WOMEN PLEAS'D

Sil. TIs true she is a right good Princess, and a just one, And Florence when she sets, has lost a Planet. Bar. My Mistriss? I tell thee gentle Nephew, There is not such another friend to goodness, To down-right dealing, to faith and true heart Within the Christian confines: Before she blest us, Justice was a Cheese-monger, a meer Cheese-monger, Weigh'd nothing to the world but Mites and Maggots, And a main stink: Law like a Horse-courser, Her rules, and precepts hung with gawdes and ribbonds And pamper'd up to cousen him that bought her, When she her self was hackney, lame, and founder'd. Sil. But the sweet Lady, Belvidere the bright one— Bar. I, there's a face indeed: Oh my dear Nephew, Could a young fellow of thy fiery mettle Freeze, and that Lady in his Arms? Sil. I think not. Bar. Thou hast a parlous judgement; but let that pass, She is as truly virtuous, fair, and noble, As her great Mother's good: and that's not ordinary. Sil. But why (so many Princes, and so great ones Being Suitors) should the Dutchess deny to match her? Bar. She is a Jewel man, hangs in her bosom, Her only Child: with her eies she sees all things, Discourses with her tongue, and pluck her from her (So dotingly the old one loves her young one) You pluck her heart out too: Besides, of late daies, The Duke of Milan, who could never win her By Love, nor Treaty, laid a close train for her In her own private Walks: some forty Horse-men, So to surprize her; which we found, and dealt with, And sent 'em running home to the Duke their Master, Like Dogs with bottles at their tails. Sil. Since that, I heard Sir, She has sent her to your Cittadel to secure her, My cosin Rodope, your wife attending her. Bar. You hear a truth, and all convenient pleasures Are there proportion'd for her. Sil. I would fain, Sir, Like one that owes a dutious service to her Sometimes so please you— Bar. Gentle Cosin pardon me, I must not, nor you must not dare to offer, The last Edict lies on his life pursues it; Your friend, Sir, to command, abroad to love you To lend ye any thing I have, to wait upon ye, But in the Cittadel where I stand charg'd, Not a bit upon a march: no service, Sir, No, good Sir by no means: I kiss your hands, Sir. [Exit. Sil. To your keeping only? none else to look upon her? None but Bartello worthy her attendance? No faith but his to serve her? Oh Belvidere, Thou Saint to whom my youth is sacrific'd, Thou point to which my life turns, and my fortune, Art thou lock'd from me now? from all my comforts, Art thou snatch'd violently? thou hear'st me not, Nor canst thou see (fair soul) thy servants mournings, Yet let thy gentle heart feel what his absence, The great divorse of minds so truly loving, So long, and nurs'd in one affection Even from our infant eyes, suck'd in and nourish'd: Oh let it feel but that, and there stand constant And I am blest. My dear Aunt Rodope, That is her Governess, did love me dearly, There's one hope yet to see her: when he is absent It may be ventur'd, and she may work it closely: I know the Ladies will goe equal with me, And so the danger of the Edict avoided; Let me think more, for I must try all hazards.

Soto. Will ye go yonder, Sir? Cla. Yes marry will I Sir. Soto. And by this Ladder? Cla. By that Ladder, coxcombe. Soto. Have ye any more necks at home when this is broken, For this will crack with the best friend he has Sir? Or can you pitch of all four, like an Ape now? Let me see you tumble. Cla. You are very pleasant Sir. Soto. No truly Sir, I should be loath to see ye Come fluttering down like a young Rook, cry squab, And take ye up with your brains beaten into your buttocks. Cla. Hold your peace Asse: who's this stands musing here? Sylvio? Sil. Who calls me? Cla. One most glad to see you Sir. Sil. My dearest Claudio? what make you thus private, And with a preparation of this nature? Soto. We have leave to play, and are going to climb Birds nests. Sil. Prethee what is it friend? why start ye from me? Is your old Mistriss grown so coy and cruel, She must be scal'd? it seems you are loath to tell me, Since twenty years continuance of our friendship May not be worth the weight of such a secret, 'Twill be but rude to aske again: save ye. Cla. Nay stay, dear Silvio, if you love me take it: For till you know it, never woman labour'd As I do now. Sil. I'll doe my best to ease it. Cla. You have heard the Lady Belvidere— Sil. What heard Sir? Cla. Heard to the Cittadel, upon some fears She is confin'd. Sil. Why dreams he on this beauty? 'Tis true, I have heard it. Cla. And that no access, No blessing from those eyes, but with much hazard, Even hazard of a life. Sil. He dares not love her; I have heard that too: but whither points your purpose? Cla. Oh Silvio, let me speak that none may hear me, None but thy truth: I have lov'd this Lady long, Long given away my life to her devotion, Long dwelt upon that beauty to my ruine. Sil. Do's she know this? Cla. No, there begins my misery, Ixion-like, I have only yet clasp'd clouds, And fed upon poor empty dreams that starve me. Sil. And what do you mean to do now? Cla. Though I dye for't. Though all the tortures in the world hung on me, Arm'd with imperious Love, I stand prepar'd now, With this to reach her Chamber: there to see her, And tell her boldly with what truth I love her. Sil. 'Twill not be easily done Sir. Cla. Oh my Silvio, The hardest things are sweetest in possession. Sil. Nor will shew much discretion. Cla. Love is blind man, And he that looks for reason there far blinder. Sil. Have ye consider'd ripely? Cla. All that may fall, And arm'd against that all. Sil. Her honor too? What she may suffer in this rash adventure The beauty of her name? Cla. I'll doe it closely, And only at her window, with that caution— Sil. Are there no Guards? Cla. Corruption chokes their service. Sil. Or do you hold her bred so light a woman To hold commerce with strange tongues? Cla. Why this service, This only hazard of my life must tell her, Though she were Vestas self, I must deserve her. Sil. I would not have ye go: pray let it sink here, And think a nobler way to raise your service, A safer and a wiser. Cla. 'Tis too late, Sir. Sil. Then I must say, You shall not goe. Cla. I shall not? Sil. You shall not go: that part bred with ye, friendship Bids me say boldly so, and you observe me. Cla. You stretch that tye too far. Sil. I'll stretch it farther: The honor that I bear that spotless virtue You fouly seek to taint, unnobly covet, Bids me command ye stay: if not, thus force ye. Soto. This will be worse than climbing. Cla. Why do ye draw Sir? Sil. To kill thee, if thy base will be thy Master. Cla. I ever was your friend. Sil. Whilst thou wert honest, And not a Night-thief of anothers honor; I never call'd a fool my friend, a mad man, That durst expose his fame to all opinions, His life to unhonest dangers: I never lov'd him, Durst know his name, that sought a Virgins ruine, Nor ever took I pleasure in acquaintance With men, that give as loose rains to their fancies As the wild Ocean to his raging fluxes: A noble soul I twin with, and my love Followes his life, dares master his affections. Will ye give off, or fight? Cla. I will not fight with ye: The sacred name of friend ties up that anger, Rather I'll study. Sil. Do, to be a friend still. Cla. If this way, I shall never hold. Sil. I'll watch ye: And if I catch ye false: by heaven ye dye for't, All love forgot. Cla. When I fear that, I am fit for't. [Exeunt.

Lop. Whilst prodigal young gaudy fools are banqueting, And launching out their states to catch the giddy, Thus do I study to preserve my fortune, And hatch with care at home the wealth that Saints me. Here's Rubies of Bengala, rich, rich, glorious; These Diamonds of Ormus bought for little, Here vented at the price of Princes Ransomes; How bright they shine like constellations, The South Seas treasure here, Pearl, fair and orient Able to equal Cleopatra's Banquet: Here chains of lesser stones for Ladies lusters, Ingotts of Gold, Rings, Brooches, bars of Silver, These are my studies to set off in sale well, And not in sensual surfeits to consume 'em; How rosts mine egg; he heats apace, I'll turn him: Penurio, where you knave do you wait? Penurio, You lazie knave. Pen. Did you call Sir? Lop. Where's your Mistriss? What vanity holds her from her attendance? Pen. The very sight of this egg has made him cockish, What would a dozen butter'd do? She is within Sir. Lop. Within Sir, at what thrif[t] ye knave? what getting? Pen. Getting a good stomach Sir, and she knew where to get meat to it, She is praying heartily upon her knees Sir, That Heaven would send her a good bearing dinner. Lop. Nothing but gluttony and surfeit thought on, Health flung behind: had she not yesternight sirrah Two Sprats to supper, and the oil allowable? Was she not sick with eating? Hadst not thou, (Thou most ungrateful knave, that nothing satisfies) The water that I boil'd my other egg in To make thee hearty broth? Pen. 'Tis true, I had Sir; But I might as soon make the Philosophers Stone on't, You gave it me in water, and but for manners sake, I could give it you again, in wind, it was so hearty I shall turn pissing-Conduit shortly: my Mistriss comes, Sir.

