Chapter XX: Act I: , Scene I

_Enter_ PISARO.

How smug this grey-ey'd morning seems to be!
A pleasant sight; but yet more pleasure have I
To think upon this moist'ning southwest wind,
That drives my laden ships from fertile Spain.
But come what will, no wind can come amiss.
For two and thirty winds that rule the seas,
And blow about this airy region,
Thirty-two ships have I to equal them,
Whose wealthy freights do make Pisaro rich:
Thus every soil to me is natural.
Indeed, by birth I am a Portingal
Who, driven by western winds on English shore,
Here, liking of the soil, I married,
And have three daughters: but impartial death
Long since depriv'd me of her dearest life;
Since whose decease in London I have dwelt,
And by the sweet-lov'd trade of usury,
Letting for interest and on mortgages,
Do I wax rich; though many gentlemen
By my extortion come to misery.
Amongst the rest, three English gentlemen
Have pawned to me their livings and their lands:
Each several hoping, though their hopes are vain,
By marriage of my daughters to possess
Their patrimonies and their lands again.
But gold is sweet, and they deceive themselves;
For though I gild my temples with a smile,
It is but Judas-like to work their ends.
But soft, what noise of footing do I hear? [_Retires._

_Enter_ LAURENTIA, MARINA, MATHEA, _and_
ANTHONY.

LAUR. Now, master, what intend you to read to us?

ANTH. Pisaro, your father, would have me read moral philosophy.

MAR. What's that?

ANTH. First tell me how you like it?

MATH. First tell us what it is.

PIS. They be my daughters and their schoolmaster.
Pisaro, not a word, but list their talk. [_Aside._

ANTH. Gentlewomen, to paint philosophy,
Is to present youth with so sour a dish,
As their abhorring stomachs nill digest.
When first my mother Oxford (England's pride)
Foster'd me, pupil-like, with her rich store,
My study was to read philosophy;
But since my headstrong youth's unbridled will,
Scorning the leaden fetters of restraint,
Hath prun'd my feathers to a higher pitch.
Gentlewomen, moral philosophy is a kind of art,
The most contrary to your tender sexes;
It teacheth to be grave, and on that brow,
Where beauty in her rarest glory shines,
Plants the sad semblance of decayed age.
Those weeds, that with their riches should adorn
And grace fair nature's curious workmanship,
Must be converted to a black-faced veil,
Grief's livery and sorrow's semblance:
Your food must be your hearts' abundant sighs,
Steep'd in the brinish liquor of your tears:
Daylight as dark night--dark night spent in prayer:
Thoughts your companions, and repentant minds
The recreation of your tired spirits.
Gentlewomen, if you can like this modesty,[477]
Then will I read to you philosophy.

LAUR. Not I.

MAR. Fie upon it.

MATH. Hang up philosophy, I'll none of it.[478]

PIS. A tutor, said I? a tutor for the devil.

[_Aside._

ANTH. No, gentlewomen, Anthony hath learn'd
To read a letter of more pleasing worth.
Marina, read these lines; young Harvey sent them;
There every line repugns philosophy;
Then love him, for he hates the thing thou hates.
Laurentia, this is thine from Ferdinand;
Think every golden circle that thou seest
The rich unvalued circle of his worth.[479]
Mathea, with these gloves thy Ned salutes thee;
As often as these hide these from the sun,[480]
And wanton steal a kiss from thy fair hand,
Presents his serviceable true heart's zeal,
Which waits upon the censure of thy doom.
What though their lands be mortgag'd to your father,
Yet may your dowries redeem that debt:
Think they are gentlemen, and think they love,
And be that thought their true love's advocate.
Say you should wed for wealth, for to that scope
Your father's greedy disposition tends,
The world would say that you were had for wealth,
And so fair beauty's honour quite extinct.[481]
A mass of wealth being pour'd upon another,
Little augments the show, although the sum;
But being lightly scattered by itself,
It doubles what it seem'd, although but one.
Even so yourselves; for, wedded to the rich,
His style was as it was, a rich man still;
But wedding these, to wed true love is duty,
You make them rich in wealth, but more in beauty.
I need not plead: that smile shows heart's consent;
That kiss show'd love, that on that gift was lent:
And (last) thine eyes, that tears of true joy send,
As comfortable tidings for my friend.

MAR. Have done, have done: what need'st thou more procure,
When long ere this I stoop'd to that fair lure.
"Thy ever-loving Harvey," I delight it;
Marina ever loving shall requite it.
Teach us philosophy! I'll be no nun.
Age scorns delight: I love it being young.[482]
There's not a word of this, not a word's part,
But shall be stamp'd, seal'd, printed on my heart.
On this I'll read, on this my senses ply,
All arts being vain, but this philosophy.

