Enter Servant.
How now? where is he? will he meet me?

Ser. Meet you, sir? he might have met with three fencers in this time, and have received less hurt than by meeting one doctor of physic. Why, sir, has walked under the old Abbey-wall yonder this hour, till he’s more cold than a citizen’s country-house in Janivere.[196] You may smell him behind, sir: la, you, yonder he comes.

Ben. Leave me.

Ser. I’ th’ lurch, if you will. [Exit.

Enter Hippolito.
Ben. O my most noble friend!
Hip. Few but yourself
Could have entic’d me thus to trust the air
With my close sighs. You sent[197] for me; what news?
Ben. Come, you must doff this black; dye that pale cheek
Into his own colour; go, attire yourself
Fresh as a bridegroom when he meets his bride.
The duke has done much treason to thy love;
’Tis now revealed, ’tis now to be reveng’d:
Be merry, honour’d friend! thy lady lives.
Hip. What lady?
Ben. Infelice; she’s reviv’d:
Reviv’d? alack, death never had the heart
To take breath from her!
Hip. Umh, I thank you, sir:
Physic prolongs life when it cannot save;
This helps not my hopes, mine are in their grave:
You do some wrong to mock me.
Ben. By that love
Which I have ever borne you, what I speak
Is truth; the maiden lives: that funeral,
Duke’s tears, the mourning, was all counterfeit;
A sleepy draught cozen’d the world and you:
I was his minister; and then chamber’d up,
To stop discovery.
Hip. O treacherous duke!
Ben. He cannot hope so certainly for bliss
As he believes that I have poison’d you.
He woo’d me to’t; I yielded, and confirm’d him
In his most bloody thoughts.
Hip. A very devil!
Ben. Her did he closely coach to Bergamo;
And thither——
Hip. Will I ride: stood Bergamo
In the low countries of black hell, I’ll to her.
Ben. You shall to her, but not to Bergamo.
How passion makes you fly beyond yourself!
Much of that weary journey I ha’ cut off;
For she by letters hath intelligence
Of your supposed death, her own interment,
And all those plots which that false duke her father
Has wrought against you; and she’ll meet you—
Hip. O, when?
Ben. Nay, see, how covetous are your desires!
Early to-morrow morn.
Hip. O where, good father?
Ben. At Bethlem Monastery. Are you pleas’d now?
Hip. At Bethlem Monastery? the place well fits;
It is the school where those that lose their wits
Practise again to get them. I am sick
Of that disease; all love is lunatic.
Ben. We’ll steal away this night in some disguise.
Father Anselmo, a most reverend friar,
Expects our coming; before whom we’ll lay
Reasons so strong, that he shall yield in bands[198]
Of holy wedlock to tie both your hands.
Hip. This is such happiness,
That to believe it, ’tis impossible.
Ben. Let all your joys then die in misbelief;
I will reveal no more.
Hip. O yes, good father!
I am so well acquainted with despair,
I know not how to hope; I believe all.
Ben. We’ll hence this night: much must be done, much said;
But if the doctor fail not in his charms,
Your lady shall ere morning fill these arms.
Hip. Heavenly physician! far thy fame shall spread,
That mak’st two lovers speak when they be dead. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

A Hall in the Duke’s Palace.
Enter Viola with a petition, and George.

Vio. O watch, good George, watch which way the duke comes!

Geo. Here comes one of the butterflies; ask him.

Enter Pioratto.

Vio. Pray, sir, comes the duke this way?

Pio. He’s upon coming, mistress.

Vio. I thank you, sir. [Exit Pioratto.]—George, are there many mad folks where thy master lies?

Geo. O yes, of all countries some; but especially mad Greeks,[199] they swarm. Troth, mistress, the world is altered with you; you had not wont to stand thus with a paper, humbly complaining: but you’re well enough served. Provender pricked you, as it does many of our city wives besides.

Vio. Dost think, George, we shall get him forth?

Geo. Truly, mistress, I cannot tell; I think you’ll hardly get him forth. Why,’tis strange! ’sfoot, I have known many women that have had mad rascals to their husbands, whom they would belabour by all means possible to keep 'em in their right wits; but of a woman to long to turn a tame man into a madman, why, the devil himself was never used so by his dam.

