That I should be a Whore?
If every Woman that upon necessity
Did a good turn, for there's the main point, mark it,
Were term'd a Whore, who would be honest, Madam?
Your Lords life, and your own are now in hazard,
Two precious lives may be redeem'd with nothing,
Little or nothing; say an hours or days sport,
Or such a toy, the end to it is wantonness.
(That we call lust that maidens lose their fame for)
But a compell'd necessity of honour,
Fair as the day, and clear as innocence,
Upon my life and conscience, a direct way—
That keeps you clear, for where your will's compell'd
Though you yield up your Body you are safe still.
Thy great sufficiency would break out.
You that are young, and fair scorn us old Creatures,
But you must know my years, ere you be wise, Lady,
And my experience too; say the King loved ye?
Say it were nothing else?
To fling away when you please? there be young Ladies
Both fair and honourable, that would leap to reach 'em,
And leap aloft too.
I am no Vaulter, Wench, but canst thou tell me,
Though he be a King, whether he be sound or no?
I would not give my Youth up to infection.
Go to, be wise, I do not bid you try him;
But if he love you well, and you neglect him,
Your Lords life hanging on the hazard of it,
If you be so wilful proud.
But when I have lain with him, what am I then, Gentlewoman?
A vertuous Woman, and a noble Woman,
Touching at what is noble, you become so.
Had Lucrece e'r been thought of but for Tarquin?
She was before a simple unknown Woman,
When she was ravish'd, she was a reverend Saint;
And do you think she yielded not a little?
And had a kind of will to have been re-ravish'd?
Believe it, yes: there are a thousand stories
Of wondrous loyal Women, that have slipt,
But it has been on the ice of tender honour,
That kept 'em cool still to the World. I think you are blest,
That have such an occasion in your hands to beget a Chronicle,
A faithful one.
And when 'tis done, your Lord and you may live
So quietly, and peaceably together,
And be what you please.
The King should so delight me with his Company,
I should forget my Lord, and no more look on him.
I have heard report speak he is an infinite pleasure,
Almost above belief; there be some Ladies,
And modest to the world too, wondrous modest,
That have had the blessedness to try his body,
That I have heard proclaim him a new Hercules.
You being but a young and tender Lady,
Although your mind be good, yet your weak Body,
At first encounter too, to meet with one
Of his unconquer'd strength.
Thou studied old corruptness, tye thy tongue up,
Your hired base tongue; is this your timely counsel?
Dost thou seek to make me dote on wickedness?
Because 'tis ten times worse than thou deliver'st it?
To be a Whore, because he has sufficiency
To make a hundred? O thou impudence!
Have I reliev'd thy Age to mine own ruine?
And worn thee in my Bosome, to betray me?
Can years and impotence win nothing on thee
That's good and honest, but thou must go on still?
And where thy bloud wants heat to sin thy self,
Force thy decrepit will to make me wicked?
The cunning'st and the skilfull'st Bawd comes short of;
If thou hadst liv'd ten Ages to be damn'd in,
And exercis'd this Art the Devil taught thee,
Thou could'st not have express'd it more exactly.
Thou that art fit for Prayer and the Grave,
Thy Body Earth already, and Corruption,
Thou taught'st the way; go follow your fine function,
There are houses of delight, that want good Matrons,
Such grave Instructors, get thee thither, Monster,
And read variety of sins to wantons,
And when they roar with pains, learn to make plaisters.
Or any thing that's like thee, to affright me,
By this fair light I'll spoil thy Bawdery,
I'll leave thee neither Eyes nor Nose to grace thee.
When thou wantest Bread, and common pity towards thee,
Enter Frederick.
Then dye, and let the wandring Bawds lament thee;
Be gone, I charge thee leave me.
I'll make your heart ake, stubborn Wench, for this;
Turn not so angry from me, I will speak to you,
Are you grown proud with your delight, good Lady,
So pamper'd with your sport you scorn to know me?
And forc't me to be weary of my duty,
I know your Grace, would I had never seen ye.
Because I am a man that seek to please ye.
As much, as noble, and as worthy of me,
As all the World can yield.
You have no man, nay never look upon me,
I know it, Lady, no man to content ye,
No man that can, or at the least, that dares,
Which is a poorer man, and nearer nothing.
The poor condition of this poorer fellow,
And make thee blush for shame at thine own errour,
He never tendred yet a husbands duty,
To thy warm longing bed.
Upon his life I charg'd him, but to try him;
Could any brave or noble spirit stop here?
Was life to be preferr'd before affection?
Lawful and long'd for too?
Brought I no beauty, nor no love along with me?
