Fifty comedies and tragedies written by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Gentlemen ; all in one volume, published by the authors original copies, the songs to each play being added.

THE CAPTAIN. A COMEDY.

Persons Represented in the Play.

• Julio, a noble Gentleman, in Love with Lelia.
• Angelo, a Gentleman, friend to Julio.
• ...
  two Cowardly Gulls.
  • ...Lodovico,
  • ...Piso,
• Frederick, a Gentleman, Brother to Frank.
• Jacomo, an angry Captain, a Woman-hater.
• Fabritio, a merry Souldier, friend to Jacomo.
• Lelia's Father, an old poor Gentleman.
• Host.
• Vintner.
• Drawers.
• Servants.
• ...
  WOMEN.
  • Frank, Sister to Frederick, a Lady passionately in love with Jacomo.
  • Clara, Sister to Fabritio, a witty companion to Frank.
  • Lelia, a cunning wanton Widow.
  • Waiting-woman.
  • Maid Servants.

The Scene Venice, Spain.

The principal Actors were,

• Richard Burbadge.
• Henry Condel.
• William Ostler.
• Alexander Cooke.

Actus Primus.

Scena Prima.

Enter Lodovico, and Piso.

Lodovico.

THE truth is, Piso, so she be a woman And rich and wholsome, let her be of what Condition and Complexion it please, She shall please me I am sure; Those men are fools That make their eyes their choosers, not their needs.

Piso.

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

Lod.

Yes if I could have both, but since they are Wishes so near 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 believe me, I do not think I should.

Piso.

But thou would'st be I do not doubt upon the least suspicion Unmercifully jealous.

Lod.

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

Piso.

So should not I by' our Lady, and I think My patience (by your leave) as good as yours, Report would stir me mainly, I am sure on't.

Lod.

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

Piso.

What then?

Lod.

Why Cuckoldom, for we should lose Our old faiths clean, and hold their new opinions: If talk could make me sweat, before I would marry I'd tie a surer knot, and hang my self; 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) Besides the forcing of himself an Ass He dyes in chains, eating himself with anger.

Piso.

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

Lod.

Thou dost not feel the nature of this Physick 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 confess Would stagger my best patience: From that woman As I would bless my self from plagues and surfeits, From Men of war at Sea, from storms, 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 hour, I should not lye) To be delivered of all these in one, The woman thou hast named.

Enter Julio, Angelo, and Father.

Piso.

Thou hast set her in a pretty Litany.

Ang.

Pray take my counsel.

Jul.

When I am my self I'le hear you any way; love me though thus As thou art honest, which I dare not be Lest I despise my self. Farewel.

Exit Julio.

Piso.

Do you hear my friend: Sir, are you not a setter, For the fair widow here of famous memory?

Fa.

Ha? am I taken for a Bawd? Oh Heaven! To mine own child too? misery, I thank thee That keepst me from their knowledge: Sir, believe me I understand ye not.

Lod.

You love plain dealing. Are you not parcel Bawd? confess your Function, It may be we would use it.

Fa.

Were she worse, As I fear strangely she is ill enough, I would not hear this tamely.

Piso.

Here's a shilling To strike good luck withal.

Fa.

Here's a Sword, Sir, To strike a Knave withal, thou lyest, and basely, Be what thou wilt.

Ang.

Why how now Gentlemen?

Fa.

You are many: I shall meet you, Sir, again, And make you understand, y'have wrong'd a Woman Compar'd with whom thy Mother was a sinner. Farewel.

Piso.

He has amazed me.

Exit Father.

Ang.

With a blow? By'r Lady 'twas a found one; are ye good At taking knocks? I shall know you hereafter: You were to blame to tempt a man so far Before you knew him certain: h'as not hurt ye?

Piso.

No I think.

Lod.

We were to blame indeed to go so far, For men may be mistaken: if he had swinged us H'had serv'd us right: Beshrew my heart, I think, We 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 said 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 Than a sharp Sermon, here probatum est.

Enter Frederick, 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 self, and whining To her old melancholy Lute, I'le keep As far from her as the Gallows.

Exit Servant.

Ang.

Who's that, Frederick?

Fred.

Yes marry is't. O Angelo how dost thou?

Ang.

Save you Sir, how does my Mistris?

Fred.

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

Ang.

Is he come over?

Fred.

Yes a week ago: Shall we dine?

Ang.

I cannot.

Fred.

Prethee do.

Ang.

Believe me I have business.

Fred.

Have you too, Gentlemen?

Piso.

No Sir.

Fred.

Why then let's dine together.

Lod.

With all my heart.

Fred.

Go then: Farewel good Angelo, Commend me to your friend.

Ang.

I will.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Frank, and Clora.

Clo.

Do not dissemble Frank, mine eyes are quicker Than such observers, that do ground their faith Upon one smile or tear; y'are much alter'd, And are as empty of those excellencies That were companions to you; I mean mirth And free disposure of your blood and Spirit, As you were born a mourner.

Fran.

How I prethee? For I perceive no such change in my self.

Clo.

Come, come, this is not wise, nor provident To halt before a Cripple: if you love, Be liberal 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.

Clo.

Yes marry would I, I should not please ye else.

Fran.

And who for Heavens sake? For I assure my self, I know not yet: And prethee Clora, since thou'lt have it so That I must love, and do I know not what: Let him be held 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.

Clor.

Well I will found ye yet for all your craft.

Fran.

Heigh ho! I'le love no more.

Clo.

Than one; and him You shall love Frank.

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, With a clean strength, that cracks a cudgel well And dances at a Wake, and plays at Nine-holes.

Fran.

O what pretty commendations thou hast given him! Faith if I were in love as I thank Heaven

I do not think I am; this short Epistle Before my love would make me burn the Legend.

Clor.

You are too wild, I mean some Gentleman.

Fran.

So do not I, till I can know 'em wiser: Some Gentleman? no Clora, till some Gentleman Keep some land, and fewer whores, believe me I'le keep no love for him, I do not long To go a foot yet, and solicite causes.

Clor.

What think you then of an adventurer? I mean some wealthy Merchant.

Fran.

Let him venture In some decai'd Ware, or Carack of his own: he shall not Rig me out, that's the short on't; out upon't: What young thing of my years would endure To have her Husband in another Country Within a month after she is married Chopping for rotten Raisins, and lye pining At home under the mercy of his fore-man? no, Though they be wealthy, and indifferent wise I do not see that I am bound to love 'em.

Clo.

I see ye are 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 time so idlely? Prethee let us entertain some other talk, This is as sickly to me as faint weather.

Clor.

Now I believe I shall content you Frank, What think you of a Courtier?

Fran.

Faith so ill, That if I should be full, and speak but truth, 'Twould shew as if I wanted charity, Prethee good wench let me not rail upon 'em, Yet I have an excellent stomach, and must do it; I have no mercy of these Infidels Since I am put in mind on't, good wench bear with me.

Clo.

Can no man fit you? I will find him out.

Fran.

This Summer f••uit, that you call Courtier, While you continue cold and frosty to him Hangs fast, and may be found: but when you s••ing Too full a heat of your affections Upon his root, and make him ripe too soon, You'll find him rotten i'th' handling; His oaths and affections are all one With his apparel, things to set him off, He has as many Mistrisses as Faiths, And all Apocrypha; his true belief Is only in a private Surgion, And for my single self, I'd sooner venture A new conversion of the Indies, Than to make Courtiers able men, or honest.

Clo.

I do believe you love no Courtier, And by my troth to ghess you into love With any I can think of, is beyond Either your will, or my imagination. And yet I am sure y'are caught: and I will know him. There's none left now worthy the thinking of, Unless it be a Souldier, and I am sure, I would ever bless my self from such a fellow.

Fran.

Why prethee?

Clo.

Out upon 'em fire-locks, They are nothing i'th' world but Buff and Scarlet, Tough unhewn pieces, to hack swords upon; I had as lieve be courted by a Cannon, As one of those.

Fran.

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

Clo.

Say ye so? I'le pull ye on a little further. What worth can be in those men, whose profession Is nothing i'th' world but drink and damn me, Out of whose violence they are possest With 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.

Fran.

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

Clo.

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

Fra.

This Heresie must be look'd to in time: for if it spread 'Twill grow too Pestilent; were I a Scholar I would so hamper thee for thy opinion, That ere I left, I would write thee out of credit With all the world, and make thee not believ'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 fool (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 speak but truth) Of all the old world, only left to keep Man as he was, valiant and vertuous. They are the model of those men, whose honours We heave our hands at when we hear 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 self; Come, I have found your way of commendations, And what I said, was but to pull it from ye.

Fran.

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

Clo.

I will have the man Ere I forsake ye.

Fran.

I must to my Chamber.

Clo.

May not I go along?

Fran.

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

Clo.

Well, I will not.

Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Lelia and her Waiting-woman.

Lel.

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

Wom.

The old man forsooth.

Lel.

What 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 fain speak with you.

Lel.

Wilt thou never learn more manners, Than to draw in such needy Rascals to disquiet me? Go, answer him I will not be at leasure.

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 him speak with you.

Lel.

Lord how tender stomach'd you are grown of late? You are not in love with him, are ye? If ye be, strike up the match; you shall have Three I. and a pair of blankets! will ye go answer him?

Wom.

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

Lel.

Well, let him in then if there be no remedy; I thank Heaven I am Able to abuse him, I shall ne'r come clear else of him.

Enter Father.

Now Sir, what is your business? pray be short; for I have other Matters of more moment to call me from ye.

Fa.

If you but look upon me like a Daughter And keep that love about ye that makes good A Fathers hope, you'l quickly find my business, And what I would say to you, and before I ask, will be a giver: say that sleep, I m••an 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 finds This dead forgetfulness, it works so strongly, That if the least heat of a childs affection Remain unperish'd, like another nature, It makes all new again; pray do not scorn me, Nor seem to make your self a greater business Than my relieving.

Lel.

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

Fa.

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 lose her promises; thou art one of those She set her stamp more excellently on, Than common people, as fore-telling thee, A general example of her goodness; Or say she could lye, yet Religion (For love to Parents is Religious) Would lead thee right again: Look well upon me, I am the root that gave thee nourishment, And made thee spring fair, do not let me perish Now I am old and sapless.

Lelia.

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 self, and be a Beggar Still in relieving you? I do not feel Any such mad compassion yet within me.

Fa.

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 back again.

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 fit, and lookt for, that they should do so.

Fa.

Is this your comfort?

Lel.

All that I feel yet.

Fa.

I will not curse thee.

Lel.

If you do I care not.

Fa.

Pray you give me leave to weep.

Lel.

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

Fa.

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 pains 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 hoard up mill-mony? me thinks a Marble Lyes quieter upon an old mans head Than a cold fit o'th' Palsey.

Fa.

O good Heaven! To what an impudence thou wretched woman, Hast thou begot thy self again! well, justice Will punish disobedience.

Lel.

You mistake, Sir; 'Twill punish Beggars, fye for shame go work, Or serve, you are grave enough to be a Porter In some good man of worships house, and give Sententious answers to the comers in. A pretty place; or be of some good Consort, You had a pleasant touch o'th' Cittern once, If idleness have not bereft you of it: Be any thing but old and Beggarly, Two sins that ever do outgrow compassion; If I might see you offer at a course That were a likely one, and shew'd some profit, I would not stick for ten Groats, or a Noble.

