Act 2 — SCENE II.

Another apartment in Livia’s house: a chess-board set out.

Enter Livia and Guardiano.

Liv. How, sir? a gentlewoman so young, so fair,

As you set forth, spied from the widow’s window?

Guar. She.

Liv. Our Sunday-dinner woman?

Guar. And Thursday-supper woman, the same still:

I know not how she came by her, but I'll swear

She’s the prime gallant for a face in Florence,

And no doubt other parts follow their leader.

The Duke himself first spied her at the window,

Then, in a rapture—as if admiration

Were poor when it were single—beckon’d me,

And pointed to the wonder warily,

As one that fear’d she would draw in her splendour

Too soon, if too much gaz’d at: I ne’er knew him

So infinitely taken with a woman;

Nor can I blame his appetite, or tax

His raptures of slight folly; she’s a creature

547Able to draw a state from serious business,

And make it their best piece to do her service.

What course shall we devise? has spoke twice now.

Liv. Twice?

Guar. ’Tis beyond your apprehension

How strangely that one look has catch’d his heart:

'Twould prove but too much worth in wealth and favour

To whose should work his peace.

Liv. And if I do’t not,

Or at least come as near it—if your art

Will take a little pains and second me—

As any wench in Florence of my standing,

I'll quite give o’er, and shut up shop in cunning.

Guar. ’Tis for the Duke; and if I fail your purpose,

All means to come by riches or advancement

Miss me, and skip me over!

Liv. Let the old woman then

Be sent for with all speed, then I'll begin.

Guar. A good conclusion follow, and a sweet one,

After this stale beginning with old ware!

Within there!

Enter Servant.

Ser. Sir, do you call?

Guar. Come near, list hither. [Whispers.

Liv. I long myself to see this absolute creature,

That wins the heart of love and praise so much.

Guar. Go, sir, make haste.

Liv. Say I entreat her company:

Do you hear, sir?

Ser. Yes, madam. [Exit.

Liv. That brings her quickly.

548Guar. I would ’twere done! the Duke waits the good hour,

And I wait the good fortune that may spring from’t.

I've had a lucky hand these fifteen year

At such court-passage,^[1029] with three dice in a dish.—

Enter Fabricio.

Signor Fabricio!

Fab. O sir,

I bring an alteration in my mouth now.

Guar. An alteration?—No wise speech, I hope;

He means not to talk wisely, does he, trow?^[1030]—

rj [Aside.

Good; what’s the change, I pray, sir?

Fab. A new change.

Guar. Another yet? faith, there’s enough already.

Fab. My daughter loves him now.

Guar. What, does she, sir?

Fab. Affects him beyond thought: who but the Ward, forsooth;

No talk but of the Ward; she would have him

To choose ’bove all the men she ever saw:

My will goes not so fast as her consent now;

Her duty gets before my command still.

Guar. Why, then, sir, if you’ll have me speak my thoughts,

I smell ’twill be a match.

Fab. Ay, and a sweet young couple,

If I have any judgment.

549Guar. Faith, that’s little.— [Aside.

Let her be sent to-morrow, before noon,

And handsomely trick’d up, for ’bout that time

I mean to bring her in, and tender her to him.

Fab. I warrant you for handsome; I will see

Her things laid ready, every one in order,

And have some part of her trick’d up to-night.

Guar. Why, well said.

Fab. ’Twas a use her mother had;

When she was invited to an early wedding,

She’d dress her head o’er night, sponge up herself,

And give her neck three lathers.

Guar. Ne’er a halter? [Aside.

Fab. On with her chain of pearl, her ruby bracelets,

Lay ready all her tricks and jiggembobs.

Guar. So must your daughter.

Fab. I'll about it straight, sir. [Exit.

Liv. How he sweats in the foolish zeal of fatherhood,

After six ounces an hour, and seems

To toil as much as if his cares were wise ones!

Guar. You’ve let his folly blood in the right vein, lady.

Liv. And here comes his sweet son-in-law that shall be;

They’re both allied in wit before the marriage;

What will they be hereafter, when they’re nearer!

Yet they can go no further than the fool;

There’s the world’s end in both of ’em.