LAUR. Why was I made a maid, but for a man?
And why Laurentia but for Ferdinand?
The chastest soul these angels could entice,
Much more himself--an angel of more price.
Wert thyself present, as my heart could wish,
Such usage thou shouldst have as I give this.

ANTH. Then you would kiss him?

LAUR. If I did, how then?

ANTH. Nay, I say nothing to it, but amen.

PIS. The clerk must have his fees: I'll pay you them. [_Aside._

MATH. Good God, how abject is this single life!
I'll not abide it: father, friends, nor kin,
Shall once dissuade me from affecting him.[483]
A man's a man; and Ned is more than one:
I' faith, I'll have thee, Ned, or I'll have none.
Do what they can, chafe, chide, or storm their fill,
Mathea is resolv'd to have her will.

PIS. I can no longer hold my patience. [_Coming forward._
Impudent villain[484] and lascivious girls,
I have o'erheard your vile conversions!
You scorn philosophy! you'll be no nun!
You must needs kiss the purse, because he sent it!
And you, forsooth, you flirtgill, minion,
A brat scant folded in the dozens at most,[485]
You'll have your will, forsooth! What will you have?

MATH. But twelve year old? Nay, father, that's not so;
Our sexton told me I was three years mo.

PIS. I say but twelve: you're best tell me I lie.
What, sirrah Anthony!

ANTH. Here, sir.

PIS. Come here, sir;
And you, light huswives, get you in:
Stare not upon me, move me not to ire. [_Exeunt sisters._
Nay, sirrah, stay you here, I'll talk with you.
Did I retain thee, villain, in my house,
Give thee a stipend, twenty marks by year,
And hast thou thus infected my three girls,
Urging the love of those I most abhorr'd?
Unthrifts [and] beggars--what is worse--
And all because they are your countrymen.

ANTH. Why, sir, I taught them not
To keep a merchant's book, or cast account:
Yet to a word much like that word account--

PIS. A knave past grace is past recovery.
Why, sirrah Frisco, villain, loggerhead!
Where art thou?

_Enter_ FRISCO _the Clown_.

FRIS. Here's a calling indeed! a man were better to live a
lord's life and do nothing, than a serving creature, and never
be idle. O master, what a mess of brewis stands now upon the
point of spoiling by your hastiness. Why, they were able to
have got a good stomach with child, even with the sight of
them; and for a vapour--O precious vapour! Let but a wench come
near them with a painted face, and you should see the paint
drop and curdle on her cheeks, like a piece of dry Essex cheese
toasted at the fire.

PIS. Well, sirrah, leave this thought, and mind my words.
Give diligence; inquire about
For one that is expert in languages,
A good musician and a Frenchman born,
And bring him hither to instruct my daughters.
I'll ne'er trust more a smooth-fac'd Englishman.

FRIS. What, must I bring one that can speak languages? what an
old ass is my master! [_Aside._] Why, he may speak _flaunte
taunte_ as well as French, for I cannot understand him.

PIS. If he speak French, thus he will say, _Oui, Oui_.
What, can'st thou remember it?

FRIS. O, I have it now, for I remember my great grandfather's
grandmother's sister's cousin told me, that pigs and Frenchmen
speak one language, _awee, awee_; I am dog at this. But what
must he speak else?

PIS. Dutch.

FRIS. Let's hear it?

PIS. _Haunce butterkin slowpin._

FRIS. O, this is nothing, for I can speak perfect Dutch when I
list.

PIS. Can you? I pray let's hear some.

FRIS. Nay, I must have my mouth full of meat first, and then
you shall hear me grumble it forth full-mouth; as, _haunce
butterkin slowpin frokin_. O,[486] I am a simple Dutchman.
Well, I'll about it.

PIS. Stay, sirrah, you are too hasty; for he must speak one
language more.

FRIS. More languages? I trust he shall have tongues enough for
one mouth. But what is the third?

PIS. Italian.

FRIS. Why, that is the easiest of all, for I can tell whether
lie have any Italian in him even by looking on him.

PIS. Can you so? as how?

FRIS. Marry, by these three points: a wanton eye, pride in his
apparel, and the devil in his countenance. Well, God keep me
from the devil in seeking this Frenchman. But do you hear me,
master? what shall my fellow Anthony do? it seems he shall
serve for nothing but to put Latin into my young mistresses.

PIS. Hence, ass! hence, loggerhead! begone, I say.
And now to you that read philosophy. [_Exit_ FRISCO.
Pack from my house: I do discharge thy service,
And come not near my doors: for if thou dost,
I'll make thee a public example to the world.

ANTH. Well, crafty fox, you that work by wit,
It may be I may live to fit you yet.

