Hip. You did; and I beshrew your heart, you’ve won.

Mat. How do you like my mistress?

Hip. Well, for such a mistress; better, if your mistress be not your master—I must break manners, gentlemen; fare you well.

Mat. ’Sfoot, you shall not leave us.

Bel. The gentleman likes not the taste of our company.

Flu.
Cas., &c. } Beseech you, stay.

Hip. Trust me, my affairs beckon for me; pardon me.

Mat. Will you call for me half an hour hence here?

Hip. Perhaps I shall.

Mat. Perhaps? faugh! I know you can swear to me you will.

Hip. Since you will press me, on my word, I will. [Exit.

Bel. What sullen picture is this, servant?

Mat. It’s count Hippolito, the brave count.

Pio. As gallant a spirit as any in Milan, you sweet Jew.

Flu. O, he’s a most essential gentleman, coz!

Cas. Did you never hear of count Hippolito, acquaintance?[96]

Bel. Marry muff[97] a’ your counts, and[98] be no more life in 'em.

Mat. He’s so malcontent, sirrah[99] Bellafront.—And[98] you be honest gallants, let’s sup together, and have the count with us:—thou shalt sit at the upper end, punk.

Bel. Punk? you soused gurnet![100]

Mat. King’s truce: come, I’ll bestow the supper to have him but laugh.

Cas. He betrays his youth too grossly to that tyrant melancholy.

Mat. All this is for a woman.

Bel. A woman? some whore! what sweet jewel is’t?

Pio. Would she heard you!

Flu. Troth, so would I.

Cas. And I, by heaven.

Bel. Nay, good servant, what woman?

Mat. Pah!

Bel. Prithee, tell me; a buss, and tell me: I warrant he’s an honest fellow, if he take on thus for a wench: good rogue, who?

Mat. By th’ lord, I will not, must not, faith, mistress.—Is’t a match, sirs? this night at th’ Antelope; ay, for there’s best wine and good boys.

Flu.
Cas.
Pio. } It’s done; at th’ Antelope.

Bel. I cannot be there to-night.

Mat. Cannot? by th’ lord, you shall.

Bel. By the lady, I will not: shaall![101]

Flu. Why, then, put it off till Friday: wu’t come then, coz?

Bel. Well.

Re-enter Roger.

Mat. You’re the waspishest ape!—Roger, put your mistress in mind to sup with us on Friday next.—You’re best come like a madwoman, without a band, in your waistcoat,[102] and the linings of your kirtle outward, like every common hackney that steals out at the back gate of her sweet knight’s lodging.

Bel. Go, go, hang yourself!

Cas. It’s dinner-time, Matheo; shall’s hence?

Mat.
Flu.
Pio. } Yes, yes.—Farewell, wench.

Bel. Farewell, boys. [Exeunt all except Bellafront and Roger.]—Roger, what wine sent they for?

Rog. Bastard wine;[103] for if it had been truly begotten, it would not ha’ been ashamed to come in. Here’s six shillings, to pay for nursing the bastard.

Bel. A company of rooks! O good, sweet Roger, run to the poulter’s,[104] and buy me some fine larks!

Rog. No woodcocks?

Bel. Yes, faith, a couple, if they be not dear.

Rog. I’ll buy but one; there’s one[105] already here.

