Ser. Here’s a person would speak with you, sir.
Hip. Hah!
Ser. A parson,[161] sir, would speak with you.
Hip. Vicar?
Ser. Vicar! no, sir, has too good a face to be
a vicar yet; a youth, a very youth.
Hip. What youth? of man or woman? lock the doors.
Ser. If it be a woman, marrow-bones and potato-pies[162]
keep me from[163] meddling with her, for the
thing has got the breeches! ’tis a male varlet[164] sure,
my lord, for a woman’s tailor ne’er measured him.
Hip. Let him give thee his message, and be gone.
Ser. He says he’s signor Matheo’s man; but I
know he lies.
Hip. How dost thou know it?
Ser. 'Cause he has ne’er a beard: ’tis his boy, I
think, sir, whosoe’er paid for his nursing.
Hip. Send him, and keep the door. [Exit Servant.
Fata[165] si liceat mihi [Reads.
Fingere arbitrio meo,
Temperem zephyro levi
Vela—
I’d sail, were I to choose, not in the ocean;
Cedars are shaken when shrubs do feel no bruise—
Enter Bellafront dressed as a page, with a letter.
How, from Matheo?
Bel. Yes, my lord.
Hip. Art sick?
Bel. Not all in health, my lord.
Hip. Keep off.
Bel. I do.—
Hard fate when women are compell’d to woo! [Aside.
Hip. This paper does speak nothing.
Bel. Yes, my lord,
Matter of life it speaks, and therefore writ
In hidden character: to me instruction
My master gives, and, 'less you please to stay
Till you both meet, I can the text display.
Hip. Do so; read out.
Bel. I am already out:
Look on my face, and read the strangest story!
Hip. What, villain, ho!
Ser. Call you, my lord?
Hip. Thou slave, thou hast let in the devil!
Ser. Lord bless us, where? he’s not cloven, my
lord, that I can see; besides, the devil goes more
like a gentleman than a page: good my lord, buon
coraggio!
Hip. Thou hast let in a woman in man’s shape,
And thou art damned for’t.
Ser. Not damn’d, I hope,
For putting in a woman to a lord.
Hip. Fetch me my rapier—do not; I shall kill thee.
Purge this infected chamber of that plague
That runs upon me thus; slave, thrust her hence.
Ser. Alas, my lord, I shall never be able to
thrust her hence without help!—Come, mermaid,
you must to sea again.
Bel. Hear me but speak, my words shall be all music;
Hear me but speak. [Knocking within.
Hip. Another beats the door;
T'other she-devil! look.
Ser. Why, then, hell’s broke loose.
Hip. Hence; guard the chamber; let no more come on; [Exit Servant.
One woman serves for man’s damnation.—
Beshrew thee, thou dost make me violate
The chastest and most sanctimonious vow
That e’er was enter’d in the court of heaven!
I was, on meditation’s spotless wings,
[166]Upon my journey thither: like a storm
Thou beats my ripen’d cogitations
Flat to the ground; and like a thief dost stand,
To steal devotion from the holy land.
Bel. If woman were thy mother—if thy heart
Be not all marble, or if’t marble be,
Let my tears soften it, to pity me—
I do beseech thee, do not thus with scorn
Destroy a woman!
Hip. Woman, I beseech thee,
Get thee some other suit, this fits thee not;
I would not grant it to a kneeling queen.
I cannot love thee, nor I must not: see
[Points to Infelice’s picture.
The copy of that obligation,
Where my soul’s bound in heavy penalties.
Bel. She’s dead, you told me; she’ll let fall her suit.
Hip. My vows to her fled after her to heaven:
Were thine eyes clear as mine, thou might’st behold her
Watching upon yon battlements of stars,
How I observe them. Should I break my bond,
This board would rive in twain, these wooden lips
Call me most perjur’d villain. Let it suffice,
I ha’ set thee in the path: is’t not a sign
I love thee, when with one so most most dear
I’ll have thee fellow?
[167] all are fellows there.
Bel. Be greater than a king; save not a body,
But from eternal shipwreck keep a soul:
If not, and that again sin’s path I tread,
The grief be mine, the guilt fall on thy head!
