you, he wil not away else.

Lel.

Well, let him in then if there be no remedy; I thank God I am Able to abuse him, i shal nere come cleer else of him. Now S^r. what is your business? pray be short; for I have other Matters of more moment to call me from ye.

Enter Father.

Fath.

If you but looke upon me like a daughter And keepe that love about ye that makes good A Fathers hope, you'l quickly finde my businesse, And what I would say to you, and before I aske, will be a giver: say that sleepe, I meane that love, or be but num'd within ye, The nature of my want is such a searcher, And of so mighty power, that where he findes This dead forgetfulnesse, it works so strongly, That if the least heate of a childes affection Remaine unperish'd, like another nature, It makes all new againe; pray do not scorne me, Nor seeme to make your selfe a greater businesse Then my relieving.

Lel.

If you were not old I should laugh at ye; what a vengeance ailes ye To be so childish to imagine me A founder of old fellows? make him drinke wench, And if there be any cold meate in the Buttery, Give him some broken bread and that, and rid him.

Fath.

Is this a childs love? or a recompence Fit for a fathers care? O Lelia, Had I been thus unkind, thou hadst not been; Or like me miserable: But 'tis impossible Nature should dye so utterly within thee, And loose her promises; thou art one of those She set her stamp more excellently on, Then common people, as fore-telling thee A generall example of her goodnesse; Or say she could lye, yet religion (For love to parents is religious) Would leade thee right againe: Looke well upon me I am the roote that gave thee nourishment, And made thee spring faire, do not let me perish Now I am old and saplesse.

Lel.

As I live I like ye far worse now ye grow thus holy, I grant you are my father; am I therefore Bound to consume my selfe and be a begger Still in relieving you? I doe not feele Any such mad compassion yet within me.

Fath.

I gave up all my state to make yours thus.

Lel.

'Twas as ye ought to do, and now ye cry for't As children do for babies backe againe.

Fath.

How wouldst thou have me live?

Lel.

I would not have ye, Nor know no reason Fathers should desire To live, and be a trouble, when children Are able to inherit, let them dye, 'Tis sit, and lookt for, that they should do so.

Fath.

Is this your comfort?

Lel.

All that I feele yet.

Fath.

I will not curse thee.

Lel.

If you do I care not.

Fath.

Pray you give me leave to weep

Lel.

Why pray take leave, If it be for your ease.

Fath.

Thy mother dyed, Sweet peace be with her, in a happy time.

Lel.

She did Sir, as she ought to do, would you Would take the paines to follow; what should you Or any old man do wearing away In this world with diseases, and desire Only to live to make their children scourge-sticks, And hoord up mill-money? me thinks a marble

Lyes quieter upon an old mans head Then a cold fit a'th palsey.

Fa.

O good God! To what an impudence thou wretched woman, Ha•••• thou begot thy selfe againe! well, justice Will punish disobedience.

Lel.

You mistake Sir; Twill punish beggers, fye for shame go worke Or serve, you are grave enough to be a Porter In some good man of worships house, and give Sententious answers to the commers in, A pretty place; or be of some good Consort, You had a pleasant touch 'ath Cithron once, If idelnesse have not bereft you of it: Be any thing but old, and beggarly, Two sinnes that ever do out grow compassion; If I might see you offer at a course That were a likely one, and shew'd some proffit, I would not stick for ten groates, or a noble.

Fa.

Did I beget this woman?

Lel.

Nay, I know not: And 'till I know, I will not thanke you for't; How ever, he that got me had the pleasure, And that me thinkes, is a reward sufficient.

Fa.

I am so strangly stroken with amazement, I know not where I am, nor what I am.

Lel.

You had best take fresh aire some where else, 'twill bring ye Out of your trance the sooner.

Fa.

Is all this As you meane Lelia?

Lel.

Yes believe me is it, For yet I cannot thinke you are so foolish, As to imagine you are young enough To be my heire, or I so old to make A Nurse at these yeares for you, and attend While you sup up my State in penny pots Of Malmsey: when I am excellent at Cawdles, And Cullices. and have enough spare gold To boyle away, you shall be welcome to me; 'Till when I'de have you be as merry Sir As you can make your selfe with that you have, And leave to trouble me with these relations; Of what you have beene to me, or you are, For as I heare them, so I loose them; this For ought I know yet, is me resolution.

Fa.

Well God be with thee, for I feare thy end Will be a strange example.

Exit Father.

Lel.

Fare ye well Sir; Now would some poore tender harted foole have wept, Relented, and have been undone: such children I thanke my understanding I hate truely, For by my troth I had rather see their teares; Then feele their pitties: my desires and ends Are all the kindred that I have, and friends.

Enter Woman.

Is he departed?

Wom.

Yes, but heer's another.

Lel.

Not of his tribe I hope; bring me no more I would wish you such as he is, If thou seest They looke like men of worth, and state, and carry Ballast of both sides like tall Gentlemen Admit 'em, but no snakes to poyson us With poverty; wench you must learne a wise rule, Looke not upon the youthes of men, and making, How they discend in blood, nor let their tongues Though they strike sodainly, and sweet as musique Corrupt thy fancy: see, and say them faire too, But ever keep thy selfe without their distance: Unlesse the love thou swallows be a pill, Gilded to hide the bitternesse it brings, Then fall on without feare wench, yet so wisely That one encounter cloy him not; nor promise His love hath made thee more his, then his moneyes; Learne this and thrive, Then let thine honour ever, (For that's the last rule) be so stood upon, That men may fairely see 'Tis want of meanes, not vertue makes thee fall; And if you weepe 'twill be a great deale better, And draw on more compassion, which includes A greater tendernesse of love and bounty; This is enough at once, digest it well: Go let him in wench, if he promise proffit, Not else.

Enter Iulio.

O you are welcome my faire servant, Upon my troth I have been longing for ye.

Wom.

This, by her rule should be a liberall man, I see the best on's may learne every day.

Lel.

Ther's none come with you.

Iul.

No.

Lel.

You do the wiser, For some that have been here (I name no man) Out of their malice, more then truth, have done me Some few ill offices.

Iul.

How, sweete?

Lel.

Nay nothing, Onely have talk't a little wildely of me; As their unruly youth directed 'em: Which though they bite me not, I would have wish'd Had light upon some other that deserv'd 'em.

Iul.

Though she deserve this of the loosest tongue, (Which makes my sinne the more) I must not see it; Such is my misery: I would I knew him.

Lel.

No, no, let him go, He is not worth your anger: I must chide you For being such a stranger to your Mistris, Why would you be so, Servant?

Iul.

I should chide, If chiding would worke any thing upon you: For being such a stranger to your Servant, I meane to his desires: when my deare Mistris, Shall I be made a happy man?

Lel.

Fy Servant What do you meane, unhand me, or by heav'n, I shall be very angry, this is rudenesse.

Iul.

'Twas but a kisse or two, that thus offends you

Lel.

'Twas more I thinke then you have warrant for.

Iul.

I am sorry I deserv'd no more.

Lel.

You may, But not this rough way Servant: we are tender, And ought in all to be respected so; If I had been your horse, or whore, you might Back me with this intemperance; I thought You had lov'd as worthy men, whose faire affections Seeke pleasures warranted, not puld by violence, Do so no more.

Iul.

I hope you are not angry?

Lel.

I should be with another man, I am sure, That durst appeare but halfe thus violent.

Iul.

I did not meane to ravish ye

Lel.

You couldot.

Iul.

You are so willing—

Lel.

How?

Iul.

Me thinkes this shadow, If you had so much shame as fits a woman: At least of your way, Mistris, long ere this

Had been lay'd of to me that understand ye.

Lel.

That understand me? Sir ye understand, Nor shall no more of me then modesty, Will without feare deliver to a stranger; You understand I am honest; else I tell yee (Though you were better far then Iulio) You, and your understanding are two fooles, But were we Saints, thus we are still rewarded. I see that woman had a pretty catch on't, That had made you the Master of a kindnesses, She durst not answer openly; o me! How easily we women may be cozen'd? I tooke this Iulio as I have a faith, (This young dissembler with the sober vizard) For the most modest temper'd Gentleman, The coolest, quietest, and best companion; For such an one I could have wish'd a woman.

Iul.

You have wish'd me ill enough a conscience, Make me no worse for shame: I see the more I worke by way of service to obtaine ye You worke the more upon me. Tell me truely (While I am able to believe a woman, For if you use me thus, that faith will perish) What is your end, and whether will you pull me? Tell me, but tell me that I may not start at, And have a cause to curse ye.

Lel.

Blesse me goodnesse! To curse me did you say Sir? let it be For too much loving you then, such a curse Kill me withall and I shall be a Martyr; You have found a new way to reward my doting, And I confesse a fit one for my folly, For you your selfe if you have good within ye, And dare be Master of it, know how deadly This hart has held you ever; oh good God! That I had never seene that false mans eyes, That dare reward me thus with feares and curses, Nor never heard the sweetnesse of that tongue, That will when this is knowne, yet cozen women: Curse me good Iulio, curse me bitterly, I do deserve it for my confidence, And I beseech thee, if thou hast a goodnesse Of power yet in thee to confirme thy wishes, Curse me to earth; for what should I do here Like a decaying flower, still withering Under his bitter wordes, whose kindly heate Should give my poore hart life? No, curse me Iulio, Thou canst not do me such a benefit As that, and well done, that the heav'ns may heare it.

Iul.

Oh faire teares were you but as chast, as subtill, Like Bones of Saints, ye would worke miracles; What were these women to a man that knew not The thousand, thousand wayes of their deceiving? What riches had he found? Oh he would thinke Himselfe still dreaming of a blessednesse, That like continuall spring should flourish ever. For if she were as good as she is seeming, Or like an Eagle could renew her vertues, Nature had made another world of sweetnesse; Be not so greiv'd sweet Mistris, what I sed You do, or should know, was but passion; Pray wipe your eyes and kisse me; take these trifles, And weare them for me, which are onely rich When you will put them on; Indeed I love ye, Beshrew my sicke hart, if I grieve not for ye.

Lel.

Will you dissemble still? I am a foole, And you may easily rule me, if you flatter, The sin will be your owne.

Iul.

You know I doe not.

Lel.

And shall I be so childish once againe, After my late experience of your spight To credit you? you doe not know how deepe (Or if you did, you would be kinder to me,) This bitternesse of yours have strooke my heart.

Jul.

I pray no more.

Lel.

Thus you would doe I warrant, If I were married to you.

Jul.

Married to me? Is that your end?

Lel.

Yes, Is not that the best end, And as all hold, the noblest way of love? Why doe you looke so strange Sir? doe not you Desire it should be so?

Jul.

Stay.

Lel.

Answer me.

Jul.

Farwell.

Exit Julio.

Lel.

I, are you there? are all these teares lost then? Am I so overtaken by a foole In my best daies and tricks? my wise fellow Ile make you smart for't as I am a woman, And if thou beest not timber, yet Ile warme thee: And is he gon?

Enter Woman.

Wom.

Yes.

Lel.

He's not so lightly strooke To be recovered with a base repentance, I should be sorry then: Fortune I pre'thee Give me this man but once more in my armes, And if I loose him, women have no charmes.

Exeunt omnes

Actus Secundus,

Scaena Prima.

Enter Jacamo and Fabricio.

Iaco.

SEigneur, What thinke you of this sound of warrs?

Fab.

As onely of a sound; they that intend To doe are like deepe waters that run quietly Leaving no face of what they were behind 'em, This rumour is too common and too loude To carry truth.

Iac.

Shall we never live to see Men looke like men againe, Upon a march? This cold dull rusty peace makes us appeare Like empty Pictures, onely the faint shadowes Of what we should be: Would to God my Mother Had given but halfe her will to my begetting And made me woman, to sit still and sing, Or be sicke when I list, or any thing That is too idle for a man to thinke of: Would I had been a whore 'thad been a course Certaine, and of my conscience of more gaine Then two commands, as I would handle it: Faith I could wish I had been any thing Rather then what I am, a Soldier A Carriere, or a Cobler, when I knew What 'twas to weare a Sword first; for their trades Are and shall be a constant way of life, While men send cheeses up, or weare out buskins.

Fab.

Thou art a little too impatient, And mak'st thy anger a far more vexation Then the not having warrs: I am a Soldier Which is my whole Inheritance, yet I

Though I could wish a breach with all the world If not dishonourable, I am not so malitious, To curse the faire peace of my Mother Countrey; But thou want'st money; and the first supply Will bury these thoughts in thee.

Jac.

Pox a peace. It fills the Kingdome full of holydayes, And onely feedes the wants of whores and pipers; And make the idle drunken Rogues, get Spinsters. 'Tis true I may want money, and no litle, And almost cloathes too: of which if I had both In full abundance: yet against all peace, That brings up mischiefe thicker then a showre, I would speake louder then a Lawyer; By heaven it is the surfet of all youth, That makes the toughnesse, and the strength of nations Melt into women. 'Tis an ease that broodes Theeves, and basterds onely.

Fab.

This is more, (Though it be true) then we ought to lay open, And seasons onely of an indiscretion, Believe me Captaine such distemper'd spirits Once out of motion, though they be proofe valiant, If they appeare thus violent and fierie, Breed but their owne disgraces; and are nearer Doubt, and suspect in Princes, then rewardes.

Jac.

'Tis well they can be neere 'em any way, But call you those true spirits, ill affected That whil'st the warres were, serv'd like walls and ribs, To girdle in the Kingdome? And now falne Through a faint peace into affliction, Speake but their miseryes? come, come, Fabritio You may pretend what patience ye please, And seeme to yoake your wants like passions; But while I know thou art a Souldier, And a deserver, and no other harvest But what thy Sword reapes for thee to come in, You shall be pleas'd to give me leave to tell ye, You wish a Devill of this musty peace: To which prayer, As one that's bound in conscience, and all That love our trade, I cry, Amen.

Fab.

Prethee no more, we shall live well enough, There's wayes enough besides the warrs to men That are not loggs, and lye still for the handes Of others to remove 'em.

Jac.

You may thrive Sir, Thou art young and handsome yet, and well enough To please a widdow: thou canst sing, and tell These foolish love-tales; and indite a little, And if need be, compile, a pretty matter And dedicate it to the honourable, Which may a waken his compassion, To make ye Clarke a'th kitchen, and at length Come to be married to my Ladyes woman, After she's crack't 'ith ring.

Fab.

'Tis very well Sir.

Jac.

But what dost thou thinke shall become of me, With all my imperfections? let me dye If I thinke I shall ever reach above A forlorne Tapster, or some frothy fellow, That stincks of stale beere.

Fab.

Captaine Jacamo, Why should you thinke so hardly of your vertues?

Ja.

