Chapter LXVII: Act I: Scene I.2260 (2)

_Bell._ At your best pleasure.—Whew! some rubbers[2362] there!

_Hip._ Indeed, I’ll none:—indeed I will not: thanks.
Pretty fine lodging. I perceive my friend
Is old in your acquaintance.

_Bell._ Troth, sir, he comes 335
As other gentlemen, to spend spare hours.
If yourself like our roof, such as it is,
Your own acquaintance may be as old as his.

_Hip._ Say I did like; what welcome should I find?

_Bell._ Such as my present fortunes can afford.

_Hip._ But would you let me play Matheo’s part? 341

_Bell._ What part?

_Hip._ Why, embrace you: dally with you, kiss.
Faith, tell me, will you leave him and love me?

_Bell._ I am in bonds to no man, sir.

_Hip._ Why then,
You’re free for any man; if any, me. 345
But I must tell you, lady, were you mine,
You should be all mine; I could brook no sharers,
I should be covetous, and sweep up all.
I should be pleasure’s usurer; faith, I should.

_Bell._ O fate!

_Hip._ Why sigh you, lady? May I know?

_Bell._ ’T has never been my fortune yet to single 351
Out that one man, whose love could fellow mine,
As I have ever wisht it. O my stars!
Had I but met with one kind gentleman,
That would have purchas’d sin alone to himself, 355
For his own private use, although scarce proper,[2363]
Indifferent handsome; meetly legg’d and thigh’d;
And my allowance reasonable, i’ faith,
According to my body, by my troth,
I would have been as true unto his pleasures,
Yea, and as royal to his afternoons, 361
As ever a poor gentlewoman could be.

_Hip._ This were well now to one but newly fledg’d,
And scarce a day old in this subtle world;
’T were pretty art, good bird-lime, cunning net; 365
But come, come, faith, confess: how many men
Have drunk this self-same protestation,
From that red ’ticing lip?

_Bell._ Indeed, not any.

_Hip._ “Indeed,” and blush not!

_Bell._ No, in truth, not any.

_Hip._ “Indeed!” “In truth!”—how warily you swear! 370
’T is well, if ill it be not; yet had I
The ruffian in me, and were drawn before you
But in light colours, I do know indeed,
You could not swear _indeed_, but thunder oaths
That should shake Heaven, drown the harmonious spheres, 375
And pierce a soul that lov’d her maker’s honour
With horror and amazement.

_Bell._ Shall I swear?—
Will you believe me then?

_Hip._ Worst then of all;
Our sins by custom, seem at last but small.
Were I but o’er your threshold, a next man, 380
And after him a next, and then a fourth,
Should have this golden hook, and lascivious bait,
Thrown out to the full length. Why let me tell you:
I ha’ seen letters sent from that white hand,
Tuning such music to Matheo’s ear. 385

_Bell._ Matheo! that ’s true, but believe it, I
No sooner had laid hold upon your presence,
But straight mine eye convey’d you to my heart.

_Hip._ Oh, you cannot feign with me! Why, I know, lady,
This is the common passion of you all, 390
To hook in a kind gentleman, and then
Abuse his coin, conveying it to your lover,
And in the end you show him a French trick,
And so you leave him, that a coach may run
Between his legs for breath.

_Bell._ Oh, by my soul, 395
Not I! therein I’ll prove an honest whore,
In being true to one, and to no more.

_Hip._ If any be dispos’d to trust your oath,
Let him: I’ll not be he. I know you feign
All that you speak; ay, for a mingled harlot 400
Is true in nothing but in being false.
What! shall I teach you how to loath yourself?
And mildly too, not without sense or reason.

_Bell._ I am content; I would feign loath myself
If you not love me.

_Hip._ Then if your gracious blood 405
Be not all wasted, I shall assay to do’t.
Lend me your silence, and attention.
You have no soul, that makes you weigh so light;
Heaven’s treasure bought it: 409
And half-a-crown hath sold it:—for your body
Is like the common-shore, that still receives
All the town’s filth. The sin of many men
Is within you; and thus much I suppose,
That if all your committers stood in rank,
They’d make a lane, in which your shame might dwell, 415
And with their spaces reach from hence to hell.
Nay, shall I urge it more? there has been known
As many by one harlot, maim’d and dismemb’red,
As would ha’ stuft an hospital: this I might
Apply to you, and perhaps do you right. 420
O you’re as base as any beast that bears,—
Your body is e’en hir’d, and so are theirs.
For gold and sparkling jewels, if he can,
You’ll let a Jew get you with Christian:
Be he a Moor, a Tartar, though his face 425
Look uglier than a dead man’s skull.
Could the devil put on a human shape,
If his purse shake out crowns, up then he gets;
Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits.
So that you’re crueller than Turks, for they 430
Sell Christians only, you sell yourselves away.
Why, those that love you, hate you: and will term you
Liquorish[2364] damnation; with themselves half-sunk
After the sin is laid out, and e’en curse
Their fruitless riot; for what one begets 435
Another poisons; lust and murder hit:
A tree being often shook, what fruit can knit?

