ACT IV.

Cel. Sweet sister Meletza, let’s sit in judgment a little, faith, of my servant, Monsieur[511] Laverdure.

Mel. Troth well, for a servant,[512] but for a husband [sighs] I——[513]    11

Lyz. Why, why?

Mel. Why, he is not a plain fool, nor fair, nor fat, nor rich, rich fool. But he is a knight; his honour will give the passado in the presence to-morrow night; I hope he will deserve. All I can say is as, as the common fiddlers will say[514] in their “God send you well to do.”

Lyz. How think’st thou of the amorous Jacomo?

Mel. Jacomo? why, on my bare troth——

Cel. Why bare troth?    20

Mel. Because my troth is like his chin, t’hath no hair on’t. God’s me! his face looks like the head of a tabour; but trust me he hath a good wit.

Lyz. Who told you so?

Mel. One that knows; one that can tell.

Cel. Who’s that?

Mel. Himself.

Lyz. Well, wench; thou hadst a servant, one Fabius; what hast thou done with him?    29

Mel. I done with him? Out of him, puppy! By this feather, his beard is directly brick-colour, and perfectly fashion’d like the husk of a chestnut; he kisses with the driest lip. Fie on him!

Cel. O, but your servant Quadratus, the absolute courtier!

Mel. Fie, fie! Speak no more of him: he lives by begging. He is a fine courtier, flatters admirable, kisses “fair madam,” smells surpassing sweet; wears and holds up the arras, supports the tapestry, when I pass into the presence, very gracefully; and I assure you——    40

Luc. Madam, here is your shuttlecock.

Mel. Sister, is not your waiting-wench rich?

Mel. Because she can flatter. Prithee call her not: she has twenty-four hours to madam[515] yet. Come, you; you prate: i’faith, I’ll toss you from post to pillar!

Cel. You post and I pillar.

Mel. No, no, you are the only post; you must support, prove a wench, and bear; or else all the building of your delight will fall——    50

Cel. Down.

Lyz. What, must I stand out?

Mel. Ay, by my faith, till you be married.

Lyz. Why do you toss then?

Mel. Why, I am wed, wench.

Cel. Prithee to whom?

Mel. To the true husband, right head of a woman—my will, which vows never to marry till I mean to be a fool, a slave, starch cambric ruffs, and make candles; (pur!)—’tis down, serve again, good wench.    60

Luc. By your pleasing cheek, you play well.

Mel. Nay, good creature, prithee do not flatter me. I thought ’twas for something you go cased in your velvet scabbard; I warrant these laces were ne’er stitch’d on with true stitch. I have a plain waiting-wench; she speaks plain, and, faith, she goes plain; she is virtuous, and because she should go like virtue, by the consent of my bounty, she shall never have above two smocks to her back, for that’s the fortune of desert, and the main in fashion or reward of merit; (pur)!—just thus do I use my servants. I strive to catch them in my racket, and no sooner caught, but I toss them away: if he fly well and have good feathers, I play with him[516] till he be down, and then my maid serves him to me again: if a slug, and weak-wing’d, if he be down, there let him lie.    75

Cel. Good Mell, I wonder how many servants thou hast.

Mel. Troth, so do I; let me see—Dupatzo.

Lyz. Dupatzo, which Dupatzo?

Mel. Dupatzo, the elder brother, the fool; he that bought the halfpenny riband, wearing it in his ear,[517] swearing ’twas the Duchess of Milan’s favour; he into whose head a man may travel ten leagues before he can meet with his eyes. Then there’s my chub, my epicure, Quadratus, that rubs his guts, claps his paunch, and cries Rivo! entertaining my ears perpetually with a most strong discourse of the praise of bottle-ale and red herrings. Then there’s Simplicius Faber.    87

Lyz. Why, he is a fool!

Mel. True, or else he would ne’er be my servant. Then there’s the cape-cloak’d courtier, Baltazar; he wears a double, treble, quadruple ruff, ay, in the summertime. Faith, I ha’ servants enow, and I doubt not but by my ordinary pride and extraordinary cunning to get more.—Monsieur Laverdure, with a troop of gallants, is ent’ring.

