Part 2 / Act 5 — SCENE II.

Another apartment in the house of the Duchess.

Enter Duchess and Celia.

Duch. Thou tell’st me things are enemies to reason;

I cannot get my faith to entertain 'em,

And I hope never shall.

Celia. ’Tis too true, madam.

Duch. I say ’tis false: 'twere better th’hadst been dumb

Than spoke a truth so unpleasing; thou shalt get

But little praise by’t: he whom we affect

To place his love upon so base a creature!

Celia. Nay, ugliness itself; you’d say so, madam,

If you but saw her once; a strolling gipsy;

No Christian that is born a hind could love her;

She’s the sun’s masterpiece for tawniness;

Yet have I seen Andrugio’s arms about her,

Perceiv’d his hollow whisperings in her ear,

His joys at meeting her.

635Duch. What joy could that be?

Celia. Such, madam, I have seldom seen it equall’d;

He kiss’d her with that greediness of affection,

As if her^[988] lips had been as red as yours;

I look’d still when he would be black in mouth,

Like boys with eating hedge-berries; nay, more, madam,

He brib’d one of his keepers with ten ducats

To find her out amongst a flight of gipsies.

Duch. I’ll have that keeper hang’d, and you for malice;

She cannot be so bad as you report,

Whom he so firmly loves; you’re false in much,

And I will have you tried: go, fetch her to us.

[Exit Celia.

He cannot be himself, and appear guilty

Of such gross folly; has an eye of judgment,

And that will overlook him. This wench fails

In understanding service; she must home,

Live at her house i’ th’ country; she decays

In beauty and discretion.—

Re-enter Celia, with Aurelia disguised as a gipsy.

Who hast brought there?

Celia. This is she, madam.

Duch. Youth and whiteness bless me!

It is not possible: he talk’d sensibly

Within this hour; this cannot be: how does he?

I fear me my restraint has made him mad.

Celia. His health is perfect, madam.

Duch. You are perfect

In falsehood still; he’s certainly distracted.

Though I’d be loath to foul my words upon her,

636She looks so beastly, yet I’ll ask the question:—

Are you beloved, sweet face, of Andrugio?

Aur. Yes, showrly,^[989] mistress; he done love me

'Bove all the girls that shine above me:

Full often has he sweetly kiss’d me,

And wept as often when he miss’d me;

Swore he was to marry none

But me alone.

Duch. Out on thee! marry thee?—away with her;

Clear mine eyes of her;—

A curate that has got his place by simony

Is not half black enough to marry thee.

[Exit Aurelia with Celia, who presently returns.

Surely the man’s far spent; howe’er he carries it,

He’s without question mad; but I ne’er knew

Man bear it better before company.

The love of woman wears so thick a blindness,

It sees no fault, but only man’s unkindness,

And that’s so gross, it may be felt.—Here, Celia,

Take this [giving signet-ring]; with speed command Andrugio to us,

And his guard from him.

Celia. It shall straight be done, madam. [Exit.

Duch. I’ll look into his carriage more judiciously

When I next get him. A wrong done to beauty

Is greater than an injury done to love,

And we’ll less pardon it; for had it been

A creature whose perfection had outshin’d me,

It had been honourable judgment in him,

And to my peace a noble satisfaction;

But as it is, ’tis monstrous above folly.

Look he be mad indeed, and throughly gone,

Or he pays dearly for it; it is not

The ordinary madness of a gentleman

637That shall excuse him here; had better lose

His wits eternally than lose my grace:

So strange is the condition of his fall,

He’s safe in nothing but in loss of all.

He comes:

Enter Andrugio with Celia.

Now by the fruits of all my hopes,

A man that has his wits cannot look better!

It likes^[990] me well enough; there’s life in’s eye,

And civil health in’s cheek; he stands with judgment,

And bears his body well. What ails this man?