[Exit.
Re-enter Hippolito.
Hip. Is the gentleman my friend departed, mistress?
Bel. His back is but new turn’d, sir.
Hip. Fare you well.
Bel. I can direct you to him.
Hip. Can you, pray?
Bel. If you please, stay, he’ll not be absent long.
Hip. I care not much.
Bel. Pray sit, forsooth.
Hip. I’m hot: [Lays aside his sword.
If I[106] may use your room, I’ll rather walk.
Bel. At your best pleasure—Whew—some rubbers there!
Hip. Indeed, I’ll none, indeed I will not: thanks.
Pretty fine lodging. I perceive my friend
Is old in your acquaintance.
Bel. Troth, sir, he comes
As other gentlemen, to spend spare hours:
If yourself like our roof, such as it is,
Your own acquaintance may be as old as his.
Hip. Say I did like, what welcome should I find?
Bel. Such as my present fortunes can afford.
Hip. But would you let me play Matheo’s part?
Bel. What part?
Hip. Why, embrace you, dally with you, kiss:
Faith, tell me, will you leave him, and love me?
Bel. I am in bonds to no man, sir.
Hip. Why then
You’re free for any man; if any, me.
But I must tell you, lady, were you mine,
You should be all mine; I could brook no sharers;
I should be covetous, and sweep up all;
I should be pleasure’s usurer, faith, I should.
Bel. O fate!
Hip. Why sigh you, lady? may I know?
Bel. 'Thas never been my fortune yet to single
Out that one man whose love could fellow mine,
As I have ever wish’d it. O my stars!
Had I but met with one kind gentleman
That would have purchas’d sin alone to himself
For his own private use, although scarce proper,[107]
Indifferent handsome, meetly legg’d and thigh’d,
And my allowance reasonable, i’faith,
According to my body, by my troth,
I would have been as true unto his pleasures,
Yea and as loyal to his afternoons,
As ever a poor gentlewoman could be.
Hip. This were well now to one but newly fledg’d,
And scarce a day old in this subtle world;
'Twere pretty art, good bird-lime, cunning net.
But come, come, faith, confess; how many men
Have drunk this self-same protestation
From that red 'ticing lip?
Bel. Indeed, not any.
Hip. Indeed, and blush not?
Bel. No, in truth, not any.
Hip. Indeed? in truth?—how warily you swear!
’Tis well, if ill it be not; yet had I
The ruffian in me, and were drawn before you
But in light colours, I do know indeed,
You could not swear indeed, but thunder oaths
That should shake heaven, drown the harmonious spheres,
And pierce a soul that lov’d her maker’s honour
With horror and amazement.
Bel. Shall I swear?
Will you believe me then?
Hip. Worst then of all;
Our sins by custom seem at last but small.
Were I but o’er your threshold, a next man,
And after him a next, and then a fourth,
Should have this golden hook and lascivious bait
Thrown out to the full length. Why, let me tell you,
I ha’ seen letters sent from that white hand,
Tuning such music to Matheo’s ear.
Bel. Matheo? that’s true; but, believe it, I
No sooner had laid hold upon your presence,
But straight mine eye convey’d you to my heart.
Hip. O, you cannot feign with me! Why, I know, lady,
This is the common passion of you all,
To hook in a kind gentleman, and then
Abuse his coin, conveying it to your lover,
And in the end you shew him a French trick,
And so you leave him, that a coach may run
Between his legs for breadth.
Bel. O, by my soul,
Not I! therein I’ll prove an honest whore,
In being true to one, and to no more.
Hip. If any be dispos’d to trust your oath,
Let him; I’ll not be he: I know you feign
All that you speak; ay, for a mingled harlot
Is true in nothing but in being false.
What, shall I teach you how to loathe yourself,
And mildly too, not without sense or reason?
Bel. I am content; I would fain loathe myself,
If you not love me.
Hip. Then if your gracious blood
Be not all wasted, I shall assay to do’t:
Lend me your silence and attention.
You have no soul, that makes you weigh so light;
Heaven’s treasure bought it,
And half-a-crown hath sold it; for your body
Is like the common-shore, that still receives
All the town’s filth; the sin of many men
Is within you: and thus much I suppose,
That if all your committers stood in rank,
They’d make a lane, in which your shame might dwell,
And with their spaces reach from hence to hell.
Nay, shall I urge it more? there have[108] been known
As many by one harlot maim’d and dismember’d
As would ha’ stuff’d an hospital: this I might
Apply to you, and perhaps do you right.
O, you’re as base as any beast that bears!
Your body is e’en hir’d, and so are theirs:
For gold and sparkling jewels, if he can,
You’ll let a Jew get you with Christian;
Be he a Moor, a Tartar, though his face
Look uglier than [doth] a dead man’s skull;
Could the devil put on a human shape,
If his purse shake out crowns, up then he gets:
Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits:
So that you’re crueller than Turks, for they
Sell Christians only, you sell yourselves away.
Why, those that love you hate you, and will term you
Liquorish damnation; wish themselves half-sunk
After the sin is laid out, and e’en curse
Their fruitless riot; for what one begets,