Enter[518] Laverdure, Quadratus, Lampatho, and Simplicius.

Lav. Good day, sweet love.

Mel. Wish her good night, man.

Lav. Good morrow, sister.

Mel. A curtsey to your[519] caper: to-morrow morn I’ll call you brother.

Lav. But much much falls betwixt the cup and lip.

Mel. Be not too confident, the knot may slip.

Qua. Bounty, blessedness, and the spirit of wine attend my mistress.    110

Mel. Thanks, good chub.

Sim. God[520] ye good morrow heartily, mistress; and how do you since last I saw you?

Qua. God’s me, you must not enquire how she does; that’s privy counsel. Fie! there’s manners indeed!

Sim. Pray you, pardon my incivility. I was somewhat bold with you, but believe me I’ll never be so saucy to ask you how do you again as long as I live. La!

Lam. Ay, but those are angels of light.

Qua. Come, leave his lips, and command some liquor; if you have no bottle-ale, command some claret wine and borage,[521] for that’s my predominate humour; sleek-bellied Bacchus, let’s fill thy guts.

Lam. Nay, hear it, and relish it judiciously.

Qua. I do relish it most judicially.

[Quadratus drinks.

Lam. Adored excellence! delicious, sweet!

Qua. Delicious, sweet! good, very good!

Lam. If thou canst taste the purer juice of love.    160

Qua. If thou canst taste the purer juice; good still, good still. I do relish it; it tastes sweet.

Lam. Is not the metaphor good? Is’t not well followed?

Qua. Passing good, very pleasing.

Lam. Is’t not sweet?

Qua. Let me see’t; I’ll make it sweet;
I’ll soak it in the juice of Helicon.
By’r Lady, passing sweet; good, passing sweet.

Lam. You wrong my muse.

Lam. Lamp-oil, watch-candles, rug-gowns,[522] and small juice,
Thin commons, four o’clock rising,—I renounce you all.    180
Now may I ’ternally abandon meat,
Rust, fusty, you which most embraced disuse,
You ha’ made me an ass; thus shaped my lot,
I am a mere scholar, that is a mere sot.

Qua. Come, then, Lamp, I’ll pour fresh oil into thee;
Apply thy spirit, that it may nimbly turn
Unto the habit, fashion of the age.
I’ll make thee man the scholar, enable thy behaviour
Apt for the entertain of any presence.    189
I’ll turn thee gallant: first thou shalt have a mistress:
How is thy spirit raised to yonder beauty?—
She with the sanguine cheek, the[523] dimpled chin;
The pretty amorous smile, that clips her lips
And dallies ’bout her cheek; she with the speaking eye,
That casts out beams as ardent as those flakes
Which singed the world by rash-brain’d Phaethon;
She with the lip;—O lips!—she, for whose sake
A man could find in his heart to inhell himself!
There’s more philosophy, more theorems,
More demonstrations, all invincible,    200
More clear divinity drawn on her cheek,
Than in all volumes’ tedious paraphrase
Of musty eld. O, who would staggering doubt
The soul’s eternity, seeing it hath
Of heavenly beauty but to case it up!
Who would distrust a supreme existence,
Able to confound, when it can create
Such heaven on earth able to entrance,
Amaze! O, ’tis Providence, not chance!

Lam. Now, by the front of Jove, methinks her eye
Shoots more spirit in me. O beauty feminine;    211
How powerful art thou! What deep magic lies
Within the circle of thy speaking eyes!

Qua. Why, now could I eat thee; thou doest please mine appetite. I can digest[524] thee. God make[525] thee a good fool, and happy, and ignorant, and amorous, and rich, and frail, and a satirist, and an essayist, and sleepy, and proud, and indeed a fool, and then thou shalt be sure of all these. Do but scorn her, she is thine own; accost her carelessly, and her eye promiseth she will be bound to the good abearing.    221

Cel. Now, sister Meletza, doest mark their craft; some straggling thoughts transport thy attentiveness from his discourse. Was’t Jacomo’s or our brother’s plot?