Sure I durst venture him 'mongst a thousand ladies,

Let 'em shoot all their scoffs, which makes none laugh

But their own waiting-women, and they dare do no otherwise. [Aside.

Come nearer, sir:—I pray keep further off,

Now I remember you.

And. What new trick’s in this now? [Aside.

Duch. How long have you been mad, sir?

And. Mad? a great time, lady;

Since I first knew I should not sin, yet sinn’d;

That’s now some thirty years, byrlady,^[991] upwards.

Duch. This man speaks reason wondrous feelingly,

Enough to teach the rudest soul good manners.

[Aside.

You cannot be excus’d with lightness now,

Or frantic fits; you’re able to instruct, sir,

And be a light to men. If you have errors,

They be not ignorant in you, but wilful,

And in that state I seize on 'em. Did I

Bring thee acquainted lately with my heart,

638And when thou thought’st a storm of anger took thee,

It in a moment clear’d up all to love,

To the abusing of thy spiteful enemy,

That sought to fix his malice upon thee;

And couldst thou so requite me?

And. How, good madam?

Duch. To wrong all worth in man, to deal so basely

Upon contempt itself, disdain and loathsomeness;

A thing whose face, through ugliness, frights children,

A straggling gipsy!

And. See how you may err, madam,

Through wrongful information; by my hopes

Of truth and mercy, there is no such love

Bestow’d upon a creature so unworthy.

Duch. No! then you cannot fly me.—Fetch her back.

[Exit Celia.

And though the sight of her displease mine eye

Worse than th’ offensiv’st object earth and nature

Can present to us, yet for truth’s probation

We will endure’t contentfully.

Re-enter Celia with Aurelia in her own dress.

What now?

Art thou return’d without her?

And. No, madam; this is she my peace dwells in:

If here be either baseness of descent,

Rudeness of manners, or deformity

In face or fashion, I have lost, I’ll yield it;

Tax me severely, madam.

Duch. [to Celia] How thou stand’st,

As dumb as the salt-pillar! where’s this gipsy? [Celia points to Aurelia.

What, no? I cannot blame thee then for silence;

Now I’m confounded too, and take part with thee.

639Aur. Your pardon and your pity, virtuous madam:

[Kneels.

Cruel restraint, join’d with the power of love,

Taught me that art; in that disguise I ’scap’d

The hardness of my fortunes; you that see

What love’s force is, good madam, pity me!

And. Your grace has ever been the friend of truth,

And here ’tis set before you. [Kneels.

Duch. I confess

I have no wrong at all; she’s younger, fairer;

He has not now dishonour’d me in choice;

I much commend his noble care and judgment:

'Twas a just cross led in by a temptation,

For offering but to part from my dear vow,

And I’ll embrace it cheerfully. [Aside.]—Rise, both;

[Andrugio and Aurelia rise.

The joys of faithful marriage bless your souls!

I will not part you.

And. Virtue’s crown be yours, madam!

Enter Lactantio.

Aur. O, there appears the life of all my wishes!

[Aside.

Is your grace pleas’d, out of your bounteous goodness

To a poor virgin’s comforts, I shall freely

Enjoy whom my heart loves?

Duch. Our word is past;

Enjoy without disturbance.

Aur. There, Lactantio,

Spread thy arms open wide, to welcome her

That has wrought all this means to rest in thee.

And. Death of my joys! how’s this?

Lac. Prithee, away, fond fool; hast no shame in thee?

Thou’rt bold and ignorant, whate’er thou art.

640Aur. Whate’er I am? do not you know me then?

Lac. Yes, for some waiting-vessel; but the times

Are chang’d with me, if y’had the grace to know 'em:

I look’d for more respect; I am not spoke withal

After this rate, I tell you; learn hereafter

To know what belongs to me; you shall see

All the court teach you shortly. Farewell, manners.

Duch. I’ll mark the event of this. [Aside.

Aur. I have undone myself

Two ways at once; lost a great deal of time,

And now I’m like to lose more. O my fortune!

