Some of Lusts Bloud-hounds have seiz'd upon her:
The Girl is hurried, as the devil were with 'em
And help'd their speed.
A well-prepared Lover may do as much
In hot bloud as this, and perform't hon[e]stly.
And that's a thief of a good quality,
Most commonly he brings his theft home again,
Though with a little shame.
Fall'n upon me: Paris (the Millers son)
Her brother, dares not venture home again
Till better tidings follow of his Sister.
Had I gone a Boot-haling, I should as soon
Have stoll'n him as his Sister: Marry then,
To render him back in the same plight he is
May be costly: his flesh is not maintain'd with little.
He cries all to be pittied yonder.
To see him cry, sure.
Antonio, keep this charge; I have fears
Move me to lay it on you: Pray forbear
The ways of your enemies, the Bellides.
I have reason for my Injunction, Sir. [Exeunt.
Enter Aminta (as a Page with a Letter.)
Though on the enemies part: the Lady Ismenia.
In your answer, 't must be done heedfully.
Out of that house.
Your hates cannot last till I wear a sword.
To manifest his shame: 'tis my advantage;
While our bloud's under us, we keep above:
But then we fall, when we do fall in love. [Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima.
Enter Julio and Franio.
Rob'd [me] of all the joys I had on earth.
You may perceive it by my loud exclaims,
Which must rise higher yet.
If thy throats tempest could o'erturn my house,
What satisfaction were it for thy child:
Turn thee the right way to thy journeys end.
Wilt have her where she is not?
And here must I begin my footing after;
From whence, until I meet a pow'r to punish,
I will not rest: You are not quick to grief.
Your hearing's a dead sense. Were yours the loss,
Had you a Daughter [stoln], perhaps be-whor'd,
(For to what other end should come the thief?)
You'ld play the Miller then, be loud and high.
But being not a sorrow of your own,
You have no help nor pity for another.
And let a floud of grief in; a buried grief
Thy voice hath wak'd again: a grief as old
As likely 'tis thy child is; friend, I tell thee,
I did once lose a Daughter.
Beseech you then, how did you bear her loss?
Ever return a satisfaction:
The wild beasts had her in her swathing clothes.
Enter Gilian.
Your Daughters in the Pound, I have found where;
'Twill cost [you] dear, her freedom.
And free her without pay:
Horse-locks nor chains shall hold her from me.
I now have time to speak alone with grief. [Exit.
But not my Cattle: I'll have her again (Gill.)
I'll sell my Mill, and buy a Roring.
I'll batter down his house, and make a Stewes on't.
And hear me? the King's near by in progress,
Here I have got our supplication drawn,
And there's the way to help us.
I will not fear to give it to the King:
To his own hands (God bless him) will I give it,
And he shall set the Law upon their shoulders,
And hang 'em all that had a hand in it.
The Dogs shall eat him in Lent, there's Cats-meat
And Dogs-meat enough about him.
Shall pay for it: He shall pay for a new Maiden-head.
If she be a whore once, I'll renounce her,
You know, if every man had his right,
She's none of our child, but a meer foundling,
(And I can guess the owner for a need too)
We have but foster'd her.
I'll cut your tongue out, if you tell those tales.
Hark, hark, these Toaters tell us the King's coming:
Get you gone; I'll see if I can find him. [Exeunt.
Enter Lisauro, Tersa, Pedro, and Moncado.
And keeps his way on to Valentia,
There ends the progress.
And dines i'th' fields: the Court is all in readiness.
This light French Demi-launce that follows us.
I owe him too much to be inward with him.
Of some four scarlet cloaks, and two lac'd suits
Hangs on the file still, like a fearful Comet
Makes me keep off.
I thank his faith, for a matter of three hundred.
I do not love to see my sins before me.
To see the Court, and glory in their debtors.
To remember their names that I owe money to,
'Tis not gentile; I shun 'em like the plague ever.
A French-man, and a founder of new Fashions:
The revolutions of all shapes and habits
Run madding through his brains. [Enter Vertigo.
Makes him a mighty man: he comes, have at ye.
I have been looking—
You know the hard time.
Good faith the least thought in my heart, your love Gentlemen,
Your love's enough for me: Money? hang money:
Let me preserve your love.
And we our credit, you would see the Court?
