Enter at one side Lodovico and Carolo; at another Bots, and Mistress Horseleech.
Lod. Hist, hist, Lieutenant Bots, how dost, man?
Car. Whither are you ambling, Madam Horseleech?
Mis. H. About worldly profit, sir: how do your worships?
Bots. We want tools, gentlemen, to furnish the trade: they wear out day and night, they wear out till no metal be left in their back. We hear of two or three new wenches are come up with a carrier, and your old goshawk here is flying at them.
Lod. And, faith, what flesh have you at home?
Mis. H. Ordinary dishes; by my troth, sweet men, there’s few good i’ th’ city; I am as well furnished as any, and, though I say it, as well customed.
Bots. We have meats of all sorts of dressing; we have stewed meat for your Frenchman, pretty light picking meat for your Italian, and that which is rotten roasted for Don Spaniardo.
Lod. A pox on’t.
Bots. We have poulterer’s ware for your sweet bloods, as dove, chicken, duck, teal, woodcock, and so forth; and butcher’s meat for the citizen: yet muttons[272] fall very bad this year.
Lod. Stay, is not that my patient linen-draper yonder, and my fine young smug mistress, his wife?
Car. Sirrah,[273] grannam, I’ll give thee for thy fee twenty crowns, if thou canst but procure me the wearing of yon velvet cap.
Mis. H. You’d wear another thing besides the cap. You’re a wag.
Bots. Twenty crowns? we’ll share, and I’ll be your pully to draw her on.
Lod. Do’t presently; we’ll ha’ some sport.
Mis. H. Wheel you about, sweet men: do you see? I’ll cheapen wares of the man, whilst Bots is doing with his wife.
Lod. To’t: if we come into the shop to do you grace, we’ll call you madam.
Bots. Pox a’ your old face, give it the badge of all scurvy faces, a mask.
[Mistress Horseleech puts on a mask.
Cand. What is’t you lack, gentlewoman? Cambric or lawns, or fine hollands? Pray draw near, I can sell you a pennyworth.
Bots. Some cambric for my old lady.
Car. Save you, Signor Candido.
Lod. How does my noble master? how my fair mistress?
Cand. My worshipful good servant.—View it well, for ’tis both fine and even. [Shows cambric.
Car. Cry you mercy, madam; though masked, I thought it should be you by your man.—Pray, signor, show her the best, for she commonly deals for good ware.
Cand. Then this shall fit her.—This is for your ladyship.
Bots. A word, I pray; there is a waiting gentlewoman of my lady’s: her name is Ruyna, says she’s your kinswoman, and that you should be one of her aunts.
Bride. One of her aunts? troth, sir, I know her not.
Bots. If it please you to bestow the poor labour of your legs at any time, I will be your convoy thither?
Bride. I am a snail, sir, seldom leave my house. If’t please her to visit me, she shall be welcome.
Bots. Do you hear? the naked truth is; my lady hath a young knight, her son, who loves you, you’re made, if you lay hold upon’t; this jewel he sends you. [Offers jewel.
Bride. Sir, I return his love and jewel with scorn; let go my hand, or I shall call my husband. You are an arrant knave. [Exit.
Lod. What will she do?
Bots. Do? They shall all do if Bots sets upon them once: she was as if she had professed the trade, squeamish at first; at last I showed her this jewel, said a knight sent it her.
Lod. Is’t gold, and right stones?
Bots. Copper, copper, I go a fishing with these baits. She nibbled, but would not swallow the hook, because the conger-head, her husband, was by; but she bids the gentleman name any afternoon, and she’ll meet him at her garden house,[274] which I know.
Lod. Is this no lie now?
Bots. Damme, if—
Lod. Oh, prithee stay there.
Bots. The twenty crowns, sir.
Lod. Before he has his work done? but on my knightly word he shall pay’t thee.
Enter Astolfo, Beraldo, Fontinell, and Bryan.
Ast. I thought thou hadst been gone into thine own country.
