Act 2 — ACT II.
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SCENE I.
Venice.—Hall in Roberto’s house.
Enter Roberto, Lord Cardinal, Isabella, Lady Lentulus, Abigail, and Thais. Lights.
Rob. My grave Lord Cardinal, we congratulate, And zealously do entertain your love, That from your high and divine contemplation You have vouchsafed to consummate a day Due to our nuptials. O may this knot you knit— This individual Gordian grasp of hands, In sight of God so fairly intermixt— Never be sever’d, as Heaven smiles at it, By all the darts shot by infernal Jove! Angels of grace, Amen, Amen, say to ’t! 10 Fair lady-widow, and my worthy mistress, Do you keep silence for a wager?
Tha. Do you ask a woman that question, my lord, when she enforcedly pursues what she’s forbidden? I think, if I had been tied to silence, I should have been worthy the cucking-stool ere this time.
Rob. You shall not be my orator, lady, that pleads thus for your self.
Enter a Servant.[182]
Ser. My lord, the masquers are at hand.
Rob. Give them kind entertainment.—Some worthy friends of mine, my lord, unknown to me, too lavish of their loves, bring their own welcome in a solemn masque. 23
Abi. I am glad there’s noblemen in the masque, with our husbands to overrule them; they had shamed us all[183] else.
Tha. Why? for why, I pray?
Abi. Why?—marry, they had come in with some city show else; hired a few tinsel coats, at the vizard-makers, which would ha’ made them look for all the world like bakers in their linen bases[184] and mealy vizards, new come from boulting. I saw a show once at the marriage of Magnificero’s daughter, presented by Time, which Time was an old bald thing, a servant: ’twas the best man; he was a dyer, and came in likeness of the rainbow, in all manner of colours, to show his art; but the rainbow smelt of urine so we were all afraid the property was changed, and look’d for a shower. Then came in after him, one that, it seem’d, feared no colours[185]—a grocer that had trimm’d up himself handsomely: he was justice, and show’d reasons[186] why. And I think this grocer—I mean this justice—had borrowed a weather-beaten balance from some justice of a conduit, both which scales were replenish’d with the choice of his ware. And the more liberally to show his nature, he gave every woman in the room her handful. 46
Tha. O great act of justice! Well, and my husband come cleanly off with this, he shall ne’er betray his weakness more, but confess himself a citizen hereafter, and acknowledge their wit, for alas! they come short.
Enter in the Masque, the Count of Massino,[187] Mendoza, Claridiana, and Torch-bearers. They deliver their shields to their several mistresses—that is to say, Mendoza to the Lady Lentulus; Claridiana to Thais;[188] to Isabella, Massino; to Abigail, Rogero.
Isa. Good my lord, be my expositor.
[To the Cardinal.
Car. The sun setting, a man pointing at it: The motto, Senso tamen ipse calorem. Fair bride, some servant of yours, that here imitates To have felt the heat of love bred in your brightness, But setting thus from him by marriage; He only here acknowledgeth your power, And must[189] expect beams of a morrow-sun.
Lady Len. Lord Bridegroom, will you interpret me?
Rob. A sable shield: the word,[190] Vidua spes. 60 What—the forlorn hope, in black, despairing? Lady Lentulus, is this the badge of all your suitors?
Lady Len. Ay, by my troth, my lord, if they come to me.
Rob. I could give it another interpretation. Methinks this lover has learn’d of women to deal by contraries; if so, then here he says, the widow is his only hope.
Lady Len. No; good my lord, let the first stand.
Rob. Inquire of him, and he’ll resolve the doubt.
Abi. What’s here?—a ship sailing nigh her haven? With good ware belike: ’tis well ballast. 70
Tha. O this your device smells of the merchant. What’s your ship’s name, I pray? The Forlorn Hope?
Abi. No; The Merchant Royal.
Tha. And why not Adventurer?
Abi. You see no likelihood of that: would it not fain be in the haven? The word, Ut tangerem portum. Marry, for aught I know; God grant it. What’s there?
Tha. Mine’s an azure shield: marry, what else? I should tell thee more than I understand; but the word is, Aut pretio, aut precibus. 80
Abi. Ay, ay, some common-council device.
[They take the women, and dance the first change.
Men. Fair widow, how like you this change?
Lady Len. I chang’d too lately to like any.
