Part 2 / Act 4 — SCENE II.

An Apartment in Fernando’s House.

Enter Sebastian and Fernando.

Seb. If ever you knew force of love in life, sir,

Give to mine pity.

309Fer. You do ill to doubt me.

Seb. I could make bold with no friend seemlier

Than with yourself, because you were in presence

At our vow-making.

Fer. I’m a witness to’t.

Seb. Then you best understand, of all men living,

This is no wrong I offer, no abuse

Either to faith or friendship, for we’re register’d

Husband and wife in heaven; though there wants that

Which often keeps licentious men^[553] in awe

From starting from their wedlocks, the knot public,

’Tis in our souls knit fast; and how more precious

The soul is than the body, so much judge

The sacred and celestial tie within us

More than the outward form, which calls but witness

Here upon earth to what is done in heaven:

Though I must needs confess the least is honourable;

As an ambassador sent from a king

Has honour by th’ employment, yet there’s greater

Dwells in the king that sent him; so in this.

Enter Florida.

Fer. I approve all you speak, and will appear to you

A faithful, pitying friend.

Seb. Look, there is she, sir,

One good for nothing but to make use of;

And I’m constrain’d t’ employ her to make all things

Plain, easy, and probable; for when she comes

And finds one here that claims him, as I’ve taught

Both this to do’t, and he to compound with her,

'Twill stir belief the more of such a business.

310Fer. I praise the carriage well.

Seb. Hark you, sweet mistress,

I shall do you a simple turn in this;

For she disgrac’d thus, you are up in favour

For ever with her husband.

Flo. That’s my hope, sir,

I would not take the pains else. Have you the keys

Of the garden-side, that I may get betimes in

Closely, and take her lodging?

Seb. Yes, I’ve thought upon you:

Here be the keys. [Giving keys.

Flo. Marry, and thanks, sweet sir:

Set me to work so still.

Seb. Your joys are false ones,

You’re like to lie alone; you’ll be deceiv’d

Of the bed-fellow you look for, else my purpose

Were in an ill case: he’s on his fortnight’s journey;

You’ll find cold comfort there; a dream will be

Even the best market you can make to-night. [Aside.

She’ll not be long now: you may lose no time neither;

If she but take you at the door, ’tis enough:

When a suspect doth catch once, it burns mainly.

There may you end your business, and as cunningly

As if you were i’ th’ chamber, if you please

To use but the same art.

Flo. What need you urge that

Which comes so naturally I cannot miss on’t?

What makes the devil so greedy of a soul,

But 'cause has lost his own, to all joys lost?

So ’tis our trade to set snares for other women,

'Cause we were once caught ourselves. [Exit.

Seb. A sweet allusion!

Hell and a whore it seems are partners then

In one ambition: yet thou’rt here deceiv’d now;

311Thou canst set none to hurt or wrong her honour,

It rather makes it perfect. Best of friends

That ever love’s extremities were bless’d with,

I feel mine arms with thee, and call my peace

The offspring of thy friendship. I will think

This night my wedding-night; and with a joy

As reverend as religion can make man’s,

I will embrace this blessing. Honest actions

Are laws unto themselves, and that good fear

Which is on others forc’d, grows kindly there.

[Knocking within.

Fer. Hark, hark! one knocks: away, sir; ’tis she certainly:

[Exit Sebastian.

It sounds much like a woman’s jealous 'larum.

Enter Isabella.

Isa. By your leave, sir.

Fer. You’re welcome, gentlewoman.

Isa. Our ladyship then stands us in no stead now.

[Aside.

One word in private, sir. [Whispers him.

Fer. No, surely, forsooth,

There is no such here, you’ve mistook the house.

Isa. O sir, that have I not; excuse me there,

I come not with such ignorance; think not so, sir.

'Twas told me at the entering of your house here

By one that knows him too well.

Fer. Who should that be?

Isa. Nay, sir, betraying is not my profession:

But here I know he is; and I presume

He would give me admittance, if he knew on’t,

As one on’s nearest friends.

Fer. You’re not his wife, forsooth?

Isa. Yes, by my faith, am I.

Fer. Cry you mercy then, lady.

312Isa. She goes here by the name on’s wife: good stuff!

But the bold strumpet never told me that. [Aside.

Fer. We are so oft deceiv’d that let our lodgings,

We know not whom to trust: ’tis such a world,

There are so many odd tricks now-a-days

Put upon housekeepers.

Isa. Why, do you think I’d wrong

You or the reputation of your house?

Pray, shew me the way to him.

Fer. He’s asleep, lady,

The curtains drawn about him.

Isa. Well, well, sir,

I’ll have that care I’ll not disease^[554] him much,

Tread you but lightly.—O, of what gross falsehood

Is man’s heart made of! had my first love liv’d

And return’d safe, he would have been a light

To all men’s actions, his faith shin’d so bright.

[Aside, and exit with Fernando.

Re-enter Sebastian.

Seb. I cannot so deceive her, 'twere too sinful,

There’s more religion in my love than so.

It is not treacherous lust that gives content

T’ an honest mind; and this could prove no better.

Were it in me a part of manly justice,

That have sought strange hard means to keep her chaste

To her first vow, and I t’ abuse her first?

Better I never knew what comfort were

In woman’s love than wickedly to know it.

What could the falsehood of one night avail him

That must enjoy for ever, or he’s lost?

’Tis the way rather to draw hate upon me;

313For, known, ’tis as impossible she should love me,

As youth in health to doat upon a grief,

Or one that’s robb’d and bound t’ affect the thief:

No, he that would soul’s sacred comfort win

Must burn in pure love, like a seraphin.

Re-enter Isabella.

Isa. Celio!

Seb. Sweet madam?

Isa. Thou hast deluded me;

There’s nobody.

Seb. How? I wonder he would miss, madam,

Having appointed too: 'twere a strange goodness

If heaven should turn his heart now by the way.

Isa. O, never, Celio!

Seb. Yes, I ha’ known the like:

Man is not at his own disposing, madam,

The bless’d powers have provided better for him,

Or he were miserable. He may come yet;

’Tis early, madam: if you would be pleas’d

T’ embrace my counsel, you should see this night over,

Since you’ve bestow’d this pains.

Isa. I intend so.

Seb. That strumpet would be found, else she should go.

I curse the time now I did e’er make use

Of such a plague: sin knows not what it does. [Exeunt.

314