Chapter I: Part 1

FRANCIS BEAUMONT

Born 1584
Died 1616

JOHN FLETCHER

Born 1579
Died 1625

_BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER_

A WIFE FOR A MONTH

THE LOVERS PROGRESS

THE PILGRIM

THE CAPTAIN

THE PROPHETESS

THE TEXT EDITED BY A. R. WALLER, M.A.

CAMBRIDGE:
at the University Press
1907

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE,

C. F. CLAY, MANAGER.

#London#: FETTER LANE, E.C.

#Glasgow#: 50, WELLINGTON STREET.

#Leipzig#: F. A. BROCKHAUS.

#New York#: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS.

#Bombay and Calcutta#: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.

[_All Rights reserved._]

CONTENTS

PAGE

A Wife for a Month 1

The Lovers Progress 74

The Pilgrim 153

The Captain 230

The Prophetess 320

A WIFE FOR A MONTH; A TRAGI-COMEDY.

* * * * *

Persons Represented in the Play.

Alphonso, _King of_ Naples, _elder Brother to_ Frederick.

Frederick, _unnatural and libidinous Brother to_ Alphonso, _and
usurper of his Kingdom._

Sorano, _a Lord, Brother to_ Evanthe, Frederick'_s wicked instrument._

Valerio, _a noble young Lord, servant to_ Evanthe.

Camillo, }
Cleanthes, }_three honest Court Lords._
Menallo, }

Rugio, _an honest Lord, friend to_ Alphonso.

Marco, _a Frier,_ Alphonso'_s friend._

Podramo, _a necessary creature to_ Sorano.

Cupid, } _with other Masquers._
Graces, }

Tonie, _King_ Frederick'_s Knavish fool._

Castruccio, _Captain of the Cittadel, an honest man._

_Citizens._

_Lawyer._

_Physician._

_Captain._

_Cut-purse._

_Fool._

_Attendants._

_WOMEN._

_Queen, Wife to_ Frederick, _a vertuous Lady._

Evanthe, _Sister to_ Sorano, _the chaste Wife of_ Valerio, _or
a Wife for a Month._

Cassandra, _an old Bawd, Waiting-woman to_ Evanthe.

_Ladies._

_City-Wives._

* * * * *

_The Scene_ Naples.

* * * * *

The principal Actors were,

_Joseph Taylor._
_Richard Robinson._
_Nicholas Toolie._
_Robert Benfield._
_John Underwood._
_George Birch._

_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._

_Enter King_ Frederick, Sorano, Valerio, Camillo,
Cleanthes, Menallo, _and Attendants._

_Sor._ Will your Grace speak?

_Fre._ Let me alone, _Sorano_,
Although my thoughts seem sad, they are welcome to me.

_Sor._ You know I am private as your secret wishes,
Ready to fling my soul upon your service,
E're your command be on't.

_Fre._ Bid those depart.

_Sor._ You must retire my Lords.

_Cam._ What new design is hammering in his head now?

_Cle._ Let's pray heartily
None of our heads meet with it, my Wife's old,
That's all my comfort.

_Men._ Mine's ugly, that I am sure on,
And I think honest too, 'twould make me start else.

_Cam._ Mine's troubled in the Country with a Feaver,
And some few infirmities else; he looks again,
Come let's retire, certain 'tis some she-business,
This new Lord is imployed.

_Val._ I'le not be far off, because I doubt the cause. [_Ex._

_Fre._ Are they all gone?

_Sor._ All but your faithful Servant.

_Fre._ I would tell thee,
But 'tis a thing thou canst not like.

_Sor._ Pray ye speak it, is it my head? I have it ready for ye, Sir:
Is't any action in my power? my wit?
I care not of what nature, nor what follows.

_Fre._ I am in love.

_Sor._ That's the least thing of a thousand,
The easiest to atchieve.

_Fre._ But with whom, _Sorano_?

_Sor._ With whom you please, you must not be deny'd, Sir.

_Fred._ Say it be with one of thy Kinswomen.

_Sor._ Say withal,
I shall more love your Grace, I shall more honour ye,
And would I had enough to serve your pleasure.

_Fred._ Why 'tis thy Sister then, the fair _Evanthe_,
I'le be plain with thee.

_Sor._ I'le be as plain with you, Sir,
She brought not her perfections to the world,
To lock them in a case, or hang 'em by her,
The use is all she breeds 'em for, she is yours, Sir.

_Fred._ Dost thou mean seriously?

_Sor._ I mean my Sister,
And if I had a dozen more, they were all yours:
Some Aunts I have, they have been handsome Women,
My Mother's dead indeed, and some few Cousins
That are now shooting up, we shall see shortly.

_Fred._ No, 'tis _Evanthe_.

_Sor._ I have sent my man unto her,
Upon some business to come presently
Hither, she shall come; your Grace dare speak unto her?
Large golden promises, and sweet language, Sir,
You know what they work, she is a compleat Courtier,
Besides I'le set in.

_Fred._ She waits upon my Queen,
What jealousie and anger may arise,
Incensing her?

_Sor._ You have a good sweet Lady,
A Woman of so even and still a temper,
She knows not anger; say she were a fury,
I had thought you had been absolute, the great King,
The fountain of all honours, plays and pleasures,
Your will and your commands unbounded also;
Go get a pair of Beads and learn to pray, Sir.

_Enter Servant._

_Ser._ My Lord, your servant stayes.

_Sor._ Bid him come hither, and bring the Lady with him.

_Fred._ I will woo her,
And either lose my self, or win her favour.

_Sor._ She is coming in.

_Fred._ Thy eyes shoot through the door,
They are so piercing, that the beams they dart
Give new light to the room.

_Enter_ Podramo _and_ Evanthe.

_Evan._ Whither dost thou go?
This is the Kings side, and his private lodgings,
What business have I here?

_Pod._ My Lord sent for ye.

_Evan._ His lodgings are below, you are mistaken,
We left them at the stair-foot.

_Pod._ Good sweet Madam.

_Evan._ I am no Counsellor, nor important Sutor,
Nor have no private business through these Chambers,
To seek him this way, o' my life thou art drunk,
Or worse than drunk, hir'd to convey me hither
To some base end; now I look on thee better,
Thou hast a bawdy face, and I abhor thee,
A beastly bawdy face, I'le go no further.

_Sor._ Nay shrink not back, indeed you shall good Sister,
Why do you blush? the good King will not hurt ye,
He honours ye, and loves ye.

