Act 2 — ACT II. SCENE I.
Reading edition
A room in an Inn.
Enter Alvarez, Carlo, and Antonio, disguised as gipsies.
Alv. Come, my brave boys! the tailor’s shears has cut us into shapes fitting our trades.
Car. A trade free as a mason’s.
Ant. A trade brave as a courtier’s; for some of them do but shark, and so do we.
Alv. Gipsies, but no tanned ones; no red-ochre 118rascals umbered with soot and bacon as the English gipsies are, that sally out upon pullen,[191] lie in ambuscado for a rope of onions, as if they were Welsh freebooters; no, our stile has higher steps to climb over, Spanish gipsies, noble gipsies.
Car. I never knew nobility in baseness.
Alv. Baseness? the arts of Cocoquismo and Germania,[192] used by our Spanish pickaroes[193]—I mean filching, foisting,[194] nimming, jilting—we defy;[195] none in our college shall study ’em; such graduates we degrade.
Ant. I am glad Spain has an honest company.
Alv. We’ll entertain no mountebanking stroll,
No piper, fiddler, tumbler through small hoops,
No ape-carrier, baboon-bearer;
We must have nothing stale, trivial, or base:
Am I your major-domo, your teniente,[196]
Your captain, your commander?
Ant. Who but you?
Alv. So then: now being entered Madrill,[197] the enchanted circle of Spain, have a care to your new lessons.
119
Car. Ant. We listen.
Alv. Plough deep furrows, to catch deep root in th' opinion of the best, grandees,[198] dukes, marquesses, condes, and other titulados; shew your sports to none but them: what can you do with three or four fools in a dish, and a blockhead cut into sippets?
Ant. Scurvy meat!
Alv. The Lacedemonians threw their beards over their shoulders, to observe what men did behind them as well as before; you must do['t].
Car. We shall never do’t.
Ant. Our muzzles are too short.[199]
Alv. Be not English gipsies, in whose company a man’s not sure of the ears of his head, they so pilfer! no such angling; what you pull to land catch fair: there is no iron so foul but may be gilded; and our gipsy profession, how base soever in show, may acquire commendations.
Car. Gipsies, and yet pick no pockets?
Alv. Infamous and roguy! so handle your webs, that they never come to be woven in the loom of justice: take any thing that’s given you, purses, knives, handkerchers, rosaries, tweezes,[200] any toy, any money; refuse not a marvedi,[201] a blank:[202] feather 120by feather birds build nests, grain pecked up after grain makes pullen[203] fat.
Ant. The best is, we Spaniards are no great feeders.
Alv. If one city cannot maintain us, away to another! our horses must have wings. Does Madrill yield no money? Seville shall; is Seville close-fisted? Valladolid is open; so Cordova,[204] so Toledo. Do not our Spanish wines please us? Italian can then, French can. Preferment’s bow is hard to draw, set all your strengths to it; what you get, keep; all the world is a second Rochelle;[205] make all sure, for you must not look to have your dinner served in with trumpets.
Car. No, no, sack-buts[206] shall serve us.
Alv. When you have money, hide it; sell all our horses but one.
Ant. Why one?
Alv. ’Tis enough to carry our apparel and trinkets, and the less our ambler eats, our cheer is the better. None be sluttish, none thievish, none lazy; all bees, no drones, and our hives shall yield us honey.
121Enter Guiamara, Constanza, Christiana, disguised as gipsies, and Cardochia.
Const. See, father, how I'm fitted: how do you like
This our new stock of clothes?
Alv. My sweet girl, excellent.—
See their old robes be safe.
Card. That, sir, I'll look to;
Whilst in my house you lie, what thief soever
Lays hands upon your goods, call but to me,
I'll make the[207] satisfaction.
Alv. Thanks, good hostess!
Card. People already throng into the inn,
And call for you into their private rooms.
Alv. No chamber-comedies: hostess, ply you your tide; flow let ’em to a full sea, but we’ll shew no pastime till after dinner, and that in a full ring of good people, the best, the noblest; no closet-sweetmeats, pray tell ’em so.
Card. I shall. [Exit.
Alv. How old is Pretiosa?
Gui. Twelve and upwards.