_Bell._ O me unhappy!

_Hip._ I can vex you more:
A harlot is like Dunkirk, true to none,
Swallows both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch, 440
Back-door’d Italian, last of all, the French,
And he sticks to you, faith, gives you your diet,
Brings you acquainted, first with Monsieur Doctor,
And then you know what follows.

_Bell._ Misery.
Rank, stinking, and most loathsome misery. 445

_Hip._ Methinks a toad is happier than a whore;
That with one poison swells, with thousands more
The other stocks her veins. Harlot? fie, fie!
You are the miserablest creatures breathing,
The very slaves of nature; mark me else: 450
You put on rich attires, others’ eyes wear them,
You eat, but to supply your blood with sin:
And this strange curse e’en haunts you to your graves.
From fools you get, and spend it upon slaves.
Like bears and apes, you’re baited and show tricks 455
For money; but your bawd the sweetness licks.
Indeed, you are their journey-women, and do
All base and damn’d works they list set you to;
So that you ne’er are rich; for do but show me,
In present memory, or in ages past, 460
The fairest and most famous courtesan,
Whose flesh was dear’st; that rais’d the price of sin,
And held it up; to whose intemperate bosom,
Princes, earls, lords, the worst has been a knight,
The mean’st a gentleman, have off’red up 465
Whole hecatombs of sighs, and rain’d in showers
Handfuls of gold; yet, for all this, at last
Diseases suckt her marrow, then grew so poor,
That she has begg’d e’en at a beggar’s door.
And (wherein Heav’n has a finger) when this idol, 470
From coast to coast, has leapt on foreign shores,
And had more worship than th’ outlandish whores;
When several nations have gone over her,
When for each several city she has seen,
Her maidenhead has been new, and been sold dear; 475
Did live well there, and might have died unknown,
And undefam’d; back comes she to her own,
And there both miserably lives and dies,
Scorn’d even of those that once ador’d her eyes,
As if her fatal circled life thus ran, 480
Her pride should end there where it first began.
What[2365] do you weep to hear your story read?
Nay, if you spoil your cheeks, I’ll read no more.

_Bell._ O yes, I pray, proceed:
Indeed, ’t will do me good to weep, indeed. 485

_Hip._ To give those tears a relish, this I add,
You’re like the Jews, scatter’d, in no place certain;
Your days are tedious, your hours burdensome:
And were’t not for full suppers, midnight revels,
Dancing, wine, riotous meetings, which do drown 490
And bury quite in you all virtuous thoughts,
And on your eyelids hang so heavily,
They have no power to look so high as Heaven,—
You’d sit and muse on nothing but despair,
Curse that devil Lust, that so burns up your blood, 495
And in ten thousand shivers break your glass
For his temptation. Say you taste delight,
To have a golden gull from rise to set,
To mete[2366] you in his hot luxurious arms, 499
Yet your nights pay for all. I know you dream
Of warrants, whips, and beadles, and then start
At a door’s windy creak: think every weasel
To be a constable, and every rat
A long-tail’d officer. Are you now not slaves?
Oh, you’ve damnation without pleasure for it!
Such is the state of harlots. To conclude: 506
When you are old and can well paint no more,
You turn bawd, and are then worse than before:
Make use of this: farewell.

_Bell._ Oh, I pray, stay.