Bry. No, faat, la, I cannot go dis four or tree days.
Ber. Look thee, yonder’s the shop, and that’s the man himself.
Fon. Thou shalt but cheapen, and do as we told thee, to put a jest upon him, to abuse his patience.
Bry. I’faat, I doubt my pate shall be knocked: but, sa crees sa’ me, for your shakes, I will run to any linen-draper in hell: come predee.
Ast., Ber., Fon. Save you, gallants.
Lod., Car. Oh, well met!
Cand. You’ll give no more, you say? I cannot take it.
Mis. H. Truly I’ll give no more.
Ast. Nay, here’s the customer.
[Exeunt Bots and Mistress Horseleech.
Lod. The garden-house, you say? we’ll bolt[275] out your roguery.
Lod. Do your hear it? one, two, three,—’Sfoot, there came in four gallants! Sure your wife is slipt up, and the fourth man, I hold my life, is grafting your warden tree.[276]
Lod. Have you so? nay, then—
Cand. Now, gentlemen, is’t cambrics?
Bry. I predee now let me have de best waures.
Cand. What’s that he says, pray, gentlemen?
Lod. Marry, he says we are like to have the best wars.
Bry. Faat a devil pratest tow so? a pox on dee! I preddee, let me see some hollen, to make linen shirts, for fear my body be lousy.
Cand. Indeed, I understand no word he speaks.
Bry. Pox on de gardens, and de weeds, and de fool’s cap dere, and de clouts! hear? dost make a hobby-horse of me? [Tearing the cambric.
All. Oh, fie! he has torn the cambric.
Cand. ’Tis no matter.
All. Ha, ha, ha! come, come, let’s go, let’s go. [Exeunt.
Enter Matheo brave,[277] and Bellafront.
Mat. How am I suited, Front? am I not gallant, ha?
Bell. Yes, sir, you are suited well.
Mat. Exceeding passing well, and to the time.
Bell. The tailor has played his part with you.
Mat. And I have played a gentleman’s part with my tailor, for I owe him for the making of it.
Bell. And why did you so, sir?
Mat. To keep the fashion; it’s your only fashion now, of your best rank of gallants, to make their tailors wait for their money; neither were it wisdom indeed to pay them upon the first edition of a new suit; for commonly the suit is owing for, when the linings are worn out, and there’s no reason, then, that the tailor should be paid before the mercer.
Bell. Is this the suit the knight bestowed upon you?
Mat. This is the suit, and I need not shame to wear it, for better men than I would be glad to have suits bestowed on them. It’s a generous fellow,—but—pox on him—we whose pericranions are the very limbecks and stillatories of good wit and fly high, must drive liquor out of stale gaping oysters—shallow knight, poor squire Tinacheo: I’ll make a wild Cataian[278] of forty such: hang him, he’s an ass, he’s always sober.
Bell. This is your fault to wound your friends still.
Mat. No, faith, Front, Lodovico is a noble Slavonian: it’s more rare to see him in a woman’s company, than for a Spaniard to go into England, and to challenge the English fencers there.—[Knocking within.] One knocks,—see.—[Exit Bellafront.]—La, fa, fol, la, fa, la, [Sings] rustle in silks and satins! there’s music in this, and a taffeta petticoat, it makes both fly high. Catso.
Re-enter Bellafront with Orlando in his own dress, and four Servants.
Bell. Matheo! ’tis my father.
Mat. Ha! father? It’s no matter, he finds no tattered prodigals here.
Orl. Is not the door good enough to hold your blue coats?[279] away, knaves, Wear not your clothes threadbare at knees for me; beg Heaven’s blessing, not mine.—[Exeunt Servants.]—Oh cry your worship mercy, sir; was somewhat bold to talk to this gentlewoman, your wife here.
Mat. A poor gentlewoman, sir.
Mat. If it offend you, sir, ’tis for my pleasure.
Orl. Your pleasure be’t, sir. Umh, is this your palace?
Bell. Yes, and our kingdom, for ’tis our content.