Lop. Welcome my Dove. Isab. Pray ye keep your welcome to ye, Unless it carries more than words to please me, Is this the joy to be a Wife? to bring with me, Besides the nobleness of blood I spring from, A full and able portion to maintain me? Is this the happiness of youth and beauty, The great content of being made a Mistriss, To live a Slave subject to wants and hungers, To jealousies for every eye that wanders? Unmanly jealousie. Lop. Good Isabella. Isab. Too good for you: do you think to famish me, Or keep me like an Alms-woman in such rayment, Such poor unhandsome weeds? am I old, or ugly? I never was bred thus: and if your misery Will suffer wilful blindness to abuse me, My patience shall be no Bawd to mine own ruine. Pen. Tickle him Mistris: to him. Isab. Had ye love in ye, Or any part of man— Pen. Follow that Mistriss. Isab. Or had humanity but ever known ye, You would shame to use a woman of my way thus, So poor, and basely; you are strangely jealous of me If I should give ye cause. Lop. How Isabella? Isab. As do not venture this way to provoke me. Pen. Excellent well Mistriss. Lop. How's this Isabella? Isab. 'Twill stir a Saint, and I am but a woman, And by that tenure may— Lop. By no means chicken, You know I love ye: fie, take no example By those young gadding Dames: (you are noted virtuous) That stick their Husbands wealth in trifles on 'em And point 'em but the way to their own miseries: I am not jealous, kiss me, —— I am not: And for your Diet, 'tis to keep you healthful, Surfeits destroy more than the sword: that I am careful Your meat should be both neat, and cleanly handled See, Sweet, I am Cook my self, and mine own Cater. Pen. A —— of that Cook cannot lick his fingers. Lop. I'll add another dish: you shall have Milk to it, 'Tis nourishing and good. Pen. With Butter in't Sir? Lop. This knave would breed a famine in a Kingdom: And cloths that shall content ye: you must be wise then, And live sequestred to your self and me, Not wandring after every toy comes cross ye, Nor struck with every spleen: what's the knave doing? Penurio. Pen. Hunting Sir, for a second course of Flies here, They are rare new Sallads. Lop. For certain Isabella This ravening fellow has a Wolf in's [belly]: Untemperate knave, will nothing quench thy appetite? I saw him eat two Apples, which is monstrous. Pen. If you had given me those 't had been more monstrous. Lop. 'Tis a main miracle to feed this villain, Come Isabella, let us in to supper, And think the Roman dainties at our Table, 'Tis all but thought. [Exeunt. Pen. Would all my thoughts would do it: The Devil should think of purchasing that Egg-shell, To victual out a Witch for the Burmoothes: 'Tis Treason to any good stomach living now To hear a tedious Grace said, and no meat to't, I have a Radish yet, but that's but transitory. [Exit.

Soto. Can any living man, unless a Rascal That neither knows himself, nor a fashion'd Gentleman Take me for a worse man than my Master now? I am naturally proud in these clothes: but if pride now Should catch a fall in what I am attempting, 'Tis but a Proverb sound, and a neck broken, That's the worst can come on't, a Gentleman's gone then, A Gentleman o'th' first house, there's the end on't: My Master lies most pittifully complaining, Wringing and kicking up to th' ears in love yonder, And such a lamentable noise he keeps, it kills me: I have got his cloaths, and if I can get to her By hook or crook here, such a song I'll sing her— I think I shall be hang'd, but that's no matter, What's a hanging among friends: I am valiant now as an Elephant, I have consider'd what to say too: let me see now, This is the place, 'tis plaguy high: stay at that lower window Let me aim finely now, like a good Gunner, It may prove but a whipping.

Sil. I saw some body Pass by me now, and though it were dark, me-thought yet I knew the clothes: ha, let me not be cozen'd, The Ladder too, ready to fling it? monstrous, 'Tis he, 'tis Claudio: most voluptuous villain, Scandal to womans credit: Love, I forget thee. Soto. What will he do i'th' name of Heaven, what's that there? Sil. And all the friendship that I bore thee, bury here. Soto. What has he in's hand? I hope but a Cudgel. Sil. Thy faul'ts forgive O Heaven: farewel thou traitor. Soto. I am slain: I am slain. Sil. He's down, and dead: dead certain, 'Twas too rash, too full of spleen, stark dead: This is no place now to repent in, only Would I had given this hand that shot the Pistol I had miss'd thee, and thou wer't once more Claudio. [Exit.

Cla. Why should I love thus foolishly? thus desperately? And give away my heart where no hope's left me? Why should not the true counsel of a friend restrain me? The Devils mouth I run into affright me, The honor of the Lady, charm my wildness; I have no power, no Being of my self, No reason strong enough now left within me To bind my Will: Oh Love, thou god, or devil, Or what thou art, that playes the tyrant in me. Soto. Oh. Cla. What's that cry? Soto. A Surgeon, a Surgeon, Twenty good Surgeons. Cla. 'Tis not far from me, Some murther o' my life. Soto. Will you let me dye here? No drink come, nor no Surgeon? Cla. 'Tis my man sure, His voice, and here he lies: how is it with thee? Soto. I am slain, Sir, I am slain. Cla. Slain? Who has slain thee? Soto. Kill'd, kill'd, out-right kill'd. Cla. Where's thy hurt? Soto. I know not, But I am sure I am kill'd. Cla. Canst thou sit up, That I may find the hurt out? Soto. I can sit up, But ne'er the less I am slain. Cla. 'Tis not o' this side? Soto. No Sir, I think it be not. Cla. Nor o' this side, Was it done with a sword? Soto. A Gun, a Gun, sweet Master. Cla. The devil a bullet has been here: thou art well man. Soto. No sure I am kill'd. Cla. Let me see thy thighs, and belly, As whole as a fish for any thing I see yet: Thou bleed'st no where. Soto. I think I do not bleed, Sir, But yet I am afraid I am slain. Cla. Stand up fool, Thou hast as much hurt as my nail; who shot thee, A Pottle, or a Pint? Soto. Signior Silvio shot me In these clothes; taking me for you, and seeing The Ladder in my hand here, which I stole from ye, Thinking to have gone to the Lady my self, and have spoke for ye. Cla. If he had hit ye home, he had serv'd ye right sirrah, You saucy rogue, how poor my intent shews to me, How naked now, and foolish! Soto. Are ye sure he has not hit me, It gave a monstrous bounce? Cla. You rose o' your right side, And said your prayers too, you had been payed else: But what need'st thou a Bullet, when thy fear kills thee? Sirrah, keep your own counsel for all this, you'll be hang'd else, If it be known. Soto. If it be by my means, let me; I am glad I am not kill'd, and far more gladder My Gentleman-like humor's out: I feel 'tis dangerous, And to be a gentleman, is to be kill'd twice a week. Cla. Keep your self close i'th' Countrey for a while sirrah. There's Money, walk to your friends. Soto. They have no Pistols, Nor are no Gentlemen, that's my comfort. [Exit. Cla. I will retire too, and live private; for this Silvio, Inflam'd with nobleness, will be my death else; And if I can forget this love that loads me, At least the danger: and now I think on't better, I have some conclusions else invites me to it. [Exit.

Rod. NEphew. Sil. My dear Aunt. Rod. Would you go by thus slily, And never see me, not once send in to me Your loving Aunt? she that above all those I call my kindred, honour'd you, and placed you Nearest my heart? Sil. I thank you worthy Aunt But such at this time are my occasions— Rod. You shall not goe yet, by my faith you shall not, I will not be deny'd: why look ye sad Nephew? Sil. I am seldom other: Oh, this blood sits heavy: As I walk'd this way late last night, In meditation of some things concern'd me— Rod. What Nephew? Sil. Why methought I heard a Piece, Lady, A Piece shot off, much about this place too, But could not judge the cause, nor what it boaded, Under the Castle-wall. Rod. We heard it too, And the Watch pursu'd it presently, but found nothing, Not any tract. Sil. I am right glad to hear it: The Ruffians surely that command the night Have found him, stript him: and into the River Convey'd the body. Rod. You look still sadder, Nephew, Is any thing within these walls to comfort ye? Speak, and be Master of it. Sil. Ye are a right Courtier, A great Professor, but a poor performer. Rod. Do you doubt my faith: you never found me that way. I dare well speak it boldly, but a true friend. Sil. Continue then. Rod. Try me, and see who falters. Sil. I will, and presently: 'tis in your power To make me the most bound man to your courtesie. Rod. Let me know how, and if I fail— Sil. 'Tis thus then, Get me access to the Lady Belvidere, But for a minute, but to see her: your Husband now Is safe at Court, I left him full employ'd there. Rod. You have ask'd the thing without my power to grant ye, The Law lies on the danger: if I lov'd ye not I would bid ye goe, and there be found, and dye for't. Sil. I knew your love, and where there shew'd a danger How far you durst step for me: give me a true friend; That where occasion is to do a benefit Aims at the end, and not the rubs before it; I was a fool to ask ye this, a more fool To think a woman had so much noble nature To entertain a secret of this burthen; Ye had best to tell the Dutchess I perswaded ye, That's a fine course, and one will win ye credit; Forget the name of Cosin, blot my blood out, And so you raise your self, let me grow shorter. A woman friend? he that believes that weakness Steers in a stormy night without a Compass. Rod. What is't I durst not do might not impeach ye? Sil. Why this ye dare not do, ye dare not think of. Rod. 'Tis a main hazard. Sil. If it were not so I would not come to you to seek a favour. Rod. You will lose your self. Sil. The loss ends with my self then. Rod. You will but see her? Sil. Only look upon her. Rod. Not stay? Sil. Prescribe your time. Rod. Not traffique with her In any close dishonourable action? Sil. Stand you your self by. Rod. I will venture for ye, Because ye shall be sure I am a touch'd friend, I'll bring her to ye: come walk, you know the Garden, And take this key to open the little Postern, There stand no guards. Sil. I shall soon find it Aunt. [Exeunt.

1 Sold. Is the Captain come home? 2 Sold. No, who commands the Guard to night? 1 Sold. I think Petruchio. 2 Sold. What's the Word? 1 Sold. None knows yet. 2 Sold. I would this Lady were married out o'th'way once, Or out of our custodies; I wish they would take in more companies, For I am sure we feel her in our duties shrewdly. 1 Sold. 'Tis not her fault I warrant ye, she is ready for't, And that's the plague, when they grow ripe for marriage They must be slipt like Hawkes. 2 Sold. Give me a mean wench, No State doubt lies on her, she is alwayes ready. 1 Sold. Come to the Guard, 'tis late, and sure the Captain Can not be long away. 2 Sold. I have watch'd these three nights, To morrow they may keep me tame for nothing. [Exeunt.

