Part 2 / Act 3 — SCENE II.

An Apartment in Antonio’s House.

Enter Gasparo and Florida.

Flo. Prithee, be careful of me, very careful now!

Gas. I warrant you: he that cannot be careful of a quean, can be careful of nobody; ’tis every man’s humour that: I should never look to a wife half so handsomely.

Flo. O softly, sweet sir! should your mistress meet me now

In her own house, I were undone for ever.

292Gas. Never fear her: she’s at her prick-song close;

There’s all the joy she has, or takes delight in.

Look, here’s the garden-key, my master gave’t me,

And will’d me to be careful: doubt not you on’t.

Flo. Your master is a noble complete gentleman,

And does a woman all the right that may be.

Enter Sebastian.

Seb. How now? what’s she?

Gas. A kind of doubtful creature:

I’ll tell thee more anon.

[Exeunt Gasparo and Florida.

Seb. I know that face

To be a strumpet’s, or mine eye is envious,

And would fain wish it so where I would have it.

I fail, if the condition^[537] of this fellow

Wears not about it a strong scent of baseness.

I saw her once before here, five days since ’tis,

And the same wary panderous diligence

Was then bestow’d on her: she came alter’d then,

And more inclining to the city-tuck.

Whom should this piece of transformation visit,

After the common courtesy of frailty,

In our house here? surely not any servant;

They are not kept so lusty, she so low.

I’m at a strange stand: love and luck assist me!

Re-enter Gasparo.

The truth I shall win from him by false play.

He’s now return’d.—Well, sir, as you were saying,—

Go forward with your tale.

Gas. What? I know nothing.

Seb. The gentlewoman.

293Gas. She’s gone out at the back-door now.

Seb. Then farewell she, and you, if that be all.

Gas. Come, come, thou shalt have more: I have no power

To lock myself up from thee.

Seb. So methinks.

Gas. You shall not think, trust me, sir, you shall not:

Your ear; she’s one o’ th’ falling family,

A quean my master keeps; she lies at Rutney’s.

Seb. Is’t possible? I thought I’d seen her somewhere.

Gas. I tell you truth sincerely. Sh’as been thrice here

By stealth within these ten days, and departed still

With pleasure and with thanks, sir; ’tis her luck.

Surely I think if ever there were man

Bewitch’d in this world, ’tis my master, sirrah.

Seb. Think’st thou so, Gaspar?

Gas. O sir, too apparent.

Seb. This may prove happy: ’tis the likeliest means

That fortune yet e’er shew’d me. [Aside.

Enter Isabella with a letter.

Isa. You’re both here now,

And strangers newly lighted! where’s your attendance?

Seb. I know what makes you waspish: a pox on’t!

She’ll every day be angry now at nothing. [Aside.

[Exeunt Gasparo and Sebastian.

Isa. I’ll call her stranger ever in my heart:

Sh’as kill’d the name of sister through base lust,

And fled to shifts. O how a brother’s good thoughts

May be beguil’d in woman! here’s a letter,

294Found in her absence, reports strangely of her,

And speaks her impudence: sh’as undone herself—

I could not hold from weeping when I read it—

Abus’d her brother’s house and his good confidence.

'Twas done not like herself; I blame her much:

But if she can but keep it from his knowledge,

I will not grieve him first; it shall not come

By my means to his heart.—

Re-enter Gasparo.

Now, sir, the news?

Gas. You call’d 'em strangers; ’tis my master’s sister, madam.

Isa. O, is it so? she’s welcome: who’s come with her?

Gas. I see none but Aberzanes. [Exit.

Isa. He’s enough

To bring a woman to confusion,

More than a wiser man or a far greater.

A letter came last week to her brother’s hands,

To make way for her coming up again,

After her shame was lighten’d; and she writ there,

The gentleman her mother wish’d her to,

Taking a violent surfeit at a wedding,

Died ere she came to see him: what strange cunning

Sin helps a woman to! Here she comes now.—

Enter Francisca and Aberzanes.

Sister, you’re welcome home again.