Const. I am in my teens, assure you, mother; as little as I am, I have been taken for an elephant; castles and lordships offered to be set upon me, if I would bear ’em: why, your smallest clocks are the prettiest things to carry about gentlemen.
Gui. Nay, child, thou wilt be tempted.
Const. Tempted? though I am no mark in respect of a huge butt, yet I can tell you great bubbers[208] have shot at me, and shot golden arrows, but 122I myself gave aim,[209] thus,—wide, four bows; short, three and a half: they that crack me shall find me as hard as a nut of Galicia; a parrot I am, but my teeth too tender to crack a wanton’s almond.[210]
Alv. Thou art, my noble girl! a many dons
Will not believe but that thou art a boy
To see if thou be’st alcumy[213] or no,
They’ll throw down gold in musses;[214] but, Pretiosa,
Let these proud sakers[215] and gerfalcons fly,
Do not thou move a wing; be to thyself
Thyself,[216] and not a changeling.
Const. How? not a changeling?
Yes, father, I will play the changeling;
I'll change myself into a thousand shapes,
To court our brave spectators; I'll change my postures
Into a thousand different variations,
To draw even ladies' eyes to follow mine;
I'll change my voice into a thousand tones,
To chain attention: not a changeling, father?
None but myself[217] shall play the changeling.
123Alv. Do what thou wilt, Pretiosa.
[A knocking within.
What noise is this?
Re-enter Cardochia.
Card. Here’s gentlemen swear all the oaths in Spain they have seen you, must see you, and will see you.
Alv. To drown this noise let ’em enter.
[Exit Cardochia.
Enter Sancho and Soto.
San. Is your playhouse an inn, a gentleman cannot see you without crumpling his taffeta cloak?
Soto. Nay, more than a gentleman, his man being a diminutive don too.
San. Is this the little ape does the fine tricks?
Const. Come aloft,[218] Jack little ape!
San. Would my jack might come aloft! please you to set the watermill with the ivory cogs[219] in’t a-grinding my handful of purging comfits. [Offers comfits.
Soto. My master desires to have you loose from your company.
Const. Am I a pigeon, think you, to be caught with cummin-seeds?[220] a fly to glue my wings to sweetmeats, and so be ta’en?
San. When do your gambols begin?
Alv. Not till we ha' dined.
San. ’Foot, then your bellies will be so full, you’ll be able to do nothing.—Soto, prithee, set a 124good face on’t, for I cannot, and give the little monkey that letter.
Soto. Walk off and hum to yourself. [Sancho retires.]—I dedicate, sweet Destiny, into whose hand every Spaniard desires to put a distaff, these lines of love. [Offering a paper to Constanza.
Gui. What love? what’s the matter?
Soto. Grave mother Bumby,[221] the mark’s out a' your mouth.
Alv. What’s the paper? from whom comes it?
Soto. The commodity wrapped up in the paper are verses; the warming-pan that puts heat into 'em, yon[222] fire-brained bastard of Helicon.
San. Hum, hum.[223]
Alv. What’s your master’s name?
Soto. His name is Don Tomazo Portacareco, nuncle[224] to young Don Hortado de Mendonza, cousin-german to the Conde de Tindilla, and natural brother to Francisco de Bavadilla, one of the commendadors of Alcantara, a gentleman of long standing.
Alv. And of as long a style.[225]
Const. Verses? I love good ones; let me see ’em.
[Taking paper.
San. [advancing] Good ones? if they were not good ones, they should not come from me; at the name of verses I can stand on no ground.
125Const. Here’s gold too! whose is this?
San. Whose but yours? If there be[226] any fault in the verses, I can mend it extempore; for a stitch in a man’s stocking not taken up in time, ravels out all the rest.
Soto. Botcherly poetry, botcherly! [Aside.
Const. Verses and gold! these then are golden verses.
San. Had every verse a pearl in the eye, it should be thine.
Const. A pearl in mine eye! I thank you for that; do you wish me blind?[227]
San. Ay, by this light do I, that you may look upon nobody’s rhymes[228] but mine.
Const. I should be blind indeed then.[229]
Alv. Pray, sir, read your verses.
San. Shall I sing ’em or say ’em?
Alv. Which you can best.
Soto. Both scurvily. [Aside.
San. I'll set out a throat then.