Men. O your husband! you wear his memory like a death’s-head. For Heaven’s love, think of me as of the man Whose dancing days you see are not yet done.
Lady Len. Yet you sink a-pace,[191] sir.
Men. The fault’s in my upholsterer, lady.
Rog. Thou shalt as soon find Truth telling a lie, 90 Virtue a bawd, Honesty a courtier, As me turn’d recreant to thy least design. Love makes me speak, and he makes love divine.
Abi.[192] Would Love could make you so! but ’tis his guise To let us surfeit ere he ope our eyes.
Tha.[193] You grasp my hand too hard, i’faith, fair sir.
[Claridiana holds her by the hand.
Clar. Not as you grasp my heart, unwilling wanton. Were but my breast bare and anatomised, Thou shouldst behold there how thou torturest it; And as Apelles limn’d the Queen of Love, 100 In her right hand grasping a heart in flames, So may I thee, fairer, but crueller.
Tha.[193] Well, sir, your vizor gives you colour for what you say.
Clar. Grace me to wear this favour; ’tis a gem That vails to your eyes, though not to the eagle’s, And in exchange give me one word of comfort.
Tha.[193] Ay, marry: I like this wooer well: He’ll win’s pleasure out o’ the stones.
Isa. Change is no robbery; yet in this change 110 Thou robb’st me of my heart. Sure Cupid’s here, Disguisèd like a pretty torch-bearer, And makes his brand a torch, that with more sleight He may entrap weak women. Here the sparks Fly, as in Ætna from his father’s anvil. O powerful boy! My heart’s on fire, and unto mine eyes The raging flames ascend like to two beacons, Summoning my strongest powers; but all too late; The conqueror already opes the gate. 120 I will not ask his name.
Abi. You dare put it into my hands.
Abi. Then thus: to-morrow (you’ll be secret, servant)—
Rog. All that I do, I’ll do in secret.
Abi. My husband goes to Maurano[198] to renew the farm he has.
Rog. Well, what time goes the jakes-farmer?
Abi. He shall not be long out, but you shall put in, I warrant you. Have a care that you stand just i’ the nick about six o’clock in the evening; my maid shall conduct you up. To save mine honour, you must come up darkling, and to avoid suspicion. 133
Rog. Zounds! hoodwink’d! and if you’ll open all, sweet lady——
Abi. But if you fail to do ’t——
Rog. The sun shall fail the day first.
Abi. Tie this ring fast, you may be sure to know. You’ll brag of this, now you have brought me to the bay.
Rog. Pox o’ this masque! would ’twere done! I might To my apothecary’s for some stirring meats! 141
Tha. Methinks, sir, you should blush e’en through your vizor. I have scarce patience to dance out the rest.
Clar.[199] The worse my fate, that ploughs a marble quarry: Pygmalion, yet thy image was more kind, Although thy love[200] not half so true as mine. Dance they that list, I sail against the wind.
Tha. Nay, sir, betray not your infirmities, You’ll make my husband jealous by and by. We will think of you, and that presently. 150
Mass.[201] The spheres ne’er danced unto a better tune. Sound music there!
[The third change ended, ladies fall off.
Isa. ’Twas music that he spake.
Rob. Gallants, I thank you, and begin a health To your mistresses!
Three or four. Fair thanks, Sir Bridegroom.
Isa. [Aside.] He speaks not to this pledge; has he no mistress? Would I might choose one for him! but ’t may be He doth adore a brighter star than we.
Rob. Sit, ladies, sit; you have had standing long.
[Massino[202] dances a Levalto or a Galliard, and in the midst of it falleth into the Bride’s lap, but straight leaps up and danceth it out.
Men. Bless the man! sprightly and nobly done!
Tha. What, is your ladyship hurt?
Isa. O no, an easy fall. 160 [Aside.] Was I not deep enough, thou god of lust, But I must further wade! I am his now, As sure as Juno’s Jove’s! Hymen, take flight, And see not me, ’tis not my wedding night.
[Exit Isabella.
Car. The bride’s departed, discontent it[203] seems.
Rob. We’ll after her. Gallants, unmasque I pray, And taste a homely banquet, we entreat.
[Exeunt Roberto, Cardinal, and lights.
Clar. Candied[204] eringoes, I beseech thee.
Men. Come, widow, I’ll be bold to put you in. My lord, will you have a sociate? 170
[Exeunt Thais, Lady Lentulus, Abigail, and Mendoza.