What vertues? by this light I have no vertue, But downe right buffeting: what can my face That is no better then a ragged Map now Of where I have marcht and traveled profit me? Unlesse it be for Ladyes to abuse, and say 'Twas spoil'd for want of a Bongrace when I was young, And now 'twill make a true prognostication Of what man must be? Tell me of a fellow That can mend noses, and complaine, So tall a souldier should want teeth to his stomach? And how it was great pitty, that it was, That he that made my body, was so busied He could not stay to make my leggs too? but was driven To clap a paire of cat-skins to my knees, for which I am indebted to two Schoole-boyes? this Must follow necessary.

Fab.

Ther's no such matter.

Ja.

Then for my morals, and those hidden pieces, That art bestowes upon me, they are such That when they come to light: I am sure will shame me. For I can neither write, nor read, nor speake That any man shall hope to proffet by me, And for my Languages, they are so many That put them altogether, they will scarce Serve to beg single beere in: the plaine truth is, I love a Souldier, and can lead him on, And if he fight well I dare make him drunk: This is my vertue, and if this will do I'le scramble yet amongst 'em.

Fab.

'Tis your way To be thus pleasant still, but feare not man For though the warrs fail, we shall screw our selves Into some course of life yet.

Ja.

Good Fabritio, Have a quick eye upon me, for I feare This peace will make me something that I love not; For by my troth though I am plaine and dudgion, I would not be an Asse: and to sell parcels, I can as soone be hang'd; preethee bestowe me And speake some little good, though I deserve not.

Enter Father.

Fab.

Come wee'l consider more: stay, this Should be another winde-fall of the warrs.

Jac.

He lookes indeed like an old tater'd Colours, That every winde would borrow from the Staffe; These are the hopes we have for all our hurts: They have not cast his tongue too.

Father.

They that say Hope never leaves a wretched man that seekes her, I thinke are either patient fooles, or lyers, I am sure I finde it so, for I am master'd, With such a misery and griefe together That that stay'd Anchor men lay hold upon In all their needs, is to me lead that bowes, Or breakes, with every strong sea of my sorrowes. I could now question heaven, (were it well To looke into their justice) why those faultes, Those heavy sinnes, other provoke 'em with Should be rewarded on the heads of us, That hold the least alliance to their vices? But this would be too curious; for I see Our suffering, not disputing, is the end, Reveal'd to us of all these miseryes.

Jac.

Twenty such holy Hermits in a Campe, Would make 'em all Carthusians, I'le be hang'd If hee know what a whore is: or a health, Or have a nature liable to learne, Or so much honest nurture to be drunke. I do not thinke he has the spleene to sweare A greater oath then Sempsters utter Sockes with, S'pur him a question.

Fath.

They are strangers both To me, as I to them I hope: I would not have Me and my shame together known by any, I'le rather lye my selfe unto another.

Fab.

I need not aske you Sir your Countrey, I heare you speake this tongue: pray what more are ye? Or have you been? if it be not offensive To urge ye so far, misery in your yeares, Gives every thing a tongue to question it.

Fath.

Sir, though I could be pleas'd to make my ills Only mine owne, for grieving other men, Yet to so faire and courteous a demander That promises compassion, at worst, pity, I will relate a little of my story. I am a Gentleman, however thus Poore and unhappy; which beleeve me sir Was not borne with me: for I well have tri'd Both the extreams of fortune; and have found Both dangerous: my younger yeares provok'd me, Feeling in what an case I slept at home, Which to all stirring spirits is a sicknesse, To see far Countreyes, and observe their Customes. I did so; and I travelld till that course Stor'd me with language, and some few slight manners, Scarce worth my money; when an ich possest me Of making armes my active end of travell.

Fab.

But did you so?

Fath.

I did; and twenty winters I wore the Christian Cause upon my sword Against his enemies, at Buda siege Full many a cold night have I lodg'd in armour When all was frozen in me but mine honour: And many a day, when both the Sun and Canon Strove, who should most destroy us: have I stood Malld up in steele, when my rough sinews shrunke, And this parch'd body ready to consume As soone to ashes, as the pike I bore: Want has been to me as another nature, Which makes me with this patience still professe it; And if a Souldier may without vaine-glory Tell what h'as done, beleeve me Gentlemen I could turne over annals of my dangers: With this poor weaknesse have I mann'd a breach, And made it firme with so much blood, that all I had to bring me off alive was anger. Thrice was I made a slave, and thrice redeem'd At price of all I had; The miseries Of which times, if I had a heart to tell, Would make ye weep like children; But I'le spare ye

Ja

Fabricio, we two have been souldiers Above these fourteen yeares, yet a my conscience All we have seen, compar'd to his experience Has been but cudgel-play, or Cock-fighting. By all the faith I have in armes, I reverence The very poverty of this brave fellow: Which were enough it selfe, and his to strengthen The weakest towne against halfe Christendome. I was never so asham'd of service In all my life before, now I consider What I have done; and yet the rogues would sweare I was a valiant fellow; I do finde The greatest danger I have brought my life through, Now I have heard this worthy, was no more Then stealing of a May-pole, or at worst, Fighting at single billet with a Barge-man.

Fab.

I do believe him Jacamo.

Jac.

Beleeve him? I have no faith within me, if I doe not.

Fath.

I see they are souldiers? And if we may judge by affections Brave and deserving men: how they are stir'd But with a meer relation of what may be? Since I have wonne beliefe, and am not known, Forgive me honour, i'le make use of thee.

Fab.

Sir would I were a man, or great, or able To looke with liberall eyes upon your vertue.

Jac.

Let's give him all we have, and leave off prating: Here Souldier, there's even five months pay: be merry, And get thee handsome cloths.

Fab.

What meane you Jacamo?

Jac.

Ye are a foole. The very story's worth a hundred pound. Give him more money.

Fath.

Gentlemen, I know not How I am able to deserve this blessing. But if I live to see faire dayes againe, Something i'le doe in honour of your goodnesse, That shall shew thankfulnesse, if not desert.

Fab.

If you please Sir, till we procure ye place, To eate with us, or weare such honest garments As our poor meanes can reach to, you shall be A welcome man; to say more, were to feede ye Only with words; we honour what y'ave been, For we are souldiers, though not neere the worth You spake of lately.

Fath.

I do ghesse ye so, And knew, unlesse he were a souldier, He could not find the way to know my wants.

Ja.

But me thinks all this while y'are too temperate; Do you not tell men sometimes of their dulnesse When you are grip't, as now you are with need? I do, and let them know those silkes they weare The Warre weaves for 'em: and the bread they eate We sow, and reape again to feed their hunger: I tell them boldly, they are masters of Nothing but what we fight for: their faire women Lye playing in their armes, whilst we like Lares Defend their pleasures: I am angry too, And often raile at these forgetfull great men That suffer us to sue for what we ought To have flung on us, ere we aske.

Fath.

I have Too often told my griefes that way, when all I reapt, was rudenesse of behaviour; In their opinions men of Warre that thrive, Must thank 'em when they raile: and wait to live.

Fab.

Come Sir, I see your wants need more relieving, Then looking what they are: pray goe with us.

Fath.

I thanke you Gentlemen: since you are pleas'd To do a benefit, I dare not crosse it, And what my service or endeavours may Stand you in need, you shall command, not pray.

Ja.

So you shall us; i'le to the Taylors with you bodily

Exeunt

Scaena Secunda.

Enter Fredericke, Lodovico, and Piso.

Lod.

Well, if this be true; I'le believe a woman When I have nothing else to do.

Piso.

'Tis certaine; if there be a way of truth, In blushes, smiles, and commendatious; For by this light, have heard her praise you fellow In such a pitch, as if sh'ad studied To croude the worths of all men into him, And I imagine these are seldome us'd Without their speciall ends, and by a maide Of her desires and youth.

Fred.

It may be so.

She's free as you or I am, and may have By that prerogative, a liberall choise In the bestowing of her love.

Lod

Bestowing? If it be so, she has bestowed her selfe Upon a trim youth: Piso, what do you call him?

Piso.

Why, Captain Jacamo.

Lod.

O Captaine Jack-boy, That is the Gentleman.

Fred.

I thinke he be A Gentleman at worst.

Lod.

So think I too, Would he would mend Sir.

Fred.

And a tall one too.

Lod.

Yes of his teeth; for of my faith I thinke They are sharper then his sword, and dare do more If the Beuffe meet him fairely.

Fred.

Very well.

Piso.

Now do I wonder what she meanes to doe When she has married him.

Lod.

Why well enough, Traile his pike under him, and be a Gentlewoman Of the brave Captaines company.

Fred.

Doe you heare me? This woman is my sister, Gentlemen.

Lod.

I am glad she is none of mine: but Fredericke, Thou art not such a foole sure to be angry Unlesse it be with her; We are thy friends man.

Fred.

I thinke ye are.

Lod.

Yes faith, and do but tell thee How shee will utterly orethrow her credit, If she continue gracing of this pot-gun.

Piso.

I thinke she was bewitcht, or mad, or blinde, She would never have taken such a scar-crow else Into protection: of my life he lookes Of a more rusty swarth complexion Then an old arming doublet.

Lod.

I would send His face to the Cutlers then, and have it sanguin'd, 'Twill looke a great deale sweeter; then his nose I would have shorter, and my reason is, His face will be ill mounted else.

Piso.

For his body, I will not be my own Judge, least I seeme A railer, but let others look upon't, And if they finde it any other thing Then a trunke-seller, to send wines downe in, Or a long walking-bottle, I'le be hang'd for't: His hide, (for sure he is a beast) is ranker Then the Muscovy leather: and grain'd like it. And by all likeli-hoods he was begotten Between a stubborn paire of winter boots. His body goes with straps, he is so churlish.

Lod.

Hee's poor and beggerly besides all this: And of a nature farre uncapable Of any benefit: for his manners cannot Shew him a way to thanke a man that does one, He's so uncivill: you may do a part Worthy a brother, to perswade your sister From her undoing: if she prove so foolish To marry this cast Captaine, looke to finde her Within a month, where you, or any good man Would blush to know her: selling cheese and prunes, And retayl'd bottle ale: I grieve to think Because I lov'd her, what a march this Captaine Will set her into.

Fred.

You are both, beleeve me, Two arrant Knaves; and were it not for taking So just an execution from his hands You have beli'd thus, I would swaddle ye, Till I could draw off both your skins like scaberds. That man that you wrong'd thus, though to me He be a stranger, yet I know, so worthy, However low in fortune, that his worst parts, The very wearing of his cloths, would make Two better Gentlemen then you dare be, For there is vertue in his outward things.

Lod.

Belike you love him then.

Fred.

Yes marry do I.

Lod.

And will be angry for him.

Fred.

If you talke Or pull your face into a stich againe, As I love truth I shall be very angry. Do not I know thee, though thou hast some land To set thee out thus among Gentlemen, To be a prating and vain-glorious asse? I do not wrong thee now, for I speake truth. Doe not I know thou hast been a cudgel'd coward, That has no cure for shame but cloath of silver? And thinkst the wearing of a gawdy suite Hides all disgraces?

Lod.

I understand you not, you hurt not me Your anger flies so wide.

Piso.

Signeur Frederick, You much mistake this Gentleman.

Fred.

No Sir.

Piso.

If you would please to be lesse angry, I would tell you how.

Fred.

You had better study Sir How to excuse your selfe if ye be able, Or I shall tell you once againe.

Piso.

Not me Sir; For I protest what I have said, was only To make you understand your sisters danger.

Lod.

He might if it pleas'd him conceive it so.

Fred.

I might if it pleas'd me stand still and heare My sister made a may-game, might I not? And give allowance to your liberall jests Upon his person, whose least anger would Consume a legion of such wretched people, That have no more to justifie their actions But their tongues ends? that dare lye every way As a mill grindes? From this houre I renounce All part of fellowship that may hereafter Make me take knowledge of ye, but for Knaves; And take heed, as ye love whole skins, and coxcombs, How, and to whom ye prate thus; for this time I care not if I spare ye: do not shake, I will not beat ye, though ye doe deserve it Richly.

Lod.

This is a strange course Fredericke; But sure you do not, or you would not know us, Beate us?

Piso.

'Tis somewhat low Sir, to a Gentleman.

Fred.

I'le speak but few words, but I'le make 'em truths; Get you gone both, and quickly, without murmuring, Or looking big: and yet before you goe I will have this confest, and seriously, That you two are two rascalls.

Lod.

How?

Fred.

Two Rascals. Come speake it from your hearts, or by this light My sword shall flye among ye; answer me, And to the point directly.

Piso.

You shall have Your will for this time: since we see y'are grown

So far untemperate; Let it be so Sir In your opinion.

Fred.

Do not mince the matter, But speake the words plaine; and you Lodovick That stand so tally on your reputation, You shall be he shall speake it.

Lod.

This is pretty,

Fred.

Let me not stay upon't.

Lod.

Well we are rascalls, Yes Piso, we are rascals.

Exit Lod. and Piso.

Fred.

Get ye gone now, not a word more, y'are rascals.

Enter Fabritio.

Fab.

That should be Fredericke.

Jac.

'Tis he: Fredericke?

Fred.

Who's that?

Jac.

A friend Sir.

Fred.

It is so, by the voyce I have sought you Gentlemen, and since I have found you, So neare our house, I'le force ye stay a while, I pray let it be so.

Fab.

It is too late, Wee'l come and dine to morrow with your sister, And do our services.

Jac.

Who were those with you?

Fred.

We met two came from hence: Two idle fellows, That you shall beate hereafter, and I'le tell ye Some fitter time a cause sufficient for it.

Fabr.

But Fredericke, tell me truly; do you thinke Shee can affect my friend?

Fred.

No certainer Then when I speake of him, or any other, She entertaines it with as much desire As others do their recreations.

Fabr.

Let not him have this light by any meanes; He will but thinke he's mockt, and so grow angry, Even to a quarrell: he's so much distrustfull Of all that take occasion to commend him— Women especially: for which he shuns All conversation with 'em, and beleeves He can be but a mirth to all their Sex. Whence is this musique?

Fred.

From my sisters chamber.

Fab.

The touch is excellent' let's be attentive.

Jac.

Harke, are the waights abroad?

Fabr.

Be softer prethee, 'Tis private musicke.

Jac.

What a dyn it makes? I had rather hear a Jews-trump then these Lutes, They crye like Schoole-boyes.

Fabr.

Prethee Jacamo.

Jac.

Well I heare, or sleepe, I care not whether.

The SONG.

Enter at the window Francke and Clora.

1.

TEll me dearest what is Love?

2.

'Tis a lightning from above, 'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire, 'Tis a boy they call Desire.

Both.

'Tis a grave, Gapes to have Those poore fooles that long to prove.

1.

Tell me more, are women true?

