Enter Duke, Petrucchio, Frederick, and John.
Petr. Now to Bologna, my most honoured Brother,
I dare pronounce ye a hearty, and safe welcome,
Our loves shall now way-lay ye; welcome, Gentlemen.
John. The same to you brave Sir; Don Frederick,
Will ye step in and give the Lady notice
Who comes to honour her?
Petr. Bid her be sudden,
We come to see no curious wench: a night-gown
Will serve the turn: here's one that knows her nearer.
Fred. I'le tell her what ye say, Sir. [Exit Fred.
Duke. My dear brother,
Ye are a merry Gentleman.
Petr. Now will the sport be,
To observe her alterations; how like a wildfire
She'll leap into your bosom; then seeing me,
Her conscience, and her fears creeping upon her,
Dead as a fowl at souse, she'll sink.
Duke. Fair Brother,
I must intreat you—
Petr. I conceive your mind, Sir,
I will not chide her: yet ten Duckets, Duke,
She falls upon her knees, ten more she dare not—
Duke. I must not have her frighted.
Petr. Well you shall not:
Enter Frederick, and Peter.
But like a Summers evening against heat,
Mark how I'le guild her cheeks!
John. How now?
Fred. Ye may, Sir:
Not to abuse your patience, noble friends,
Nor hold ye off with tedious circumstance,
For you must know—
Petr. What?
Duke. Where is she?
Fred. Gone, Sir.
Duke. How?
Petr. What did you say, Sir?
Fred. Gone, by Heaven removed,
The woman of the house too.
John. Well Don Frederick.
Fred. Don John, it is not well, but—
Pet. Gone?
Fred. This fellow
Can testifie I lye not.
Peter. Some four hours after
My Master was departed, with this Gentleman,
My fellow and my self being sent of business,
(As we must think) of purpose—
Petr. Hang these circumstances,
They appear like Owls, to ill ends.
John. Now could I eat
The Devil in his own broth, I am so tortur'd.
Gone?
Petr. Gone?
Fred. Directly gone, fled, shifted: what would you have me say?
Duke. Well, Gentlemen,
Wrong not my good opinion.
Fred. For your Dukedom
I will not be a Knave, Sir.
John. He that is,
A rot run in his bloud.
Petr. But hark ye Gentlemen,
Are ye sure ye had her here, did ye not dream this?
John. Have you your nose, Sir?
Petr. Yes, Sir.
John. Then we had her.
Petr. Since you are so short, believe your having her
Shall suffer more construction.
John. Let it suffer,
But if I be not clear of all dishonour,
Or practice that may taint my reputation,
And ignorant of where this Woman is,
Make me your Cities monster.
Duke. I believe ye.
John. I could lye with a Witch now, to be reveng'd,
Upon that Rascal did this.
Fred. Only thus much
I would desire your Grace, for my mind gives me
Before night yet she is yours: stop all opinion,
And let no anger out, till full cause call it,
Then every mans own work's to justifie him,
And this day let us give to search: my man here
Tells me, by chance he saw out of a window
(Which place he has taken notice of) such a face
As our old Landladies, he believes the same too,
And by her hood assures it: Let's first thither,
For she being found, all's ended.
Duke. Come, for Heavens sake,
And Fortune, and thou be'st not ever turning,
If there be one firm step in all thy reelings,
Now settle it, and save my hopes: away friends. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Antonio and his Servant.
Ant. With all my Jewels?
Ser. All, Sir.
Ant. And that mony
I left i'th' trunk?
Ser. The Trunk broke, and that gone too.
Ant. Francisco of the plot?
Ser. Gone with the wench too.
Ant. The mighty pox go with 'em: belike they thought
I was no man of this world, and those trifles
Would but disturb my conscience.
Ser. Sure they thought, Sir,
You would not live to persecute 'em.
Ant. Whore and Fidler,
Why, what a consort have they made! Hen and Bacon!
Well my sweet Mistris, well good Madam mar-tail?
You that have hung about my neck, and lick't me,
I'le try how handsomely your Ladyship
Can hang upon a Gallows, there's your Master-piece;
But hark ye Sirrah, no imagination
Of where they should be?
Ser. None, Sir, yet we have search'd
All places we suspected; I believe, Sir,
They have taken towards the Ports.
Ant. Get me a conjurer,
One that can raise a water Devil, I'le port 'em;
Play at duck and drake with my mony; take heed Fidler;
I'le dance ye by this hand, your Fidle-stick
I'le grease of a new fashion, for presuming
To meddle with my degamboys: get me a Conjurer,
Enquire me out a man that lets out Devils:
None but my C. Cliffe serve your turn?
