An. Why, how now, sirrah? must I fall to tame you?
First Mad. Tame me? no; I’ll be madder than
a roasted cat. See, see, I am burnt with gunpowder!
these are our close fights!
An. I’ll whip you, if you grow unruly thus.
First Mad. Whip me? out, you toad! whip me?
what justice is this, to whip me because I’m a
beggar? Alas, I am a poor man, a very poor man!
I am starved, and have had no meat, by this light,
ever since the great flood; I am a poor man.
An. Well, well, be quiet, and you shall have meat.
First Mad. Ay, ay, pray, do; for, look you,
here be my guts; these are my ribs, you may look
through my ribs; see how my guts come out!
these are my red guts, my very guts, O, O!
An. Take him in there.
Servants remove First Madman.
Flu.
Pio., &c. } A very piteous sight.
Cas. Father, I see you have a busy charge.
An. They must be us’d like children; pleas’d with toys,
And anon whipt for their unruliness.
I’ll shew you now a pair quite different
From him that’s gone; he was all words; and these,
Unless you urge 'em, seldom spend their speech,
But save their tongues.
Opens another door, from which enter Second and Third Madmen.
La, you; this hithermost
Fell from the happy quietness of mind
About a maiden that he lov’d, and died:
He follow’d her to church, being full of tears,
And as her body went into the ground,
He fell stark mad. That is a married man,
Was jealous of a fair, but, as some say,
A very virtuous wife; and that spoil’d him.
Third Mad. All these are whoremongers, and lay
with my wife: whore, whore, whore, whore, whore!
Flu. Observe him.
Third Mad. Gaffer shoemaker, you pulled on my
wife’s pumps, and then crept into her pantofles:[228]
lie there, lie there!—This was her tailor. You cut
out her loose-bodied gown, and put in a yard more
than I allowed her: lie there, by the shoemaker.—O
master doctor, are you here? you gave me a
purgation, and then crept into my wife’s chamber
to feel her pulses; and you said, and she said, and
her maid said, that they went pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat,
pit-a-pat: doctor, I’ll put you anon into my wife’s
urinal.—Heigh, come aloft, Jack![229] This was her
schoolmaster, and taught her to play upon the virginals;[230]
and still his jacks leapt up, up. You
pricked her out nothing but bawdy lessons; but
I’ll prick you all! fiddler—doctor—tailor—shoemaker,—shoemaker—fiddler—doctor—tailor!—so!
lie with my wife again, now!
Cas. See how he notes the other now he feeds.
Third Mad. Give me some porridge.
Sec. Mad. I’ll give thee none.
Third Mad. Give me some porridge.
Sec. Mad. I’ll not give thee a bit.
Third Mad. Give me that flap-dragon.[231]
Sec. Mad. I’ll not give thee a spoonful: thou
liest, it’s no dragon; ’tis a parrot that I bought for
my sweetheart, and I’ll keep it.
Third Mad. Here’s an almond for parrot.[232]
Sec. Mad. Hang thyself!
Third Mad. Here’s a rope for parrot.[233]
Sec. Mad. Eat it, for I’ll eat this.
Third Mad. I’ll shoot at thee, and[234] thou’t give
me none.
Sec. Mad. Wu’t thou?
Third Mad. I’ll run a tilt at thee, and thou’t give
me none.
Sec. Mad. Wu’t thou? do, and thou darest.
Third Mad. Bounce!
Sec. Mad. O—O, I am slain! murder, murder,
murder! I am slain; my brains are beaten out.
An. How now, you villains!—Bring me whips—I’ll whip you.
Sec. Mad. I am dead! I am slain! ring out the
bell, for I am dead.
Duke. How will you do now, sirrah? you ha’ kill’d him.
Third Mad. I’ll answer’t at sessions. He was
eating of almond-butter, and I longed for’t: the
child had never been delivered out of my belly, if I
had not killed him. I’ll answer’t at sessions, so my
wife may be burnt i’ th’ hand too.
An. Take 'em in both; bury him, for he’s dead.
Sec. Mad. Ay, indeed, I am dead; put me, I
pray, into a good pit-hole.
Third Mad. I’ll answer’t at sessions.
[Servants remove Second and Third Madmen.
An. How now, huswife? whither gad you?
Bel. A nutting, forsooth.—How do you, gaffer?—how
do you, gaffer?—there’s a French curtsey
for you too.
Flu. ’Tis Bellafront!
Pio. ’Tis the punk, by th’ lord!
Duke. Father, what’s she, I pray?
An. As yet I know not:
She came in but
[235] this day; talks little idly,
And therefore has the freedom of the house.
Bel. Do not you know me?—nor you?—nor
you?—nor you?
All. No, indeed.
Bel. Then you are an ass—and you are an ass—and
you are an ass; for I know you.
An. Why, what are they? come, tell me, what are they?
Bel. They’re fish-wives: will you buy any gudgeons?
