G. Cap. Lov’st thou the common food of Egypt, onions?

Don. Ay, and garlic too; I have smelt out many a knave by’t; but I could never smell mine own breath yet, and that’s many a man’s fault; he can smell out a knave in another sometimes three yards off, yet his nose standing so nigh his mouth, he can never smell out himself.

G. Cap. A pregnant gipsy!
Gipsies. A most witty sinner!
G. Cap. Stretch forth thy hand, coz: art thou fortunate?

Don. How? fortunate? nay, I cannot tell that myself; wherefore do I come to you but to learn that? I have sometimes found money[935] in old shoes; but if I had not stolen more than I have found, I had had but a scurvy thin-cheeked fortune on’t.

G. Cap. [taking Dondolo’s hand] Here’s a fair table.[936]

Don. Ay, so has many a man that has given over housekeeping; a fair table, when there’s neither cloth nor meat upon’t.

G. Cap. What a brave line of life’s here; look you, gipsies.
Don. I have known as brave a line end in a halter.
G. Cap. But thou art born to precious fortune.

Don. The devil I am!

G. Cap. Bette bucketto.

Don. How, to beat bucks?

G. Cap. Stealee bacono.

Don. O, to steal bacon; that’s the better fortune o’ th’ two indeed.

G. Cap. Thou wilt be shortly captain of the gipsies.
Don. I would you’d make me corporal i’ th’ meantime,
Or standard-bearer to the women’s regiment.
G. Cap. Much may be done for love.
Don. Nay, here’s some money;
I know an office comes not all for love.
[Feels in his pockets.
A pox of your lime-twigs! you have’t all already.
G. Cap. It lies but here in cash for thine own use, boy.

Don. Nay, an 't lie there once, I shall hardly come to the fingering on’t in haste; yet make me an apt scholar, and I care not: teach me but so much gipsy, to steal as much more from another, and the devil do you good of that.

G. Cap. Thou shalt have all thy heart requires:
First, here’s a girl for thy desires;
This doxy fresh, this new-come dell,[937]
Shall lie by thy sweet side and swell.
Get me gipsies brave and tawny,
With cheek full plump and hip full brawny;
Look you prove industrious dealers,
To serve the commonwealth with stealers,
That th’ unhous’d race of fortune-tellers
May never fail to cheat town-dwellers,
Or, to our universal grief,
Leave country fairs without a thief.
This is all you have to do,
Save every hour a filch or two,
Be it money, cloth, or pullen:[938]
When the evening’s brow looks sullen,
Lose no time, for then ’tis precious;
Let your slights[939] be fine, facetious:
Which hoping you’ll observe, to try thee,
With rusty bacon thus I gipsify thee.
[Rubs his face with bacon.

Don. Do you use to do’t with bacon?

G. Cap. Evermore.

Don. By this light, the rats will take me now for some hog’s cheek, and eat up my face when I am asleep, I shall have never a bit left by to-morrow morning; and lying open mouthed as I use to do, I shall look for all the world like a mouse-trap baited with bacon.

G. Cap. Why, here’s a face like thine so done,
Only grain’d in by the sun;
And this, and these.

Don. Faith, then, there’s a company of bacon-faces of you, and I am one now to make up the number: we are a kind of conscionable people, and[940] 'twere well thought upon, for to steal bacon, and black our faces with’t; ’tis like one that commits sin, and writes his faults in his forehead.

G. Cap. Wit, whither wilt thou?[941]

Don. Marry, to the next pocket I can come at; and if it be a gentleman’s, I wish a whole quarter’s rent in’t. Is this my in dock, out nettle?[942] What’s gipsy for her?

G. Cap. Your doxy she.
Don. O, right.—Are you my doxy, sirrah?[943]
Aur. I’ll be thy doxy and thy dell,
With thee I’ll live, for thee I’ll steal;
From fair to fair, from wake to wake,
I’ll ramble still for thy sweet sake.

Don. O, dainty fine doxy! she speaks the language as familiarly already as if sh’ad been begot of a canter.[944] I pray, captain, what’s gipsy for the hind quarter of a woman?