Sil. This is the place I think; what Light is that there? The Lady and my Cosin? Bel. Is this the Garden? Rod. Yes Madam. Sil. Oh my blessed Mistriss, Saint of my soul. Bel. Speak softly: take me to ye, Oh Silvio, I am thine, thine ever Silvio. Rod. Is this your promise, Sir? Lady your honor? I am undone if this be seen, disgrac'd, Fallen under all discredit. Bel. Do you love still? Dear, do you keep your old faith? Sil. Ever Lady; And when that fails me, all that's good forsake me. Rod. Do not you shame? Madam, I must not suffer this, I will not suffer it; men call you virtuous, What do you mean to lose your self thus; Silvio? I charge thee get away, I charge you retire ye, I'll call the Watch else. Sil. Call all the world to see us, We live in one anothers happiness, And so will die. Bel. Here will I hang for ever. Rod. As ye respect me, as hereafter Madam You would enjoy his love—nothing prevail with ye? I'll try my strength then; get thee gone thou villain, Thou Promise-breaker. Sil. I am tide, I cannot. Rod. I'll ring the Bell then. Sil. Ring it to death, I am fixt here.

Bart. I saw a Light over the Garden walk, Hard by the Ladies Chamber, here's some knavery As I live, I saw it twice. Rod. The Guard, the Guard there; I must not suffer this, it is too mischievous. Bart. Light up the Torch, I fear'd this, ha? young Silvio? How got he in? 1 Sold. The Devil brought him in sure He came not by us. Bart. My wife between 'em busling? Guard, pull him off. Rod. Now, now, ye feel the misery. Bart. You, Madam, at an hour so far undecent? Death, O my soul! this is a foul fault in ye, Your mothers care abus'd too, Light's to her Chamber, I am sorry to see this. Bell. Farewel my Silvio, And let no danger sink thee. Sil. Nor death Lady. [Exeunt Bell. Rod. B[a]rt. Are ye so hot? I shall prepare ye Physick Will purge ye finely, neatly: you are too fiery, Think of your prayers, Sir, an you have not forgot 'em; Can ye flie i' th' air, or creep ye in at key-holes? I have a Gin will catch ye though you conjur'd: Take him to Guard to night, to strong and sure Guard; I'll back to th' Dutchess presently: no less sport serve ye, Than the Heir to a Dukedom? play at push-pin there Sir? It was well aim'd, but plague upon't, you shot short, And that will lose your game. Sil. I know the loss then. [Exeunt.

Clau. Now, in this habit may I safely see How my incensed friend carries my murther, Who little I imagin'd had been wrought To such a height of rage, and much I grieve now Mine own blind passion had so master'd me, I could not see his love, for sure he loves her, And on a nobler ground than I pretended.

It must be so, it is so; what Penurio, My shotten friend, what wind blew you? Pen. Faith 'tis true, Any strong wind will blow me like a Feather, I am all Air, nothing of earth within me, Nor have not had this month, but that good Dinner Your Worship gave me yesterday, that staies by me, And gives me ballast, else the Sun would draw me. Cla. But does my Mistriss speak still of me? Pen. Yes, Sir, And in her sleep, that makes my Master mad too, And turn and fart for anger. Cla. Art sure she saw me? Pen. She saw ye at a window. Cla. 'Tis most true, In such a place I saw a Gentlewoman, A young, sweet, handsome woman. Pen. That's she, that's she Sir. Cla. And well she view'd me, I view'd her. Pen. Still she Sir. Cla. At last she blush'd, and then look'd off. Pen. That blush, Sir, If you can read it truly— Cla. But didst thou tell her, Or didst thou fool me, thou knew'st such a one? Pen. I told her, and I told her such a sweet tale— Cla. But did she hear thee? Pen. With a thousand ears, Sir, And swallow'd what I said as greedily, As great-belly'd women do Cherries, stones and all Sir. Cla. Methinks she should not love thy Master? Pen. Hang him Pilcher, There's nothing loves him: his own Cat cannot endure him, She had better lye with a Bear, for he is so hairy, That a tame Warren of Fleas frisk round about him. Cla. And wilt thou work still? Pen. Like a Miner for ye. Cla. And get access. Pen. Or conjure you together, 'Tis her desire to meet: she is poyson'd with him, And till she take a sweet fresh air, that's you Sir. Cla. There's money for thee: thou art a precious Varlet Be fat, be fat, and blow thy Master backward. Pen. Blow you my Mistriss, Sir, as flat as a Flounder, Then blow her up again, as Butchers blow their Veals; If she dye upon the same Bury her, bury her in Gods name. Cla. Thou art a merry knave: by this hand I'll feed thee, Till thou crack'st at both ends, if thou dar'st do this Thou shall eat no fantastical Porridge, Nor lick the dish where oil was yesterday, Dust, and dead Flies to day; Capons, fat Capons— Pen. Oh hearty sound. Cla. Cramb'd full of itching Oysters. Pen. Will ye have the Dutchess? Cla. And Lobsters big as Gauntlets, Thou shalt despise base Beef. Pen. I do despise it, And now methinks I feel a Tart come sliding. Cla. Leaping into thy mouth: but first deal faithfully. Pen. When will ye come? Cla. To morrow. Pen. I'll attend ye, For then my Master will be out in business. Cla. What news abroad? Pen. 'Mas, as I was coming to you, I heard that Signior Silvio, a good Gentleman, Many a good meal I have eaten wit[h] him— Cla. What of him? Pen. Was this day to be arraigned before the Dutchess, But why, I could not hear. Cla. Silvio arraign'd? Go, get ye gone, and think of me. Pen. I flie Sir. [Exit Pen. Cla. Arraign'd? for what? for my supposed death? no, That cannot be sure, there's no rumor of it, Be it what it will, I will be there and see it, And if my help will bring him off, he has it. [Exit.

Du. Read the Edict last made, Keep silence there.

Couns. The reason why my Royal Mistriss here In her last Treaty with Sien[n]as Duke, Promis'd her beauteous daughter there in marriage, The Duke of Milan, rival in this fortune, Un-nobly sought by practice to betray her; Which found, and cross'd, the Cittadel receiv'd her There to secure her Mothers word; the last cause So many Gentlemen of late enamour'd On this most beauteous Princess, and not brooking One more than other, to deserve a favour, Bloud has been spilt, many brave spirits lost, And more, unless she had been kept, close from their violence, Had like to have followed: therefore for due prevention Of all such hazards and unnoble actions, This last Edict was published, which thou Silvio Like a false man, a bad man, and a Traitor Hast rent a-peeces, and contemn'd, for which cause Thou standest a guilty man here now.

Clark. Speak Silvio, What canst thou say to avoid the hand of Justice? Sil. Nothing, but I confess, submit and lay my head to it. Bel. Have ye no eyes my Lords, no understandings? The Gentleman will cast himsel[f] away, Cast himself wilfully: are you, or you guilty? No more is he, no more taint sticks upon him: I drew him thither; 'twas my way betrai'd him, I got the entrance kept, I entertain'd him, I hid the danger from him, forced him to me, Poor gentle soul, he's in no part transgressing, I wrote unto him. Sil. Do not wrong that honor, Cast not upon that pureness these aspersions, [By Heaven it] was my love, my violence, My life must answer it: I broke in to her, Tempted the Law, solicited unjustly. Bel. As there is truth in Heaven, I was the first cause: How could this man have come to me, left naked Without my counsel and provision? What hour could he find out to pass the Watches, But I must make it sure first? Reverend Judges, Be not abus'd, nor let an innocent life lie Upon your shaking Conscience; I did it, My love the main wheel that set him a going: His motion but compell'd. Sil. Can ye believe this? And know with what a modesty and whiteness Her life was ever ranck'd? Can you believe this And see me here before ye, young and wilful? Apt to what danger Love dares thrust me on, And where Law stops my way, apt to contemn it? If I were bashful, old, or dull, and sleepy In Loves allarms, a woman might awake me, Direct, and clew me out the way to happiness: But I, like fire, kindled with that bright beauty, Catch hold of all occasions, and run through 'em. Bel. I charge ye, as your honest souls will answer it. Sil. I charge ye, as you are the friends to virtue, That has no pattern living but this Lady. Bel. Let not his blood— Sil. Let not her wilfulness— For then you act a Scene Hell will rejoyce at. Bel. He is clear. Sil. She is as white in this as Infants. Cla. The god of Love protect your cause, and help ye, Two nobler pieces of affection These eyes ne'er look'd on, if such goodness perish, Let never true hearts meet again, but break. [Exit. 1 Lord. A strange exemple of strong love, a rare one. 2 Lord. Madam, we know not what to say, to think on. Dutch. I must confess it strikes me tender too, Searches my Mothers heart: you found 'em there? Bar. Yes certain Madam. Dutch. And so linked together? Bar. As they had been one piece of Alablaster. Dutch. Nothing dishonourable? Sil. So let my soul have happiness, As that thought yet durst never seek this bosom. Dutch. What shall I do? 'has broke my Law, abus'd me, Fain would I know the truth, either confess it, And let me understand the main offender, Or both shall feel the torture. Sil. Are ye a Mother; The Mother of so sweet a Rose as this is? So pure a Flower? and dare ye lose that nature? Dare ye take to your self so great a wickedness, (Oh holy Heaven) of thinking what may ruine This goodly building? this Temple where the gods dwell? Give me a thousand tortures, I deserve 'em, And shew me death in all the shapes imagin'd. Bel. No death but I will answer it, meet it, seek it; No torture but I'll laugh upon't, and kiss it. 1 Lord. This is no way. 2 Lord. They say no more for certain Than their strong hearts will suffer. Dutch. I have bethought me; No Lords, although I have a Child offending, Nature dares not forget she is a Child still; Till now, I never look'd on love imperious: I have bethought me of a way to break ye, To separate, though not your loves, your bodies: Silvio attend, I'll be your Judge my self now, The sentence of your death (because my Daughter Will bear an equal part in your afflictions) I take away and pardon: this remains then An easie and a gentle punishment, And this shall be fulfill'd: because unnobly You have sought the love, and marriage of a Princess, The absolute and sole Heir of this Dukedom, By that means, as we must imagine strongly, To plant your self into this rule hereafter, We here pronounce ye a man banish'd from us. Sil. For ever banish'd Lady? Dutch. Yet more mercy, But for a year: and then again in this place To make your full appearance: yet more pitty, If in that time you can absolve a question, Writ down within this scrowl, absolve it rightly, This Lady is your wife, and shall live with ye; If not, you loose your head. Sil. I take this honor, And humbly kiss those Royal hands. Dutch. Receive it: Bartello, to your old guard take the Princess, And so the Court break up. Sil. Farewel to all, And to that spotless heart my endless service. [Exit. 1 Lord. What will this prove? 2 Lord. I'll tell you a year hence, Sir. [Exeunt.