God’s-santy,[236] yonder come friars! I know
them too.—
Re-enter Hippolito, Matheo, and Infelice, disguised as friars.
How do you, friar?
An. Nay, nay, away; you must not trouble friars.—
The duke is here, speak nothing.
Bel. Nay, indeed, you shall not go; we’ll run at
barley-break[237] first, and you shall be in hell.
Mat. My punk turn’d mad whore, as all her fellows are!
Hip. Speak nothing; but steal hence when you spy time.
An. I’ll lock you up, if you’re unruly: fie!
Bel. Fie? marry, foh! they shall not go, indeed,
till I ha’ told 'em their fortunes.
Duke. Good father, give her leave.
Bel. Ay, pray, good father, and I’ll give you my
blessing.
An. Well, then, be brief; but if you’re thus unruly,
I’ll have you lock’d up fast.
Pio. Come, to their fortunes.
Bel. Let me see; one, two, three, and four. I’ll
begin with the little friar[238] first. Here’s a fine hand
indeed! I never saw friar have such a dainty hand:
here’s a hand for a lady! Here’s your fortune:
You love a friar better than a nun;
Yet long you’ll love no friar nor no friar’s son.
The line of life is out; yet, I’m afraid,
For all you’re holy, you’ll not die a maid.
God give you joy!—
Now to you, friar Tuck.
[239]
Mat. God send me good luck!
Bel. You love one, and one loves you;
You’re a false knave, and she’s a Jew.
Here is a dial that false ever goes——
Mat. O, your wit drops.
Bel. Troth, so does your nose.—
Nay, let’s shake hands with you too; pray, open:
here’s a fine hand!
Ho, friar, ho! God be here!
So he had need; you’ll keep good cheer.
Here’s a free table,
[240] but a frozen breast,
For you’ll starve those that love you best;
Yet you’ve good fortune, for if I’m no liar,
Then you’re no friar, nor you, nor you, no friar.
Haha, haha! [Discovers them.
Duke. Are holy habits cloaks for villany?
Draw all your weapons!
Hip. Do; draw all your weapons!
Duke. Where are your weapons? draw!
Cas.
Pio., &c. } The friar has gull’d us of ’em.
Mat. O rare trick!
You ha’ learnt one mad point of arithmetic.
Hip. Why swells your spleen so high? against what bosom
Would you your weapons draw? her’s? ’tis your daughter’s;
Mine? ’tis your son’s.
Duke. Son?
Mat. Son, by yonder sun!
Hip. You cannot shed blood here but ’tis your own;
To spill your own blood were damnation.
Lay smooth that wrinkled brow, and I will throw
Myself beneath your feet:
Let it be rugged still and flinted o’er,
What can come forth but sparkles, that will burn
Yourself and us? She’s mine; my claim’s most good;
She’s mine by marriage, though she’s yours by blood.
An. [
kneeling] I have a hand,
[241] dear lord, deep in this act,
For I foresaw this storm, yet willingly
Put forth to meet it. Oft have I seen a father
Washing the wounds of his dear son in tears,
A son to curse the sword that struck his father,
Both slain i’ th’ quarrel of your families.
Those scars are now ta’en off; and I beseech you
To seal our pardon! All was to this end,
To turn the ancient hates of your two houses
To fresh green friendship, that your loves might look
Like the spring’s forehead, comfortably sweet,
And your vex’d souls in peaceful union meet.
Their blood will now be yours, yours will be theirs,
And happiness shall crown your silver hairs.
Flu. You see, my lord, there’s now no remedy.
Cas.
Pio., &c. } Beseech your lordship!
Duke. You beseech fair; you have me in place fit
To bridle me.—Rise, friar; you may be glad
You can make mad men tame, and tame men mad.
Since fate hath conquer’d, I must rest content;
To strive now would but add new punishment.
I yield unto your happiness; be blest;
Our families shall henceforth breathe in rest.
All. O happy change!
Duke. Yours now is my content;
[242]
I throw upon your joys my full consent.
Bel. Am not I a good girl for finding the friar
in the well? God’s-so, you are a brave man! will
not you buy me some sugar-plumbs, because I am
so good a fortune-teller?
Duke. Would thou hadst wit, thou pretty soul, to ask,
As I have will to give!
Bel. Pretty soul? a pretty soul is better than a
pretty body.—Do not you know my pretty soul?
I know you: is not your name Matheo?
Mat. Yes, lamb.
Bel. Baa, lamb! there you lie, for I am mutton.[243]—Look,
fine man! he was mad for me once,
and I was mad for him once, and he was mad for
her once; and were you never mad? yes, I warrant.
I had a fine jewel once, a very fine jewel, and that
naughty man stole it away from me,—a very fine
jewel.
Duke. What jewel, pretty maid?
Bel. Maid? nay, that’s a lie. O, ’twas a very
rich jewel, called a maidenhead! and had not you
it, leerer?
Mat. Out, you mad ass, away!
Duke. Had he thy maidenhead?
