Act 5 — SCENE II.
Reading edition
A Room in Imperia’s House.
Enter Fontinelle and Imperia, arm in arm.
Imp. Ah, you little effeminate sweet chevalier, why dost thou not get a loose periwig of hair on the chin, to set thy French face off? By the panting pulse of Venus, thou art welcome a thousand degrees beyond the reach of arithmetic. Good, good, good; your lip is moist and moving; it hath the truest French close, even like Mapew,[759] la, la, la, &c.
297Font. Dear lady! O life of love, what sweetness dwells
In love’s variety! The soul that plods
In one harsh book of beauty, but repeats
The stale and tedious learning, that hath oft
Faded the senses; when, in reading more,
We glide in new sweets, and are starv’d with store.
Now, by the heart of love, my Violet
Is a foul weed, (O pure Italian flower!)
She[760] a black negro, to the white compare
Of this unequall’d beauty? O most accurst,
That I have given her leave to challenge me!
But, lady, poison speaks Italian well,
And in a loath’d kiss I’ll include her hell.
Imp. So, so, so; do, do, do. Come, come, come, will you condemn the mute rushes[761] to be pressed to death by your sweet body? Down, down, down; here, here, here; lean your head upon the lap of my gown; good, good, good. O Saint Mark! here is a love-mark able to wear more ladies’ eyes for jewels than—O, lie still, lie still! I will level a true Venetian kiss over your right shoulder.
Font. Shoot home, fair mistress, and as that kiss flies
From lip to lip, wound me with your sharp eyes.
Imp. No, no, no, I’ll beat this cherry-tree thus, and thus, and thus, and[762] you name wound. [Kisses him.
Font. I will offend so, to be beaten still.
Imp. Do, do, do; and if you make any more such lips when I beat you, by my virginity, you shall buss this rod. Music, I pray thee be not a puritan; sister to the rest of the sciences, I knew the time when thou couldst abide handling. [Loud music.] O fie, fie, fie, forbear! thou art like a 298puny barber, new come to the trade; thou pickst[763] our ears too deep. So, so, so; will my sweet prisoner entertain a poor Italian song?
Font. O most willingly, my dear madonna!
Imp. I care not if I persuade my bad voice to wrestle with this music, and catch a strain: so, so, so: keep time, keep time, keep time. [Sings.
Love for such a cherry lip
Would be glad to pawn his arrows;
Venus here to take a sip
Would sell her doves and team of sparrows.
But they shall not so;
Hey nonny, nonny no!
None but I this lip must owe;[764]
Hey nonny, nonny no!
Font. Your voice does teach the music.
Imp. No, no, no.
Font. Again, dear love.
Imp. Hey nonny, nonny no!
Did Jove see this wanton eye,
Ganymede must wait no longer;
Did Phœbe here one night lie,[765]
Would change her face and look much younger.
But they shall not so;
Hey nonny, nonny no!
None but I this lip must owe;
Hey nonny, nonny no!
Enter Frisco, Trivia, and Simperina, running.
Fris. O madonna!
Triv. Mistress!
Sim. Madonna!
Fris. Case up this gentleman: there’s rapping at door; and one, in a small voice, says there’s Camillo and Hippolito.
299Sim. And they will come in.
Font. Upon their deaths they shall, for they seek mine.
Imp. No, no, no: lock the doors fast; Trivia, Simperina, stir.
Triv. and Sim. Alas!
Font. Come they in shape of devils, this angel by, I’m[766] arm’d; let them come in; ud’s foot, they die.
Imp. Fie, fie, fie; I will not have thy white body——
Viol. [within] What ho, madonna! [Knocking within.
Imp. O hark! Not hurt for the Rialto! go, go, go, put up;[767] by my virginity, you shall put up.
Viol. [within] Here are Camillo and Hippolito.
Imp. Into that little room; you are there as safe as in France or the Low Countries.
Font. O God! [Exit.
Imp. So, so, so; let them enter. Trivia, Simperina, smooth my gown, tread down the rushes;[768] let them enter; do, do, do. [Exit Frisco.]—No words, pretty darling.—La, la, la, hey nonny, nonny no! [Singing.
Re-enter Frisco with Violetta.
Fris. Are two men transformed into one woman?
Imp. How now? what motion’s this?[769]
Viol. By your leave, sweet beauty, pardon my excuse, which, under the mask of Camillo’s and my brother’s names, sought entrance into this house. Good sweetness, have you not a property here improper to your house, my husband?
Imp. Hah! your husband here?
300Viol. Nay, be as you seem to be, white dove, without gall.
Imp. Gall? your husband? ha, ha, ha! by my ventoy,[770] yellow[771] lady, you take your mark improper; no, no, no, my sugar-candy mistress, your goodman is not here, I assure you: here? ha, ha!
Triv. and Sim. Here?
Fris. Much husbands here![772]
Viol. Do not mock me, fairest Venetian; come, I know he’s here. Good faith, I do not blame him; for your beauty gilds[773] over his error. Troth, I am right glad that you, my countrywoman, have received the pawn of my affections: you cannot be hard-hearted, loving him; nor hate me, for I love him too. Since we both love him, let us not leave him, till we have called home the ill husbandry of a sweet straggler. Prithee, good wench, use him well.
Imp. So, so, so!
Viol. If he deserve not to be used well (as I’d be loath he should deserve it), I’ll engage myself, dear beauty, to thine honest heart: give me leave to love him, and I’ll give him a kind of leave to love thee. I know he hears me: I prithee, try mine eyes if they know him, that have almost drowned themselves in their own salt water, because they cannot see him. In troth, I’ll not chide him: if I speak words rougher than soft kisses, my penance shall be to see him kiss thee, yet to hold my peace.
Fris. And that’s torment enough: alas, poor wench!
301Sim. She’s an ass, by the crown of my maidenhead: I’d scratch her eyes out, if my man[774] stood in her tables.
Viol. Good partner, lodge me in thy private bed,
Where, in supposed folly, he may end
Determin’d sin. Thou smil’st: I know thou wilt.
What looseness may term dotage, truly read,
Is love ripe-gather’d, not soon withered.
Imp. Good troth, pretty wedlock, thou makest my little eyes smart with washing themselves in brine. I keep your cock from his own roost, and mar such a sweet face, and wipe off that dainty red, and make Cupid toll the bell for your love-sick heart? no, no, no; if he were Jove’s own ingle,[775] Ganymede: fie, fie, fie, I’ll none. Your chamber-fellow is within: thou shalt enjoy my bed and thine own pleasure this night.—Simperina, conduct in this lady.—Frisco, silence. Ha, ha, ha! I am sorry to see a woman so tame a fool. Come, come, come.
Viol. Star of Venetian beauty, thanks.—O, who
Can bear this wrong, and be a woman too? [Exeunt.