Pen. Are you pleas'd now? have not I wrought this wonder Non eben fatto Signieur. Cla. Rarely Penurio. Pen. Close, close then, and work wax. Cla. I am studying for thee A dinner, that shall victual thee for ten year. Pen. Do you hear Mistriss? You know what a dundir whelp my Master is, I need not preach to ye, how unfit and wanting To give a woman satisfaction: How he stinks, and snores, a Bull's a better bed-fellow; And for his love, never let that deceive ye. Isab. Nay sure he loves me not. Pen. If he could coyn ye, Or turn ye into mettal, much might be then; He loves not any thing but what is traffique: I have heard him swear he would sell ye to the Grand Signior. Isab. The Turk? Pen. The very Turk, and how they would use ye. Isab. I'll fit him for't: the Turk? Pen. I know the price too: Now ye have time to pay him, pay him home Mistriss; Pay him o' th' pate, clout him for all his courtesies; Here's one that dances in your eyes, young delicate To work this vengeance; if ye let it slip now, There is no pittying of ye, od's precious, Mistriss, Were I his wife, I would so mall his Mazard, 'Tis charity, meer charity, pure charity, Are you the first? has it not been from Eves time, Women would have their safe revenges this way? And good and gracious women, excellent women; Is't not a handsome Gentleman? a sweet Gentleman; View him from head to foot, a compleat Gentleman; When can ye hope the like again? I leave ye, And my revenge too, with ye; I know my office, I'll not be far off, be not long a fumbling, When danger shall appear, I'll give the 'larme. [Exit. Isab. You are welcome, Sir, and would it were my fortune To afford a Gentleman of your fair seeming, A freer entertainment than this house has, You partly know, Sir.— Cla. Know, and pity Lady, Such sweetness in the bud, should be so blasted; Dare you make me your Servant? Isab. Dare you make Sir, That service worthy of a womans favour By constancy and goodness? Cla. Here I swear to ye, By the unvalued love I bear this beauty, (And kiss the Book too) never to be recreant, To honour ye, to truly love, and serve ye, My youth to wait upon ye, what my wealth has. Isab. Oh make me not so poor to sell affection, Those bought loves Sir, wear faster than the moneys; A handsome Gentleman. Cla. A most delicate sweet one, Let my truth purchase then. Isab. I should first try it, But you may happily.— Cla. You shall not doubt me, I hope she loves me; when I prove false, shame take me; Will ye believe a little? Isab. I fear, too much, Sir. Cla. And will ye love a little? Isab. That should be your part: Cla. Thus I begin then, thus and thus. Isab. A good beginning, We have a proverb saies, makes a good ending. Cla. Say ye so? 'tis well inferr'd. Isab. Good Sir, your patience: Methinks I have ventur'd now, like a weak Bark Upon a broken billow, that will swallow me, Upon a rough Sea of suspitions, Stuck round with jealous rocks. Pen. within. A hem, a hem there. Isab. This is my man; my fears too soon have found me,

Now what's the news? Pen. A pox of yonder old Rigel, The Captain, the old Captain. Isab. What old Captain? Pen. Captain courageous yonder of the Castle, Captain, Don Diego, old Bartello. Isab. Where is he? Pen. He's coming in: 'Twould vex the Devil, that such an old Potgun as this, That can make no sport, should hinder them that can do it. Isab. I would not have him see the Gentleman, For all the world, my credit were undone then. Pen. Shall I fling a piss-pot on's head as he comes in, And take him into th' kitchin, there to drie him. Isab. That will not do; and he is so humorous too He will come in. Cla. What is he? Isab. One much troubles me. Pen. And can do nothing, cannot eat. Isab. Your sight now, Out of a driveling dotage he bears to me, May make him tell my husband, and undo me. Cla. What would ye have me do? Isab. But for a while Sir, Step here behind this hanging, presently I'll answer him, and then— Cla. I will obey ye.

Bar. Where's my rich Jeweller? I have stones to sett. Pen. He is abroad, and sure Sir. Bart. There's for your service: Where's the fair Lady? all alone sweet beauty? Isab. She's never much alone Sir, that's acquainted With such companio[n]s as good honest thoughts are. Bar. I'll sit down by thee, and I'll kiss thy hand too, And in thine ear swear by my life I love thee. Isab. Ye are a merry Captain. Bar. And a mad one, Lady; By th' mas thou hast goodly eies, excellent eies, wench, Ye twinkling rogues, look what thy Captain brings thee, Thou must needs love me, love me heartily, Hug me, and love me, hug me close. Isab. Fie Captain. Bar. Nay, I have strength, and I can strain ye sirrah, And vault into my seat as nimbly, little one. As any of you[r] smooth-chinn'd boys in Florence, I must needs commit a little folly with ye, I'll not be long, a brideling cast, and away wench; The hob-nail thy husband's as fitly out o'th' way now? Isab. Do you think he keeps a bawdy-house? Bar. That's all one. Isab. Or did you ever see that lightness in my carriage, That you might promise to your self—. Bar. Away fool, A good turn's a good turn; I am an honest fellow: Isab. You have a handsome wife, a virtuous Gentlewoman. Bar. They are not for this time o'th' year. Isab. A Lady, That ever bore that great respect to you, That noble constancy. Bar. That's more than I know.

Maid. Oh Mistriss, ye are undone, my Master's coming. Pen. Coming hard by here. Bar. Plague consume the Rascal, Shall I make petty-patties of him? Isab. Now what love Sir? Fear of your coming made him jealous first; Your finding here, will make him mad and desperate, And what in that wild mood he will execute— Bar. I can think of nothing, I have no wit left me, Certain my head's a Mustard-pot. Isab. I have thought Sir, And if you'll please to put in execution What I conceive— Bar. I'll do it, tell it quickly. Isab. Draw your sword quickly, and go down inrag'd, As if you had persu'd some foe up hither, And grumble to your self extreamly, terribly, But not a word to him, and so pass by him. Bar. I'll do it perfectly.

Isa[b]. Stand you still good Sir. Bar. Rascal, slave, villain, take a house so poorly, After thou hast wrong'd a Gentleman, a Soldier, Base Poultroon boy, you will forsake your neast sirrah. Lop. The matter, good sweet Captain? Bart. Run-away rogue, And take a house to cover thy base cowardize, I'll whip ye, I'll so scourge ye. [Exit. Lop. Mercy upon me, What's all this matter wife? Isab. Did you meet the mad man? Lop. I never saw the Captain so provok'd yet. Isab. Oh he's a Devil sure, a most bloody devil, He follow'd a young Gentleman, his sword drawn, With such a fury, how I shake to think on't, And foyn'd, and slash'd at him, and swore he'd kill him, Drove him up hither, follow'd him still bloodily, And if I had not hid him, sure had slain him; A merciless old man. [C]la. Most virtuous Lady, Even as the giver of my life, I thank ye. Lop. This fellow must not stay here, he is too handsome; He is gone Sir, and you may pass now with all security, I'll be your guide my self, and such a way I'll lead ye, none shall cross, nor none shall know ye. The door's left open Sirrah, I'll starve you for this trick, I'll make thee fast o' Sundaies; and for you Lady, I'll have your Lodgings farther off, and closer, I'll have no street-lights to you; will you go Sir? Cla. I thank ye Sir: the devil take this fortune; And once more all my service to your goodness. [Exit. Pen. Now could I eat my very arms for madness, Cross'd in the nick o' th' matter! vengeance take it, And that old Cavalier that spoil'd our Cock-fight; I'll lay the next plot surer. Isab. I am glad and sorry; Glad, that I got so fairly off suspition; Sorry, I lost my new lov'd friend. Pen. Not lost Mistriss; I'll conjure once again to raise that spirit; In, and look soberly upon the matter, We'll ring him one peal more, and if that fall, The devil tak the Clappers, Bells, and all. [Exeunt.

Dutch. NOw Rodope, How do you find my daughter? Rho. Madam, I find her now what you would have her, What the State wishes her; I urg'd her fault to her, Open'd her eyes, and made her see the mischief She was running with a headlong will into, Made her start at her folly, shake and tremble, At the meer memory of such an ignorance, She now contemns his love, hates his remembrance, Cannot endure to hear the name of Silvio; His person spits at. Dutch. I am glad to hear this. Rho. And humbly now to your Will, your care, Madam, Bends her affections, bows her [best] obedience; Syenna's Duke, with new eyes now she looks on, And with a Princely love, fit for his person. Returns that happiness and joy he look'd for; The general good of both the neighbor Dukedoms, Not any private end, or rash affection She aims at now: hearing the Duke arriv'd too, (To whom she owes all honor, and all service,) She charg'd me kneel thus at your Graces feet, And not to rise without a general pardon. Dutch. She has it, and my love again, my old love, And with more tenderness I meet this penitence, Than if she ne'er had started from her honor; I thank ye Rhodope, am bound to thank ye, And daily to remember this great service, This honest faithful service; go in peace, And by this Ring, delivered to Bartello, Let her enjoy our favour, and her liberty, And presently to this place, with all honor, See her conducted. Rho. Your Grace has made me happy. [Exit.

1 Lord. Syenna's noble Duke, craves his admitta[nc]e.

Dutch. Go; wait upon his Grace; fair Sir, you are welcome, Welcome to her ever admir'd your virtues: And now methinks, my Court looks truly noble; You have taken too much pains Sir. Syen. Royal Lady, To wait upon your Grace is but my service. Dutch. Keep that Sir, for the Saint ye have vow'd it to. Syen. I keep a life for her: since your Grace pleases To jump so happily into the matter, I come indeed to claim your Royal promise, The beauteous Belvidere in marriage, I come to tender her my youth, my fortune, My everlasting love.