_Evan._ Is this the business?

_Sor._ Yes, and the best you ever will arrive at if you be wise.

_Evan._ My Father was no bawd, Sir,
Nor of that worshipful stock as I remember.

_Sor._ [You] are a Fool.

_Evan,_ You are that I shame to tell ye.

_Fred._ Gentle _Evanthe._

_Evan._ The gracious Queen, Sir,
Is well and merry, Heaven be thanked for it,
And as I think she waits you in the Garden.

_Fre._ Let her wait there, I talk not of her Garden,
I talk of thee sweet Flower.

_Evan._ Your Grace is pleasant,
To mistake a Nettle for a Rose.

_Fre._ No Rose, nor Lilly, nor no glorious Hyacinth
Are of that sweetness, whiteness, tenderness,
Softness, and satisfying blessedness
As my _Evanthe._

_Evan._ Your Grace speaks very feelingly,
I would not be a handsome wench in your way, Sir,
For a new Gown.

_Fred._ Thou art all handsomness,
Nature will be asham'd to frame another
Now thou art made, thou hast rob'd her of her cunning:
Each several part about thee is a beauty.

_Sor._ Do you hear this Sister?

_Evan._ Yes, unworthy Brother, but all this will not do.

_Fred._ But love _Evanthe_.
Thou shalt have more than words, wealth, ease, and honours,
My tender Wench.

_Evan._ Be tender of my credit,
And I shall love you, Sir, and I shall honour ye.

_Fred._ I love thee to enjoy thee, my _Evantbe_,
To give thee the content of love.

_Evan._ Hold, hold, Sir, ye are too fleet,
I have some business this way, your Grace can ne'r content.

_Sor._ You stubborn toy.

_Evan._ Good my Lord _Bawd_ I thank ye.

_Fre._ Thou shalt not go believe me, sweet _Evanthe_,
So high I will advance thee for this favour,
So rich and potent I will raise thy fortune,
And thy friends mighty.

_Evan._ Good your Grace be patient,
I shall make the worst honourable wench that ever was,
Shame your discretion, and your choice.

_Fred._ Thou shalt not.

_Evan._ Shall I be rich do you say, and glorious,
And shine above the rest, and scorn all beauties,
And mighty in command?

_Fred._ Thou shalt be any thing.

_Eva._ Let me be honest too, and then I'le thank ye.
Have you not such a title to bestow too?
If I prove otherwise, I would know but this, Sir;
Can all the power you have or all the riches,
But tye mens tongues up from discoursing of me,
Their eyes from gazing at my glorious folly,
Time that shall come, from wondering at my impudence,
And they that read my wanton life from curses?
Can you do this? have ye this Magick in ye?
This is not in your power, though you be a Prince, Sir,
No more than evil is in holy Angels,
Nor I, I hope: get wantonness confirm'd
By Act of Parliament an honesty,
And so receiv'd by all, I'le hearken to ye.
Heaven guide your Grace.

_Fred. Evanthe_, stay a little,
I'le no more wantonness, I'le marry thee.

_Evan._ What shall the Queen do?

_Fred._ I'le be divorced from her.

_Eva._ Can you tell why? what has she done against ye?
Has she contrived a Treason 'gainst your Person?
Abus'd your bed? does disobedience urge ye?

_Fred._ That's all one, 'tis my will.

_Evan._ 'Tis a most wicked one,
A most absurd one, and will show a Monster;
I had rather be a Whore, and with less sin,
To your present lust, than Queen to your injustice.
Yours is no love, Faith and Religion fly it,
Nor has no taste of fair affection in it,
Some Hellish flame abuses your fair body,
And Hellish furies blow it; look behind ye,
Divorce ye from a Woman of her beauty,
Of her integrity, her piety?
Her love to you, to all that honours ye,
Her chaste and vertuous love, are these fit causes?
What will you do to me, when I have cloy'd ye?
You may find time out in eternity,
Deceit and violence in heavenly Justice,
Life in the grave, and death among the blessed,
Ere stain or brack in her sweet reputation.

_Sor._ You have fool'd enough, be wise now, and a woman,
You have shew'd a modesty sufficient,
If not too much for Court.

_Evan._ You have shew'd an impudence,
A more experienc'd bawd would blush and shake at;
You will make my kindred mighty.

_Fred._ Prethee hear me.

_Evan._ I do Sir, and I count it a great offer.

_Fred._ Any of thine.

_Evan._ 'Tis like enough you may clap honour on them,
But how 'twill sit, and how men will adore it,
Is still the question. I'le tell you what they'l say, Sir,
What the report will be, and 'twill be true too,
And it must needs be comfort to your Master,
These are the issues of her impudence:
I'le tell your Grace, so dear I hold the Queen,
So dear that honour that she nurs'd me up in,
I would first take to me, for my lust, a Moor,
One of your Gally-slaves, that cold and hunger,
Decrepit misery, had made a mock-man,
Than be your Queen.

_Fred._ You are bravely resolute.

_Evan._ I had rather be a Leper, and be shun'd,
And dye by pieces, rot into my grave,
Leaving no memory behind to know me,
Than be a high Whore to eternity.

_Fre._ You have another Gamester I perceive by ye,
You durst not slight me else.

_Sor._ I'le find him out,
Though he lye next thy heart hid, I'le discover him,
And ye proud peat, I'le make you curse your insolence.

_Val._ Tongue of an Angel, and the truth of Heaven,
How am I blest! [_Exit_ Val.

_Sor. Podramo_ go in hast
To my Sisters Gentlewoman, you know her well,
And bid her send her Mistris presently
The lesser Cabinet she keeps her Letters in,
And such like toyes, and bring it to me instantly. Away.

_Pod._ I am gone. [_Exit._

_Enter the Queen with two Ladies._

_Sor._ The Queen.

_Fred._ Let's quit the place, she may grow jealous.

[_Ex._ Fred. Sorano.

_Queen._ So suddenly departed! what's the reason?
Does my approach displease his Grace? are my eyes
So hateful to him? or my conversation
Infected, that he flies me? Fair _Evanthe_,
Are you there? then I see his shame.

_Evan._ 'Tis true, Madam,
'Thas pleas'd his goodness to be pleasant with me.

_Que._ 'Tis strange to find thy modesty in this place,
Does the King offer fair? does thy face take him?
Ne'r blush _Evanthe_, 'tis a very sweet one,
Does he rain gold, and precious promises
Into thy lap? will he advance thy fortunes?
Shalt thou be mighty, Wench?