Ser. I know not—
Ant. In every street, Tom fool, any blear-ey'd people
With red heads, and flat noses can perform it;
Thou shalt know 'em by their half Gowns and no Breeches:
Mount my Mare Fidler? ha boy! up at first dash?
Sit sure, I'le clap a nettle, and a smart one,
Shall make your Filly firk: I will fine Fidler,
I'le put you to your plunge, Boy: Sirrah meet me
Some two hours hence at home; in the mean time
Find out a conjurer and know his price,
How he will let his Devils by the day out,
I'le have 'em, and they be above ground. [Ex. Ant.
Ser. Now bless me,
What a mad man is this! I must do something
To please his humour: such a man I'le ask for,
And tell him where he is: but to come near him,
Or have any thing to do with his don Devils,
I thank my fear, I dare not, nor I will not. [Exit.
SCENE III.
Enter Duke, Petrucchio, Frederick, John, Peter,
and Servant with Bottle.
Fred. Whither wilt thou lead us?
[Pet.] 'Tis hard by, Sir.
And ten to one this wine goes thither.
Duke. Forward.
Petr. Are they grown so merry?
Duke. 'Tis [most] likely,
She has heard of this good fortune, and determines
To wash her sorrows off.
[Pet.] 'Tis so; that house, Sir,
Is it: out of that window certainly
I saw my old Mistresses face.
Petr. They are merry indeed, [Musick.
Hark I hear Musick too.
Duke. Excellent Musick.
John. Would I were ev'n among 'em, and alone now;
A pallat for the purpose in a corner,
And good rich Wine within me; what gay sport
Could I make in an hour now!
SONG.
Welcome sweet liberty, and care farewel,
I am mine own,
She is twice damn'd, that lives in Hell,
When Heaven is shown.
Budding beauty, blooming years
Were made for pleasure, farewel fears,
For now I am my self, mine own command,
My fortune alwayes in my hand.
Fred. Hark a voice too;
Let's not stir yet by any means.
John. Was this her own voice?
Duke. Yes, sure.
Fred. 'Tis a rare one.
Enter Bawd (above.)
Du. The Song confirms her here too: for if ye mark it,
It spake of liberty, and free enjoying
The happy end of pleasure.
[Pet.] Look ye there, Sir,
Do ye know that head?
Fred. 'Tis my good Landlady,
I find fear has done all this.
John. She I swear,
And now do I know by the hanging of her Hood,
She is parcel drunk: shall we go in?
Duke. Not yet, Sir.
Petr. No, let 'em take their pleasure.
Duke. When it is highest, [Musick.
We'll step in, and amaze 'em: peace, more Musick.
John. This Musick murders me: what bloud have I now!
Fred. I should know that face. [Enter Fran, and Exit.
John. By this light 'tis he, Frederick,
That bred our first suspicions, the same fellow.
Fred. He that we overtook, and overheard too,
Discoursing of Constantia.
John. Still the same;
Now he slips in.
Duke. What's that?
Fred. She must be here Sir:
This is the very fellow, I told your Grace
Enter Francisco.
We found upon the way; and what his talk was.
Petr. Why, sure I know this fellow; yes, 'tis he,
Francisco, Antonio's boy, a rare Musician,
He taught my Sister on the Lute, and is ever
(She loves his voice so well) about her: certain,
Without all doubt she is here: it must be so.
John. Here? that's no question: what should our hen
Do here without her? if she be not here (o'th' game else
I am so confident) let your grace believe,
We two are arrant Rascals, and have abus'd ye.
Fred. I say so too.
John. Why there's the hood again now,
The guard that guides us; I know the fabrick of it,
And know the old tree of that saddle yet, 'twas made of,
A hunting hood, observe it.
Duke. Who shall enter?
Petr. I'le make one.
John. I, another.
Duke. But so carry it,
That all her joyes flow not together.
John. If we told her,
Your grace would none of her?
Duke. By no means Signior,
'Twould turn her wild, stark frantick.
John. Or assur'd her—
Duke. Nothing of that stern nature: this ye may Sir,
That the conditions of our fear yet stand
On nice and dangerous knittings: or that a little
I seem to doubt the child.
John. Would I could draw her
To hate your grace with these things.
Petr. Come let's enter. [Ex. Petr. and John.
And now he sees me not, I'le search her soundly.
Duke. Now luck of all sides. [Musick.
Fred. Doubt it not: more Musick:
Sure she has heard some comfort.
Duke. Yes, stand still Sir.
Fred. This is the maddest song.
