Part 2 / Act 1 — SCENE II.

The Country: near Francisco’s House.

Enter Francisco, Ricardo, and Attilio.

Ric. Nay, mark, mark it, Francisco; it was the naturallest courtesy that ever was ordained; a young gentleman being spent, to have a rich widow set him up again. To see how fortune has provided 355for all mortality’s ruins! your college for your old-standing scholar, your hospital for your lame-creeping soldier, your bawd for your mangled roarer,^[595] your open house for your beggar, and your widow for your gentleman;—ha, Francisco?

Fran. Ay, sir, you may be merry; you’re in hope of a rich widow.

Ric. And why shouldst not thou be in hope of another, if there were any spirit in thee? thou art as likely a fellow as any is in the company. I’ll be hanged now if I do not hit the true cause of thy sadness; and confess truly, i’faith; thou hast some land unsold yet, I hold my life.

Fran. Marry, I hope so, sir.

Ric. A pox on’t, have I found it? ’Slight, away with’t with all speed, man! I was never merry at heart while I had a foot. Why, man, fortune never minds us till we are left alone to ourselves; for what need she take care for them that do nothing but take care for themselves? Why, dost think if I had kept my lands still, I should ever have looked after a rich widow? alas, I should have married some poor young maid, got five and twenty children, and undone myself!

Fran. I protest, sir, I should not have the face though, to come to a rich widow with nothing.

Ric. Why, art thou so simple as thou makest thyself? dost think, i’faith, I come to a rich widow with nothing?

Fran. I mean with state not answerable to her’s.

Ric. Why, there’s the fortune, man, that I talk’d on;

She knows all this, and yet I’m welcome to her.

Fran. Ay? that’s strange, sir.

356Ric. Nay more, to pierce thy hard heart,

And make thee sell thy land, if thou’st any grace,

She has, 'mongst others, two substantial suitors:

One, in good time be’t spoke, I owe much money to;

She knows this too, and yet I’m welcome to her,

Nor dares th’ unconscionable rascal trouble me;

Sh’as told him thus, those that profess love to her

Shall have the liberty to come and go,

Or else get him gone first; she knows not yet

Where fortune may bestow her; she’s her gift,

Therefore to all will shew a kind respect.

Fran. Why, this is like a woman: I ha’ no luck in’t.

Ric. And as at a sheriff’s table,—O blest custom!—

A poor indebted gentleman may dine,

Feed well and without fear, and depart so,

So to her lips fearless I come and go.

Fran. You may well boast, you’re much the happier man, sir.

Ric. So you would be, and^[596] you would sell your land, sir.

Fran. I’ve heard the circumstance of your sweet fortunes:

Prithee give ear to my unlucky tale now.

Ric. That’s an ill hearing; but come on for once, sir.

Fran. I never yet lov’d but one woman.

Ric. Right,

I begun so too; but I’ve lov’d a thousand since.

Fran. Pray, hear me, sir: but this is a man’s wife.

Ric. So have^[597] five hundred of my thousand been.

Fran. Nay see and^[596] you’ll regard me!

357Ric. No? you see I do;

I bring you an example in for every thing.

Fran. This man’s wife——

Ric. So you said.

Fran. Seems very strict.

Ric. Ha, humph!

Fran. Do you laugh at that?

Ric. Seems very strict, you said;

I hear you, man, i’faith; you’re so jealous still!

Fran. But why should that make you laugh?

Ric. Because she seems so: you’re such another!

Fran. Nay, sir, I think she is.

Ric. You cannot tell^[598] then?

Fran. I dare not ask the question, I protest,

For fear of a repulse; which yet not having,

My mind’s the quieter, and I live in hope still.

Ric. Ha, hum! this ’tis to be a landed man.

Come, I perceive I must shew you a little of my fortune, and instruct you.

Not ask the question?

Fran. Methought still she frown’d, sir.

Ric. Why that’s the cause, fool, that she look’d so scurvily.

Come, come, make me your woman; you’ll ne’er do’t else;

I’ll shew you her condition^[599] presently.

I perceive you must begin like a young vaulter, and get up at horse-tail before you get into the saddle: have you the boldness to utter your mind to me now, being but in hose^[600] and doublet? I think, if I should put on a farthingale, thou wouldst never have the heart to do’t.