Orl. It’s a very poor kingdom then; what, are all your subjects gone a sheep-shearing? not a maid? not a man? not so much as a cat? You keep a good house belike, just like one of your profession, every room with bare walls, and a half-headed bed to vault upon, as all your bawdy-houses are. Pray who are your upholsters? Oh, the spiders, I see, they bestow hangings upon you.
Mat. Bawdy-house? Zounds, sir—
Orl. No acquaintance with it? what maintains thee then? how dost live then? Has thy husband any lands? any rents coming in, any stock going, any ploughs jogging, any ships sailing? hast thou any wares to turn, so much as to get a single penny by?
Mat. Do you hear, sir?
Orl. So, sir, I do hear, sir, more of you than you dream I do.
Mat. You fly a little too high, sir.
Orl. Why, sir, too high?
Mat. I ha’ suffered your tongue, like a bard cater-tray,[280] to run all this while, and ha’ not stopt it.
Orl. Well, sir, you talk like a gamester.
Mat. If you come to bark at her, because she’s a poor rogue, look you, here’s a fine path, sir, and there, there’s the door.
Bell. Matheo?
Mat. Your blue coats stay for you, sir. I love a good honest roaring boy, and so—
Orl. That’s the devil.
Mat. Sir, sir, I’ll ha’ no Joves in my house to thunder avaunt: she shall live and be maintained when you, like a keg of musty sturgeon, shall stink; where? in your coffin—how? be a musty fellow, and lousy.
Orl. I know she shall be maintained, but how? she like a quean, thou like a knave; she like a whore, thou like a thief.
Mat. Thief? Zounds! Thief?
Bell. Good, dearest Mat!—Father!
Mat. Pox on you both! I’ll not be braved. New satin scorns to be put down with bare bawdy velvet. Thief?
Orl. Ay, thief, th’art a murderer, a cheater, a whoremonger, a pot-hunter, a borrower a beggar—
Bell. Dear father—
Mat. An old ass, a dog, a churl, a chuff, an usurer, a villain, a moth, a mangy mule, with an old velvet foot-cloth on his back, sir.
Bell. Oh me!
Orl. Varlet, for this I’ll hang thee.
Mat. Ha, ha, alas!
Orl. Thou keepest a man of mine here, under my nose—
Mat. Under thy beard.
Orl. As arrant a smell-smock, for an old muttonmonger[281] as thyself.
Mat. No, as yourself.
Orl. As arrant a purse-taker as ever cried, Stand! yet a good fellow I confess, and valiant; but he’ll bring thee to th’ gallows; you both have robbed of late two poor country pedlars.
Mat. How’s this? how’s this? dost thou fly high? rob pedlars?—bear witness, Front—rob pedlars? my man and I a thief?
Bell. Oh, sir, no more.
Orl. Ay, knave, two pedlars; hue and cry is up; warrants are out, and I shall see thee climb a ladder.
Mat. And come down again as well as a bricklayer or a tiler. How the vengeance knows he this? If I be hanged, I’ll tell the people I married old Friscobaldo’s daughter; I’ll frisco you, and your old carcass.
Orl. Tell what you canst; if I stay here longer, I shall be hanged too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found you, I leave you—
Mat. Kneel, and get money of him.
Orl. A knave and a quean, a thief and a strumpet, a couple of beggars, a brace of baggages.
Mat. Hang upon him—Ay, ay, sir, farewell; we are—follow close—we are beggars—in satin—to him.
Orl. It’s not seen by your cheeks.
Mat. I think she has read an homily to tickle the old rogue. [Aside.
Orl. Want bread! there’s satin: bake that.
Mat. ’Sblood, make pasties of my clothes?
Orl. A fair new cloak, stew that; an excellent gilt rapier.
Mat. Will you eat that, sir?
Orl. I could feast ten good fellows with these hangers.[282]
Mat. The pox, you shall!