2.

Yes, some are, and some as you. Some are willing, some are strange, Since you men first taught to change.

Both.

And till troth Be in both, All shall love, to love anew.

1.

Tell me more yet, can they grieve?

2.

Yes, and sicken sore, but live: And be wise, and delay, When you men are as wise as they.

Both.

Then I see Faith will be, Never till they both beleeve.

Franc.

Clora, come hither; who are these below there?

Clor.

Where?

Fran.

There.

Clor.

Ha? I should know their shapes Though it be darkish; there are both our brothers, What should they make thus late here?

Fran.

What's the tother?

Clor.

What tother?

Fran.

He that lyes along there.

Clor.

O, I see him As if he had a branch of some great Petigree Grew out on's belly.

Fra.

Yes.

Clor.

That should be, If I have any knowledge in proportion.—

Fab.

They see us.

Fred.

'Tis no matter.

Fab.

VVhat a log Is this, to sleep such musique out?

Fred.

No more let's heare 'em.

Clor.

If I have any knowledge in proportion, The Captaine Jacamo, those are his legs Upon my conscience.

Fra.

By my faith, and neate ones.

Clor.

You mean the boots, I thinke they are neate by nature,

Fra.

As thou art knavish, would I saw his face!

Clor.

'Twould scare you in the dark.

Fra.

A worse then that Has never scar'd you Clora to my knowledge.

Clora.

'Tis true, for I never have seen a worse; Nor while I say my prayers heartily, I hope I shall not.

Fran.

VVell, I am no tell tale: But is it not great pitty, tell me Clora, That such a brave deserving Gentleman As every one delivers this to be, Should have no more respect, and worth flung on him By able men? VVere I one of these great ones, Such vertues should not sleep thus.

Clora.

VVere he greater He would sleep more I thinke: I'le waken him.

Frank.

Away ye foole.

Clor.

Is he not dead already, and they two taking order About his Blacks? me thinks they are very busie, A fine cleane coarse he is: I would have him buried Even as he lyes, crosse legg'd, like one o'th Templers (If his west-phaly gammons will hold crossing) And on his brest, a buckler with a pike in't, In which I would have some, learned Cutler Compile an Epitaph, and at his feete A musquet, with this word upon a Labell VVhich from the cocks mouth thus should be delivered, I have discharg'd the office of a Souldier.

Frank.

VVell, if thy Father were a Souldier Thus thou wouldst use him.

Clora.

Such a Souldier, I would indeed.

Fab.

If he heare this, not all The power of man could keep him from the windowes

••ill they were downe and all the dores brok open: For Gods sake make her cooler: I dare not venture To bring him else: I know he will goe to buffetts Within five words with her, if she holds this spirit; Let's waken him, and away, we shall heare worse else.

Fran.

Well if I be not even with thee Clora L••t m•• be hang'd for this: I know thou dost it Onely to anger me, and purge your witt Which would breake out else.

Clora.

I have found ye, Ile be no more crosse, bid'em good night

Fran.

No, no, they shall not know, we have seen'em; Shut the window.

Exit Fran. and Clora.

Fab.

Will you get up Sir?

Jac.

Have you paid the Fidlers?

Fab.

You are not left to doe it: Fie upon thee, Hast thou forsworne manners?

Jac.

Yes unlesse They would let me eate my meate without long graces Or drinke without a preface to the pledger; Oft will it please you, shall I be so bold sir Let me remember your good bedfellow, And lye and kisse my hand unto my Mistris As often as an Ape does for an Aple; These are meere Schismes in Soldiers; wher's my friend? These are to us as bitter as purgations, We love that generall freedome we are bred to; Hang these faint fooleries, they smell of peace, Doe they not friend?

Fab.

Faith Sir to me they are As things indifferent, yet I use'em not, Or if I did, they would not prick my conscience.

Fred.

Come, shall we goe? 'tis late.

Jac.

Yes any whether, But no more Musick, it has made me dull.

Fab.

Faith any thing but drinking disturbs thee Jacomo Wee'l ev'n to bed.

Jac.

Content.

Fab.

Thou wilt dreame of wenches.

Jac.

I never thinke of any I thanke God But when I am drunke, and then tis but to cast A cheape way how they may be all destroyd Like vermine; let's away I am very sleepy.

Fab.

I, thou art ever so, or angry, come.

Exeunt.

Actus Tertius,

Scaena Prima.

Enter Julio and Angilo.

Jul.

I Will but see her once more Angilo That I may hate her more, and then I am My selfe againe.

Ang.

I would not have thee tempt lust, Tis away dangerous, and will deceive thee Hadst thou the constancy of all men in thee.

Jul.

Having her sins before me, I dare see her Were she as catching as the plague, and deadly, And tell her she is fouler then all those And far more pestilent, if not repentant, And like a stronge man, chide her well, and leave her.

Arg.

'Tis easily said, of what complexion is she?

Iul.

Make but a curious frame unto thy selfe As thou wouldst shape an Angell in thy thought Such as the Poets, when their fancies sweat Imagine Iuno is, or faire eyde Pallas And one more excellent, then all those figures Shalt thou finde her; shees browne, but of a sweetnes, (If such a poore word may expresse her beauty) Beleeve me Angilo would doe more mischiefe With a forc't smile, then twenty thousand Cupids With their love quivers, full of Ladies eyes, And twice as many flames, could fling upon us.

Ang.

Of what age is she?

Iul.

As a Rose at fairest, Neither a bud, nor blown, but such a one, Were there a Hercules to get againe With all his glory, or one more then he The god would choose out mongst a race of women To make a mother of; she is outwardly All that bewitches sense; all that entises, Nor is it in our vertue to uncharme it. And when she speakes, oh Angilo, then musick (Such as old Orpheus made, that gave a soule To aged mountaines, and made rugged beasts Lay by their rages; and tall trees that knew No sound but tempests, to bow downe their branches And heare, and wonder; and the Sea, whose surges Shooke their white heads in heaven, to be as midnight Still, and attentive; steales into our soules So suddenly, and strangely, that we are From that time no more ours but what she pleases.

Ang.

Why looke, how far you have thrust your selfe againe Into your old disease? are you that man With such a resolution, that would venture To take your leave of folly, and now melt Even in repeating her?

Iul.

I had forgot me.

Ang.

As you will still doe.

Iul.

No, the strongest man May have the grudging of an ague on him, This is no more; let's go, I would faine be fit To be thy friend againe, for now I am no mans.

Ang.

Goe you, I dare not goe, I tell you truely Nor were it wise I should.

Iul.

Why?

Ang.

I am well. And if I can, will keepe my selfe so.

Iul.

Ha? thou mak'st me smile, though I have little cause, To see how prettily thy feare becomes thee; Art thou not strong enough to see a woman?

Ang.

Yes, twenty thousand: but not such a one As you have made her; Ile not lye for'th matter: I know I am fraile, and may be cosen'd too By such a Syren.

Iul.

Faith thou shalt goe, Angilo

Ang.

Faith but I will not; no I know how far Sir I am able to hold out, and will not venture Above my depth: I doe not long to have My sleepe ta'ne from me, and goe pulingly Like a poore wench had lost her market money; And when I see good meat, sit still and sigh, And call for small beere; and consume my wit In making Anagrams, and faithfull poses; I doe not like that Itch, I am sure I had rather Have the maine pox, and safer.

Iul.

Thou shalt goe, I must needs have thee as a witnesse with mee Of my repentance; as thou lov'st me goe.

Ang.

Well I will goe, since you will have it so, But if I prove a foole too, looke to have me Curse you continually, and fearefully.

Iul.

And if thou seest me fall againe, good Angilo Give me thy councell quickly least I perish.

Ang.

Pray God I have enough to save my selfe, For as I have a soule, I had rather venture Upon a savage Island, then this woman.

Exeunt

Scaena Secunda.

Enter Father and Servant.

Fath.

From whom Sir, comes this bounty? for I thinke You are mistaken.

Serv.

No Sir, 'tis to you, I am sure my Mistris sent it.

Fath.

Whoes your Mistris, That I may give her thanks?

Ser.

The vertuous Widow,

Fath.

The vertuous widow Sir? I know none such: Pray what's her name?

Ser.

Laelia.

Fath.

I knew you err'd 'Tis not to me I warrant ye; there Sir, Carry it to those she feedes fat with such favours, I am a stranger to her.

Ser.

Good Sir take it, And if you will, I'le sweare she sent it to you, For I am sure mine eye never went off ye Since you forsook the Gentlemen you talk'd with Just at her doore.

Fath.

Indeed I talkt with two Within this halfe houre in the street.

Ser.

'Tis you Sir, And none but you I am sent to: wiser men Would have been thankfull sooner, and receiv'd it, 'Tis not a fortune every man can brag of, And from a woman of her excellence.

Fa.

Well Sir, I am Chatechiz'd; what more belongs to 't?

Ser.

This only Sir; she would intreat you come This evening to her without faile.

Fa.

I will.

Ser.

You ghesse where.

Fa.

Sir I have a tongue else.

Exit Ser.

She is down-right Devill; or else my wants And her disobedience have provok't her To looke into her foule selfe, and be sorry. I wonder how she knew me? I had thought I had been the same to all, I am to them That chang'd me thus: God pardon me for lying, For I have paid it home: many a good man That had but found the profit of my way Would forsweare telling true againe in hast.

Enter Lodovico and Piso.

Here are my praters; now if I did well I should be labour 'em, but I have found A way to quiet 'em, worth a thousand on't.

Lod.

If we could get a fellow that would do it.

Fa.

What villany is now in hand?

Piso.

'Twill be hard to be done in my opinion Unlesse we light upon an English-man With seven-score surfets in him.

Lod.

Are the English-men such stubborn drinkers?

Piso.

Not a leake at Sea Can sucke more liquor; you shall have their children Christned in mull'd sacke, and at five yeares old, able To knocke a Dane downe: Take an English-man And cry St. George, and give him but a rasher, And you shall have him upon even terms Defy a hogshead; such a one would do it Home boy, and like a work-man: at what weapon?

Lod.

Sherry sack: I would have him drinke stark dead, If it were possible: at worst past pottage.

Piso.

What is the end then?

Lod.

Dost thou not perceive it? If he be drunke dead, ther's a faire end of him. If not, this is my end, or by enticing, Or by deceiving, to conduct him where The foole is, that admires him; and if sober, His nature be so rugged, what wilt be When he is hot with wine? come lets about it, If this be done but handsomely, I'le pawne My head she hath done with souldiers.

Piso.

This may do well.

Fa.

Here's a new way to murther men alive, I'le choake this traine: God save ye Gentlemen. It is to you, stay: yes it is to you.

Lod.

What's to me?

Fath.

You are fortunate, I cannot stand to tell you more now, meete me Here soone, and you'l be made a man.

Exit Father.

Lod.

What Vision's this?

Piso.

I know not.

Lod.

Well, I'le meet it, Think you ot'h other, and let me a while Dreame of this fellow.

Piso.

For the Drunkard, Lodowicke, Let me alone.

Lod.

Come, let's about it then.

Exeunt

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Clora and Franke.

Clo.

Ha, ha, ha, pray let me laugh extreamly.

Fra.

Why? prethee why? hast thou such cause?

Clo.

Yes faith, my brother wil be here straightway, &—

Fra.

What?

Clo.

The other party: ha, ha, ha.

Fra.

VVhat party? VVench thou art not drunke.

Clo.

No faith.

Fra.

Faith thou hast been among the bottles Clora;

Clo.

Faith but I have not Franke: Prethee be handsom, The Captaine comes along too, wench.

Fra.

O is that it? That tickles ye.

Clo.

Yes, and shall tickle you too, You understand me?

Fra.

By my troth thou art grown A strange lewd wench: I must e'ne leave thy company, Thou wilt spoile me else.

Clo.

Nay, thou art spoil'd to my hand; Hadst thou been free, as a good wench ought to be, VVhen I went first a birding for thy Love, And roundly said, that is the man must doe it, I had done laughing many an houre agoe.

Fra.

And what dost thou see in him, now thou knowst him, To be thus laught at?

Clo.

Prethee be not angry And I'le speake freely to thee.

Fra.

Doe, I will not.

Clo.

Then as I hope to have a handsome husband, This fellow in mine eye, and Franke I am held To have a shrewd ghesse at a pretty fellow, Appeares a strange thing.

Fra.

Why how strange for Gods sake? He is a man, and one that may content (For any thing I see) a right good woman: And sure I am not blinde.

Clo.

There lyes the question? For, but you say he is a man, and I Will credit you, I should as soone have thought him Another of Gods creatures; out upon him, His body, that can promise nothing But lazinesse and long strides.

Fra.

These are your eyes; Where were they Clora, when you fell in love With the old foot-man, for singing of Queen Dido? And swore he look'd in his old velvet trucks And his slyc't Spanish Jerkin, like Don Iohn? You had a parlous judgment then, my Clora.

Clo.

Who told you that?

Fra.

I heard it.

Clo.

Come, be friends, The Souldier is a Mars, no more, we are all Subject to slide away.

Fra.

Nay, laugh on still.

Clo.

No faith, thou art a good wench, and 'tis pity Thou shouldst not be well quarred at thy entring, Thou art so high flown for him: Look, whose there?

Enter Fabricio and Iacamo.

Iac.

Prethee goe single, what should I do there, Thou knowst I hate these visitations, As I hate peace or perry.

Fab.

Wilt thou never Make a right man?

Iac.

You make a right foole of me To lead me up and down to visit women, And be abus'd and laugh'd at; let me sterve If I know what to say, unlesse I aske 'em What their shooes cost?

Fab.

Fye upon thee, coward, Canst thou not sing?

Iac.

Thou knowest I can sing nothing But Plump••on parke.

Fab.

Thou't be bold enough, When thou art enterd once.

Jac.

I had rather enter A breach: If I miscarry, by this hand I will have you by'th eares for't.

Fab.

Save ye Ladies.

Clora.

Sweet brother I dare sweare, you'r welcome hither, So is your Friend;

Fab.

Come, blush not, but salute 'em.

Franck.

Good Sir beleeve your Sister; you are most welcome, So is this worthy Gentleman whose vertues I shall be proud to be acquainted with.

Iac.

She has found me out already, and has paid me; Shall we be going?

Fab.

Peace; Your goodnesse Lady Will ever be afore us, for my selfe I will not thanke you single, lest I leave My friend, this Gentleman, out of acquaintance.

Iac.

More of me yet?

Fra.

Would I were able Sir, From either of your worths to merit thankes.

Clo.

But brother, is your friend thus sad still? me thinks 'Tis an unseemly nature in a Souldier.

Iac.

What hath she to do with me, or my behaviour?

Fab.

He do's but shew so, prethee to him Sister.