Another poisons; lust and murder hit:
A tree being often shook, what fruit can knit?
Bel. O me unhappy!
Hip. I can vex you more:
A harlot is like Dunkirk, true to none;
Swallows both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch,
Back[109]-door’d Italian, last of all, the French,
And he sticks to you, faith, gives you your diet,
Brings you acquainted first with monsieur doctor,
And then you know what follows.
Bel. Misery,
Rank, stinking, and most loathsome misery!
Hip. Methinks a toad is happier than a whore;
That with one poison swells, with thousands more
The other stocks her veins. Harlot? fie, fie!
You are the miserablest creatures breathing,
The very slaves of nature; mark me else:
You put on rich attires, others’ eyes wear them;
You eat but to supply your blood with sin;
And this strange curse e’en haunts you to your graves,
From fools you get, and spend it upon slaves:
Like bears and apes, you’re baited and shew tricks
For money; but your bawd the sweetness licks:
Indeed, you are their journeywomen, and do
All base and damn’d works they list set you to;
So that you ne’er are rich: for do but shew me,
In present memory or in ages past,
The fairest and most famous courtesan,
Whose flesh was dear’st; that rais’d the price of sin
And held it up; to whose intemperate bosom
Princes, earls, lords—the worst has been a knight,
The mean’st a gentleman—have offer’d up
Whole hecatombs of sighs, and rain’d in showers
Handfuls of gold; yet for all this, at last
Diseases suck’d her marrow; then grew so poor,
That she has begg’d e’en at a beggar’s door:
And (wherein heaven has a finger) when this idol
From coast to coast has leap’d on foreign shores,
And had more worship than th’ outlandish whores;
When several nations have gone over her;
When for each several city she has seen,
Her maidenhead has been new, and been sold dear,
Did live well there, and might have died unknown
And undefam’d; back comes she to her own,
And there both miserably lives and dies,
Scorn’d even of those that once ador’d her eyes;[110]
As if her fatal-circled life thus ran,—
Her pride should end there where it first began.
What, do you weep to hear your story read?
Nay, if you spoil your cheeks, I’ll read no more.
Bel. O yes,[111] I pray, proceed!
Indeed 'twill do me good to weep, indeed!
Hip. To give those tears a relish, this I add:
You’re like the Jews scatter’d, in no place certain;
Your days are tedious, your hours burdensome;
And were’t not for full suppers, midnight revels,
Dancing, wine, riotous meetings, which do drown
And bury quite in you all virtuous thoughts,
And on your eyelids hang so heavily
They have no power to look so high as heaven,
You’d sit and muse on nothing but despair,
Curse that devil lust that so burns up your blood,
And in ten thousand shivers break your glass
For his temptation. Say you taste delight,
To have a golden gull from rise to set
To mete[112] you in his hot luxurious[113] arms;
Yet your nights pay for all: I know you dream
Of warrants, whips, and beadles; and then start
At a door’s windy creak; think every weasel
To be a constable, and every rat
A long-tail’d officer. Are you now not slaves?
O, you’ve damnation without pleasure for it!
Such is the state of harlots. To conclude:
When you are old, and can well paint no more,
You turn bawd, and are then worse than before.
Make use of this: farewell.
Bel. O, I pray, stay!
Hip. I[114] see Matheo comes not: time hath barr’d me:
Would all the harlots in the town had heard me!
[Exit.
Bel. Stay yet a little longer! No? quite gone?
Curs’d be that minute—for it was no more,
So soon a maid is chang’d into a whore—
Wherein I first fell! be it for ever black!
Yet why should sweet Hippolito shun mine eyes?
For whose true love I would become pure-honest,
Hate the world’s mixtures and the smiles of gold.
Am I not fair? why should he fly me then?
Fair creatures are desir’d, not scorn’d of men.
How many gallants have drunk healths to me
Out of their dagger’d arms,[115] and thought them blest,
Enjoying but mine eyes at prodigal feasts!
And does Hippolito detest my love?
O sure their heedless lusts but flatter’d me!
I am not pleasing, beautiful, nor young:
Hippolito hath spied some ugly blemish,
Eclipsing all my beauties; I am foul:
Harlot? ay, that’s the spot that taints my soul.
What, has he left his weapon here behind him,
And gone forgetful? O fit instrument[116]
To let forth all the poison of my flesh!
Thy master hates me 'cause my blood hath rang’d;
But when ’tis forth, then he’ll believe I’m chang’d.
As she is about to stab herself re-enter Hippolito.
Hip. Mad woman, what art doing?
Bel. Either love me,
Or split my heart upon[117] thy rapier’s point.
Yet do not neither; for thou then destroy’st
That which I love thee for, thy virtues. Here, here;
[Gives sword to Hippolito.
Thou’rt crueller, and kill’st me with disdain:
To die so sheds no blood, yet ’tis worse pain.
[Exit Hippolito.
Not speak to me?[118] not bid farewell? a scorn?
Hated? this must not be; some means I’ll try.
Would all whores were as honest now as I! [Exit.