Lav. Both, both, sweet lady; my page heard all: we met the rogue; so like Albano, I beat the rogue.

Sim. Ay, but when you were gone the rogue beat me.

Lav. Now, take my counsel: listen.    229

Mel. A pretty youth; a pretty well-shaped youth: a good leg, a very good eye, a sweet ingenious[526] face, and I warrant a good wit; nay, which is more, if he be poor, I assure my soul he is chaste and honest; good faith, I fancy I fancy him: ay, and I may chance;—well, I’ll think the rest.

Qua. I say, be careless still: court her without compliment; take spirit.

Lav. Were’ not a pleasing jest for me to clothe
Another rascal like Albano, say,
And rumour him return’d, without all deceit?    240
Would not beget errors most ridiculous?

Qua. Meletza, bella, bellezza! Madonna, bella, bella, gentelezza! prithee kiss this initiated gallant.

Qua. Uds fut! thou gull! thou inky scholar! Ha, thou whoreson fop!
Wilt not thou clap into our fashion’d gallantry?
Couldst not be proud and scornful, loose and vain?
God’s my heart’s object! what a plague is this?
My soul’s entranced! Fut! couldst not clip and kiss?
My soul’s entranced! ten thousand crowns at least    271
Lost, lost. My soul’s entranced! Love’s life, O beast!

Lav.[527] Believe it, sweet, not I.

Mel. Come, you have attired some fiddler like Albano, to fright the perfumer; there’s the jest.

Enter[528] Randolfo, Andrea, and Jacomo.

Ran. Good fortunes to our sister.

Mel. And a speedy marriage.

And.[529] Then we must wish her no good fortunes.

Jaco. For shame! for shame! Straight dear your house; sweep out this dust; fling out this trash; return to modesty. Your husband! I say, your husband Albano, that was supposed drown’d, is return’d,—ay, and at the door!    293

And.[530] Laugh you? Shameless! Laugh you?

Cel. Come, come, your plot’s discover’d. Good faith, kinsmen, I am no scold. To shape a perfumer like my husband! O sweet jest!

Jaco. Lost[531] hopes! all known.

Cel. For penance of your fault, will you maintain a jest now? My love hath tired some fiddler like Albano, like the Perfumer.    302

Lav. Not I: by blessedness, not I.

Mel. Come, ’tis true. Do but support the jest, and you shall surfeit with laughter.

Jaco. Faith, we condescend; ’twill not be cross’d, I see.
Marriage and hanging go by destiny.

Alb. [without]. B-b-b-bar out Albano! O adulterous, impudent!

Fran. [without]. B-b-b-bar out Albano! O thou matchless g-g-g-giglet![532]    311

Qua. Let them in! Let them in! Now, now, now! Observe, observe! Look, look, look!

Enter Albano and Francisco.

Jaco. That same’s a fiddler, shaped like thee. Fear nought; be confident: thou shalt know the jest hereafter: be confident; fear nought; blush not; stand firm.    317

Alb. Now, brothers; now, gallants; now, sisters; now call [me] a perfumer, a gutter-master. Bar me my house; beat me,—baffle[533] me,—scoff me,—deride me! Ha, that I were a young man again! By the mass, I would ha’ you all by the ears, by the mass, law! I am Francisco Soranza! am I not, giglet, strumpet, cutters,[534] swaggerers, brothel-haunters? I am Francisco! O God! O slaves! O dogs, dogs, curs!

Jaco. No, sir; pray you, pardon us; we confess you are not Francisco, nor a perfumer, but even——    327

Alb. But even Albano.

Jaco. But even a fiddler,—a minikin-tickler,[535]—a pumpum!

Fran. A scraper, scraper!
Art not asham’d, before Albano’s face,
To clip his spouse? O shameless, impudent!

Jaco. Well said, perfumer.