Iac.

If I do not breake thy head, I am no Christian, If I get off once.

Clo.

Sir, we must intreat you To thinke your selfe more welcome, and be merry, 'Tis pitty a faire man of your proportion Should have a soule of sorrow.

Iac.

Very well; Pray Gentlewoman what would you have me say?

Clo.

Do not you know Sir?

Ia.

Not so well as you That talke continually.

Fra.

You have hither, Sir.

Clo.

I thank him, so he has, Faire fall his sweet face for't.

Iac.

Let my face Alone, I would wish you, least I take occasion To bring a worse in question.

Clor.

Meaning mine? Brother, where was your friend brought up? h'as sure Been a great lover in his youth of pottage, They lye so dull upon his understanding.

Fab.

No more of that, thou'lt anger him at heart.

Clo.

Then let him be more manly, for he lookes Like a great School-boy that had been blown up Last night at dust-point.

Fra.

You will never leave Till you be told how rude you are, fye Clora. Sir will it please you sit?

Clo.

And I'le sit by you.

Iac.

Woman be quiet, and be rul'd I would wish you.

Clo.

I have done, Sir Captaine.

Fab.

Art thou not asham'd?

Iac.

You are an asse, I'le tell you more anon. You had better ha been hang'd then brought me hither.

Fab.

You are grown a sullen foole; either be handsom, Or by this light I'le have wenches baite thee; Goe to the Gentlewoman, and give her thanks, And hold your head up; what?

Ia.

By this light I'le brain thee.

Fra.

Now ô my faith this Gentleman do's nothing But it becomes him rarely; Clora, look How well this little anger, if it be one, Shews in his face.

Clo.

Yes, it shewes very sweetly.

Fra.

Nay do not blush Sir, ô my troth it does, I would be ever angry to be thus. Fabritio, ô my conscience if I ever Do fall in love, as I will not forswear it Till I am something wiser, it must be, I will not say directly with that face, But certainly, such another as that is, And thus dispose my chance to hamper me.

Fab.

Dost thou heare this, and stand still?

Iac.

You will prate still; I would you were not women, I would take A new course with ye.

Clo.

Why couragious?

Iac.

For making me a stone to whet your tongues on.

Clo.

Prethee sweet Captaine.

Iac.

Goe, goe spin, goe hang.

Clo.

Now could I kisse him.

Iac.

If you long for kicking, You'r best come kisse me, do not though, I'de wish ye, I'le send my Foot-man to thee, he shall leap thee, And thou wantst horsing: I'le leave ye Ladies.

Fra.

Beshrew my heart you are unmannerly To offer this unto a Gentleman Of his deserts, that comes so worthily To visite me, I cannot take it well.

Iac.

I come to visite you, you foolish woman?

Fra.

I, though you did Sir, and for that I thanke you, I would be loth to loose those thankes; I knowe This is but some odd way you have, and faith It do's become you well to make us merry; I have heard often of your pleasant veine.

Fab.

What wouldst thou ask more?

Ja.

Pray thou scurvy fellowe Thou hast not long to live; adieu deare Damsels, You silthy women farewell, and be sober, And keepe your chambers.

Clor.

Farewell old Don Diego.

Fra.

Away, away, you must not be so angry, To part thus roughly from us; yet to me This do's not shew, as if 'twere yours, the wars May breed men something plain I know, But not thus rude; give me your hand good Sir I know 'tis white, and—

Jac.

If I were not patient, What would become of you two prating houswives?

Clo.

For any thing I know, we would in to supper, And there begin a health of lusty Claret To keep care from our hearts, and it should be—

Fab.

Faith to whom? Mark but this Jacamo.

Clo.

Even to the handsomest fellow now alive.

Fab.

Do you know such a one?

Fra.

He may be ghest at, Without much travel.

Fab.

There's another item.

Clo.

And he should be a Souldier.

Fra.

'Twould be better.

Clo.

And yet not you sweet Captaine

Fra.

Why not he?

Ja.

Well; I shall live to see your husbands beate you, And hisse 'em on like ban-dogs.

Clo.

Ha, ha, ha.

Jac.

Green sicknesses and serving-men light on ye With greasy Codpieces, and woollen stockings, The Devill (if he dare deal with two women) Be of your counsels: Farewell Plaisterers—

Exit Jacamo.

Clor.

This fellow will be mad at Mid-sumer Without all doubt.

Fab.

I thinke so too.

Fra.

I am sorry Hee's gone in such a rage; but sure this holds him Not every day.

Fab.

Faith every other day If he come neare a woman.

Clor.

I wonder how his mother could endure To have him in her belly he's so boysterous.

Fra.

He's to be made more tractable I doubt not.

Clo.

Yes, if they taw him as they do whit-leather Upon an iron, or beate him soft like Stock-fish.

Scaena quarta.

Enter Laelia and her waiting woman with a vaile.

Lel.

Art sure 'tis he?

Wom.

Yes, and another with him.

Lel.

The more the merryer; did you give that money And charg'd it to be delivered where I shewed you?

Wom.

Yes, and what else you bad me.

Lel.

That brave fellow, Though he be old, what e're he be, shews toughnesse, And such a one I long for, and must have At any price; these young soft melting gristles Are only for my safer ends.

Wom.

They are here.

Lel.

Give me my vaile, and bid the boy goe sing That song above, I gave him: the sad Song: Now if I misse him, I am curst, goe wench And tell 'em I have utterly forsworn All company of men; yet make a venture At last to let 'em in; thou knowst these things, Doe 'em to'th life.

Wom.

I warrant you I am perfect.

Lel.

Some ill woman for her use would give A million for this wench, she is so subtle.

Enter to the doore Julio and Angilo.

Wom.

Good Sir desire it not, I dare not do it, For since your last being here, Sir, beleeve me She has griev'd her selfe out of all company, And (sweet soule) almost out of life too.

Jul.

Prethee, Let me but speake one word.

Wom.

You will offend Sir And yet your name is more familiar with her Then any thing but sorrow, good Sir goe.

Ang.

This little varlet hath her lesson perfect, These are the baites they bob with.

Iul.

Faith I will not.

Wom.

I shal be chidden cruelly for this; But you are such a Gentleman—

Iul.

No more.

Aug.

There's a new Tyre-wench; peace, thou art well enough.

Iul.

What, has she musique?

Wom.

Yes; for Gods sake stay, 'Tis all she feedes upon.

Iul.

Alas poore soule.

Ang.

Now will I pray devoutly, for there's need ont.

The SONG.

AWay delights, goe seeke some other dwelling, For I must dye. Farewell false Love, thy tongue is ever telling Lye after lye. For ever let me rest now from thy smarts, Alas, for pitty goe, And fire their hearts That have been hard to thee, mine was not so.

Never againe deluding love shall know me, For I will dye: And all those griefes that thinke to over-grow me Shall be as I. For ever will I sleepe, while poore maids cry, Alas for pity stay And let us dye With thee, men cannot mocke us in the day.

Iul.

Mistris? not one word, Mistris if I grieve ye I can depart againe.

Ang.

Let's goe then quickly, For if she get from under this darke cloud, We shall both sweate I feare for't.

Iul.

Do but speake Though you turne from me, and speake bitterly, And I am gone, for that I think will please you.

Ang.

Oh that all women were thus silent ever, What fine things they were.

Iul.

You have look'd on me, When (if there be beliefe in womens words Spoken in teares) you swore you lov'd to do so.

Lel.

O me my heart!

Ang.

Now Julio play the man, Or such another will undoe thee: Would I had any thing to keepe me busie I might not heare her; thinke but what she is, Or I doubt mainly, I shall be i'th mash too.

Jul

Pray speake againe;

Lel.

Where is my woman?

Wom.

Here.

Ang.

Mercy upon me! what a face she has? Would it were vail'd againe.

Lel.

Why did you let This flattering man in to me? did not I Charge thee to keep me from his eyes againe, As carefully as thou wouldst keep thine owne? Thou hast brought me poyson in a shape of heaven Whose violence will breake the hearts of all, Of all weake women, as it has done mine, That are such fooles to love, and looke upon him. Good Sir be gone, you know not what an ease Your absence is.

Ang.

By heaven she is a wonder, I cannot tell what 'tis, but I am squeamish.

Jul.

Though I desire to be here more then heaven As I am now, yet if my sight offend you, So much I love to be commanded by you That I will goe: Farewell—

Lel.

I should say something E're you depart, and I would have you heare me: But why should I speak to a man that hates me? And will but laugh at any thing I suffer?

Jul.

If this be hate—

Lel.

Away, away deceiver.

Jul.

Now help me Angilo!

Ang.

I am worse then thou art.

Lel.

Such teares as those might make another woman Believe thee honest Julio: almost me That know their ends, for I confesse they stir me.

Ang.

What will become of me? I cannot goe now If you would hang me, from her: o brave eye! Steale me away for Gods sake Julio.

Jul.

Alas poor man! I am lost againe too strangely.

Lel.

No, I will sooner trust a Crocadile When he sheds teares, for he kills sodainly, And ends our cares at once; or any thing That's evill to our natures, then a man; I finde there is no end of his deceivings, Nor no avoyding 'em, if we give way: I was requesting you to come no more, And mocke me with your service, 'tis not well, Nor honest to abuse us so far: you may love too; For though, I must confesse I am unworthy Of your love every way: yet I would have you Thinke I am somewhat too good to make sport of.

Jul.

Will you believe me?

Lel.

for your vows and oaths, And such deceiving teares as you shed now, I will as you doe, study to forget 'em.

Jul

Let me be most despis'd of men—

Lel.

No more; There is no new way left, by which your cunning Shall once more hope to catch me; no, thou false man I will avoid thee, and for thy sake all That beare thy stamp; as counterfeit in love. For I am open ey'd againe, and know thee. Goe, make some other weepe, as I have done, That dare believe thee: goe, and sweare to her That is a stranger to thy cruelty, And knowes not yet what man is, and his lyings, How thou di'st daily for her: poure it out In thy best lamentations; put on sorrow, As thou canst, to deceive an Angell, Julio, And vow thy selfe into her heart, that when I shall leave off, to curse thee for thy falshood, Still a forsaken woman may be found, To call to heaven for vengeance.

Ang.

From this houre, I heartily despise all honest women; I care not if the world tooke knowledge on't, I see there's nothing in them, but that folly Of loving one man only: give me henceforth (Before tne greatest blessing can be thought of) If this be one, a whore; that's all I aime at.

Iul.

Mistris, the most offending man is heard Before his sentence, why will you condemn me E're I produce the truth to witnesse with me How innocent I am of all your angers?

Lel.

There is no trusting of that tongue, I know't, And how far if it be believed it kills; no more Sir.

Iul.

It never lyed to you yet; if it did 'Twas only when it cal'd you mild and gentle.

Lel.

Good Sir no more; make not my understanding After I have suffered thus much evill by you, So poor to thinke I have not reach'd the end Of all your forc'd affections; yet because I once lov'd such a sorrow too too dearly, As that would strive to be; I do forgive ye Even heartily, as I would be forgiven, For all your wrongs to me; my charity Yet loves you so far, (though againe I may not) And wish when that time comes, you will love truly (If you can ever doe so) you may finde The worthy fruit of your affections, True love againe, not my unhappy harvest, Which like a foole I sow'd in such a heart So drye and stonie, that a thousand showres From these two eyes, continually rayning, Could never ripen.

Iul.

Y'ave conquer'd me: I did not thinke to yield, but make me now, Even what you will my Lelia, so I may Be but so truly happy to enjoy you.

Lel.

No, no, those fond imaginations, Are dead and buried in me, let 'em rest.

Iul.

I'le marry you.

Ang.

The Devill thou wilt Iulio How that word waken'd me? come hither friend, Thou art a foole, looke stedfastly upon her Though she be all that I know excellent As she appeares, though I could fight for her, And run through fire; though I am starke mad too Never to be recover'd, though I would Give all I had l'th world to lye with her Even to my naked soule, I am so far gone, Yet me thinks still we should not doate away That that is something more then ours, our honours I would not have thee marry her by no meanes, Yet I should do so; is she not a whore?

Iul.

She is; But such a one—

Ang.

'Tis true, she's excellent, And when I well consider, Iulio I see no reason we should be confin'd In our affections; when all creatures else Enjoy stil where they like.

Iul.

And so will I then,

Lel.

He's fast enough I hope now, if I hold him.

Ang.

You must not do so though, now I consider

Better what 'tis.

Iul.

Do not consider Angilo, For I must do it.

Ang.

No I'le kill thee first. I love thee so well that the wormes shall have thee Before this woman, friend.

Iul.

I was your counsell.

Ang.

As I was a knave, Not as I lov'd thee.

Iul.

All this is lost upon me Angilo, For I must have her: I will marry yee When you please; pray looke better on me.

Ang.

Nay then no more friend; farewell Iulio, I have so much discretion left me yet To know, and tell thee thou art miserable.

Iul.

Stay thou art more then she, and now I finde it.

Lel.

Is he so?

Iul.

Mistris.

Lel.

No, I'le see thee sterv'd first.

Exit Lel.

Iul.

Friend.

Ang.

Fly her as I do, Iulio, she's a witch.

Iul.

Beate me away then, I shall grow heere still else.

Ang.

That were the way to have me grow there with thee Farewell for ever.

Exit Ang.

Iul.

Stay, I am uncharm'd, Farewell thou cursed house, from this houre be More hated of me then a Leprosie.

Exit Iulio.

Enter Lelia.

Lelia.

Both gon? a plague upon 'em both, Am I deceiv'd againe? Oh I would raile And follow 'em; but I feare the spight of people, 'Till I have emptied all my gall; the next I seize upon, shall pay their follies To the last penny; This will worke me worse He that comes next, by heav'n shall feele their curse.

Exit.

Scaena quinta.

Enter Iacamo at one doore Fabritio at another.

Fab.

O yee are a sweet youth, so uncivilly To rayle and run away?

Ja.

O are you there Sir? I am glad I have found ye, you have not now your Ladies To shew your wit before.

Fab.

Thou woult not, woult 'a?

Ja.

What a sweet youth I am, as you have made me, You shall know presently.

Fab.

Put up your sword I have seene it often, 'tis a Fox.

Iac.

It is so, And you shall feele it too; will you dispatch Sir? And leave your mirth out? or I shall take occasion To beate ye, and disgrace you too.

Fab.

Well since, there is no other way to deale with you Let's see your sword, I am sure you scorne all odds, I will fight with you —

Jac.

How now?

they measure, and Fab: get his Sword.

Fab.

Nay stand out, Or by this light I'le make yee.

Ja.

This is scurvy And out of feare done.

Fab.

No Sir out of judgement, For he that deales with thee, thou'rt growne so boystrous Must have more wits, or more lives then another, Or alwayes be in Armor, or inchanted; Or he is miserable.