He shall make thee amends, and marry thee.
Bel. Shall he? O brave Arthur of Bradley
then![244]
Duke. And if he bear the mind of a gentleman,
I know he will.
Mat. I think I rifled her of some such paltry
jewel.
Duke. Did you? then marry her; you see the wrong
Has led her spirits into a lunacy.
Mat. How? marry her, my lord? ’sfoot, marry
a mad woman! let a man get the tamest wife he
can come by, she’ll be mad enough afterward, do
what he can.
Duke. Nay, then, father Anselmo here shall do his best
To bring her to her wits: and will you then?
Mat. I cannot tell: I may choose.
Duke. Nay, then, law shall compel: I tell you, sir,
So much her hard fate moves me, you should not breathe
Under this air, unless you married her.
Mat. Well, then, when her wits stand in their
right place, I’ll marry her.
Bel. I thank your grace.—Matheo, thou art mine.
I am not mad, but put on this disguise
Only for you, my lord; for you can tell
Much wonder of me: but you are gone; farewell.
Matheo, thou didst first turn my soul black,
Now make it white again. I do protest,
I’m pure as fire now, chaste as Cynthia’s breast.
Hip. I durst be sworn, Matheo, she’s indeed.
Mat. Cony-catch’d!
[245] gull’d! must I sail in your fly-boat
Because I help’d to rear your mainmast first?
Plague ’found
[246] you for’t! ’Tis well;
The cuckold’s stamp goes current in all nations;
Some men have horns given them at their creations;
If I be one of those, why, so, it’s better
To take a common wench, and make her good,
Than one that simpers, and at first will scarce
Be tempted forth over the threshold door,
Yet in one se’nnight, zounds, turns arrant whore.
Come, wench, thou shalt be mine; give me thy golls,
[247]We’ll talk of legs hereafter.—See, my lord!
God give us joy!
All. God give you joy!
Geo. Come, mistress, we are in Bedlam now;
mass, and see, we come in pudding-time, for here’s
the duke.
Vio. My husband, good my lord!
Duke. Have I thy husband?
Cas. It’s Candido, my lord; he’s here among the
lunatics.—Father Anselmo, pray, fetch him forth.
[Exit Anselmo.]—This mad woman is his wife; and
though she were not with child, yet did she long
most spitefully to have her husband mad; and because
she would be sure he should turn Jew, she
placed him here in Bethlem. Yonder he comes!
Re-enter Anselmo with Candido.
Duke. Come hither, signor: are you mad?
Can. You are not mad.
Duke. Why, I know that.
Can. Then may you know I am not mad, that know
You are not mad, and that you are the duke.
None is mad here but one.—How do you, wife?
What do you long for now?—Pardon, my lord;
She had lost her child’s nose else: I did cut out
Pennyworths of lawn, the lawn was yet mine own;
A carpet was my
[248] gown, yet ’twas mine own;
I wore my man’s coat, yet the cloth mine own;
Had a crack’d crown, the crown was yet mine own:
She says for this I’m mad: were her words true,
I should be mad indeed. O foolish skill!
[249]Is patience madness? I’ll be a madman still.
Vio. Forgive me, and I’ll vex your spirit no more. [Kneels.
Duke. Come, come, we’ll have you friends; join hearts, join hands.
Can. See, my lord,
[250] we are even.—
Nay, rise; for ill deeds kneel unto none but heaven.
Duke. Signor, methinks patience has laid on you
Such heavy weight, that you should loathe it——
Can. Loathe it?
Duke. For he whose breast is tender, blood so cool
That no wrongs heat it, is a patient fool:
What comfort do you find in being so calm?
Can. That which green wounds receive from sovereign balm.
Patience, my lord! why, ’tis the soul of peace;
Of all the virtues ’tis nearest kin to heaven;
It makes men look like gods. The best of men
That e’er wore earth about him was a sufferer,
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit,
The first true gentleman that ever breath’d.
The stock of patience, then, cannot be poor;
All it desires it has; what monarch more?
It is the greatest enemy to law
That can be; for it doth embrace all wrongs,
And so chains up lawyers’ and women’s tongues:
’Tis the perpetual prisoner’s liberty,
His walks and orchards: ’tis the bond-slave’s freedom,
And makes him seem proud of each iron chain,
As though he wore it more for state than pain:
It is the beggars’ music, and thus sings,
Although their bodies beg, their souls are kings:
O my dread liege! it is the sap of bliss,
Rears us aloft, makes men and angels kiss:
And, last of all, to end a household strife,
It is the honey 'gainst a waspish wife.
Duke. Thou giv’st it lively colours: who dare say
He’s mad whose words march in so good array?
'Twere sin all women should such husbands have,
For every man must then be his wife’s slave:
Come, therefore, you shall teach our court to shine;
So calm a spirit is worth a golden mine.
Wives with meek husbands that to vex them long,
In Bedlam must they dwell, else dwell they wrong. [Exeunt omnes.