Fran. Thanks, sweet sister.

Isa. You’ve had good speed.

Fran. What says she? [Aside.]—I have made

All the best speed I could.

Isa. I well believe you.—

Sir, we’re all much beholding^[538] to your kindness.

295Aber. My service ever, madam, to a gentlewoman.

I took a bonny mare I keep, and met her

Some ten mile out of town,—eleven, I think.—

'Twas at the stump I met you, I remember,

At bottom of the hill.

Fran. 'Twas thereabout, sir.

Aber. Full eleven then, by the rod, if they were measur’d.

Isa. You look ill, methinks: have you been sick of late?—

Troth, very bleak, doth she not? how think you, sir?

Aber. No, no; a little sharp with riding; sh’as rid sore.

Fran. I ever look lean after a journey, sister;

One shall do that has travell’d, travell’d hard.

Aber. Till evening I commend you to yourselves, ladies.

[Exit.

Isa. And that’s best trusting to, if you were hang’d.—

[Aside.

You’re well acquainted with his hand went out now?

Fran. His hand?

Isa. I speak of nothing else; I think ’tis there.

[Giving letter.

Please you to look upon’t; and when you’ve done,

If you did weep, it could not be amiss,

A sign you could say grace after a full meal.

You had not need look paler, yet you do.

'Twas ill done to abuse yourself and us,

To wrong so good a brother, and the thoughts

That we both held of you. I did doubt you much

Before our marriage; but then my strangeness.^[539]

And better hope still kept me off from speaking.

296Yet may you find a kind and peaceful sister of me,

If you desist here, and shake hands with folly,

Which you ha’ more cause to do than I to wish you.

As truly as I bear a love to goodness,

Your brother knows not yet on’t, nor shall ever

For my part, so you leave his company.

But if I find you impudent in sinning,

I will not keep’t an hour, nay, prove your enemy,

And you know who will aid me. As you’ve goodness,

You may make use of this; I’ll leave it with you.

[Exit.

Fran. Here’s a sweet churching after a woman’s labour,

And a fine Give you joy! why, where the devil

Lay you to be found out? the sudden hurry

Of hastening to prevent shame brought shame forth:

That’s still the curse of all lascivious stuff;

Misdeeds could never yet be wary enough.

Now must I stand in fear of every look,

Nay, tremble at a whisper. She can keep it secret?

That’s very likely, and a woman too!

I’m sure I could not do’t; and I am made

As well as she can be for any purpose:

'Twould ne’er stay with me two days—I have cast^[540] it—

The third would be a terrible sick day with me,

Not possible to bear it: should I then

Trust to her strength in’t, that lies every night

Whispering the day’s news in a husband’s ear?

No; and I’ve thought upon the means: blest fortune!

I must be quit with her in the same fashion,

Or else ’tis nothing: there is no way like it,

297To bring her honesty into question cunningly.

My brother will believe small likelihoods,

Coming from me too. I lying now i’ th’ house

May work things to my will, beyond conceit too:

Disgrace her first, her tale will ne’er be heard;

I learn’d that counsel first of a sound guard.

I do suspect Gaspar, my brother’s squire there,

Had some hand in this mischief, for he’s cunning;

And I perhaps may fit him.

Enter Antonio.

Ant. Your sister told me you were come; thou’rt welcome.

Fran. Where is she?

Ant. Who, my wife?

Fran. Ay, sir.

Ant. Within.

Fran. Not within hearing, think you?

Ant. Within hearing?

What’s thy conceit in that? why shak’st thy head so,

And look’st so pale and poorly?

Fran. I’m a fool indeed

To take such grief for others; for your fortune, sir.

Ant. My fortune? worse things yet? farewell life then!

Fran. I fear you’re much deceiv’d, sir, in this woman.

Ant. Who? in my wife? speak low; come hither; softly, sister.

Fran. I love her as a woman you made choice of;

But when she wrongs you, natural love is touch’d, brother,

And that will speak, you know.

Ant. I trust it will.