_Hip._ I see Matheo comes not: time hath barr’d me; 510
Would all the harlots in the town had heard me. _Exit._

_Bell._ Stay yet a little longer! No? quite gone!
Curst be that minute—for it was no more,
So soon a maid is chang’d into a whore—
Wherein I first fell! Be it for ever black! 515
Yet why should sweet Hippolito shun mine eyes,
For whose true love I would become pure-honest,
Hate the world’s mixtures, and the smiles of gold?
Am I not fair? Why should he fly me then? 519
Fair creatures are desir’d, not scorn’d of men.
How many gallants have drunk healths to me,
Out of their dagger’d arms, and thought them blest,
Enjoying but mine eyes at prodigal feasts!
And does Hippolito detest my love? 524
Oh, sure their heedless lusts but flatt’red me,
I am not pleasing, beautiful, nor young.
Hippolito hath spied some ugly blemish,
Eclipsing all my beauties: I am foul.
Harlot! Ay, that’s the spot that taints my soul. 529
What! has he left his weapon here behind him
And gone forgetful? O fit instrument
To let forth all the poison of my flesh!
Thy master hates me, ’cause my blood hath rang’d:
But when ’t is forth, then he ’ll believe I ’m chang’d.
[_As she is about to stab herself_] _re-enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip._ Mad woman, what art doing?

_Bell._ Either love me, 535
Or split my heart upon thy rapier’s point:
Yet do not neither; for thou then destroy’st
That which I love thee for—thy virtues. Here, here;
[_Gives sword to_ HIPPOLITO.]
Th’ art crueller, and kill’st me with disdain: 539
To die so, sheds no blood, yet ’t is worse pain. _Exit_ HIPPOLITO.
Not speak to me! Not bid farewell? A scorn?
Hated! this must not be; some means I ’ll try.
Would all whores were as honest now as I! _Exit._

[ACT III]

SCENE [I.]

_Enter_ CANDIDO, _his wife_ [VIOLA], GEORGE, _and two_ Prentices _in the shop:_ FUSTIGO _enters, walking by._

_Geo._ See, gentlemen, what you lack; a fine holland, a fine cambric:
see what you buy.

_1 Pren._ Holland for shirts, cambric for bands; what is ’t you lack?

_Fus._ [_Aside._] ’Sfoot, I lack ’em all; nay, (5) more, I lack
money to buy ’em. Let me see, let me look again: mass, this is the
shop.—What coz! sweet coz! how dost, i’ faith, since last night
after candlelight? We had good sport, i’ faith, had we not? And when
shall ’s laugh (10) again?

_Vio._ When you will, cousin.

_Fus._ Spoke like a kind Lacedemonian. I see yonder ’s thy husband.

_Vio._ Ay, there ’s the sweet youth, God bless him! 16

_Fus._ And how is ’t, cousin? and how, how is ’t, thou squall?[2367]

_Vio._ Well, cousin, how fare you?

_Fus._ How fare I? For sixpence a-meal, (20) wench, as well as heart
can wish, with calves’ chaldrons,[2368] and chitterlings;[2369]
besides, I have a punk after supper, as good as a roasted apple.

_Cand._ Are you my wife’s cousin?

_Fus._ I am, sir; what hast thou to do with that? 25

_Cand._ O, nothing, but y’ are welcome.

_Fus._ The devil’s dung in thy teeth! I ’ll be welcome whether thou
wilt or no, I.—What ring ’s this, coz? Very pretty and fantastical,
i’ faith! let ’s see it. 30

_Vio._ Pooh! nay, you wrench my finger.

_Fus._ I ha’ sworn I ’ll ha ’t, and I hope you will not let my oaths
be crackt in[2370] the ring, will you? [_Seizes the ring._] I hope,
sir, you are not malicholly[2371] at this, for all your great looks. 35
Are you angry?

_Cand._ Angry? Not I, sir, nay if she can part So easily with her
ring, ’t is with my heart.

_Geo._ Suffer this, sir, and suffer all. A whoreson gull, to— 40

_Cand._ Peace, George, when she has reapt what I have sown,
She ’ll say, one grain tastes better of her own,
Than whole sheaves gather’d from another’s land.
Wit ’s never good, till bought at a dear hand.

_Geo._ But in the mean-time she makes an ass of some body. 46

_2 Pren._ See, see, see, sir, as you turn your back they do nothing
but kiss.

_Cand._ No matter, let ’em; when I touch her lip,
I shall not feel his kisses, no, nor miss 50
Any of her lip: no harm in kissing is.
Look to your business, pray, make up your wares.

_Fus._ Troth, coz, and well rememb’red. I would thou wouldst give
me five yards of lawn, to make my punk some falling bands[2372] a’
(55) the fashion; three falling one upon another, for that ’s the new
edition now. She ’s out of linen horribly, too; troth, sh’as never a
good smock to her back neither, but one that has a great many patches
in ’t, and that I ’m fain to (60) wear myself for want of shift,
too. Prithee, put me into wholesome napery, and bestow some clean
commodities upon us.

_Vio._ Reach me those cambrics, and the lawns hither. 65

_Cand._ What to do, wife? To lavish out my goods upon a fool?

