Enter Duke, Petrucchio, below, and Vecchio, above.
Duke. It should be hereabouts.
Petr. Your grace is right,
This is the house, I know it.
Vec. Grace?
Duke. 'Tis further
By the description we received.
Petr. Good my Lord the Duke,
Believe me, for I know it certainly,
This is the very house.
Vec. My Lord the Duke?
Duke. Pray Heaven this man prove right now.
Petr. Believe it, he's a most sufficient Scholar,
And can do rare tricks this way; for a figure,
Or raising an appearance, whole Christendom
Has not a better; I have heard strange wonders of him.
Duke. But can he shew us where she is?
Petr. Most certain,
And for what cause too she departed.
Duke. Knock then,
For I am great with expectation,
Till this man satisfie me: I fear the Spaniards,
Yet they appear brave fellows: can he tell us?
Petr. With a wet finger, whether they be false.
Duke. Away then.
Petr. Who's within here?
Enter Vecchio.
Vec. Your grace may enter.
Duke. How can he know me?
Petr. He knows all.
Vec. And you Sir. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Don John, and Frederick.
John. What do you call his name?
Fred. Why, Peter Vecchio.
John. They say he can raise Devils,
Can he make 'em
Tell truth too, when he has rais'd 'em? for believe it,
These Devils are the lyingst Rascals.
Fred. He can compel 'em.
John. With what? can he
Tye squibs in their tails, and fire the truth out?
Or make 'em eat a bawling Puritan,
Whose sanctified zeal shall rumble like an Earth-quake?
Fred. With Spells man.
John. I with spoons as soon, dost thou think
The Devil such an Asse as people make him?
Such a poor coxcomb? such a penny foot-post?
Compel'd with cross and pile to run of errands?
With Asteroth, and Behemoth, and Belfagor?
Why should he shake at sounds, that lives in a smiths forge?
Or if he do—
Fred. Without all doubt he do's John.
John. Why should not Bilbo raise him, or a pair of bullyons,
They go as big as any? or an unshod Car,
When he goes tumble, tumble o're the stones,
Like Anacreons drunken verses, [make us tremble?]
These make as fell a noise; me thinks the colick
Well handled, and fed with small beer—
Fred. 'Tis the vertue—
John. The vertue? nay, and goodness fetch him up once,
H'as lost a friend of me; the wise old Gentleman
Knows when, and how; I'le lay this hand to two pence,
Let all the Conjurers in Christendom,
With all their spells, and vertues call upon him,
And I but think upon a wench, and follow it,
He shall be sooner mine than theirs; where's vertue?
Fred. Thou art the most sufficient, (I'le say for thee)
Not to believe a thing—
John. O Sir, slow credit
Is the best child of knowl[e]dge; I'le go with ye,
And if he can do any thing, I'le think
As you would have me.
Fred. Let's enquire along,
For certain we are not far off.
John. Nor much nearer. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Duke, Petrucchio, and Vecchio.
Vec. You lost her yester-night.
Pet. How think you Sir?
Duke. Is your name Vecchio?
Vec. Yes Sir.
Du. And you can shew me
These things you promise.
Vec. Your graces word bound to me,
No hand of Law shall seize me.
Duke. As I live Sir—
Petr. And as I live, that can do something too Sir.
Vec. I take your promises: stay here a little,
Till I prepare some Ceremonies, and I'le satisfie ye.
The Ladies name's Constantia?
Petr. Yes.
Vec. I come straight. [Exit Vec.
Duke. Sure he's a learned man.
Petr. The most now living;
Did your grace mark when we told all these circumstances,
How ever and anon he bolted from us
To use his studies help?
Duke. Now I think rather
To talk with some familiar.
Petr. Not unlikely,
For sure he has 'em subject.
Duke. How could he else
Tell when she went, and who went with her?
Petr. True.
Du. Or hit upon mine honour: or assure me
The Lady lov'd me dearly?
Enter Vecchio, in his habiliments.
Petr. 'Twas so.
Vec. Now,
I do beseech your grace sit down, and you Sir;
Nay pray sit close like Brothers.
Petr. A rare fellow.
