Am.
Here's none will bite, Sir.
Lean.
God forbid Lady.
Am.
'Pray come nearer.
Lean.
Yes forsooth.
Bar.
'Prethee observe these men: just as they stand
here,
And see this Lady do not alter 'em,
And be not partial, Pupil.
Lean.
No indeed Sir.
Bar.
Let her not move a pawn, I'le come back
presently,
Nay you shall know I am a Conquerour.
Have an eye Pupil—
[Exit.
Am.
Can ye play at Chess Sir?
Lean.
A little, Lady.
Am.
But you cannot tell me
How to avoid this Mate, and win the Game
too;
H'as noble eyes: ye dare not friend me so
far.
Lean.
I dare do any thing that's in mans power
Lady,
To be a friend to such a noble beauty.
Am.
This is no Lawyers language: I pray ye tell
me,
Whither may I remove, Ye see I am set
round,
To avoid my husband?
Lean.
I shall tell ye happily,
But happily you will not be
instructed.
Am.
Yes, and thank ye too, shall I move this
man?
Lean.
Those are unseemly: move one can serve
ye,
Can honour ye, can love ye.
Am.
'Pray ye tell quickly,
He will return, and then.
Lean.
I'le tell ye instantly,
Move me, and I will move any way to serve
ye,
Move your heart this way, Lady.
Am.
How?
Lean.
'Pray ye hear me.
Behold the sport of love, when he is
imperious,
Behold the slave of love.
Am.
Move my Queen this way?
Sure, he's some worthy man: then if he hedge
me,
Or here to open him.
Lean.
Do but behold me,
If there be pity in you, do but view
me,
But view the misery I have undertaken
For you, the povertie.
Am.
He will come presently.
Now play your best Sir, though I lose this Rook
here,
Yet I get libertie.
Lean.
I'le seise your fair hand,
And warm it with a hundred, hundred
kisses.
The God of love warm your desires but
equal,
That shall play my game now.
Am.
What do you mean Sir?
Why do you stop me?
Lean.
That ye may intend me.
The time has blest us both: love bids us use
it.
I am a Gentleman nobly descended,
Young to invite your love, rich to maintain
it.
I bring a whole heart to ye, thus I give
it,
And to those burning altars thus I
offer,
And thus, divine lips, where perpetual Spring
grows—
Am.
Take that, ye are too saucy.
Lean.
How, proud Lady?
Strike my deserts?
Am.
I was to blame.
Enter
Bartolus.
Bar.
What wife, there?
Heaven keep my house from thieves.
Lean.
I am wretched:
Opened, discovered, lost to my wishes.
I shall be whooted at.
Bar.
What noise was this, wife?
Why dost thou smile?
Lean.
This proud thing will betray me.
Bar. Why these lie here? what angry,
dear?
Am.
No, Sir,
Only a chance, your pupil said he plaid
well,
And so indeed he do's: he undertook for
ye,
Because I would not sit so long time
idle,
I made my liberty, avoided your mate,
And he again as cunningly endangered
me,
Indeed he put me strangely to it. When
presently
Hearing you come, & having broke his ambush
too,
Having the second time brought off my Queen
fair,
I rose o'th' sudden smilingly to shew
ye,
My apron caught the Chesse-board, and the
men,
And there the noise was.
Bar.
Thou art grown a Master,
For all this I shall beat ye.
Lean.
Or I, Lawyer,
For now I love her more, 'twas a neat
answer,
And by it hangs a mighty hope, I thank
her,
She gave my pate a sound knock that it rings
yet,
But you shall have a sounder if I live
lawyer,
My heart akes yet, I would not be in that
fear—
Bar.
I am glad ye are a gamester, Sir,
sometimes
For recreation we two shall fight hard at
it.
Am.
He will prove too hard for me.
Lean.
I hope he shall do,
But your Chess-board is too hard for my head, line
that, good Lady.
Bar.
I have been attoning two most wrangling
neighbours,
They had no mony, therefore I made
even.
Come, let's go in and eat, truly I am
hungry.
Lean.
I have eaten already, I must intreat your
pardon.
Bar.
Do as ye please, we shall expect ye at
supper.
He has got a little heart, now it seems
handsomly.
Am.
You'l get no little head, if I do not look to
ye.
Lean.
If ever I do catch thee again thou
vanity—
Am.
I was to blame to be so rash, I am
sorry—
[Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter Don Henrique, Violante,
Ascanio.
H[en].
Hear but my reasons.
Viol.
O my patience, hear 'em!
Can cunning falshood colour an excuse
With any seeming shape of borrowed
truth?
Extenuate this wofull wrong, not
error?
Hen.
You gave consent that, to defeat my
brother
I should take any course.
Vio.
But not to make
The cure more loathsom than the foul
disease:
Was't not enough you took me to your
bed,
Tir'd with loose dalliance, and with emptie
veins,
All those abilities spent before and
wasted,
That could confer the name of mother on
me?
But that (to perfect my account of
sorrow
For my long barr[en]ness) you must heighten
it
By shewing to my face, that you were
fruitfull
Hug'd in the base embraces of another?
If Solitude that dwelt beneath my
roof,
And want of children was a torment to
me,
What end of my vexation to behold
A bastard to upbraid me with my wants?
And hear the name of father paid to
ye,
Yet know my self no mother,
What can I say?
Hen.
Shall I confess my fault and ask your
pardon?
Will that content ye?
Vio.
If it could make void,
What is confirm'd in Court: no, no, Don
Henrique,
You shall know that I find my self
abus'd,
And adde to that, I have a womans
anger,
And while I look upon this Basilisk,
Whose envious eyes have blasted all my
comforts