Mat. This is your father, your damned—Confusion light upon all the generation of you; he can come bragging hither with four white herrings at’s tail in blue coats, without roes in their bellies, but I may starve ere he give me so much as a cob.[283]
Bell. What tell you me of this? alas!
Mat. Go, trot after your dad, do you capitulate; I’ll pawn not for you; I’ll not steal to be hanged for such an hypocritical, close, common harlot: away, you dog!—Brave i’faith! Udsfoot, give me some meat.
Bell. Yes, sir. [Exit.
Mat. Goodman slave, my man too, is galloped to the devil a’ t’other side: Pacheco, I’ll checo you. Is this your dad’s day? England, they say, is the only hell for horses, and only paradise for women: pray get you to that paradise, because you’re called an honest whore; there they live none but honest whores with a pox. Marry here in our city, all your sex are but foot-cloth nags,[284] the master no sooner lights but the man leaps into the saddle.
Re-enter Bellafront with meat and drink.
Bell. Will you sit down I pray, sir?
Mat. [Sitting down.] I could tear, by th’ Lord, his flesh, and eat his midriff in salt, as I eat this:—must I choke—my father Friscobaldo, I shall make a pitiful hog-louse of you, Orlando, if you fall once into my fingers—Here’s the savourest meat! I ha’ got a stomach with chafing. What rogue should tell him of those two pedlars? A plague choke him, and gnaw him to the bare bones!—Come fill.
Bell. Thou sweatest with very anger, good sweet, vex not, as ’tis no fault of mine.
Mat. Where didst buy this mutton? I never felt better ribs.
Bell. A neighbour sent it me.
Re-enter Orlando disguised as a Serving-man.
Mat. Hah, neighbour? foh, my mouth stinks,—You whore, do you beg victuals for me? Is this satin doublet to be bombasted[285] with broken meat? [Takes up the stool.
Orl. What will you do, sir?
Mat. Beat out the brains of a beggarly—
Orl. Beat out an ass’s head of your own—Away, Mistress [Exit Bellafront.] Zounds, do but touch one hair of her, and I’ll so quilt your cap with old iron, that your coxcomb shall ache like a roasted rabbit, that you must have the head for the brains?
Mat. Ha, ha! go out of my doors, you rogue, away, four marks; trudge.
Orl. Four marks? no, sir, my twenty pound that you ha’ made fly high, and I am gone.
Mat. Must I be fed with chippings? you’re best get a clapdish,[286] and say you’re proctor to some spittle-house.[287] Where hast thou been, Pacheco? Come hither my little turkey-cock.
Orl. I cannot abide, sir, to see a woman wronged, not I.
Mat. Sirrah, here was my father-in-law to day.
Orl. Pish, then you’re full of crowns.
Mat. Hang him! he would ha’ thrust crowns upon me, to have fallen in again, but I scorn cast clothes, or any man’s gold.
Orl. But mine; [Aside.]—How did he brook that, sir?
Mat. Oh, swore like a dozen of drunken tinkers; at last growing foul in words, he and four of his men drew upon me, sir.
Orl. In your house? would I had been by!
Mat. I made no more ado, but fell to my old lock, and so thrashed my blue-coats and old crab-tree-face my father-in-law, and then walked like a lion in my grate.
Orl. O noble master!
Mat. Sirrah, he could tell me of the robbing the two pedlars, and that warrants are out for us both.
Orl. Good sir, I like not those crackers.
Mat. Crackhalter, wou’t set thy foot to mine?
Orl. How, sir? at drinking.
Mat. We’ll pull that old crow my father: rob thy master. I know the house, thou the servants: the purchase[288] is rich, the plot to get it is easy, the dog will not part from a bone.
Orl. Pluck’t out of his throat, then: I’ll snarl for one, if this[289] can bite.
Mat. Say no more, say no more, old coal, meet me anon at the sign of the Shipwreck.
Orl. Yes, sir.
Mat. And dost hear, man?—the Shipwreck. [Exit.
Enter Hippolito and Bellafront.