G. Cap. Nosario.
Don. Nosario? why, what’s gipsy for my nose then?
G. Cap. Why, arsinio.

Don. Arsinio? faith, methinks you might have devised a sweeter word for’t.

Enter Aurelia’s Father, and Governor.
G. Cap. Stop, stop! fresh booties,—gentlefolks, signoroes,
Calavario, fulkadelio.
Sec. Gip. La gnambrol a tumbrel.

Don. How? give me one word amongst you, that I may be doing too.

Aur. Yonder they are again! O guiltiness,
Thou putt’st more trembling fear into a maid
Than the first wedding-night. Take courage, wench,
Thy face cannot betray thee with a blush now.
[Aside.
Fath. Which way she took her flight, sir, none can guess,
Or how she ’scap’d.
Gov. Out at some window certainly.
Fath. O, ’tis a bold daring baggage!
Gov. See, good fortune, sir,
The gipsies! they’re the cunning’st people living.
Fath. They cunning? what a confidence have you, sir!
No wise man’s faith was ever set in fortunes.
Gov. You’re the wilfull’st man against all learning still:
I will be hang’d now, if I hear not news of her
Amongst this company.
Fath. You are a gentleman of the flatt’ring’st hopes
That e’er lost woman yet.
Gov. Come hither, gipsy.
Aur. Luck now, or I’m undone. [Aside.]—What says my master?
Bless me with a silver cross,[945]
And I will tell you all your loss.
Gov. Lo you there, sir! all my loss; at first word too:
There is no cunning in these gipsies now?
Fath. Sure I’ll hear more of this.
Gov. Here’s silver for you. [Gives money.
Aur. Now attend your fortune’s story:
You lov’d a maid.
Gov. Right.
Aur. She ne’er lov’d you:
You shall find my words are true.
Gov. Mass, I am afraid so.
Aur. You were about
To keep her in, but could not do’t:
Alas the while, she would not stay,
The cough o’ th’ lungs[946] blew her away!
And, which is worse, you’ll be so crost,
You’ll never find the thing that’s lost;
Yet oftentimes your sight will fear her,
She’ll be near you, and yet you ne’er the nearer:
Let her go, and be the gladder;
She’d but shame you, if you had her:
Ten counsellors could never school her;
She is so wild, you could not rule her.
Gov. In troth I’m of thy mind, yet I’d fain find her.
Aur. Soonest then when you least mind her;
But if you mean to take her tripping,
Make but haste, she’s now a-shipping.
Gov. I ever dream’d so much.
Fath. Hie to the key.—
We’ll mar your voyage, you shall brook no sea.
[Exeunt Father and Governor.
G. Cap. Cheteroon, high gulleroon.
Don. Filcheroon, purse-fulleroon: I can say somewhat
too.
Gipsies. Excellent gipsy! witty, rare doxy!
Don. I would not change my dell[947] for a dozen
of black bell-wethers.
Song.
G. Cap. Our wealth swells high, my boys.
Don. Our wealth swells high, my boys.
G. Cap. Let every gipsy
Dance with his doxy,
And then drink, drink for joy.
Don. Let every gipsy
Dance with his doxy,
And then drink, drink for joy.
Chorus. And then drink, drink for joy.

[Exeunt with a strange wild-fashioned dance to the hautboys or cornets.

SCENE II.