Enter the Ward and Sordido, one with a shittlecock, the other with a battledoor.

Guar. Now, young heir.

Ward. What’s the next business after shittlecock now?

550Guar. To-morrow you shall see the gentlewoman

Must be your wife.

Ward. There’s even another thing too,

Must be kept up with a pair of battledoors:

My wife! what can she do?

Guar. Nay, that’s a question you should ask yourself, Ward,

When you’re alone together.

Ward. That’s as I list;

A wife’s to be ask['d] any where, I hope;

I'll ask her in a congregation,

If I've a mind to’t, and so save a license.

My guardianer has no more wit than an herb-woman,

That sells away all her sweet herbs and nosegays,

And keeps a stinking breath for her own pottage.

Sor. Let me be at the choosing of your belov’d,

If you desire a woman of good parts.

Ward. Thou shalt, sweet Sordido.

Sor. I have a plaguy guess; let me alone to see what she is: if I but look upon her—'way! I know all the faults to a hair that you may refuse her for.

Ward. Dost thou? I prithee, let me hear ’em, Sordido.

Sor. Well, mark ’em then; I have ’em all in rhyme:

The wife your guardianer ought to tender

Should be pretty, straight, and slender;

Her hair not short, her foot not long,

Her hand not huge, nor too, too loud her tongue;

No pearl in eye,^[1031] nor ruby in her nose,

No burn or cut but what the catalogue shews;

She must have teeth, and that no black ones,

And kiss most sweet when she does smack once;

551Her skin must be both white and plump['d],

Her body straight, not hopper-rump’d,

Or wriggle sideways like a crab;

She must be neither slut nor drab,

Nor go too splay-foot with her shoes,

To make her smock lick up the dews;

And two things more, which I forgot to tell ye,

She neither must have bump in back nor belly:

These are the faults that will not make her pass.

Ward. And if I spy not these, I'm a rank ass.

Sor. Nay, more; by right, sir, you should see her naked,

For that’s the ancient order.

Ward. See her naked?

That were good sport, i’faith: I'll have the books turn’d o’er,

And if I find her naked on record,

She shall not have a rag on: but stay, stay;

How if she should desire to see me so too?

I were in a sweet case then; such a foul skin!

Sor. But you’ve a clean shirt, and that makes amends, sir.

Ward. I will not see her naked for that trick though.

[Exit.

Sor. Then take her with all faults with her clothes on,

And they may hide a number with a bum-roll.^[1032]

Faith, choosing of a wench in a huge farthingale

Is like the buying of ware under a great penthouse;

What with the deceit of one,

And the false light of th' other, mark my speeches,

He may have a diseas’d wench in’s bed,

And rotten stuff in’s breeches. [Exit.

552Guar. It may take handsomely.^[1033]

Liv. I see small hindrance.—

Re-enter Servant, shewing in Mother.

How now? so soon return’d?

Guar. She’s come.

Liv. That’s well.— [Exit Servant.

Widow, come, come, I've a great quarrel to you;

Faith, I must chide you, that you must be sent for;

You make yourself so strange, never come at us,

And yet so near a neighbour, and so unkind;

Troth, you’re to blame; you cannot be more welcome

To any house in Florence, that I'll tell you.

Moth. My thanks must needs acknowledge so much, madam.

Liv. How can you be so strange then? I sit here

Sometime[s] whole days together without company,

When business draws this gentleman from home,

And should be happy in society

Which I so well affect as that of yours:

I know you’re alone too; why should not we,

Like two kind neighbours, then, supply the wants

Of one another, having tongue-discourse,

Experience in the world, and such kind helps

To laugh down time, and meet age merrily?^[1034]

Moth. Age, madam! you speak mirth; ’tis at my door,

But a long journey from your ladyship yet.

Liv. My faith, I'm nine and-thirty, every stroke, wench;

And ’tis a general observation

553'Mongst knights—wives or widows, we account ourselves

Then old, when young men’s eyes leave looking at’s;

’Tis a true rule amongst us, and ne’er fail’d yet

In any but in one, that I remember;

Indeed, she had a friend at nine-and-forty;

Marry, she paid well for him, and in th' end

He kept a quean or two with her own money,

That robb’d her of her plate and cut her throat.