Mass.[205] Good gentlemen, if I have any interest in you, Let me depart unknown; ’tis a disgrace Of an eternal memory.
Rog.[206] What, the fall, my lord?—as common a thing as can be. The stiffest man in Italy may fall between a woman’s legs.
Clar. Would I had changed places with you, my lord—would it had been my hap!
Mass. What cuckold laid his horns in my way? Signior Claridiana, you were by the lady when I fell: Do you think I hurt her? 181
Clar. You could not hurt her, my lord, between the legs.
Mass. What was ’t I fell withal?
Rog. A cross-point, my lord.
Mass. Cross-point, indeed. Well, if you love me, let me hence unknown; The silence yours, the disgrace mine own.
[Exeunt Claridiana and Rogero.[207]
Enter Isabella with a gilt goblet, and meets Massino.[208]
Isa. Sir, if wine were nectar, I’d[209] begin a health To her that were most gracious in your eye: 190 Yet deign, as simply ’tis the gift of Bacchus, To give her pledge that drinks. This god of wine Cannot inflame me more to appetite, Though he be co-supreme[210] with mighty Love, Than thy fair shape.
Mass. Zounds! she comes to deride me.
Isa. That kiss shall serve To be a pledge, although my lips should starve.— [Aside.] No trick to get that vizor from his face?
Mass. I will steal hence, and so conceal disgrace.
Isa. Sir, have you left naught behind? 200
Mass. Yes, Lady,[211] but the fates will not permit (As gems once lost are seldom or never found) I should convey it with me. Sweet, good-night! [Aside.] She bends to me: there’s my fall again.
[Exit.
Isa. He’s gone! That lightning that a while doth strike Our eyes with amaz’d brightness, and on a sudden Leaves us in prison’d darkness! Lust, thou art high; My similes[212] may well come from the sky. Anna, Anna!
Enter Anna.
Anna. Madam, did you call? 209
Isa. Follow yond stranger; prithee learn his name. We may hereafter thank him. [Exit Anna.] How I dote! Is he not a god That can command what other men would win With the hard’st advantage? I must have him, Or, shadow-like, follow his fleeting steps. Were I as Daphne, and he followed chase, (Though I rejected young Apollo’s love, And like a dream beguile his wand’ring steps;) Should he pursue me through the neighbouring grove, Each cowslip-stalk should trip a willing fall, 220 Till he were mine, who till then am his thrall. Nor will I blush, since worthy is my chance:[213] ’Tis said that Venus with a satyr slept; And how much short came she of my fair aim! Then, Queen of Love, a precedent I’ll be, To teach fair women learn to love of me. Speak, music: what’s his name?
Enter Anna.
Anna. Madam, it was the worthy Count Massino.
Isa. Blest be thy tongue! The worthy count indeed, The worthiest of the worthies. Trusty Anna, 230 Hast thou pack’d up those monies, plate, and jewels I gave direction for?
Anna. Yes, madam; I have truss’d up them, that many a proper man has been truss’d up for.
Isa. I thank thee. Take the wings of night, Beloved secretary, and post with them to Pavia;[214] There furnish up some stately palace Worthy to entertain the king of love: Prepare it for my coming and my love’s. Ere Phœbus’ steeds once more unharness’d be, 240 Or ere he sport with his belovèd Thetis, The silver-footed goddess of the sea, We will set forward. Fly like the northern wind, Or swifter, Anna,—fleet like to my mind.
Anna. I am just of your mind, madam. I am gone.
[Exit Anna.
Isa. So to the house of death the mourner goes, That is bereft of what his soul desired, As I to bed—I to my nuptial bed, The heaven on earth: so to thought-slaughters went The pale Andromeda, bedew’d with tears. 250 When every minute she expected gripes Of a fell monster, and in vain bewail’d The act of her creation. Sullen Night, That look’st with sunk eyes on my nuptial bed, With ne’er a star that smiles upon the end, Mend thy slack pace, and lend the malcontent, The hoping lover, and the wishing bride, Beams that too long thou shadowest: or, if not, In spite of thy fix’d front, when my loath’d mate Shall struggle in due pleasure for his right, 260 I’ll think ’t my love, and die in that delight!
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Venice.—A street.
Enter at several doors Abigail and Thais.