I should have lov'd him if he had ventur'd for't,
Nay, doted on his bravery.
And with that spell sit down? dare men fight bravely
For poor slight things, for drink, or ostentation?
And there indanger both their lives and fortunes,
And for their lawful loves fly off with fear?
Made thee believe, poor innocent Evanthe,
Wretched young Girl, it was his impotency;
Was it not so? deny it.
And both flung on me like a weight to sink me,
I would have dyed a thousand times.
Any that had the spirit of a man;
I would have been kill'd in your arms.
And buried in mine arms, that had been noble,
And what a monument would I have made him?
Upon this breast he should have slept in peace,
Honour, and everlasting love his mourners;
And I still weeping till old time had turn'd me,
And pitying powers above into pure crystal.
With deaths, as thick as frosty nights with stars,
I would have ventur'd.
Tamer, and seasoning of a baser nature,
He set your woman on ye to betray ye,
Your bawdy woman, or your sin solicitor;
I pray but think what this man may deserve now,
I know he did, and did it to please me too.
I am a woman, and a wrong'd one too,
And sensible I am of my abuses,
Sir, you have loved me.
And ye are a fool, a tame fool, if you spare him.
And I beseech your Grace be angry with me.
And will fall off I hope, I'll ply her still.
Thou abused innocence, I suffer with thee,
If I should give him life, he would still betray thee;
That fool that fears to dye for such a Beauty,
Would for the same fear sell thee unto misery.
I do not say he would have been Bawd himself too.
It tastes too hot of practis'd wickedness,
There can be no such man, I am sure no Gentleman;
Shall my anger make me whore, and not my pleasure?
My sudden inconsiderate rage abuse me?
Come home again, my frighted faith, my vertue,
Home to my heart again; he be a Bawd too?
And not an honour for a Prince to lye;
Fye, Sir, a person of your rank to trifle,
I know you do lye.
To tell you openly you lye too basely.
Thou all Pandora's Box in a Kings figure,
Thou hast almost whor'd my weak belief already,
And like an Engineer blown up mine honour;
But I shall countermine, and catch your mischief,
This little Fort you seek, I shall man nobly,
And strongly too, with chaste obedience
To my dear Lord, with vertuous thoughts that scorn ye.
Victorious Thomyris ne'r won more honour
In cutting off the Royal head of Cyrus,
Than I shall do in conquering thee; farewel,
And if thou canst be wise, learn to be good too.
'Twill give thee nobler lights than both thine eyes do;
My poor Lord and my self are bound to suffer,
And when I see him faint under your sentence,
I'll tell ye more, it may be then I'll yield too.
[Exeunt.
Enter Rugio, and Fryar Marco, amazed.
A thousand curses on the Slave that cheated us,
The damn'd Slave.
Brought our best care and loyalties to nothing,
'Tis the most fearful poyson, the most potent,
Heaven give him patience; Oh it works most strongly,
And tears him, Lord.
To trust the arrant'st Villain that e'r flatter'd,
The bloodiest too, to believe a few soft words from him,
And give way to his prepar'd tears.
we should be such Block-heads,
As to be taken with his drinking first!
And never think what Antidotes are made for!
Two wooden sculls we have, and we deserve to be hang'd for't;
For certainly it will be laid to our charge;
As certain too, it will dispatch him speedily,
Which way to turn, or what to—
Enter Alphonso, carried on a Couch by two Fryars.
Open thou Eastern Gate, and blow upon me,
Distill thy cold dews, O thou icy Moon,
And Rivers run through my afflicted spirit.
I am all fire, fire, fire, the raging dog star
Reigns in my bloud, Oh which way shall I turn me?
Ætna, and all his flames burn in my head,
Fling me into the Ocean or I perish;
Dig, dig, dig, till the Springs fly up,
The cold, cold Springs, that I may leap into 'em,
And bathe my scorcht Limbs in their purling Pleasures.
Or shoot me up into the higher Region,
Where treasures of delicious Snow are nourisht,
And Banquets of sweet Hail.
Upon the Altar lay my willing body,
And pile your Wood up, fling your holy incense;
And as I turn me you shall see all flame,
Consuming flame, stand off me, or you are ashes.
And let me hug her, Fryer, they say she's cold,
Infinite cold Devotion cannot warm her;
Draw me a river of false lovers tears
Clean through my breast, they are dull, cold, and forgetful,
And will give ease, let Virgins sigh upon me,
Forsaken souls, the sighs are precious,
Let them all sigh: Oh hell, hell, hell, Oh horror.
