Cas. ’Sblood, signor Pioratto, you that disparage my conceit, I’ll wage a hundred ducats upon the head on’t, that it moves him, frets him, and galls him.
Pio. Done; ’tis a lay;[44] join golls[45] on’t. Witness, signor Fluello.
Vio. Come, you put up your wares in good order here, do you not, think you? one piece cast this way, another that way! you had need have a patient master indeed.
Geo. Ay, I’ll be sworn, for we have a curst mistress.
Vio. You mumble, do you? mumble? I would your master or I could be a note more angry! for two patient folks in a house spoil all the servants that ever shall come under them.
First P. You patient! ay, so is the devil when he is horn-mad. [Aside.
Geo. Gentlemen, what do you lack?
First P. What is’t you buy?
Sec. P. See fine hollands, fine cambrics, fine lawns.[46]
Geo. What is’t you lack?
Sec. P. What is’t you buy?
Cas. Where’s signor Candido, thy master?
Geo. Faith, signor, he’s a little negotiated; he’ll appear presently.
Cas. Fellow, let’s see a lawn, a choice one, sirrah.
Geo. The best in all Milan, gentlemen, and this is the piece. I can fit you, gentlemen, with fine callicoes too for doublets; the only sweet fashion now, most delicate and courtly, a meek gentle callico, cut upon two double affable taffetas—ah, most neat, feat, and unmatchable!
Flu. A notable voluble-tongued villain!
Pio. I warrant this fellow was never begot without much prating.
Cas. What, and is this she, sayest thou?
Geo. Ay, and the purest she that ever you fingered since you were a gentleman: look how even she is; look how clean she is, ha! as even as the brow of Cynthia, and as clean as your sons and heirs when they ha’ spent all.
Cas. Pooh! thou talkest—pox on’t, ’tis rough.
Geo. How? is she rough? but if you bid pox on’t, sir, 'twill take away the roughness presently.
Flu. Ha, signor, has he fitted your French curse?
Geo. Look you, gentleman, here’s another; compare them, I pray, compara Virgilium cum Homero, compare virgins with harlots.
Cas. Pooh! I ha’ seen better, and, as you term them, evener and cleaner.
Geo. You may see further for your mind, but trust me you shall not find better for your body.
Can. How now? what’s the matter?
Geo. The gentlemen find fault with this lawn, fall out with it, and without a cause too.
Cas. Well, how do you rate it?
Can. Very conscionably; eighteen shillings a yard.
Cas. That’s too dear. How many yards does the whole piece contain, think you?
Can. Why, some seventeen yards, I think, or thereabouts. How much would serve your turn, I pray?
Cas. Why, let me see—would it were better too!
Can. Truth, ’tis the best in Milan, at few words.
Cas. Of lawn? ay, of lawn; a penn’orth. ’Sblood, dost not hear? a whole penn’orth: are you deaf?
Cas. Nay, and[47] you and your lawns be so squeamish, fare you well.
Can. Pray stay; a word, pray, signor: for what purpose is it, I beseech you?
Cas. ’Sblood, what’s that to you? I’ll have a pennyworth.
Can. A pennyworth! why you shall: I’ll serve you presently.
Sec. P. ’Sfoot, a pennyworth, mistress!
Vio. Ay, that patience makes a fool of you.—Gentlemen, you might ha’ found some other citizen to have made a kind gull on besides my husband.
Vio. Customers with a murrain! call you these customers?
Geo. ’Sfoot, mistress, I warrant these are some cheating companions.[49]
Flu. Nay, it doth please me; and, as you say, ’tis a very good one: farewell, signor Candido.
Geo. I told you before, mistress, they were all cheaters.
Vio. Why, fool! why, husband! why, madman! I hope you will not let 'em sneak away so with a silver and gilt beaker, the best in the house too.—Go, fellows, make hue and cry after them.
Vio. O, you’re a goodly patient woodcock, are you not now? See what your patience comes to! every one saddles you, and rides you; you’ll be shortly the common stone-horse of Milan: a woman’s well holped up with such a meacock.[56] I had rather have a husband that would swaddle[57] me thrice a-day, than such a one that will be gulled twice in half an hour. O, I could burn all the wares in my shop for anger!
Vio. Hang your agreements! but if my beaker be gone—— [Exit.
Can. O, here they come.
Geo. The constable, sir, let 'em come along with me, because there should be no wondering: he stays at door.
Cas. Constable, goodman Abra’m![58]
Flu. Now, signor Candido, ’sblood, why do you attach us?
Enter Roger with a stool, cushion, looking-glass, and chafing-dish:[59] those being set down, he pulls out of his pocket a phial with white colour in it, and two boxes, one with white, another with red paint; he places all things in order, and a candle by them, singing the ends of old ballads as he does it. At last Bellafront, as he nibs his cheek with the colours, whistles within.