Abi. Thais, you’re an early riser. I have that to show will make your hair stand an-end.[215]
Tha. Well, lady, and I have that to show you will bring your courage down. What would you say and I would name a party saw your husband court, kiss, nay, almost go through for the hole?
Abi. How, how? what would I say? nay, by this light! what would I not do? If ever Amazon fought better, or more at the face than I’ll do, let me never be thought a new married wife. Come, unmask her; ’tis some admirable creature, whose beauty you need not paint; I warrant you, ’tis done to your hand. 12
Tha. Would any woman but I be abused to her face? Prithee read the contents. Know’st thou the character?
Abi. ’Tis my husband’s hand, and a love-letter; but for the contents I find none in it. Has the lustful monster, all back and belly, starved me thus? What defect does he see in me? I’ll be sworn, wench, I am of as pliant and yielding a body to him, e’en which way he will—he may turn me as he list himself. What? and dedicate to thee! Ay, marry, here’s a stile so high as a man cannot help a dog o’er it. He was wont to write to me in the city-phrase, My good Abigail. Here’s astonishment of nature, unparallel’d excellency, and most unequal rarity of creation!—three such words will turn any honest woman in the world[216] whore; for a woman is never won till she know not what to answer; and beshrew me if I understand any of these. You are the party, I perceive, and here’s a white sheet, that your husband has promis’d me to do penance in: you must not think to dance the shaking of the sheets[217] alone; though there be not such rare phrases in ’t, ’tis more to the matter: a legible hand, but for the dash or the (he) and (as):[218] short bawdy parentheses as ever you saw, to the purpose; he has not left out a prick, I warrant you, wherein he has promis’d to do me any good; but the law’s in mine own hand. 36
Tha. I ever thought by his red beard he would prove a Judas;[219] here am I bought and sold; he makes much of me indeed. Well, wench, we were best wisely in time seek for prevention; I should be loath to take drink and die on ’t, as I am afraid I shall, that he will lie with thee.
Abi. To be short, sweetheart, I’ll be true to thee, though a liar to my husband. I have signed your husband’s bill like a woodcock, as he is held; persuaded him (since naught but my love can assuage his violent passions) he should enjoy, like a private friend, the pleasures of my bed. I told him my husband was to go to Maurano to-day, to renew a farm he has; and in the meantime he might be tenant at will to use mine. This false fire has so took with him, that he’s ravish’d afore he come. I have had stones on him all red. Dost know this?
Tha. Ay, too well; it blushes, for his master. 53
[Points to the ring.
Abi. Now my husband will be hawking about thee anon, and thou canst meet him closely.
Tha. By my faith, I would be loth in the dark, and he knew me.
Abi. I mean thus: the same occasion will serve him too; they are birds of a feather, and will fly together, I warrant thee, wench; appoint him to come; say that thy husband’s gone for Maurano, and tell me anon if thou madest not his heart-blood spring for joy in his face. 62
Tha. I conceive you not all this while.
Abi. Then th’ art a barren woman, and no marvel if thy husband love thee not. The hour for both to come is six—a dark time fit for purblind lovers; and with cleanly conveyance by the nigglers our maids, they shall be translated into our bed-chambers. Your husband into mine, and mine into yours.
Tha. But you mean they shall come in at the backdoors? 71
Abi. Who? our husbands? nay, an’ they come not in at the fore-doors there will be no pleasure in ’t. But we two will climb over our garden-pales, and come in that way (the chastest that are in Venice will stray for a good turn), and thus wittily will we be stowed—you into my house to your husband, and I into your house to my husband; and I warrant thee before a month come to an end, they’ll crack louder of this night’s lodging than the bedsteads. 80
Tha. All is if our maids keep secret.
Abi. Mine is a maid I’ll be sworn; she has kept her secrets hitherto.
Tha. Troth, and I never had any sea-captain boarded in my house.
Abi. Go to, then; and the better to avoid suspicion, thus we must insist: they must come up darkling, recreate themselves with their delight an hour or two, and after a million kisses or so— 89
Tha. But is my husband content to come darkling?
Abi. What, not to save mine honour? He that will run through fire, as he has profess’d, will, by the heat of his love, grope in the dark! I warrant him he shall save mine honour.
Tha. I am afraid my voice will discover me.
Abi. Why, then, you’re best say nothing, and take it thus quietly when your husband comes.
Tha. Ay, but you know a woman cannot choose but speak in these cases.