Hip. Stay, and take physic for it; read this book;
Ask counsel of this head, what’s to be done;
He’ll strike it dead, that ’tis damnation
Though
[169] heaven can not allure you to do well,
From doing ill let hell fright you: and learn this,
The soul whose bosom lust did never touch
Is God’s fair bride, and maidens’ souls are such:
The soul that, leaving chastity’s white shore,
Swims in hot sensual streams, is the devil’s whore.—
Re-enter Servant with letter.
How now? who comes?
Ser. No more knaves,[170] my lord, that wear smocks:
here’s a letter from doctor Benedict; I would not
enter his man, though he had hairs at his mouth,
for fear he should be a woman, for some women
have beards; marry, they are half witches.[171]—’Slid,
you are a sweet youth to wear a codpiece,[172] and have
no pins to stick upon’t!
Hip. I’ll meet the doctor, tell him: yet to-night
I cannot; but at morrow rising sun
I will not fail. [Exit Servant.]—Go, woman; fare thee well. [Exit.
Bel. The lowest fall can be but into hell.
It does not move him; I must therefore fly
From this undoing city, and with tears
Wash off all anger from my father’s brow:
He cannot sure but joy seeing me new born.
A woman honest first, and then turn whore,
Is, as with me, common to thousands more;
But from a strumpet to turn chaste, that sound
Has oft been heard, that woman hardly found. [Exit.
SCENE II.
Enter Fustigo,
Crambo,
and Poh.
[173]
Fus. Hold up your hands, gentlemen: here’s
one, two, three [giving money]—nay, I warrant
they are sound pistols,[174] and without flaws; I had
them of my sister, and I know she uses to put [up]
nothing that’s cracked—three, four, five, six, seven,
eight, and nine: by this hand, bring me but a piece
of his blood, and you shall have nine more. I’ll
lurk in a tavern not far off, and provide supper to
close up the end of the tragedy. The linen-draper’s,
remember. Stand to’t, I beseech you, and play your
parts perfectly.
Cram. Look you, signor, ’tis not your gold that
we weigh——
Fus. Nay, nay, weigh it, and spare not; if it lack
one grain of corn, I’ll give you a bushel of wheat to
make it up.
Cram. But by your favour, signor, which of the
servants is it? because we’ll punish justly.
Fus. Marry, ’tis the head man; you shall taste
him by his tongue; a pretty, tall, prating fellow,
with a Tuscalonian beard.
Poh. Tuscalonian? very good.
Fus. Cod’s life, I was ne’er so thrummed since I
was a gentleman; my coxcomb was dry-beaten, as
if my hair had been hemp.
Cram. We’ll dry-beat some of them.
Fus. Nay, it grew so high, that my sister cried
murder out very manfully: I have her consent, in
a manner, to have him peppered, else I’ll not do’t
to win more than ten cheaters do at a rifling:[175]
break but his pate or so, only his mazer,[176] because
I’ll have his head in a cloth as well as mine; he’s a
linen-draper, and may take enough. I could enter
mine action of battery against him, but we may
'haps be both dead and rotten before the lawyers
would end it.
Cram. No more to do but ensconce yourself
i’ th’ tavern; provide no great cheer, a[177] couple of
capons, some pheasants, plovers, an orangado pie,
or so: but how bloody soe’er the day be, sally you
not forth.
Fus. No, no; nay, if I stir, somebody shall stink;
I’ll not budge; I’ll lie like a dog in a manger.
Cram. Well, well, to the tavern; let not our
supper be raw, for you shall have blood enough,
your bellyful.
Fus. That’s all, so God sa’ me, I thirst after;
blood for blood, bump for bump, nose for nose,
head for head, plaster for plaster; and so farewell.
What shall I call your names? because I’ll leave
word, if any such come to the bar.
Cram. My name is corporal Crambo.
Poh. And mine, lieutenant Poh.
Cram. Poh is as tall[178] a man as ever opened
oyster: I would not be the devil to meet Poh:
farewell.
Fus. Nor I, by this light, if Poh be such a Poh. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Viola and two Prentices.