Alb. A fiddler,—a scraper,—a minikin-tickler,—a pum, a pum!—even now a perfumer,—now a fiddler!—I will be even What You Will. Do, do, do, k-k-k-kiss my wife be-be-be-be-fore——

Qua. Why, wouldst have him kiss her behind?

Alb. Before my own f-f-f-face!    340

Jaco. Well done, fiddler!

Alb. I’ll f-f-fiddle ye!

Fran. Dost f-f-flout me?

Alb. I’ll f-f-follow, though I st-st-st-stut; I’ll stumble to the duke: in p-p-plain language, I pray you use my wife well. Good faith, she was a kind soul, and an honest woman once: I was her husband, and was called Albano, before I was drown’d; but now, after my resurrection, I am I know not what; indeed, brothers, and indeed, sisters, and indeed, wife, I am What You Will. Doest thou laugh? dost thou ge-ge-ge-gern?[536] A p-p-p-perfumer,—a fiddler, a—Diabolo, matre de Dios,—I’ll f-f-f-firk you, by the Lord, now,[537] now I will!

[Exit Albano.

Qua. Ha, ha! ’tis a good rogue, a good rogue!

Lav. A good rogue! Ha! I know him not.

Cel. No, good sweet love. Come, come, dissemble not.    360

Lav. Nay, if you dread nothing, happy be my lot.
Come, via, sest;[538] come, fair cheeks; come, let’s dance:
The sweets of love is amorous dalliance.

Cel. All friends, all happy friends, my veins are light.

Lyz. Thy prayers are now, God send it quickly night!

Mel. And then come morning.

Lyz. Ay, that’s the hopeful day.

ACT V.

Qua. Feed,[539] and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
Rivo,[540] here’s good juice, fresh borage, boy!

Lam. I commend, commend myself to ye, lady.

Mel. In troth, sir, you dwell far from neighbours, that are enforced to commend yourself.

Qua. Why, Simplicius, whither now, man? for good fashion’s sake, stir not; sit still, sit still.

Sim. I must needs rise; much good do it you.

Qua. Doest thou think thy rising will do them much good? Sit still; sit still; carve me of that, good Meletza. Fill, Bacchus, fill!    11

Sim. And I do not, I’ll thwack[541] a jerkin till he groan again with gold lace. Let me see; what should I desire of God? Marry, a cloak, lined with rich taffeta; white satin suit; and my gilt rapier from pawn: nay, she shall give me a chain of pearl, that shall pay for all. Good-bye, good signior; good-bye, good signior.

Qua. Why, now, thou speaketh in the most embraced fashion that our time hugs; no sooner a good fortune or a fresh suit falls upon a fellow that would ha’ been gull’d to ha’ shoved into your society, but, and he me[e]t you, he fronts you with a faint eye, throws a squint glance over a wried shoulder, and cries ’twixt the teeth, as very parsimonious of breath, “Good-bye, good signior; good-bye, good signior.” Death, I will search the lifeblood of your hopes.    34

Sim. And a fresh pearl-colour silk stocking—— O ay, ay, ay, ay, I’ll go to the half-crown ordinary[542] every meal; I’ll have my ivory box of tobacco; I’ll converse with none but counts and courtiers. Now,—good-bye, good signior,—a pair of massy silver spurs, too, a hatch[543] short sword, and then your embroider’d hanger;[544] and, good signior——    41

Qua. Shut the windows, darken the room, fetch whips; the fellow is mad: he raves, he raves,—talks idly,—lunatic: who procures thy——

Sim. One that has ate fat capon, suck’d the boil’d chicken, and let out his wit with the fool of bounty, one Fabius. I’ll scorn him; he goes upon Fridays in black satin.    48

Qua. Fabius! By this light, a cogging cheator:[545] he lives on love of merchants’ wives; he stands on the base of mains;[546] he furnisheth your ordinary, for which he feeds scot-free; keeps fair gold in his purse, to put on upon mains, by which he lives, and keeps a fair boy at his heels: he is damn’d Fabius.