The Pastry, and the Pantry.
Of every Office: and be free of all too:
That he may say when he comes home in glory.
And say it home too: Shall I see the King also?
In their French clothes: shalt ride a hunting with him,
Shalt have a Mistriss too: we must fool handsomely
To keep him in belief, we honor him,
He may call on us else.
Let him call at home in's own house for salt butter.
And desect his doublets: that thou maist be perfect.
Fain come to see the Wardrobe.
And see the secret of it, dive into it:
Sleep in the Wardrobe, and have Revelations
Of fashions five years hence.
Ye infinitely honor me.
Or within the compass of a Courtier.
The privat[st] place, the stool, and where 'tis emptied.
In such abundance.
The order that the King keeps when he comes
To open view, that thou may'st tell thy neighbors
Over a shoulder of mutton, thou hast seen something,
Nay, thou shalt present the King for this time.
Stand there I say, and put on a sad countenance,
Mingled with height: be cover'd, and reserved;
Move like the Sun, by soft degrees, and glorious,
Into your order (Gentlemen) uncover'd,
The King appears; We'll sport with you a while, Sir,
I am sure you are merry with us all the year long (Tailor)
Move softer still, keep in that fencing leg; Monsieur,
Turn to no side.
Enter Franio out of breath.
Mistake him, and we are made.
The glorious King, I know him by his gay clothes.
May it please your gracious Majesty to consider
A poor mans case?
By a great man that may do ill by authority;
Poor honest men are hang'd for doing less, Sir,
My child is stolen, the Count Otrante stole her;
A pretty child she is, although I say it,
A handsome Mother, he means to make a whore of her,
A silken whore, his knaves have filch'd her from me;
He keeps lewd knaves, that do him beastly offices:
I kneel for Justice. Shall I have it Sir?
Enter King Philippo, and Lords.
Tailor, stand off, here ends your aparition:
Miller, turn round, and there address your paper,
There, there's the King indeed.
I thought he had been a King, he was so gallant:
There's none here wears such gold.
You have golden business sure; because I am homely
Clad, in no glitt'ring suit, I am not look'd on:
Ye fools that wear gay cloaths, love to [be] gap'd at,
What are you better when your end calls on you?
Will gold preserve ye from the grave? or jewels?
Get golden Minds, and fling away your Trappings
Unto your bodies, minister warm raiments,
Wholsome and good; glitter within and spare not:
Let my [C]ourt have rich souls, their suits I weigh not:
And what are you that took such State upon ye?
Are ye a Prince?
We owe some money to him, and't like your Majesty.
And you less saucy, Sir: and leave this place:
Your Pressing-iron will make no perfect Courtier:
Goe stitch at home, and cozen your poor neighbors,
Show such another pride, I'll have ye whipt for't,
And get worse clothes, these but proclaim your fellony.
And what's your Paper?
Is not the fellow mad, Sir?
I am in my wits, I am a labouring man,
And we have seldome leisure to run mad,
We have other business to employ our heads in,
We have little Wit to lose too: if we complain,
And if a heavie lo[r]d lie on [our] shoulders,
Worse than a sack of Meal, and oppress our poverties,
We are mad streight, and whop'd, and ty'd in fetters,
Able to make a horse mad, as you use us,
You are mad for nothing, and no man dare proclaim it,
In you a wildness is a noble trick,
And cherish'd in ye, and all men must love it:
Oppressions of all sorts, sit like new clothes,
Neatly and handsomely upon your Lordships:
And if we kick when your honors spur us,
We are Knaves and Jades, and ready for the Justice.
I am a true Miller.
An honest and substantial fellow.
And to the point: Greatness begets much rudeness,
How dare you (Sirrah) 'gainst so main a person,
A man of so much Noble note and honor,
Put up this base complaint? Must every Peasant
Upon a saucy Will affront great Lords!
All fellows (Miller?)
I was told one greatness would protect another,
As beams support their fellows; now I find it:
If't please your Grace to have me hang'd, I am ready,
'Tis but a Miller, and a Thief dispa[t]ch'd:
Though I steal bread, I steal no flesh to tempt me.