Moth. She had her punishment in this world, madam,

And a fair warning to all other women

That they live chaste at fifty.

Liv. Ay, or never, wench.

Come, now I have thy company, I'll not part with’t

Till after supper.

Moth. Yes, I must crave pardon, madam.

Liv. I swear you shall stay supper; we’ve no strangers, woman,

None but my sojourners and I, this gentleman

And the young heir his ward; you know our company.

Moth. Some other time I'll make bold with you, madam.

Guar. Nay, pray stay, widow.

Liv. Faith, she shall not go:

Do you think I'll be forsworn?

Moth. ’Tis a great while

Till supper-time; I'll take my leave then now, madam,

And come again i' th' evening, since your ladyship

Will have it so.

Liv. I' th' evening? by my troth, wench,

I'll keep you while I have you: you’ve great business, sure,

554To sit alone at home; I wonder strangely

What pleasure you take in’t; were’t to me now,

I should be ever at one neighbour’s house

Or other all day long: having no charge,

Or none to chide you, if you go or stay,

Who may live merrier, ay, or more at heart’s ease?

Come, we’ll to chess or draughts; there are an hundred tricks

To drive out time till supper, never fear’t, wench.

Moth. I'll but make one step home, and return straight, madam.

Liv. Come, I'll not trust you; you use more excuses

To your kind friends than ever I knew any.

What business can you have, if you be sure

You’ve lock’d the doors? and, that being all you have,

I know you’re careful on’t. One afternoon

So much to spend here! say I should entreat you now

To lie a night or two, or a week, with me,

Or leave your own house for a month together;

It were a kindness that long neighbourhood

And friendship might well hope to prevail in;

Would you deny such a request? i’faith,

Speak truth, and freely.

Moth. I were then uncivil, madam.

Liv. Go to then; set your men; we’ll have whole nights

Of mirth together, ere we be much older, wench.

[Livia and Mother sit down to the chess-board.

Moth. As good now tell her then, for she will know’t;

I've always found her a most friendly lady. [Aside.

Liv. Why, widow, where’s your mind?

Moth. Troth, even at home, madam:

555To tell you truth, I left a gentlewoman

Even sitting all alone, which is uncomfortable,

Especially to young bloods.

Liv. Another excuse!

Moth. No; as I hope for health, madam, that’s a truth:

Please you to send and see.

Liv. What gentlewoman? pish!

Moth. Wife to my son, indeed; but not known, madam,

To any but yourself.

Liv. Now I beshrew you;

Could you be so unkind to her and me,

To come and not bring her? faith, ’tis not friendly.

Moth. I fear’d to be too bold.

Liv. Too bold! O, what’s become

Of the true hearty love was wont to be

'Mongst neighbours in old time!

Moth. And she’s a stranger, madam.

Liv. The more should be her welcome: when is courtesy

In better practice than when ’tis employ’d

In entertaining strangers? I could chide, i’faith:

Leave her behind, poor gentlewoman! alone too!

Make some amends, and send for her betimes, go.

Moth. Please you, command one of your servants, madam.

Liv. Within there!

Re-enter Servant.

Sr. Madam.

Liv. Attend the gentlewoman.^[1035]

556Moth. It must be carried wondrous privately

From my son’s knowledge, he’ll break out in storms else.—

Hark you, sir.

[Whispers the Servant, who then goes out.

Liv. [to Guar.] Now comes in the heat of your part.

Guar. True, I know’t, lady; and if I be out,

May the Duke banish me from all employments,

Wanton or serious!

Liv. So, have you sent, widow?

Moth. Yes, madam, he’s almost at home by this.

Liv. And, faith, let me entreat you that henceforward

All such unkind faults may be swept from friendship,

Which does but dim the lustre; and think thus much,

It is a wrong to me, that have ability

To bid friends welcome, when you keep ’em from me;

You cannot set greater dishonour near me;

For bounty is the credit and the glory

Of those that have enough. I see you’re sorry,

And the good ’mends is made by’t.