Vio. What’s a’ clock now?
Sec. P. ’Tis almost twelve.
Vio. That’s well;
The senate will leave wording presently:
But is George ready?
Sec. P. Yes, forsooth, he’s furbish’d.
Vio. Now as you ever hope to win my favour,
Throw both your duties and respects on him
With the like awe as if he were your master:
Let not your looks betray it with a smile
Or jeering glance to any customer;
Keep a true settled countenance, and beware
You laugh not, whatsoe’er you hear or see.
Sec. P. I warrant you, mistress, let us alone for
keeping our countenance; for, if I list, there’s never
a fool in all Milan shall make me laugh, let him
play the fool never so like an ass, whether it be
the fat court-fool or the lean city-fool.
Vio. Enough then; call down George.
Sec. P. I hear him coming.
Vio. Be ready with your legs
[179] then, let me see
How courtesy would become him.—
Enter George in Candido’s apparel.
Gallantly!
Beshrew my blood, a proper seemly man,
Of a choice carriage, walks with a good port!
Geo. I thank you, mistress; my back’s broad
enough, now my master’s gown’s on.
Vio. Sure I should think it were the least of sin
To mistake the master, and to let him in.
Geo. 'Twere a good Comedy of Errors
[180] that, i’faith.
Sec. P. Whist, whist! my master.
Vio. You all know your tasks.—
Enter Candido,[181] dressed as before in the carpet:
he stares at George, and exit.'
God’s my life, what’s that he has got upon’s back?
who can tell?
Geo. That can I, but I will not.
Vio. Girt about him like a madman! what, has
he lost his cloak too? This is the maddest fashion
that e’er I saw. What said he, George, when he
passed by thee?
Geo. Troth, mistress, nothing; not so much as
a bee, he did not hum; not so much as a bawd, he
did not hem; not so much as a cuckold, he did not
ha; neither hum, hem, nor ha; only stared me in
the face, past along, and made haste in, as if my
looks had worked with him to give him a stool.
Vio. Sure he’s vex’d now, this trick has mov’d his spleen;
He’s anger’d now, because he utter’d nothing,
And wordless wrath breaks out more violent.
May be he’ll strive for place when he comes down,
But if thou lov’st me, George, afford him none.
Geo. Nay, let me alone to play my master’s
prize,[182] as long as my mistress warrants me: I’m
sure I have his best clothes on, and I scorn to give
place to any that is inferior in apparel to me; that’s
an axiom, a principle, and is observed as much as
the fashion: let that persuade you then, that I’ll
shoulder with him for the upper hand in the shop
as long as this chain will maintain it.
Vio. Spoke with the spirit of a master, though
with the tongue of a prentice!—
Re-enter Candido dressed as a prentice.
Why, how now, madman? what, in your tricksi-coats?
Can. O peace, good mistress!—
Enter Crambo and Poh.
[183]
See, what you lack?[184] what is’t you buy? pure callicoes,
fine hollands, choice cambrics, neat lawns:
see, what you buy? pray, come near, my master
will use you well, he can afford you a pennyworth.
Vio. Ay, that he can, out of a whole piece of
lawn, i’faith.
Can. Pray, see your choice here, gentlemen.
Vio. O fine fool! what, a madman? a patient
madman? who ever heard of the like! well, sir,
I’ll fit you and your humour presently: what, cross-points?
I’ll untie 'em all in a trice; I’ll vex you,
faith.—Boy, take your cloak; quick, come. [Exit with First Prentice.
Can. Be cover’d,
[185] George; this chain and welted gown
[186]
Bare to this coat? then the world’s upside down.
Geo. Umh, umh, hum.
Cram. That’s the shop,[187] and there’s the fellow.
Poh. Ay, but the master is walking in there.
Cram. No matter; we’ll in.
Poh. ’Sblood, dost long to lie in limbo?
Cram. And[188] limbo be in hell, I care not.
Can. Look you, gentlemen, your choice: cambrics?
Cram. No, sir, some shirting.
Can. You shall.
Cram. Have you none of this striped canvass
for doublets?
