Act 1 — SCENE II.

A garden attached to Fabricio’s house.

Enter Guardiano, Fabricio, and Livia.

Guar. What, has your daughter seen him yet? know you that?

Fab. No matter, she shall love him.

Guar. Nay, let’s have fair play;

He has been now my ward some fifteen year,

And ’tis my purpose, as time calls upon me,

By custom seconded and such moral virtues,

To tender him a wife. Now, sir, this wife

I'd fain elect out of a daughter of yours;

You see my meaning’s fair: if now this daughter

So tender’d,—let me come to your own phrase, sir,—

Should offer to refuse him, I were hansell’d.—

Thus am I fain to calculate all my words

524For the meridian of a foolish old man,

To take his understanding. [Aside.]—What do you answer, sir?

Fab. I say still, she shall love him.

Guar. Yet again?

And shall she have no reason for this love?

Fab. Why, do you think that women love with reason?

Guar. I perceive fools are not at all hours foolish,

No more than wise men wise. [Aside.

Fab. I had a wife,

She ran mad for me; she had no reason for’t,

For aught I could perceive.—What think you, lady sister?

Guar. ’Twas a fit match that, being both out of their wits;

A loving wife, it seem’d

She strove to come as near you as she could. [Aside.

Fab. And if her daughter prove not mad for love too,

She takes not after her; nor after me,

If she prefer reason before my pleasure.—

You’re an experienc’d widow, lady sister,

I pray, let your opinion come amongst us.

Liv. I must offend you then, if truth will do’t,

And take my niece’s part, and call’t injustice

To force her love to one she never saw:

Maids should both see and like, all little enough;

If they love truly after that, ’tis well.

Counting the time, she takes one man till death;

That’s a hard task, I tell you; but one may

Inquire at three years' end amongst young wives,

And mark how the game goes.

Fab. Why, is not man

Tied to the same observance, lady sister,

And in one woman?

525Liv. ’Tis enough for him;

Besides, he tastes of many sundry dishes

That we poor wretches never lay our lips to,

As obedience forsooth, subjection, duty, and such kickshaws,

All of our making, but serv’d in to them;

And if we lick a finger then sometimes,

We’re not to blame, your best cooks [often] use it.

Fab. Thou’rt a sweet lady, sister, and a witty.

Liv. A witty! O the bud of commendation,

Fit for a girl of sixteen! I am blown, man;

I should be wise by this time; and, for instance,

I've buried my two husbands in good fashion,

And never mean more to marry.

Guar. No! why so, lady?

Liv. Because the third shall never bury me:

I think I'm more than witty. How think you, sir?'

Fab. I have paid often fees to a counsellor

Has had a weaker brain.

Liv. Then I must tell you

Your money was soon parted.

Guar. Light her now, brother.^[1012]

Liv. Where is my niece? let her be sent for straight,

If you have any hope ’twill prove a wedding;

’Tis fit, i’faith, she should have one sight of him,

And stop upon’t, and not be join’d in haste,

As if they went to stock a new-found land.

Fab. Look out her uncle, and you’re sure of her,

Those two are ne’er asunder; they’ve been heard

In argument at midnight; moonshine nights

526Are noondays with them; they walk out their sleeps,

Or rather at those hours appear like those

That walk in ’em, for so they did to me.

Look you, I told you truth; they’re like a chain,—

Draw but one link, all follows.

Enter Hippolito and Isabella.

Guar. O affinity,

What piece of excellent workmanship art thou!

’Tis work clean wrought, for there’s no lust but love in’t,

And that abundantly; when in stranger things

There is no love at all but what lust brings.

Fab. On with your mask! for ’tis your part to see now,

And not be seen: go to, make use of your time;

See what you mean to like; nay, and I charge you,

Like what you see: do you hear me? there’s no dallying;

The gentleman’s almost twenty, and ’tis time

He were getting lawful heirs, and you a-breeding on ’em.

Isa. Good father——

Fab. Tell not me of tongues and rumours:

You’ll say the gentleman is somewhat simple;

The better for a husband, were you wise,

For those that marry fools live ladies' lives.

On with the mask! I'll hear no more: he’s rich;

The fool’s hid under bushels.

Liv. Not so hid neither

But here’s a foul great piece of him, methinks;

What will he be when he comes altogether?

Enter the Ward with a trap-stick, and Sordido.

Ward. Beat him?

527I beat him out o' the field with his own cat-stick,

Yet gave him the first hand.

Sor. O strange!

Ward. I did it;

Then he set jacks^[1013] on me.

Sor. What, my lady’s tailor?

Ward. Ay, and I beat him too.

Sor. Nay, that’s no wonder,

He’s us’d to beating.

Ward. Nay, I tickled him

When I came once to my tippings.

Sor. Now you talk on ’em,

There was a poulterer’s wife made a great complaint

Of you last night to your guardianer, that you struck

A bump in her child’s head as big as an egg.

Ward. An egg may prove a chicken, then in time

The poulterer’s wife will get by’t: when I am

In game, I'm furious; came my mother’s eyes

In my way, I would not lose a fair end; no,

Were she alive, but with one tooth in her head,

I should venture the striking out of that:

I think of nobody when I'm in play,

I am so earnest. Coads me, my guardianer!

Prithee, lay up my cat and cat-stick^[1014] safe.

528Sor. Where, sir? i' the chimney-corner?

Ward. Chimney-corner!

Sor. Yes, sir; your cats are always safe i' the chimney-corner,

Unless they burn their coats.

Ward. Marry, that I am afraid on!

Sor. Why, then, I will bestow your cat i' the gutter,

And there she’s safe, I'm sure.