I was nineteen yesterday, and partly vow’d

To have a child by twenty, if not twain:

To see how maids are cross’d! but I’m plagu’d justly;

And she that makes a fool of her first love,

Let her ne’er look to prosper. [Aside.—Sir——

[To Andrugio.

And. O falsehood!

Aur. Have you forgiveness in you? there’s more hope of me

Than of a maid that never yet offended.

And. Make me your property?^[992]

Aur. I’ll promise you

I’ll never make you worse; and, sir, you know

There are worse things for women to make men.

But, by my hope of children, and all lawful,

I’ll be as true for ever to your bed

As she in thought or deed that never err’d.

641And. I’ll once believe a woman, be’t but to strengthen

Weak faith in other men: I have a love

That covers all thy faults.

Enter Cardinal and Lords.

Car. Nephew, prepare thyself

With meekness and thanksgiving to receive

Thy reverend fortune: amongst all the lords,

Her close affection now makes choice of thee.

Lac. Alas, I’m not to learn to know that now!

Where could she make choice here, if I were missing?

'Twould trouble the whole state, and puzzle 'em all,

To find out such another.

Car. ’Tis high time, madam,

If your grace please, to make election now:

Behold, they’re all assembled.

Duch. What election?

You speak things strange to me, sir.

Car. How, good madam?

Duch. Give me your meaning plainly, like a father;

You’re too religious, sir, to deal in riddles.

Car. Is there a plainer way than leads to marriage, madam,

And the man set before you?

Duch. O blasphèmy

To sanctimonious faith! comes it from you, sir?

An ill example! know you what you speak,

Or who you are? is not my vow in place?

How dare you be so bold, sir? Say a woman

Were tempt with a temptation, must you presently

Take all th’ advantage on’t?

Car. Is this in earnest, madam?

Duch. Heaven pardon you! if you do not think so, sir.

642You’ve much to answer for: but I will leave you;

Return I humbly now from whence I fell.

All you bless’d powers that register the vows

Of virgins and chaste matrons, look on me

With eyes of mercy, seal forgiveness to me

By signs of inward peace! and to be surer

That I will never fail your good hopes of me,

I bind myself more strictly; all my riches

I’ll speedily commend to holy uses,

This temple^[993] unto some religious sanctuary,

Where all my time to come I will allow

For fruitful thoughts; so knit I up my vow.

Lac. This ['t]is to hawk at eagles: pox of pride!

It lays a man i’ th’ mire still, like a jade

That has too many tricks, and ne’er a good one.

I must gape high! I’m in a sweet case now!

I was sure of one, and now I’ve lost her too. [Aside.

Duch. I know, my lord, all that great studious care

Is for your kinsman; he’s provided for

According to his merits.

Car. How’s that, good madam?

Duch. Upon the firmness of my faith, it’s true, sir:

Enter Page^[994] in a female dress.

See, here’s the gentlewoman; the match was made

Near forty weeks ago: he knows the time, sir,

Better than I can tell him, and the poor gentlewoman

643Better than he;

But being religious, sir, and fearing you,

He durst not own her for his wife till now;

Only contracted with her in man’s apparel,

For the more modesty, because he was bashful,

And never could endure the sight of woman,

For fear that you should see her: this was he

Chose for my love, this page preferr’d to me.

Lac. I’m paid with mine own money. [Aside.

Car. Dare hypocrisy,

For fear of vengeance, sit so close to virtue?

Steal’st thou a holy vestment from religion

To clothe forbidden lust with? th’ open villain^[995]

Goes before thee to mercy, and his penitency

Is bless’d with a more sweet and quick return.

I utterly disclaim all blood in thee;

I’ll sooner make a parricide my heir

Than such a monster.—O, forgive me, madam!

The apprehension of the wrong to you

Has a sin’s weight at it. I forget all charity

When I but think upon him.

