Enter 2. Serving-men, Peter and Anthony.
Peter. I would we were remov'd from this town, Anthony,
That we might taste some quiet; for mine own part,
I'm almost melted with continual trotting
After enquiries, dreams, and revelations,
Of who knows whom, or where? serve wenching soldiers,
That knows no other Paradise but Plackets:
I'll serve a Priest in Lent first, and eat Bell-ropes.
Ant. Thou art the froward'st fool—
Pet. Why, good tame Anthonie?
Tell me but this; to what end came we hither?
Ant. To wait upon our Masters.
Pet. But how, Anthony?
Answer me that; resolve me there, good Anthony?
Ant. To serve their uses.
Pet. Shew your uses, Anthony.
Ant. To be imploy'd in any thing.
Pet. No Anthony,
Not any thing I take it; nor that thing
We travel to discover, like new islands;
A salt itch serve such uses; in things of moment
Concerning things, I grant ye, not things errant,
Sweet Ladies things, and things to thank the Surgeon;
In no such things, sweet Anthony, put case—
Ant. Come, come, all will be mended; this invisible woman
Of infinite report for shape and vertue,
That bred us all this trouble to no purpose,
They are determin'd now no more to think on,
But fall close to their studies.
Pet. Was there ever
Men known to run mad with report before?
Or wonder after [that] they know not where
To find? or if found, how to enjoy? are mens brains
Made now adays of malt, that their affections
Are never sober? but like drunken People
Founder at every new Fame? I do believe too
That men in love are ever drunk, as drunken men
Are ever loving.
Ant. Prithee be thou sober,
And know, that they are none of those, not guilty
Of the least vanity of love, only a doubt
Fame might too far report, or rather flatter
The Graces of this Woman, made them curious
To find the truth, which since they find so blocked
And lockt up from their searches, they are now setled
To give the wonder over.
Pet. Would they were setled
To give me some new shoos too: for I'll be sworn
These are e'en worn out to the reasonable souls
In their good worships business; and some sleep
Would not do much amiss, unless they mean
To make a Bell-man on me; and what now
Mean they to study, Anthony, moral Philosophy
After their mar-all women?
Ant. Mar a fools head.
Pet. 'Twill mar two fools heads and they take not heed,
Besides the Giblets to 'em.
Ant. Will you walk, Sir,
And talk more out of hearing? your fools head
May chance to find a wooden night-cap else.
Pet. I never lay in any.
Enter Don John, and Frederick.
Ant. Then leave your lying,
And your blind prophesying: here they come,
You had best tell them as much.
Pet. I am no tell-tale. [Exeunt.
John. I would we could have seen her though; for sure
She must be some rare Creature, or Report lies.
All mens Reports too.
Fred. I could well wish I had seen her;
But since she is so conceal'd, so beyond venture
Kept and preserv'd from view, so like a Paradise,
Plac'd where no knowledge can come near her; so guarded,
As 'twere impossible, though known, to reach her,
I have made up my belief.
John. Hang me from this hour
If I more think upon her, or believe her,
But as she came a strong Report unto me,
So the next Fame shall lose her.
Fred. 'Tis the next way;
But whither are you walking?
John. My old Round
After my meat, and then to Bed.
Fred. 'Tis healthful.
John. Will not you stir?
Fred. I have a little business.
Joh. Upon my life this Lady still—
Fred. Then you will lose it.
John. 'Pray let's walk together.
Fred. Now I cannot.
John. I have something to impart.
Fred. An hour hence
I will not miss to meet you.
John. Where?
Fred. I'th' high street;
For not to lie, I have a few Devotions
To do first, then I am yours.
John. Remember. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Petruchio, Antonio, and two Gentlemen.
Ant. Cut his wind-pipe I say.
1 Gent. Fye, Antonio.
Ant. Or knock his brains out first, and then forgive him,
If you do thrust, be sure it be to th'hilts,
A Surgeon may see through him.
1 Gent. You are too violent.
2 Gent. Too open undiscreet.
Pet. Am I not ruin'd?
The honour of my house crack'd? my bloud poyson'd?