Can. None striped, sir, but plain.
Sec. P. I think there be one piece striped within.
Geo. Step, sirrah, and fetch it; hum, hum, hum.
[
Exit Sec. Prentice,[189] and returns with the piece.
Can. Look you, gentlemen,
I’ll make but one spreading; here’s a piece of cloth,
Fine, yet shall wear like iron, ’tis without fault;
Take this upon my word, ’tis without fault.
Cram. Then ’tis better than you, sirrah.
Can. Ay, and a number more. O that each soul
Were but as spotless as this innocent white,
And had as few breaks in it!
Cram. 'Twould have some then:
There was a fray here last day in this shop.
Can. There was indeed a little flea-biting.
Poh. A gentleman had his pate broke; call you
that but a flea-biting?
Can. He had so.
Cram. Zounds, do you stand in’t? [Strikes Candido.
Geo. ’Sfoot, clubs, clubs![190] prentices, down with
'em!—
Enter several Prentices with clubs, who disarm
Crambo and Poh.
Ah, you rogues, strike a citizen in’s shop!
Can. None of you stir, I pray; forbear, good George.
Cram. I beseech you, sir; we mistook our
marks; deliver us our weapons.
Geo. Your head bleeds, sir; cry, clubs!
Can. I say you shall not; pray, be patient;
Give them their weapons.—Sirs, you’re best be gone;
I tell you, here are boys more tough than bears:
Hence, lest more fists do walk about your ears.
Cram.
Poh. } We thank you, sir.
[Exeunt.
Can. You shall not follow them;
Let them alone, pray: this did me no harm;
Troth, I was cold, and the blow made me warm;
I thank 'em for’t: besides, I had decreed
To have a vein prick’d, I did mean to bleed,
So that there’s money sav’d: they’re honest men;
Pray, use 'em well when they appear agen.
[191]Geo. Yes, sir, we’ll use 'em like honest men.
Can. Ay, well said, George, like honest men, though they
Be arrant knaves; for that’s the phrase
[192] of the city.
Help to lay up these wares.
Re-enter Viola and First Prentice, with Officers.
Vio. Yonder he stands.
First Off. What, in a prentice-coat?
Vio. Ay, ay; mad, mad: pray, take heed.
Can. How now?
What news with them? what make they with my wife?
Officers? is she attach’d?—Look to your wares.
Vio. He talks to himself: O, he’s much gone indeed!
First Off. Pray, pluck up a good heart, be not so fearful.—
Sirs, hark, we’ll gather to him by degrees.
Vio. Ay, ay, by degrees, I pray. O me, what
makes he with the lawn in his hand? he’ll tear all
the ware in my shop.
First Off. Fear not, we’ll catch him on a sudden.
Vio. O, you had need do so: pray, take heed of
your warrant.
First Off. I warrant, mistress.—Now, signor Candido.
Can. Now, sir, what news with you, sir?
Vio. What news with you? he says: O, he’s far gone!
First Off. I pray, fear nothing; let’s alone with him.—
Signor, you look not like yourself, methinks—
Steal you a’ t’other side—you’re chang’d, you’re alter’d.
Can. Chang’d, sir? why, true, sir. Is change strange? ’tis not
The fashion unless it alter: monarchs turn
To beggars, beggars creep into the nests
Of princes, masters serve their prentices,
Ladies their serving-men, men turn to women.
First Off. And women turn to men.
Can. Ay, and women turn to men, you say
true; ha, ha! a mad world, a mad world! [Officers seize Candido.
First Off. Have we caught you, sir?
Can. Caught me? well, well, you have caught
me.
Vio. He laughs in your faces.
Geo. A rescue, prentices! my master’s catch-poll’d.
First Off. I charge you, keep the peace, or have your legs
Garter’d with irons! we have from the duke
A warrant strong enough for what we do.
Can. I pray, rest quiet; I desire no rescue.
Vio. La, he desires no rescue; 'las, poor heart,
He talks against himself!
Can. Well, what’s the matter?
First Off. Look to that arm; [Officers bind Candido.
Pray, make sure work, double the cord.