_Evan._ Never mock, Madam;
'Tis rather on your part to be lamented,
At least reveng'd, I can be mighty Lady,
And glorious too, glorious and great, as you are.

_Que._ He will Marry thee?

_Evan._ Who would not be a Queen, Madam?

_Que._ 'Tis true _Evanthe_, 'tis a brave ambition,
A golden dream, that may delude a good mind,
What shall become of me?

_Evan._ You must learn to pray,
Your age and honour will become a Nunnery.

_Que._ Wilt thou remember me? [_Weeps._

_Evan._ She weeps. Sweet Lady
Upon my knees I ask your sacred pardon,
For my rude boldness: and know, my sweet Mistris,
If e're there were ambition in _Evanthe_,
It was and is to do you faithful duties;
'Tis true I have been tempted by the King,
And with no few and potent charms, to wrong ye,
To violate the chaste joyes of your bed;
And those not taking hold, to usurp your state;
But she that has been bred up under ye,
And daily fed upon your vertuous precepts,
Still growing strong by example of your goodness,
Having no errant motion from obedience,
Flyes from these vanities, as meer illusions;
And arm'd with honesty, defies all promises.
In token of this truth, I lay my life down
Under your sacred foot, to do you service.

_Que._ Rise my true friend, thou vertuous bud of beauty,
Thou Virgins honour, sweetly blow and flourish,
And that rude nipping wind, that seeks to blast thee,
Or taint thy root, be curst to all posterity;
To my protection from this hour I take ye,
Yes, and the King shall know--

_Evan._ Give his heat way, Madam,
And 'twill go out again, he may forget all. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Camillo, Cleanthes, _and_ Menallo.

_Cam._ What have we to do with the times? we cannot cure 'em.
Let 'em go on, when they are swoln with Surfeits
They'l burst and stink, then all the world shall smell 'em.

_Cle._ A man may live a bawd, and be an honest man.

_Men._ Yes, and a wise man too, 'tis a vertuous calling.

_Cam._ To his own Wife especially, or to his Sister,
The nearer to his own bloud, still the honester;
There want such honest men, would we had more of 'em.

_Men._ To be a villain is no such rude matter.

_Cam._ No, if he be a neat one, and a perfect,
Art makes all excellent: what is it, Gentlemen,
In a good cause to kill a dozen Coxcombs,
That blunt rude fellows call good Patriots?
Nothing, nor ne'r look'd after.

_Men._ 'Tis e'en as much, as easie too, as honest, and as clear,
To ravish Matrons, and, deflower coy Wenches,
But here they are so willing, 'tis a complement.

_Cle._ To pull down Churches with pretension
To build 'em fairer, may be done with honour,
And all this time believe no gods.

_Cam._ I think so, 'tis faith enough if they name 'em in their angers,
Or on their rotten Tombs ingrave an Angel;
Well, brave _Alphonso_, how happy had we been,
If thou had'st raign'd!

_Men._ Would I had his Disease,
Tyed like a Leprosie to my posterity,
So he were right again.

_Cle._ What is his Malady?

_Cam._ Nothing but sad and silent melancholy,
Laden with griefs and thoughts, no man knows why neither;
The good _Brandino_ Father to the Princess
Used all the art and industry that might be,
To free _Alphonso_ from this dull calamity,
And seat him in his rule, he was his eldest
And noblest too, had not fair nature stopt in him,
For which cause this was chosen to inherit,
_Frederick_ the younger.

_Cle._ Does he use his Brother
With that respect and honour that befits him?

_Cam._ He is kept privately, as they pretend,
To give more ease and comfort to his sickness;
But he has honest servants, the grave _Rugio_,
And Fryar _Marco_, that wait upon his Person.
And in a Monastery he lives.

_Men._ 'Tis full of sadness,
To see him when he comes to his Fathers Tomb,
As once a day that is his Pilgrimage,
Whilst in Devotion, the Quire sings an Anthem:
How piously he kneels, and like a Virgin
That some cross Fate had cozen'd of her Love,
Weeps till the stubborn Marble sweats with pity,
And to his groans the whole Quire bears a _Chorus_.

_Enter_ Frederick, Sorano, _with the Cabinet, and_ Podramo.

_Cam._ So do I too. The King with his Contrivers,
This is no place for us. [_Exeunt Lords._

_Fred._ This is a jewel,
Lay it aside, what paper's that?

_Pod._ A Letter,
But 'tis a womans, Sir, I know by the hand,
And the false Orthography, they write old Saxon.

_Fred._ May be her ghostly Mother's that instructs her.

_Sor._ No, 'tis a Cousins, and came up with a great Cake.

_Fred._ What's that?

_Sor._ A pair of Gloves the Dutchess gave her,
For so the outside says.

_Fred._ That other paper?

_Sor._ A Charm for the tooth-ach, here's nothing but Saints and
Crosses.

_Fre._ Look in that Box, methinks that should hold secrets.

_Pod._ 'Tis Paint, and curls of Hair, she begins to exercise.
A glass of Water too, I would fain taste it,
But I am wickedly afraid 'twill silence me,
Never a Conduit-Pipe to convey this water.

_Sor._ These are all Rings, Deaths-heads, and such _Memento's_
Her Grandmother, and worm-eaten Aunts left to her,
To tell her what her Beauty must arrive at.

_Fred._ That, that.

_Pod._ They are written songs, Sir, to provoke young Ladies;
Lord, here's a Prayer-Book, how these agree!
Here's a strange union.

_Sor._ Ever by a surfeit you have a julep set to cool the Patient.

_Fred._ Those, those.

_Sor._ They are Verses to the blest _Evanthe_.

_Fred._ Those may discover,
Read them out, _Sorano_.

_To the blest_ Evanthe.

_Let those complain that feel Loves cruelty._
_And in sad legends write their woes,_
_With Roses gently has corected me,_
_My War is without rage or blows:_
_My Mistriss eyes shine fair on my desires,_
_And hope springs up enflam'd with her new fires._

_No more an Exile will I dwell,_
_With folded arms, and sighs all day,_
_Reckoning the torments of my Hell,_
_And flinging my sweet joys away:_
_I am call'd home again to quiet peace,_
_My Mistriss smiles, and all my sorrows cease._

_Yet what is living in her Eye?_
_Or being blest with her sweet tongue,_
_If these no other joys imply?_
_A golden Give, a pleasing wrong:_
_To be your own but one poor Month, I'd give_
_My Youth, my Fortune, and then leave to live._

_Fred._ This is my Rival, that I knew the hand now.