My Credit and my Name?
2 Gent. Be sure it be so,
Before ye use this violence: Let not doubt,
And a suspecting anger so much sway ye,
Your wisedom may be question'd.
Ant. I say kill him,
And then dispute the cause; cut off what may be,
And what is shall be safe.
2 Gent. Hang up a true man,
Because 'tis possible he may be thievish!
Alas, is this good Justice?
Pet. I know as certain
As day must come again, as clear as truth,
And open as belief can lay it to me,
That I am basely wrong'd, wrong'd above recompence;
Maliciously abus'd, blasted for ever
In name and honour, lost to all remembrance,
But what is smear'd, and shameful; I must kill him,
Necessity compells me.
1 Gent. But think better.
Pet. There is no other cure left; yet witness with me,
All that is fair in man, all that is noble,
I am not greedy of this life I seek for,
Nor thirst to shed mans blood, and would 'twere possible,
I wish it with my soul, so much I tremble
To offend the sacred Image of my Maker,
My Sword could only kill his Crimes; no, 'tis Honour,
Honour, my noble friends, that Idol, Honour,
That all the world now worships, not Petruchio
Must do this Justice.
Ant. Let it once be done,
And 'tis no matter, whether you, or honour,
Or both, be accessary.
2 Gent. Do you weigh, Petruchio,
The value of the person, power, and greatness,
And what this spark may kindle?
Pet. To perform it,
So much I am ty'd to Reputation,
And Credit of my house, let it raise wild-fires,
That all this Dukedom smoak, and storms that toss me
Into the waves of everlasting ruine,
Yet I must through; if ye dare side me.
Ant. Dare?
Pet. Y'are friends indeed, if not.
2 Gent. Here's none flyes from you,
Do it in what design ye please, we'll back ye.
1 Gent. But then be sure ye kill him.
2 Gent. Is the cause
So mortal, nothing but his life?
Pet. Believe me,
A less offence has been the desolation
Of a whole name.
2 Gent. No other way to purge it?
Pet. There is, but never to be hoped for.
2 Gent. Think an hour more,
And if then ye find no safer Road to guide ye,
We'll set up our Rests too.
Ant. Mine's up already,
And hang him for my part
Goes less than life.
2 Gent. If we see noble cause, 'tis like our Swords
May be as free and forward as your words. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Don John.
John. The civil order of this Town, Bologna,
Makes it belov'd and honour'd of all Travellers,
As a most safe retirement in all troubles;
Beside the wholsome seat, and noble temper
Of those minds that inhabit it, safely wise,
And to all strangers vertuous; But I see
My admiration has drawn night upon me,
And longer to expect my friend may pull me
Into suspicion of too late a stirrer,
Which all good Governments are jealous of.
I'll home, and think at liberty: yet certain,
'Tis not so far night as I thought; for see,
A fair house yet stands open, yet all about it
Are close, and no lights stirring, there may be foul play;
I'le venture to look in: if there be knaves,
I may do a good office. [Woman within.
Within. Signieur?
John. What? how is this?
Within. Signieur Fabritio?
John. I'le go nearer.
Within. Fabritio?
Joh. This is a womans tongue, here may be good done.
Within. Who's there?
Fabritio?
John. I.
Within. Where are ye?
Joh. Here.
Within. O come, for Heavens sake!
Joh. I must see what this means.
Enter Woman with a Child.
Within. I have stay'd this long hour for you, make no noise,
For things are in strange trouble: here, be secret,
'Tis worth your care; begon now; more eyes watch us,
Than may be for our safeties.
Joh. Hark ye?
Within. Peace: good night.
Joh. She is gone, and I am loaden; fortune for me;
It weighs well, and it feels well; it may chance
To be some pack of worth: byth' mass 'tis heavie;
If it be Coyn or Jewels, 'tis worth welcom:
I'le ne're refuse a fortune: I am confident
'Tis of no common price: now to my lodging:
If it hit right, I'le bless this night. [Exit.
SCENE IV.
Enter Frederick.