Soto. Do, master, and I'll run division behind your back.[230]
San. [sings]
O that I were a bee, to sing
Hum, buz, buz, hum! I first would bring
Home honey to your hive, and there leave my sting.
Soto. [sings] He maunders.[231]
126San. [sings]
O that I were a goose, to feed
At your barn-door! such corn I need,
Nor would I bite, but goslings breed.
Soto. [sings] And ganders.
San. [sings] O that I were your needle’s eye! How through your linen would I fly, And never leave one stitch awry!
Soto. [sings] He’ll touse ye.
San. [sings] O would I were one of your hairs, That you might comb out all my cares, And kill the nits of my despairs!
Soto. [sings] O lousy!
San. How? lousy? can rhymes be lousy?
Const. } Car., &c.[232] } No, no, they’re excellent.
Alv. But are these all your own?
San. Mine own? would I might never see ink drop out of the nose of any goose-quill more, if velvet cloaks have not clapped me for ’em! Do you like ’em?
Const. Past all compare;
They shall be writ out: when you’ve as good or better,
For these and those, pray, book me down your debtor:
Your paper is long-liv’d, having two souls,
Verses and gold.
San. Would both those were in thy[233] pretty little body, sweet gipsy!
Const. A pistolet[234] and this paper? ’twould choke me.
127Soto. No more than a bribe does a constable: the verses will easily into your head, then buy what you like with the gold, and put it into your belly. I hope I ha' chawed a good reason for you.
San. Will you chaw my jennet ready, sir?
Soto. And eat him down, if you say the word. [Exit.
San. Now the coxcomb my man is gone, because you’re but a country company of strolls, I think your stock is threadbare; here mend it with this cloak.
[Giving his cloak.
Alv. What do you mean, sir?
San. This scarf, this feather, and this hat.
[Giving his scarf, &c.
Alv. Car., &c.[235] Dear signor!——
San. If they be never so dear:—pox o' this hot ruff! little gipsy, wear thou that. [Giving his ruff.
Alv. Your meaning, sir?
San. My meaning is, not to be an ass, to carry a burden when I need not. If you shew your gambols forty leagues hence, I'll gallop to ’em.—Farewell, old greybeard;—adieu, mother mumble-crust;—morrow, my little wart of beauty. [Exit.
Another MS. addition.]
Enter behind John, muffled.
Alv. So, harvest will come in; such sunshine days
Will bring in golden sheaves, our markets raise:
Away to your task.
[Exeunt. Alvarez, Christiana, Carlo, and Antonio; and as Guiamara and Constanza are going out, John pulls the latter back.
128Const. Mother! grandmother!
John. Two rows of kindred in one mouth?
Gui. Be not uncivil, sir; thus have you used her thrice.
John. Thrice? three thousand more: may I not use mine own?
Const. Your own! by what tenure?
John. Cupid entails this land upon me; I have wooed thee, thou art coy: by this air, I am a bull of Tarifa, wild, mad for thee! you told[236] I was some copper coin; I am a knight of Spain; Don Francisco de Carcomo my father, I Don John his son; this paper tells you more. [Gives paper.]—Grumble not, old granam; here’s gold [gives money]; for I must, by this white hand, marry this cherry-lipped, sweet-mouthed villain.
Const. There’s a thing called quando.
John. Instantly.
Gui. Art thou so willing?
John. Peace, threescore and five!
Const. Marry me? eat a chicken ere it be out o' th' shell? I'll wear no shackles; liberty is sweet; that I have, that I'll hold. Marry me? can gold and lead mix together? a diamond and a button of crystal fit one ring? You are too high for me, I am too low; you too great, I too little.
Gui. I pray, leave her, sir, and take your gold again.
Const. Or if you doat, as you say, let me try you do this.
John. Any thing; kill the great Turk, pluck out the Mogul’s eye-teeth; in earnest, Pretiosa, any thing!
Const. Your task[237] is soon set down; turn 129gipsy[238] for two years, be one of us; if in that time you mislike not me nor I you, here’s my hand: farewell. [Exit.
Gui. There’s enough for your gold.—Witty child!
[Aside, and exit.
John. Turn gipsy for two years? a capering trade;
And I in th' end may keep a dancing-school,
Having serv’d for it; gipsy I must turn.
O beauty, the sun’s fires cannot so burn! [Exit.