_Sor._ I know it, I have seen it, 'tis _Valerio_'s,
That hopeful Gentlemans, that was brought up with ye,
And by your charge, nourish'd and fed
At the same Table, with the same allowance.

_Fred._ And all this courtesie to ruine me?
Cross my desires? 'had better have fed humblier,
And stood at greater distance from my fury:
Go for him quickly, find him instantly,
Whilst my impatient heart swells high with choler;
Better have lov'd despair, and safer kiss'd her. [_Ex. Lords._

_Enter_ Evanthe, _and_ Cassandra.

_Evan._ Thou old weak fool, dost thou know to what end,
To what betraying end he got this Casket?
Durst thou deliver him without my Ring,
Or a Command from mine own mouth, that Cabinet
That holds my heart? you unconsiderate Ass,
You brainless Ideot.

_Cas._ I saw you go with him,
At the first word commit your Person to him,
And make no scruple, he is your Brothers Gentleman,
And for any thing I know, an honest man;
And might not I upon the same security deliver him a Box?

_Evan._ A Bottle-head.

_Fred._ You shall have cause to chafe, as I will handle it.

_Evan._ I had rather thou hadst delivered me to Pirats,
Betray'd me to uncurable diseases,
Hung up my Picture in a Market-place,
And sold me to wild Bawds.

_Cas._ As I take it, Madam,
Your maiden-head lies not in that Cabinet,
You have a Closer, and you keep the Key too,
Why are you vex'd thus?

_Evan._ I could curse thee wickedly,
And wish thee more deformed than Age can make thee,
Perpetual hunger, and no teeth to satisfie it,
Wait on thee still, nor sleep be found to ease it;
Those hands that gave the Casket, may the Palsie
For ever make unuseful, even to feed thee:
Long winters, that thy Bones may turn to Isicles,
No Hell can thaw again, inhabit by thee.
Is thy Care like thy Body, all one crookedness?
How scurvily thou cryest now! like a Drunkard,
I'll have as pure tears from a dirty spout;
Do, swear thou didst this ignorantly, swear it,
Swear and be damn'd, thou half Witch.

_Cas._ These are fine words, well Madam, Madam.

_Evan._ 'Tis not well, thou mummy,
'Tis impudently, basely done, thou durty--

_Fred._ Has your young sanctity done railing, Madam,
Against your innocent 'Squire? do you see this Sonnet,
This loving Script? do you know from whence it came too?

_Evan._ I do, and dare avouch it pure, and honest.

_Fred._ You have private Visitants, my noble Lady,
That in sweet numbers court your goodly Vertues,
And to the height of adoration.

_Evan._ Well, Sir,
There's neither Heresie nor Treason in it.

_Fred._ A Prince may beg at the door, whilst these feast with ye;
A favour or a grace, from such as I am,

_Enter_ Valerio, _and_ Podramo.

Course common things. You are welcome; Pray come near Sir,
Do you know this paper?

_Val._ I am betray'd; I do, Sir,
'Tis mine, my hand and heart, if I dye for her,
I am thy Martyr, Love, and time shall honour me.

_Cas._ You sawcy Sir, that came in my Ladies name,
For her gilt Cabinet, you cheating Sir too,
You scurvy Usher, with as scurvy legs,
And a worse face, thou poor base hanging holder,
How durst thou come to me with a lye in thy mouth?
An impudent lye?

_Pod._ Hollow, good _Gill_, you hobble.

_Cas._ A stinking lye, more stinking than the teller,
To play the pilfering Knave? there have been Rascals
Brought up to fetch and carry, like your Worship,
That have been hang'd for less, whipt they are daily,
And if the Law will do me right--

_Pod._ What then old Maggot?

_Cas._ Thy Mother was carted younger; I'll have thy hide,
Thy mangy hide, embroider'd with a dog-whip,
As it is now with potent Pox, and thicker.

_Fred._ Peace good Antiquity, I'll have your Bones else
Ground into Gunpowder to shoot at Cats with;
One word more, and I'll blanch thee like an almond,
There's no such cure for the she-falling sickness
As the powder of a dryed Bawds Skin, be silent.
You are very prodigal of your service here, Sir,
Of your life more it seems.

_Val._ I repent neither,
Because your Grace shall understand it comes
From the best part of Love, my pure affection,
And kindled with chaste flame, I will not flye from it,
If it be errour to desire to marry,
And marry her that sanctity would dote on,
I have done amiss, if it be a Treason
To graft my soul to Vertue, and to grow there,
To love the tree that bears such happiness;
Conceive me, Sir, this fruit was ne'r forbidden;
Nay, to desire to taste too, I am Traytor;
Had you but plants enough of this blest Tree, Sir,
Set round about your Court, to beautifie it,
Deaths twice so many, to dismay the approachers,
The ground would scarce yield Graves to noble Lovers.

_Fred._ 'Tis well maintain'd, you wish and pray to fortune,
Here in your Sonnet, and she has heard your prayers,
So much you dote upon your own undoing,
But one Month to enjoy her as your Wife,
Though at the expiring of that time you dye for't.

_Val._ I could wish many, many Ages, Sir,
To grow as old as Time in her embraces,
If Heaven would grant it, and you smile upon it;
But if my choice were two hours, and then perish,
I would not pull my heart back.

_Fred._ You have your wish,
To morrow I will see you nobly married,
Your Month take out in all content and pleasure;
The first day of the following Month you dye for't;
Kneel not, not all your Prayers can divert me;
Now mark your sentence, mark it, scornful Lady,
If when _Valerio_'s dead, within twelve hours,
For that's your latest time, you find not out
Another Husband on the same condition
To marry you again, you dye your self too.

_Evan._ Now you are merciful, I thank your Grace.

_Fred._ If when you are married, you but seek to 'scape
Out of the Kingdom, you, or she, or both,
Or to infect mens minds with hot commotions,
You dye both instantly; will you love me now, Lady?
My tale will now be heard, but now I scorn ye. [_Exit._

[_Manent_ Valerio, _and_ Evanthe.

_Evan._ Is our fair love, our honest, our entire,
Come to this hazard?