Abi. Bite in your nether-lip, and I warrant you; 100 Or make as if you were whiffing tobacco; Or puich[220] like me. Gods so! I hear thy husband!
[Exit Abigail.
Tha. Farewell, wise woman.
Enter Rogero.[221]
Rog.[222] Now ’gins my vengeance mount high in my lust: ’Tis a rare creature, she’ll do ’t i’faith; And I am arm’d at all points. A rare whiblin,[223] To be revenged, and yet gain pleasure in ’t, One height above revenge! Yet what a slave am I! Are there not younger brothers enough, but we must Branch one another? O but mine’s revenge! 110 And who on that does dream Must be a tyrant ever in extreme.— O my wife Thais, get my breakfast ready; I must into the country to my farm I have Some two miles off, and, as I think, Shall not come home to-night. Jaques, Jaques? Get my vessel ready to row me down the river. Prithee make haste, sweet girl.
[Exit Rogero.[224]
Tha. So, there’s one fool shipp’d away. Are your cross-points discovered? Get your breakfast ready! 120 By this light I’ll tie you to hard fare; I have been too sparing of that you prodigally offer voluntary to another: well, you will be a tame fool hereafter, The finest light is when we first defraud; Husband, to-night ’tis I must lie abroad.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Venice.—Roberto’s house.
Enter Isabella, and a Page with a letter.
Isa. Here, take this letter, bear it to the count. But, boy, first tell, think’st thou I am in love?
Page. Madam, I cannot tell.
Isa. Canst thou not tell? Dost thou not see my face? Is not the face the index of the mind? And canst thou not distinguish love by that?
Page. No, madam.
Isa. Then take this letter and deliver it Unto the worthy count. No, fie upon him! Come back: tell me, why shouldst thou think 10 That same’s a love-letter?
Page. I do not think so, madam.
Isa. I know thou dost; for thou dost ever use To hold the wrong opinion. Tell me true, Dost thou not think that letter is of love?
Page. If you would have me think so, madam, yes.
Isa. What, dost thou think thy lady is so fond? Give me the letter; thyself shall see it. Yet I should tear it in the breaking ope, And make him lay a wrongful charge on thee, 20 And say thou brokest it open by the way, And saw what heinous things I charge him with. But ’tis all one, the letter is not of love; Therefore deliver it unto himself, And tell him he’s deceived—I do not love him. But if he think so, bid him come to me, And I’ll confute him straight: I’ll show him reasons— I’ll show him plainly why I cannot love him. And if he hap to read it in thy hearing, Or chance to tell thee that the words were sweet, 30 Do not thou then disclose my lewd intent Under those siren words, and how I mean To use him when I have him at my will; For then thou wilt destroy the plot[225] that’s laid, And make him fear to yield when I do wish Only to have him yield; for when I have him, None but myself shall know how I will use him. Begone! why stayest thou?—yet return again.
Page. Ay, madam. 39
Isa. Why dost thou come again? I bade thee go. If I say go, never return again.
[Exit Page.
My blood, like to a troubled ocean, Cuff’d with the winds, incertain where to rest, Butts at the utmost shore[226] of every limb! My husband’s not the man I would have had. O my new thoughts to this brave sprightly lord Was fix’d to [by?] that hid fire lovers feel! Where was my mind before—that refined judgment That represents rare objects to our passions? Or did my lust beguile me of my sense, 50 Making me feast upon such dangerous cates, For present want, that needs must breed a surfeit? How was I shipwrack’d? Yet, Isabella, think; Thy husband is a noble gentleman, Young, wise, and rich; think what fate follows thee, And naught but lust doth blind thy worthy love. I will desist. O no, it may not be. Even as a headstrong courser bears away His rider, vainly striving him to stay; Or as a sudden gale thrusts into sea 60 The haven-touching bark, now near the lea, So wavering Cupid brings me back amain,[227] And purple Love resumes his darts again: Here of themselves, thy shafts come as if shot, Better than I thy quiver knows ’em not.
Enter Count Massino[228] and the Page.
Page. Madam, the count.
Mass.[229] So fell the Trojan wanderer on the Greek, And bore away his ravish’d prize to Troy. For such a beauty, brighter than his Danae,[230] Jove should (methinks) now come himself again. 70 Lovely Isabella, I confess me mortal— Not worthy to serve thee in thought, I swear; Yet shall not this same overflow of favour Diminish my vow’d duty to your beauty.