Ja.

Your end of this Sir?

Fab.

My end is only mirth to laugh at thee, Which now I'le do in safety; ha, ha, ha.

Ja.

Shart? then I am growne ridiculous.

Fab.

Thou art, And wilt be shortly sport for little children, If thou continuest this rude stubbornenesse.

Jac.

O God, for any thing that had an edge?

Fab.

Ha, ha, ha.

Jac.

Fye, what a shame it is, To have a lubber shew his teeth?

Fab.

Ha, ha.

Jac.

Why dost thou laugh at me thou wretched fellow? Speake with a pox; and looke ye render me Iust such a reason —

Fab.

I shall dye with laughing.

Jac.

As no man can finde fault with: I shall have Another Sword; I shall ye fleering puppy.

Fab.

Does not this testiness shew finely in thee? Once more take heed of children, if they finde thee They'le breake up schoole, to beare thee company, Thou wilt be such a pastime, and whoo'te at thee: And call thee bloody bones, and Spade, and Spitfire, And Gaffer Madman; and go by Ieronimo, And will with wispe and come aloft, and crack rope, And old Saint Dennis with the dudgeon Codpeeece: And twenty such names.

Jac.

No I thinke they will not.

Fab.

Yes but they will: and Nurses still their children Onely with thee, and ••ere take him Iacanio.

Iac.

Gods pretious, That I were but over thee One Steeple height: I would fall and breake thy neck.

Fab.

This is the reason I laugh at thee, And while thou art thus, will do: tell me one thing.

Jac.

I wonder how thou durst thus question me, Pre'thee restore my Sword.

Fab.

Tell me but one thing, And it may be I will: Nay Sir; keep out

Jac.

Well I will be your foole now, speake your minde Sir.

Fab.

Art thou not breeding Teeth?

Jac.

How? Teeth?

Fab.

Yes Teeth, thou would'st not be so froward else.

Jac.

Teeth?

Fab.

Come, 'twill make thee A little reumatique, but that's all one, Weel'e have a Bib, for spoyling of thy doublet; And a fring'd Muckender, hang at thy girdle, I'le be thy Nurse, and get a Corall for thee: And a fine Ring of Bells.

Jac.

Faith this is somewhat Too much Fabritio, to your friend that loves you; Me thinkes your goodnesse, rather should invent, A way to make my follies lesse, then breed 'em; I should have been more moderate to you, But I see ye despise me.

Fab.

Now I love yee, There, take your Sword, continue so: I dare not Stay now to try your patience, Soone I'le meet yee, And as you love your honours, and your state, Redeeme your selfe well to the Gentlewoman, Farewell 'till soone.

Exit Fab.

Jac.

Well I shall thinke of this.

Exit Jac.

Scaena Sexta.

Enter Host, Piso, and Boy with a glasse of wine.

Piso.

Nothing 'ith world but a dri'd Tongue or two—

Host

Tast him and tell me.

Piso.

Is a valiant wine, This must be he mine Host.

Host.

This shall be Ipse, Oh he 's a develish bitten wine, a Tyrant; Where he layes hold Sir, This is he that scornes Small Beere should quench him, or a foolish Caudell Bring him to bed; no if he flinch I'le shame him, And draw him out to mull amongst old Midwives.

Piso.

There is a Souldier, I would have thee better Above the rest, because he thinkes there's no man Can give him drinke enough.

Host.

What kinde of man?

Pis.

That thou mayst know him perfectly, hee's one Of a left-handed making, a lanck thing, As if his belly were tane up with straw, To hunt a match.

Host.

Has he no beard to shew him?

Piso.

Faith but a little; yet enough to note him, Which growes in parcells here, and there a remnant: And that thou maist not misse him, he is one That weares his fore-head in a vellet scabberd.

Host.

That note's enough, he's mine, I'le fuddle him Or lye 'ith sudds; you will be here too?

Piso.

Yes, till soone, farewell and beare up.

Host.

If I do not, Say I am recreant; I'le get things ready.

Actus Secundus,

Scaena Prima.

Enter Iulio, and Angilo.

Iul.

'TIs strange thou should'st be thus, with thy discretion

Ang.

I am sure I am so.

Iul.

I am well you see.

Ang.

Keep your selfe warme then, & go home, & sleepe, And pray to God thou maist continue so; Would I had gon to'th Devill of an arrant, When I was made a foole to see her: Leave me I am not fit for conversation.

Iul.

Why, thou art worse then I was.

Ang.

Therefore leave me, The nature of my sicknesse is not eas'd By company, or councell, I am mad, And if you follow me with questions Shall shew my selfe so.

Iul.

This is more then errour.

Ang.

Pray be content, that you have made me thus, And do not wonder at me.

Iul.

Let me know, but what you meane to do and I am gon I would be lo'ath to leave you thus else.

Ang.

Nothing That needs your feare, that is sufficient; Farewell, and pray for me.

Iul.

I would not leave you.

Ang.

You must and shall.

Iul.

I will then: would yon woman Had been ten fathom under ground, when first I saw her eyes.

Ang.

Yet she had been dangerous, For to some wealthy Rocke of pretious stone, Or mine of gold as tempting, her faire body Might have been turn'd; which once found out by labour And brought to use, having her spells within it, Might have corrupted States, and ruin'd Kingdomes Which had been fearefull (Friend) Go, when I see thee Next, I will be as thou art, or no more. Pray do not follow me, you'l make me angry.

Iul.

Heav'n grant you may be right againe.

Ang.

Amen.

Exeunt.

Scaena Secunda.

Enter Tavern Boyes &c.

Boy.

Score a gallon of Sack, and a pinte of Olives to the Vnicorne.

Above within.

Why drawer?

Boy.

A non, a non.

Another boy.

Looke into the Nags head there.

2. Boy.

Score a quart of Claret to the Bar, And a pound of Sausages into the flower-pott.

Enter first Servant with wine.

1 Ser.

The Divell's in their throates, anon, anon.

Enter second Servant.

2. Ser.

Mull a pinte of Sack there for the women in the Flower-deluce, & put in ginger enough, they belch like potguns,

And Robbin fetch Tobacco for the Peacock, they will not Drunke till midnight else: how now how does my Master.

2 Boy.

Faith he lyes drawing on a pace.

1. Boy.

That's an ill signe.

2. Boy.

And fumbles with the pots too.

1. Boy.

Then ther's no way but one with him.

2. Boy.

All the rest. Except the Captaine are in Limbo patrum, Where they lye sod in sack.

1. Boy.

Does he beare up still.

2. Boy.

Afore the winde still, with his lightes up bravely All he takes in I think he turnes to Iuleps, Or has a world of Stoage in his belly, The rest looke all like fire-drakes, and lye scatter'd Like rushes round about the roome. My Master Is now the louing'st man, I thinke above ground,

1. Boy.

Would he were always drunke then.

Within.

Drawer.

2. B.

Anon, anon Sir,

1 B.

And swears I shall be free to morrovv, and so vveeps And calls upon my Mistris.

2 B.

Then he's right.

1. B.

And svvears the Captain must lye this night with her And bad me breake it to her vvith discretion, That he may leave an issue after him: Able to entertaine a dutch Ambassador, And tells him feelingly how sweete she is, And hovv he stoole her from her friendes i'th Countrey; And brought her up disguiz'd vvith the Carriers, And vvas nine nights bereaving her her maiden head, And the tenth got a dravver, here they come.

Enter Jac. Host, Lod. Piso.

Within cry drawer.

Anon, anon, speake to the Tyger, Peter.

Host.

Ther's my Bells boyes, my silver Bell.

Piso.

Would he vvere hang'd As high as I could ring him.

Host.

Captaine.

Iac.

Hoe Boy.

Lod.

Robin, sufficient single Beere, as cold as christall, Quench Robin, quench.

1. Boy.

I am gon Sir.

Host.

Shall vve beare up still? Captaine hovv I love thee? Sweete Captaine let me kisse thee, by this hand I love thee next to Malmesey in a morning,

Of things transitory.

Ja.

I love thee too, as far as I can love a fatt man.

Host.

Do'st thou Captaine? Sweetly? and hartily?

Jac.

With all my heart Boy.

Host.

Then welcome death, come close mine eyes sweet Captaine Thou shalt have all.

Jac.

What shall your wife have then?

Host.

Why she shall have besides my blessing, and a silver spoone Enough to keepe her stirring in the world, Three little Children, one of them was mine Upon my conscience, th'other two are Pagans.

Iac.

'Twere good she had a little foolish money, To rub the time a way with.

Host.

Not a rag, Not a Deniere, no let her spin a Gods name: And raise her house againe,

Jac.

Thou shalt not dye though, Boy see your Master safe delivered, He's ready to lye in.

Host.

God night.

Jac.

God morrow, Drinke tell the Cow come home, 'tis all pay'd boyes.

Lod.

A pox of Sack.

Host.

Marry God blesse my Buts, Sack is a jewell, 'Tis comfortable Gentlemen.

Jac.

More Beere boy. Uery sufficient single Beere.

Boy.

Here Sir. How is it Gentlemen?

Jac.

But ev'n so, so.

Host.

Go before finely Robin, and prepare My wife, bid her be right and streight, I come boy And Sirha, if they quarrell let 'em use, Their owne discretions, by all meanes, and stir not, And he that's kill'd shall be as sweetly buried; Captaine, adieu, adieu sweet bully Captai ne, One kisse before I dye, one kisse.

Jac.

Farewell Boy.

Host.

All my sweet boyes farewell.

Exit Host.

Lod.

Go sleep, you are drunke.

Jac.

Come Gentlemen, I'le see you at your Lodging, You looke not lustily, a quart more.

Lod.

No Boy.

Piso.

Get us a Torch.

Boy.

'Tis day Sir.

Iac.

That's all one.

Piso.

Are not those the stars, thou scurvy Boy?

Lod.

Is not Charle-waine there, tell me that, there?

Iac.

Yes; I have paid 'em truely: do not vex him Sirha.

Piso.

Confesse it Boy, or as I live I'le beate Midnight into thy braines.

Boy.

I do confesse it.

Piso.

Then live, and draw more small Beere presently.

Iac.

Come Boyes, let's hug together, and be loving, And sing, and do brave things cheerely my hearts, A pox a being sad; now, could I fly And turne the world about upon my finger, Come ye shall love me, I am an honest fellow: Hang care and fortune, we are friendes.

Lod.

No Captaine.

Iac.

Do not you love me? I love you too dearely.

Piso.

No by no meanes; you are a fighting Captaine, And kill up such poore people as we are, by'th dozens.

Lod.

As they kill flyes with Fox-tailes, Captaine.

Iac.

Well Sir.

Lod.

Me thinkes now as I stand, the Captaine shewes, To be a very mercifull young man. (And pre'thee Piso, let me have thy opinion)

Piso.

Then he shall have mercy, that mercifull is, Or all the Painters are Apocrypha.

Iac.

I am glad you have your witts yet, will ye go?

Piso.

You had best say we are drunke.

Iac.

Ye are.

Lod.

Yee lye.

Iac.

Y'are Rascalls, drunken rascalls.

Piso.

'Tis sufficient.

Iac.

And now I'le tell you why, before I beate yee, You have been tampring any time these three dayes, Thus to disgrace me.

Piso.

That's a lye too.

Iac.

Well Sir, Yet I thanke God I have turn'd your points on you, For which I'le spare yee somewhat, halfe a beating.

Piso.

I'le make you fart fire Captaine, by this hand, And ye provoke, do not provoke I'de wish you.

Iac.

How do you like this?

Lod.

Sure I am inchanted.

Piso.

Stay till I draw.

Iac.

Despatch then, I am angry.

Piso.

And thou shalt see how sodainly I'e kil thee.

Iac.

Thou darst not draw, ye cold, tame, mangy Cowards Ye drunken Rogues, can nothing make you valiant? Not wine, nor beating?

Lod.

If this way be sufferd 'Tis very well.

Iac.

Go ther's your way, go and sleep: I have pitty on you, you shall have the rest To morrow when wee meete.

Piso.

Come Lodowick, Hee's monstrous drunke now, ther's no talking with him.

Iac.

I am so, when I am sober, I'le do more.

Exit Lod. & Piso.

Boy wher's mine Host?

Boy.

Hee's on his bed a sleepe Sir.

Exit Boy.

Iac.

Let him alone then: Now am I high proofe For my action, now could I fight bravely, And charge into a wilde fire; or I could love Any man living now, or any woman, Or indeed any creature that loves Sack Extreamly, monstrously; I am so loving, Iust at this instant, that I might be brought I feele it, with a little labour, now to talke With a justice of peace, that to my nature I hate next an ill Sword: I will do Some strange brave thing now, and I have it here: Pray God the ayre keepe out; I feele it buzing.

Exit.

Scaena Tertia

Enter Fredrick, Franck, Clora.

Clor.

Shee loves him too much, that's the plaine truth Fredrick For which if I might be beleev'd, I thinke her A strange forgetter of her selfe; ther's Iulio, Or twenty more—

Fred.

In your eye I believe you, But credit me the Captaine is a man: Lay but his rough affections by, as worthy.

Clor.

So is a resty Iade, a horse of service, If he would leave his nature, give me one By your leave Sir to make a husband of Not to be wean'd, when I should marry him; Me thinkes a man is misery enough,

Fred.

You are too bitter, I would not have him worse. Yet I shall see you hamper'd one day Lady, I do not doubt it, for this heresie

Clor.

I'le burne before; come pre'thee leave this sadnesse; This walking by thy selfe to see the Divell, This mumps, this Lachrimae, this love in sippets; It fitts thee like a French-hood.

Fra.

Does it so? I am sure it fits thee to be ever talking, And nothing to the purpose, take up quickly; Thy witt will founder of all foure else wench, I thou hold'st this pace; take up when I bid thee.

Clor.

Before your Brother fly?

Fred.

I can endure it.

Enter Iacamo.

Clor.

Heer's Raw-head come againe; Lord how he lookes? Pray God we scape with broken pates.

Fra.

Were I hee, Thou should'st not want thy wish, he has been drinking Has he not Fredrick?

Fred.

Yes but do not finde it.

Clor.

Peace and let's heare his wisedome.

Fred.

You will mad him.

Jac.

I am somewhat bold, but that's all one.

Clor.

A short and pithy saying of a Souldier.

Fra.

As I live Thou art a strange mad wench.

Clor.

To make a parson.

Jac.

Ladyes I meane to kisse yee

Clor.

How he wipes his mouth like a young Preacher; We shall have it.

Jac.

In order as you ly before me; first I'le begin with you.

Fra.

With me Sir?

Iac.

Yes If you will promise me to kisse in ease.