_Val._ 'Tis a noble one, and I am much in love with malice for it,
Envy could not have studied me a way,
Nor fortune pointed out a path to Honour,
Straighter and nobler, if she had her eyes;
When I have once enjoy'd my sweet _Evanthe_,
And blest my Youth with her most dear embraces,
I have done my journey here, my day is out,
All that the World has else is foolery,
Labour, and loss of time; what should I live for?
Think but mans life a Month, and we are happy.
I would not have my joys grow old for any thing;
A Paradise, as thou art, my _Evanthe_,
Is only made to wonder at a little,
Enough for human eyes, and then to wander from.
Come, do not weep, sweet, you dishonour me,
Your tears and griefs but question my ability,
Whether I dare dye; Do you love intirely?

_Evan._ You know I do.

_Val._ Then grudge not my felicity.

_Evan._ I'll to the Queen.

_Val._ Do any thing that's honest,
But if you sue to him, in Death I hate you. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Camillo, Cleanthes, _and_ Menallo.

_Cam._ Was there ever heard of such a Marriage?

_Men._ Marriage and Hanging go by destiny,
'Tis the old Proverb, now they come together.

_Cle._ But a Month married, then to lose his life for't?
I would have a long Month sure, that pays the Souldiers.

_Enter_ Tony _with Urinal._

_Cam._ Or get all the Almanacks burnt, that were a rare trick,
And have no Month remembred. How now _Tony_?
Whose water are you casting?

_Tony._ A sick Gentlemans,
Is very sick, much troubled with the Stone,
He should not live above a Month, by his Urine,
About St. _David_'s Day it will go hard with him,
He will then be troubled with a pain in his Neck too.

_Men._ A pestilent fool; when wilt thou marry, _Tony_?

_Ton._ When I mean to be hang'd, & 'tis the surer contract.

_Cle._ What think you of this Marriage of _Valerio_'s?

_Tony._ They have given him a hot Custard, and mean to burn his
mouth with it; had I known he had been given to dye honourably,
I would have helpt him to a Wench, a rare one, should have
kill'd him in three weeks, and sav'd the sentence.

_Cam._ There be them would have spared ten days of that too.

_Tony._ It may be so, you have Women of all Vertues:
There be some Guns that I could bring him too,
Some mortar-pieces that are plac'd i'th' Suburbs,
Would tear him into quarters in two hours,
There be also of the race of the old Cockatrices,
That would dispatch him with once looking on him.

_Men._ What Month wouldst thou chuse, _Tony_, if thou hadst the
like Fortune?

_Tony._ I would chuse a mull'd sack-month, to comfort my Belly,
for sure my Back would ake for't, and at the months end I would
be most dismally drunk, & scorn the gallows.

_Me._ I would chuse _March_, for I would come in like a Lion.

_To._ But you'd go out like a Lamb when you went to hanging.

_Ca._ I would take _April_, take the sweet o'th' year,
And kiss my Wench upon the tender flowrets,
Tumble on every Green, and as the Birds sung,
Embrace, and melt away my Soul in pleasure.

_Tony._ You would go a _Maying_ gayly to the Gallows.

_Cle._ Prithee tell us some news.

_Tony._ I'll tell ye all I know,
You may be honest, and poor fools, as I am,
And blow your fingers ends.

_Cam._ That's no news, Fool.

_Tony._ You may be knaves then when you please, stark knaves,
And build fair houses, but your heirs shall have none of 'em.

_Men._ These are undoubted.

_Tony._ Truth is not worth the hearing,
I'll tell you news then; There was a drunken Saylor,
That got a Mermaid with child as she went a milking,
And now she sues him in the Bawdy-Court for it,
The infant-Monster is brought up in _Fish-Street_.

_Cam._ I, this is something.

_Tony._ I'll tell you more, there was a Fish taken,
A monstrous Fish, with a sword by his side, a long sword,
A Pike in's Neck, and a Gun in's Nose, a huge Gun,
And letters of Mart in's mouth, from the Duke of _Florence_.

_Cle._ This is a monstrous lye.

_Tony._ I do confess it:
Do you think I would tell you truths, that dare not hear 'em?
You are honest things, we Courtiers scorn to converse with. [_Exit._

_Cam._ A plaguey fool: but let's consider, Gentlemen,
Why the Queen strives not to oppose this sentence,
The Kingdoms honour suffers in this cruelty.

_Men._ No doubt the Queen, though she be vertuous,
Winks at the Marriage, for by that only means
The Kings flame lessens to the youthful Lady,
If not goes out; within this Month, I doubt not,
She hopes to rock asleep his anger also;
Shall we go see the preparation?
'Tis time, for strangers come to view the wonder.

_Cam._ Come, let's away, send my friends happier weddings.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter Queen and_ Evanthe.

_Queen._ You shall be merry, come, I'll have it so,
Can there be any nature so unnoble?
Or anger so inhumane to pursue this?

_Evan._ I fear there is.

_Queen._ Your fears are poor and foolish,
Though he be hasty, and his anger death,
His will like torrents, not to be resisted,
Yet Law and Justice go along to guide him;
And what Law, or what Justice can he find
To justifie his Will? what Act or Statute,
By Humane, or Divine establishment,
Left to direct us, that makes Marriage death?
Honest fair Wedlock? 'twas given for encrease,
For preservation of Mankind I take it;
He must be more than man then that dare break it.
Come, dress ye handsomely, you shall have my jewels,
And put a face on that contemns base fortune,
'Twill make him more insult to see you fearful,
Outlook his anger.

_Evan._ O my _Valerio_!
Be witness my pure mind, 'tis thee I grieve for.

_Queen._ But shew it not, I would so crucifie him
With an innocent neglect of what he can do,
A brave strong pious scorn, that I would shake him;
Put all the wanton _Cupids_ in thine eyes,
And all the graces on that nature gave thee,
Make up thy beauty to that height of excellence,
I'll help thee, and forgive thee, as if _Venus_
Were now again to catch the god of War,
In his most rugged anger, when thou hast him,
(As 'tis impossible he should resist thee)
And kneeling at thy conquering feet for mercy,
Then shew thy Vertue, then again despise him,
And all his power, then with a look of honour
Mingled with noble chastity, strike him dead.

_Evan._ Good Madam dress me,
You arm me bravely.