Vio. How does he talk, George? ha, good George, tell me.

Geo. Why, you’re best go see.

Vio. Alas, I am afraid!

Geo. Afraid? you had more need be ashamed; he may rather be afraid of you.

Vio. But, George, he’s not stark mad, is he? he does not rave? he’s not horn-mad, George, is he?

Geo. Nay, I know not that; but he talks like a justice of peace of a thousand matters, and to no purpose.

Vio. I’ll to the monastery. I shall be mad till 1 enjoy him; I shall be sick till I see him; yet when I do see him, I shall weep out mine eyes.

Geo. I’d fain see a woman weep out her eyes; that’s as true as to say a man’s cloak burns when it hangs in the water. I know you’ll weep, mistress; but what says the painted cloth?[200]

Trust not a woman when she cries,
For she’ll pump water from her eyes
With a wet finger[201], and in faster showers
Than April when he rains down flowers.

Vio. Ay, but, George, that painted cloth is worthy to be hanged up for lying: all women have not tears at will, unless they have good cause.

Geo. Ay, but, mistress, how easily will they find a cause! and as one of our cheese-trenchers[202] says, very learnedly,

As out of wormwood bees suck honey,
As from poor clients lawyers firk money,
As parsley from a roasted cony,
So, though the day be ne’er so sunny,
If wives will have it rain, down then it drives;
The calmest husbands make the stormiest wives.

Vio. Tame,[203] George; but I ha’ done storming now.

Geo. Why, that’s well done: good mistress, throw aside this fashion of your humour; be not so fantastical in wearing it; storm no more, long no more: this longing has made you come short of many a good thing that you might have had from my master. Here comes the duke.

Enter Duke, Fluello, Pioratto, and Sinezi.
Vio. O, I beseech you, pardon my offence,
In that I durst abuse your grace’s warrant!
Deliver forth my husband, good my lord.
Duke. Who is her husband?
Flu. Candido, my lord.
Duke. Where is he?
Vio. He’s among the lunatics.
He was a man made up without a gall;
Nothing could move him, nothing could convert
His meek blood into fury; yet, like a monster,
I often beat at the most constant rock
Of his unshaken patience, and did long
To vex him.
Duke. Did you so?
Vio. And for that purpose
Had warrant from your grace to carry him
To Bethlem Monastery, whence they will not free him
Without your grace’s hand, that sent him in.
Duke. You have long’d fair; ’tis you are mad, I fear;
It’s fit to fetch him thence, and keep you there.
If he be mad, why would you have him forth?

Geo. And[204] please your grace, he’s not stark mad, but only talks like a young gentleman, somewhat fantastically; that’s all: there’s a thousand about your court, city, and country, madder than he.

Duke. Provide a warrant, you shall have our hand.
Geo. Here’s a warrant ready drawn, my lord.
Duke.[205] Get pen and ink, get pen and ink.
[Exit George.
Enter Castruchio.
Cas. Where is my lord the duke?
Duke. How now? more madmen?
Cas. I have strange news, my lord.
Duke. Of what? of whom?
Cas. Of Infelice and a marriage.
Duke. Ha! where? with whom?
Cas. Hippolito.
Re-enter George with pen and ink.
Geo. Here, my lord.
Duke. Hence with that woman! void the room!
Flu. Away! the duke’s vexed.

Geo. Whoop! come, mistress, the duke’s mad too.

[Exeunt Viola and George.

Duke. Who told me that Hippolito was dead?

Cas. He that can make any man dead, the doctor. But, my lord, he’s as full of life as wildfire, and as quick: Hippolito, the doctor, and one more, rid hence this evening; the inn at which they light is Bethlem Monastery; Infelice comes from Bergamo, and meets them there. Hippolito is mad, for he means this day to be married: the afternoon is the hour, and friar Anselmo is the knitter.

Duke. From Bergamo! is’t possible? it cannot be,
It cannot be.
Cas. I will not swear, my lord;
But this intelligence I took from one
Whose brains work[206] in the plot.
Duke. What’s he?
Cas. Matheo.
Flu. Matheo knows all.
Pio. He’s Hippolito’s bosom.
Duke. How far stands Bethlem hence?