An apartment in the house of the Duchess.
Enter Duchess, Cardinal, Lords, and Celia.
Car. That which is merely call’d a will in woman,
I cannot always title it with a virtue.
Duch. O good sir, spare me!
Car. Spare yourself, good madam;
Extremest justice is not so severe
To great offenders, as your own forc’d strictness
To beauty, youth, and time; you’ll answer for’t.
Duch. Sir, settle your own peace; let me make mine.
Car. But here’s a heart must pity it, when it thinks on’t;
I find compassion, though the smart be yours.
First Lord. None here but does the like.
Sec. Lord. Believe it, madam,
You have much wrong’d your time.
First Lord. Nay, let your grace
But think upon the barrenness of succession.
Sec. Lord. Nay, more, a vow enforc’d.
Duch. What, do you all
Forsake me then, and take part with yon man?
Not one friend have I left? do they all fight
Under th’ inglorious banner of his censure,[948]
Serve under his opinion?
Car. So will all, madam,
Whose judgments can but taste a rightful cause;
I look for more force yet; nay, your own women
Will shortly rise against you, when they know
The war to be so just and honourable
As marriage is; you cannot name that woman
Will not come ready arm’d for such a cause:
Can chastity be any whit impair’d
By that which makes it perfect? answer, madam;
Do you profess constancy, and yet live alone?
How can that hold? you’re constant then to none;
That’s a dead virtue; goodness must have practice,
Or else it ceases; then is woman said
To be love-chaste, knowing but one man’s bed;
A mighty virtue! beside, fruitfulness
Is part of the salvation of your sex;
And the true use of wedlock’s time and space
Is woman’s exercise for faith and grace.
Duch. O, what have you done, my lord!
Car. Laid the way plain
To knowledge of yourself and your creation;
Unbound a forcèd vow, that was but knit
By the strange jealousy of your dying lord,
Sinful i’ th’ fastening.
Duch. All the powers of constancy
Will curse you for this deed!
Car. You speak in pain, madam,
And so I take your words, like one in sickness
That rails at his best friend: I know a change
Of disposition has a violent working
In all of us; ’tis fit it should have time
And counsel with itself: may you be fruitful, madam,
In all the blessings of an honour’d love!
First Lord. In all your wishes fortunate,—and I
The chief of 'em myself! [Aside.
Car. Peace be at your heart, lady!
First Lord. And love, say I. [Aside.
Car. We’ll leave good thoughts now to bring in themselves. [Exit with Lords.
Duch. O, there’s no art like a religious cunning,
It carries away all things smooth before it!
How subtlely has his wit dealt with the lords,
To fetch in their persuasions to a business
That stands in need of none, yields of itself,
As most we women do, when we seem farthest.
But little thinks the cardinal he’s requited
After the same proportion of deceit
As he sets down for others.
Enter Page.[949]
O, here’s the pretty boy he preferr’d to me;
I never saw a meeker, gentler youth,
Yet made for man’s beginning: how unfit
Was that poor fool to be Lactantio’s page!
He would have spoil’d him quite; in one year utterly;
There had been no hope of him.—Come hither, child;
I have forgot thy name.
Page. Antonio, madam.
Duch. Antonio? so thou toldst me. I must chide thee;
Why didst thou weep when thou cam’st first to serve me?
Page. At the distrust of mine own merits, madam,
Knowing I was not born to those deserts
To please so great a mistress.
Duch. 'Las, poor boy,
That’s nothing in thee but thy modest fear,
Which makes amends faster than thou canst err.—
It shall be my care to have him well brought up
As a youth apt for good things.—Celia.
Celia. Madam?
Duch. Has he bestow’d his hour to-day for music?
Celia. Yes, he has, madam.
Duch. How do you find his voice?
Celia. A pretty, womanish, faint, sprawling[950] voice, madam,
