Act 1 — Scene I.[2459]
Reading edition
Scene I.[2459]
Enter at one door Beraldo, Carolo, Fontinell, and Astolfo, with Serving-men, or Pages, attending on them; at another door enter Lodovico, meeting them.
Lod. Good day, gallants.
All. Good morrow, sweet Lodovico.
Lod. How dost thou, Carolo?
Car. Faith, as the physicians do in a plague, see the world sick, and am well myself.5
Fon. Here ’s a sweet morning, gentlemen.
Lod. Oh, a morning to tempt Jove from his ningle,[2460] Ganymede; which is but to give dairy-wenches green gowns as they are going a-milking. What, is thy lord stirring yet?10
Ast. Yes, he will not be horst this hour, sure.
Ber. My lady swears he shall, for she longs to be at court.
Car. Oh, we shall ride switch and spur; would we were there once.15
Enter Bryan, the Footman.
Lod. How now, is thy lord ready?
Bry. No, so crees sa’[2461] me; my lady will have some little ting in her pelly first.
Car. Oh, then they ’ll to breakfast.
Lod. Footman, does my lord ride i ’th’ coach with my lady, or on horseback?21
Bry. No, foot, la; my lady will have me lord sheet wid her, my lord will sheet in de one side, and my lady sheet in de toder side.
Exit.
Lod. My lady sheet in de toder side! Did25 you ever hear a rascal talk so like a pagan? Is ’t not strange that a fellow of his star, should be seen here so long in Italy, yet speak so from[2462] a Christian?
Enter Antonio Georgio, a poor scholar [with a book].
Ast. An Irishman in Italy! that so strange! Why, the nation have running heads.31
Exchange walk.[2463]
Lod. Nay, Carolo, this is more strange, I ha’ been in France, there ’s few of them. Marry, England they count a warm chimney corner, and there they swarm like crickets to the crevice of a brew-house; but sir, in England I36 have noted one thing.
All. What ’s that, what ’s that of England?
Lod. Marry this, sir,—What ’s he yonder?39
Ber. A poor fellow would speak with my lord.
Lod. In England, sir,—troth, I ever laugh when I think on ’t: to see a whole nation should be markt i’th’ forehead, as a man may say, with one iron: why, sir, there all costermongers are Irishmen.45
Car. Oh, that ’s to show their antiquity, as coming from Eve, who was an apple-wife, and they take after the mother.
All. Good, good! ha, ha!
Lod. Why, then, should all your chimney-sweepers50 likewise be Irishmen? Answer that now; come, your wit.
Car. Faith, that ’s soon answered; for St. Patrick, you know, keeps purgatory; he makes the fire, and his countrymen could do nothing,55 if they cannot sweep the chimneys.
All. Good again.
Lod. Then, sir, have you many of them, like this fellow, especially those of his hair, footmen to noblemen and others, and the knaves are60 very faithful where they love. By my faith, very proper men, many of them, and as active as the clouds,—whirr, hah!
All. Are they so?
Lod. And stout! exceeding stout; why, I65 warrant, this precious wild villain, if he were put to ’t, would fight more desperately than sixteen Dunkirks.[2464]
Ast. The women, they say, are very fair.
Lod. No, no, our country bona-robas,[2465]70 oh! are the sugarest, delicious rogues!
Ast. Oh, look, he has a feeling of them!
Lod. Not I, I protest. There’s a saying when they commend nations. It goes, the Irishman for his hand, the Welshmen for a leg,75 the Englishman for a face, the Dutchman for a beard.
Fon. I’ faith, they may make swabbers[2466] of them.
Lod. The Spaniard,—let me see,—for a little foot, I take it; the Frenchman,—what81 a pox hath he? And so of the rest. Are they at breakfast yet? Come walk.
Ast. This Lodovico is a notable tongued fellow.
Fon. Discourses well.85
Ber. And a very honest gentleman.
Ast. Oh! he ’s well valued by my lord.
Enter Bellafront, with a petition.
Fon. How now, how now, what’s she?
Ber. Let’s make towards her.
Bell. Will it be long, sir, ere my lord come90 forth?
Ast. Would you speak with my lord?
Lod. How now, what ’s this, a nurse’s bill? Hath any here got thee with child and now will not keep it?95
Bell. No, sir, my business is unto my lord.
Lod. He ’s about his own wife’s now, he ’ll hardly dispatch two causes in a morning.
Ast. No matter what he says, fair lady; he ’s a knight, there’s no hold to be taken at his words.101
Fon. My lord will pass this way presently.
Ber. A pretty, plump rogue.
Ast. A good lusty, bouncing baggage.
Ber. Do you know her?105
Lod. A pox on her, I was sure her name was in my table-book once. I know not of what cut her die is now, but she has been more common than tobacco; this is she that had the name of the Honest Whore.110
All. Is this she?
Lod. This is the blackamoor that by washing was turned white; this is the birding-piece new scoured; this is she that, if any of her religion can be saved, was saved by my lord Hippolito.