Fred. 'Tis strange,
I cannot meet him; sure he has encountred
Some light o' love or other, and there means
To play at in and in for this night. Well Don John,
If you do spring a leak, or get an itch,
Till ye claw off your curl'd pate, thank your night-walks:
You must be still a bootehalling: one round more,
Though it be late, I'le venture to discover ye,
I do not like your out-leaps. [Exit.
SCENE V.
Enter Duke, and 3 Gentlemen.
Duke. Welcom to Town, are ye all fit?
1 Gent. To point Sir.
Duke. Where are the horses?
2 Gent. Where they were appointed.
Duke. Be private, and whatsoever fortune
Offer it self, let's stand sure.
3 Gent. Fear not us,
E're ye shall be endangered, or deluded,
We'll make a black night on't.
Duke. No more, I know it;
You know your Quarters?
1 Gent. Will you go alone Sir?
Du. Ye shall not be far from me, the least noise
Shall bring ye to my rescue.
2 Gent. We are counsell'd. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Enter Don John.
John. Was ever man so paid for being curious?
Ever so bob'd for searching out adventures,
As I am? did the Devil lead me? must I needs be peeping
Into mens houses where I had no business,
And make my self a mischief? 'Tis well carried;
I must take other mens occasions on me,
And be I know not whom: most finely handled:
What have I got by this now? what's the purchase?
A piece of evening Arras work, a child,
Indeed an Infidel: this comes of peeping:
A lump got out of laziness; good white bread
Let's have no bawling with ye: 'sdeath, have I
Known wenches thus long, all the ways of wenches
Their snares and subtilties? have I read over
All their School learnings, div'd into their quiddits,
And am I now bum-fidled with a Bastard?
Fetch'd over with a Card of five, and in mine old days,
After the dire massacre of a million
Of Maiden-heads? caught the common way, i'th' night too
Under anothers name, to make the matter
Carry more weight about it? well Don John,
You will be wiser one day, when ye have purchas'd
A heavy of these Butter-prints together,
With searching out conceal'd iniquities,
Without commission: why, it would never grieve me,
If I had got this Ginger-bread: never stirr'd me,
So I had had a stroak for't: 't had been Justice
Then to have kept it; but to raise a dayrie
For other mens adulteries, consume my self in candles,
And scowring works, in Nurses Bells and Babies,
Only for charity, for meer I thank you,
A little troubles me: the least touch for it,
Had but my breeches got it, had contented me.
Whose e're it is, sure 't had a wealthy Mother,
For 'tis well cloathed, and if I be not cozen'd,
Well lin'd within: to leave it here were barbarous,
And ten to one would kill it: a more sin
Then his that got it: well, I will dispose on't,
And keep it, as they keep deaths heads in rings,
To cry memento to me; no more peeping.
Now all the danger is to qualifie
The good old gentlewoman, at whose house we live,
For she will fall upon me with a Catechism
Of four hours long: I must endure all;
For I will know this Mother: Come good wonder,
Let you and I be jogging: your starv'd trebble
Will waken the rude watch else: all that be
Curious night-walkers, may they find my fee. [Exit.
SCENE VII.
Enter Frederick.
Fred. Sure he's gone home:
I have beaten all the purlews,
But cannot bolt him: if he be a bobbing,
'Tis not my care can cure him: To morrow morning
I shall have further knowledge from a Surgeon's—
Where he lyes moor'd, to mend his leaks.
Enter Constantia.
Con. I'm ready,
And through a world of dangers am flown to ye.
Be full of haste and care, we are undone else:
Where are your people? which way must we travel?
For Heaven sake stay not here Sir.
Fred. What may this prove?
Con. Alas I am mistaken, lost, undone,
For ever perish'd. Sir, for Heaven sake tell me,
Are ye a Gentleman?
Con. Of this place?
Fred. No, born in Spain.
Con. As ever you lov'd honour,
As ever your desires may gain their ends,
Do a poor wretched woman but this benefit,
For I am forc'd to trust ye.