Fath.

Did I beget this woman?

Lel.

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

Fath.

I am so strangely strucken with amazement, I know not where I am, nor what I am.

Lel.

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

Fath.

Is all this As you mean, Lelia?

Lel.

Yes believe me is it, For yet I cannot think you are so foolish, As to imagine you are young enough To be my heir, or I so old to make A Nurse at these years 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 boil away, you shall be welcome to me; 'Till when I'd have you be as merry, Sir, As you can make your self with that you have, And leave to trouble me with these relations, Of what you have been to me, or you are, For as I hear them, so I lose them; this For ought I know yet, is my resolution.

Fath.

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

Exit Father.

Lel.

Fare ye well, Sir; Now would some poor tender hearted fool have wept, Relented, and have been undone: such Children (I thank my understanding) I hate truly, For by my troth I had rather see their tears Than feel their pities: my desires and ends Are all the Kindred that I have, and friends.

Enter Woman.

Is he departed?

Wow.

Yes, but here'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 look 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 learn a wise rule, Look not upon the youths of men, and making, How they descend in bloud, nor let their tongues, Though they strike suddainly, and sweet as musick Corrupt thy fancy: see, and say them fair too, But ever keep thy self without their distance, Unless the love thou swallow be a pill Gilded to hide the bitterness it brings, Then fall on without fear, wench, yet so wisely That one encounter cloy him not; nor promise His love hath made thee more his, than his monies; Learn this and thrive, Then let thine honour ever (For that's the last rule) be so stood upon, That men may fairly see 'Tis want of means, not vertue makes thee fall; And if you weep 'twill be a great deal better, And draw on more compassion, which includes A greater tenderness of love and bounty: This is enough at once, digest it well: Go let him in wench, if he promise profit, Not else.

Enter Julio.

O you are welcome my fair Servant, Upon my troth I have been longing for ye.

Wom.

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

Lel.

There's none come with you?

Jul.

No.

Lel.

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

Jul.

How, Sweet?

Lel.

Nay, nothing, Only have talkt a little wildly of me; As their unruly Youth directed 'em; Which though they bite me not, I would have wisht Had light upon some other that deserv'd 'em.

Jul.

Though she deserve this of the loosest tongue (Which makes my sin 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 Mistriss, Why would you be so, Servant?

Jul.

I should chide, If chiding would work any thing upon you, For being such a stranger to your Servant, I mean to his desires; when, my dear Mistress, Shall I be made a happy man?

Lel.

Fye, Servant, What do you mean? unhand me, or, by Heav'n, I shall be very angry, this is rudeness.

Jul.

'Twas but a kiss or two, that thus offends you.

Lel.

'Twas more I think, than you have warrant for.

Jul.

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 fair affections Seek pleasures warranted, not pull'd by violence, Do so no more.

Jul.

I hope you are not angry?

Lel.

I should be with another man, I am sure, That durst appear but half thus violent.

Jul.

I did not mean to ravish ye.

Lel.

You could not.

Jul.

You are so willing—

Lel.

How?

Jul.

Methinks this shadow, If you had so much shame as fits a woman, At least of your way, Mistriss, long e're this Had been laid off to me that understand ye.

Lel.

That understand me? Sir, ye understand, Nor shall, no more of me than modesty Will, without fear, deliver to a stranger; You understand I am honest, else I tell ye, (Though you were better far than Julio) You, and your understanding are two fools, 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 kindness, She durst not answer openly; O me! How easily we Women may be cozen'd! I took this Julio, 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.

Jul.

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

Lel.

Bless me goodness! To curse me did you say, Sir? let it be For too much loving you then, such a curse Kill me withal, and I shall be a Martyr, You have found a new way to reward my doting, And I confess a fit one for my folly, For you your self, if you have good within ye, And dare be Master of it, know how dearly This heart hath held you ever; Oh good Heaven! That I had never seen that false mans eyes, That dares reward me thus with fears and curses; Nor never heard the sweetness of that tongue, That will, when this is known, yet cozen women; Curse me, good Julio, curse me bitterly, I do deserve it for my confidence, And I beseech thee if thou hast a goodness Or power yet in thee to confirm thy wishes, Curse me to earth, for what should I do here Like a decaying flower, still withering Under his bitter words, whose kindly heat Should give my poor heart life? No, curse me, Julio, Thou canst not do me such a benefit As that, and well done, that the Heav'ns may hear it.

Jul.

O fair tears! were you but as chast as subtil, Like Bones of Saints, you would work miracles; What were these women to a man that knew not The thousand, thousand ways of their deceiving? What riches had he found? O he would think Himself still dreaming of a blessedness, That like continual 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 sweetness. Be not so griev'd, sweet Mistriss, what I said, You do, or should know, was but passion; Pray wipe your eyes and kiss me; take these trifles, And wear them for me, which are only rich When you will put them on: indeed I love ye, Beshrew my sick heart, if I grieve not for ye.

Lel.

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

Jul.

You know I do not.

Lel.

And shall I be so childish once again, After my late experience of your spight To credit you? you do not know how deep (Or if you did you would be kinder to me,) This bitterness of yours has struck my heart.

Jul.

I pray, no more.

Lel.

Thus you would do 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 do you look so strange, Sir? do not you Desire it should be so?

Jul.

Stay.

Lel.

Answer me.

Jul.

Farewel.

Exit Julio.

Lel.

I! are you there? are all these tears lost then? Am I so overtaken by a fool In my best days and tricks? my wise fellow, I'll make you smart for't, as I am a woman, And if thou beest not timber, yet I'll warm thee; And is he gone?

Enter Woman.

Wom.

Yes.

Lel.

He's not so lightly struck, To be recovered with a base repentance, I should be sorry then; Fortune, I prithee

Give me this man but once more in my arms, And if I lose him, women have no charms.

Exeunt.

Actus Secundus.

Scena Prima.

Enter Jacomo, and Fabricio.

Jac.

SEignior, what think you of this sound of Wars?

Fab.

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

Jac.

Shall we never live to see Men look like men again, Upon a March? This cold dull rusty peace makes up appear Like empty Pictures, only the faint shadows Of what we should be; Would to Heaven my Mother Had given but half her will to my begetting, And made me woman, to sit still and sing, Or be sick when I list, or any thing That is too idle for a man to think of; Would I had been a Whore, 't had been a course Certain, and (o' my Conscience) of more gain Than two commands, as I would handle it: 'Faith, I could wish I had been any thing Rather that what I am, a Souldier; A Carrier or a Cobler, when I know What 'twas to wear a Sword first; for their trades Are, and shall be a constant way of life, While men send Cheeses up, or wear out Buskins.

Fab.

Thou art a little too impatient, And mak'st thy anger a far more vexation Than the not having Wars; I am a Souldier, Which is my whole inheritance, yet I Though I could wish a breach with all the world, If not dishonourable, I am not so malicious, To curse the fair peace of my Mother Country; But thou want'st money, and the first supply Will bury these thoughts in thee.

Jac.

'Pox o' peace, It fills the Kingdom full of holydays, And only feeds the wants of Whores and Pipers; And makes the idle drunken Rogues get Spinsters: 'Tis true, I may want money, and no little, And almost Cloaths too; of which if I had both In full abundance; yet against all peace, That brings up mischiefs thicker than a shower, I would speak louder than a Lawyer; By Heaven, it is the surfeit of all youth, That makes the toughness, and the strength of Nations Melt into Women. 'Tis an case that broods Thieves, and Bastards only.

Fab.

This is more, (Though it be true) than we ought to lay open, And savours only of an indiscretion. Believe me, Captain, such distemper'd spirits Once out of motion, though they be proof valiant, If they appear thus violent and fiery, Breed but their own disgraces; and are nearer Doubt and suspect in Princes, than rewards.

Jac.

'Tis well they can be near 'em any way. But call you those true spirits ill affected, That whilst the wars were, serv'd like walls and ribs To girdle in the Kingdom? And now faln Through a faint Peace into affliction, Speak but their miseries? come, come, Fabritio, You may pretend what patience ye please, And seem to yoak your wants like passions; But while I know thou art a Souldier, And a deserver, and no other Harvest But what thy Sword reaps for thee to come in, You shall be pleas'd to give me leave to tell ye, You wish a Devil of this musty peace; To which Prayer, As one that's bound in Conscience, and all That love our trade, I cry, Amen.

Fab.

Prithee no more, we shall live well enough, There's ways enough besides the wars to men That are not logs, and lye still for the hands Of others to remove 'em.

Jac.

You may thrive, Sir, Thou art young and handsom yet, and well enough To please a Widow; 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 awaken his compassion, To make ye Clark o'th' Kitchen, and at length, Come to be married to my Ladies Woman, After she's crackt i'th' Ring.

Fab.

'Tis very well, Sir.

Jac.

But what dost thou think shall become of me, With all my imperfections? let me dye, If I think I shall ever reach above A forlorn Tapster, or some frothy fellow, That stinks of stale Beer.

Fab.

Captain Jacomo, Why should you think so hardly of your vertues?

Jac

What vertues? by this light, I have no vertue, But down-right buffetting, what can my face, That is no better than a ragged Map now Of where I have march'd and travell'd, profit me? Unless it be for Ladies 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 complain, So tall a Souldier should want teeth to his Stomach; And how it was great pity, that it was, That he that made my Body was so busied He could not stay to make my Legs too; but was driven To clap a pair of Cat-sticks to my Knees, for which I am indebted to two School-Boys; this Must follow necessary.

Fab.

There's no such matter.

Jac.

Then for my Morals, and those hidden pieces, That Art bestows 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 speak That any man shall hope to profit by me; And for my Languages, they are so many, That put them all together, they will scarce Serve to beg single Beer in; the plain truth is, •• 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'll scramble yet amongst 'em.

Fab.

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

Jac.

Good Fabricio, Have a quick eye upon me, for I fear This Peace will make me something that I love not; For by my troth, though I am plain and dudgion, I would not be an Ass; and to sell parcels, I can as soon be hang'd: prithee bestow me, And speak some little good, though I deserve not.

Enter Father.

Fab.

Come, we'll consider more; stay, this Should be another wind-fall of the Wars.

Jac.

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

Fath

They that say Hope never leaves a wretched man that seeks her, I think are either patient fools, or liers, I am sure I find it so, for I am master'd, With such a misery and grief together Than that stay'd Anchor, men lay hold upon In all their needs, is to me Lead that bows, Or breaks with every strong sea of my sorrows. I could now question Heaven (were it well To look into their Justice) why those faults, Those heavy sins others provoke 'em with Should be rewarded on the head of us, That hold the least alliance to their vices; But this would be too curious; for I see Our sufferings, not disputing, is the end, Reveal'd to us of all these miseries.

Jac.

Twenty such holy Hermits in a Camp Would make 'em all Carthusians, I'll be hang'd If he know what a Whore is, or a health, Or have a nature liable to learn, Or so much honest nurture to be drunk. I do not think he has the spleen to swear A greater Oath than Semsters utter Socks 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'll rather lie my self unto another.

Fab.

I need not ask you, Sir, your Country, I hear you speak this tongue, 'pray what more are you? Or have you been? if it be not offensive To urge ye so far, misery in your years Gives every thing a tongue to question it.