Dutch. You are like to win, Sir: All is forgot, forgiven too; no sadness My good Child, you have the same heart still here, The Duke of Syenna, Child, pray use him nobly. Sy. An Angel beauty. Bel. Your Grace is fairly welcome, And what in modesty a blushing maid may Wish to a Gentleman of your great goodness; But wishes are too poor a pay for Princes. Sy. You have made me richer than all States and Titles, One kiss of this white hand's above all honors, My faith dear Lady, and my fruitful service, My duteous zeal— Bel. Your Grace is a great Master, And speaks too powerfully to be resisted: Once more you are welcome, Sir, to me you are welcome, To her that honors ye; I could say more Sir, But in anothers tongue 'twere better spoken. Sy. As wise as fair, you have made your servant happy; I never saw so rich a Mine of sweetness. Dutch. Will your Grace please, after your painful journey To take some rest? Are the Dukes Lodgings ready? Lord. All Madam. Dutch. Then wait upon his Grace, all, and to morrow, Sir, We'll shew ye in what high esteem we hold ye, Till then a fair repose. Sy. My fairest service. [Exit Duke, &c. Dutch. You have so honour'd me, my dearest daughter, So truly pleas'd me in this entertainment, I mean your loving carriage to Syenna, That both for ever I forget all trespasses, And to secure you next of my full favour, Ask what you will within my power to grant ye, Ask freely: and if I forget my promise— Ask confidently. Bel. You are too Royal to me; To me that have so foolishly transgress'd you, So like a Girl, so far forgot my virtue, Which now appears as base and ugly to me, As did his Dream, that thought he was in Paradise, Awak'd and saw the Devil; how was I wander'd? With what eies could I look upon that poor, that cours thing, That wretched thing call'd Sylvio? that (now) despis'd thing, And lose an object of that graceful sweetness, That god-like presence as Syenna is? Darkness, a[n]d cheerful day, had not such difference: But I must ever bless your care, your wisdom, That led me from this labyrinth of folly, How had I sunk else? what example given? Dutch. Prethee no more, and as thou art my best one, Ask something that may equal such a goodness. Bel. Why did ye let him go so slightly from ye, More like a man in triumph, than condemn'd: Why did ye make his pennance but a question, A Riddle, every idle wit unlocks. Dutch. 'Tis not so, Nor do not fear it so: he will not find it, I have given that (unless my self discover it) Will cost his head. Bel. 'Tis subject to construction? Dutch. That it is too. Bel. It may be then absolv'd, And then are we both scorn'd and laugh'd at, Madam; Beside the promise you have ty'd upon it, Which you must never keep. Dutch. I never meant it. Bel. For heaven sake let me know it, 'tis my Suit to ye, The Boon you would have me ask; let me but see it, That if there be a way to make't so strong, No wit nor powerful reason can run through it, For my disgrace, I may beg of heaven to grant it. Dutch. Fear not, it has been put to sharper judgements Than e'er he shall arrive at: my dear Father, That was as fiery in his understanding, And ready in his wit as any living, Had it two years, and studied it, yet lost it: This night ye are my Bed-fellow, there Daughter Into your bosom I'll commit this secret, And there we'll both take counsel. Bel. I shall find Some trick I hope too strong yet for his mind. [Exeunt.

Pen. Methinks I am batten'd well of late, grown lusty, Fat, high, and kicking, thanks to the bounteous Rugio; And now, methinks I scorn these poor repasts, Cheese-parings, and the stinking tongues of Pilchers; But why should I remember these? they are odious, They are odious in mine eyes; the full fat dish now, The bearing dish is that I reverence, The dish an able Serving-man sweats under, And bends i' th' hams, as if the house hung on him, That dish is the dish: hang your bladder Bankets, Or halfe a dozen of Turnops and two Mushrumps, These when they breed their best, hatch but two belches; The state of a fat Turkey, the decorum He marches in with, all the train and circumstance; 'Tis such a matter, such a glorious matter, And then his sauce with Oranges and Onions, And he displaid in all parts, for such a dish now, And at my need I would betray my Father, And for a rosted Conger, all my Countrey.

Bar. What my friend Lean-gut, how does thy beauteous Mistriss? And where's your Master Sirrah? where's that horn-pipe? Pen. My Mistriss, Sir, does as a poor wrong'd Gentlewoman, Too much, heaven knows, opprest with injuries; May do and live. Bar. Is the old fool still jealous? Pen. As old fools are, and will be still the same, Sir. Bar. He must have cause: he must have cause. Pen. 'Tis true, Sir, And would he had with all my heart. Bar. He shall have. Pen. For then he had Salt to his Saffron porridge. Bar. Why do not [I] see thee sometime? why thou starv'd rascal? Why do not ye come to me, you precious bow-case? I keep good meat at home, good store. Pen. Yes Sir, I will not fail ye all next week. Bar. Thou art welcome, I have a secret I would fain impart to thee, But thou art so thin, the wind will blow it from thee, Or men will read it through thee. Pen. Wrap't up in beef Sir, In good gross beef, let all the world look on me, The English have that trick to keep intelligence. Bar. A wi[tt]y knave, first there's to tie your tongue up. Pen. Dumb as a Dog, Sir. Bar. Next, hark in your ear, Sirrah. Pen. Well, very well, excellent well: 'tis done, Sir, Say no more to me. Bar. Say and hold. Pen. 'Tis done, Sir. Bar. As thou lov'st butter'd eggs, swear. Pen. Let me kiss the Book first, But here's my hand, brave Captain. Bar. Look ye hold, sirrah. [Exit. Pen. Oh the most precious vanity of this world; When such dry'd Neats-tongues must be soak'd and larded With young fat supple wenches! Oh the Devil. What can he do, he cannot suck an egg off But his back's loose i'th' hilts: go thy wayes Captain, Well may thy warlike name work Miracles, But if e'er thy founder'd courser win [match] more, Or stand right but one train—

1 Gen. Now Signior Shadow, What art thou thinking of, how to rob thy Master? Pen. Of his good deeds? The Thief that undertakes that Must have a hook will poze all Hell to hammer: Have ye dined Gentlemen, or do you purpose? 2 Gent. Dined, two long hours ago. Pen. Pray ye take me with ye. 3 Gent. To supper dost thou mean? Pe[n]. To any thing That has the smell of meat in't: tell me true, Gentlemen, Are not you three going to be sinful? To iropard a joynt, or so? I have found your faces, And see whore written in your eyes. 1 Gent. A parlous rascal, Thou art much upon the matter. Pen. Have a care Gentlemen, 'Tis a sore age, very sore age, lewd age, And women now are like old Knights adventures, Full of inchanted flames, and dangerous. 2 Gent. Where the most danger is, there's the most honor. Pen. I grant ye, honor most consists in sufferance, And by that rule you three should be most honorable. 3 Gent. A subtle Rogue: but canst thou tell Penurio Where we may light upon— Pen. A learned Surgeon? 3 Gent. Pox take ye fool; I mean good wholsome wenches. Pen. 'Faith wholsome women will but spoil ye too, For you are so us'd to snap-haunces: But take my counsel, Take fat old women, fat, and five and fifty, The Dog-dayes are come in. 2 Gent. Take fat old women? Pen. The fatter and the older, still the better, You do not know the pleasure of an old Dame, A fat old Dame, you do not know the knack on't: They are like our countrey Grotts, as cool as Christmas, And sure i' th' keels. 1 Gent. Hang him starv'd fool: he mocks us. 3 Gent. Penurio, thou know'st all the handsome wenches? What shall I give thee for a Merchants wife now? Pen. I take no money Gentlemen, that's base, I trade in meat, a Merchants wife will cost ye A glorious Capon; a great shoulder of Mutton; And a Tart as big as a Conjurers Circle. 3 Gent. That's cheap enough. 1 Gent. And what a Haberdashers? Pen. Worse meat will serve for her, a great Goose-Pie, But you must send it out o' th' Countrey to me, It will not do else: with a piece of Bacon, And if you can, a pot of Butter with it. 2 Gent. Now do I aim at horse-flesh: what a Parsons? Pen. A Tithe-Pig has no fellow, if I fetch her, If she be Puritane, Plumb-porridge does it, And a fat loin of Veal, well sauc'd and roasted. 2 Gent. We'll meet one night, and thou shalt have all these; O' that condition we may have the wenches A dainty rascal. Pen. When your stomachs serve ye, (For mine is ever ready) I'll supply ye. 1 Gent. Farewel, and there's to fill thy paunch. Pen. Brave Gentleman. 2 Gent. Hold sirrah, there. Pen. Any young wench i' th' Town, Sir. 3 Gent. It shall go round. [Exit Gent. Pen. Most honorable Gentlemen, All these are Courtiers, but they are meer Coxcombs, And only for a wench, their purses open, Nor have they so much judgement left to chuse her; If e'r they call upon me, I'll so fit 'em, I have a pack of wry-mouth'd mackrel Ladies, Stink like a standing ditch, and those dear Damsels; But I forget my business, I thank ye Monsieurs, I have a thousand whimseys in my brain now. [Exit.