Cas.
Flu., &c.[207] } Six or seven miles.

Duke. Is’t so?[208] not married till the afternoon?
Stay, stay, let’s work out some prevention. How?
This is most strange; can none but madmen serve
To dress their wedding-dinner? All of you
Get presently to horse, disguise yourselves
Like country gentlemen,
Or riding citizens, or so; and take
Each man a several path, but let us meet
At Bethlem Monastery, some space of time
Being spent between the arrival each of other,
As if we came to see the lunatics.
To horse; away! be secret, on your lives:
Love must be punish’d that unjustly thrives.
[Exeunt all except Fluello.
Flu. Be secret, on your lives? Castruchio,
You’re but a scurvy spaniel. Honest lord!
Good lady! zounds, their love is just, ’tis good;
And I’ll prevent you, though I swim in blood. [Exit.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Bethlem Monastery.
Enter Anselmo, Hippolito, Matheo, and Infelice.
Hip. Nay, nay, resolve,[209] good father, or deny.
An. You press me to an act both full of danger
And full of happiness; for I behold
Your father’s frowns, his threats, nay, perhaps death
To him that dare do this: yet, noble lord,
Such comfortable beams break through these clouds
By this blest marriage, that, your honour’d word
Being pawn’d in my defence, I will tie fast
The holy wedding knot.
Hip. Tush, fear not the duke.
An. O son,
Wisely to fear is to be free from fear.
Hip. You have our words, and you shall have our lives,
To guard you safe from all ensuing danger.
Mat. Ay, ay, chop 'em up and away.
An. Stay: when is’t fit for me, safest for you,
To entertain this business?
Hip. Not till the evening.
An. Be’t so: there is a chapel stands hard by,
Upon the west end of the abbey-wall;
Thither convey yourselves; and when the sun
Hath turn’d his back upon this upper world,
I’ll marry you; that done, no thundering voice
Can break the sacred bond: yet, lady, here
You are most safe.

Inf. Father, your love’s most dear.

Mat. Ay, well said; lock us into some little room by ourselves, that we may be mad for an hour or two.

Hip. O good Matheo, no! let’s make no noise.

Mat. How? no noise? do you know where you are? ’sfoot, amongst all the madcaps in Milan; so that to throw the house out at window will be the better, and no man will suspect that we lurk here to steal mutton.[210] The more sober we are, the more scurvy ’tis; and though the friar tell us that here we are safest, I’m not of his mind; for if those lay here that had lost their money, none would ever look after them: but here are none but those that have lost their wits; so that if hue and cry be made, hither they’ll come; and my reason is, because none goes to be married till he be stark mad.

Hip. Muffle yourselves; yonder’s Fluello.

Enter Fluello.

Mat. Zounds!

Flu. O my lord, these cloaks are not for this rain! the tempest is too great: I come sweating to tell you of it, that you may get out of it.

Mat. Why, what’s the matter?

Flu. What’s the matter! you have mattered it fair: the duke’s at hand.

All. The duke!
Flu. The very duke.
Hip. Then all our plots
Are turn’d upon our heads, and we’re blown up
With our own underminings. ’Sfoot, how comes he?
What villain durst betray our being here?

Flu. Castruchio; Castruchio told the duke, and Matheo here told Castruchio.

Hip. Would you betray me to Castruchio?

Mat. ’Sfoot, he damned himself to the pit of hell if he spake on’t again.

Hip. So did you swear to me; so were you damn’d.

Mat. Pox on 'em, and there be no faith in men, if a man shall not believe oaths. He took bread and salt,[211] by this light, that he would never open his lips.

Hip. O God, O God!
An. Son, be not desperate,
Have patience; you shall trip your enemy down
By his own slights.[212]—How far is the duke hence?

Flu. He’s but new set out: Castruchio, Pioratto, and Sinezi, come along with him; you have time enough yet to prevent[213] them, if you have but courage.