But 'twill grow strong in time, if he take care
To keep it when he has it from fond[951] exercises.
Duch. Give order too the dancing-schoolmaster
Observe an hour with him.
Celia. It shall be done, lady:
He is well made for dancing; thick i’ th’ chest, madam;
He will turn long and strongly.
Duch. He shall not be behind a quality
That aptness in him or our cost can purchase;
And see he lose no time.
Celia. I’ll take that order, madam.
Page. Singing and dancing! 'las, my case is worse!
I rather need a midwife and a nurse.
[Aside, and exit with Celia.
Duch. Lactantio, my procurer, not return’d yet?
His malice I have fitted with an office
Which he takes pleasure to discharge with rigour.
He comes, and with him my heart’s conqueror;
My pleasing thraldom’s near.
Enter Lactantio with Andrugio and Guard.
And. Not know the cause?
Lac. Yes, you shall soon do that now, to the ruin
Of your neck-part, or some nine years’ imprisonment;
You meet with mercy, and[952] you ’scape with that;
Beside your lands all begg’d and seiz’d upon;
That’s admirable favour. Here’s the duchess.
Duch. O sir, you’re welcome!
Lac. Marry, bless me still
From such a welcome!
Duch. You are hard to come by,
It seems, sir, by the guilt of your long stay.
And. My guilt, good madam?
Duch. Sure y’had much ado
To take him, had you not? speak truth, Lactantio,
And leave all favour; were you not in danger?
Lac. Faith, something near it, madam: he grew headstrong,
Furious and fierce; but ’tis not my condition[953]
To speak the worst things of mine enemy, madam,
Therein I hold mine honour: but had fury
Burst into all the violent storms that ever
Play’d over anger in tempestuous man,
I would have brought him to your grace’s presence,
Dead or alive.
Duch. You would not, sir?
And. What pride
Of pamper’d blood has mounted up[954] this puck-foist?[955]
If any way, uncounsell’d of my judgment,
My ignorance has stept into some error,
Which I could heartily curse, and so brought on me
Your great displeasure, let me feel my sin
In the full weight of justice, virtuous madam,
And let it wake me throughly: but, chaste lady,
Out of the bounty of your grace, permit not
This perfum’d parcel of curl’d powder’d hair
To cast me in the poor relish of his censure.[956]
Duch. It shall not need, good sir; we are ourself
Of power sufficient to judge you; ne’er doubt it, sir.
Withdraw, Lactantio; carefully place your guard
I’ the next room.
Lac. You will but fare the worse;
You see your niceness[957] spoils you; you’ll go nigh now
To feel your sin indeed.
[Exit Lactantio with Guard.
And. Hell-mouth be with thee!
Was ever malice seen yet to gape wider
For man’s misfortunes?
Duch. First, sir, I should think
You could not be so impudent to deny
What your own knowledge proves to you.
And. That were a sin, madam,
More gross than flattery spent upon a villain.
Duch. Your own confession dooms you, sir.
And. Why, madam?
Duch. Do not you know I made a serious vow
At my lord’s death, never to marry more?
And. That’s a truth, madam, I’m a witness to.
Duch. Is’t so, sir? you’ll be taken presently.
This man needs no accuser. Knowing so much,
How durst you then attempt so bold a business
As to solicit me, so strictly settled,
With tempting letters and loose lines of love?
And. Who? I do’t, madam?
Duch. Sure the man will shortly
Deny he lives, although he walks and breath[es.]
And. Better destruction snatch me quick from sight
Of human eyes, than I should sin so boldly!
Duch. 'Twas well I kept it then from rage or fire,
For my truth’s credit. Look you, sir; read out;
You know the hand and name. [Gives letter.
And. [reads] Andrugio!
Duch. And if such things be fit, the world shall judge.
And. Madam——
Duch. Pish, that’s not so; it begins otherwise;
Pray, look again, sir; how you’d slight your knowledge!
And. By all the reputation I late won——
Duch. Nay, and[958] you dare not read, sir, I am gone.