Dutch. Your Grace shall now perceive how much we honor ye And in what dear regard we hold your friendship: Will you sit Sir, and grace this homely Banquet? Sy. Madam, to your poor friend, you are too magnificent. Dutch. To the Dukes health, and all the joyes I wish him, Let no man miss this cup: have we no Musick? Sy. Your noble favours still you heap upon me, But where's my virtuous Mistriss, such a Feast, And not her sparkling beauty here to bless it? Methinks it should not be, it shews not fully. Dutch. Young Ladies Sir; are long, and curious In putting on their trims, forget how day goes, And then 'tis their good morrow when they are ready: Go some and call her, and wait upon her hither, Tell her the Duke and I desire her company: I warrant ye, a hundred dressings now She has survey'd, this, and that fashion look'd on, For Ruffs and Gowns; cast this away, these Jewels Suited to these and these knots: o' my life Sir, She fears your curious eye will soon discover else: Why stand ye still, why gape ye on one another? Did I not bid ye go, and tell my Daughter? Are ye nailed here? nor stir? nor speak? who am I, And who are you? 1 Lord. Pardon me, gracious Lady, The fear to tell you that you would not hear of Makes us all dumb, the Princess is gone, Madam. Dutch. Gone? whither gone? some wiser fellow answer me. 2 Lord. We sought the Court all over, and believe Lady No news of where she is, nor how convey'd hence. Dutch. It cannot be, it must not be. 1 Lord. 'Tis true, Madam, No room in all the Court, but we search'd through it, Her women found her want first, and they cry'd to us. Dutch. Gone? stol'n away? I am abus'd, dishonour'd. Sy. 'Tis I that am abus'd, 'tis I dishonour'd. Is this your welcome, this your favour to me? To foist a trick upon me, this trick too, To cheat me of my love? Am I not worthy? Or since I was your guest, am I grown odious? Dutch. Your Grace mistakes me, as I have a life, Sir. Sy. And I another, I will never bear this, Never endure this dor. Dutch. But hear me patiently. Sy. Give me my Love. Dutch. As soon as care can find her, And all care shall be used. Sy. And all my care too, To be reveng'd; I smell the trick, 'tis too rank, Fie, how it smells o' th' Mother. Dutch. You wrong me, Duke. Sy. For this disgrace ten thousand Florentines Shall pay their dearest bloods, and dying curse ye, And so I turn away, your mortal enemy. [Exit. Duc. Since ye are so high and hot Sir, ye have half arm'd us, Be careful of the Town, of all the Castles, And see supplies of Soldiers every where, And Musters for the Field when he invites us, For he shall know 'tis not high words can fright us. My Daughter gone? has she so finely cozen'd me? This is for Silvio's sake sure, Oh cunning false one; Publish a Proclamation thorough the Dukedom. That whosoe'er can bring to th' Court young Silvio, Alive or dead, beside our thanks and favour, Shall have two thousand Duckets for his labour; See it dispatch'd, and sent in haste: Oh base one. [Exeunt.

Isab. Was't thou with Rugio? Pen. Yes marry was I closely. Isab. And does he still remember his poor Mistriss? Does he desire to see me? Pen. Yes, and presently: Puts off all business else, lives in that memory, And will be here according to directions. Isab. But where's thy Master? Pen. Where a coxcomb should be, Waiting at Court with his Jewels, Safe for this night I warrant ye. Isab. I am bound to thee. Pen. I would ye were, as close as I could tye ye. Isab. Thou art my best, my truest friend. Pen. I labour I moil and toil for ye: I am your hackney. Isab. If ever I be able— Pen. Steal the great Cheese Mistriss, Was sent him out o'th' Countrey. Isab. Any thing. Pen. That's meat, 'tis lawful Mistriss: where's the Castle Custard He got at Court? Isab. He has lock'd it in's study. Pen. Get a warrant to search for counterfeit Gold. Isab. Give me thy Candle, I'll find a time to be thy careful Cater. Pen. And many a time I'll find to be his Cook, And dress his Calves head to the sweetest sauce Mistriss. Isab. To bed Penurio, go, the rest is my charge, I'll keep the Watch out. Pen. Now if you spare him— [Exit. Isab. Peace fool, I hope my Rugio will not fail, 'twould vex me: Now to my string; so, sure he cannot miss now, And this end to my finger: I'll lie down, For on a suddain I am wondrous heavy, 'Tis very late too; if he come and find this, And pull it, though it be with easie motion I shall soon waken, and as soon be with him.

Lop. Thou secret friend, how am I bound to love thee! And how to hug thee for thy private service! Thou art the Star all my suspitions sail by, The fixed point my wronged honor turns to, By thee I shall know all, find all the subtilties Of devilish women, that torment me daily: Thou art my Conjurer, my Spell, my Spirit, All's hush'd and still, no sound of any stirring, No tread of living thing: the Light is in still, And there's my Wife, how prettily the fool lies, How sweet, and handsomely, and in her clothes too, Waiting for me upon my life; her fondness Would not admit her rest till I came to her: O careful fool, why am I angry with thee? Why do I think thou hat'st thy loving Husband? [I] am an Ass, an over-doting Coxcomb, And this sweet soul, the mirror of perfection: How admirable fair and delicate, And how it stirs me, I'll sing thy sweets a Requiem, But will not waken thee.

Oh fair sweet face, oh eyes celestial bright, Twin Stars in Heaven, that now adorn the night; Oh fruitful Lips, where Cherries ever grow, And Damask cheeks, where all sweet beauties blow; Oh thou from head to foot divinely fair, Cupid's most cunning Nets made of that hair, And as he weaves himself for curious eyes; Oh me, Oh me, I am caught my self, he cries: Sweet rest about thee sweet and golden sleep, Soft peaceful thoughts, your hourly watches keep, Whilst I in wonder sing this sacrifice, To beauty sacred, and those Angel-eyes. Now will I steal a kiss, a dear kiss from her, And suck the Rosie breath of this bright beauty; What a Devil is this? ty'd to her finger too? A string, a damned string to give intelligence Oh my lov'd key, how truly hast thou serv'd me; I'll follow this: soft, soft, to th' door it goes, And through to th' other side; a damned string 'tis, I am abus'd, topt, cuckolded, fool'd, jaded, Ridden to death, to madness; stay, this helps not: Stay, stay, and now invention help me, I'll sit down by her, take this from her easily, And thus upon mine own: Dog, I shall catch ye, With all your cunning, Sir: I shall light on ye, I felt it pull sure: yes, but wondrous softly, 'Tis there again, and harder now, have at ye, Now and thou scap'st, the Devil's thy ghostly father. [Exit. Isab. Sure 'twas my husband's voice, the string is gone too, He has found th[e] trick on't: I am undone, betray'd, And if he meet my friend he perishes, What fortune follows me, what spightful fortune? Hoa Jaquenet.

Jaq. Here Mistriss, do you call me? Isab. Didst thou hear no noise? Jaq. I hear my Master mad yonder, And swears, and chafes— Isab. Dar'st thou do one thing for me? One thing concerns mine honor, all is lost else? Jaq. Name what you will. Isab. It can bring but a beating, Which I will recompence so largely— Jaq. Name it. Isab. Sit here, as if thou wert asleep. Jaq. Is that all? Isab. When he comes in, whate'er he do unto thee (The worst will be but beating) speak not a word, Not one word as thou lovest me. Jaq. I'll run through it. Isab. I'll carry away the Candle. [Exit. Jaq. And I the blows Mistriss.

Lop. Have you put your light out? I shall stumble to ye, You whore, you cunning whore, I shall catch your rogue too, H'as light legs else, I had so Ferret-claw'd him: Oh have I found ye? do ye play at dog-sleep still whore? Do you think that can protect ye? yes, I will kill thee, But first I'll bring thy friends to view thy villanies, Thy whorish villanies: and first I'll beat thee, Beat thee to pin-dust, thou salt whore, thou varlet, Scratch out thine eyes; I'll spoil your tempting visage; Are ye so patient? I'll put my nails in deeper, Is it good whoring? whoring ye base rascal? Is it good tempting men with strings to ride ye? So, I'll fetch your kindred, and your friends, whore, And such a Justice I will act upon thee. [Exit.

Isab. What is he gone? Jaq. The Devil go with him Mistriss, Has harrowed me, plough'd Land was ne'r so harrow'd: I had the most adoe to save mine eyes. Isab. Has paid thee, But I'll heal all again with good Gold. Jaquenet; H'as damned nails. Jaq. They are ten-penny nails I think Mistriss: I'll undertake he shall strike 'em through an inch board. Isab. Go up, and wash thy self: take my Pomatum, And now let me alone to end the Tragedy. Jaq. You had best beware. Isab. I shall deal stoutly with him, Reach me my Book, a[n]d see the door made fast wench, And so good night: now to the matter politick.

Lop. Within. You shall see what she is, what a sweet jewel. Isab. Who's there, what mad-man knocks? is this an hour And in mine Husband's absence? Lop. Within. Will ye open? You know my voice ye whore, I am that Husband: Do you mark her subtilty? but I have paid her, I have so ferk'd her face: here's the blood Gentlemen, Ecce signum: I have spoil'd her Goatish beauty, Observe her how she looks now, how she is painted, Oh 'tis the most wicked'st whore, and the most treacherous—