An. You shall steal secretly into the chapel,
And presently be married. If the duke
Abide here still, spite of ten thousand eyes
You shall ’scape hence like friars.
Hip. O blest disguise![214] O happy man!
An. Talk not of happiness, till your closed hand
Have her by th’ forehead like the lock of time.
Be nor too slow nor hasty, now you climb
Up to the tower of bliss; only be wary
And patient, that’s all. If you like my plot,
Build and despatch; if not, farewell, then not.
Hip. O yes, we do applaud it! we’ll dispute
No longer, but will hence and execute.
Fluello, you’ll stay here; let us be gone.
The ground that frighted[215] lovers tread upon
Is stuck with thorns.
An. Come, then, away: ’tis meet,
To escape those thorns, to put on winged feet.
[Exeunt Anselmo, Hippolito, and Infelice.
Mat. No words, pray,[216] Fluello, for’t stands us upon.
Flu. O sir, let that be your lesson! [Exit Matheo.
Alas, poor lovers! on what hopes and fears
Men toss themselves for women! when she’s got,
The best has in her that which pleaseth not.
Enter the Duke, Castruchio, Pioratto, and Sinezi, from different sides, muffled.
Duke. Who’s there?
Cas. My lord!
Duke. Peace, send that lord away;
A lordship will spoil all: let’s be all fellows.
What’s he?
Cas. Fluello; or else Sinezi, by his little legs.

Flu.
Pio.
Sin. } All friends, all friends.

Duke. What? met upon the very point of time!
Is this the place?
Pio. This is the place, my lord.
Duke. Dream you on lordships? come, no more lords, pray.
You have not seen these lovers yet?
All. Not yet.
Duke. Castruchio, art thou sure this wedding feat
Is not till afternoon?
Cas. So ’tis given out, my lord.
Duke. Nay, nay, ’tis like; thieves must observe their hours;
Lovers watch minutes like astronomers.
How shall the interim hours by us be spent?
Flu. Let’s all go see the madmen.

Cas.
Pio.
Sin. } Mass, content.

Enter a Sweeper.[217]
Duke. O, here comes one; question him, question him.

Flu. How now, honest fellow? dost thou belong to the house?

Sweep. Yes, forsooth, I am one of the implements; I sweep the madmen’s rooms, and fetch straw for 'em, and buy chains to tie 'em, and rods to whip 'em. I was a mad wag myself here once; but I thank father Anselmo, he lashed me into my right mind again.

Duke. Anselmo is the friar must marry them;
Question him where he is.

Cas. And where is father Anselmo now?

Sweep. Marry, he’s gone but e’en now.

Duke. Ay, well done.—Tell me, whither is he gone?

Sweep. Why, to God a’mighty.

Flu. Ha, ha! this fellow is a fool, talks idly.

Pio. Sirrah, are all the mad folks in Milan brought hither?

Sweep. How, all? there’s a wise question indeed! why, if all the mad folks in Milan should come hither, there would not be left ten men in the city.

Duke. Few gentlemen or courtiers here, ha?

Sweep. O yes, abundance, abundance! lands no sooner fall into their hands but straight they run out a’ their wits: citizens’ sons and heirs are free of the house by their fathers’ copy: farmers’ sons come hither like geese, in flocks; and when they ha’ sold all their corn-fields, here they sit and pick the straws.

Sin. Methinks you should have women here as well as men.

Sweep. O ay, a plague on 'em, there’s no ho with them;[218] they are madder than March-hares.

Flu. Are there no lawyers here amongst you?

Sweep. O no, not one; never any lawyer: we dare not let a lawyer come in, for he’ll make 'em mad faster than we can recover 'em.

Duke. And how long is’t ere you recover any of these?

Sweep. Why, according to the quantity of the moon that’s got into 'em. An alderman’s son will be mad a great while, a very great while, especially if his friends left him well; a whore will hardly come to her wits again; a puritan, there’s no hope of him, unless he may pull down the steeple, and hang himself i’ th’ bell-ropes.

Flu. I perceive all sorts of fish come to your net.

Sweep. Yes, in truth, we have blocks[219] for all heads; we have good store of wild oats here: for the courtier is mad at the citizen, the citizen is mad at the countryman,[220] the shoemaker is mad at the cobbler, the cobbler at the carman, the punk is mad that the merchant’s wife is no whore, the merchant’s wife is mad that the punk is so common a whore. God’s-so, here’s father Anselmo! pray, say nothing that I tell tales out of the school. [Exit.