And. Read? [reads] Most fair duchess.

Duch. O, have you found it now?
There’s a sweet flattering phrase for a beginning!
You thought belike that would overcome me.
And. I, madam?
Duch. Nay, on, sir; you are slothful.
And. [reads] The report of your vow shall not fear me——
Duch. No? are you so resolute? ’tis well for you, sir.
And. [reads] I know you’re but a woman——
Duch. Well, what then, sir?

And. [reads] And what a woman is, a wise man knows.

Duch. Let him know what he can, he’s glad to get us.

And. [reads] Perhaps my condition[959] may seem blunt to you——

Duch. Well, we find no fault with your bluntness.

And. [reads] But no man’s love can be more sharp set——

Duch. Ay, there’s good stuff now!

And. [reads] And I know desires in both sexes have skill at that weapon.

Duch. Weapon?
You begin like a flatterer, and end like a fencer.
Are these fit lines now to be sent to us?
And. Now, by the honour of a man, his truth, madam,
My name’s abus’d!
Duch. Fie, fie, deny your hand?
I will not deny mine; here, take it freely, sir,
And with it my true constant heart for ever:
I never disgrac’d man that sought my favour.
And. What mean you, madam?
Duch. To requite you, sir;
By courtesy I hold my reputation,
And you shall taste it. Sir, in as plain truth
As the old time walk’d in, when love was simple
And knew no art nor guile, I affect you;
My heart has made her choice; I love you, sir,
Above my vow: the frown that met you first
Wore not the livery of anger, sir,
But of deep policy; I made your enemy
The instrument for all; there you may praise me,
And ’twill not be ill given.
And. Here’s a strange language!
The constancy of love bless me from learning on’t,
Although ambition would soon teach it others!
[Aside.
Madam, the service of whole life is yours;
But——
Duch. Enough! thou’rt mine for ever.—Within, there!
Re-enter Lactantio with Guard.
Lac. Madam?
Duch. Lay hands upon him; bear him hence;
See he be kept close prisoner in our palace.—
The time’s not yet ripe for our nuptial solace. [Aside, and exit.
Lac. This you could clear yourself!
And. There’s a voice that wearies me
More than mine own distractions.
Lac. You are innocent!
And. I’ve not a time idle enough from passion[960]
To give this devil an answer. O, she’s lost!
Curs’d be that love by which a better’s crost!
There my heart’s settl’d. [Aside.
Lac. How is he disgrac’d,
And I advanc’d in love! faith, he that can
Wish more to his enemy is a spiteful man,
And worthy to be punish’d. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

An apartment in the house of the Duchess.
Enter Celia, Page,[961] and Crotchet.
Celia. Sir, I’m of that opinion; being kept hard to’t,
In troth I think he’ll take his prick-song well.
Crot. [sings] G, sol, re, ut; you guess not right, i’faith.
Mistress, you’ll find you’re in an error straight.—
Come on, sir, lay the books down.—You shall see now.
Page. Would I’d an honest caudle next my heart!
Let who[962] would sol fa, I’d give them my part.
In troth methinks I’ve a great longing in me
To bite a piece of the musician’s nose off;
But I’ll rather
Lose my longing than spoil the poor man’s singing:
The very tip will serve my turn, methinks,
If I could get it; that he might well spare,
His nose is of the longest. O, my back! [Aside.
Crot. You shall hear that.—Rehearse your gamut, boy.
Page. Who’d be thus toil’d for love, and want the joy? [Aside.
Crot. Why, when![963] begin, sir: I must stay your leisure?
Page. Gamut [sings], a, re, b, me, &c.
Crot. [sings] Ee la: aloft! above the clouds, my boy!
Page. It must be a better note than ela,[964] sir,
That brings musicians thither; they’re too hasty,
The most part of 'em, to take such a journey,
And must needs fall by th’ way.
Crot. How many cliffs be there?
Page. One cliff, sir.
Crot. O intolerable heretic
To voice and music! do you know but one cliff?
Page. No more, indeed, I, sir;—and at this time
I know too much of that. [Aside.
Crot. How many notes be there?
Page. Eight, sir.—I fear me I shall find nine shortly,
To my great shame and sorrow. O my stomach! [Aside.
Crot. Will you repeat your notes then? I must sol fa you;
Why, when,[965] sir?
Page. A large, a long,[966] a breve, a semibreve,
A minim, a crotchet, a quaver, a semiquaver.
Crot. O, have you found the way?
Page. Never trust me
If I’ve not lost my wind with naming of 'em! [Aside.
Crot. Come, boy, your mind’s upon some other thing now;
Set to your song.
Page. Was ever wench so punish’d? [Aside.
Crot. [sings] Ut,—come, begin.
Page. [sings] Ut, mi, re, fa, sol, la.
Crot. Keep time, you foolish boy.
[Here they sing prick-song.[967]