I have a wife, and 't please him to have her too,
With all my heart; 'twill make my charge the less, Sir,
She'll hold him play awhile: I have a boy too,
He's able to instruct his Honors hogs,
Or rub his horse-heels: when it please his Lordship
He may [make] him his slave too, or his bawd:
The boy is well bred, can exhort his Sister:
For me, the Prison, or the Pillory,
To lose my [goods], and have mine ears cropt off;
Whipt like a Top, and have a paper stuck before me,
For abominable honesty to his own Daughter,
I can endure, Sir: the Miller has a stout heart,
[T]ough as his Toal-pin.
Is it his Daughter that the people call
The Millers fair Maid?
Be sure you hang me, I will ask no courtesie:
Your Grace may have a Daughter, think of that, Sir,
She may be fair, and she may be abused too:
A King is not exempted from these cases:
Stolen from your loving care.
That mine is in at this hour: I'll assure your Grace
The Lord wants a water-Mill, and means to grind with her
Would I had his stones to set, I would fit him for it.
And keep this private all upon your Loyalties:
To morrow morning, though I am now beyond him,
And the less lookt for, I'll break my Fast with the good Count.
No more, away, all to our sports, be silent. [Exeunt.
And go to dinner when thou wilt, Vertigo,
We must needs follow the King.
I'll send thee a shoulder of Venison:
Go home, go home, or if thou wilt disguise,
I'll help thee to a place to feed the dogs.
Nor no Grace, Gentlemen?
The King has not broke his Fast yet.
The next Term, Gentlemen.
Prethee provide some clothes, and dost thou hear Vertigo
Commend me to thy Wife: I want some shirts too.
When they are clear we'll come.
And provident, I shall never get home else. [Exeunt.
Scæna Secunda.
Enter Otrante and Florimell.
Let me with love and gentleness injoy that
That may be still preserv'd with love, and long'd for:
If violence lay rough hold, I shall hate thee,
And after I have enjoy'd thy Maiden-head,
Thou wilt appear so stale and ugly to me
I shall despise thee, cast thee off.
Begin it now, and open your doors to me,
I do confess I am ugly; let me go, Sir:
A Gipsey-girl: Why would your Lordship touch me?
Fye, 'tis not noble: I am homely bred,
Course, and unfit for you: why do you flatter me?
There be young Ladies, many that will love ye,
That will dote on ye: you [are] a handsome Gentleman,
What will they say when once they know your quality?
A Lord, a Miller? take your Toal dish with ye:
You that can deal with Gudgins, and course flower,
'Tis pitty you should tast what manchet means:
Is this fit Sir, for your repute and honor?
Between our births, [our] breeding, arts, conditions,
And where these are at difference, ther's no liking:
This hour it may be I seem handsome to you,
And you are taken with variety
More than with beauty: to morrow when you have enjoy'd me,
Your heat and lust asswag'd, and come to examine
Out of a cold and penitent condition
What you have done, whom you have shar'd your love with,
Made partner of your bed, how it will vex ye,
How you will curse the devil that betrayd ye,
And what shall become of me then?
As precious as this beauty shew'd unto ye,
You'll kick me out of dores, you will whore and ban me:
And if I prove with child with your fair issue,
Give me a pension of five pound a year
To breed your Heir withall, and so good speed me.
Keep my self honest Sir; there's the brave keeping:
If you will marry me.
To be your wife, and it is fit you scorn me,
Yet such as I have crown'd the lives of great ones:
To be your whore I am sure I am too worthy,
(For by my troth Sir, I am truly honest)
And that's an honor equal to your greatness.
Give me that peace, and then you give abundance,
I know ye do but try me, ye are noble,
All these are but to try my modesty,
If you should find me easie, and once coming,
I see your eyes already how they would fright me;
I see your honest heart how it would swell
And burst it self into a grief against me:
Your tongue in noble anger, now, even now Sir,
Ready to rip my loose thoughts to the bottom,
And lay my shame unto my self, wide open:
You are a noble Lord, you pitty poor maids,
The people are mistaken in your courses:
You, like a father, try 'em to the uttermost.
As they do Gold: you purge the dross from them,
And make them shine.
I love ye to enjoy [ye]: I have stol'n ye
To enjoy ye now, not to be fool'd with circumstance,
Yield willingly, or else.
I will not be delay'd, a poor base wench
That I, in curtesie, make offer to,
Argue with me?