Rog. Anon, forsooth.
Bel. [within] What are you playing the rogue about?
Rog. About you, forsooth; I’m drawing up a hole in your white silk stocking.
Bel. Is my glass there? and my boxes of complexion?
Rog. Yes, forsooth; your boxes of complexion are here, I think; yes, ’tis here; here’s your two complexions, and if I had all the four complexions, I should ne’er set a good face upon’t. Some men, I see, are born under hard-favoured planets, as well as women. Zounds, I look worse now than I did before! and it makes her face glister most damnably. There’s knavery in daubing, I hold my life; or else this is only female pomatum.
Enter Bellafront not full ready,[60] without a gown; she sits down; curls her hair[61] with her bodkin, and colours her lips.
Bel. Where’s my ruff and poker,[62] you block-head?
Rog. Your ruff, your poker, are engendering together upon the cupboard of the court, or the court-cupboard.[63]
Bel. Fetch 'em: is the pox in your hams, you can go no faster?
Rog. Would the pox were in your fingers, unless you could leave flinging! catch—— [Exit.
Bel. I’ll catch you, you dog, by and by: do you grumble?
Rog. There’s your ruff; shall I poke it?
Bel. Yes, honest Roger:—no, stay; prithee, good boy, hold here.
[Sings] Down, down, down, down, I fall down and arise,—down,—I never shall arise.
Rog. Troth, mistress, then leave the trade, if you shall never rise.
Bel. What trade, goodman Abra’m?[64]
Rog. Why, that of[65] down and arise, or the falling trade.
Bel. I’ll fall with you by and by.
Rog. If you do, I know who shall smart for’t. Troth, mistress, what do I look like now?
Bel. Like as you are; a panderly sixpenny rascal.
Rog. I may thank you for that: in faith, I look like an old proverb, Hold the candle before the devil.
Bel. Ud’s life, I’ll stick my knife in your guts and[66] you prate to me so! What? [Sings.
Rog. Why, as I hold your door, with my fingers.
Bel. Nay, pray thee, sweet honey Roger, hold up handsomely.
We shall ha’ guests to-day, I lay my little maiden-head, my nose itches so.
Rog. I said so too last night, when our fleas twinged me.
Bel. So, poke my ruff now. My gown, my gown! have I my fall? where’s my fall,[69] Roger?
Rog. Your fall, forsooth, is behind.
Bel. God’s my pittikins![70] some fool or other knocks.
Rog. Shall I open to the fool, mistress?
Bel. And all these baubles lying thus? away with it quickly.—Ay, ay, knock and be damned, whosoever you be!—So; give the fresh salmon line now; let him come ashore. [Exit Roger.]—He shall serve for my breakfast, though he go against my stomach.
Flu. Morrow, coz.
Cas. How does my sweet acquaintance?
Pio. Save thee, little marmoset;[71] how dost thou, good, pretty rogue?
Bel. Well, Godamercy, good, pretty rascal.
Flu. Roger, some light, I prithee.
Rog. You shall, signor; for we that live here in this vale of misery are as dark as hell. [Exit.[72]
Cas. Good tobacco, Fluello?
Flu. Smell.
Pio. It may be tickling gear, for it plays with my nose already.
Rog. Here’s another light angel,[73] signor.
Bel. What, you pied curtal,[74] what’s that you are neighing?
Rog. I say, God send us the light of heaven, or some more angels!
Bel. Go fetch some wine, and drink half of it.
Rog. I must fetch some wine, gentlemen, and drink half of it.
Flu. Here, Roger.
Cas. No, let me send, prithee.
Flu. Hold, you canker-worm.
Rog. You shall send both, if you please, signors.
Pio. Stay, what’s best to drink a’ mornings?
Rog. Hippocras,[75] sir, for my mistress, if I fetch it, is most dear to her.
Flu. Hippocras? there then, here’s a teston[76] for you, you snake.
Rog. Right, sir; here’s three shillings sixpence for a pottle and a manchet.[77] [Exit.
Cas. Here’s most Herculanean tobacco: ha’ some, acquaintance?
Bel. Faugh, not I! makes your breath stink like the piss of a fox. Acquaintance, where supped you last night?
Cas. At a place, sweet acquaintance, where your health danced the canaries,[78] i’faith; you should ha’ been there.
Bel. I there among your punks! marry faugh, hang’em; scorn’t:[79] will you never leave sucking of eggs in other folk’s hens’ nests?
Cas. Why, in good troth, if you’ll trust me, acquaintance, there was not one hen at the board; ask Fluello.
Flu. No, faith, coz, none but cocks; signor Malavella drunk to thee.
Bel. O, a pure beagle; that horseleech there?