Re-enter Servant, shewing in Bianca.

Moth. Here she is, madam. [Exit Servant.

Bian. I wonder how she comes to send for me now.

[Aside.

Liv. Gentlewoman, you’re most welcome, trust me, you are,

557As courtesy can make one, or respect

Due to the presence of you.

Bian. I give you thanks, lady.

Liv. I heard you were alone, and ’t had appear’d

An ill condition^[1036] in me, though I knew you not,

Nor ever saw you—yet humanity

Thinks every case her own—t' have kept your company

Here from you, and left you all solitary:

I rather ventur’d upon boldness then,

As the least fault, and wish’d your presence here;

A thing most happily motion’d of that gentleman,

Whom I request you, for his care and pity,

To honour and reward with your acquaintance;

A gentleman that ladies' rights stands for,

That’s his profession.

Bian. ’Tis a noble one,

And honours my acquaintance.

Guar. All my intentions

Are servants to such mistresses.

Bian. ’Tis your modesty,

It seems, that makes your deserts speak so low, sir.

Liv. Come, widow.—Look you, lady, here’s our business;

[Pointing to the chess-board.

Are we not well employ’d, think you? an old quarrel

Between us, that will ne’er be at an end.

Bian. No? and, methinks, there’s men enough to part you, lady.

Liv. Ho, but they set us on, let us come off

As well as we can, poor souls; men care no farther.

I pray, sit down, forsooth, if you’ve the patience

To look upon two weak and tedious gamesters.

Guar. Faith, madam, set these by till evening,

558You’ll have enough on’t then; the gentlewoman,

Being a stranger, would take more delight

To see your rooms and pictures.

Liv. Marry, good sir,

And well remember’d; I beseech you, shew ’em her,

That will beguile time well; pray heartily, do, sir,

I'll do as much for you: here, take these keys;

[Gives keys to Guardiano.

Shew her the monument too, and that’s a thing

Every one sees not; you can witness that, widow.

Moth. And that’s worth sight indeed, madam.

Bian. Kind lady,

I fear I came to be a trouble to you.

Liv. O, nothing less, forsooth!

Bian. And to this courteous gentleman,

That wears a kindness in his breast so noble

And bounteous to the welcome of a stranger.

Guar. If you but give acceptance to my service,

You do the greatest grace and honour to me

That courtesy can merit.

Bian. I were to blame else,

And out of fashion much. I pray you, lead, sir.

Liv. After a game or two, we’re for you, gentlefolks.

Guar. We wish no better seconds in society

Than your discourses, madam, and your partner’s there.

Moth. I thank your praise; I listen’d to you, sir,

Though, when you spoke, there came a paltry rook

Full in my way, and chokes up all my game.

[Exeunt. Guardiano and Bianca.

Liv. Alas, poor widow, I shall be too hard for thee!

Moth. You’re cunning at the game, I'll be sworn, madam.

559Liv. It will be found so, ere I give you over.—

[Aside.

She that can place her man well——

Moth. As you do, madam.

Liv. As I shall, wench, can never lose her game:

Nay, nay, the black king’s mine.

Moth. Cry you mercy, madam!

Liv. And this my queen.

Moth. I see’t now.

Liv. Here’s a duke^[1037]

Will strike a sure stroke for the game anon;

Your pawn cannot come back to relieve itself.

Moth. I know that, madam.

Liv. You play well the whilst:

How she belies her skill! I hold two ducats,

I give you check and mate to your white king,

Simplicity itself, your saintish king there.

Moth. Well, ere now, lady,

I've seen the fall of subtlety; jest on.

Liv. Ay, but simplicity receives two for one.

Moth. What remedy but patience!

Enter Guardiano and Bianca above.^[1038]

Bian. Trust me, sir,

Mine eye ne’er met with fairer ornaments.

Guar. Nay, livelier, I'm persuaded, neither Florence

Nor Venice can produce.

Bian. Sir, my opinion

Takes your part highly.

Guar. There’s a better piece

Yet than all these.

Bian. Not possible, sir!

Guar. Believe it,

560You’ll say so when you see’t: turn but your eye now,

You’re upon’t presently.