Ast. She has been a goodly creature.116
Lod. She has been! that ’s the epitaph of all whores. I ’m well acquainted with the poor gentleman her husband. Lord! what fortunes that man has overreached! She knows not120 me, yet I have been in her company; I scarce know her, for the beauty of her cheek hath, like the moon, suff’red strange eclipses since I beheld it: but women are like medlars,—no sooner ripe but rotten:125
A woman last was made, but is spent first,
Yet man is oft proved in performance worst.
All. My lord is come.
Enter Hippolito, Infelice, and two Waiting women.
Hip. We ha’ wasted half this morning. Morrow, Lodovico.130
Lod. Morrow, madam.
Hip. Let ’s away to horse.
All. Ay, ay, to horse, to horse.
Bell. I do beseech your lordship, let your eye read o’er this wretched paper.135
Hip. I ’m in haste; pray thee, good woman, take some apter time.
Inf. Good woman, do.
Bell. Oh, ’las! it does concern a poor man’s life.140
Hip. Life!—Sweetheart, seat yourself, I ’ll but read this and come.
Lod. What stockings have you put on this morning, madam? If they be not yellow,[2467] change them; that paper is a letter from some wench to your husband.146
Inf. Oh sir, that cannot make me jealous.
Exeunt [all except Hippolito, Bellafront, and Antonio].
Hip. Your business, sir? To me?
Ant. Yes, my good lord.149
Hip. Presently, sir.—Are you Matheo’s wife?
Bell. That most unfortunate woman.
Hip. I’m sorry these storms are fallen on him; I love Matheo, And any good shall do him; he and I Have seal’d two bonds of friendship, which are strong In me, however fortune does him wrong.155 He speaks here he’s condemned. Is ’t so?
Bell. Too true.
Hip. What was he whom he killed? Oh, his name’s here; Old Giacomo, son to the Florentine; Giacomo, a dog, that, to meet profit,160 Would to the very eyelids wade in blood Of his own children. Tell Matheo, The duke, my father, hardly shall deny His signed pardon. ’T was fair fight, yes, If rumour’s tongue go true; so writes he here.—165 To-morrow morning I return from court, Pray be you here then.—I’ll have done, sir, straight:— [To Antonio.] But in troth say, are you Matheo’s wife? You have forgot me. Bell. No, my lord. Hip. Your turner, That made you smooth to run an even bias,170 You know I lov’d you when your very soul Was full of discord: art not a good wench still? Bell. Umph, when I had lost my way to Heaven, you show’d it: I was new born that day.
Re-enter Lodovico.
Lod. ’Sfoot, my lord, your lady asks if175 you have not left your wench yet? When you get in once, you never have done. Come, come, come, pay your old score, and send her packing; come.
Hip. Ride softly on before, I’ll o’ertake you.181
Lod. Your lady swears she’ll have no riding on before, without ye.
Hip. Prithee, good Lodovico.
Lod. My lord, pray hasten.185
Hip. I come. [Exit Lodovico.] To-morrow let me see you, fare you well; Commend me to Matheo. Pray one word more: Does not your father live about the court? Bell. I think he does, but such rude spots of shame190 Stick on my cheek, that he scarce knows my name. Hip. Orlando Friscobaldo, is’t not? Bell. Yes, my lord. Hip. What does he for you? Bell. All he should: when children From duty start, parents from love may swerve. He nothing does; for nothing I deserve.196 Hip. Shall I join him unto you, and restore you to wonted grace? Bell. It is impossible. [Exit Bellafront.] Hip. It shall be put to trial: fare you well. The face I would not look on! Sure then ’t was rare,201 When, in despite of grief, ’t is still thus fair. Now, sir, your business with me. Ant. I am bold T’ express my love and duty to your lordship In these few leaves. Hip. A book! Ant. Yes, my good lord.205 Hip. Are you a scholar? Ant. Yes, my lord, a poor one. Hip. Sir, you honour me. Kings may be scholars’ patrons, but, faith, tell me, To how many hands besides hath this bird flown. How many partners share with me? Ant. Not one,210 In troth, not one: your name I held more dear. I’m not, my lord, of that low character. Hip. Your name I pray? Ant. Antonio Georgio. Hip. Of Milan? Ant. Yes, my lord. Hip. I’ll borrow leave To read you o’er, and then we’ll talk: till then Drink up this gold; good wits should love good wine;216 This of your loves, the earnest that of mine.— [Gives money.]
Re-enter Bryan.
How now, sir, where’s your lady? Not gone yet?
Bry. I fart di lady is run away from dee, a mighty deal of ground; she sent me back220 for dine own sweet face. I pray dee come, my lord, away, wu’t tow go now?
Hip. Is the coach gone? Saddle my horse, the sorrel.224
Bry. A pox a’ de horse’s nose, he is a lousy rascally fellow. When I came to gird his belly, his scurvy guts rumbled; di horse farted in my face, and dow knowest, an Irishman cannot abide a fart. But I have saddled de hobby-horse, di fine hobby is ready. I pray dee, my good230 sweet lord, wi’t tow go now, and I will run to de devil before dee?
Hip. Well, sir.—I pray let ’s see you, master scholar.234
Bry. Come, I pray dee, wu’t come, sweet face? Go.
Exeunt.