Act 4 — Scene VI.[2022]

Sur. Lady, you see into what hands you are fall’n; ’Mongst what a nest of villains! and how near Your honour was t’ have catch’d a certain clap, Through your credulity, had I but been So punctually forward, as place, time,5 And other circumstance would ha’ made a man; For you’re a handsome woman: would you were wise too! I am a gentleman come here disguis’d, Only to find the knaveries of this citadel; And where I might have wrong’d your honour, and have not,10 I claim some interest in your love. You are, They say, a widow, rich; and I’m a bachelor. Worth nought: your fortunes may make me a man, As mine ha’ preserv’d you a woman. Think upon it, And whether I have deserv’d you or no. Dame P. I will, sir.15 Sur. And for these household-rogues, let me alone To treat with them.

Sub. How doth my noble Diego, And my dear madam countess? Hath the count Been courteous, lady? liberal and open? Donzel,[2023] methinks you look melancholic,20 I do not like the dulness of your eye; It hath a heavy cast, ’t is upsee Dutch,[2024] And says you are a lumpish whore-master. Be lighter, I will make your pockets so. (He falls to picking of them.) Sur. [throws open his cloak.] Will you, don bawd and pick-purse? [Strikes him down.] How now! Reel you?25 Stand up, sir, you shall find, since I am so heavy, I’ll gi’ you equal weight. Sub. Help! murder! Sur. No, sir, There ’s no such thing intended. A good cart[2025] And a clean whip shall ease you of that fear. I am the Spanish don that should be cozened,30 Do you see? Cozened? Where’s your Captain Face, That parcel[2026]-broker, and whole-bawd, all rascal?

Face. How, Surly! Sur. O, make your approach, good captain. I’ve found from whence your copper rings and spoons Come now, wherewith, you cheat abroad in taverns.35 ’T was here you learn’d t’anoint your boot with brimstone, Then rub men’s gold on’t for a kind of touch, And say, ’t was naught, when you had chang’d the colour, That you might ha’t for nothing. And this doctor, Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeer, he40 Will close you so much gold, in a bolt’s-head, And, on a turn, convey i’ the stead another With sublim’d mercury, that shall burst i’ the heat, And fly out all in fumo! Then weeps Mammon; Then swoons his worship. Or, [Face slips out.] he is the Faustus,45 That casteth figures[2027] and can conjure, cures Plagues, piles, and pox, by the ephemerides.[2028] And holds intelligence with all the bawds And midwives of three shires: while you send in—— Captain!—what! is he gone?—damsels with child,50 Wives that are barren, or the waiting-maid With the green sickness. [Seizes Subtle as he is retiring.] —Nay, sir, you must tarry, Though he be scap’d; and answer by the ears, sir.