Ward. If I but live

To keep a house, I'll make thee a great man,

If meat and drink can do’t. I can stoop gallantly,

And pitch out when I list; I'm dog at a hole:

I mar’l^[1015] my guardianer does not seek a wife for me;

I protest I'll have a bout with the maids else,

Or contract myself at midnight to the larder-woman,

In presence of a fool or a sack-posset.

Guar. Ward!

Ward. I feel myself after any exercise

Horribly prone: let me but ride, I'm lusty;

A cock-horse, straight, i’faith!

Guar. Why, Ward, I say!

Ward. I'll forswear eating eggs in moonshine nights;

There’s ne’er a one I eat but turns into a cock

In four-and-twenty hours; if my hot blood

Be not took down in time, sure ’twill crow shortly.

Guar. Do you hear, sir? follow me, I must new-school you.

Ward. School me? I scorn that now, I am past schooling:

529I'm not so base to learn to write and read;

I was born to better fortunes in my cradle.

[Exeunt. Guardiano, the Ward, and Sordido.

Fab. How do you like him, girl? this is your husband:

Like him, or like him not, wench, you shall have him,

And you shall love him.

Liv. O, soft there, brother! though you be a justice,

Your warrant cannot be serv’d out of your liberty;

You may compel, out of the power of father,

Things merely harsh to a maid’s flesh and blood;

But when you come to love, there the soil alters,

You’re in another country, where your laws

Are no more set by than the cacklings

Of geese in Rome’s great Capitol.

Fab. Marry him she shall then,

Let her agree upon love afterwards. [Exit.

Liv. You speak now, brother, like an honest mortal

That walks upon th' earth with a staff; you were up

I' the clouds before; you would command love,

And so do most old folks that go without it.—

My best and dearest brother, I could dwell here;

There is not such another seat on earth,

Where all good parts better express themselves.

Hip. You’ll make me blush anon.

Liv. ’Tis but like saying grace before a feast then,

And that’s most comely; thou art all a feast,

And she that has thee a most happy guest.

Prithee, cheer up thy^[1016] niece with special counsel. [Exit.

Hip. I would ’twere fit to speak to her what I would; but

530’Twas not a thing ordain’d, heaven has forbid it;

And ’tis most meet that I should rather perish

Than the decree divine receive least blemish.

Feed inward, you my sorrows, make no noise,

Consume me silent, let me be stark dead

Ere the world know I'm sick. You see my honesty;

If you befriend me, so. [Aside.

Isa. Marry a fool!

Can there be greater misery to a woman

That means to keep her days true to her husband,

And know no other man? so virtue wills it.

Why, how can I obey and honour him,

But I must needs commit idolatry?

A fool is but the image of a man,

And that but ill made neither. O the heartbreakings

Of miserable maids, where love’s enforc’d!

The best condition is but bad enough;

When women have their choices, commonly

They do but buy their thraldoms, and bring great portions

To men to keep ’em in subjection;

As if a fearful prisoner should bribe

The keeper to be good to him, yet lies in still,

And glad of a good usage, a good look sometimes.

Byrlady,^[1017] no misery surmounts a woman’s;

Men buy their slaves, but women buy their masters;

Yet honesty and love make^[1018] all this happy,

And, next to angels', the most bless’d estate.

That providence, that has made every poison

Good for some use, and sets four warring elements

At peace in man, can make a harmony

In things that are most strange to human reason.

531O, but this marriage! [Aside.]—What, are you sad too, uncle?

Faith, then there’s a whole household down together:

Where shall I go to seek my comfort now,

When my best friend’s distress’d? what is’t afflicts you, sir?

Hip. Faith, nothing but one grief, that will not leave me,

And now ’tis welcome; every man has something

To bring him to his end, and this will serve,

Join’d with your father’s cruelty to you,—

That helps it forward.

Isa. O, be cheer’d, sweet uncle!

How long has ’t been upon you? I ne’er spied it;

What a dull sight have I! how long, I pray, sir?

Hip. Since I first saw you, niece, and left Bologna.

Isa. And could you deal so unkindly with my heart,

To keep it up so long hid from my pity?

Alas! how shall I trust your love hereafter?

Have we pass’d through so many arguments,

And miss’d of that still, the most needful one?

Walk’d^[1019] out whole nights together in discourses,

And the main point forgot? we’re to blame both;

This is an obstinate, wilful forgetfulness,

And faulty on both parts: let’s lose no time now;

Begin, good uncle, you that feel ’t; what is it?

Hip. You of all creatures, niece, must never hear on’t,

’Tis not a thing ordain’d for you to know.

Isa. Not I, sir? all my joys that word cuts off;

You made profession once you lov’d me best,

’Twas but profession.

532Hip. Yes, I do’t too truly,

And fear I shall be chid for’t. Know the worst then;

I love thee dearlier than an uncle can.

Isa. Why, so you ever said, and I believ’d it.

Hip. So simple is the goodness of her thoughts,

They understand not yet th' unhallow’d language

Of a near sinner; I must yet be forc’d,

Though blushes be my venture, to come nearer.—

[Aside.

As a man loves his wife, so love I thee.

Isa. What’s that?

Methought I heard ill news come toward me,

Which commonly we understand too soon,

Then over-quick at hearing; I'll prevent it,

Though my joys fare the harder, welcome it:

It shall ne’er come so near mine ear again.

Farewell all friendly solaces and discourses;

I'll learn to live without ye, for your dangers

Are greater than your comforts. What’s become

Of truth in love, if such we cannot trust,

When blood, that should be love, is mix’d with lust?

[Exit.

Hip. The worst can be but death, and let it come;

He that lives joyless, every day’s his doom. [Exit.