Sim. He is a fine man, law, and has a good wit; for when he list he can go in black satin, ay, and in a cloak lined with unshorn velvet.    57

Qua. By the salvation of humanity, he’s more pestilent than the plague of lice that fell upon Egypt; thou hast been knave if thou credit it; thou art an ass if thou follow it; and shalt be a perpetual idiot if thou pursue it: renounce the world, the flesh, the devil, and thy trust in men’s wives, for they will double with thee: and so I betake myself to the sucking of the juice capon, my ingle bottle-ale, and his gentleman usher, that squirers him, red herring. A fool I found thee and a fool I leave thee; bear record, Heaven, ’tis against the providence of my speech. Good-bye, good signior.

Bid. You were not lapt in your mother’s smock:[547] you ha’ not a good cheek, an enticing eye, a smooth skin, a well-shaped leg, a fair hand: you cannot bring a wench into a fool’s paradise for you.

Sim. Not I, by this garter. I am a fool, a very ninny, I! How call you her? How call you her?

Bid. Call her? You rise on your right side to-day, marry. Call her? her name is Mistress Perpetuana: she is not very fair, nor goes extraordinary gay.    81

Sim. She has a good skin?

Sim. I shall so ravish her with my courtship; I have such variety of discourse, such copy[548] of phrase to begin, as this:—Sweet lady, Ulysses’ dog, after his master’s ten years’ travel—I shall so tickle her: or thus,—Pure beauty, there is a stone[549]——    111

Slip. Two stones, man.

Sim. Call’d—’tis no matter what. I ha’ the eloquence; I am not to seek, I warrant you.

The cornet is winded. Enter Pippo, Bidet; Pippo attired like a merchant’s wife, and Bidet like a fool.

Sweet lady, Ulysses’ dog, there’s a stone called—— O Lord! what shall I say?

Slip. Is all your eloquence come to this?

Sim. The glorious radiant of your glimmering eyes, your glittering beauties blind my wit, and dazzle my——

Pip. I’ll put on my mask, and please you; pray you, wink, pray you.    121

Bid. O fine man! my mistress loves you best. I dreamt you ga’ me this sword and dagger. I love your hat and feather, O——

Sim. Do not cry, man; do not cry, man: thou shalt ha’ them. Ay, and they were——

Bid. O, that purse, with all the white pence in it! Fine man! I love you! Give you the fine red pence soon at night? He! I thank you: where’s the fool now?    130

Sim. He has all my money; I have to keep myself, and——

Slip. Poght!

Pip. Sir, the fool shall lead you to my house; the fool shall not. At night I expect you: till then, take this seal of my affection.

Sim. Good bye, good boys. I come, I come, good bye,[550] good boys.

[Exit.

Bid. The fool shall wait on thee. Now, do I merit to be yclept, Bosphoros Carmelydon Honorificacuminos Bidet? Who, who has any square dice?

Pip. Marry, sir, that have I.

Bid. Thou shalt lose thy share for it in our purchase.[551]

Pip. I pray you now, pray you now.    150

Bid. Sooner the whistle[552] of a mariner
Shall sleek the rough curbs of the ocean back.—
Now speak I like myself: thou shalt lose thy share.

Enter Quadratus, Laverdure, and Celia; Simplicius, Meletza, Lyzabetta, Lucia, and Lampatho.

Pip. Ha! take all, then. Ha!

Qua. Without cloak, or hat, or rapier? Fie!

Sim. God’s me! Look yonder. Who gave you these things?

Qua. The triple idiot’s coxcomb crown[553] thee,
Bitter epigrams confound thee;
Cuckold be whene’er thou bride thee;
Through every comic scene be drawn;
Never come thy clothes from pawn;    190
Never may thy shame be sheathed,
Never kiss a wench sweet-breathed.

[Cornets sound.

Enter as many Pages with torches as you can; Randolfo, Andrea,[554] Jacomo bare-headed; the Duke with attendants.