Fra.

I care not if I venture.

Jac.

I will kiss according to mine owne inventions As I shall see cause; sweetly I would wish you, I love ye.

Fra.

Do you Sir?

Jac.

Yes indeed do I, Would I could tell you how.

Fra.

I would you would Sir.

Jac.

I would to God I could, but 'tis sufficient, I love you with my heart.

Fra.

Alas poore heart.

Jac.

And I am sorry; but wee'l talk of that, Hereafter if it please God.

Fra.

Ev'n when you will Sir.

Clor.

Hee's dismall drunk, would he were musled.

Jac.

You I take it are the next.

Fra.

Go to him foole.

Clor.

Not I, 'a will bite me.

Jac.

When witt? when?

Clor.

Good Captaine.

Jac.

Nay, and you play boa-peepe; I'le ha, no mercy But catch as catch may.

Fred.

Nay, I'le not defend ye.

Clor.

Good Captaine do not hurt me, I am sorry That ere I anger'd ye.

Iac.

I'le tew you for't By this hand witt, unlesse you kisse discreetly.

Clor.

No more Sir.

Iac.

Yes a little more sweet witt, One tast more o' your office: go thy wayes With thy small kettle Drumes; upon my conscienc Thou art the best, that e're man laid his leg o'er.

Clor.

He smells just like a Cellar, Fye upon him.

Iac.

Sweete Lady now to you.

Clor.

For loves sake kisse him.

Fred

I shall not keep my countenance.

Fra.

Trye pre'thee.

Iac.

Pray be not coy sweet woman, for I'le kisse ye, I am blunt But you must pardon me.

Clor.

O God my sides.

All.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Iac.

Why ha, ha, ha? why laugh? Why all this noyse sweet Ladyes?

Clor.

Lusty Laurence, See what a Gentlewoman you have saluted; Pray God she prove not quick.

Fred.

Where were thine eyes To take me for a woman, ha, ha, ha.

Jac.

Who art 'a, art 'a mortall?

Fred.

I am Fredrick

Jac.

Then Fredrick is an Asse, A scurvy Fredrick to laugh at me.

Fra.

Sweet Captaine.

Iac.

A way woman; Go stich and serve God, I despise thee woman, And Fredrick shall be beaten; S'blood ye Rogue Have you none else to make your puppies of, but me?

Fre.

I pre'thee be more patient Ther's no hurt done.

Iac.

S'blood but there shall be, Scab.

Clor.

Help, help for loves sake.

Fra.

Whose within there?

Fred.

So now you have made a faire hand.

Jac.

Why?

Fred.

You have kill'd me—

Fal as kill'd.

Clor.

Call in some Officers, and stay the Captaine.

Jac.

You shall not need.

Clor.

This is your drunkennesse.

Fra.

O me unhappy Brother, Fredrick, Looke but upon me, do not part so from me, Set him a little higher he is dead.

Clor.

O villaine, villaine.

Enter Fabritio.

Fab.

How now what's the matter?

Fra.

O Sir my Brother! o my dearest Brother!

Clor.

This drunken trowgh has kill'd him.

Fab.

Kill'd him?

Clor.

Yes. For heaven God sake hang him quickly, he will do Ev'ry day such a murder else. there is nothing But a strong Gallowes that can make him quiet, I finde it in his nature too late.

Fabr.

Pray be quiet, Let me come to him.

Clor.

Some go for a Surgeon.

Fra.

Oh what a wretched woman has he made me! Let me alone good Sir.

Fab.

To what a fortune, Hast thou reserv'd thy life.

Ja.

Fabritio.

Fab.

Never entreat me, for I will not know thee, Nor utter one word for thee, unlesse it be To have thee hang'd; for God sake bee more temperate.

Jac.

I have a sword still, and I am a villaine.

Clor.

&c. Hold, hold, hold.

Jac.

Ha?

Clor.

Away with him for heavens sake

He's too desperate for our enduring.

Fab.

Come, you shall sleepe, come strive not Ile have it so, here take him to his lodging, and See him laid before you part.

Ser.

We will Sir.

Fred.

Ne're wonder, I am living yet, and well, I thanke you sister for your griefe, pray keepe it Till I am fitter for it.

Fab.

Do you live Sir?

Fred.

Yes, but 'twas time to counterfeit, he was grown To such a madnesse in his wine.

Fab.

'Twas well Sir, You had that good respect unto his temper, That no worse followd.

Fred.

If I had stood him, certaine one of us must have perish'd, How now Franke?

Fra.

Beshrew my heart I tremble like an aspine.

Clo.

Let him come here no more for heavens sake Unlesse he be in chaines.

Fra.

I would faine see him After he has slept, Fabritio, but to try How he wil be; chide him, and bring him backe.

Clor.

You'l never leave till you be worried with him.

Fra.

Come brother, wee'l walke in, and laugh a little. To get this Fever off me.

Clo

Hang him squib, Now could I grinde him into priming powder.

Fra.

Pray will you leave your fooling?

Fa.

Come, all friends.

Exeunt.

Fra.

Thou art enough to make an age of men so, Thou art so crosse and peevish.

Fab.

I will chide him, And if he be not gracelesse, make him cry for't.

Clo.

I would goe a mile (to see him cry) in slippers He would looke so like a whay cheese;

Fra.

Would we might see him once more.

Fab.

If you dare Venture a second tryall of his temper I make no doubt to bring him.

Clor.

No good Franke Let him alone, I see his vaine lyes only For falling out at Wakes and Beare-baitings, That may expresse him sturdy.

Fab.

Now indeed You are too sharp sweet sister, for unlesse It be this sin, which is enough to drown him, I meane this sowrnesse, he's as brave a fellow, As forward, and as understanding else As any He that lives.

Fra.

I doe beleeve you, And good Sir when you see him, if we have Distasted his opinion any way, Make peace againe.

Fab.

I will: I'le leave ye Ladies.

Clo.

Take heed you had best, h'as sworn to pay you else.

Fab.

I warrant you, I have been often threatned.

Clo.

When he comes next, I'le have the cough or tooth-ach, Or something that shall make me keepe my chamber, I love him so well.

Fra.

Would you would keepe your tongue.

Exeunt.

Scaena Quarta.

Enter Angilo.

Ang.

I cannot keepe from this ungodly woman, This Lelia, whom I know too, yet am caught, Her looks are nothing like her; would her faults Were all in Paris print upon her face, Cum Privilegio, to use 'em still. I would write an Epistle before it, on the inside of her masque And dedicate it to the whore of Babilon, with a preface upō Her nose to the gentle Reader; & they should be to be sold At the signe of the Whores head i'th pottage pot, in what Street you please: But all this helps not me;—I Am made to be thus catch'd, past any redresse, with a thing I contemn too. I have read Epictetus twice over against the Desire of these outward things, and still her face runs in My mind, I went to say my prayers, and they were So laid out o'th way, that if I could finde any prayers I Had, I'me no Christian. This is the doore, and the short Is, I must see her againe.—

He knockes.

Enter Maid.

Maid.

Who's there?

Ang.

'Tis I, I would speake with your Mistriss.

Maid.

Did she send for you?

Ang.

No, what then? I would see her, prethee by thy leave.

Maid.

Not by my leave; for she will not see you, but doth hate you, and Your friend, and doth wish you both hang'd, w^ch being so proper Men, is great pitty, that you are not.

Ang.

How's this?

Maid.

For your sweet self in particular, who she resolvs perswaded your Friend to neglect her, she deemeth whip-cord the most Convenient unction for your backe and shoulders.

Ang.

Let me in, I'le satisfie her.

Ma.

And if it shal happen that you are in doubt of these my speeches, Insomuch that you shal spend more time in arguing at the Dore, I am fully perswaded that my Mistris in person from Above, will utter her mind more at large by way of Urine upon your head, that it may sink the more soundly Into your understanding faculties.

Ang.

This is the strangest thing, good pretty soul, why dost thou use me so? I pray thee let me in sweet heart.

Maid.

Indeed I cannot sweet-heart.

Ang.

Thou art a handsome one, and this crosseness do's become thee.

Maid.

Alas I cannot help it.

Ang.

Especially to me; thou knowst when I was here, I said I lik'd thee of All thy Mistriss servants.

Maid.

So did I you, though it be not my fortune to express It at this present: for truly if you would cry, I cannot Let you in.

Ang.

Pox on her, I must goe the down-right way: looke you Here is ten pound for you, let me speak with her.

Maid.

I like your gold well, but it is a thing by heaven I cannot doe, shee Will not speake with you, especially at this time, she has affaires.

Ang.

This makes her leave her jesting yet, but take it And let me see her, bring me to a place Where undiscern'd of herselfe I may Feede my desiring eyes but halfe an houre.

Ma.

Why faith I think I can, and I wil stretch my wits And body too for gold: if you will sweare as you Are gentle, not to stir, or speake, where you shall See or hear, now, or hereafter: give me your gold, I'le plant you

Ang.

Why, as I am a Gentleman, I will not.

Maid.

Enough, quicke, follow me.

Exit Ang. & Maid.

Enter Servant.

Why where's this maid, she ha's much care of her business. Nell?

I thinke she be sunke;—why Nell—whiew—

Maid within.

Whats the matter?

Enter Maid.

Ser.

I pray you heartily come away, oh, come, come, the Gentleman, My Mistris invited, is comming down the street, and the banquet Not yet brought out?—

They bring in the Banquet

Lel.

within.

Nell, Sirha?

Maid.

I come forsooth.

Ser.

Now must I walk: when ther's any fleshly matters in hand, my Mistris sends me of a four hours errand: but if I goe not About mine own bodily businesse as well as shee, I am a Turke.

Exit Servant.

Enter Father.

Fa.

What, all wide open? 'Tis the way to sin Doubtlesse; but I must on; the gates of hell Are not more passable then these; how they Will be to get out, God knows, I must try. 'Tis very strange, if there be any life Within this house, would it would shew it selfe. What's here? a Banquet? and no mouth to eate, Or bid me do it? this is something like The entertainment of adventurous Knights Entring enchanted Castles: For the manner Though there be nothing dismall to be seene Amazes me a little; what is meant By this strange invitation? I will sound My Daughters meaning, e're I speake to her, If it be possible, for by my voyce—

Musique.

She will discover me! hark, whence is this.

The SONG.

COme hither you that love, and heare me sing of joyes still growing Green, fresh, and lusty, as the pride of Spring, and ever blowing. Come hither youths that blush, and dare not know what is desire, And olde men worse then you, that cannot blow one sparke of fire. And with the power of my enchanting Song, Boyes shall be able men, and old men young.

Enter Angilo above.

Come hither you that hope, and you that cry, leave off complaining, Youth, strength, and beauty, that shall never dye, are here remaining. Come hither fooles, and blush, you stay so long from being blest, And mad men worse then you, that suffer wrong, Yet seeke no rest. And in an houre, with my enchanting Song, You shall be ever pleas'd, and yovng maids long.

Enter Lelia and her maid with a Night-gowne and Slippers.

Lel.

Sir you are welcome hither, as this kisse Given with a larger freedome then the use Of strangers will admit, shall witnesse to you. Put the gowne on him, in this chaire sit downe; Give him his slippers: be not so amaz'd, Here's to your health, and you shall feele this wine Stir lively in me, in the dead of night. Give him some wine; fall to your banquet Sir, And let us grow in mirth; though I am set Now thus far off you, yet four glasses hence I will sit here, And try, till both our bloods Shoote up and downe to finde a passage out, Then mouth, to mouth will we walke up to bed, And undresse one another as we goe; Where both my treasure, body, and my soule Are your's to be dispos'd of.

Fa.

Umh, umh.—

Makes signes of his white head & heard.

Lel.

You are old, Is that your meaning? why, you are to me The greater novelty, all our fresh youth Are daily offer'd me, though you performe As you thinke little, yet you satisfie My appetite: from your experience I may learn something in the way of lust I may be better for. But I can teach These young ones; But this day I did refuse A paire of 'em, Julio, and Angilo, And told them they were as they were Raw fooles and whelps.a

Maid.

Pray God he speak notb

Lel.

Why speak you not sweet Sir?

Fath.

Umh.—

Stops his ears, shews he is troubled with the Musick.

Lel.

Peace there, that musique, now Sir speak To me.

Fath.

Umh.—

Points at the Maid.

Lel.

Why? would you have her gone? you need not keep Your freedome in for her; she knows my life That she might write it; Thinke she is a stone? Shee is a kinde of bawdy Confessor, And will not utter secrets.

Fath.

Umh.—

Points at her againe.

Lel.

Be gone then, since he needs will have it so, Tis all one.

Exit Maid. — Fath. locks the doore.

'Is all now as you would? come meet me then, And bring a thousand kisses on thy lips, And I will rob thee of 'em, and yet leave Thy lips as wealthy as they were before.

Fa.

Yes, all is as I would but thou.

Lel.

By heaven 'tis my Father.—

Starts

Fath.

And I do beseech thee Leave these unheard of lusts which worse become thee, Then mocking of thy Father; let thine eyes Reflect upon thy soule, and there behold How loathed blacke it is; and whereas now Thy face is heavenly faire, but thy minde foule, Goe but into thy Closet, and there cry Till thou hast spoil'd that face, and thou shalt finde How excellent a change, thou wilt have made For inward beauty.

Lel.

Though I know him now To be my Father, never let me live If my lust do abate. I'le take upon me To have known him all this while.

Fath.

Looke, dost thou know me?

Lel.

I knew yee Sir before.

Fath.

What didst thou do?

Lel.

Knew you, and so unmov'dly have you borne All the sad crosses that I laid upon you, With such a noble temper, which indeed I purposely cast on you, to discern Your carriage in calamity, and you Have undergone 'em with that brave contempt, That I have turn'd the reverence of a childe

Into the hot affection of a Lover. Nor can there on the earth be found but yours A spirit fit to meete with mine.

Fath.

A woman? thou art not sure.

Lel.

Looke and beleeve.

Fath.

Thou art Something created to succeed the Devill When be growes weary of his envious course, And compassing the world; but I beleeve thee Thou didst but meane to try my patience, And do'st so still; but better be advis'd: And make thy tryall with some other things That safelier will admit a dalliance: And if it should be earnest, understand How curst thou art, so far from heaven, that thou Beleev'st it not enough to damn alone, Or with a stranger, but wouldst heape all sins Unnaturall upon this aged head And draw thy Father to thy Bed, and hell.

Lel.

You are deceiv'd Sir, 'tis not against nature For us to lye together; if you have An arrow of the same tree with your bow, Is't more unnaturall to shoot it there Then in another? 'Tis our generall nature To procreate, as fires is to consume, And it will trouble you to finde a sticke The fire will turne from: If't be natures will We should not mixe, she will discover to us Some most apparant crossenesse, as our organs Will not be fit; which if we do perceive Wee'l leave, and thinke it is her pleasure That we should deale with others.