Fath.

Sir, though I could be pleas'd to make my ills Only mine own, for grieving other men, Yet to so fair and courteous a demander That promises compassion, at worst pity, I will relate a little of my story. I am a Gentleman, however thus Poor and unhappy; which believe me, Sir, Was not born with me; for I well have try'd Both the extreams of Fortune, and have found Both dangerous; my younger years provok'd me, Feeling in what an ease I slept at home, Which to all stirring spirits is a sickness, To see far Countrys, and observe their Customs: I did so, and I travell'd till that course Stor'd me with language, and some few slight manners, Scarce worth my money; when an itch possess'd me Of making Arms my active end of travel.

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 Cannon Strove who should most destroy us; have I stood Mail'd up in Steel, when my tough sinew shrunk, And this parch'd Body ready to consume As soon to ashes, as the Pikel bore; Want has been to me as another Nature, Which makes me with this patience still profess it; And if a Souldier may without vain glory Tell what h'as done, believe me, Gentlemen, I could turn over annals of my dangers; With this poor weakness have I man'd a breach, And made it firm with so much bloud, 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 'll spare ye.

Jac.

Fabricio, we two have been Souldiers Above these fourteen years, yet o' 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 Arms, I reverence The very poverty of this brave fellow; Which were enough it self, and his to strengthen The weakest town against half Christendom. 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 swear I was a valiant fellow; I do find The greatest danger I have brought my life through, Now I have heard this worthy, was no more Than stealing of a May pole, or at worst, Fighting at single Billet with a Barge-man.

Fab.

I do believe him, Jacomo.

Jac.

Believe him? I have no faith within me, if I do 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 won belief, and am not known, Forgive me, Honour, I'll make use of thee.

Fab.

Sir, would I were a man, or great, or able To look with liberal 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 handsom Cloaths.

Fab.

What mean you, Jacomo?

Jac.

Ye are a fool, 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 fair days again, Something I'll do in honour of your goodness, That shall shew thankfulness, if not desert.

Fab.

If you please, Sir, till we procure ye place, To eat with us, or wear such honest Garments As our poor means can reach to, you shall be A welcome man; to say more, were to feed ye Only with words; we honour what y'have been, For we are Souldiers, though not near the worth You spake of lately.

Fath.

I do guess ye so, And knew, unless ye were a Souldier, Ye could not find the way to know my wants.

Jac.

But methinks all this while y'are too temperate; Do you not tell men sometimes of the dulness When you are grip't, as now you are with need? I do, and let them know those silks they wear, The War weaves for 'em; and the bread they eat We sow, and reap again to feed their hunger; I tell them boldly, they are masters of Nothing but what we fight for; their fair women Lye playing in their arms, whilst we, like Lares Defend their pleasures; I am angry too, And often rail at these forgetful great men That suffer us to sue for what we ought To have flung on us, e're we ask.

Fath.

I have Too often told my griefs that way, when all I reapt, was rudeness of behaviour; In their opinion men of War that thrive, Must thank 'em when they rail, and wait to live.

Fab.

Come, Sir, I see your wants need more relieving, Than looking what they are; pray go with us.

Fath.

I thank you, Gentlemen; since you are pleas'd To do a benefit, I dare not cross it,

And what my service or endeavours may Stand you in stead, you shall command, not pray.

Exeunt.

Jac.

So you shall us, I'll to the Taylors with you bodily.

SCENE II.

Enter Frederick, Lodovico, and Piso.

Lod.

Well, if this be true, I'll believe a Woman When I have nothing else to do.

Piso.

'Tis certain, if there be a way of truth In blushes, smiles, and commendations; For by this light, I have heard her praise yond' fellow In such a pitch, as if sh'ad studied To crowd the worths of all men into him, And I imagine these are seldom us'd Without their special ends, and by a maid 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 liberal choice In the bestowing of her love.

Lod.

Bestowing? If it be so, she has bestow'd her self Upon a trim youth, Piso, what do you call him?

Piso.

Why, Captain Jacomo.

Lod.

O, Captain Jack-boy, That is the Gentleman.

Fred.

I think 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 think They are sharper than his sword, and dare do more If the Buff meet him fairly.

Fred.

Very well.

Piso.

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

Lod.

Why, well enough; Trail his Pike under him, and be a Gentlewoman Of the brave Captains Company.

Fred.

Do you hear me? This woman is my Sister, Gentlemen.

Lod.

I am glad she is none of mine; but Frederick Thou art not such a fool sure to be angry Unless it be with her; we are thy friends, man.

Fred.

I think ye are.

Lod.

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

Piso.

I think she was bewitcht, or mad or blind, She would never have taken such a scar-Crow else Into protection; of my life he looks Of a more rusty swarth Complexion Than an old arming Doublet.

Lod.

I would send His face to the Cutlers then, and have it sanguin'd, 'Twill look a great deal 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, lest I seem A Railer, but let others look upon't, And if they find it any other thing Than a Trunk-sellar, to send wines down in, Or a long walking bottle, I'll be hang'd for't; His Hide (for sure he is a Beast) is ranker Than the Muscovy-Leather, and grain'd like it: And by all likelihoods he was begotten Between a stubborn pair of Winter boots; His body goes with straps, he is so churlish.

Lod.

He's poor and beggarly besides all this, And of a nature far uncapable Of any benefit; for his manners cannot Shew him a way to thank a man that does one, He's so uncivil; you may do a part Worthy a Brother, to perswade your Sister From her undoing; if she prove so foolish To marry this cast Captain, look to find her Within a month, where you, or any good man, Would blush to know her; selling cheese and prunes, And retail'd Bottle-Ale; I grieve to think, Because I lov'd her, what a march this Captain Will set her into.

Fred.

You are both, believe me, Two arrant Knaves, and were it not for taking So just an execution from his hands You have bely'd thus, I would swaddle ye, Till I could draw off both your skins like Scabbards That man that you have 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 Cloaths, would make Two better Gentlemen than 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 talk, Or pull your face into a stich again, 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 Ass? I do not wrong thee now, for I speak truth. Do not I know thou hast been a cudgel'd Coward, That has no cure for shame but Cloath of Silver? And think'st the wearing of a gawdy Suit Hides all disgraces?

Lod.

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

Piso.

Seignior Frederick, You much mistake this Gentleman.

Fred.

No, Sir.

Piso.

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

Fred.

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

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 hear My Sister made a May-game, might I not? And give allowance to your liberal 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 lie every way As a Mill grinds? from this hour, I renounce All part of fellowship that may hereafter Make me take knowledg 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 do deserve it Richly.

Lod.

This is a strange Course, Frederick; But sure you do not, or you would not know us; Beat us?

Piso.

'Tis somewhat low, Sir, to a Gentleman.

Fred.

I'll speak but few words, but I'll make 'em truths; Get you gone both, and quickly, without murmuring, Or looking big; and yet before you go, I will have this confess'd, and seriously, That you two are two Rascals.

Lod.

How?

Fred.

Two Rascals. Come speak 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 speak the words plain; and you Lodovick That stand so tally on your reputation, You shall be he shall speak it.

Lod.

This is pretty.

Fred.

Let me not stay upon't.

Lod.

Well we are Rascals, Yes Piso, we are Rascals.

Ex. Lod. and Piso.

Fred.

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

Enter Fabricio, and Jacomo.

Fab.

That should be Frederick.

Jac.

'Tis he: Frederick?

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 near our house, I'le force ye stay a while, I pray let it be so.

Fab.

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

Jac.

Who were those with you?

Fab.

We met two came from hence.

Fred.

Two idle fellows, That you shall beat hereafter, and I'le tell ye Some fitter time a cause sufficient for it.

Fab.

But Frederick, tell me truly; do you think She can affect my friend?

Fred.

No certainer Than when I speak of him, or any other, She entertains it with as much desire As others do their recreations.

Fabr.

Let not him have this light by any means; He will but think he's mockt, and so grow angry, Even to a quarrel: he's so much distrustfull Of all that take occasion to commend him — Women especially: for which he shuns All conversation with 'em, and believes 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.

Hark, are the Waits abroad?

Fab.

Be softer prethee, 'Tis private musick.

Jac.

What a dyn it makes? I had rather hear a Jews trump than these Lutes, They cry like School-boys.

Fabr.

Prethee Jacomo.

Jac.

Well I will hear, or sleep, I care not whether.

THE SONG.

Enter at the Window Frank, 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 poor fools 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 Faih will be, Never till they both believe.

Fran.

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.

Fran.

Yes.

Clor.

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

Fab.

They see us.

Fred.

'Tis no matter.

Fab.

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

Fred.

No more, let's hear 'em.

Clor.

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

Fran.

By my faith, and neat ones.

Clor.

You mean the boots, I think they are neat by nature.

Fra.

As thou art knavish, would I saw his face!

Clor.

'Twould scare you in the dark.

Fran.

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

Clor.

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

Fran.

Well, I am no tell tale: But is it not great pity, 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? Were I one of these great ones, Such vertues should not sleep thus.

Clor.

Were he greater He would sleep more I think: I'le waken him.

Fran.

Away ye fool.

Clor.

Is he not dead already, and they two taking order About his Blacks? me thinks they are very busie, A fine clean coarse he is: I would have him buried Even as he lyes, cross legg'd, like one o'th' Templers (If his Westphalia 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 feet A musquet, with this word upon a Label Which from the cocks mouth thus should be delivered, I have discharg'd the office of a Souldier.

Fran.

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

Clora.

Such a Souldier, I would indeed.

Fab.

If he hear this, not all The power of man could keep him from the windows

Till they were down and all the doors broke open: For Gods sake make her cooler: I dare not venture To bring him else: I know he will go to buffets Within five words with her, if she holds this spirit; Let's waken him, and away, we shall hear worse else.

Fran.

Well if I be not even with thee Clora Let me be hang'd for this: I know thou dost it Only to anger me, and purge thy wit Which would break out else.

Clora.

I have found ye, I'le be no more cross, bid 'em good night.

Fran.

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

Ex. Fran. and Clora.

Fab.

Will you get up Sir?

Jac.

Have you paid the Fidlers?

Fab.

You are not left to do it: Fie upon thee, Hast thou forsworn manners?

Jac.

Yes unless They would let me eat my meat without long graces Or drink without a preface to the pledger; Of•• will it please you, shall I be so bold Sir, Let me remember your good bed-fellow, And lye and kiss my hand unto my Mistris As often as an Ape does for an Aple; These are meer Schisms in Souldiers; where's my friend? These are to us as bitter as purgations, We love that general freedom we are bred to; Hang these faint fooleries, they smell of peace, Do 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 go? 'tis late.

Jac.

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

Fab.

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

Jac.

Content.

Fab.

Thou wilt dream of wenches.

Jac.

I never think of any I thank Heaven But when I am drunk, and then 'tis but to cast A cheap way how they may be all destroy'd Like vermine; let's away, I am very sleepy.

Fab.

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

Exeunt.

Actus Tertius.

Scena Prima.

Enter Julio, and Angelo.

Jul.

I Will but see her once more Angelo, That I may hate her more, and then I am My self again.

Ang.

I would not have thee tempt lust, 'Tis a way 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 than all those And far more pestilent, if not repentant, And like a strong man, chide her well, and leave her.