ACT III. SCENE I.

Candido’s Shop.
Candido, Viola, George, and two Prentices discovered: Fustigo enters, walking by.[119]

Geo. See, gentlemen, what you lack?[120] a fine holland, a fine cambric: see what you buy.

First P. Holland for shirts, cambric for bands; what is’t you lack?

Fus. ’Sfoot, I lack 'em all; nay, more, I lack money to buy 'em. Let me see, let me look again: mass, this is the shop. [Aside.]—What, coz, sweet coz! how dost, i’faith, since last night after candle-light? we had good sport, i’faith, had we not? and when shall’s laugh again?

Vio. When you will, cousin.

Fus. Spoke like a kind Lacedemonian! I see yonder’s thy husband.

Vio. Ay, there’s the sweet youth, God bless him!

Fus. And how is’t, cousin? and how, how is’t, thou squall?[121]

Vio. Well, cousin: how fare you?

Fus. How fare I? troth, for sixpence a-meal, wench, as well as heart can wish, with calves’ chaldrons[122] and chitterlings; besides, I have a punk after supper, as good as a roasted apple.

Can. Are you my wife’s cousin?

Fus. I am, sir: what hast thou to do with that?

Can. O, nothing, but you’re welcome.

Fus. The devil’s dung in thy teeth! I’ll be welcome whether thou wilt or no, I.—What ring’s this, coz? very pretty and fantastical, i’faith; let’s see it.

Vio. Pooh! nay, you wrench my finger.

Fus. I ha’ sworn I’ll ha’t, and I hope you will not let my oaths be cracked in the ring,[123] will you? [Seizes the ring.]—I hope, sir, you are not malicholly[124] at this, for all your great looks: are you angry?

Can. Angry? not I, sir: nay, if she can part
So easily with her ring, ’tis with my heart.

Geo. Suffer this, sir, and suffer all: a whoreson gull to——

Can. Peace, George: when she has reap’d what I have sown,
She’ll say one grain tastes better of her own
Than whole sheaves gather’d from another’s land:
Wit’s never good till bought at a dear hand.

Geo. But in the mean time she makes an ass of somebody.

Sec. P. See, see, see, sir, as you turn your back they do nothing but kiss.

Can. No matter, let 'em: when I touch her lip
I shall not feel his kisses,[125] no, nor miss
Any of her lip: no harm in kissing is.
Look to your business, pray, make up your wares.

Fus. Troth, coz, and well remembered; I would thou wouldst give me five yards of lawn, to make my punk some falling-bands[126] a’ the fashion; three falling one upon another, for that’s the new edition now: she’s out of linen horribly too; troth, sha’s never a good smock to her back neither, but one that has a great many patches in’t, and that I’m fain to wear myself for want of shift too: prithee, put me into wholesome napery,[127] and bestow some clean commodities upon us.

Vio. Reach me those cambrics and the lawns hither.

Can. What to do, wife?
To lavish out my goods upon a fool?

Fus. Fool? ’Snails, eat the fool, or I’ll so batter your crown that it shall scarce go for five shillings.

Sec. P. Do you hear, sir? you’re best be quiet, and say a fool tells you so.

Fus. Nails, I think so, for thou tellest me.

Can. Are you angry, sir, because I nam’d the fool?
Trust me, you are not wise, in mine own house
And to my face to play the antic thus:
If you’ll needs play the madman, choose a stage
Of lesser compass, where few eyes may note
Your action’s error; but if still you miss,
As here you do, for one clap, ten will hiss.