Fath.

The dores are fast; thou shalt not say a prayer, 'Tis not Gods will thou shouldst; when this is done I'le kill my selfe, that never man may tell me I got thee.

Lel.

I pray you Sir, help ther, for Gods sake Sir.

Ang.

Hold reverend Sir, for honour of your age.

Fath.

Whoe's that?

Ang.

For safety of your soule, and of the soule Of that too wicked woman yet to dye.

Fa.

What art thou? and how cam'st thou to that place?

Ang.

I am a man so strangely hither come, That I have broke an oath in speaking this, But I believe 'twas better broke then kept, And I desire your patience; let me in, And I protest I will not hinder you In any act you wish, more then by word, If so I can perswade you, that I will not Use violence, I'le throw my sword down to you: This house holds none but I, only a maid Whom I will locke fast in as I come downe.

Fa.

I do not know thee, but thy tongue doth seeeme To be acquainted with the truth so well That I will let thee in: throw down thy sword.

Ang.

There 'tis.

Lel.

How came he there? I am betraid to shame, The feare of sodaine death strook me all over So violently, that I scarce have breath

He lets in Ang. and lockes the doore.

To speake yet: But I have it in my head, And out it shall, that (Father) may perhaps O're-reach you yet.

Enter Father and Angelo.

Fat.

Come Sir, what is't you say?

Lel.

My Angilo, by all the joyes of love Thou art as welcome as these plyant arms Twin'd round, and fast about thee, can perswade thee.

Ang.

Away.

Lel.

I was in such a fright before thou cam'st, You old mad fellow, (it will make thee laugh Though it feared me) has talkt so wildly here— Sirrha, he rusht in at my dores, and swore He was my Father, and I thinke beleev'd it: But that he had a sword, and threatned me— I'faith he was good sport, good, thrust him out That thou and I may kisse together; wilt thou?

Fath.

Are you her Champion? & with these fair words, Got in to rescue her from me.

Offer to run at him.

Ang.

Hold sir, I sweare I doe not harbour such a thought, I speake it not, for that you have two swords, But for tis truth.

Lel.

Two swords my Angilo? Thinke this, that thou hast two young brawny armes And ne're a sword, and he has two good swords And ne're an arme to use 'em; rush upon him, I could have beaten him with this weake body, If I had had the spirit of a man.

Ang.

Stand from me, and leave talking, or by heaven I'le trample thy last damning word out of thee.

Fa••.

Why do you hinder me then? stand away And I will rid her quickly.

Lel.

Would I were Cleare of this businesse, yet I cannot pray.

Ang.

Oh be advis'd, why you were better kill her If she were good; Convey her from this place Where none but you, and such as you appoint May visite her; where let her heare of nought But death and damning, which she hath deserv'd, Till she be truly, justly sorrowful, And then lay mercy to her, who does know But she may mend?

Fa.

But whither should I beare her?

Ang.

To my house, 'Tis large, and private, I will lend it you.

Fa.

I thanke you Sir, and happily it fits With some designe I have, but how shall we Convey her?

Lel.

Will they cary me away?

Fa.

For she wil scratch and kick, & scream so loud That people will be drawn to rescue her.

Ang.

Why? none can hear her here, but her own maid, Who is as fast as she.

Fa.

But in the streete?

Ang.

Why, we will take 'em both into the Kitchin, There binde 'em, and then gag 'em, and then throw 'em Into a Coach I'le bring to the backe-dore, And hurry 'em away.

Fa.

It shall be so, I owe you much for this; and I may pay you, There is your sword, lay hold upon her quickly, This way with me, thou disobedient childe. Why do's thy stubborn heart beat at thy breast? Let it be still, for I will have it search'd Till I have found a well of living teares Within it, that shall spring out of thine eyes, And flow all o're thy body foul'd with sin, Till it have wash'd it quite without a stain.

They drag her.

Lel.

Help! help! ah! ah! Murther, I shall be murthered, I shall be murthered.

Fa.

This helps thee not.

Lel.

Basely murdered, basely.

Fa.

I warrant you.

Exeunt.

Actus Quintus,

Scaena Prima.

Enter Lodowicke and Piso.

Lod.

THis roguy Captaine has made fine work with us.

Pi••o

I would the Devill in a storm would carry him Home to his Garison againe; I ake all over, That I am sure of; Certainly my body Is of a wild-fire, for my head rings backward, Or else I have a morise in my braines.

Lod.

I'le deale no more with souldiers: wel remembred, Did not the Vision promise to appeare About this time again?

Piso.

Yes, here he comes: He's just on's word.

Enter Father.

Fath.

O, they be here together, Shee's penitent, and by my troth I stagger Whether (as now she is) either of these Two fooles be worthy of her; yet because Her youth is prone to fall againe, ungovern'd, And marriage now may stay her, one of 'em: And Piso, since I understand him abler, Shall be the man; the other beare the charges, And willingly, as I will handle it. I have a Ring here, which he shall believe Is sent him from a woman I have thought of: But e're I leave it, I'le have one of his In pawne worth two on't: for I will not loose By such a messe of sugar-sops as this is: I am too old.

Lod.

It moves againe, let's meet it.

Fa.

Now if I be not out, we shall have fine sport, I am glad I have met you Sir, so happily, You do remember me, I am sure.

Lod.

I doe Sir.

Piso.

This is a short praeludium to a challenge.

Fa.

I have a message Sir, that much concerns you, And for your speciall good; Nay you may heare too.

Piso.

VVhat should this fellow meane?

Fa.

There is a Lady, (How the poore thing begins to warme already) Come to this Towne, (as yet a stranger here Sir) Faire, young, and rich, both in possessions, And all the graces that make up a woman, A widow, and a vertuous one: It workes, He needs no broath upon't,

Lod.

VVhat of her Sir?

Fath.

No more but this; she loves you.

Lod.

Loves me?

Fa.

Yes. And with a strong affection, but a faire one, If ye be wise and thankfull, you are made: ther's the whole matter.

Lod.

I am sure I heare this.

Fath.

Here is a Ring Sir, of no little value: Which after she had seen you at a window, She bad me hast, and give it, when she blush'd Like a blown rose.

Lod.

But pray Sir by your leave— Me thinks your yeares should promise no ill meaning.

Fa.

I am no Bawd, nor cheater, nor a coarser Of broken-winded women: if you feare me I'le take my leave: and let my Lady use A fellow of more forme; an honester I am sure she cannot.

Lod.

Stay, you have confirm'd me, Yet let me feele, you are in health.

Fa.

I hope so, My water's well enough, and my pulse.

Lod.

Then All may be excellent: pray pardon me; For I am like a boy that had found money, Afraid I dreame still.

Piso.

Sir, what kind of woman? Of what proportion is your Lady?

Lod.

I,

Fa.

I'le tell you presently her very picture, Do you know a woman in this towne they call, Stay, yes, it is so, Lelia?

Piso.

Not by sight.

Fa.

Nor you Sir?

Lod.

Neither.

Fa.

These are precious Rogues To raile upon a woman they never saw; So they would use their Kindred.

Piso.

We have heard though She is very faire and goodly.

Fa.

Such another, Just of the same complexion, making, speech, But a thought sweeter is my Lady.

Lod.

Then Shee must be excellent indeed.

Fa.

Indeed she is, And you will finde it so; you do beleeve me?

Lod.

Yes marry do I, and I am so alter'd —

Fa.

Your happinesse will alter any man. Do not delay the time Sir: at a house Where Don Valasco lay, the Spanish Signior (Which now is Signieur Angelos) she is.

Lod.

I know it.

Fa.

But before you shew your selfe, Let it be night by all meanes, willingly By day she would not have such gallants seene Repair unto her 'tis her modesty.

Lod.

I'le goe and fit my selfe.

Fa.

Doe, and be sure You send provision in, in full abundance, Fit for the marriage; for this night I know Shee will be yours: Sir, have you never a token Of worth to send her backe againe? you must, Shee will expect it.

Lod.

Yes, pray give her this, And with it all I have; I am made for ever.

Exit Lod.

Piso.

Well, thou hast fooles lucke; should I live as long As an old oake, and say my prayers hourly I should not be the better of a penny. I think the Devill be my ghostly Father; Upon my conscience I am full as handsome, I am sure I have more wit, and more performance, Which is a pretty matter.

Fa.

Do you thinke sir, That your friend Signeur Piso will be constant Unto my Lady? you should know him well.

Piso.

Who? Signieur Piso?

Fa.

Yes, the Gentleman.

Piso.

VVhy, you are wide Sir.

Fa.

Is not his name Piso?

Piso.

No, mine is Piso.

Fa.

How?

Piso.

'Tis indeed Sir, And his is Lodowicke.

Fa.

Then I am undone Sir, For I was sent at first to Piso; what a rascall

VVas I, so ignorantly to mistake you?

Piso.

Peace. There is no harme done yet.

Fa.

Now 'tis too late, I know my errour: At turning of a Street, For you were then upon the right hand of him, You chang'd your places sudainly: where I (Like a crosse Block-head) lost my memory: What shall I do? my Lady utterly Will put me from her favour.

Piso.

Never feare it, I'le be thy guard, I warrant thee, O, O, Am I at length reputed? for the Ring, I'le fetch it back with a light vengance from him: Had better keep tame Devills, then that Ring; Art thou not Steward?

Fa.

No.

Piso.

Thou shalt be shortly

Fa.

Lord how he takes it?

Piso.

I'le go shift me streight; Art sure it was to Piso?

Fa.

O too sure Sir.

Piso.

I'le mount thee if I live for't, Give me patience heav'n to be are this blessing I beseech thee; I am but man; I pre'thee breake my head To make me understand, I am sensible.

Fa.

Lend me your dagger, and I will Sir.

Piso.

No I believe now like a good Christian.

Fa.

Good Sir make hast; I dare not go without ye Since I have so mistaken.

Piso.

'Tis no matter, Meet me within this halfe houre at St. Margrets. Well go thy wayes old leg, thou hast the trick on't.

Exit. Piso.

Enter Angilo, and Julio.

Ang.

How now? the newes?

Fa.

Well, passing well, I have 'em, Both in a leash and made right for my purpose.

Jul.

I am glad on't I must leave you.

Ang.

Whether man?

Jul.

If all go right, I may be fast enough too.

Ang.

I cry you mercie Sir, I know your meaning, Clora's the woman, she's Francks bedfellow, Commend me to 'em, and go Julio Bring 'm to supper all, to grace this matter; They serve for witnesses.

Ju.

I will, Farewell.

Exit Jul at one dore, & Ang, & Fa, at another.

Scaena Secunda.

Enter Clora, Franck, and Fredrick, and Maid.

Fred.

Sister, I brought you Jacamo to the doore, He has forgot all that he said last night: And shame of that makes him more loath to come, I left Fabritio perswading him, but 'tis in vaine.

Fra.

Alas my fortune Clora.

Clor.

Now Franck, See what a kind of man you love, That loves you when hee's drunk; If so Faith I would marry him; My friends I hope Would make him drink.

Clor.

'Tis well consider'd Franck, he has such pretty humours then, Besides being a Souldier, 'tis better he should love You when hee's drunck, then when hee's sober, for then he Will be sure to love you, the greatest part on's life.

Fra.

And were not I a happy woman then?

Clor.

That ever was borne Franck. y'faith—

Fred.

How now? what sayes hee?

Enter Fabritio.

Fab.

Faith you may as well tice a dog up with a whip, and bell As him, by telling him of love and women, he sweares They mock him.

Fred.

Looke how my Sister weepes.

Fab.

VVhy who can helpe it?

Fred.

Yes, you may safly sweare she loves him.

Fab.

VVhy so I did; and may do all the oathes, Arithmatique can make, ere he believe me, And since he was last drunk, he is more jealous They would abuse him: If we could perswade him She lov'd, he would embrace it.

Fred.

She her selfe Shall bate so much of her owne modesty To sweare it to him; with such teares as now You see raine from her.

Fab.

I believe 'twould worke, But would you have her do't i'th open street? Or if you would hee'le run away from her, How shall we get him hither?

Fred.

By entreaty.

Fab.

'Tis most impossible, No, If we could Anger him hither, as ther is no way But that to bring him; and then hold him fast Women, and men, whilst she delivers to him the truth Seal'd with her teares, he would be plaine As a pleas'd child; he walkes below for me Under the window.

Clor.

VVee'le anger him I warrant ye, Let one of the maides take a good bowle of water, Or say it be a piss-pott, and power't on's head.

Fab.

Content hang me If I like not the cast of it rarely, for no question it, Is an approv'd receipt to fetch such a fellow Take all the women-kind in this house, betwixt the age of one, And one hundred, & let them take unto them a pott or a Bowle containing seven quarts or upwards, & let them Never leave, till the above named, Pott or Bowle become full, then let one of them stretch out Her arme and power it on his head, add Probatum est, it VVill fetch him, for in his anger he will run up, & then let Us alone.

Clor.

Go you and do it.

Exit Maid.

Fra.

Good Clora, no.

Clor.

Away I say & do it; never feare, we have enough of that Water ready distill'd.

Fra.

Why this will make him mad Fabritio, Hee'le neither love me drunke, nor sober now.

Fab.

I warrant you: what, is the wench come up?

Enter Wench above.

Clo.

Art thou there wench?

Wench.

I.

Fab.

Looke out then if thou canst see him.

Wench.

Yes I see him, & by my troth he stands so faire I could not Hold were he my Father; his hat's of too, & he's scratching His head.

Fab.

O wash that hand I pre'thee. (I have throwne thee

Wench.

God send thee good luck, this the second time, Out to day, ha, ha, ha, just on's head.

Fra.

Alas!

Fab.

What does he now?

Wench.

He gathers stones, God's light, he breakes all the Street windows

Jac.

Whore's Bawdes, your windowes, your windowes.

Wench.

Now he is breaking all the low windowes with his Sword,

Excellent sport, Now he's beating a fellow that laugh'd at him; Truely the man takes it patiently; Now he goes downe the Street Gravely, looking on each side, ther's not one more dare laugh.

Fra.

Does he go on?

Wench.

Yes.

Fra.

Fabritio, you have undone a Maid

Fran. kneeles.

By treachery; know you some other better, You would prefer your friend to? If you do not Bring him againe, I have no other hope, But you that made me loose hope, If you faile me, I ne're shall see him, but shall languish out A discontented life, and dye contemn'd.

Fab.

This vexes me, I pray you be more patient

lift her up

If I have any truth, let what will happen, I'le bring him presently, Do you all stand At the Street dore, the Maides, and all, to watth When I come backe, and have some private place To shuffle me into, for he shall follow In fury, but I know I can out run him: As he comes in, clap all fast hold on him, And use your owne discretions.