Ang.

'Tis easily said, what complexion is she?

Jul.

Make but a curious frame unto thy self As thou wouldst shape an Angel in thy thought; Such as the Poets, when their fancies sweat, Imagine Juno is, or fair ey'd Pallas, And one more excellent, than all those figures Shalt thou find her; she's brown, but of a sweetness, (If such a poor word may express her beauty) Believe me Angelo, would do more mischief With a forc't smile, than 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?

Jul.

As a Rose at fairest, Neither a bud, nor blown, but such a one, Were there a Hercules to get again With all his glory, or one more than he, The god would choose out amongst a race of women To make a Mother of: she is outwardly All that bewitches sense; all that entices, Nor is it in our vertue to uncharm it. And when she speaks, oh Angelo, then musick (Such as old Orpheus made, that gave a soul To aged mountains, and made rugged beasts Lay by their rages; and tall trees that knew No sound but tempests, to bow down their branches And hear, and wonder; and the Sea, whose surges Shook their white heads in Heaven, to be as mid-night Still, and attentive) steals into our souls So suddenly, and strangely, that we are From that time no more ours, but what she pleases.

Ang.

Why look, how far you have thrust your self again 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?

Jul.

I had forgot me.

Ang.

As you will still do.

Jul.

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

Ang.

Go you, I dare not go, I tell you truly Nor were it wise I should.

Jul.

Why?

Ang.

I am well, And if I can, will keep my self so.

Jul.

Ha? thou mak'st me smile, though I have little cause, To see how prettily thy fear 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: I'le not lye for th' matter: I know I am frail, and may be cozen'd too By such a Syren.

Jul.

Faith thou shalt go, Angelo.

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 do not long to have My sleep ta'ne from me, and go pulingly Like a poor wench had lost her market-mony; And when I see good meat, sit still and sigh, And call for small beer; and consume my wit In making Anagrams, and faithful posies; I do not like that Itch, I am sure I had rather Have the main pox, and safer.

Jul.

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

Ang.

Well I will go, since you will have it so, But if I prove a fool too, look to have me Curse you continually, and fearfully,

Jul.

And if thou seest me fall again, good Angelo Give me thy counsel quickly lest I perish.

Ang.

Pray Heaven I have enough to save my self, For as I have a soul, I had rather v••nture Upon a savage Island, than this woman.

Exeunt

SCENE II.

Enter Father, and Servant.

Fath.

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

Serv.

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

Fath.

Who's your Mistris, That I may give her thanks?

Serv.

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 feeds fat with such favours, I am a stranger to her.

Serv.

Good Sir take it, And if you will, I'le swear 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 door.

Fath.

Indeed I talkt with two Within this half hour in the street.

Serv.

'Tis you Sir, And none but you I am sent to: wiser men Would have been thankful 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 Catechiz'd; what more belongs to't?

Ser.

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

Fath.

I will.

Serv.

You ghess where.

Fath.

Sir I have a tongue else.

Exit Ser.

She is down right Devil; or else my wants And her disobedience have provok't her To look into her foul self, 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 Heaven pardon me for lying, For I have paid it home: many a good man That had but found the profit of my way Would forswear telling true again in hast.

Enter Lodovico, and Piso.

Here are my praters; now if I did well I should belabour 'em, but I have sound Away to quiet 'em, worth a thousand on't.

Lod.

If we could get a fellow that would do it.

Fat.

What villany is now in hand?

Pis.

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

Lod.

Are the English-men such stubborn drinkers?

Piso.

Not a leak at Sea Can suck more liquor; you shall have their children Christened in mull'd sack, and at five years old, able To knock a Dane down: Take an English-man And cry St. George, and give him but a rasher, And you shall have him upon even terms Defy a hog••head; such a one would do it Home boy, and like a work-man: at what weapon?

Lod.

Sherry sack: I would have him drink stark dead If it were possible: at worst past portage.

Piso.

What is the end then?

Lod.

Dost thou not perceive it? If he be drunk dead, there's a fair end of him. If not, this is my end, or by enticing, Or by deceiving, to conduct him where The fool is, that admires him; and if sober, His nature be so rugged, what will't be When he is hot with wine? come let's about it, If this be done but handsomely, I'le pawn My head she hath done with Souldiers.

Piso.

This may do well.

Fat.

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

Lod.

VVhat's to me?

Fath.

You are fortunate, I cannot stand to tell you more now, meet me Here soon, 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 o'th' other, and let me a while Dream of this fellow.

Piso.

For the Drunkard, Lodovick, Let me alone.

Lod.

Come, let's about it then.

Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Clora, and Frank.

Clor.

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

Fra.

Why? prethee why? hast thou such cause?

Clor.

Yes faith, my Brother will be here straightway, and—

Fra.

VVhat?

Clor.

The other party: ha, ha, ha.

Fra.

VVhat party? VVench thou art not drunk?

Clor.

No faith.

Fra.

Faith thou hast been among the bottles Clora.

Clor.

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

Fra.

O is that it That tickles ye?

Clor.

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

Fran.

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

Clor.

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

Fra.

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

Clor.

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

Fran.

Do, I will not.

Clor.

Then as I hope to have a handsom husband, This fellow in mine eye, (and Frank I am held To have a shrewd ghess at a pretty fellow) Appears 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 blind.

Clor.

There lyes the question? For, (but you say he is a man, and I Will credit you,) I should as soon have thought him Another of Gods creatures; out upon him, His body, that can promise nothing But laziness 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 trunks And his slic't Spanish Jerkin, like Don John? You had a parlous judgment then, my Clora.

Clora.

Who told you that?

Fran.

I heard it.

Clora.

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

Fra.

Nay, laugh on still.

Clor.

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

Enter Fabricio, and Jacomo.

Jac.

Prethee go 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?

Jac.

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

Fab.

Fye upon thee, coward, Canst thou not sing?

Jac.

Thou knowest I can sing nothing But Plumpton park.

Fab.

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

Jac.

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

Fab.

Save ye Ladies.

Clo.

Sweet Brother I dare swear, you're welcom hither, So is your Friend;

Fab.

Come, blush not, but salute 'em.

Fra.

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

Jac.

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

Fab.

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

Jac.

More of me yet?

Fra.

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

Clor.

But Brother, is your friend thus sad still? methinks 'Tis an unseemly nature in a Souldier.

Jac.

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

Fab.

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

Jac.

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

Clor.

Sir, we must intreat you To think your self more welcom, and be merry, 'Tis pity a fair man of your proportion Should have a soul of sorrow.

Jac.

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

Clora.

Do not you know, Sir?

Jac.

Not so well as you That talk continually.

Fran.

You have hit her, Sir.

Clora.

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

Jac.

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

Clora.

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 looks Like a great School-boy that had been blown up Last night at dust-point.

Fran.

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

Clora.

And I'le sit by you.

Jac.

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

Clora.

I have done, Sir Captain.

Fab.

Art thou not asham'd?

Jac.

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

Fab.

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

Jac.

By this light I'le brain thee.

Fra.

Now o' 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 shews very sweetly.

Fra.

Nay do not blush Sir, o' my troth it does, I would be ever angry to be thus. Fabritio, o' my conscience if I ever Do fall in love, as I will not forswear it ••ill 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 hear this, and stand still?

Jac.

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

Clora.

Why couragious?

Jac.

For making me a stone to whet your tongues on.

Clora.

Prethee sweet Captain.

Jac.

Go, go spin, go hang.

Clo.

Now could I kiss him.

Jac.

If you long for kicking, You'r best come kiss 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 visit me, I cannot take it well.

Jac.

I come to visit you, you foolish woman?

Fra.

I thought you did Sir, and for that I thank you, I would be loth to lose those thanks; I know 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 vein.

Fab.

What wouldst thou ask more?

Jac.

Pray thou scurvy fellow Thou hast not long to live; adieu dear Damsels, You filthy women farewel, and be sober, And keep your chambers.

Clor.

Farewel old Don Diego.

Fra.

Away, away, you must not so be angry, To part thus roughly from us; yet to me This do's not shew, as if it were 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 Jacomo.

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.

Clor.

And he should be a Souldier.

Fra.

'Twould be better.

Clor.

And yet not you sweet Captain.

Fra.

Why not he?

Jac.

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

Clora.

Ha, ha, ha.

Jac.

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

Exit Jac.

Clora.

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

Fab.

I think so too.

Fra.

I am sorry,

He's gone in such a rage; but sure this holds him Not every day.

Fab.

'Faith every other day If he come near 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 beat him soft like Stock-fish.

SCENE IV.

Enter Lelia and her waiting-woman with a Vail.

Lel.

Art t' sure 'tis he?

Wom.

Yes, and another with him.

Lel.

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

Wom.

Yes, and what else you bad me.

Lel.

That brave fellow, Though he be old, whate'r he be, shews toughness, 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 Vail, and bid the Boy go sing That song above, I gave him; the sad song; Now if I miss him, I am curst, go, 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, Do '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 door Julio, and Angelo.

Wom.

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

Jul.

Prithee, Let me but speak one word.

Wom.

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

Ang.

This little Varlet hath her Lesson perfect, These are the baits they bob with.

Jul.

'Faith I will not.

Wom

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

Jul.

No more.

Ang.

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

Jul.

What, has she musick?

Wom.

Yes, for Heavens sake stay, 'Tis all she feeds upon.

Jul.

Alas, poor soul.

Ang.

Now will I pray devoutly, for there's need on't.

The SONG.

A Way delights, go seek some other dwelling, For I must dye: Farewel false Love, thy tongue is ever telling Lye after Lye. For ever let me rest now from thy smarts, Alas, for pity go, And fire their hearts That have been hard to thee, mine was not so. Never again deluding Love shall know me, For I will dye; And all those griefs that think to over-grow me, Shall be as I: For ever will I sleep, while poor Maids cry, Alas, for pity stay, And let us dye With thee, men cannot mock us in the day.

Jul.

Mistriss? not one word, Mistriss if I grieve ye I can depart again.

Ang.

Let's go then quickly, For if she get from under this dark Cloud, We shall both sweat I fear, for't.

Jul.

Do but speak Though you turn from me, and speak 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!

Jul.

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

Lel.

O me, my heart!

Ang.

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

Jul.

'Pray speak again.

Lel.

Where is my Woman?

Wom.

Here.

Ang.

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

Lel.

Why did you let This flattering man in to me? did not I Charge thee to keep me from his eyes again, As carefully as thou wouldst keep thine own? Thou hast brought me poyson in a shape of Heaven, Whose violence will break the hearts of all, Of all weak Women, as it hath done mine, That are such fools to love, and look 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 quamish.

Jul.

Though I desire to be here more than Heaven, As I am now, yet if my sight offend you, So much I love to be commanded by you, That I will go; farewel—

Lel.

I should say something E're you depart, and I would have you hear 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, Angelo!

Ang.

I am worse than thou art.

Lel.

Such tears as those might make another Woman Believe thee honest, Julio, almost me, That know their ends, for I confess they stir me.

Ang.

What will become of me? I cannot go now If you would hang me, from her; O brave Eye! Steal me away, Julio.

Jul.

Alas, poor man! I am lost again too, strangely.

Lel.