Duke. Applyed for certain
To some strange melancholy she is loaden with.
Fred. Now all the sport begins—hark!
Duke. They are amongst 'em,
The fears now, and the shakings! [Trampling above.
Fred. Our old Lady
(Hark how they run) is even now at this instant
Ready to lose her head-piece by Don John,
Or creeping through a Cat hole. [Petr. and John within.
Petr. Bring 'em down,
And you Sir, follow me.
Duke. He's angry with 'em,
I must not suffer this.
John, within. Bowl down the Bawd there
Old Erra mater: you Lady leachery,
For the good will I bear to th' game, most tenderly
Shall be lead out, and lash'd.
Enter Petrucchio, John, Whore, and Bawd,
with Francisco.
Duke. Is this Constantia?
Why Gentlemen? what do you mean? is this she?
Whore. I am Constantia Sir.
Duke. A whore ye are Sir.
Whore. 'Tis very true: I am a whore indeed Sir.
Petr. She will not lye yet, though she steal.
Whore. A plain whore,
If you please to imploy me.
Duke. And an impudent—
Whore. Plain dealing now is impudence.
One, if you will Sir, can shew ye as much sport
In one half hour, and with as much variety,
As a far wiser woman can in half a year:
For there my way lies.
Duke. Is she not drunk too?
Whore. A little guilded o're Sir,
Old sack, old sack boys.
Petr. This is saliant.
John. A brave bold quean.
Duke. Is this your certainty?
Do ye know the man ye wrong thus, Gentlemen?
Is this the woman meant?
Fred. No.
Duke. That your Land-lady?
John. I know not what to say.
Duke. Am I a person
To be your sport, Gentlemen?
John. I do believe now certain
I am a knave; but how, or when—
Duke. What are you?
Petr. Bawd to this piece of pye meat.
Bawd. A poor Gentlewoman
That lyes in Town, about Law business,
And't like your worships.
Petr. You shall have Law, believe it.
Bawd. I'le shew your Mastership my case.
Petr. By no means,
I had rather see a Custard.
Bawd. My dead Husband
Left it even thus Sir.
John. Bless mine eyes from blasting,
I was never so frighted with a case.
Bawd. And so Sir—
Petr. Enough, put up good velvet head.
Duke. What are you two now,
By your own free confessions?
Fred. What you shall think us,
Though to my self I am certain, and my life
Shall make that good and perfect, or fall with it.
John. We are sure of nothing, Fred, that's the truth on't:
I do not think my name's Don John, nor dare not
Believe any thing that concerns me, but my debts,
Nor those in way of payment: things are so carried,
What to entreat your grace, or how to tell ye
We are, or we are not, is past my cunning,
But I would fain imagine we are honest,
And o' my conscience, I should fight in't—
Duke. Thus then,
For we may be all abus'd.
Petr. 'Tis possible,
For how should this concern them?
Duke. Here let's part—
Until to morrow this time: we to our way,
To make this doubt out, and you to your way;
Pawning our honours then to meet again,
When if she be not found.
Fred. We stand engaged
To answer any worthy way we are call'd to.
Duke. We ask no more.
Whore. Ye have done with us then?
Duke. But is her name Constantia?
Petr. Yes a moveable
Belonging to a friend of mine: come out Fidler,
What say you to this Lady? be not fearfull.
Fra. Saving the reverence of my Masters pleasure,
I say she is a whore, and that she has robb'd him,
Hoping his hurts would kill him.
Whore. Who provok't me?
Nay Sirrah squeak, I'le see your treble strings
Ty'd up too; if I hang, I'le spoil your piping,
Your sweet face shall not save ye.
Petr. Thou damn'd impudence,
And thou dry'd Devil; where's the officer?
[Pet.] He's here Sir.
Enter Officer.
Petr. Lodge these safe, till I send for 'em;
Let none come to 'em, nor no noise be heard
Of where they are, or why: away.
John. By this hand
A handsom whore: Now will I be arrested,
And brought home to this officers: a stout whore,
I love such stirring ware: pox o' this business,
A man must hunt out morsels for another,
And starve himself: a quick-ey'd whore, that's wild-fire,
And makes the bloud dance through the veins like billows.
I will reprieve this whore.
Duke. Well, good luck with ye.
Fred. As much attend your grace.
Petr. To morrow certain—
John. If we out-live this night Sir.
Fred. Come Don John,
We have something now to do.
John. I am sure I would have.
Fred. If she be not found, we must fight.
John. I am glad on't,
I have not fought a great while.
Fred. If we dye—
Jo. There's so much mony sav'd in lecherie. [Exeunt.