_Queen._ Make him know his cruelty
Begins with him first, he must suffer for it,
And that thy sentence is so welcome to thee,
And to thy noble Lord, you long to meet it.
Stamp such a deep impression of thy Beauty
Into his soul, and of thy worthiness,
That when _Valerio_ and _Evanthe_ sleep
In one rich earth, hung round about with blessings,
He may run mad, and curse his act; be lusty,
I'll teach thee how to dye too, if thou fear'st it.

_Ev._ I thank your Grace, you have prepar'd me strongly,
And my weak mind.

_Queen._ Death is unwelcome never,
Unless it be to tortur'd minds and sick souls,
That make their own Hells; 'tis such a benefit
When it comes crown'd with honour, shews so sweet too!
Though they paint it ugly, that's but to restrain us,
For every living thing would love it else,
Fly boldly to their peace ere Nature call'd 'em;
The Rest we have from labour, and from trouble
Is some Incitement, every thing alike,
The poor Slave that lies private has his liberty,
As amply as his Master, in that Tomb
The Earth as light upon him, and the flowers
That grow about him, smell as sweet, and flourish.
But when we love with honour to our ends,
When Memory and Vertue are our Mourners;
What pleasure's there! they are infinite, _Evanthe_;
Only, my vertuous Wench, we want our senses,
That benefit we are barr'd, 'twould make us proud else,
And lazy to look up to happier life,
The Blessings of the people would so swell us.

_Evan._ Good Madam, dress me, you have drest my soul,
The merriest Bride I'll be for all this misery,
The proudest to some Eyes too.

_Queen._ 'Twill do better, come, shrink no more.

_Evan._ I am too confident. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Frederick, _and_ Sorano.

_Sor._ You are too remiss and wanton in your angers,
You mold things handsomely; and then neglect 'em;
A powerful Prince should be constant to his power still,
And hold up what he builds, then People fear him:
When he lets loose his hand it shews a weakness,
And men examine or contemn his greatness:
A scorn of this high kind should have call'd up
A revenge equal, not a pity in you.

_Fred._ She is thy Sister.

_Sor._ And she were my Mother,
Whilst I conceive 'tis you she has wrong'd, I hate her,
And shake her nearness off; I study, Sir,
To satisfie your angers that are just,
Before your pleasures.

_Fred._ I have done that already,
I fear has pull'd too many curses on me.

_Sor._ Curses or envies, on _Valerio_'s head,
Would you take my counsel, Sir, they should all light,
And with the weight not only crack his scull,
But his fair credit; the exquisite vexation
I have devis'd, so please you give way in't,
And let it work, shall more afflict his soul,
And trench upon that honour that he brags of,
Than fear of Death in all the frights he carries;
If you sit down here they will both abuse ye,
Laugh at your poor relenting power, and scorn ye.
What satisfaction can their deaths bring to you,
That are prepar'd, and proud to dye, and willingly,
And at their ends will thank you for that honour?
How are you nearer the desire you aim at?
Or if it be revenge your anger covets,
How can their single deaths give you content, Sir?
Petty revenges end in blood, sleight angers,
A Princes rage should find out new diseases,
Death were a pleasure too, to pay proud fools with.

_Fred._ What should I do?

_Sor._ Add but your power unto me,
Make me but strong by your protection,
And you shall see what joy, and what delight,
What infinite pleasure this poor Month shall yield him.
I'll make him wish he were dead on his Marriage-day,
Or bed-rid with old age, I'll make him curse,
And cry and curse, give me but power.

_Fred._ You have it,
Here, take my Ring, I am content he pay for't.

_Sor._ It shall be now revenge, as I will handle it,
He shall live after this to beg his life too,
Twenty to one by this thread, as I'll weave it,
_Evanthe_ shall be yours.

_Fred._ Take all authority, and be most happy.

_Sor._ Good Sir, no more pity. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Tony, _three Citizens, and three Wives._

_1 Wife._ Good Master _Tony_, put me in.

_Tony._ Where do you dwell?

_1 Wife._ Forsooth, at the sign of the great Shoulder of Mutton.

_Ton._ A hungry man would hunt your house out instantly,
Keep the Dogs from your door; Is this Lettice Ruff your
Husband? a fine sharp sallet to your sign.

_2 Wife._ Will you put me in too?

_3 Wife._ And me, good Master _Tony_.

_Tony._ Put ye all in? you had best come twenty more; you
Think 'tis easie, a trick of legerdemain, to put ye all in,
'Twould pose a fellow that had twice my body,
Though it were all made into chines and fillets.

_2 Wi._ Put's into th' wedding, Sir, we would fain see that.

_1 Wife._ And the brave Masque too.

_To._ You two are pretty women, are you their husbands?

_2 Citiz._ Yes, for want of better.

_Tony._ I think so too, you would not be so mad else
To turn 'em loose to a company of young Courtiers,
That swarm like Bees in _May_, when they see young wenches;
You must not squeak.

_3 Wife._ No Sir, we are better tutor'd.

_Tony._ Nor if a young Lord offer you the courtesie--

_2 Wife._ We know what 'tis, Sir.

_Tony._ Nor you must not grumble,
If you be thrust up hard, we thrust most furiously.

_1 Wife._ We know the worst.

_Tony._ Get you two in then quietly,
And shift for your selves; we must have no old women,
They are out of use, unless they have petitions,
Besides they cough so loud they drown the Musick.
You would go in too, but there is no place for ye?
I am sorry for't, go and forget your wives,
Or pray they may be able to suffer patiently.
You may have Heirs may prove wise Aldermen,
Go, or I'le call the Guard.

_3 Citi._ We will get in, we'l venture broken pates else.

[_Ex. Citiz. and Women._

_Tony._ 'Tis impossible,
You are too securely arm'd; how they flock hither,
And with what joy the women run by heaps
To see this Marriage! they tickle to think of it,
They hope for every month a husband too;
Still how they run, and how the wittals follow 'em,
The weak things that are worn between the leggs,
That brushing, dressing, nor new naps can mend,
How they post to see their own confusion!
This is a merry world.

_Enter_ Frederick.

_Fred._ Look to the door Sirrah,
Thou art a fool, and may'st do mischief lawfully.

_Tony._ Give me your hand, you are my Brother fool,
You may both make the Law, and marr it presently.
Do you love a wench?

_Fred._ Who does not, fool?

_Tony._ Not I, unless you will give me a longer lease to marry her.

_Fred._ What are all these that come, what business have they?