No, I will sooner trust a Crocodile When he sheds tears, for he kills suddenly, And ends our cares at once; or any thing That's evil to our Natures, than a man; I find there is no end of his deceivings, Nor no avoiding 'em, if we give way; I was requesting you to come no more And mock me with your service, 'tis not well, Nor honest, to abuse us so far; you may love too; For though, I must confess, I am unworthy Of your love every way; yet I would have you Think I am somewhat too good to make sport of.

Jul.

Will you believe me?

Lel.

For your Vows and Oaths, And such deceiving tears as you shed now, I will, as you do, 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 bear thy stamp, as counterfeit in love, For I am open ey'd again, and know thee; Go, make some other weep, as I have done, That dare believe thee; go, and swear to her That is a stranger to thy cruelty, And knows not yet what man is, and his lyings, How thou di'st daily for her; pour it out In thy best lamentations; put on sorrow, As thou canst, to deceive an Angel, Julio, And vow thy self 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 hour, I heartily despise all honest Women; I care not if the World took knowledg on't, I see there's nothing in them, but that folly Of loving one man only; give me henceforth, (Before the greatest Blessing can be thought of) If this be one, a Whore; that's all I aim at.

Jul.

Mistriss, the most offending man is heard Before his sentence, why will you condemn me E're I produce the truth to witness 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 believ'd, it kills; no more, Sir.

Jul.

It never lied to you; if it did, 'Twas only when it call'd you mild and gentle.

Lel.

Good Sir, no more; make not my understanding, After I have suffer'd thus much evil by you, So poor to think 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 again I may not) And wish when that time comes, you will love truly, (If you can ever do so) you may find The worthy fruit of your affections, True love again, not my unhappy Harvest, Which, like a fool, I sow'd in such a heart, So dry and stony, that a thousand showers From these two eyes, continually raining, Could never ripen.

Jul.

Y' have conquer'd me; I did not think 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.

Jul.

I'll marry you.

Ang.

The Devil thou wilt, Julio, How that word waken'd me! come hither, friend, Thou art a fool, look stedfastly upon her, Though she be all that I know excellent, As she appears, though I could fight for her, And run through fire; though I am stark mad too Never to be recover'd, though I would Give all I had i'th' World to lye with her Even to my naked soul, I am so far gone, Yet, methinks still, we should not dote away That that is something more than ours, our honours. I would not have thee marry her by no means, Yet I should do so; is she not a Whore?

Jul.

She is; but such a one—

Ang.

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

Jul.

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.

Jul.

Do not consider, Angelo, For I must do it.

Ang.

No, I'll kill thee first, I love thee so well, that the worms shall have thee Before this Woman, friend.

Jul.

It was your counsel.

Ang.

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

Jul.

All this is lost upon me, Angelo, For I must have her; I will marry ye When ye please: pray look better on me.

Ang.

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

Jul.

Stay, thou art more than she, and now I find it.

Lel.

Is he so?

Jul.

Mistriss.

Lel.

No, I'll see thee starv'd first.

Exit Lelia.

Jul.

Friend.

Ang.

Fly her as I do, Julio, she's a Witch.

Jul.

Beat me away then, I shall grow here still else.

Ang.

That were the way to have me grow there with thee, Farewel for ev••r.

Exit Angelo

Jul.

Stay, I am uncharm'd, Farewel thou cursed house, from this hour be More hated of me than a Leprosie.

Exit Julio.

Enter Lelia.

Lel.

Both gone? a plague upon 'em both, Am I deceiv'd again? Oh, I would rail And follow 'em, but I fear 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 work me worse, He that comes next, by Heav'n shall feel their curse.

Exit.

SCENE V.

Enter Jacomo at one door, Fabricio at another.

Fab.

O, ye are a sweet youth, so uncivilly To rail, and run away?

Jac.

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

Fab.

Thou wou'lt not, wou'lt 'ou?

Jac.

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

Fab.

Put up your Sword, I have seen it often, 'tis a Fox.

Jac.

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

Fab.

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

Jac.

How now?

They measure, and Fab. gets his Sword.

Fab.

Nay, stand out, Or by this light, I'll make ye.

Jac.

This is scurvy, And out of fear done.

Fab.

No, Sir, out of judgment, For he that deals with thee, thou'rt grown so boysterous, Must have more wits, or more lives than another, Or always be in Armour, or inchanted, Or he is miserable.

Jac.

Your end of this, Sir?

Fab.

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

Jac.

'S heart? then I am grown ridiculous.

Fab.

Thou art,

And wilt be shortly sport for little Children, If thou continuest this rude stubborness.

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? Speak with a Pox; and look ye render me Just such a reason—

Fab.

I shall dye with laughing.

Jac.

As no man can find fault with; I shall have Another Sword, I shall, ye stearing Puppy.

Fab.

Does not this testiness shew finely in thee? Once more take heed of Children, if they find thee, They'll break up School to bear thee Company, Thou wilt be such a pastime, and whoot at thee, And call thee Bloody-Bones, and Spade, and Spit-fire, And Gaffer Mad-man; and go by Jeronimo, And will with a wisp, and come aloft, and crack rope, And old Saint Dennis with the dudgeon Codpiss? And twenty such names.

Jac.

No, I think they will not.

Fab.

Yes, but they will; and Nurses still their Children Only with thee, and here take him, Jacomo.

Jac.

God's precious, that I were but over thee One Steeple height, I would fall and break 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; Prithee 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 fool now, speak your mind, Sir.

Fab.

Art thou not breeding teeth?

Jac.

How? Teeth?

Fab.

Yes, teeth, thou wouldst not be so froward else.

Jac.

Teeth?

Fab.

Come, 'Twill make thee A little rheumatick, but that's all one, We'll have a Bib, for spoiling of thy Doublet; And a fring'd Muckender hang at thy Girdle, I'll be thy Nurse, and get a Coral for thee, And a fine Ring of Bells.

Jac.

'Faith, this is somewhat Too much, Fabricio, to your friend that loves you; ••••thinks your goodness rather should invent A way to make my follies less, than breed 'em; I sho••ld have been more moderate to you, But I see ye despise me.

Fab.

Now I love ye, There take your Sword: continue so; I dare not Stay now to try your patience, soon I'll meet ye, And as you love your honours, and your state, Redeem your self well to the Gentlewoman, Farewel till soon.

Exit Fabricio.

Jac.

Well, I shall think of this.

Exit Jacomo.

SCENE IV.

Enter Host, Piso, and Boy with a Glass of Wine.

Pis.

Nothing i'th' World, but a dry'd Tongue or two—

Host.

Taste him, and tell me.

Pis.

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

Host.

This shall be ipse, Oh, he's a devilish biting wine, a Tyrant Where he lays hold, Sir, this is he that scorns Small Beer should quench him; or a foolish Candle Bring him to Bed; no, if he flinch I'll 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 thinks there's no man Can give him drink enough.

Host.

What kind of man?

Pis.

That thou mayst know him perfectly, he's one Of a left-handed making, a lank thing; As if his Belly were ta'n up with straw To hunt a match.

Host.

Has he no Beard to shew him?

Pis.

'Faith, but a little, yet enough to note him, Which grows in parcels, here and there a remnant; And that thou mayst not miss him, he is one That wears his forehead in a velvet scabbard.

Host.

That note's enough, he's mine, I'll fuddle him, Or lye i'th' suds; you will be here too?

Pis.

Yes, 'Till soon, farewel, and bear up.

Host.

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

Actus Quartus.

Scena Prima.

Enter Julio, and Angelo.

Jul.

'TIS strange thou should'st be thus, with thy discretion.

Ang.

I am sure I am so.

Jul.

I am well you see.

Ang.

Keep your self warm then, and go home, & sleep, And pray thou mayst continue so; Would I had gone to th' Devil of an arrant, When I was made a fool to see her; Leave me, I am not fit for conversation.

Jul.

Why, thou art worse than I was.

Ang.

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

Jul.

This is more than errour.

Ang.

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

Jul.

Let me know, but what you mean to do, and I am gone. I would be loth to leave you thus else.

Ang.

Nothing That needs your fear, that is sufficient; Farewel, and pray for me.

Jul.

I would not leave you.

Ang.

You must, and shall.

Jul.

I will then, would yond' Woman Had been ten fathom under ground, when first I saw her eyes.

Ang.

Yet she had been dangerous, For to some wealthy Rock of precious stone, Or mine of Gold, as tempting, her fair 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 Kingdoms, Which had been fearful, (Friend) go, when I see thee Next, I will be as thou art, or no more. 'Pray do not follow me, you'll make me angry.

Jul.

Heav'n grant you may be right again.

Ang.

Amen.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Tavern-Boys, &c.

Boy.

Score a gallon of Sack, and a pint of Olives to the Unicorn.

Above, within.

Why drawer?

Boy.

Anon, anon.

Another Boy.

Look into the Nags head there.

2 Boy.

Score a quart of Claret to the Bar, And a pound of Sausages into the Flower-pot.

Enter first Servant with Wine.

1 Serv.

The Devil's in their throats; anon, anon.

Enter second Servant.

2 Ser.

Mull a pint of Sack there for the women in the Flower-deluce, and put in ginger enough, they belch like potguns, And Robin fetch Tobacco for the Peacock, they will not be Drunk till mid-night else: how now, how does my Master?

2 Boy.

Faith he lyes drawing on a pace.

1 Boy.

That's an ill sign.

2 Boy.

And fumbles with the pots too.

1 Boy.

Then there's no way but one with him.

2 Boy.

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

1 Boy.

Does he bear up still?

2 Boy.

Afore the wind still, with his lights up bravely, All he takes in I think he turns to Juleps, Or h'as a world of Stowage in his belly, The rest look all like fire-drakes, and lye scatter'd Like rushes round about the room. My Master Is now the loving'st man, I think, above ground.

1 Boy.

Would he were always drunk then.

Within.

Drawer.

2 Boy.

Anon, anon Sir.

1 Boy.

And swears I shall be free to morrow, and so weeps And calls upon my Mistris.

2 Boy.

Then he's right.

1 Boy.

And swears the Captain must lye this night with her And bad me break it to her with discretion, That he may leave an issue after him, Able to entertain a Dutch Ambassador, And tells him feelingly how sweet she is, And how he stole her from her friends i'th' Country; And brought her up disguiz'd with the Carriers, And was nine nights bereaving her her maidenhead, And the tenth got a drawer, here they come.

Enter Jacomo, Host, Lod. Piso.

Within cry drawer. Anon, anon, speak to the Tyger, Peter.

Host.

There's my Bells boys, my silver Bell.

Piso.

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

Host.

Captain.

Jac.

Hoe Boy.

Lod.

Robin, sufficient single Beer, as cold as crystal, Quench Robin, quench.

1 Boy.

I am gone Sir.

Host.

Shall we bear up still? Captain how I love thee! Sweet Captain let me kiss thee, by this hand I love thee next to Malmsey in a morning, Of all things transitory.

Jac.

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

Host.

Do'st thou Captain? Sweetly? and heartily?

Jac.

With all my heart Boy.

Host.

Then welcom death, come close mine eyes sweet Captain Thou shalt have all.

Jac.

What shall your wife have then?

Host.

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

Jac.

'Twere good she had a little foolish mony, To rub the time away with.

Host.

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

Jac.

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

Host.