_Fus._ Fool? Snails, eat[2373] the fool, or I ’ll so batter your
crown, that it shall scarce go for five shillings. 70

_2 Pren._ Do you hear, sir? You ’re best be quiet, and say a fool
tells you so.

_Fus._ Nails, I think so, for thou tell’st me.

_Cand._ Are you angry, sir, because I nam’d thee fool?
Trust me, you are not wise in my own house 75
And to my face to play the antic thus.
If you ’ll needs play the madman, choose a stage
Of lesser compass, where few eyes may note
Your action’s error: but if still you miss,
As here you do, for one clap, ten will hiss. 80

_Fus._ Zounds, cousin, he talks to me, as if I were a scurvy
tragedian.

_2 Pren._ Sirrah George, I ha’ thought upon a device, how to break
his pate, beat him soundly, and ship him away. 85

_Geo._ Do ’t.

_2 Pren_. I ’ll go in, pass through the house, give some of our
fellow-prentices the watch-word when they shall enter; then come and
fetch my master in by a wile, and place one (90) in the hall to hold
him in conference, whilst we cudgel the gull out of his coxcomb.
[_Exit_ 2 Prentice.]

_Geo._ Do ’t; away, do ’t.

_Vio._ Must I call twice for these cambrics and lawns? 95

_Cand._ Nay see, you anger her, George; prithee despatch.

_1 Pren._ Two of the choicest pieces are in the warehouse, sir.

_Cand._ Go fetch them presently. 100
_Exit_ 1 Prentice.

_Fus._ Ay, do, make haste, sirrah.

_Cand._ Why were you such a stranger all this while, being my wife’s
cousin?

_Fus._ Stranger? No sir, I’m a natural Milaner born. 105

_Cand._ I perceive still it is your natural guise to mistake[2374]
me, but you are welcome, sir; I much wish your acquaintance.

_Fus._ My acquaintance? I scorn that, i’ faith; I hope my
acquaintance goes in chains of (110) gold three and fifty times
double:—you know who I mean, coz; the posts of his gate are
a-painting too.[2375]

_Re-enter the_ 2 Prentice.

_2 Pren._ Signor Pandulfo the merchant desires conference with you. 115

_Cand._ Signor Pandulfo? I ’ll be with him straight,
Attend your mistress and the gentleman. _Exit._

_Vio._ When do you show those pieces?

_Fus._ Ay, when do you show those pieces?

_Prentices._ [_within._] Presently, sir, presently: we are but
charging them. 121

_Fus._ Come, sirrah: you flat-cap,[2376] where be these whites?

[_Re-enter_ 1 Prentice _with pieces_.]

_Geo._ Flat-cap? Hark in your ear, sir, you ’re a flat fool, an ass,
a gull, and I ’ll thrum[2377] you.—Do you see this cambric, sir? 125

_Fus._ ’Sfoot coz, a good jest, did you hear him? He told me in my
ears, I was a “flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I ’ll thrum you:—do
you see this cambric, sir?”

_Vio._ What, not my men, I hope? 130

_Fus._ No, not your men, but one of your men, i’ faith.

_1 Pren._ I pray, sir, come hither, what say you to this? Here ’s an
excellent good one. 134

_Fus._ Ay, marry, this likes[2378] me well; cut me off some
half-score yards.

_2 Pren._ Let your whores cut; you ’re an impudent coxcomb; you get
none, and yet I ’ll thrum you.—A very good cambric, sir. 139

_Fus._ Again, again, as God judge me! ’Sfoot, coz, they stand
thrumming here with me all day, and yet I get nothing.

_1 Pren._ A word, I pray, sir, you must not be angry. Prentices have
hot bloods, young fellows.—What say you to this piece? Look you,
(145) ’t is so delicate, so soft, so even, so fine a thread, that a
lady may wear it.

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, I think so; if a knight marry my punk, a lady shall
wear it. Cut me off twenty yards; thou ’rt an honest lad. 150

_1 Pren._ Not without money, gull, and I ’ll thrum you too.

_All._ Gull, we ’ll thrum you.

_Fus._ O Lord, sister, did you not hear something cry thrum? Zounds,
your men here make a plain ass of me. 156

_Vio._ What, to my face so impudent?

_Geo._ Ay, in a cause so honest, we ’ll not suffer Our master’s goods
to vanish moneyless.

_Vio._ You will not suffer them?

_2 Pren._ No, and you may blush, 160
In going about to vex so mild a breast,
As is our master’s.