358Fran. Perhaps I should not then for laughing at you, sir.

Ric. In the mean time I fear I shall laugh at thee without one.

Fran. Nay, you must think, friend, I dare speak to a woman.

Ric. You shall pardon me for that, friend: I will not think it till I see’t.

Fran. Why, you shall then: I shall be glad to learn too

Of one so deep as you are.

Ric. So you may, sir.—

Now ’tis my best course to look mildly; I shall put him out at first else.

Fran. A word, sweet lady!

Ric. With me, sir? say your pleasure.

Fran. O Ricardo,

Thou art too good to be a woman long!

Ric. Do not find fault with this, for fear I prove

Too scornful; be content when you’re well us’d.

Fran. You say well, sir.—Lady, I’ve lov’d you long.

Ric. ’Tis a good hearing, sir.—If he be not out now, I’ll be hanged!

Fran. You play a scornful woman! I perceive, Ricardo, you have not been used to 'em: why, I’ll come in at my pleasure with you. Alas, ’tis nothing for a man to talk when a woman gives way to’t! one shall seldom meet with a lady so kind as thou playedst her.

Ric. Not altogether, perhaps: he that draws their pictures must flatter 'em a little; they’ll look he that plays 'em should do’t a great deal then.

Fran. Come, come, I’ll play the woman that I’m us’d to:

359I see you ne’er wore shoe that pinch’d you yet;

All your things come^[601] on easy.

Ric. Say you so, sir?

I’ll try your ladyship, 'faith.—Lady, well met.

Fran. I do not think so, sir.

Ric. A scornful gom!^[602] and at the first dash too!

My widow never gave me such an answer;

I’ll to you again, sir.—

Fairest of creatures, I do love thee infinitely!

Fran. There’s nobody bids you, sir.

Ric. Pox on thee, thou art the beastliest, crossest baggage that ever man met withal! but I’ll see thee hanged, sweet lady, ere I be daunted with this.—Why, thou’rt too awkward, sirrah.

Fran. Hang thee, base fellow!

Ric. Now, by this light, he thinks he does’t indeed!

Nay, then, have at your plum-tree!^[603] faith, I’ll not be foiled.—Though you seem to be careless, madam, as you have enough wherewithal to be, yet I do, must, and will love you.

Fran. Sir, if you begin to be rude, I’ll call my woman.

Ric. What a pestilent quean’s this! I shall have much ado with her, I see that.—Tell me, as you’re a woman, lady, what serve kisses for but to stop all your mouths?

Fran. Hold, hold, Ricardo!

Ric. Disgrace me, widow?

360Fran. Art mad? I’m Francisco.

Att. Signor Ricardo, up, up!

Ric. Who is’t? Francisco?

Fran. Francisco, quotha! what, are you mad, sir?

Ric. A bots on thee, thou dost not know what injury thou hast done me; I was i’ th’ fairest dream. This is your way now, and^[604] you can follow it.

Fran. ’Tis a strange way, methinks.

Ric. Learn you to play a woman not so scornfully then;

For I am like the actor that you spoke on:

I must have the part that overcomes the lady,

I never like the play else. Now your friendship,

But to assist a subtle trick I ha’ thought on,

And the rich widow’s mine within these three hours.

Att. Fran. } We should be proud of that, sir.

Ric. List to me then.

I’ll place you two,—I can do’t handsomely,

I know the house so well,—to hear the conference

'Twixt her and I. She’s a most affable one,

Her words will give advantage, and I’ll urge 'em

To the kind proof, to catch her in a contract;

Then shall you both step in as witnesses,

And take her in the snare.

Fran. But do you love her?

And then 'twill prosper.

Ric. By this hand, I do,

Not for her wealth, but for her person too.

Fran. It shall be done then.

Ric. But stay, stay, Francisco;

Where shall we meet with thee some two hours hence, now?

Fran. Why, hark you, sir. [Whispers.

361Ric. Enough; command my life:

Get me the widow, I’ll get thee the wife. [Exeunt Ricardo and Attilio.

Fran. O, that’s now with me past hope! yet I must love her:

I would I could not do’t!

Enter Brandino and Martino.

Mar. Yonder’s the villain, master.