Gent. Here walks my cosin full of meditation, Arm'd with religious thoughts. Bar. Is this the monster? 1 Gentlew. Is this the subject of that rage you talk'd of, That naughty woman you had pull'd a-pieces? Bar. Here's no such thing. 1 Gentlew. How have ye wrong'd this beauty? Are not you mad my friend? what time o' th' moon is 't? Have not you Maggots in your brains? Lop. 'Tis she sure. Gent. Where's the scratch'd face ye spoke of, the torn garments, And all the hair pluck'd off her head? Bar. Believe me, 'Twere better far you had lost your pair of pibbles, Than she the least adornment of that sweetness. Lop. Is not this blood? 1 Gentlew. This is a monstrous folly, A base abuse. Isab. Thus he does ever use me, And sticks me up a wonder, not a woman, Nothing I doe, but's subject to suspition; Nothing I can do, able to content him. Bar. Lopez, you must not use this. 2 Gentlew. 'Twere not amiss, Sir, To give ye sauce to your meat, and suddainly. 1 Gentlew. You that dare wrong a woman of her goodness, Thou have a Wife, thou have a Bear ty'd to thee, To scratch thy jealous itch, were all o' my mind, I mean all women, we would [soone] disburthen ye Of that that breeds these fits, these dog-flaws in ye, A Sow-guelder should trim ye. Bar. A rare cure Lady, And one as fit for him as a Thief for a halter, You see this youth: will you not cry him quittance, Body 'me, I would pine, but I would pepper him, I'll come anon, he, hang him, poor pompillion: How like a wench bepist he looks, I'll come Lady; Lopez, The Law must teach ye what a wife is, A good, a virtuous wife. Isab. I'll ne'r live with him, I crave your loves all to make known my cause, That so a fair Divorce may pass between us, I am weary of my life: in danger hourly. Bar. You see how rude you are, I will not miss ye, Unsufferable rude: I'll pay him soundly, You should be whipt in Bedlam: I'll reward him. 2 Gentlew. Whipping's too good. Lop. I think I am alive still, And in my wits. Bar. I'll put a trick upon him, And get his goods confiscate: you shall have 'em; I will not fail at nine. Lop. I think I am here too, And once I would have sworn I had taken her napping, I think my name is Lopez. Gent. Fie for shame, Sir, You see you have abus'd her, fouly wrong'd her, Hung scandalous and course opinions on her, Which now you find but children of suspition: Ask her forgiveness, shew a penitence, She is my kinswoman, and what she suffers Under so base and beastly jealousies, I will redress else, I'll seek satisfaction. Bar. Why, every boy i' th' Town will piss upon thee. Lop. I am sorry for't. 1 Gentlew. Down o' your marrow-bones. Lop. Even sorry from my heart: forgive me sweet wife, Here I confess most freely I have wrong'd ye, As freely here I beg a pardon of ye, From this hour no debate, no cross suspition— Isab. To shew ye Sir I understand a wives part, Thus I assure my love, and seal your pardon. 2 Gentlew. 'Tis well done, now to bed, and there confirm it. Gent. And so good night. Bar. Aware relapses, Lopez. [Exeunt. Lop. Now Isabella tell me truth, and suddainly, And do not juggle with me, nor dissemble, For as I have a life ye dye then: I am not mad, Nor does the Devil work upon my weakness, Tell me the trick of this, and tell me freely. Isab. Will then that satisfie ye? Lop. If ye deal ingeniously. Isab. I'll tell ye all; and tell ye true and freely. Bartello was the end of all this jealousie, His often visitations brought by you, first Bred all these fits, and these suspitions: I knew your false key, and accordingly I fram'd my plot, to have you take him finely, Too poor a pennance for the wrong his wife bears, His worthy virtuous wife: I felt it sensibly When ye took off the string, and was much pleas'd in't, Because I wish'd his importunate dotage paid well, And had you staid two minutes more, ye had had him. Lop. This sounds like truth. Isab. Because this shall be certain, Next time he comes, as long he cannot tarry, Your self shall see, and hear, his lewd temptatio[n]s. Lop. Till then I am satisfied, and if this prove true, Hence-forward Mistriss of your self I give ye, And I to serve ye: For my lusty Captain, I'll make him dance, and make him think the Devil Claws at his breech, and yet I will not hurt him: Come now to bed, and prove but constant this way, I'll prove the man you ever wished. Isab. You have blest me. [Exeunt.

Sil. WHat labour and what travel have I run through And through what Cities to absolve this Riddle Diviners, Dreamers, School-men, deep Magicians, All have I try'd, and all give several meaning, And from all hope of any future happiness, To this place am I come at length, the Countrey, The people simple, plain, and harmless witty, Whose honest labours Heaven rewards with plenty Of Corn, Wine, Oyl, which they again as thankful, To their new Crops, new pastimes celebrate, And crown their joyful harvests with new voices; By a rich Farmer here I am entertain'd, And rank'd among the number of his servants, Not guessing what I am, but what he would have me, Here may be so much wit (though much I fear it) To undo this knotty question; and would to Heaven.

My fortunes had been hatch'd with theirs, as innocent, And never known a pitch above their plainness. Soto. That it is, that it is, what's this word now? this Is a plaguy word, that it is r. e. a. that it is, reason, By your leave, Mr. Soto, by your leave, you are too quick, Sir, There's a strange parlous T. before the reason, A very tall T. which makes the word High Treason. Sil. What Treason's that? does this fellow understand Himself? Soto. Pitch will infect, I'll meddle no more with this geer; What a devil ails this fellow? this foolish fellow? Being admitted to be one of us too, That are the masters of the sports proceeding, Thus to appear before me too, unmorris'd? Do you know me friend? Sil. You are my Masters Son, Sir. Soto. And do you know what sports are now in season? Sil. I hear there are some a-foot. Soto. Where are your Bells then? Your Rings, your Ribons, friend? & your clean Napkins? Your Nosegay in your hat, pinn'd up, am not I here? My fathers eldest Son, and at this time, Sir, I would have ye know it, though ye be ten times his servant A better man than my father far, Lord of this Harvest, Sir, And shall a man of my place want attendance? Sil. 'Twas want of knowledge, Sir, not duty, bred this, I would have made Suit else for your Lordships service. Soto. In some sort I am satisfied now, mend your manners, But thou art a melancholy fellow, vengeance melancholy, And that may breed an insurrection amongst us; Go too, I'll lay the best part of two pots now Thou art in love, and I can guess with whom too, I saw the wench that twir'd and twinkled at thee, The other day; the wench that's new come hither, The young smug wench. Sil. You know more than I feel Sir. Soto. Go too, I'll be thy friend, I'll speak a good word for thee, And thou shalt have my Lordships countenance to her; May be I have had a snap my self, may be I, may be no, We Lords are allow'd a little more. Sil. 'Tis fit, Sir; I humbly thank ye, you are too too tender of me, But what Sir, I beseech ye, was that paper, Your Lordship was so studiously imployed in, When ye came out a-doors? Soto. Thou meanest this paper. Sil. That Sir, I think. Soto. Why, 'tis a Proclamation, A notable piece of villany, as ever thou heard'st in thy life, By mine honor it is. Sil. How Sir? or what concerns it? Soto. It comes ye from the Dutchess, a plaguy wise woman, To apprehend the body of one Silvio, As arrant a Rascal as ever pist against a post, And this same Silvio, or this foresaid rascal, To bring before her, live or dead; for which good service The man that brings him, has two thousand Duckets; Is not this notable matter now? Sil. 'Tis so indeed, This Proclamation bears my bane about it; Can no rest find me? no private place secure me? But still my miseries like blood-hounds haunt me? Unfortunate young man, which way now guides thee, Guides thee from death? the Countrey's laid round for thee; Oh Claudio, now I feel thy blood upon me, Now it speaks loudly here, I am sure against me, Time now has found it out, and truth proclaim'd it, And Justice now cries out, I must die for it. Soto. Hast thou read it? Sil. Yes. Soto. And dost thou know that Silvio. Sil. I never saw him, Sir. Soto. I have, and know him too, I know him as well as I know thee, and better, And if I light upon him, for a trick he plaid me once, A certain kind of dog-trick, I'll so fiddle him, Two thousand Duckets, I'll so pepper him, And with that money I'll turn Gentleman, Worth a brown Baker's dozen of such Silvios. Sil. There is no staying here, this rogue will know me, And for the money sake betray me too; I must bethink me suddenly and safely.

Soto. Mine own dear Lady, have-at-thy honey-comb, Now, for the honor of our Town, Boyes, trace sweetly.

Wh[at] a vengeance ails this whobub: pox refuse 'em, Cannot they let us dance in our own defence here?

Capt. Arm, honest friends, arm suddenly and bravely, And with your antient resolutions follow me; Look how the Beacons show like Comets, your poor neighbors Run maddingly affrighted through the Villages; Syenna's Duke is up, burns all before him, And with his sword, makes thousand mothers childless. Soto. What's this to our Morris-dancers? Sil. This may serve my turn. Soto. There's ne'r a Duke in Christendom but loves a May-game. Capt. At a horse you were always ceaz'd, put your Son on him, And arm him well i' th' States name, I command ye; And they that dare go voluntary, shall receive reward. Soto. I dare go no way, Sir, this is strange, Master Captain, You cannot be content to spoil our sport here, Which I do not think your Worship's able to answer, But you must set us together by the ears with I know not who too? We are for the bodily part o' th' dance. Cap. Arm him suddainly, This is no time to fool, I shall return ye else, A rebel to the General, State, and Duchess, And how you'll answer then— Far. I have no more Sons, Sir, This is my only boy; I beseech ye Master Captain. Soto. I am a rank coward too, to say the truth, Sir, I never had good luck at buffets neither. Far. Here's vorty shillings, spare the child. Cap. I cannot. Soto. Are ye a man? will ye cast away a May-Lord? Shall all the wenches in the Countrey curse ye? Sil. An't please you Captain, I'll supply his person, 'Tis pity their old custom should be frighted, Let me have Horse, and good Arms, I'll serve willingly, And if I shrink a foot of ground, Hell take me. Cap. A promising Aspect, face full of courage, I'll take this man, and thank ye too. Far. There's for thee, 'Tis in a clout, but good old Gold. Sil. I thank ye Sir. Far. Goe saddle my fore-horse, put his feather on too, He'll praunce it bravely, friend, he fears no Colours, And take the Armor down, and see him dizin'd. Soto. Farewel, and if thou cary'st thy self well in this matter, I say no more, but this, there must be more May-Lords, And I know who are fit. Sil. Dance you, I'll fight, Sir. Cap. Away, away. Sil. Farewel, I am for the Captain. [Exit. Far. Now to this matter again my honest fellows, For if this goe not forward, I foresee friends, This war will fright our neighbors out o' th' villages; Cheer up your hearts, we shall hear better news, boys. Hob. Surely I will dance no more, 'tis most ridiculous, I find my wives instructions now mere verities, My learned wives, she often hath pronounc'd to me My safety Bomby, defie these sports, thou art damn'd else, This Beast of Babylon, I will never back again, His pace is sure prophane, and his lewd Wi-hees, The Sons of Hymyn and Gymyn, in the wilderness. Far. Fie neighbor Bomby, in your fits again, Your zeal sweats, this is not careful, neighbor, The Hobby-horse, is a seemly Hobby-horse. Soto. And as pretty a beast on's inches, though I say it. Hob. The Beast is an unseemly, and a lewd Beast, And got at Rome by the Popes Coach-Horses, His mother was the Mare of ignorance. Soto. Cobler thou ly'st, and thou wert a thousand Coblers. His mother was an honest Mare, and a Mare of good credit, I know the Mare, and if need be, can bring witness; And in the way of honesty I tell thee, Scorn'd any Coach-Horse the Pope had: thou art foolish, And thy blind zeal makes thee abuse the Beast. Hob. I do defie thee, and thy foot-cloth too, And tell thee to thy face, this prophane riding I feel it in my conscience, and I dare speak it, This un-edified ambling, hath brought a scourge upon us, This Hobby-horse sincerity we liv'd in War, and the sword of slaughter: I renounce it, And put the beast off; thus, the beast polluted, And now no more shall hop on high Bomby, Follow the painted pipes of high pleasures, And with the wicked, dance the devils measures; Away thou pamper'd jade of vanity, Stand at the Livery of lewd delights now, And eat the provinder of prick-ear'd folly, My dance shall be to the pipe of persecution. Far. Will you daunce no more neighbor? Hob. Surely no, Carry the Beast to his Crib: I have renounc'd him And all his works. Soto. Shall the Hobby-horse be forgot then? The hopeful Hobby-horse, shall he lye founder'd? If thou do'st this, thou art but a cast-away Cobler: My anger's up, think wisely, and think quickly, And look upon the quondam beast of pleasure, If thou dost this (mark me, thou serious Sowter) Thou Bench-whistler of the old tribe of toe-pieces, If thou dost this, there shall be no more shooe-mending, Every man shall have a special care of his own soul: And in his pocket carry his two Confessors, His Yugel, and his Nawl: if thou dost this— Far. He will dance again for certain. Hob. I cry out on't, 'Twas the fore-running sin brought in those Tilt-staves, They brandish 'gainst the Church, the devil calls May-poles. Soto. Take up your Horse again, and girth him to ye, And girth him handsomely, good neighbor Bomby. Hob. I spit at him. Soto. Spit in the Horse face, Cobler? Thou out of tune, Psalm-singing slave; spit in his visnomy? Hob. I spit again, and thus I rise against him: Against this Beast: that signify'd destruction. Fore-shew'd i'th' falls of Monarchies. Soto. I'th' face of him? Spit such another spit by this hand Cobler I'll make ye set a new piece o' your nose there, Tak't up I say, and dance without more bidding, And dance as you were wont: you have been excellent And art still, but for this new nicity, And your wives learned Lectures: take up the Hobby-horse Come, 'tis a thing thou hast lov'd with all thy heart Bomby, And would'st do still but for the round-breech'd brothers: You were not thus in the morning: tak't up I say, Do not delay but do it: you know I am officer; And I know 'tis unfit all these good fellows Should wait the cooling of your zealous porridge; Chuse whether you will dance, or have me execute: I'll clap your neck i' th' stocks, and th[e]re I'll make ye Dance a whole day, and dance with these at night too, You mend old shooes well, mend your old manners better, And suddenly see you leave off this sincereness. This new hot Batch, borrowed from some brown Baker, Some learned brother, or I'll so bait ye for't, Take it quickly up. Hob. I take my persecution, And thus I am forc'd a by-word to my brethren. Soto. Strike up, strike up: strike merrily. Far. To it roundly, Now to the harvest feast: then sport again boyes. [Exeunt.