298Fran. I held a shrewd suspicion of her lightness

At first, when I went down, which made me haste the sooner;

But more, to make amends, at my return now,

I found apparent signs.

Ant. Apparent, sayst thou?

Fran. Ay, and of base lust too; that makes th’ affliction.

Ant. There has been villany wrought upon me then;

’Tis too plain now.

Fran. Happy are they, I say still,

That have their sisters living i’ th’ house with 'em,

Their mothers, or some kindred; a great comfort

To all poor married men; it is not possible

A young wife can abuse a husband then;

’Tis found straight. But swear service to this, brother.

Ant. To this, and all thou wilt have.

Fran. Then this follows, sir. [Whispers him.

Ant. I praise thy counsel well; I’ll put’t in use straight.

See where she comes herself. [Exit Francisca.

Re-enter Isabella.

Kind, honest lady,

I must now borrow a whole fortnight’s leave of thee.

Isa. How, sir, a fortnight’s?

Ant. It may be but ten days, I know not yet;

’Tis business for the state, and 't must be done.

Isa. I wish good speed to’t then.

Ant. Why, that was well spoke.

I’ll take but a foot-boy; I need no more;

The rest I’ll leave at home to do you service.

Isa. Use your own pleasure, sir.

299Ant. Till my return

You’ll be good company, my sister and you.

Isa. We shall make shift, sir.

Ant. I’m glad now she’s come;

And so the wishes of my love to both!

Isa. And our good prayers with you, sir!

[Exit Antonio.

Re-enter Sebastian.

Seb. Now, my fortune!— [Aside.

By your kind favour, madam.

Isa. With me, sir?

Seb. The words shall not be many, but the faithfulness

And true respect that are^[541] included in 'em

Is worthy your attention, and may put upon me

The fair repute of a just, honest servant.

Isa. What’s here to do, sir,

There’s such great preparation toward?

Seb. In brief, that goodness in you is abus’d, madam;

You have the married life, but ’tis a strumpet

That has the joy on’t and the fruitfulness;

There goes away your comfort.

Isa. How? a strumpet?

Seb. Of five years’ cost and upwards, a dear mischief,

As they are all of 'em; his fortnight’s journey

Is to that country: if it be not rudeness

To speak the truth, I’ve found it all out, madam.

Isa. Thou’st found out thine own ruin; for to my knowledge

Thou dost belie him basely: I dare swear

300He’s a gentleman as free from that folly

As ever took religious life upon him.

Seb. Be not too confident to your own abuse, madam.

Since I’ve begun the truth, neither your frowns—

The only curses that I have on earth,

Because my means depend^[542] upon your service—

Nor all the execration of man’s fury,

Shall put me off: though I be poor, I’m honest,

And too just in this business. I perceive now

Too much respect and faithfulness to ladies

May be a wrong to servants.

Isa. Art thou yet

So impudent to stand in’t?

Seb. Are you yet so cold, madam,

In the belief on’t? there my wonder’s fix’d;

Having such blessed health and youth about you,

Which makes the injury mighty.

Isa. Why, I tell thee,

It were too great a fortune for thy lowness

To find out such a thing; thou dost not look

As if thou’rt made for’t. By the sweets^[543] of love,

I would give half my wealth for such a bargain,

And think 'twere bought too cheap: thou canst not guess

Thy means and happiness, should I find this true.

First, I’d prefer thee to the lord my uncle;

He’s governor of Ravenna, all th’ advancements

I’ th’ kingdom flow^[544] from him: what need I boast that

Which common fame can teach thee?

Seb. Then thus, madam:

301Since I presume now on your height of spirit,

And your regard to your own youth and fruitfulness,

Which every woman naturally loves and covets,

Accept but of my labour in directions,

You shall both find your wrongs, which you may right

At your own pleasure, yet not miss’d to-night

Here in the house neither; none shall take notice

Of any absence in you, as I’ve thought on’t.

Isa. Do this, and take my praise and thanks for ever.

Seb. As I deserve, I wish 'em, and will serve you.

[Exeunt.