Re-enter Anselmo and Servants.
All. God bless you, father!
An. Thank you, gentlemen.
Cas. Pray, may we see some of those wretched souls
That here are in your keeping?
An. Yes, you shall;
But, gentlemen, I must disarm you then:
There are of madmen, as there are of tame,
All humour’d not alike: we have here some
So apish and fantastic, play with a feather;
And, though 'twould grieve a soul to see God’s image
So blemish’d and defac’d, yet do they act
Such antic and such pretty lunacies,
That, spite of sorrow, they will make you smile:
Others again we have like hungry lions,
Fierce as wild bulls, untameable as flies;
And these have oftentimes from strangers’ sides
Snatch’d rapiers suddenly, and done much harm;
Whom if you’ll see, you must be weaponless.
All. With all our hearts. [Giving their weapons to Anselmo.
An. Here, take these weapons in.— [Exit Servant with weapons.
Stand off a little, pray; so, so, ’tis well.
I’ll shew you here a man that was sometimes
A very grave and wealthy citizen;
Has serv’d a prenticeship to this misfortune,
Been here seven years, and dwelt in Bergamo.
Duke. How fell he from his wits?
An. By loss at sea.
I’ll stand aside, question him you alone;
For if he spy me, he’ll not speak a word,
Unless he’s throughly vex’d.
Opens a door and then retires: enter First Madman wrapt in a net.[221]

Flu. Alas, poor soul!

Cas. A very old man.

Duke. God speed, father!

First Mad. God speed the plough! thou shalt not speed me.

Pio. We see you, old man, for all you dance in a net.

First Mad. True, but thou wilt dance in a halter, and I shall not see thee.

An. O, do not vex him, pray!

Cas. Are you a fisherman, father?

First Mad. No, I’m neither fish nor flesh.

Flu. What do you with that net, then?

First Mad. Dost not see, fool, there’s a fresh salmon in’t? If you step one foot further, you’ll be over shoes, for you see I’m over head and ears[222] in the salt water: and if you fall into this whirlpool where I am, you’re drowned, you’re a drowned rat!—I am fishing here for five ships, but I cannot have a good draught, for my net breaks still, and breaks; but I’ll break some of your necks, and[223] I catch you in my clutches. Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay: where’s the wind, where’s the wind, where’s the wind, where’s the wind? Out, you gulls, you goosecaps, you gudgeon-eaters! do you look for the wind in the heavens? ha, ha, ha, ha! no, no! look there, look there, look there! the wind is always at that door: hark, how it blows! puff, puff, puff!

All. Ha, ha, ha!

First Mad. Do you laugh at God’s creatures? do you mock old age, you rogues? is this grey beard and head counterfeit, that you cry ha, ha, ha?—Sirrah, art not thou my eldest son?

Pio. Yes indeed, father.

First Mad. Then thou’rt a fool; for my eldest son had a polt foot,[224] crooked legs, a verjuice face, and a pear-coloured[225] beard: I made him a scholar, and he made himself a fool.—Sirrah, thou there! hold out thy hand.

Duke. My hand? well, here ’tis.

First Mad. Look, look, look, look! has he not long nails and short hair?

Flu. Yes, monstrous short hair and abominable long nails.

First Mad. Ten-penny nails, are they not?

Flu. Yes, ten-penny nails.

First Mad. Such nails had my second boy.—Kneel down, thou varlet, and ask thy father’s blessing. Such nails had my middlemost son, and I made him a promoter;[226] and he scraped, and scraped, and scraped, till he got the devil and all: but he scraped thus, and thus, and thus, and it went under his legs, till at length a company of kites, taking him for carrion, swept up all, all, all, all, all, all, all. If you love your lives, look to yourselves! see, see, see, see, the Turk’s galleys are fighting with my ships! bounce go[227] the guns! O—O, cry the men! rumble, rumble go the waters! alas, there, ’tis sunk, ’tis sunk! I am undone, I am undone! you are the damned pirates have undone me, you are, by th’ lord, you are, you are!—stop 'em—you are!