_Tony._ Some come to gape, those are my fellow fools;
Some to get home their wives, those be their own fools;
Some to rejoyce with thee, those be the times fools;
And some I fear to curse thee, those are poor fools,

_Enter_ Cassand[ra], _an old Lady passing over._

A set people call them honest. Look, look King, look,
A weather-beaten Lady new caresn'd.

_Fred._ An old one.

_Tony._ The glasses of her eyes are new rub'd over,
And the worm-eaten records in her face are daub'd up neatly?
She layes her breasts out too, like to poch'd eggs
That had the yelks suckt out; they get new heads also,
New teeth, new tongues, for the old are all worn out,
And as 'tis hop'd, new tayls.

_Fred._ For what?

_Tony._ For old Courtiers,
The young ones are too stirring for their travels.

_Fred._ Go leave your knavery, and help to keep the door well,
I will have no such press.

_Tony._ Lay thy hand o'thy heart King.

_Fred._ I'le have ye whipt.

_Tony._ The fool and thou art parted. [_Exit._

_Fred. Sorano_ work, and free me from this spell,
'Twixt love and scorn there's nothing felt but hell. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Valerio, Camillo, Cleanthes, Menallo,__
_and Servants._

_Val._ Tye on my Scarf, you are so long about me,
Good my Lords help, give me my other Cloak,
That Hat and Feather, Lord what a Taylor's this,
To make me up thus straight! one sigh would burst me,
I have not room to breath, come button, button,
Button, apace.

_Cam._ I am glad to see you merry Sir.

_Val._ 'Twould make you merry had you such a wife,
And such an age to injoy her in.

_Men._ An age Sir?

_Val._ A moneth's an age to him that is contented,
What should I seek for more? give me my sword.
Ha my good Lords, that every one of you now
Had but a Lady of that youth and beauty
To bless your selves this night with, would ye not?
Pray ye speak uprightly.

_Cle._ We confess ye happy,
And we could well wish such another Banquet,
But on that price my Lord--

_Val._ 'Twere nothing else,
No man can ever come to aim at Heaven,
But by the knowledge of a Hell. These shooes are heavy,
And if I should be call'd to dance they'l clog me,
Get me some pumps; I'le tell ye brave _Camillo_,
And you dear friends, the King has honour'd me,
Out of his gracious favour has much honour'd me,
To limit me my time, for who would live long?
Who would be old? 'tis such a weariness,
Such a disease, that hangs like lead upon us.
As it increases, so vexations,
Griefs of the minde, pains of the feeble body,
Rheums, coughs, catarrhs, we are but our living coffins;
Besides, the fair soul's old too, it grows covetous,
Which shews all honour is departed from us,
And we are Earth again.

_Cle._ You make fair use Sir.

_Val._ I would not live to learn to lye _Cleanthes_
For all the world, old men are prone to that too;
Thou that hast been a Souldier, _Menallo_,
A noble Souldier, and defied all danger,
Adopted thy brave arm the heir to victory,
Would'st thou live so long till thy strength forsook thee?
Till thou grew'st only a long tedious story
Of what thou hadst been? till thy sword hang by,
And lazie Spiders fill'd the hilt with cobwebs?

_Men._ No sure, I would not.

_Val._ 'Tis not fit ye should,
To dye a young man is to be an Angel,
Our great good parts put wings unto our souls:
We'l have a rouse before we go to bed friends,
Pray ye tell me, is't a hansome Mask we have?

_Cam._ We understand so.

_Val._ And the young gent. dance?

_Cle._ They do Sir, and some dance well.

_Val._ They must before the Ladies,
We'l have a rouse before we go to bed friends,
A lusty one, 'twill make my blood dance too. [_Musick._

_Cam._ Ten if you please.

_Val._ And we'l be wondrous merry,
They stay sure, come, I hear the Musick forward,
You shall have all Gloves presently. [_Exit._

_Men._ We attend Sir, but first we must look to th'
Doors. [_Knocking within._
The King has charged us. [_Exeunt._

_Enter two Servants._

_1 Ser._ What a noise do you keep there? call my fellows
O' the Guard; you must cease now untill the King be
Enter'd, he is gone to th' Temple now.

_2 Serv._ Look to that back door, and keep it fast,
They swarm like Bees about it.

_Enter_ Camillo, Cleanthes, Menallo, Tony _following._

_Cam._ Keep back those Citizens, and let their wives in,
Their handsome wives.

_Tony._ They have crowded me to Verjuyce,
I sweat like a Butter-box.

_1 Serv._ Stand further off there.

_Men._ Take the women aside, and talk with 'em in private,
Give 'em that they came for.

_Tony._ The whole Court cannot do it;
Besides, the next Mask if we use 'em so,
They'l come by millions to expect our largess;
We have broke a hundred heads.

_Cle._ Are they so tender?

_Ton._ But 'twas behind, before they have all murrions.

_Cam._ Let in those Ladies, make 'em room for shame there.

_Ton._ They are no Ladies, there's one bald before 'em,
A gent. bald, they are curtail'd queans in hired clothes,
They come out of _Spain_ I think, they are very sultry.

_Men._ Keep 'em in breath for an Embassadour.

[_Knocks within._

Me thinks my nose shakes at their memories,
What bounsing's that?

_Within._ I am one of the Musick Sir.

_Within._ I have sweat-meats for the banquet.

_Cam._ Let 'em in.

_Ton._ They lye my Lord, they come to seek their wives,
Two broken Citizens.

_Cam._ Break 'em more, they are but brusled yet.
Bold Rascals, offer to disturb your wives?

_Cle._ Lock the doors fast, the Musick, hark, the King comes.

_A Curtain drawn._

_The King, Queen,_ Valerio, Evanthe, _Ladies, Attendants,_
Camillo, Cleanthes, Sorano, Menallo.

_A Mask._

Cupid _descends, the Graces sitting by him,_ Cupid _being_
_bound the Graces unbind him, he speaks._

_Cup._ Unbind me, my delight, this night is mine,
Now let me look upon what Stars here shine,
Let me behold the beauties, then clap high
My cullor'd wings, proud of my Deity;
I am satisfied, bind me again, and fast,
My angry Bow will make too great a wast
Of beauty else, now call my Maskers in,
Call with a Song, and let the sports begin;
Call all my servants the effects of love,
And to a measure let them nobly move.
Come you servants of proud love,
Come away:
Fairly, nobly, gently move.
Too long, too long you make us stay;
Fancy, Desire, Delight, Hope, Fear,
Distrust and Jealousie, be you too here;
Consuming Care, and raging Ire,
And Poverty in poor attire,
March fairly in, and last Despair;
Now full Musick strike the Air.