_Vio._ Take away those pieces,
Cousin, I give them freely.

_Fus._ Mass, and I ’ll take ’em as freely.

_All._ We ’ll make you lay ’em down again more freely. 165
[_They all attack_ FUSTIGO _with their clubs_.]

_Vio._ Help, help! my brother will be murdered.

_Re-enter_ CANDIDO.

_Cand._ How now, what coil[2379] is here? Forbear I say.
[_Exeunt all the_ Prentices _except the_ 1 _and_ 2.]

_Geo._ He calls us flat-caps, and abuses us.

_Cand._ Why, sirs, do such examples flow from me?

_Vio._ They’re of your keeping, sir. Alas, poor brother. 170

_Fus._ I ’faith they ha’ pepper’d me, sister; look, dost not spin?
Call you these prentices? I ’ll ne’er play at cards more when clubs
is trump. I have a goodly coxcomb, sister, have I not? 175

_Cand._ Sister and brother? Brother to my wife?

_Fus._ If you have any skill in heraldry, you may soon know that;
break but her pate, and you shall see her blood and mine is all one.

_Cand._ A surgeon! run, a surgeon! [_Exit_ 1 Prentice.] Why then wore
you that forged name of cousin? 182

_Fus._ Because it ’s a common thing-to call coz and ningle[2380]
now-a-days all the world over.

_Cand._ Cousin! A name of much deceit, folly, and sin, 185
For under that common abused word,
Many an honest-temp’red citizen
Is made a monster, and his wife train’d out
To foul adulterous action, full of fraud.
I may well call that word, a city’s bawd. 190

_Fus._ Troth, brother, my sister would needs ha’ me take upon me to
gull your patience a little: but it has made double gules[2381] on my
coxcomb.

_Vio._ What, playing the woman? Blabbing now, you fool? 195

_Cand._ Oh, my wife did but exercise a jest upon your wit.

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, my wit bleeds for ’t, methinks.

_Cand._ Then let this warning more of sense afford;
The name of cousin is a bloody word. 200

_Fus._ I ’ll ne’er call coz again whilst I live, to have such a coil
about it. This should be a coronation day; for my head runs claret
lustily. _Exit._

_Enter an_ Officer.

_Cand._ Go, wish[2382] the surgeon to have great respect—
_Exit_ 2 Prentice. 204
How now, my friend? What, do they sit to-day?

_Offi._ Yes, sir, they expect you at the senate-house.

_Cand._ I thank your pains; I ’ll not be last man there.—
_Exit_ Officer.
My gown, George, go, my gown. [_Exit_ GEORGE.] A happy land,
Where grave men meet each cause to understand;
Whose consciences are not cut out in bribes 210
To gull the poor man’s right; but in even scales,
Peize[2383] rich and poor, without corruption’s vails.[2384]
_Re-enter_ GEORGE.
Come, where ’s the gown?

_Geo._ I cannot find the key, sir.

_Cand._ Request it of your mistress!

_Vio._ Come not to me for any key; 215
I ’ll not be troubled to deliver it.

_Cand._ Good wife, kind wife, it is a needful trouble, but for my
gown!

_Vio._ Moths swallow down your gown!
You set my teeth on edge with talking on ’t. 220

_Cand._ Nay, prithee, sweet,—I cannot meet without it,
I should have a great fine set on my head.

_Vio._ Set on your coxcomb; tush, fine me no fines.

_Cand._ Believe me, sweet, none greets the senate-house,
Without his robe of reverence,—that’s his gown. 225

_Vio._ Well, then, you ’re like to cross that custom once;
You get nor key, nor gown; and so depart.—
[_Aside._] This trick will vex him sure, and fret his heart. _Exit._

_Cand._ Stay, let me see, I must have some device,— 229
My cloak’s too short: fie, fie, no cloak will do ’t;
It must be something fashioned like a gown,
With my arms out. Oh George, come hither, George;
I prithee, lend me thine advice.

_Geo._ Troth, sir, were ’t any but you, they
would break open chest. 235

_Cand._ O no! break open chest! that’s a thief’s office.
Therein you counsel me against my blood;
’T would show impatience that: any meek means
I would be glad to embrace. Mass, I have got it.
Go, step up, fetch me down one of the carpets,[2385]
The saddest[2386]-colour’d carpet, honest George, 241
Cut thou a hole i’ th’ middle for my neck,
Two for mine arms. Nay, prithee, look not strange.

_Geo._ I hope you do not think, sir, as you mean.

