Part 2 / Act 3 — SCENE II.

Before Brandino’s House.

Enter Philippa and Violetta above, at a window.

Phil. What time of night is’t?

388Vio. Time of night do you call’t?

It is so late, ’tis almost early, mistress.

Phil. Fie on him! there’s no looking for him then;

Why, sure this gentleman apprehends me not.

Vio. ’Tis happy then you’re rid of such a fool, mistress.

Phil. Nay, sure, wench, if he find me not out in this,

Which were a beaten path to any wise man,

I’ll never trust him with my reputation;

Therefore I made this trial of his wit:

If he cannot conceive what’s good for himself,

He will worse understand what’s good for me.

Vio. But suppose, mistress, as it may be likely,

He never saw your letter?

Phil. How thou pliest me

With suppositions! why, I tell thee, wench,

’Tis equally as impossible for my husband

To keep it from him as to be young again,

Or as his first wife knew him, which he brags on,

For bearing children by him.

Vio. There’s no remedy then;

I must conclude Francisco is an ass.

Phil. I would my letter, wench, were here again!

I’d know him wiser ere I sent him one,

And travel some five year first.

Vio. So h’ad need, methinks,

To understand the words; methinks the words

Themselves should make him do’t, had he but the perceiverance^[635]

Of a cock-sparrow, that will come at Philip,^[636]

389And can nor write nor read, poor fool! this coxcomb

He can do both, and your name’s but Philippa;

And yet to see, if he can come when’s call’d!

Phil. He never shall be call’d again for me, sirrah.^[637]

Well, as hard as the world goes, we’ll have a song, wench,

We’ll not sit up for nothing.

Vio. That’s poor comfort though.

Phil. Better than any’s brought, for aught I see yet:

So set to your lute. [They sing.

Phil. If in this question I propound to thee

Be any, any choice,

Let me have thy voice.

Vio. You shall most free.

Phil. Which hadst thou rather be,

If thou might choose thy life,

A fool’s, a fool’s mistress,

Or an old man’s wife?

Vio. The choice is hard, I know not which is best;

One ill you’re bound to, and I think that’s least.

Phil. But being not bound, my dearest sweet,

I could shake off the other.

Vio. Then as you lose your sport by one,

You lose your name by t’other.

Phil. You counsel well, but love refuses

What good counsel often chooses.

[Exeunt above.

Enter Martia in a shirt.

Martia. I ha’ got myself unbound yet; merciless villains,

390I never felt such hardness since life dwelt in me;

’Tis for my sins. That light in yonder window,

That was my only comfort in the woods,

Which oft the trembling of a leaf would lose me,

Has brought me thus far; yet I cannot hope

For succour in this plight, the world’s so pitiless,

And every one will fear or doubt me now:

To knock will be too bold; I’ll to the gate,

And listen if I can hear any stirring.

Enter Francisco.

Fran. Was ever man so cross’d? no, ’tis but sweat, sure,

Or the dew dropping from the leaves above me;

I thought 't had bled again. These wenching businesses

Are strange unlucky things and fatal fooleries;

No mar’l^[638] so many gallants die ere thirty;

’Tis able to vex out a man’s heart in five year,

The crosses that belong to’t: first, arrested,

That set me back two mangy hours at least;

Yet that’s a thing my heat could have forgiven,

Because arresting, in what kind soever,

Is a most gentleman-like affliction;

But here, within a mile o’ th’ town, forsooth,

And two mile off this place, when a man’s oath

Might ha’ been taken for his own security,

And his thoughts brisk and set upon the business,

To light upon a roguy flight of thieves!

Pox on 'em, here’s the length of one of their whittles:^[639]

But one of my dear rascals I pursu’d so,

The gaol has him, and he shall bring out ’s fellows.

391Had ever young man’s love such crooked fortune?

I’m glad I’m so near yet; the surgeon bade me too

Have a great care; I shall ne’er think of that now.

Martia. One of the thieves come back again? I’ll stand close;

He dares not wrong me now, so near the house,

And call in vain ’tis, till I see him offer’t.

Fran. 'Life, what should that be? a prodigious^[640] thing

Stands just as I should enter, in that shape too

Which always appears terrible.

Whate’er it be, it is made strong against me

By my ill purpose; for ’tis man’s own sin

That puts on armour upon all his evils,

And gives them strength to strike him. Were it less

Than what it is, my guilt would make it serve:

A wicked man’s own shadow has distracted him.

Were this a business now to save an honour,

As ’tis to spoil one, I would pass this then,

Stuck all hell’s horrors i’ thee: now I dare not.

Why may’t not be the spirit of my father,

That lov’d this man so well, whom I make haste

Now to abuse? and I’ve been cross’d about it

Most fearfully hitherto, if I well think on’t;

Scap’d death but lately too, nay, most miraculously.

And what does fond^[641] man venture all these ills for,

That may so sweetly rest in honest peace?

For that which being obtain’d, is as he was

To his own sense, but remov’d nearer still

To death eternal. What delight has man

Now at this present for his pleasant sin

Of yesterday’s committing? 'las, ’tis vanish’d,

And nothing but the sting remains within him!

392The kind man bail’d me too; I will not do’t now,

And^[642] 'twere but only that. How blest were man,

Might he but have his end appear still to him,

That he might read his actions i’ th’ event!

'Twould make him write true, though he never meant.

Whose check soe’er thou art, father’s, or friend’s,

Or enemy’s, I thank thee; peace requite thee!

Light, and the lighter mistress, both farewell!

He keeps his promise best that breaks with hell.

[Exit.

Martia. He’s gone to call the rest, and makes all speed;

I’ll knock, whate’er befalls, to please my fears,

For no compassion can be less than theirs.

[Knocks at the door.

Re-enter Philippa and Violetta above.

Phil. He’s come, he’s come!—O, are you come at last, sir?

Make little noise.—Away, he’ll knock again else.

[Exit above with Violetta.

Martia. I should have been at Istria, by daybreak too;

Near to Valeria’s house, the wealthy widow’s,

There waits one purposely to do me good.

What will become of me?

Enter Violetta.

Vio. O, you are a sweet gallant! this your hour?

Give me your hand; come, come, sir, follow me,

I’ll bring you to light presently: softly, softly, sir.

[Exeunt.

393