Good night.

Jac.

Good morrow, Drink till the Cow come home, 'tis all pay'd boyes.

Lod.

A pox of Sack.

Host.

Marry bless my Buts, Sack is a jewel, 'Tis comfortable, Gentlemen.

Jac.

More Beer boy, Very sufficient single Beer.

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 Sirrah, if they quarrel, let 'em use Their own discretions, by all means, and stir not, And he that's kill'd shall be as sweetly buried; Captain, adieu, adieu sweet bully Captain, One kiss before I dye, one kiss.

Jac.

Farewel Boy.

Host.

All my sweet boys farewel.

Exit Host.

Lod.

Go sleep, you are drunk.

Ja.

Come gentlemen, I'le see you at your lodging, You look not lustily, a quart more.

Lod.

No Boy.

Piso.

Get us a Torch.

Boy.

'Tis day Sir.

Jac.

That's all one.

Piso.

Are not those the stars, thou scurvy Boy?

Lod.

Is not Charles-wain there, tell me that, there?

Jac.

Yes; I have paid 'em truly: do not vex him Sirrah.

Piso.

Confess it Boy, or as I live I'le beat Mid-night into thy brains.

Boy.

I do confess it.

Piso.

Then live, and draw more small Beer presently.

Jac.

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

Lod.

No Captain.

Jac.

Do not you love me? I love you two dearly.

Piso.

No by no means; you are a fighting Captain, And kill up such poor people as we are, by th' dozens.

Lod.

As they kill flyes with Fox-tails, Captain.

Jac.

Well Sir.

Lod.

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

Piso.

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

Jac.

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

Piso.

You had best say we are drunk.

Jac.

Ye are.

Lod.

Ye lye.

Jac.

Y'are rascals, drunken rascals.

Piso.

'Tis sufficient.

Jac.

And now I'le tell you why, before I beat ye, You have been tampring any time these three days, Thus to disgrace me.

Piso.

That's a lye too.

Jac.

Well Sir, Yet I thank fate I have turn'd your points on you, For which I'le spare ye somewhat, half a beating.

Piso.

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

Jac.

How do you like this?

Lod.

Sure I am inchanted.

Piso.

Stay till I draw.

Jac.

Dispatch then, I am angry.

Piso.

And thou shalt see how suddenly I'll kill thee.

Jac.

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

Lod.

If this may be suffer'd, 'Tis very well.

Jac.

Go there's your way, go and sleep: I have pity on you, you shall have the rest To morrow when we meet.

Piso.

Come Lodowick, He's monstrous drunk now, there's no talking with him.

Jac.

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

Ex. Lod. and Piso.

Boy where's mine Host?

Boy.

He's on his bed asleep Sir.

Ex. Boy.

Jac.

Let him alone then: now am I high proof For any action, now could I fight bravely, And charge into a wild 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, Just at this instant, that I might be brought I feel it, with a little labour, now to talk 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 Heaven the air keep out; I feel it buzzing.

Exit.

SCENE III.

Enter Frederick, Frank, Clora.

Clora.

She loves him too much, that's the plain truth Frederick, For which if I might be believ'd, I think her A strange forgetter of her self; there's Julio, Or twenty more —

Fred.

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

Clora.

So is a resty Jade 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 thinks 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.

Clo.

I'le burn before; come pre'thee leave this sadness; This walking by thy self to see the Devil, This mumps, this Lachrymae, this love in sippets; It sits 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 wit will founder of all four else wench, If thou hold'st this pace; take up when I bid thee.

Clora.

Before your Brother, fy?

Fred.

I can endure it.

Enter Jacomo.

Clo.

Here's Raw-head come again; Lord how he looks! Pray we 'scape with broken pates.

Fra.

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

Fred.

Yes, but do not find it.

Clor.

Peace and let's hear his wisdom.

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.

A I live Thou art a strange mad wench.

Clor.

To make a Parson.

Jac.

Ladyes I mean to kiss ye.

Clora.

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

Jac.

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

Fra.

With me Sir?

Jac.

Yes.

Fra.

If you will promise me to kiss in ease, I care not if I venture.

Jac.

I will kiss according to mine own 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 Heaven I could, but 'tis sufficient, I love you with my heart.

Fra.

Alas poor heart.

Jac.

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

Fra.

Ev'n when you will Sir.

Clor.

He's dismal drunk, would he were muzled.

Jac.

You I take it are the next.

Fra.

Go to him fool.

Clor.

Not I, he will bite me.

Jac.

When wit? when?

Clor.

Good Captain.

Jac.

Nay, and you play bo peep; I'le ha' no mercy But catch as catch may.

Fred.

Nay, I'le not defend ye.

Clor.

Good Captain do not hurt me, I am sorry That e're I anger'd ye.

Jac.

I'le tew you for't By this hand wit, unless you kiss discreetly.

Clor.

No more Sir.

Jac.

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

Clor.

He smells just like a Cellar, Fye upon him.

Jac.

Sweet Lady now to you.

Clor.

For loves sake kiss him.

Fred.

I shall not keep my countenance.

Fra.

Trye pre'thee.

Jac.

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

Clor.

O God, my sides.

All.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Jac.

Why ha, ha, ha? why laugh? Why all this noise 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 mortal?

Fred.

I am Frederick

Jac.

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

Fra.

Sweet Captain.

Jac.

Away woman; Go stitch and serve, I despise thee woman, And Frederick shall be beaten; 'Sfut ye Rogue Have you none else to make your puppies of, but me?

Fred.

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

Jac.

'Sfut but there shall be, Scab.

Clor.

Help, help for loves sake.

Fra.

Who's within there?

Fred.

So now you have made a fair hand.

Jac.

Why?

Fred.

You have kill'd me—

Fall as kill'd.

Clor.

Call in some Officers, and stay the Captain.

Jac.

You shall not need.

Clor.

This is your drunkenness.

Fra.

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

Clora.

O villain, villain.

Enter Fabritio, and Servants.

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

Fab.

Pray be quiet, Let me come to him.

Clor.

Some go for a Surgeon.

Fra.

O 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, unless it be To have thee hang'd; for Heaven sake be more temperate.

Jac.

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

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 sleep, come strive not I'le have it so, here take him to his lodging, and See him laid before you part.

Exeunt Jac. with Ser.

Serv.

We will Sir.

Fred.

Ne're wonder, I am living yet, and well, I thank you Sister for your grief, pray keep 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 madness in his wine.

Fab.

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

Fred.

If I had stood him, certain one of us must have perish'd. How now Frank?

Fra.

Beshrew my heart I tremble like an aspin.

Clor.

Let him come here no more for Heavens sake Unless he be in chains.

Fra.

I would fain see him After he has slept, Fabritio, but to try How he will be; chide him, and bring him back.

Clor.

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

Fra.

Come Brother, we'l walk in, and laugh a little To get this Fever off me.

C or.

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

Fra.

Pray will you leave your fooling?

Fab.

Come, all friends.

Fra.

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

Fab.

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

Clor.

I would go a mile (to see him cry) in slippers He would look so like a whey cheese.

Fra.

Would we might see him once more.

Fab.

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

Clor.

No, good Frank, Let him alone, I see his vein lyes only For falling out at Wakes and Bear-baitings, That may express him sturdy.

Fab.

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

Fra.

I do believe you, And good Sir when you see him, if we have Distasted his opinion any way, Make peace again.

Fab.

I will: I'le leave ye Ladies.

Clor.

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

Fab.

I warrant you, I have been often threatned.

Clor.

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

Fra.

Would you would keep your tongue.

Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Enter Angelo.

Ang.

I cannot keep 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 Babylon, with a preface upon Her nose to the gentle Reader; and they should be to be sold At the sign 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 redress, with a thing I contemn too. I have read Epict••tus 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 find any prayers I Had, I'm no Christian, This is the door, and the short Is, I must see her again.—

He knocks.

Enter Maid.

Maid.

Who's there?

Ang.

'Tis I, I would speak 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, which being so proper Men, is great pity, that you are not.

Ang.

How's this?

Maid.

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

Ang.

Let me in, I'le satisfie her.

Ma.

And if it shall happen that you are in doubt of these my speeches, Insomuch 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you shall spend more time in arguing at the Door, 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, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dost thou use me so? I pray thee let me in sweet-heart.

Maid.

Indeed I cannot sweet-heart.

Ang.

Thou art a handsom one, and this crosseness do's not 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 go the down-right way: look 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 do, she Will not speak with you, especially at this time, she has affairs.

Ang.

This makes her leave her jesting yet, but take it And let me see her, bring me to a place Where undiscerned of her self I may

Feed my desiring eyes but half an hour.

Maid.

Why faith I think I can, and I will stretch my wits And body too for gold: if you will swear as you Are gentle, not to stir, or speak, 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, quick, follow me.

Ex. Angelo, and Maid.

Enter Servant.

S.

Why where's this maid, she has much care of her business, Nell? I think she be sunk; — why Nell—whiew—

Maid within.

What's the matter?

Enter Maid.

Ser.

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

They bring in the Banquet.

Lel. within.

Nell, Sirrah.

Maid.

I come forsooth.

Ser.

Now must I walk: when there's any fleshly matters in hand, my Mistris sends me of a four hours errand: but if I go not About mine own bodily business as well as she, I am a Turk.

Exit Servant.

Enter Father.

Fa.

What, all wide open? 'Tis the way to sin Doubtless; but I must on; the gates of Hell Are not more passable than 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 self. What's here? a Banquet? and no mouth to eat, Or bid me do it? this is something like The entertainment of adventurous Knights Entring enchanted Castles: For the manner Though there be nothing dismal to be seen Amazes me a little; what is meant By this strange invitation? I will sound My Daughters meaning e're I speak 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 hear me sing of joyes still growing Green, fresh, and lusty, as the pride of Spring, and over blowing. Come hither youths that blush, and dare not know what is desire, And old men worse than you, that cannot blow one spark of fire. And with the power of my enchanting Song, Boyes shall be able men, and old men young.

Enter Angelo, 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 fools, and blush, you stay so long from being blest, And mad men worse than you, that suffer wrong, Yet seek no rest. And in an hour, with my enchanting Song, You shall be ever pleas'd, and young maids long.

Enter Lelia, and her Maid with a Night-gown and Slippers.

Lel.

Sir you are welcom hither, as this kiss Given with a larger freedom than the use Of strangers will admit, shall witness to you. Put the gown on him, in this chair sit down; Give him his slippers: be not so amaz'd, Here's to your health, and you shall feel 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 Shoot up and down to find a passage out, Then mouth to mouth will we walk up to bed, And undress one another as we go; Where both my treasure, body, and my soul Are your's to be dispos'd of.

Fa.

Umh, umh. — Makes signs 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 perform As you think 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 Angelo, And told them they were as they were Raw fools and whelps.a 4.1

Maid.

Pray God he speak not.b 4.2

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 freedom in for her; she knows my life That she might write it; Think she is a stone. She is a kind of bawdy Confessor, And will not utter secrets.

Fath.

Umh. —

Points at her again.

Lel.

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

Exit Maid.— Fath. locks the door.

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.

Fath.

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, Than mocking of thy Father; let thine eyes Reflect upon thy soul, and there behold How loathed black it is; and whereas now Thy face is heavenly fair, but thy mind foul, Go but into thy Closet, and there cry Till thou hast spoil'd that face, and thou shalt find 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.