Flu. And the knight, sir Oliver Lollio, swore he would bestow a taffeta petticoat on thee, but to break his fast with thee.
Bel. With me? I’ll choke him then; hang him, mole-catcher! it’s the dreamingest snotty-nose.
Pio. Well, many took that Lollio for a fool, but he’s a subtle fool.
Bel. Ay, and he has fellows: of all filthy, dry-fisted knights,[80] I cannot abide that he should touch me.
Cas. Why, wench? is he scabbed?
Bel. Hang him, he’ll not live to be so honest, nor to the credit to have scabs about him; his betters have 'em: but I hate to wear out any of his coarse knighthood, because he’s made like an alderman’s night-gown, faced all with cony[81] before, and within nothing but fox: this sweet Oliver[82], will eat mutton till he be ready to burst, but the lean-jawed slave will not pay for the scraping of his trencher.
Pio. Plague him; set him beneath the salt,[83] and let him not touch a bit till every one has had his full cut.
Flu. Lord Ello, the gentleman-usher, came into us too: marry, ’twas in our cheese, for he had been to borrow money for his lord of a citizen.
Cas. What an ass is that lord to borrow money of a citizen!
Bel. Nay, God’s my pity, what an ass is that citizen to lend money to[84] a lord!
Enter Matheo and Hippolito; Hippolito, saluting the company as a stranger, walks of.[85] Roger comes in sadly behind them with a pottle-pot, and stands aloof off.[86]
Mat. Save you, gallants. Signor Fluello, exceedingly well met, as I may say.
Flu. Signor Matheo, exceedingly well met too, as I may say.
Mat. And how fares my little pretty mistress?
Bel. E’en as my little pretty servant; sees three court-dishes before her, and not one good bit in them.—How now? why the devil standest thou so? art in a trance?
Rog. Yes, forsooth.
Bel. Why dost not fill out their wine?
Rog. Forsooth,’tis filled out already: all the wine that the signors have[87] bestowed upon you is cast away; a porter ran a little[88] at me, and so faced me down that I had not a drop.
Bel. I’m accursed to let such a withered artichoke-faced rascal grow under my nose: now you look like an old he-cat going to the gallows. I’ll be hanged if he ha’ not put up the money to cony-catch[89] us all.
Rog. No, truly, forsooth, ’tis not put up yet.
Bel. How many gentlemen hast thou served thus?
Rog. None but five hundred, besides prentices and serving-men.
Bel. Dost think I’ll pocket it up at thy hands?
Rog. Yes, forsooth, I fear you will pocket it up.
Bel. Fie, fie, cut my lace, good servant; I shall ha’ the mother[90] presently, I’m so vexed at this horse-plumb.
Flu. Plague, not for a scald[91] pottle of wine!
Mat. Nay, sweet Bellafront, for a little pig’s wash!
Cas. Here, Roger, fetch more. [Gives money to Roger.]—A mischance, i’faith, acquaintance.
Bel. Out of my sight, thou ungodly, puritanical creature!
Rog. For the t’other pottle? yes, forsooth.
Bel. Spill that too. [Exit Roger.]—What gentleman[92] is that, servant? your friend?
Mat. Gods so; a stool, a stool! If you love me, mistress, entertain this gentleman respectively,[93] and bid him welcome.
Bel. He’s very welcome.—Pray, sir, sit.
Hip. Thanks, lady.
Flu. Count Hippolito, is’t not? Cry you mercy, signor; you walk here all this while, and we not heard you! Let me bestow a stool upon you, beseech you; you are a stranger here, we know the fashions a’ th’ house.
Cas. Please you be here, my lord? [Offers tobacco.
Hip. No, good Castruchio.
Flu. You have abandoned the court, I see, my lord, since the death of your mistress: well, she was a delicate piece—Beseech you,[94] sweet, come, let us serve under the colours of your acquaintance still for all that—Please you to meet here at the[95] lodging of my coz, I shall bestow a banquet upon you.
Hip. I never can deserve this kindness, sir. What may this lady be whom you call coz?
Flu. Faith, sir, a poor gentlewoman, of passing good carriage; one that has some suits in law, and lies here in an attorney’s house.
Hip. Is she married?
Flu. Ha, as all your punks are; a captain’s wife or so: never saw her before, my lord?
Hip. Never, trust me: a goodly creature!
Flu. By gad, when you know her as we do, you’ll swear she is the prettiest, kindest, sweetest, most bewitching, honest ape under the pole: a skin, your satin is not more soft, nor lawn whiter.
Hip. Belike, then, she’s some sale courtesan.
Flu. Troth, as all your best faces are, a good wench.
Hip. Great pity that she’s a good wench.
Mat. Thou shalt ha’, i’faith, mistress.—How now, signors? what, whispering?—Did not I lay a wager I should take you, within seven days, in a house of vanity?