Isa. Your love, my lord, I blushingly proclaim it, Hath power to draw me through a wilderness, Were ’t armed with furies, as with furious beasts. Boy, bid our train be ready; we’ll to horse.
[Exit Page.
My lord, I should say something, but I blush; Courting is not befitting to our sex. 80
Mass. I’ll teach you how to woo. Say you have loved me long, And tell me that a woman’s feeble tongue Was never tuned unto a wooing-string; Yet for my sake you will forget your sex, And court my love with strain’d immodesty: Then bid me make you happy with a kiss.
Isa. Sir, though women do not woo, yet for your sake I am content to leave that civil custom, And pray you kiss me.
Mass. Now use some unexpected ambages[231] 90 To draw me further into Vulcan’s net.
Isa. You love not me so well as I love you.
Mass. Fair lady, but I do.
Isa. Then show your love.
Mass. Why, in this kiss I show ’t, and in my vowed service This wooing shall suffice: ’tis easier far To make the current of a silver brook Convert his flowing backward to his spring Than turn a woman wooer. There’s no cause Can turn the settled course of Nature’s laws.
Isa. My lord, will you pursue the plot? 100
Mass. The letter gives direction here for Pavy. To horse, to horse! Thus on Eurydice,[232] With looks regardiant [sic], did the Thracian gaze, And lost his gift while he desired the sight: But wiser I, led by more powerful charm, I’d see the world win thee from out mine arm.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Venice.—Courtyard of Robert’s house.
Enter at several doors Claridiana and Guido.
Gui. Zounds! is the hurricano coming? Claridiana, what’s the matter?
[A trampling of horses heard.
Cla. The Countess of Suevia has new taken horse.— Fly, Phœbus, fly, the hour is six o’clock.!
Gui. Whither is she gone, signior?
Cla. Even as Jove went to meet his Semele— To the devil, I think.
Gui. You know not wherefore?
Cla. To say sooth. I do not.— So in immortal wise shall I arrive——
Gui. At the gallows. What, in a passion, signior? 10
Cla. Zounds! do not hold me, sir.— Beauteous Thais, I am all thine wholly. The staff is now advancing for the rest, And when I tilt, Rogero,[233] ’ware thy crest!
[Exit Claridiana.
Gui. What’s here? The cap’ring god-head[234] tilting in the air?
Enter Roberto in his night-gown and cap, with Servants; he kneels down.
Rob. The gods send her remorse,[235] a poor old age, Eternal woe, and sickness’ lasting rage!
Gui. My lord, you may yet o’ertake ’em.
Rob. Furies supply that place, for I will not! No: 20 She can forsake me when pleasure’s in the full, Fresh and untired; What would she on the least barren coldness? I warrant you she has already got Her bravoes and her ruffians; the meanest whore Will have one buckler, but your great ones more. The shores of Sicil retain not such a monster, Though to galley-slaves they daily prostitute. To let the nuptial tapers give light to her new lust! Who would have thought it? She that could no more Forsake my company than can the day 31 Forsake the glorious presence of the sun!— When I was absent then her gallèd eyes Would have shed April showers, and outwept The clouds in that same o’er-passionate mood, When they drowned all the world, yet now forsakes me! Women, your eyes shed glances like the sun: Now shines your brightness, now your light is done. On the sweetest flowers[236] you shine—’tis but by chance, And on the basest weed you’ll waste a glance. 40 Your beams, once lost, can never more be found, Unless we wait until your course run round, And take you at fifth hand. Since I cannot Enjoy the noble title of a man, But after-ages, as our virtues are Buried whilst we are living, will sound out My infamy and her degenerate shame, Yet in my life I’ll smother ’t, if I may, And like a dead man to the world bequeath These houses of vanity, mills, and lands. 50 Take what you will, I will not keep, among you, servants: And welcome some religious monastery. A true sworn beads-man I’ll hereafter be, And wake the morning cock with holy prayers.
Ser. Good my lord—noble master——
Rob. Dissuade me not, my will shall be my king; I thank thee, wife; a fair change thou has given; I leave thy lust to woo the love of Heaven! 58
[Exit cum servis.
Gui. This is conversion, is ’t not—as good as might have been? He turns[237] religious upon his wife’s turning courtesan. This is just like some of our gallant prodigals, when they have consum’d their patrimonies wrongfully, they turn Capuchins for devotion.
[Exit.