Can. Why, why!—Vio. Look how his head goes! should he get but loose,
O, 'twere as much as all our lives were worth!
First Off. Fear not, we’ll make all sure for our own safety.
Can. Are you at leisure now? well, what’s the matter?
Why do I enter into bonds thus, ha?
First Off. Because you’re mad, put fear upon your wife.
Vio. O ay; I went in danger of my life every
minute.
Can. What, am I mad, say you, and I not know it?
First Off. That proves you mad, because you
know it not.
Vio. Pray, talk as little to him as you can;
You see he’s too far spent.
Can. Bound with strong cord!
To lead me any where.—Wife, do you long?
You are mad too, or else you do me wrong.
Geo. But are you mad indeed, master?
Can. My wife says so,
And what she says, George, is all truth, you know.—
And whither now? to Bethlem Monastery?
Ha, whither?
First Off. Faith, e’en to the madmen’s pound.
Can. a’ God’s name! still I feel my patience sound.
[Exeunt Officers with Candido.
Geo. Come, we’ll see whither he goes: if the
master be mad, we are his servants, and must follow
his steps; we’ll be mad-caps too.—Farewell, mistress;
you shall have us all in Bedlam.
[Exeunt George and Prentices.
Vio. I think I ha’ fitted now you and your clothes.
If this move not his patience, nothing can;
I’ll swear then I’ve a saint, and not a man. [Exit.
SCENE IV.
Grounds near the Duke’s Palace.
Enter Duke, Benedict, Fluello, Castruchio, and Pioratto.
Duke. Give us a little leave.—
[Exeunt Fluello, Castruchio, and Pioratto.
Doctor, your news.
Ben. I sent for him, my lord: at last he came,
And did receive all speech that went from me
As gilded pills made to prolong his health:
My credit with him wrought it; for some men
Swallow even empty hooks, like fools that fear
No drowning where ’tis deepest, 'cause ’tis clear.
In th’ end we sat and eat: a health I drank
To Infelice’s sweet departed soul;
This train I knew would take.
Duke. 'Twas excellent.
Ben. He fell with such devotion on his knees,
To pledge the same——
Duke. Fond, superstitious fool!
Ben. That had he been inflam’d with zeal of prayer
He could not pour’t out with more reverence.
About my neck he hung, wept on my cheek,
Kiss’d it, and swore he would adore my lips,
Because they brought forth Infelice’s name.
Duke. Ha, ha! alack, alack!
Ben. The cup he lifts up high, and thus he said,
Here, noble maid!—drinks, and was poisoned.
Duke. And died?
Ben. And died, my lord.
Duke. Thou in that word
Hast piec’d mine aged hours out with more years
Than thou hast taken from Hippolito.
A noble youth he was; but lesser branches,
Hindering the greater’s growth, must be lopt off,
And feed the fire. Doctor, we’re now all thine,
And use us so; be bold.
Ben. Thanks, gracious lord!—
My honour’d lord——
Duke. Hum.
Ben. I do beseech your grace to bury deep
This bloody act of mine.
Duke. Nay, nay, for that,
Doctor, look you to’t, me it shall not move;
They’re curs’d that ill do, not that ill do love.
Ben. You throw an angry forehead on my face;
But be you pleas’d backward thus far
[194] to look,
That for your good this evil I undertook——
Duke. Ay, ay, we conster
[195] so.
Ben. And only for your love.
Duke. Confess’d; ’tis true.
Ben. Nor let it stand against me as a bar,
To thrust me from your presence; nor believe,
As princes have quick thoughts, that now my finger
Being dipt in blood, I will not spare the hand,
But that for gold—as what can gold not do?—
I may be hir’d to work the like on you.
Duke. Which to prevent——
Ben. ’Tis from my heart as far——
Duke. No matter, doctor: 'cause I’ll fearless sleep,
And that you shall stand clear of that suspicion,
I banish thee for ever from my court.
This principle is old, but true as fate,
Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate. [Exit.
Ben. Is’t so? Nay, then, duke, your stale principle
With one as stale the doctor thus shall quit,—
He falls himself that digs another’s pit.—