[_Aside. Exit_ ANTHONY.

PIS. Ah! sirrah, this trick was spied in time,
For if but two such lectures more they'd heard,
For ever had their honest names been marr'd.
I'll in and rate them; yet that's not best:
The girls are wilful, and severity
May make them careless, mad, or desperate.
What shall I do? O, I have found it now.
There are three wealthy merchants in the town,
All strangers, and my very special friends:
The one of them is an Italian,
A Frenchman and a Dutchman be the other.
These three entirely do affect my daughters,
And therefore mean I they shall have the tongues,
That they may answer in their several language.
But what helps that? they must not stay so long;
For whiles they are a-learning languages,
My English youths both wed and bed them too.
Which to prevent, I'll seek the strangers out.
Let's look; 'tis past eleven; Exchange time full:
There shall I meet them, and confer with them.
This work craves haste, my daughters must be wed;
For one month's stay saith,[487] farewell, maidenhead. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ HARVEY, HEIGHAM, _and_ WALGRAVE.

HEIGH. Come, gentlemen, we're almost at the house.
I promise you, this walk o'er Tower-hill,
Of all the places London can afford,
Hath sweetest air, and fitting our desires.

HAR. Good reason so, it leads to Crutched Friars,
Where old Pisaro and his daughters dwell.
Look to your feet: the broad way leads to hell.
They say hell stands below, down in the deep,
I'll down that hell, where such good wenches keep
But, sirrah Ned, what says Mathea to thee?
Wilt fadge?[488] wilt fadge? What, will it be a match?

WAL. A match, say you? a mischief 'twill as soon;
For I can scarce begin to speak to her,
But I am interrupted by her father;
"Ha! what say you?" and then puts o'er his snout,
Able to shadow Paul's, it is so great.[489]
Well, 'tis no matter, sirs, this is his house:
Knock for the churl, bid him bring out his daughter;
Ay, 'sblood,[490] I will, though I be hang'd for it.

HEIGH. Heyday, heyday! nothing with you but up and ride!
You'll be within, ere you can reach the door!
And have the wench, before you compass her.
You are too hasty: Pisaro is a man,
Not to be fed with words, but won with gold.
But who comes here?

_Enter_ ANTHONY.

WAL. Whom? Anthony our friend?
Say, man, how fare our loves? how doth Mathea?
Can she love Ned? how doth she like my suit?
Will old Pisaro take me for his son?
For, I thank God, he kindly takes our lands,
Swearing, "Good gentlemen, you shall not want,
Whilst old Pisaro and his credit hold:"
He will be damn'd, the rogue, before he do't!

HAR. Prythee, talk milder: let but thee alone,
And thou in one bare hour will ask him more
Than he'll remember in a hundred years.
Come from him, Anthony, and say, what news.

ANTH. The news for me is bad; and this it is:
Pisaro hath discharg'd me of his service.

HEIGH. Discharg'd thee of his service! for what cause?

ANTH. Nothing,
But that his daughters learn philosophy.

HAR. Maids should read that; it teacheth modesty.

ANTH. Ay, but I left out mediocrity,
And with effectual reasons urged your loves.

WAL. The fault was small: we three will to thy master,
And beg thy pardon.

ANTH. O, that cannot be:
He hates you far worse than he hates me;
For all the love he shows is for your lands,
Which he hopes, sure, will fall into his hands.
Yet, gentlemen, this comfort take of me,
His daughters to your loves affected be.
Their father is abroad, they three at home.
Go cheerly in, and seize that is your own.
And, for myself, but grace what I intend:
I'll overreach the churl, and help my friend.

HEIGH. Build on our helps, and but devise the means.

ANTH. Pisaro did command Frisco his man
(A simple sot, kept only but for mirth),
To inquire about in London for a man
That were a Frenchman and musician,
To be (as I suppose) his daughters' tutor.
Him if you meet, as like enough you shall,
He will inquire of you of his affairs;
Then make him answer, you three came from Paul's,
And in the middle walk one you espied,
Fit for his purpose: then describe this cloak,
This beard and hat; for in this borrowed shape
Must I beguile and overreach the fool.
The maids must be acquainted with this drift.
The door doth ope: I dare not stay reply,
Lest being descried--Gentlemen, adieu,
And help him now, that oft hath helped you. [_Exit._

_Enter_ FRISCO.

WAL. How now, sirrah, whither are you going?

FRIS. Whither am I going? how shall I tell you, when I do not
know myself, nor understand myself?

HEIGH. What dost thou mean by that?

FRIS. Marry, sir, I am seeking a needle in a bottle of hay; a
monster in the likeness of a man: one that, instead of good
morrow, asketh what porridge you have to dinner? parley-vous.
signior? one that never washes his fingers, but licks them
clean with kisses; a clipper of the king's English; and, to
conclude, an eternal enemy to all good language.