Do not my Lord, it will become ye poorly:
Your courtesie may do much on my nature,
For I am kind as you are, and as tender:
If you compel, I have my strengths to flye to,
My honest thoughts, and those are guards about me:
I can cry too, and noise enough I dare make,
And I have curses, that will call down thunder,
For all I am a poor wench, heaven will hear me:
My body you may force, but my will never;
And be sure I do not live if you do force me,
Or have no tongue to tell your beastly Story,
For if I have, and if there be a justice.
And be your friend again.
I'll lie with thy wit, though I miss thy honesty:
Is this a wench for a Boors hungry bosom?
A morsel for a Peasants base embraces?
And must I starve, and the meat in my mouth?
I'll none of that.
Enter Gerasto.
Have ye done the deed?
Was there ever wench brought up in a mill, and honest?
That were a wonder worth a Chronicle,
Is your belief so large? what did she say to ye?
And preach'd unto me, how unfit, and homely,
Nay how dishonourable it would seem in me
To act my will; popt me i'th mouth with modesty.
trick ever.
What fame and loud opinion would tell of me:
A wife she touch'd at.
Was she so bold? these home-spun things are [d]evils,
They'll tell ye a thousand lies, if you'll believe 'em;
And stand upon their honors like great Ladies,
They'll speak unhappily too: good words to cozen ye,
And outwardly seem Saints: they'll cry down-right also,
But 'tis for anger that you do not crush 'em.
Did she not talk of being with child?
And then a pension nam'd?
I offer'd any thing, but she refus'd all,
Refus'd it with a confident hate.
You should have taken her then, turn'd her, and tew'd her
I'th'strength of all her resolution, flatter'd her,
And shak't her stubborn will: she would have thank'd ye,
She would have lov'd ye infinitely, they must seem modest,
It is their parts: if you had plaid your part Sir.
And handl'd her as men do unman'd Hawks,
Cast her, and malde her up in good clean linnen,
And there have coyed her, you had caught her heart-strings.
These tough Virginities they blow like white thornes
In storms and tempests.
As cold, and harden'd, as the Virgin Crystal.
Some have no pleasure but in violence;
To be torn in pieces is their paradise:
'Tis ordinary in our Countrey, Sir, to ravish all
They will not give a penny for their sport
Unless they be put to it, and terribly,
And then they swear they'll hang the man comes near 'em,
And swear it on his lips too.
I have an other course, and I will follow it,
I command you, and do you command your fellows,
That when you see her next, disgrace, and scorn her,
I'll seem to put her out o'th' dores o'th' sodain
And leave her to conjecture, then seize on her.
Away, be ready straight.
Enter Florimell.
And like a wise wench weigh'd a friends displeasure,
Repented your proud thoughts, and cast your scorn off.
Nor scorn I any thing that's just and honest.
Kindness would far compell ye: I am kind to ye,
And mean to exceed that way.
As far as it agreed with modesty,
With honour, and with honesty I would yield to ye:
Good my Lord: take some other Theam: for Love,
Alass, I never knew yet what it meant,
And on the sudden Sir, to run through Volumes
Of his most mystick art, 'tis most impossible;
Nay, to begin with lust, which is an Heresie,
A foul one too; to learn that in my childhood:
O good my Lord.
Your modesty, and honesty, is that all?
I will not force ye.
I am yet not mad.
It may be you expect.
And a discharge (my Lord) that's all I look for.
A fool (it may be too.)
Good my Lord think me.
So fare-ye-well. [Exit.
This is hot love, that vanisheth like vapors;
His Ague's off, his burning fits are well quench'd,
I thank heaven for't: his men, they will not force me.]
Enter Gerasto and Servants.
Thou base unprovident whore?
Is your Mill broken that you stand so useless?
Some base discarded thing my Lord has found her,
He would not have turn'd her off o'th'sudden else.
With every Smig and Smug.
For his Royal hire between his fingers, Gentlewoman.
Was Bawd to her there, and kept a Tipling house,
You must even to it again: a modest function.
Thus basely, wretchedly, though your Lord bid ye,
But he that knows.
You meat for every man: a little meal
Flung in your face, makes ye appear so proud.
If ye be men, to use a poor girl better;
I wrong not you, I am sure I call you Gentlemen.
Enter Otrante.