Like Phaeton, in all consuming flashes
I am inclosed, let me fly, let me fly, give room;
Betwixt the cold Bear, and the raging Lyon
Lyes my safe way; O for a cake of Ice now,
To clap unto my heart to comfort me;
Decrepit Winter hang upon my shoulders,
And let me wear thy frozen Isicles
Like Jewels round about my head, to cool me;
My eyes burn out, and sink into their sockets,
And my infected brain like brimstone boils,
I live in Hell, and several furies vex me;
O carry me where no Sun ever shew'd yet
A face of comfort, where the earth is Crystal,
Never to be dissolv'd, where naught inhabits
But night and cold, and nipping frosts, and winds
That cut the stubborn rocks and make them shiver;
Set me there friends.
Fill all the cups and all the antick vessels,
And borrow pots, let me have drink enough,
Bring all the worthy drunkards of the time,
The experienc'd drunkards, let me have them all,
And let them drink their worst, I'le make them Ideots,
I'le lye upon my Back and swallow Vessels;
Have Rivers made of cooling Wine run through me,
Not stay for this mans health, or this great Princes,
But take an Ocean, and begin to all; Oh, oh.
And to his warm bed presently.
His hot fit lessens, Heaven put in a hand now,
And save his life; there's drink Sir in your chamber,
And all cool things.
Enter Valerio and Evanthe.
To make your self no man, to a fresh Maid too,
A longing Maid, upon her wedding night also,
To give her such a dor.
Or like a Gentleman under the Surgions hands,
And so not able, there had been some colour,
But wretchedly to take a weakness to ye,
A fearful weakness, to abuse your body,
And let a lye work like a spell upon ye,
A lye, to save your life.
To wrong your love; hast thou a noble spirit?
And canst thou look up to the peoples loves,
That call thee worthy, and not blush, Valerio?
Canst thou behold me that thou hast betray'd thus,
And no shame touch thee?
And shews thee falser still; the King himself,
Though he be wicked, and our Enemy,
But juster than thou art, in pity of my injuries,
Told me the truth.
Thy lov'd poor life, thou gav'st up all my duties.
I have weigh'd 'em both, and find 'em but one fortune,
But Kings are men, and live as men, and dye too,
Have the affections men have, and their falsehoods;
Indeed they have more power to make 'em good;
The King's to blame, it was to save thy life Wench,
Thy innocent life, that I forbore thy bed,
For if I had toucht thee thou hadst dyed, he swore it.
To make a story for the time that follows,
As he that married me? what weakness, Sir,
Or disability do you see in me,
Either in mind or body? to defraud me
Of such an opportunity? Do you think I married you
Only for pleasure, or content in lust?
To lull you in my arms, and kiss you hourly?
Was this my end? I might have been a Queen, Sir,
If that had caught me, and have known all delicates;
There's few that would have shun'd so fair an offer.
O thou unfaithful fearful man, thou hast kill'd me,
In saving me this way, thou hast destroy'd me,
Rob'd me of that thy love can never give more;
To be unable to save me? O misery!
Had I been my Valerio, thou Evanthe,
I would have lyen with thee under a Gallows,
Though the Hangman had been my Hymen, and the furies
With iron whips and forks, ready to torture me.
I would have hug'd thee too, though Hell had gap'd at me;
Save my life! that expected to dye bravely,
That would have woo'd it too: Would I had married
An Eunuch, that had truly no ability,
Then such a fearful lyar, thou hast done me
A scurvy courtesie, that has undone me.
Made up so strongly, I'le take my share with ye,
Nay, dear, I'le learn of you.
My anger's gone, good my Lord pardon me,
And if I have offended, be more angry,
It was a Womans flash, a sudden valour,
That could not lye conceal'd.
And pleasures of chaste love, I wonder at ye,
You appear the vision of a Heaven unto me,
Stuck all with stars of honour shining clearly,
And all the motions of your mind Celestial;
Man is a lump of Earth, the best man spiritless,
To such a woman; all our lives and actions
But counterfeits in Arras to this vertue;
Chide me again, you have so brave an anger,
And flows so nobly from you, thus deliver'd,
That I could suffer like a Child to hear ye,
Nay make my self guilty of some faults to honour ye.
And with a cunning patience checkt my impudence;
Once more forgiveness? [She kneels.
And this my love? Heavens mercy be upon us;
But did he tell no more?
'Tis true, she did her best, a bad old woman,
It stir'd me, Sir.