Fus. Zounds, cousin, he talks to me as if I were a scurvy tragedian!

Sec. P. Sirrah George, I ha’ thought upon a device, how to break his pate, beat him soundly, and ship him away.

Geo. Do’t.

Sec. P. I’ll go in, pass thorough the house, give some of our fellow-prentices the watch-word when they shall enter; then come and fetch my master in by a wile, and place one in the hall to hold him in conference whilst we cudgel the gull out of his coxcomb.

Geo. Do’t; away, do’t. [Exit Second Prentice.

Vio. Must I call twice for these cambrics and lawns?

Can. Nay, see, you anger her; George, prithee, despatch.

First P. Two of the choicest pieces are in the warehouse, sir.

Can. Go fetch them presently.
Fus. Ay, do; make haste, sirrah.
[Exit First Prentice.
Can. Why were you such a stranger all this while,
Being my wife’s cousin?

Fus. Stranger? no, sir, I’m a natural Milaner born.

Can. I perceive still it is your natural guise
To mistake me: but you’re welcome, sir; I much
Wish your acquaintance.

Fus. My acquaintance? I scorn that, i’faith. I hope my acquaintance goes in chains of gold three and fifty times double:—you know who I mean, coz; the posts of his gate are a-painting too.[128]

Re-enter Second Prentice.

Sec. P. Signor Pandulfo the merchant desires conference with you.

Can. Signor Pandulfo? I’ll be with him straight.
Attend your mistress and the gentleman. [Exit.

Vio. When do you shew those pieces?

Fus. Ay, when do you shew those pieces?

Prentices [within].[129] Presently, sir, presently; we are but charging them.

Fus. Come, sirrah, you flat-cap,[130] where be these whites?

Re-enter First Prentice, with pieces.

Geo. Flat-cap? hark in your ear, sir; you’re a flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I’ll thrum you:—do you see this cambric, sir?

Fus. ’Sfoot, coz, a good jest; did you hear him? he told me in my ear I was a flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I’ll thrum you:—do you see this cambric, sir?

Vio. What, not my men, I hope?

Fus. No, not your men, but one of your men, i’faith.

First P. I pray, sir, come hither: what say you to this? here’s[131] an excellent good one.

Fus. Ay, marry, this likes[132] me well; cut me off some half-score yards.

Sec. P. Let your whores cut; you’re an impudent coxcomb; you get none, and yet I’ll thrum you:—a very good cambric, sir.

Fus. Again, again, as God judge me! ’sfoot, coz, they stand thrumming here with me all day, and yet I get nothing.

First P. A word, I pray, sir; you must not be angry; prentices have hot bloods, young fellows—what say you to this piece? look you, ’tis so delicate, so soft, so even, so fine a thread, that a lady may wear it.

Fus. ’Sfoot, I think so; if a knight marry my punk, a lady shall wear it: cut me off twenty yards; thou’rt an honest lad.

First P. Not without money, gull, and I’ll thrum you too.

Prentices [within]. Gull, we’ll thrum you!

Fus. O lord, sister, did you not hear something cry thrum? zounds, your men here make a plain ass of me.

Vio. What, to my face so impudent?

Geo. Ay, in a cause so honest; we’ll not suffer
Our master’s goods to vanish moneyless.
Vio. You will not suffer them!
Sec. P. No; and you may blush,
In going about to vex so mild a breast
As is our master’s.
Vio. Take away those pieces,
Cousin, I give them freely.

Fus. Mass, and I’ll take 'em as freely.

Geo., First and Sec. P., and other Prentices rushing in. We’ll make you lay 'em down again more freely.

[They all attack Fustigo with their clubs.
Vio. Help, help! my brother will be murdered.
Re-enter Candido.

Can. How now, what coil is here? forbear, I say!

[Exeunt all the Prentices except the First and Second.
Geo. He calls us flat-caps, and abuses us.
Can. Why, sirs, do such examples flow from me?
Vio. They’re of your keeping sir.—Alas, poor brother!

Fus. I’faith, they ha’ peppered me, sister; look, dost not spin? call you these prentices? I’ll ne’er play at cards more when clubs is trump: I have a goodly coxcomb, sister, have I not?