Fred. Y'ave charm'd me,
Humanity and honour bids me help ye;
And if I fail your trust.—
Con. The time's too dangerous
To stay your protestations: I believe ye,
Alas, I must believe ye: From this place,
Good noble Sir, remove me instantly,
And for a time, where nothing but your self,
And honest conversation may come near me,
In some secure place se[t]tle me: what I am
And why thus boldly I commit my credit
Into a strangers hand, the fears and dangers,
That force me to this wild course, at more leisure
I shall reveal unto you.
Fred. Come, be hearty,
He must strike through my life that takes ye from me. [Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Petruchio, Antonio, and 2 Gent.
Petr. He will sure come. Are ye well arm'd?
Ant. Never fear us.
Here's that will make 'em dance without a Fiddle.
Petr. We are to look for no weak foes, my friends,
Nor unadvised ones.
Ant. Best gamesters make the best game,
We shall fight close and handsom then.
1 Gent. Antonio,
You are a thought too bloudy.
Ant. Why? all Physicians
And penny Almanacks allow the opening
Of veins this moneth: why do ye talk of bloudy?
What come we for, to fall to cuffes for apples?
What, would ye make the cause a Cudgel quarrel?
On what terms stands this man? is not his honour
Open'd to his hand, and pickt out like an Oyster?
His credit like a quart pot knockt together,
Able to hold no liquor? clear but this point.
Petr. Speak softly, gentle cousin.
Ant. I'le speak truly;
What should men do ally'd to these disgraces,
Lick o're his enemie, sit down, and dance him?
2 Gent. You are as far o'th' bow hand now.
Ant. And crie;
That's my fine boy, thou wilt do so no more child.
Petr. Here are no such cold pities.
Ant. By Saint Jaques
They shall not find me one: here's old tough Andrew,
A special friend of mine, and he but hold,
I'le strike 'em such a hornpipe: knocks I come for,
And the best bloud I light on; I profess it,
Not to scare Coster-mongers; If I lose mine own,
Mine audits cast, and farewel five and fifty.
Pet. Let's talk no longer, place your selves with silence,
As I directed ye, and when time calls us,
As ye are friends, so shew your selves.
Ant. So be it. [Exeunt.
SCENE IX.
Enter Don John, and his Land-lady.
Land. Nay Son, if this be your regard.
John. Good Mother.
Lan. Good me no goods; your cousin, and your self
Are welcom to me, whilst you bear your selves
Like honest and true Gentlemen: Bring hither
To my house, that have ever been reputed
A Gentlewoman of a decent, and fair carriage,
And so behav'd my self—
John. I know ye have.
Lan. Bring hither, as I say, to make my name
Stink in my neighbours nostrils? your Devises,
Your Brats, got out of Alligant, and broken oaths?
Your Linsey Woolsy work, your hasty puddings?
I, foster up your filch'd iniquities?
Y'are deceiv'd in me, Sir, I am none
Of those receivers.
John. Have I not sworn unto you,
'Tis none of mine, and shew'd you how I found it?
Land. Ye found an easie fool that let you get it,
She had better have worn pasterns.
John. Will ye hear me?
Lan. Oaths? what do you care for oaths to gain your ends,
When ye are high and pamper'd? What Saint know ye?
Or what Religion, but your purpos'd lewdness,
Is to be look'd for of ye? nay, I will tell ye,
You will then swear like accus'd Cut-purses,
As far off truth too; and lye beyond all Faulconers:
I'me sick to see this dealing.
John. Heaven forbid Mother.
Lan. Nay, I am very sick.
John. Who waits there?
Ant. Sir. [Within.
John. Bring down the bottle of Canary wine.
Lan. Exceeding sick, Heav'n help me.
John. Haste ye Sirrah,
I must ev'n make her drunk; nay gentle mother.
Lan. Now fie upon ye, was it for this purpose
You fetch'd your evening walks for your digestions,
For this pretended holiness? no weather,
Not before day could hold ye from the Matins.
Were these your bo-peep prayers? ye'have pray'd well,
And with a learned zeal: watcht well too; your Saint
It seems was pleas'd as well: still sicker, sicker.
Enter Anthony, with a bottle of wine.
Joh. There is no talking to her till I have drencht her.