Duch. Nay, my lord,

At our request, since we are pleas’d to pardon,

And send remission to all former errors,

Which conscionable justice now sets right,

From you we expect patience; has had punishment

Enough in his false hopes; trust me he has, sir;

They have requited his dissembling largely:

And to erect your falling goodness to him,

We’ll begin first ourself; ten thousand ducats

The gentlewoman shall bring out of our treasure

To make her dowry.

Car. None has the true way

Of overcoming anger with meek virtue,

Like your compassionate grace.

644Lac. Curse of this fortune! this ’tis to meddle with taking stuff, whose belly cannot be confined in a waistband. [Aside.]—Pray, what have you done with the breeches? we shall have need of 'em shortly, and^[996] we get children so fast; they are too good to be cast away. My son and heir need not scorn to wear what his mother has left off. I had my fortune told me by a gipsy seven years ago; she said then I should be the spoil of many a maid, and at seven years’ end marry a quean for my labour, which falls out wicked and true.

Duch. We all have faults; look not so much on his:

Who lives i’ th’ world that never did amiss?—

For you, Aurelia, I commend your choice,

You’ve one after our heart; and though your father

Be not in presence, we’ll assure his voice;

Doubt not his liking, his o’erjoying rather.—

You, sir, embrace your own, ’tis your full due;

No page serves me more that once dwells with you.

O, they that search out man’s intents shall find

There’s more dissemblers than of womankind.^[997]

[Exeunt omnes.

END OF VOL. III.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY LEVEY, ROBSON, AND FRANKLYN,

46 St. Martin’s Lane.

Transcriber’s Note

Stage directions, except for entrances, can be:

in-line

in the middle of a line and delimited with ‘[ ]’,

end of line

right-justified on the same line (where there is room), with only the leading ‘[’,

next line

right-justified on the following line, where there is insufficent room, with a hanging indent, if necessary.

The same convention is followed here. Since this version is wider than the original, most directions are on the same line as the speech.

Entrances were centered and separated slightly from lines above and below. This is rendered here as a full blank line.

The footnote scheme used lettered references, repeating a-z. On numerous occasions, letters were repeated, and sometimes skipped. The numeric resequencing of notes here resolves those lapses. Footnotes are sometimes referred to directly in a footnote by its letter designation. The few direct references to a lettered note use the new numeric value.

Footnotes frequently refer to other notes, usually only by referring the the page where they can be found. Sometimes those cross-references are not accurate and the correct location cannot be ascertained. They are left unlinked.

Note 568 (when]) refers to a note on p. 164 of Volume I. The correct reference is to p. 164 in the current volume.

Note 1172 on p. 539 seems to refer to itself.

Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.

223.35 See note, p. 1[0/9]8. Wrong page.

327.31 when] See note, [vol. i.] p. 164. Removed.

547.33 Dict. v. Gastroraphy.[”] Removed.

THE HONEST WHORE.

Vol. iii. p. 9, l. 16.

Curs’d be that day for ever, &c.] In a note on Shakespeare’s King John, act iii. sc. 1, Henderson has pointed out the resemblance between this speech of Hippolito and that of Constance which begins,

“A wicked day, and not a holy day!” &c.

Vol. iii. p. 42, l. 20.

“Cas. Please you be here, my lord? [Offers tobacco.”

This appears to have been the customary expression on such an occasion: in Wine, Beere, Ale, and Tobacco, Contending for Superiority, a Dialogue, we read,

“Enter Tobaco.

Tobaco. Be your leaue gentlemen—wilt please you be here, sir?”

Sig. C 4. ed. 1630.

Vol. iii. p. 60, last line.

ningle] I have observed, in my note, that all the eds. except that of 1605 have “mingle.” Nares (who had not seen that rare edition), citing this passage, gives Mingle in his Gloss. as 645a legitimate word; but I do not recollect to have met with such a form.