Bran. Francisco? I am happy.

Mar. Let’s both draw, master, for there’s nobody with him:

Stay, stay, master,

Do not you draw till I be ready too;

Let’s draw just both together, and keep even.

Bran. What and^[605] we kill’d him now, before he saw us?

Mar. No, then he’ll hardly see to read the letter.

Bran. That’s true; good counsel, marry.

Mar. Marry, thus much, sir; you may kill him lawfully all the while he’s a-reading on’t; as an Anabaptist may lie with a brother’s wife all the while he’s asleep.

Bran. He turns, he looks.—Come on, sir; you, Francisco!

I lov’d your father well, but you’re a villain;

He lov’d me well too, but you love my wife, sir:

After whom take you that? I will not say

Your mother play’d false.

Fran. No, sir, you were not best.

Bran. But I will say, in spite of thee, my wife’s honest.

Mar. And I, my mistress.

Fran. You may, I’ll give you leave.

362Bran. Leave or leave not, there she defies you, sir.

[Gives the letter.

Keep your adulterous sheet to wind you in,

Or cover your forbidden parts at least,

For fear you want one: many a lecher may,

That sins in cambric now.

Mar. And in lawn too, master.

Bran. Nay, read and tremble, sir.

Mar. Now shall I do’t, master? I see a piece of an open seam in his shirt: shall I run him in there? for my sword has ne’er a point.

Bran. No; let him foam a while.

Mar. If your sword be no better than mine, we shall not kill him by daylight; we had need have a lanthorn.

Bran. Talk not of lanthorns, he’s a sturdy lecher;

He would make the horns fly about my ears.

Fran. I apprehend thee: admirable woman!

Which to love best I know not, thy wit or beauty.

[Aside.

Bran. Now, sir, have you well view’d your bastard there,

Got of your lustful brain? give you joy on’t!

Fran. I thank you, sir: although you speak in jest,

I must confess I sent your wife this letter,

And often courted her, tempted and urg’d her.

Bran. Did you so, sir? then first,

Before I kill thee, I forewarn thee my house.

Mar. And I, before I kill thee, forewarn thee my office: die to-morrow next, thou never get’st warrant of me more, for love or money.

Fran. Remember but again from whence I came, sir,

And then I know you cannot think amiss of me.

Bran. How’s this?

363Mar. Pray, hear him; it may grow to a peace: for, master, though we have carried the business nobly, we are not altogether so valiant as we should be.

Bran. Peace? thou say’st true in that.—What is’t you’d say, sir?

Fran. Was not my father—quietness be with him!—

And you sworn brothers?

Bran. Why, right; that’s it urges me.

Fran. And could you have a thought that I could wrong you,

As far as the deed goes?

Bran. You took the course, sir.

Fran. To make you happy, and^[606] you rightly weigh’d it.

Mar. Troth, I’ll put up^[607] at all adventures, master:

It comes off very fair yet.

Fran. You in years

Married a young maid: what does the world judge, think you?

Mar. Byrlady,^[608] master, knavishly enough, I warrant you;

I should do so myself.

Fran. Now, to damp slander,

And all her envious and suspicious brood,

I made this friendly trial of her constancy,

Being son to him you lov’d; that, now confirm’d,

I might advance my sword against the world

In her most fair defence, which joys my spirit.

364Mar. O master, let me weep while you embrace him!

Bran. Francisco, is thy father’s soul in thee?

Lives he here still? what, will he shew himself

In his male seed to me? Give me thy hand;

Methinks it feels now like thy father’s to me:

Prithee, forgive me!

Mar. And me too, prithee!

Bran. Come to my house; thy father never miss’d it.

Mar. Fetch now as many warrants as you please, sir,

And welcome too.

Fran. To see how soon man’s goodness

May be abus’d!

Bran. But now I know thy intent,

Welcome to all that I have!

Fran. Sir, I take it:

A gift so given, hang him that would forsake it!

[Exit.

Bran. Martino, I applaud my fortune and thy counsel.

Mar. You never have ill fortune when you follow it. Here were^[609] things carried now in the true nature of a quiet duello; a great strife ended, without the rough soldier or the ——.^[610] And now you may take your journey.

Bran. Thou art my glee, Martino. [Exeunt.

365