Give me: here mother take a good round draught,
'Twill purge spleen from your spirits: deeper mother.
Lan. I, I, son, you imagine this will mend all.
John. All i' faith Mother.
Lan. I confess the Wine
Will do his part.
John. I'le pledge ye.
Lan. But son John.
Joh. I know your meaning mother; touch it once more,
Alas you look not well; take a round draught,
It warms the bloud well, and restores the colour,
And then we'll talk at large.
Lan. A civil Gentleman?
A stranger? one the Town holds a good regard of?
John. Nay I will silence thee.
Lan. One that should weigh his fair name? oh, a stitch!
Joh. There's nothing better for a stitch, good Mother,
Make no spare of it, as you love your health,
Mince not the matter.
Land. As I said, a Gentleman,
Lodge in my house? now heav'ns my comfort, Signior!
John. I look'd for this.
Lan. I did not think you would have us'd me thus;
A woman of my credit: one, heaven knows,
That lov'd you but too tenderly.
John. Dear Mother,
I ever found your kindness, and [ac]knowledge it.
Lan. No, no, I am a fool to counsel ye. Where's the infant?
Come, let's see your Workmanship.
John. None of mine, Mother,
But there 'tis, and a lusty one.
Land. Heaven bless thee,
Thou hadst a hasty making; but the best is,
'Tis many a good mans fortune: as I live
Your own eyes Signior, and the nether lip
As like ye, as ye had spit it.
John. I am glad on't.
Lan. Bless me, what things are these?
John. I thought my labour
Was not all lost, 'tis gold, and these are jewels,
Both rich, and right I hope.
Lan. Well, well son John,
I see ye are a wood-man, and can chuse
Your dear, though it be i'th' dark, all your discretion
Is not yet lost; this was well clapt aboard:
Here I am with you now; when as they say
Your pleasure comes with profit; when ye must needs do,
Do where ye may be done to, 'tis a wisedom
Becomes a young man well: be sure of one thing,
Lose not your labour and your time together,
It seasons of a fool, son, time is pretious,
Work wary whilst ye have it: since ye must traffick
Sometimes this slippery way, take sure hold Signior,
Trade with no broken Merchants, make your lading,
As you would make your rest, adventurously,
But with advantage ever.
John. All this time Mother,
The child wants looking to, wants meat and Nurses.
Lan. Now blessing o' thy care; it shall have all,
And instantly; I'le seek a Nurse my self, son;
'Tis a sweet child: ah my young Spaniard,
Take you no further care Sir.
John. Yes of these Jewels,
I must by your leave Mother: these are yours,
To make your care the stronger: for the rest
I'le find a Master; the gold for bringing up on't,
I freely render to your charge.
Lan. No more words,
Nor no more children, (good son) as you love me,
This may do well.
John. I shall observe your Morals.
But where's Don Frederick, Mother?
Lan. Ten to one
About the like adventure: he told me,
He was to find you out. [Exit.
John. Why should he stay thus?
There may be some ill chance in't: sleep I will not,
Before I have found him: now this woman's pleas'd,
I'le seek my friend out, and my care is eas'd. [Exit.
SCENE X.
Enter Duke, and Gentlemen.
1 Gent. Believe Sir, 'tis as possible to do it,
As to remove the City; the main faction
Swarm th[r]ough the streets like hornets, arm'd with angers
Able to ruine States: no safety left us,
Nor means to dye like men, if instantly
You draw not back again.
Duke. May he be drawn
And quarter'd too, that turns now; were I surer
Of death than thou art of thy fears, and with death
More than those fears are too.
1 Gent. Sir, I fear not.
Du. I would not crack my vow, start from my honour,
Because I may find danger; wound my soul,
To keep my body safe.
1 Gent. I speak not Sir,
Out of a baseness to you.
Du. No, nor do not
Out of a baseness leave me: what is danger,
More than the weakness of our apprehensions?
A poor cold part o'th' bloud? who takes it hold of?
Cowards, and wicked livers: valiant minds
Were made the Masters of it: and as hearty Sea-men
In desperate storms, stem with a little Rudder
The tumbling ruines of the Ocean:
So with their cause and swords do they do dangers.