Look, dost thou know me?

Lel.

I knew ye Sir before.

Fath.

VVhat didst thou do?

Lel.

Knew you, and so unmov'dly have you born All the sad crosses that I laid upon you, VVith 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 child

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

Fath.

A woman? thou art not sure.

Lel.

Look and believe.

Fath.

Thou art Something created to succeed the Devil When he grows weary of his envious course, And compassing the World; but I believe thee Thou didst but mean to try my patience, And dost so still; but better be advis'd, And make thy tryal 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 believ'st it not enough to damn alone, Or with a stranger, but wouldst heap all sins Unnatural 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 unnatural to shoot it there Than in another? 'Tis our general nature To procreate, as fire is to consume, And it will trouble you to find a stick The fire will turn from; If't be Natures will We should not mix, she will discover to us Some most apparent crossness, as our organs Will not be fit; which, if we do perceive, We'll leave, and think it is her pleasure That we should deal with others.

Fath.

The doors are fast, thou shalt not say a Prayer, 'Tis not Heavens will thou shouldst, when this is done I'll kill my self, that never man may tell me I got thee.

Father draws his Sword, Angelo discovers himself.

Lel.

I pray you, Sir, help her, for Heavens sake, Sir.

Ang.

Hold, Reverend Sir, for honour of your Age.

Fath.

Who's that?

Ang.

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

Fath.

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 than kept, And I desire your patience; let me in, And I protest I will not hinder you In any act you wish, more than by word, If so I can perswade you, that I will not Use violence, I'll throw my Sword down to you; This house holds none but I, only a maid Whom I will lock fast in as I come down.

Fath.

I do not know thee, but thy tongue doth seem 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 betray'd to shame, The fear of sudden death struck me all over So violently, that I scarce have breath

He lets in Angelo, and locks the Door.

To speak yet; but I have it in my head, And out it shall, that (Father) may perhaps O'r-reach you yet.

Enter Father, and Angelo.

Fath.

Come, Sir, what is't you say?

Lel.

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

Ang.

Away.

Lel.

I was in such a fright before thou cam'st, Yond' old mad fellow (it will make thee laugh, Though it feared me) has talkt so wildly here— Sirrah, he rush'd in at my doors, and swore He was my Father, and I think believ'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 kiss together; wilt thou?

Fath.

Are you her Champion? and with these fair words Got in to rescue her from me?

Offers to run at him.

Ang.

Hold, Sir, I swear I do not harbour such a thought, I speak it not, for that you have two Swords, But for 'tis truth.

Lel.

Two Swords, my Angelo? Think this, that thou hast two young brawny arms And ne'r a Sword, and he has two good Swords, And ne'r an arm to use 'em; rush upon him, I could have beaten him with this weak Body, If I had had the spirit of a man.

Ang.

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

Fath.

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

Lel.

Would I were Clear of this business, 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 visit her; where, let her hear 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?

Fath.

But whither should I bear her?

Ang.

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

Fath.

I thank you, Sir, and happily it fits With some design I have: but how shall we Convey her?

Lel.

Will they carry me away?

Fath.

For she will scratch and kick, and 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.

Fath.

But in the street?

Ang.

Why, we will take 'em both into the Kitchen, There bind 'em, and then gag 'em, and then throw 'em Into a Coach I'll bring to the back-door, And hurry 'em away.

Fath.

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 Child, Why does 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 tears Within it, that shall spring out of thine eyes, And flow all o'r 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.

Fath.

This helps thee not.

Lel.

Basely murthered, basely.

Fath.

I warrant you.

Exeunt.

Actus Quintus.

Scena Prima.

Enter Lodowick, and Piso.

Lod.

THis roguey Captain has made fine work with us.

Pis.

I would the Devil in a storm would carry him Home to his Garrison again; I ake all over, That I am sure of; certainly my Body s of a wild-fire, for my head rings backward,

Or else I have a morise in my brains.

Lod.

I'll deal no more with Souldiers; well remembred, Did not the Vision promise to appear About this time again?

Pis.

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

Enter Father.

Fath.

O, they be here together, She's penitent, and by my troth I stagger Whether (as now she is) either of these Two fools be worthy of her; yet because Her youth is prone to fall again, ungovern'd, And marriage now may stay her, one of 'em; And Piso, since I understand him abler, Shall be the man; the other bear 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'll have one of his In pawn worth two on't; for I will not lose By such a mess of sugar-sops as this is: I am too old.

Lod.

It moves again, let's meet it.

Fath.

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 do, Sir.

Pis.

This is a short praeludium to a challenge.

Fa.

I have a message, Sir, that much concerns you, And for your special good; nay, you may hear too.

Pis.

What should this fellow mean?

Fath.

There is a Lady, (How the poor thing begins to warm already) Come to this town, (as yet a stranger here, Sir) Fair, young, and rich, both in possessions, And all the graces that make up a Woman, A Widow, and a vertuous one; it works, He needs no broth upon't.

Lod.

What of her, Sir?

Fath.

No more but this; she loves you.

Lod.

Loves me?

Fath.

Yes, And with a strong affection, but a fair one, If ye be wise and thankful ye are made; there's the whole matter.

Lod.

I am sure I hear this.

Fath.

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

Lod.

But pray, Sir, by your leave— Methinks your years should promise no ill meaning.

Fath.

I am no Bawd, nor Cheater, nor a Courser Of broken winded women; if you fear me, I'll take my leave, and let my Lady use A fellow of more form; an honester I am sure she cannot.

Lod.

Stay, you have confirm'd me, Yet let me feel; you are in health?

Fath.

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 dream still.

Pis.

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

Lod.

I.

Fath.

I'll tell you presently her very Picture, Do you know a woman in this town they call (Stay, yes, it is so) Lelia?

Piso.

Not by sight.

Fath.

Nor you, Sir?

Lod.

Neither.

Fath.

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

Pis.

We have heard though She is very fair and goodly.

Fath.

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

Lod.

Then She must be excellent indeed.

Fath.

Indeed she is, And you will find it so; you do believe me?

Lod.

Yes marry do I, and I am so alter'd—

Fath.

Your happiness will alter any man: Do not delay the time, Sir; at a house Where Don Valasco lay, the Spanish Seignior (Which now is Seignior Angelo's) she is.

Lod.

I know it.

Lod.

But before you shew your self, Let it be night by all means, willingly By day she would not have such Gallants seen Repair unto her, 'tis her modesty.

Lod.

I'll go and fit my self.

Fath.

Do, and be sure You send provision in, in full abundance, Fit for the Marriage; for this night I know She will be yours, Sir, have you never a token Of worth to send her back again? you must, She will expect it.

Lod.

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

Exit Lod.

Pis.

Well, thou hast fools luck; should I live as long As an old Oak, and say my prayers hourly, I should not be the better of a penny; I think the Devil 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.

Fath.

Do you think, Sir, That your friend, Seignior Piso, will be constant Unto my Lady? you should know him well.

Piso.

Who? Seignior Piso?

Fath.

Yes, the Gentleman.

Piso.

Why, you are wide, Sir.

Fath.

Is not his name Piso?

Piso.

No, mine is Piso.

Fath.

How?

Piso.

'Tis indeed, Sir, And his is Lodowick.

Fath.

Then I am undone, Sir, For I was sent at first to Piso; what a Rascal Was I, so ignorantly to mistake you?

Piso.

Peace, There is no harm done yet.

Fath.

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 suddenly; where I (Like a cross block-head) lost my memory; What shall I do? my Lady utterly Will put me from her favour.

Piso.

Never fear it, I'll be thy guard I warrant thee; O, O, Am I at length reputed? for the Ring, I'll fetch it back with a light vengeance from him; H'ad better keep tame Devils than that Ring; Art thou not Steward?

Fath.

No.

Pis.

Thou shalt be shortly.

Fath.

Lord, how he takes it!

Piso.

I'll go shift me streight; Art t' sure was to Piso?

Fath.

O, too sure, Sir.

Piso.

I'll mount thee if I live for't, Give me patience, heav'n, to bear this blessing I beseech thee; I am but man, I prithee break my head To make me understand I am sensible.

Fath.

Lend me your Dagger, and I will, Sir.

Piso.

No. I believe now like a good Christian.

Fath.

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

Piso.

'Tis no matter, Meet me within this half hour at St. Marg'rets. Well, go thy ways, old Lad, thou hast the trick on't.

Exit Piso.

Enter Angelo, and Julio.

Ang.

How now? the news?

Fath.

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.

VVhither man?

Jul.

If all go right I may be fast enough too.

Ang.

I cry you mercy, Sir, I know your meaning, Clora's the woman, she's Frank's Bedfellow, Commend me to 'em, go, Julio, Bring 'em to supper all, to grace this matter; They will serve for witnesses.

Jul.

I will, farewel.

Exit Julio at one door, and Ang. and Fath. at another.

SCENE II.

Enter Clora, Frank, and Frederick, and Maid.

Fred.

Sister, I brought you Jacomo to the door, He has forgot all that he said last night; And shame of that makes him loth to come, I left Fabricio perswading him, but 'tis in vain.

Fran.

Alas, my fortune, Clora.

Clor.

Now Frank, see what a kind of man you love, That loves you when he's drunk.

Fran.

If so, 'Faith, I would marry him; my friends I hope Would make him drink.

Clor.

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

Fran.

And were not I a happy woman then?

Clor.

That ever was born, Frank, i' faith—

Fred.

How now, what says he?

Enter Fabricio.

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 swears They mock him.

Fred.

Look how my Sister weeps.

Fab.

Why, who can help it?

Fred.

Yes, you may safely swear she loves him.

Fab.

Why, so I did; and may do all the oaths, Arithmetick can make, e're 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 self Shall bate so much of her own modesty To swear it to him, with such tears as now You see rain from her.

Fab.

I believe 'twould work, But would you have her do't i'th' open street? Or if you would, he'll 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 there 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 tears, he would be plain As a pleas'd Child; he walks below for me Under the window.

Clor.

We'll anger him I warrant ye, Let one of the maids take a good Bowl of water, Or say it be a piss-pot, and pour'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, and let them take unto them a pot or a Bowl containing seven quarts or upwards, and let them Never leave, till the above named Pot or Bowl become full, then let one of them stretch out Her Arm, and pour it on his head, and probatum est, it Will fetch him, for in his anger he will run up, and then let Us alone.

Clor.

Go you and do it.

Exit Maid.

Fran.

Good Clora, no.

Clor.

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

Fran.

Why, this will make him mad, Fabricio, He'll neither love me drunk nor sober now.

Fab.

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

Enter Wench.

Clor.

Art thou there, wench?

Wench.

I.

Fab.

Look out then if thou canst see him.

Wench.

Yes, I see him, and by my troth he stands so fair I could not Hold were he my Father, his hat's off too, and he's scratching His head.

Fab.

O, wash that hand I prithee.

Wench.

'Send thee good luck, this the second time I have thrown thee Out to day, ha, ha, ha, just on's head.

Fran.

Alas!

Fab.

What does he now?

Wench.

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

Jac.

VVhores, Bawds, your windows, your windows.

Wench.