Fred.

Wee will do it.

Fab.

But sudainly for I will bring him hither, With that unstop'd speed that you shall run over All that's in's way: and though my life be ventur'd 'Tis no great matter, will do't.

Fra.

I thanke you, Worthy Fabritio.

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia

Enter Jacamo.

Iac.

I ever knew no woman could abide me, But am I growne so contemptible, by being once drunke Amongst 'em, that they begin to throw pisse on my head? For surely it was pisse huh, huh.

seeme to smell.

Enter Fabritio.

Fab.

Jacamo, how do'st thou?

Jac.

Well, something troubled with watrish humours.

Fab.

Foh, how thou stinck'st; pre'thee stand further of me Me things these humours become thee better then thy dry Chollerick humours, or thy wine-wet humours; ha?

Jac.

You'r pleasant, but Fabrito know I am not in the wood of Suffering jest.

Fab.

If you be not i'th mood I hope you will not be moody But truely I cannot blame the Gentlewoman, you stood evesdropping, Under their window, and would not come up.

Jac.

Sir, I suspect now, by your idle talke Your hand was in't, which if I once believe, Be sure you shall account to me.

Fab.

The Gentlewomen and the Maides have counted to you already The next turne I see is mine.

Jac.

Let me dye but this is very strange; good Fabritio Do not provoake me so.

Fab.

Provoke you? you'r growne the strongest fellow; ther's no Keeping company with you, phish; take you that.

Jac.

O all the Devills? stand Slave.

Fab. give him a box o'th ear sodainly, & throws him frem him, & goes his walls, whilst Iaca. drawes his Sword.

Fab.

follow me if thou dar'st.

Jac.

Stay coward, stay.—

Ja: runnes after Fabritio.

Scaena quarta.

Enter Fred. Fra. Clora. and Servant and Maid

Clor.

Be ready for I see Fabritio running, And Jacamo behind him.

Enter Fabritio.

Fab.

Wher's the place.

Fred.

That way Fabritio.

Exit Fab.

Enter Jacamo.

Jac.

Where art thou treacher?

Fred. Clor, and Maid, lay hold on Jacamo.

What is the matter Sirs? Why do you hold me? I am basely wrong'd, Torture, and hell, be with you; let me go.

they drag him to a chaire and hold him downe in't.

Fred.

Good Iacamo be patient, and but heare What I can say, you know I am your friend, If you yet doubt it, by my soule I am.

Iac.

S'death stand away; I would my breath were poyson.

Fred.

As I have life that which was throwne on you, And this now done, were but to draw you hither For causes weighty, that concerne your selfe Uoid of all malice, which this Maid my Sister Shall tell you.

Iac.

Puh, a pox upon you all; you will not hold me For ever here, and till you let me go, I'le talke no more.

Franck.

As you'r a Gentleman Let not this boldnesse make me be beleev'd, To be immodest; If there were a way More silently to be acquainted with you God knowes, that I would choose, But as it is Take it in plainesse: I do love you more Then you do your content, If you refuse To pitty me, I'le never cease to weepe, And when mine eyes be out I will be told How fast the teares I shed for you do fall, And if they do not flow abundantly, I'le fetch a sigh shall make 'em start, and leap, As if the fire weare under.

Iac.

Fine mocking, fine mocking.

Fred.

Mocking? looke how she weepes.

Iac.

Do's she counterfeit crying too.

Fred.

Behold how the teares flow, or pitty her Or never more be call'd a man.

Iac.

How's this? soft you, soft you my Masters: Is't possible thinke you, She should be in earnest?

Clor.

Earnest? I in earnest: she's a foole to breake so many sleepes, That would have been sound ones, & venture such a face, & So much life, for ere an humorous asse i'th world.

Fra.

Why Clora? I have knowne you cry as much? For Julio, that has not halfe his worth, All night you write and weepe too much I feare I do but what I should.

Clor.

If I do write I am answer'd Franck.

Fra.

I would I might be so.

Jac.

Good Fredrick let me go I would faine trye If that thing do not counterfeit.

Fred.

Give me your Sword then.

Jac.

No, but take my word, As I am man, I will not hurt a creature Under this roofe, before I have deliver'd My selfe, as I am now into your handes, Or have your full consent.

Fred.

It is enough.

Ja

Gentlwoman, I pray you let me fele your face; I am an Infidell, if she do not weepe: Stay, wher's my handkerchife? I'le wipe the old wett off, the fresh teares come, pox on't I am a handsome, gratious fellow amongst women, and Knew't not Gentlewoman; how should I know these For me? Is not your Mother dead?

Fra.

By heaven they are for you.

Iac.

Slight I'le have my head corld, and powderd to teares are morrow By breake of day; If you love me, I pray you kisse me, For If I love you, it shall be such love, as I will not be A sham'd of, If this be a mock—

kisses,

It is the hartiest, and the sweetest mock That ere I tasted, mock me so againe

—kisse againe

Fred.

Fy Iacamo? why do you let her kneele So long?

Iac.

It's true I had forgot it

—lift her up,

And should have done this twelve-moneth; pray you rise Fredrick, If I could all this while have been perswaded she could Have lov'd me, dost thou thinke I had not rather kisse her Then another should? and yet you may gull me for ought I know, but if you do, hell take me If I do not cutt All your throates sleeping.

Fred.

Oh do not thinke of such a thing.

Jac.

Otherwise, If she be in earnest, the short is I am.

Fran.

Alas, I am.

Iac.

And I did not think it possible any woman Could have lik'd this face, it's good for nothing, is't?

Clor.

Yes it's worth forty shillings to pawne, being lind almost quite Through with velvet.

Fra.

'Tis better then your Iulio's.

Iac.

Thou thinkest so, But otherwise, in faith it is not Franck

—whilst Iacamo is kissing Franck.

Enter Fabritio.

Fab.

Hist Iacamo; How do'st thou Boy? ha?

Iac.

Why very well, I thank you Sir.

Fab.

Do'st thou perceive the reason of matters, and passages, Yet Sirah, or no?

Jac.

'Tis wondrous good Sir.

Fab.

I have done simply for you, but now you are beatten to some Understanding, I pray you dally not with the Gentlewoman But dispatch your Matrimony, with all convenient speed.

Fred.

He gives good counsell.

Jac.

And I will follow it.

Fab.

And I you, prethee do not take it unkindly, For trust me I boxt thee for thy advancement, A foolish desire I had to joggle thee into preferment.

Iac.

I apprehend you Sir, & if I can study out a course How a bastinadoing may any waies raise your fortunes In the State, you shall be sure on't.

Fab.

Oh Sir keepe your way, God send you much joy.

Clor.

And me my Iulio. O God I heare his voyce, now he is true, Have at a marriage Franck, as soone as you

—Exeunt all but Fred.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess.

Sir I would speake with you.

Fred.

What is your hasty busines friend?

Mess.

The Duke commandes your present attendance at Court.

Fred.

The cause?

Mess.

I know not in particular; but this Many are sent for more, about affaires Forraigne I take it Sir.

Fred.

I will be there Within this houre, returne my humble service.

Mess.

I will Sir.

Exit Messenger.

Fred.

Farewell friend, what new's with you?

Enter a Servant

Ser.

My Mistris would desire you Sir to follow With all the hast you can, she is gon to Church, To marry Captaine Iacamo, and Iulio, To do as much for the young merry Gentlewoman, Faire Mistris Clora.

Fred.

Julio, marry Clora? Thou art deceiv'd I warrant thee.

Ser.

No sure Sir, I saw their lips as close upon the bargaine As Cockles.

Fred.

Give 'em joy, I cannot now goe, The Duke hath sent for me in hast.

Ser.

This note Sir: when you are free, will bring you where they are.

Ex.

Fred.

reades.

You shall finde us all at Signeur Angilo's, Where Piso, and the worthy Lelia Of famous memory are to be married, And we not far behinde. Would I had time To wonder at this last couple in hell.

Enter Messenger againe.

Mess.

You are staid for Sir.

Fred.

I come, pray God the businesse Hold me not from this sport, I would not loose it.

Exeunt.

Scaena Quinta.

Enter Father and Servant.

Ang.

God give you joy, and make you live together A happy paire.

Piso.

I do not doubt we shall. There was never poore Gentleman had such a sodaine fortune, I could thrust my head betwixt 2. pales, & strip me out of My old skin like a Snake: will the guests come thou saidst Thou sentest for to solemnize the Nuptials?

Fa.

They will, I looke for em ere this.

Enter Julio, Jacamo, Fabritio, Franke, Clora.

Iul.

By your leave all.

Fath.

They'r here Sir.

Iul.

Especially faire Lady I aske your pardon, to whose marriage bed I wish all good successe, I have here brought you Such guests as can discerne your happinesse, And best do know how to rejoyce at it; For such a fortune they themselves have run, The worthy Iacamo, and his faire Bride, Noble Fabritio, whom this age of peace Has not yet aught to love ought but the warrs, And his true friends, this Lady who is but A piece of me.

Lel.

Sir, you are welcome all, Are they not Sir?

Piso.

Bring in some wine, some of the wine Lodwick the foole.

Exit Fath.

Sent hither: who ever thou bid'st welcome shall finde it

Lel.

An unexpected honour you have done To our too hasty wedding.

Iac.

Faith Madam, our weddings were as hasty as yours We'ar glad to run up & downe any whether, to see where We can get meat to our wedding.

Piso.

That Lodwick hath provided too, good Asse.

Ang.

I thought you Iulio, would not thus have stollen a marriage Without acquainting your friends.

Iul.

Why I did give thee incklings.

Ang.

If a marriage should be thus slubberd up in a play, er'e almost

Any body had taken notice you were in love, the Spectators Would take it to be but ridiculous.

Iul.

This was the first, and I will never hide An other secret from you.

Enter Father.

Father.

Sir, yonder's your friend Lodwick, hide your selfe And 'twill be the best sport—

Piso

Gentlemen, I pray you take no notice, I'm here. The coxcomb Lodwick is coming in.

Enter Lodwick.

Lodwick.

Is that that Lady?

Fath.

That is my Lady.

Lod.

As I live she's a faire one; what make al these heere?

Fath.

O Lord Sir she is so pesterd—

Fab.

Novv vvill the sport be, it runnes right as Iulio told us

Lod.

Faire Lady health to you; some vvords I have, that Require an utterance more private, Then this place can afford.

Lel.

I'le call my husband All businesse I heare vvith his eares novv.

Lod.

Good Madam no, bet I perceive your jest, You have no husband, I am the very man That vvalk'd the streetes so comely.

Lel

Are you so?

Lod.

Yes faith, vvhen Cupid first did prick your heart I am not cruell, but the love began I'th Street I'le satisfie i'th chamber fully.

Lel.

To aske a Madman vvhether he be mad Were but an idle question, if you be, I do not speake to you, but if you be not Walke in the Streetes againe and there perhaps I may dote on you, here I not endure you.

Lod.

Good Madam stay do not you know this Ring?

Lel.

Yes it vvas mine, I sent it by my Man, To change and so he did, it has a blemish, And this he brought me for it; did you change it? Are you a Goldsmith?

Lod.

Sure the world is mad, Sirrah, did you not bring me this ring from your Lady?

Fa.

Yes surely Sir, did I, but your worship must ev'n beare with me; For there was a mistaking in it, and so: as I was Saying to your worship, my Lady is now married.

Lod.

Married? to whom?

Fa.

To your worships friend Piso.

Lod.

S'death to Piso?

Piso.

within. Ha, ha, ha.

Ang.

Yes Sir I can assure you she's maried to him, I saw't With these gray eyes.

Lod.

Why what a Rogue art thou then? thou hast made Me send in provision too.

Fa.

O a Gentleman should not have such fowle wordes in's mouth But your Worships provision could not have come in at a fitter time; Will it please you to tast any of your owne wine? It may be the Vintner has cozend you.

Lod.

Pox I am mad.

Ang.

You have alwayes plots Sir, & see how they fall out.

Iac.

You had a plott upon me, how do you like this?

Lod.

I do not speake to you.

Fab.

Because you dare not.

Lod.

But I will have one of that old Rogues teeth sett in this Ring

Fath.

Do'st not thou know that I can beate thee? Dost thou know it now? (discovers himselfe)

Lod.

He beate me once indeed.

Fath.

And if you have forgot it, I can call a witnesse. Come forth Piso—remember you it?

Piso

Faith I do call to minde such a matter.

Fath.

And if I cannot still do't, you are young And will assist your Father in law.

Piso.

My Father in law?

Ang.

Your Father in law, as sure as this is widow Lelia.

Piso.

How widow Lelia?

Fath.

I faith 'tis she, Sonne.

Lod.

Ha, ha, ha, let my provision go, I am glad I Have mist the woman.

Piso.

Have you put a whore upon me?

Lel.

By heaven you do me wrong, I have a heart As pure as any womans, and I meane To keep it so for ever.

Fa.

There is no starting now, Son, if you offer't I can compell you, her estate is great, But all made o're to me, before this match, Yet if you use her kindly, as I sweare I thinke she will deserve, you shall enjoy it During your life, all save some slender piece I will reserve for my own maintenance, And if God blesse you with a childe by her, It shall have all.

Piso.

So I may have the meanes I doe not much care what the woman is: Come my sweet heart, as long as I shall finde Thy kisses sweet, and thy meanes plentifull, Let people talke their tongues out.

Lel.

They may talke Of what is past, but all that is to come Shall be without occasions.

Iul.

Shall we not make Piso, and Lodwick friends?

Iac.

Hang'em they dare not be Enemies, or if they be, The danger is not greate, vvelcome Fredrick.

Enter Fredrick.

Fredrick.

First joy unto you all; and next I think We shall haue vvarres.

Iac.

Give me some vvine, I'le drinke to that.

Fab.

I'le pledge.

Fran.

But I shall loose you then.

Iac.

Not a vvhit vvench; I'le teach thee presently to be a Souldier

Fred.

Fabritios command, and yours are both restor'd

Iac.

Bring me foure glasses then.

Fab.

Where are they?

Ang.

You shall not drink 'em here, 'tis supper time, And from my house no creature here shall stir, These three dayes, mirth shall flow as well as wine.

Fa.

Content, within I'le tell you more at large How much I am bound to all, but most to you, Whose undeserved liberality Must not escape thus unrequited,

Jac.

'Tis happinsse to me, I did so well: Of every noble action, the intent Is to give worth reward, vice, punishment.

Exeunt Om.

Notes

• a

  Ang. makes discontented signes.
• b

  Maid lais her finger crosse her mouth to him.
• Fath. draws his sword. Angilo discovers himself.