Vec. And what ye see, stir not at, nor use a word,
Until I ask ye; for what shall appear
Is but weak apparition and thin air,
Not to be held, nor spoken to. [Knocking within.
[John, Frederick, and a Servant within.
Duke. We are counsell'd—
Vec. What noise is that without there?
Fred. within. We must speak with him.
Serv. within. He's busie, Gentlemen.
John within. That's all one friend,
We must and will speak with him.
Duke. Let 'em in, Sir,
We know their tongues and business, 'tis our own,
And in this very cause that we now come for,
They also come to be instructed.
Vec. Let 'em in then:
Sit down, I know your meaning.
Enter Frederick, John, and Servant.
Fred. The Duke before us?
Now we shall sure know something.
Vec. Not a question,
But make your Eyes your Tongues—
John. This is a strange Jugler,
Neither indent before-hand for his payment,
Nor know the Breadth of the business; sure his Devil
Comes out of Lapland, where they sell men Winds
For dead drink, and old Doublets.
Fred. Peace, he conjures.
John. Let him, he cannot raise my Devil.
Fred. Prithee Peace.
Vec. Appear, appear,
And you soft Winds so clear,
That dance upon the leaves, and make them sing
Gentle Love-lays to the Spring,
Gilding all the Vales below,
With your Verdure as ye blow,
Raise these forms from under ground
With a soft and happy sound. [Soft Musick.
John. This is an honest Conjurer, and a pretty Poet;
I like his words well, there's no bumbast in 'em,
But do you think now he can cudgel up the Devil
With this short Staff of Verses?
Fred. Peace, the Spirits— [2 shapes of women passing by.
John. Nay, and they be no worse—
Vec. Do ye know these faces?
Duke. No.
Vec. Sit still upon your lives then, and mark what follows;
Away, away.
John. These Devils do not paint sure?
Have they no sweeter shapes in Hell?
Fred. Hark now, John. [Constantia passes by.
John. I, marry, this moves something like, this Devil
Carries some metal in her gate.
Vec. I find ye,
You would see her face unvail'd?
Duke. Yes.
Vec. Be uncovered.
Duke. O Heaven!
Vec. Peace.
Pet. See how she blushes.
John. Frederick,
This Devil for my mony; this is she, Boy,
Why dost thou shake? I burn.
Vec. Sit still, and silent.
Duke. She looks back at me, now she smiles, Sir.
Vec. Silence.
Duke. I must rise, or I burst. [Exit Constantia.
Vec. Ye see what follows—
Duke. O gentle Sir, this shape agen.
Vec. I cannot.
'Tis all disso[l]v'd again; this was the Figure?
Duke. The very same, Sir.
No hope once more to see it?
Vec. You might have kept it longer, had ye spar'd it,
Now 'tis impossible.
Du. No means to find it?
Vec. Yes, that there is, sit still a while, there's Wine
To thaw the wonder from your hearts; drink well, Sir.
[Exit Vecchio.
John. This Conjurer is a right good fellow too,
A Lad of mettle; two such Devils more
Would make me a Conjurer; what wine is it?
Fred. Hollock.
John. The Devil's in it then; look how it dances.
Well, if I be—
Pet. We are all before ye,
That's your best comfort, Sir.
John. By th' Mass, brave Wine;
Nay, and the Devils live in this Hell, I dare venture
Within these two months yet to be delivered
Of a large Legion of 'em.
Enter Vecchio.
Du. Here he comes,
Silence of all sides, Gentlemen.
Vec. Good your Grace,
Observe a stricter temper, and you too, Gallants,
You'll be deluded all else. This merry Devil
That next appears, for such a one you'll find it,
Must be call'd up by a strange incantation,
A Song, and I must sing it: 'pray bear with me,
And pardon my rude Pipe; for yet, ere parting
Twenty to one I please ye.
Du. We are arm'd, Sir.
Pet. Nor shall you see us more transgress.
Fred. What think'st thou
Now, John?
John. Why, now do I think, Frederick,
(And if I think amiss Heaven pardon me)
This honest Conjurer, with some four or five
Of his good fellow Devils, and my self,
Shall be yet drunk ere midnight.
SONG.
Come away, thou Lady gay,
Hoist; how she stumbles!
Hark how she mumbles.