[Draws a curtain,^[1039] and discovers the Duke;

then exit.

Bian. O sir!

Duke. He’s gone, beauty:

Pish, look not after him; he’s but a vapour,

That, when the sun appears, is seen no more.

Bian. O, treachery to honour!

Duke. Prithee, tremble not;

I feel thy breast shake like a turtle panting

Under a loving hand that makes much on’t:

Why art so fearful? as I'm friend to brightness,

There’s nothing but respect and honour near thee:

You know me, you have seen me; here’s a heart

Can witness I have seen thee.

Bian. The more’s my danger.

Duke. The more’s thy happiness. Pish, strive not, sweet;

This strength were excellent employ’d in love now,

But here^[1040] ’tis spent amiss: strive not to seek

Thy liberty, and keep me still in prison;

I'faith, you shall not out till I'm releas’d now;

We’ll be both freed together, or stay still by’t,

So is captivity pleasant.

Bian. O my lord!

Duke. I am not here in vain; have but the leisure

To think on that, and thou’lt be soon resolv’d:

The lifting of thy voice is but like one

That does exalt his enemy, who, proving high,

Lays all the plots to confound him that rais’d him.

561Take warning, I beseech thee; thou seem’st to me

A creature so compos’d of gentleness,

And delicate meekness—such as bless the faces

Of figures that are drawn for goddesses,

And make^[1041] art proud to look upon her work—

I should be sorry the least force should lay

An unkind touch upon thee.

Bian. O my extremity!

My lord, what seek you?

Duke. Love.

Bian. ’Tis gone already;

I have a husband.

Duke. That’s a single comfort;

Take a friend to him.

Bian. That’s a double mischief,

Or else there’s no religion.

Duke. Do not tremble

At fears of thine own making.

Bian. Nor, great lord,

Make me not bold with death and deeds of ruin,

Because they fear not you; me they must fright—

Then am I best in health: should thunder speak,

And none regard it, it had lost the name,

And were as good be still. I'm not like those

That take their soundest sleeps in greatest tempests;

Then wake I most, the weather fearfullest,

And call for strength to virtue.

Duke. Sure, I think

Thou know’st the way to please me: I affect

A passionate pleading ’bove an easy yielding;

But never pitied any,—they deserve none,—

That will not pity me. I can command,

Think upon that; yet if thou truly knewest

The infinite pleasure my affection takes

562In gentle, fair entreatings, when love’s businesses

Are carried courteously ’twixt heart and heart,

You’d make more haste to please me.

Bian. Why should you seek, sir,

To take away that you can never give?

Duke. But I give better in exchange,—wealth, honour;

She that is fortunate in a duke’s favour

'Lights on a tree that bears all women’s wishes:

If your own mother saw you pluck fruit there,

She would commend your wit, and praise the time

Of your nativity; take hold of glory.

Do not I know you’ve cast away your life

Upon necessities, means merely doubtful

To keep you in indifferent health and fashion—

A thing I heard too lately, and soon pitied—

And can you be so much your beauty’s enemy,

To kiss away a month or two in wedlock,

And weep whole years in wants for ever after?

Come, play the wise wench, and provide for ever;

Let storms come when they list, they find thee shelter’d.

Should any doubt arise, let nothing trouble thee;

Put trust in our love for the managing

Of all to thy heart’s peace: we’ll walk together,

And shew a thankful joy for both our fortunes.

[Exeunt Duke and Bianca above.

Liv. Did not I say my duke would fetch you o’er, widow?

Moth. I think you spoke in earnest when you said it, madam.

Liv. And my black king makes all the haste he can too.

Moth. Well, madam, we may meet with him in time yet.

Liv. I've given thee blind mate twice.

563Moth. You may see, madam,

My eyes begin to fail.

Liv. I'll swear they do, wench.

Re-enter Guardiano.

Guar. I can but smile as often as I think on’t:

How prettily the poor fool was beguil’d!