Though as I am a man, I am full of weakness,
And may slip happily into some ignorance,
Yet at my years to be a bawd, and cozen
Mine own hopes with my Doctrine—
Now we are both of one mind, let's be happy,
I am no more a wanting man, Evanthe,
Thy warm embraces shall dissolve that impotence,
And my cold lye shall vanish with thy kisses;
You hours of night be long, as when Alcmena
Lay by the lusty side of Jupiter;
Keep back the day, and hide his golden beams,
Where the chaste watchful morning may not find 'em;
Old doting Tython hold Aurora fast,
And though she blush the day-break from her cheeks,
Conceal her still; thou heavy Wain stand firm,
And stop the quicker revolutions;
Or if the day must come, to spoil our happiness,
Thou envious Sun peep not upon our pleasure,
Thou that all Lovers curse, be far off from us.
Enter Castruchio with Guard.
And chaste delights—
It is the Kings command, who bids me tell ye,
To morrow is your last hour.
In Heaven we shall meet, Captain, where King Frederick
Dare not appear to part us.
You shall find, Sir, you have a friend to honour ye.
They that are sad on Earth, in Heaven shall sing. [Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter Fryer Marco, and Rugio.
Upon his souls health, that he be not cruel,
Told him Valerio's worth among the people,
And how it must be punisht in posterity,
Though he scape now.
And honours much Valerio.
For now me thinks my heart is light again,
And pale fear fled.
The Rogue against his will has sav'd his life,
A desperate poison has re-cur'd the Prince.
And now I have found it a most excellent Physick,
It wrought upon the dull cold misty parts,
That clog'd his soul, which was another poison,
A desperate too, and found such matter there,
And such abundance also to resist it,
And wear away the dangerous heat it brought with it,
The pure blood and the spirits scap'd untainted.
Enter Castruchio.
Enter Alphonso and Fryers.
How does your Royal charge? that I might see once.
Me thinks the air's sweet to me, and company
A thing I covet now, Castruchio.
That I may be sure I sleep not.
Ever among the rank of good men counted,
I have been absent long out of the world,
A dream I have lived, how does it look Castruchio?
What wonders are abroad?
And to the living hope of brave Alphonso,
The noble heir of nature, and of honour,
I fasten my Allegeance.
Good Sir, be close again, Heaven has restor'd ye,
And by miraculous means, to your fair health,
And made the instrument your enemies malice,
Which does prognosticate your noble fortune;
Let not our careless joy lose you again, Sir,
Help to deliver ye to a further danger,
I pray you pass in, and rest a while forgotten,
For if your Brother come to know you are well again,
And ready to inherit as your right,
Before we have strength enough to assure your life,
What will become of you? and what shall we
Deserve in all opinions that are honest,
For our loss of judgment, care, and loyalty?
And blest us all, let our indeavours follow,
To preserve this blessing to our timely uses,
And bring it to the noble end we aim at;
Let our cares work now, and our eyes pick out
An hour to shew ye safely to your Subjects,
A secure hour.
Once more the tender of my duty.
Enter the Fool, and Podrano.
Those strange new faces?
Dainty fine Suitors to the Widow Lady,
Thou hadst best make one of 'em, thou wilt be hang'd as handsomly
At the Months end, and as much joy follow'd,
And 'twere to morrow; as many mourning Bawds for thee,
And holy Nuns, whose vestal fire ne'r vanishes,
In sackcloth Smocks, as if thou wert Heir apparent
To all the impious Suburbs, and the sink-holes.
Thou art to blame, I take thee for a Gentleman,
But why does not thy Lord and Master marry her?
He may make bold with his own flesh and blood,
For o' my conscience there's none else will trust him;
Then he may pleasure the King at a dead pinch too,
Without a Mephestophilus, such as thou art,
And ingross the Royal disease like a true Subject.
I have lost a Ducket else, which I would be loth to venture
Without certainty. They appear. [Suitors pass by.
And read her over once a day, like a hard report,
Feed his dull eye, and keep his fingers itching;
For any thing else, she may appeal to a Parliament,
Sub Pœna's and Post Kaes have spoil'd his Codpiece;
There's a Physician too, older than he,
And Gallen Gallinacius, but he has lost his spurs,
He would be nibling too.
Searcloths and Sirrups glew him close together,
He would fall a pieces else; mending of she Patients,
And then trying whether they be right or no
In his own person, there's the honest care on't,
Has mollifi'd the man; if he do marry her,
And come but to warm him well at Cupids Bonfire,
He will bulge so subtilly and suddenly,
You may snatch him up by parcels, like a Sea Rack:
Will your Worship go, and look upon the rest, Sir?
And hear what they can say for themselves.
Enter Camillo, Menallo, Cleanthes, and Castruchio.