Dame Gillian. Answer. I come, I come.
By old Claret I enlarge thee,
By Canary thus I charge thee,
By Britain, Mathewglin, and Peeter,
Appear and answer me in meeter.
Why when?
Why Gill?
Why when?
Answer. You'll tarry till I am ready.
Once again I conjure thee,
By the Pose in thy Nose,
And the Gout in thy Toes;
By thine old dryed Skin,
And the Mummie within;
By thy little, little Ruff,
And thy Hood that's made of Stuff;
By thy Bottle at thy Breech,
And thine old salt Itch;
By the Stakes, and the Stones,
That have worn out thy Bones.
Appear.
Appear.
Appear.
Answer. Oh I am here.
Fred. Peace, he conjures.
John. Why, this is the Song, Frederick; twenty pound now,
To see but our Don Gillian.
Enter Land-lady and the Child.
Fred. Peace, it appears.
John. I cannot peace; Devils in French hoods, Frederick?
Satans old Syringes?
Duke. What's this?
Vec. Peace.
John. She, Boy.
Fred. What dost thou mean?
John. She, Boy, I say.
Fred. Ha?
John. She Boy,
The very Child too, Frederick.
Fred. She laughs on us
Aloud, John, has the Devil these affections?
I do believe 'tis she, indeed.
Vec. Stand still.
John. I will not;
Who calls Jeronimo from his naked Bed?
Sweet Lady, was it you? if thou beest the Devil,
First, having crost my self, to keep out wildfire,
Then said some special Prayers to defend me
Against thy most unhallowed Hood, have at thee.
Land. Hold, Sir, I am no Devil.
John. That's all one.
Land. I am your very Landlady.
John. I defie thee;
Thus as St. Dunstan blew the Devil's Nose
With a pair of tongs, even so, Right Worshipful—
Land. Sweet Son, I am old Gillian.
Duke. This is no Spirit.
John. Art thou old Gillian, flesh and bone?
Land. I am, Son.
Vec. Sit still, Sir, now I'll shew you all. [Ex. Vec.
John. Where's thy Bottle?
Land. Here, I beseech ye, Son—
John. For I know the Devil
Cannot assume that shape.
Fred. 'Tis she, John, certain—
John. A hogs pox o' your mouldy chaps, what makes you
Tumbling and juggling here?
Land. I am quit now, Seignior,
For all the pranks you plaid, and railings at me,
For to tell true, out of a trick I put
Upon your high behaviours, which was a lie,
But then it serv'd my turn, I drew the Lady
Unto my Kinsman's here, only to torture
Your Don-ships for a day or two; and secure her
Out of all thoughts of danger; here she comes now.
Enter Vecchio, and Constantia.
Duke. May I yet speak?
Vec. Yes, and embrace her too,
For one that loves you dearer—
Duke. O my Sweetest.
Pet. Blush not, I will not chide ye.
Const. To add more
Unto the joy I know, I bring ye, see Sir,
The happy fruit of all our Vows!
Duke. Heavens Blessing
Be round about thee ever.
John. Pray bless me to[o],
For if your Grace be well instructed this way,
You'll find the keeping half the getting.
Duke. How, Sir?
John. I'll tell you that anon.
Const. 'Tis true, this Gentleman
Has done a charity worthy your favour,
And let him have it, dear Sir.
Duke. My best Lady
He has, and ever shall have: so must you, Sir,
To whom I am equal bound as to my being.
Fred. Your Graces humble servant—
Du. Why kneel you, Sir?
Vec. For pardon for my boldness: yet 'twas harmless,
And all the art I have, Sir; those your Grace saw,
Which you thought spirits, were my Neighbours Children
Whom I instruct in Grammar here, and Musick;
Their shapes, the Peoples fond opinions,
Believing I can conjure, and oft repairing
To know of things stoln from 'em, I keep about me,
And always have in readiness, by conjecture
Out of their own confessions, I oft tell 'em
Things that by chance have fallen out so; which way
(Having the persons here, I knew you sought for)
I wrought upon your Grace; my end is mirth,
And pleasing, if I can, all parties.