HAR. What's this? what's this?

FRIS. Do not you smell me? Well, I perceive that wit doth not
always dwell in a satin-doublet. Why, 'tis a Frenchman: Basi
mon cue, how do you?

HAR. I thank you, sir: but tell me what wouldst thou do with a
Frenchman?

FRIS. Nay, faith, I would do nothing with him, unless I set
him to teach parrots to speak. Marry, the old ass, my master,
would have him to teach his daughters, though I trust the whole
world sees that there be such in his house that can serve his
daughters' turn as well as the proudest Frenchman. But if you
be good lads, tell me where I may find such a man?

HEIGH. We will. Go hie thee straight to Paul's, There shalt
thou find one fitting thy desire: Thou soon may'st know him,
for his beard is black, And such his raiment[491]: if thou
runn'st apace, Thou canst not miss him, Frisco.

FRIS. Lord, Lord, how shall poor Frisco reward your rich
tidings, gentlemen? I am yours till Shrove-Tuesday, for then
change I my copy, and look like nothing but red-herring-cobs
and stock-fish; yet I'll do somewhat for you in the meantime.
My master is abroad, and my young mistresses at home: if you
can do any good on them, before the Frenchman come, why so. Ah!
gentlemen, do not suffer a litter of languages to spring up
amongst us. I must to the walk in Paul's, you to the vestry.
Gentlemen, as to myself and so forth. [_Exit_ FRISCO.

HAR. Fools tell the truth, men say, and so may he.
Wenches, we come now; love our conduct be!
Ned, knock at the door.--But soft, forbear!

_Enter_ LAURENTIA, MARINA, _and_ MATHEA.

The cloud breaks up, and our three suns appear.
To this I fly. Shine bright, my life's sole stay,
And make grief's night a glorious summer's day.

MAR. Gentlemen, how welcome you are here,
Guess by our looks, for other means by fear
Prevented is. Our father's quick return
Forbids the welcome else we would have done.

WAL. Mathea, how these faithful thoughts obey--

MATH. No more, sweet love, I know what thou wouldst say.
You say you love me, so I wish you still:
Love hath love's hire, being balanc'd with good-will.
But say; come you to us, or come you rather
To pawn more lands for money to our father?
I know 'tis so; i' God's name, spend at large:
What, man, our marriage-day will all discharge.
Our father (by his leave) must pardon us.
Age save of age of nothing can discuss;
But in our loves the proverb we'll fulfil--
Women and maids must always have their will.

HEIGH. Say thou as much, and add life to this corse.

LAUR. Yourself and your good news do more enforce.
How these have set forth love by all their wit;
I swear in heart, I more than double it.
Sisters, be glad, for he hath made it plain,
The means to get our schoolmaster again,[492]
But, gentlemen, for this time cease our loves;
This open street perhaps suspicion moves.
Fain we would stay, bid you walk in more rather,
But that we fear the coming of our father.
Go to th' Exchange, crave gold as you intend:
Pisaro scrapes for us; for us you spend.
We say farewell more sadlier, be bold.
Than would my greedy father to his gold:
We here, you there; ask gold, and gold you shall:
We'll pay the interest and the principal. [_Exeunt Sisters._

WAL. That's my good girls, and I'll pay you for all.

HAR. Come to th' Exchange, and when I feel decay,
Send me such wenches, heavens, I still shall pray. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[477] Moderation.

[478] So Shakespeare, in "Romeo and Juliet," act iii. sc. 3--

"Hang up philosophy, Unless philosophy can make a Juliet!"

[479] This present is a purse, as appears afterwards, with angels in it.

[480] That is, "as often as these _gloves_ hide these _hands_ from the sun."

[481] Old copies, _distinct_.

[482] _Young_ is omitted in the 4o of 1616, and supplied in the two others.

[483] _Him_ has apparently dropped out in the oldest 4o.

[484] The copy of 1616 reads, _impudent villany_.

[485] _i.e._, As we say now, "scarcely in her _teens_."

[486] Old copies, _No_.

[487] The two later quartos both read, _then farewell maidenhead_.

[488] _i.e._, "Will it do," or "Will it suit." As in "Twelfth Night," act ii. sc. 2, "How will this _fadge_!"

[489] We have here another instance to show that formerly Jews and usurers were furnished with large false noses on the stage.

[490] _I'll, that I will_ is the reading of the copies of 1626 and 1631. [All the copies, _I'll_, apparently for _ay_.]

[491] [Old copies, _Such is his raiment._]

[492] Laurentia aad Heigham have been talking apart.