_Enter the Maskers, Fancy, Desire,
Delight, Hope, Fear, Distrust,
Jealousie, Care, Ire, Despair,
they dance, after which_ Cupid
_speaks._

_Cup._ Away, I have done, the day begins to light,
Lovers, you know your fate, good night, good night.

Cupid _and the Graces ascend in the Chariot._

_King._ Come to the Banquet, when that's ended Sir,
I'le see you i' bed, and so good night; be merry,
You have a sweet bed-fellow.

_Val._ I thank your Grace,
And ever shall be bound unto your nobleness.

_King._ I pray I may deserve your thanks, set forward.

[_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._

_Enter divers Monks,_ Alphonso _going to the Tomb,_
Rugio, _and Frier_ Marco, _discover the Tomb and a Chair._

_Mar._ The night grows on, lead softly to the Tomb,
And sing not till I bid ye; let the Musick
Play gently as he passes.

_Rug._ O fair picture,
That wert the living hope of all our honours;
How are we banisht from the joy we dreamt of!
Will he ne're speak more?

_Mar._ 'Tis full three moneths Lord _Rugio_,
Since any articulate sound came from his tongue,
Set him down gently. [_Sits in a Chair._

_Rug._ What should the reason be Sir?

_Mar._ As 'tis in nature with those loving Husbands,
That sympathize their wives pains, and their throes
When they are breeding, and 'tis usuall too,
We have it by experience; so in him Sir,
In this most noble spirit that now suffers;
For when his honour'd Father good _Brandino_
Fell sick, he felt the griefs, and labour'd with them,
His fits and his disease he still inherited,
Grew the same thing, and had not nature check'd him,
Strength, and ability, he had dyed that hour too.

_Rug._ Embleme of noble love!

_Mar._ That very minute
His Fathers breath forsook him, that same instant,
A rare example of his piety,
And love paternal, the Organ of his tongue
Was never heard to sound again; so near death
He seeks to wait upon his worthy Father,
But that we force his meat, he were one body.

_Rug._ He points to'th' Tomb.

_Mar._ That is the place he honours,
A house I fear he will not be long out of.
He will to th' Tomb, good my Lord lend your hand;
Now sing the Funeral Song, and let him kneel,
For then he is pleas'd. [_A Song._

_Rug._ Heaven lend thy powerfull hand,
And ease this Prince.

_Mar._ He will pass back again. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Valerio.

_Val._ They drink abundantly, I am hot with wine too,
Lustily warm, I'le steal now to my happiness,
'Tis midnight, and the silent hour invites me,
But she is up still, and attends the Queen;
Thou dew of wine and sleep hang on their eye-lids,
Steep their dull senses in the healths they drink,
That I may quickly find my lov'd _Evanthe_.
The King is merry too, and drank unto me,
Sign of fair peace, O this nights blessedness!
If I had forty heads I would give all for 't.
Is not the end of our ambitions,
Of all our humane studies, and our travels,
Of our desires, the obtaining of our wishes?
Certain it is, and there man makes his Center.
I have obtain'd _Evanthe_, I have married her,
Can any fortune keep me from injoying her?

_Enter_ Sorano.

I have my wish, what's left me to accuse now?
I am friends with all the world, but thy base malice;
Go glory in thy mischiefs thou proud man,
And cry it to the world thou hast ruin'd vertue;
How I contemn thee and thy petty malice!
And with what scorn, I look down on thy practice!

_Sor._ You'l sing me a new Song anon _Valerio_,
And wish these hot words--

_Val._ I despise thee fellow,
Thy threats, or flatteries, all I fling behind me;
I have my end, I have thy noble Sister,
A name too worthy of thy blood; I have married her,
And will injoy her too.

_Sor._ 'Tis very likely.

_Val._ And that short moneth I have to bless me with her
I'le make an age, I'le reckon each embrace
A year of pleasure, and each night a Jubile,
Every quick kiss a Spring; and when I mean
To lose my self in all delightfulness,
Twenty sweet Summers I will tye together
In spight of thee, and thy malignant Master:
I will dye old in love, though young in pleasure.

_Sor._ But that I [h]ate thee deadly, I could pity thee,
Thou art the poorest miserable thing
This day on earth; I'le tell thee why _Valerio_,
All thou esteemest, and build'st upon for happiness,
For joy, for pleasure, for delight is past thee,
And like a wanton dream already vanisht.

_Val._ Is my love false?

_Sor._ No, she is constant to thee,
Constant to all thy misery she shall be,
And curse thee too.

_Val._ Is my strong body weakn'd,
Charm'd, or abus'd with subtle drink? speak villain.

_Sor._ Neither, I dare speak, thou art still as lusty
As when thou lov'dst her first, as strong and hopefull,
The month thou hast given thee is a month of misery,
And where thou think'st each hour shall yield a pleasure,
Look for a killing pain, for thou shalt find it
Before thou dyest, each minute shall prepare it,
And ring so many knels to sad afflictions;
The King has given thee a long month to dye in,
And miserably dye.

_Val._ Undo thy Riddle,
I am prepar'd what ever fate shall follow.

_Sor._ Dost thou see this Ring?

_Val._ I know it too.

_Sor._ Then mark me,
By vertue of this Ring this I pronounce to thee,
'Tis the Kings will.

_Val._ Let me know it suddenly.

_Sor._ If thou dost offer to touch _Evanthes_ body
Beyond a kiss, though thou art married to her,
And lawfully as thou think'st may'st injoy her,
That minute she shall dye.

_Val._ O Devil--

_Sor._ If thou discover this command unto her,
Or to a friend that shall importune thee,
And why thou abstainest, and from whose will, ye all perish,
Upon the self-same forfeit: are ye fitted Sir?
Now if ye love her, ye may preserve her life still,
If not, you know the worst, how falls your month out?

_Val._ This tyranny could never be invented
But in the school of Hell, Earth is too innocent;
Not to injoy her when she is my wife?
When she is willing too?

_Sor._ She is most willing,
And will run mad to miss; but if you hit her,
Be sure you hit her home, and kill her with it;
There are such women that will dye with pleasure:
The Axe will follow else, that will not fail
To fetch her Maiden head, and dispatch her quickly;
Then shall the world know you are the cause of Murther,
And as 'tis requisite your life shall pay for't.