Duke. I believe it,
For you have pleas'd me truly: so well pleas'd me,
That when I shall forget it—
Pet. Here's old Antonio,
I spy'd him at a window, coming mainly
I know about his Whore, the man you light on,
As you discovered unto me; good your Grace,
Let's stand by all, 'twill be a mirth above all,
To observe his pelting fury.
Vec. About a wench, Sir?
Pet. A young whore that has rob'd him.
Vec. But do you know, Sir,
Where she is?
Pet. Yes, and will make that perfect—
Vec. I am instructed well then.
John. If he come
To have a Devil shew'd him, by all means
Let me be he, I can roar rarely.
Pet. Be so,
But take heed to his anger.
Vec. Slip in quickly,
There you shall find suits of all sorts: when I call
Be ready and come forward. [Exeunt all but Vecchio.
Who's there comes in?
Enter Antonio.
Ant. Are you the Conjurer?
Vec. Sir, I can do a little
That way, if you please to employ me.
Ant. Presently, shew me a Devil that can tell—
Vec. Where your wench is.
Ant. You are i'th' right; as also where the Fidler
That was consenting to her.
Vec. Sit ye there, Sir,
Ye shall know presently: can ye pray heartily?
Ant. Why, is your Devil so furious?
Vec. I must shew ye
A form may chance affright ye.
Ant. He must fart fire then:
Take you no care for me.
Vec. Ascend, Asterth,
Enter Don John like a Spirit.
Why, when, appear I say—Now question him.
Ant. Where is my whore, Don Devil?
John. Gone to China,
To be the great Chams Mistress.
Ant. That's a lye, Devil,
Where are my jewels?
John. Pawn'd for Petticoats.
Ant. That may be: where's the Fidler?
John. Condemn'd to th' Gallows
For robbing of a Mill.
Ant. The lyingst Devil
That e'r I dealt withal, and the unlikeliest!
What was that Rascal hurt me?
John. I.
Ant. How?
John. I.
Ant. Who was he?
John. I.
Ant. Do you hear conjurer,
Dare you venture your Devil?
Vec. Yes.
Ant. Then I'll venture my dagger;
Have at your Devils pate; do you mew?
Enter all.
Vec. Hold.
Pet. Hold there,
I do command you hold.
Ant. Is this the Devil?
Why, Conjurer—
Pet. He has been a Devil to you, Sir;
But now you shall forget all; your whore's safe,
And all your jewels, your Boy too.
John. Now the Devil indeed
Lay his ten claws upon thee, for my pate
Finds what it is to be a Fiend.
Ant. All safe?
Pet. 'Pray ye know this person; all's right now.
Ant. Your Grace
May now command me then: but where's my whore?
Pet. Ready to go to whipping.
Ant. My whore whipt?
Pet. Yes, your whore without doubt, Sir.
Ant. Whipt! 'pray Gentlemen.
Duke. Why, would you have her once more rob ye? the young Boy
You may forgive, he was entic'd.
John. The whore, Sir,
Would rather carry pity: a handsome whore.
Ant. A Gentleman I warrant thee.
Pet. Let's in all,
And if we see contrition in your whore, Sir,
Much may be done.
Duke. Now my dear fair to you,
And the full consummation of my Vow. [Exeunt.
Prologue.
Aptness for Mirth to all, this instant Night
Thalia hath prepared for your delight,
Her Choice and curious Viands, in each part
Season'd with rarities of Wit and Art;
Nor fear I to be tax'd for a vain boast,
My Promise will find Credit with the most,
When they know ingenious Fletcher made it, he
Being in himself a perfect Comedie:
And some sit here, I doubt not, dare averr
Living he made that House a Theatre
Which he pleas'd to frequent; and thus much we
Could not but pay to his lo[v]d Memorie.
For our selves, we do entreat that you would not
Expect strange turns, and windings in the Plot,
Objects of State, and now and then a Rhime,
To gall particular Persons with the time;
Or that his towring Muse hath made her flight
Nearer your apprehension than your sight;
But if that sweet Expressions, quick Conceit,
Familiar Language, fashion'd to the weight
Of such as speak it, have the power to raise
Your Grace to us, with Trophies to his Praise;
We may profess, presuming on his Skill,
If his Chances please not you, our Fortune's ill.