Now he is breaking all the low windows with His Sword, Excellent sport, now he's beating a fellow that laugh'd at him, Truly the man takes it patiently; now he goes down the street Gravely, looking on each side, there's not one more dare laugh.

Fran.

Does he go on?

Wench.

Yes.

Fran.

Fabricio, you have undone a Maid

Frank kneels.

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

Fab.

This vexes me, I pray you be more patient,

Lifts her up.

If I have any truth, let what will happen, I'll bring him presently, do ye all stand At the Street door, the maids, and all, to watch VVhen I come back, 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 own discretions.

Fred.

VVe will do it.

Fab.

But suddenly, for I will bring him hither VVith that unstopt speed, that he shall run over All that's in's way; and though my life be ventur'd 'Tis no great matter, I will do't.

Fran.

I thank you, VVorthy Fabricio.

Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Jacomo.

Jac.

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

seem to smell.

Enter Fabritio.

Fab.

Jacomo, how do'st thou?

Jac.

Well, something troubled with waterish humours.

Fab.

Foh, how thou stink'st! pre'thee stand further off me, Me thinks these humours become thee better than thy dry Cholerick humours, or thy wine-wet humours; ha?

Jac.

You're pleasant, but Fabritio know I am not in the mood of Suffering jests.

Fab.

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

Jac.

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

Fab.

The Gentlewomen and the Maids have counted to you already, The next turn I see is mine.

Jac.

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

Fab.

Provoke you? you're grown the strangest fellow; there's no Keeping company with you, phish; take you that.

Jac.

O all the Devils! stand Slave.

Fab. gives him a box o'th' ear suddenly, and throws him from him, and goes his way, whilst Jaco. draws his Sword.

Fab.

Follow me if thou dar'st.

Jac.

Stay coward, stay.— Jac. runs after Fabricio.

SCENE IV.

Enter Fred. Fra. Clora, and Servant, and Maid.

Clora.

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

Enter Fabritio.

Fab.

Where's the place?

Fred.

That way Fabritio.

Exit Fabritio.

Enter Jacomo.

Jac.

Where art thou treacher,* 4.3 What is the matter Sirs? Why do you hold me? I am basely wrong'd, Torture, and hell be with you; let me go.* 4.4

Fre.

Good Jac. be patient, and but hear What I can say, you know I am your friend, If you yet doubt it, by my soul I am.

Jac.

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

Fred.

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

Jac.

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

Fran.

As you're a Gentleman Let not this boldness make me be believ'd To be immodest; if there were a way More silently to be acquainted with you, God knows, that I would choose, but as it is Take it in plainness: I do love you more Than you do your content, if you refuse To pity me, I'le never cease to weep, And when mine eyes be out I will be told How fast the tears I shed for you do fall, And if they do not slow abundantly, I'le fetch a sigh shall make 'em start, and leap, As if the fire were under.

Jac.

Fine mocking, fine mocking.

Fred.

Mocking? look how she weeps.

Jac.

Do's she counterfeit crying too?

Fred.

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

Jac.

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

Clo.

Earnest? I in earnest: she's a fool to break so many sleeps, That would have been sound ones, & venture such a fane, and So much life, for e're an humorous asse i'th' world.

Fra.

Why Clora? I have known you cry as much For Julio, that has not half his worth, All night you write and weep too much I fear, I do but what I should.

Clora.

If I do write, I am answer'd Frank.

Fran.

I would I might be so.

Jac.

Good Frederick let me go, I would fain try 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 roof, before I have deliver'd My self, as I am now, into your hands, Or have your full consent.

Fred.

It is enough.

Ja.

Gentlewoman, I pray you let me feel your face; I am an Infidel, if she do not weep: Stay, where's my handkerchief? I'le wipe the old wet off, fresh tears come, pox on't I am a handsom, gracious fellow amongst women, and Knew't not Gentlewoman; how should I know these tears are For me? is not your Mother dead?

Fran.

By heaven they are for you.

Jac.

'Slight I'le have my head curl'd, and powder'd to morrow By break of day; if you love me, I pray you kiss me, For if I love you, it shall be such love, as I will not be Asham'd of, if this be a mock —

kisses.

It is the heartiest, and the sweetest mock That e're I tasted, mock me so again —

kiss again

Fred.

Fy Jacomo? why do you let her kneel So long?

Jac.

It's true I had forgot it—

lifts her up.

And should have done this twelve-moneth; pray you rise. Frederick, if I could all this while have been perswaded she could Have lov'd me, dost thou think I had not rather kiss her Than another should? and yet you may gull me for ought I know, but if you do, hell take me if I do not cut All your throats sleeping.

Fred.

Oh do not think of such a thing.

Jac.

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

Fran.

Alas, I am.

Jac.

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 pawn, being lin'd almost quite Through with velvet.

Fran.

'Tis better than your Julio's.

Jac.

Thou thinkest so, But otherwise, in faith it is not Frank—whilst Jacomo is kissing Frank.

Enter Fabritio.

Fab.

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

Jac.

Why very well, I thank you Sir.

Fab.

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

Jac.

'Tis wondrous good Sir.

Fab.

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

Fred.

He gives good counsel.

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.

Jac.

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

Fab.

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

Clora.

And me my Julio.

O God I hear his voyce, now he is true,

Have at a marriage Frank, as soon as you—

Exeunt all but Fred.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess.

Sir I would speak with you.

Fred.

What is your hastly business friend?

Mess.

The Duke commands your present attendance at Court.

Fred.

The cause?

Mess.

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

Fred.

I will be there Within this hour, return my humble service.

Mess.

I will Sir.

Exit Messenger.

Fred.

Farewel 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 gone to Church, To marry Captain Jacomo, and Julio To do as much for the young merry Gentlewoman, Fair 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 bargain As Cockles.

Fred.

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

Ser.

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

Ex.

Fred. reads.

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

Enter Messenger again.

Mess.

You are stai'd for Sir.

Fred.

I come, pray God the business Hold me not from this sport, I would not lose it.

Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Enter Father, Piso, Angelo, and Lelia.

Ang.

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

Piso.

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

Fath.

They will, I lookt for 'em e're this.

Enter Julio, Jacomo, Fabritio, Frank, Clora.

Jul.

By your leave all.

Fath.

They're here Sir.

Jul.

Especially fair Lady I ask your pardon, to whose marriage-bed I wish all good success, I have here brought you Such guests as can discern your happiness, And best do know how to rejoyce at it; ••••e ••u••h a fortune they themselves have run, The worthy Jacomo, and his fair Bride, Noble Fabritio, whom this age of peace Has not yet taught to love ought but the warrs, And his true friends, this Lady who is but A piece of me.

Exit Father.

Leli.

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

Piso.

Bring in some wine, some of the wine Lodowick the fool Sent hither: who ever thou bid'st welcom shall find it.

Leli.

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

Jac.

Faith Madam, our weddings were as hasty as yours, We are glad to run up and down any whither, to see where We can get meat to our wedding.

Piso.

That Lodowick hath provided too, good Asse.

Ang.

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

Jul.

Why I did give thee inklings.

Ang.

If a marriage should be thus stubber'd up in a play, e're almost Any body had taken notice you were in love, the Spectators Would take it to be but ridiculous.

Jul.

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

Enter Father.

Fath.

Sir, yonder's your friend Lodowick, hide your self And 'twill be the best sport —

Piso.

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

Enter Lodowick.

Lod.

Is that the Lady?

Fath.

That is my Lady.

Lod.

As I live she's a fair one; what make all these here?

Fath.

O Lord Sir she is so pester'd—

Fab.

Now will the sport be, it runs right as Julio told us.

Lod.

Fair Lady health to you; some words I have, that Require an utterance more private, Than this place can afford.

Lel.

I'le call my husband, All business I hear with his ears now.

Lod.

Good Madam no, but I perceive your jest, You have no husband, I am the very man That walk'd the streets so comely.

Lel.

Are you so?

Lod.

Yes faith, when Cupid first did prick your heart. I am not cruel, but the love begun I'th' street I'le satisfie i'th' chamber fully.

Lel.

To ask a Madman whether he be mad Were but an idle question, if you be, I do not speak to you, but if you be not Walk in the streets again, 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 was 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?

Fath.

Yes surely Sir, did I, but your worship must ev'n bear 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 married to him, I saw't With these gray eyes.

Lod.

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

Fa.

O a Gentleman should not have such foul words But your Worships provision could not have come in at a fitter time; Will it please you to tast any of your own wine? It may be the Vintner has cozen'd you.

Lod.

Pox I am mad.

Ang.

You have always plots Sir, and see how they fall out.

Jac.

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

Lod.

I do not speak to you.

Fab.

Because you dare not.

Lod.

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

Fat.

Do'st not thou know that I can beat thee? Dost thou know it now? (discovers himself.)

Lod.

He beat me once indeed.

Fat.

And if you have for got it, I can call a witness, Come forth Piso—remember you it?

Piso.

Faith I do call to minde such a matter.

Fat.

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?

Fat.

I' faith 'tis she, Son.

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 mean To keep it so for ever.

Fa.

There is no starting now, Son, if you offer't I can compel you, her estate is great, But all made o're to me, before this match, Yet if you use her kindly, as I swear I think 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 bless you with a child by her, It shall have all.

Piso.

So I may have the means, I do not much care what the woman is: Come my sweet heart, as long as I shall find Thy kisses sweet, and thy means plentifull, Let people talk their tongues out.

Lel.

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

Jul.

Shall we not make Piso, and Lodowick friends?

Jac.

Hang 'em they dare not be Enemies, or if they be, The danger is not great, welcom Frederick

Enter Frederick.

Fred.

First joy unto you all; and next I think We shall have wars.

Jac.

Give me some wine, I'le drink to that.

Fab.

I'le pledge.

Fran.

But I shall lose you then.

Jac.

Not a whit wench; I'le teach thee presently to be a Souldier.

Fred.

Fabritio's command, and yours are both restor'd.

Jac.

Bring me four 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 happiness to me, I did so well: Of every noble action, the intent Is to give worth reward, vice, punishment.

Exeunt Om.

Prologue.

TO please you with this Play, we fear will be (So does the Author too) a mystery Somewhat above our Art; For all mens eyes, Ears, faiths, and judgements, are not of one size. For to say truth, and not to flatter ye, This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy, Nor History, nor any thing that may (Yet in a week) be made a perfect Play: Yet those that love to laugh, and those that think Twelve pence goes farther this way than in drink, Or Damsels, if they mark the matter through, May stumble on a foolish toy, or two Will make 'em shew their teeth: pray, for my sake (That likely am your first man) do not take A distaste before you feel it: for ye may When this is hist to ashes, have a Play. And here, to out-hiss this; be patient then, (My honour done) y'are welcom Gentlemen.

Epilogue.

IF you mislike (as you shall ever be Your own free Judges) this Play utterly, For your own Nobleness yet do not hiss, But as you go by, say it was amiss; And we will mend: Chide us, but let it be Never in cold blood: O' my honesty (If I have any) this I'le say for all, Our meaning was to please you still, and shall.

Notes

• a 4.1

  Ang. makes discontented signs.
• b 4.2

  Maid laies her finger cross her mouth to him.
• * 4.3

  Fred. Clor. and Maid, lay hold on Jacomo.
• * 4.4

  they drag him to a chair and hold him down in't.