Vol. iii. p. 80, l. 26.

turn Turk] “Was,” says Gifford, “a figurative expression for a change of condition, or opinion.” Note on Massinger’s Works, vol. ii. p. 222, ed. 1813.

Vol. iii. p. 83, l. 9.

orangado] Should be “oringado” or “eringado:” oringo was an old form of eringo.

Vol. iii. p. 91, l. 7.

“A sister’s thread, i’faith, had been enough.”

In Ford’s Lady’s Trial is the same expression:

“A flake, no bigger than a sister’s thread,”

which Gifford too hastily altered to “a spider’s thread,” Works, vol. ii. p. 306.—That “sister’s” is not a misprint, there can be no doubt: it seems to be a form of sewster’s.

“At euery twisted thrid my rock let fly

Unto the sewster.”

B. Jonson’s Sad Shepherd—Works, vol. vi. p. 282, ed. Giff.

Vol. iii. p. 108, l. 25.

We see you, old man, for all you dance in a net] An allusion to the proverbial saying, “You dance in a net, and think nobody sees you.” Ray’s Proverbs, p. 5, ed. 1768.

Vol. iii. p. 115, l. 21.

Bow a little] i. e. bend your hand a little: so in The Spanish Gipsy, Alvarez, while telling the fortune of Louis, says to him, “Bend your hand thus:” see vol. iv. p. 149.

646

THE SECOND PART OF THE HONEST WHORE.

Vol. iii. p. 152, l. 12.

I’ll fly high, wench, hang toss!] In this passage, says Gifford, “toss is used in a way that would induce one to think it meant low play, or a hazard of petty sums.” Note on Massinger’s Works, vol. iii. p. 160, ed. 1813.

Vol. iii. p. 197, l. 9.

a cob] “A [silver] Cob of Ireland, or a Peece of Eight, is worth four shilling eight pence. It is a Spanish Coin, not round but cornered, or nuke shotten, and passith according to its weight for more or less.” R. Holme’s Ac. of Armory, b. iii. c. ii. p. 30.

Vol. iii. p. 199, l. 3.

Must I be fed with chippings? you’re best get a clapdish, and say you’re proctor to some spittle-house] “It was once,” says Gifford, “the practice for beadles and other inferior parish officers, to go from door to door with a clap-dish, soliciting charity for those unhappy sufferers, who are now better relieved by voluntary subscriptions.” Note on B. Jonson’s Works, vol. i. p. 44.

Vol. iii. p. 200, l. 3.

old Cole] Is the name of the sculler in the puppet-show of Hero and Leander, introduced into B. Jonson’s Bartholomew Fair, act v. sc. 3: see Works, vol. iv. p. 509 (note), and p. 520, ed. Gifford.

647

THE WIDOW.

Vol. iii. p. 354, l. 3.

improv’d] Is right; meaning, as it frequently does, proved.

Vol. iii. p. 373, l. 22.

And they’re both well provided for, they’re i’ th’ hospital] “Hospital” ought to have been printed with a capital letter: for though the scene of the play is laid in Italy, yet the allusion (as Gifford observes, note on B. Jonson’s Works, vol. i. p 41), is to Christ’s Hospital, whither, when it was first established, the foundlings taken up in the city were sent for maintenance and education.

Vol. iii. p. 383, l. 19.

Come, my dainty doxies?] I neglected to notice that this song is found entire in our author’s More Dissemblers besides Women: see p. 606 of the same volume.

A FAIR QUARREL.

Vol. iii. p. 510, l. 11.

from the six windmills to Islington] “The third great Field from Moorgate, next to the six Windmills.” Stow’s Survey, b. iii. p. 70, ed. 1720.

Vol. iii. p. 514, l. 17.

a quadrangular plumation] Compare Vigon’s Workes of Chirurgerie, &c., 1571, where, treating of “tentes, lyntes, and bolsters” for wounds, he tells us that “some [bolsters] bene quadrate;” and a little after, “some moreouer vse bolsters made of fethers,” fol. cxiii.