Sil. What shall I do? live thus unknown, and base still? Or thrust my self into the head o' th' Battel? And there like that I am, a Gentleman, And one that never fear'd the face of danger, (So in her angry eyes s[h]e carried honor) Fight nobly, and (to end my cares) die nobly?

Silvio go on, and raise thy noble mind To noble ends; fling course base thoughts behind: Silvio, thou Son of everliving fame, Now aim at virtue, and a Noble Name. Silvio consider, Honor is not won, Nor virtue reach'd, till some brave thing be done: Thy Countrey calls thee now; she burns, and bleeds, Now raise thy self, young man, to noble deeds. Into the battel Silvio, there seek forth Danger, and blood, by them stands sacred worth. What heavenly voice is this that follows me? This is the second time 't has waited on me, Since I was arm'd, and ready for the battel; It names me often, steels my heart with courage.

And in a thousand sweet notes comforts me; What Beldam's this? how old she is, and ugly, Why does she follow me? Bel. Be not dismaid Son, I wait upon thee for thy good, and honor, 'Twas I that now sung to thee, stirr'd thy mind up, And rais'd thy spirits to the pitch of nobleness. Sil. Though she be old, and of a crooked carkass, Her voice is like the harmony of Angels. Bel. Thou art my darling, all my love dwels on thee The Son of virtue, therefore I attend thee; Enquire not what I am, I come to serve thee, For if thou be'st inquisitive, thou hast lost me: A thousand long miles hence my dwelling is, Deep in a Cave, where but mine own, no foot treads, There by mine Art, I found what danger (Silvio) And deep distress of heart, thou wert grown into, A thousand Leagues I have cut through empty air, Far swifter than the sayling rack that gallops Upon the wings of angry winds, to seek thee. Sometimes o'er a swelling tide, on a Dolphins back I ride, Sometimes pass the earth below, and through the unmoved Center go; Sometimes in a flame of fire, like a Meteor I aspire, Sometimes in mine own shape, thus, when I help the virtuous, Men of honourable minds, command my Art in all his kinds; Pursue the noble thought of War, from thy Guard I'll not be far, Get thee worship on thy foe, lasting Fame is gotten so. Single Syennas Duke alone, hear thy friends, thy Countrey groan, And with thy manly arm strike sure, then thou hast wrought thine own free cure. Sil. Some Sybel sure, some soul heaven loves, and favours. And lends her their free powers, to work their wonders? How she incites my courage! Bel. Sylvio, I knew thee many daies ago, Foresaw thy love to Belvidere, the Dutchess daughter, and her Heir; Knew she lov'd thee, and know what past; when you were found i' th' Castle fast In one anothers arms; forsaw the taking of ye and the Law And so thy innocence I loved, the deepest of my skill I proved; Be rul'd by me, for to this hour, I have dwelt about thee with my power. Sil. I will, and in the course of all observe thee, For thou art sure an Angel [good] sent to me. Bel. Get thee gone then to the fight, longer stay but robs thy right; When thou grow'st weary I'll be near, then think on beauteous Belvidere, For every precious thought of her, I'll lend thine honor a new spurre; When all is done, meet here at night; Go and be happy in the fight.

Sil. I certainly believe I shall do nobly, And that I'll bravely reach at too, or die. [Exeunt.

Cla. Is she so loving still? Pen. She is mad with Love, As mad as ever unworm'd dog was, Signior, And does so weep, and curse, for your prevention, Your crosses in your love; it frets me too, I am fall'n away to nothing, to a spindle, Grown a meer man of mat, no soul within me, Pox o' my Master, Sir, will that content ye? Cla. This rogue but cozens me, and she neglects me, Upon my life there are some other gamesters, Nearer the wind than I, and that prevents me, Is there no other holds acquaintance with her? Prethee be true, be honest, do not mock me, Thou knowest her heart, no former interest She has vow'd a favour too? and cannot handsomely Go off, but by regaining such a friendship? There are a thousand handsome men, young, wealthy, That will not stick at any rate, nor danger, To gain so sweet a prize; nor can I blame her, If where she finds a comfort, she deal cunningly, I am a stranger yet. Pen. Ye are all she looks for, And if there be any other, she neglects all, And all for you: I would you saw how grievously And with what hourly lamentations. Cla. I know thou flatter'st me; tell me but truth, Look here, look well, the best meat in the Dukedom, The rarest, and the choicest of all Diets, Th[is] will I give thee, but to satisfie me; That is, not to dissemble; this rare Lobster, This Pheasant of the Sea, this dish for Princes, And all this thou shalt enjoy, eat all thy self, Have good Greek Wine, or any thing belongs to it, A wench, if it desire one. Pen. All this, Signior? Cla. All, and a greater far than this. Pen. A greater? Cla. If thou deserve by telling truth. Pen. A wench too? Cla. Or any thing, but if you play the knave now, The cozening knave, besides the loss of this, In which thou hast parted with a paradise, I ne'er will give thee meat more, not a morsel, No smell of meat by my means shall come near thee, Nor name of any thing that's nourishing, But to thy old part Tantalus again, Thou shalt return, and there snap at a shadow. Pen. Upon this point, had I intended Treason, Or any thing might call my life in question, Follow'd with all the tortures time could think on, Give me but time to eat this lovely Lobster, This Alderman o'th' Sea, and give me Wine to him, I would reveal all, and if that all were too little, More than I knew; Bartello holds in with her, The Captain of the Cittadel, but you need not fear him, His tongue's the stiffest weapon that he carries. He is old, and out of use; there are some other, Men, young enough, handsome, and bold enough, Could they come but to make their game once, but they want Sir, They want the unde quare, they are laid by then.

You only are the man shall knock the nail in— Bar. How now Penurio? Pen. Your worship's fairly met, Sir. You shall hear further from me, steal aside, Sir. Cla. Remember your Master for those Chains. Pen. They are ready, Sir. Bart. What young thing's this? by his habit he's a Merchant; I fear he trades my way too, you dryed dog-fish, What bait was that? Pen. Who Sir, the thing went hence now? A notable young whelp. Bart. To what end sirrah? Pen. Came to buy Chains and Rings, is to be married, An Asse, a Coxcomb, h'as nothing in's house Sir; I warrant you think he came to see my Mistriss? Bart. I doubt it shrewdly. Pen. Away, away 'tis foolish; He has not the face to look upon a Gentlewoman, A poor skim'd thing, his Mothers maids are fain, Sir To teach him how to kiss, and against he is married, To shew him on which side the stirrop stands. Bart. That's a fine youth. Pen. Thou wouldst hang thy self, that thou hadst half his power, Thou empty Potgun. Bart. Am I come fit Penurio? Pen. As fit as a fiddle, My Master's now abroad about his business. Bart. When thou cam'st to me home to day, I half suspected My wife was jealous, that she whispered to thee. Pen. You deserve well the whilst, there's no such matter, She talk'd about some toyes my Master must bring to her, You must not know of. Bart. I'll take no noat Penurio. Pen. No, nor you shall not, till yo[u] have it soundly. This is the bravest Capitano Pompo.