How unexpectedly! it’s a witty age;

Never were finer snares for women’s honesties

Than are devis’d in these days; no spider’s web

Made of a daintier thread than are now practis’d

To catch love’s flesh-fly by the silver wing:

Yet, to prepare her stomach by degrees

To Cupid’s feast, because I saw ’twas queasy,

I shew’d her naked pictures by the way,

A bit to stay the appetite. Well, advancement,

I venture hard to find thee; if thou com’st

With a greater title set upon thy crest,

I'll take that first cross patiently, and wait

Until some other comes greater than that;

I'll endure all. [Aside.

Liv. The game’s even at the best now: you may see, widow,

How all things draw to an end.

Moth. Even so do I, madam.

Liv. I pray, take some of your neighbours along with you.

Moth. They must be those are almost twice your years then,

If they be chose fit matches for my time, madam.

Liv. Has not my duke bestirr’d himself?

Moth. Yes, faith, madam;

Has done me all the mischief in this game.

Liv. Has shew’d himself in’s kind.

Moth. In’s kind, call you it?

I may swear that.

564Liv. Yes, faith, and keep your oath.

Guar. Hark, list! there’s somebody coming down: ’tis she.

[Aside.

Re-enter Bianca.

Bian. Now bless me from a blasting! I saw that now,

Fearful for any woman’s eye to look on;

Infectious mists and mildews hang at’s eyes,

The weather of a doomsday dwells upon him:

Yet since mine honour’s leprous, why^[1042] should I

Preserve that fair that caus’d the leprosy?

Come, poison all at once. [Aside.]—Thou in whose baseness

The bane of virtue broods, I'm bound in soul

Eternally to curse thy smooth-brow’d treachery,

That wore the fair veil of a friendly welcome,

And I a stranger; think upon’t, ’tis worth it;

Murders pil’d up upon a guilty spirit,

At his last breath will not lie heavier

Than this betraying act upon thy conscience:

Beware of offering the first-fruits to sin;

His weight is deadly who commits with strumpets,

After they’ve been abas’d, and made for use;

If they offend to the death, as wise men know,

How much more they, then, that first make ’em so!

I give thee that to feed on. I'm made bold now,

I thank thy treachery; sin and I'm acquainted,

No couple greater; and I'm like that great one,

Who, making politic use of a base villain,

He likes the treason well, but hates the traitor;

So I hate thee, slave!

Guar. Well, so the Duke love me,

I fare not much amiss then; two great feasts

565Do seldom come together in one day,

We must not look for ’em.

Bian. What, at it still, mother?

Moth. You see we sit by’t: are you so soon return’d?

Liv. So lively and so cheerful! a good sign that.

[Aside.

Moth. You have not seen all since, sure?

Bian. That have I, mother,

The monument and all: I'm so beholding^[1043]

To this kind, honest, courteous gentleman,

You’d little think it, mother; shew’d me all,

Had me from place to place so fashionably;

The kindness of some people, how ’t exceeds!

Faith, I've seen that I little thought to see

I' the morning when I rose.

Moth. Nay, so I told you

Before you saw’t, it would prove worth your sight.—

I give you great thanks for my daughter, sir,

And all your kindness towards her.

Guar. O, good widow,

Much good may['t] do her!—forty weeks hence, i’faith.

[Aside.

Re-enter Servant.

Liv. Now, sir?

Ser. May’t please you, madam, to walk in;

Supper’s upon the table.

Liv. Yes, we come.— [Exit Servant.

Will’t please you, gentlewoman?

Bian. Thanks, virtuous lady.—

You’re a damn’d bawd. [Aside to Livia.]—I'll follow you, forsooth;

566Pray, take my mother in;—an old ass go with you!— [Aside.

This gentleman and I vow not to part.

Liv. Then get you both before.

Bian. There lies his art. [Exeunt. Bianca and Guardiano.

Liv. Widow, I'll follow you. [Exit Mother.] Is’t so? damn’d bawd!

Are you so bitter? ’tis but want of use:

Her tender modesty is sea-sick a little,

Being not accustom’d to the breaking billow

Of woman’s wavering faith blown with temptations:

’Tis but a qualm of honour, ’twill away;

A little bitter for the time, but lasts not:

Sin tastes at the first draught like wormwood-water,

But drunk again, ’tis nectar ever after. [Exit.