Say we were sure to dye all in this venture,
As I am confident against it: is there any
Amongst us of so fat a sense, so pamper'd,
Would chuse luxuriously to lye a bed,
And purge away his spirit, send his soul out
In Sugar-sops, and Syrups? Give me dying
As dying ought to be, upon mine enemy,
Parting with man-kind, by a man that's manly:
Let 'em be all the world, and bring along
Cain's envy with 'em, I will on.
2 Gent. You may Sir,
But with what safety?
1 Gent. Since 'tis come to dying,
You shall perceive Sir, here be those amongst us
Can dye as decently as other men,
And with as little ceremony: on brave Sir.
Duke. That's spoken heartily.
1 Gent. And he that flinches,
May he dye lowzie in a ditch.
Duke. No more dying,
There's no such danger in it:
What's a clock?
3 Gent. Somewhat above your hour.
Duke. Away then quickly,
Make no noise, and no tr[o]uble will attend us. [Exeunt.
SCENE XI.
Enter Frederick, and Peter, (with a candle.)
Fred. Give me the candle: so, go you out that way.
Peter. What have we now to do?
Fred. And o' your life Sirrah,
Let none come near the door without my knowledge,
No not my Landlady, nor my friend.
Peter. 'Tis done Sir.
Fred. Nor any serious business that concerns me.
Peter. Is the wind there again?
Fred. Be gone.
Peter. I am Sir. [Exit.
Enter Constantia.
Fre. Now enter without fear.—And noble Lady
That safety and civility ye wish'd for
Shall truly here attend you: no rude tongue
Nor rough behaviour knows this place, no wishes
Beyond the moderation of a man,
Dare enter here; your own desires and Innocence,
Joyn'd to my vow'd obedience, shall protect you,
Were dangers more than doubts.
Const. Ye are truly noble,
And worth a womans trust: let it become me,
(I do beseech you, Sir) for all your kindness,
To render with my thanks, this worthless trifle;
I may be longer troublesome.
Fred. Fair offices
Are still their own rewards: Heav'n bless me Lady
From selling civil courtesies: may it please ye,
If ye will force a favour to oblige me,
Draw but that cloud aside, to satisfie me
For what good Angel I am engag'd.
Const. It shall be,
For I am truly confident ye are honest:
The Piece is scarce worth looking on.
Fred. Trust me
The abstract of all beauty, soul of sweetness,
Defend me honest thoughts, I shall grow wild else:
What eyes are there, rather what little heavens,
To stir mens contemplations! what a Paradise
Runs through each part she has! good bloud be temperate:
I must look off: too excellent an object
Confounds the sense that sees it. Noble Lady,
If there be any further service to cast on me,
Let it be worth my life, so much I honour ye,
Or the engagement of whole Families.
Const. Your service is too liberal, worthy Sir,
Thus far I shall entreat.
Fred. Command me Lady,
You make your power too poor.
Const. That presently
With all convenient haste, you would retire
Unto the street you found me in.
Fred. 'Tis done.
Const. There, if you find a Gentleman opprest
With force and violence, do a mans office,
And draw your sword to rescue him.
Fred. He's safe,
Be what he will, and let his foes be Devils,
Arm'd with your pity, I shall conjure 'em.
Retire, this key will guide ye: all things necessary
Are there before ye.
Const. All my prayers go with ye. [Exit.
Fred. Ye clap on proof upon me: men say gold
Does all, engages all, works through all dangers:
Now I say beauty can do more: The Kings Exchequer,
Nor all his wealthy Indies, could not draw me
Through half those miseries this piece of pleasure
Might make me leap into: we are all like sea-Cards,
All our endeavours and our motions,
(As they do to the North) still point at beauty,
Still at the fairest: for a handsom woman,
(Setting my soul aside) it should go hard,
But I would strain my body: yet to her,
Unless it be her own free gratitude,
Hopes ye shall dye, and thou tongue rot within me,
E're I infringe my faith: now to my rescue. [Exit.