_Cand._ Prithee, about it quickly, the hour chides me; 245
Warily, George, softly, take heed of eyes.
_Exit_ GEORGE.
Out of two evils he ’s accounted wise,
That can pick out the least; the fine impos’d
For an un-gowned senator, is about
Forty crusadoes,[2387] the carpet not ’bove four. 250
Thus have I chosen the lesser evil yet,
Preserv’d my patience, foil’d her desperate wit.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE [_with carpet_].

_Geo._ Here, sir, here ’s the carpet.

_Cand._ O well done, George, we ’ll cut it just i’ th’ midst.
[_They cut the carpet._]
’T is very well; I thank thee: help it on. 255

_Geo._ It must come over your head, sir, like a wench’s petticoat.

_Cand._ Thou ’rt in the right, good George; it must indeed.
Fetch me a night-cap: for I ’ll gird it close,
As if my health were queasy: ’t will show well
For a rude, careless night-gown, will ’t not, think’st? 260

_Geo._ Indifferent well, sir, for a night-gown,
being girt and pleated.

_Cand._ Ay, and a night-cap on my head.

_Geo._ That ’s true sir, I ’ll run and fetch one, and a staff. _Exit._

_Cand._ For thus they cannot choose but conster[2388] it, 265
One that is out of health, takes no delight,
Wears his apparel without appetite,
And puts on needless raiment without form.—
_Re-enter_ GEORGE [_with night-cap and staff_].
So, so, kind George, [_puts on night-cap_]—be secret now; and,
prithee, do not laugh at me till I ’m out of sight. 271

_Geo._ I laugh? Not I, sir.

_Cand._ Now to the senate-house.
Methinks, I ’d rather wear, without a frown,
A patient carpet, than an angry gown. _Exit._

_Geo._ Now, looks my master just like one (275) of our carpet
knights, only he ’s somewhat the honester of the two.

_Re-enter_ VIOLA.

_Vio._ What, is your master gone?

_Geo._ Yes, forsooth, his back is but new turn’d.

_Vio._ And in his cloak? Did he not vex and swear? 280

_Geo._ [_Aside._] No, but he ’ll make you swear anon.—
No indeed, he went away like a lamb.

_Vio._ Key, sink to hell! Still patient, patient still?
I am with child[2389] to vex him. Prithee, George,
If e’er thou look’st for favour at my hands, 285
Uphold one jest for me.

_Geo._ Against my master?

_Vio._ ’T is a mere jest, in faith. Say, wilt thou do ’t?

_Geo._ Well, what is ’t?

_Vio._ Here, take this key; thou know’st where all things lie.
Put on thy master’s best apparel, gown, 290
Chain, cap, ruff, every thing, be like himself;
And ’gainst his coming home, walk in the shop;
Feign the same carriage, and his patient look,
’T will breed but a jest, thou know’st; speak, wilt thou?

_Geo._ ’T will wrong my master’s patience.

_Vio._ Prithee, George. 295

_Geo._ Well, if you ’ll save me harmless, and put me under covert
barn,[2390] I am content to please you, provided it may breed no
wrong against him.

_Vio._ No wrong at all. Here take the key, be gone. 300
If any vex him, this; if not this, none. _Exeunt._

SCENE [II].[2391]

_Enter a_ Bawd [Mistress FINGERLOCK] _and_ ROGER.

_Miss F._ O Roger, Roger, where ’s your mistress, where ’s your
mistress? There ’s the finest, neatest gentleman at my house, but
newly come over. Oh, where is she, where is she, where is she? 5

_Rog._ My mistress is abroad, but not amongst ’em. My mistress is not
the whore now that you take her for.

_Mis. F._ How? Is she not a whore? Do you go about to take away her
good name, (10) Roger? You are a fine pander indeed.

_Rog._ I tell you, Madonna Fingerlock, I am not sad for nothing; I
ha’ not eaten one good meal this three and thirty days. I had wont
to get sixteen pence by fetching a pottle (15) of hippocras; but now
those days are past. We had as good things, Madonna Fingerlock, she
within doors, and I without, as any poor young couple in Milan.

_Mis. F._ God ’s my life, and is she chang’d (20) now?

_Rog._ I ha’ lost by her squeamishness more than would have builded
twelve bawdy-houses.

_Mis. F._ And had she no time to turn honest but now? What a vile
woman is this! (25) Twenty pound a night, I ’ll be sworn, Roger, in
good gold and no silver. Why here was a time! If she should ha’ pickt
out a time, it could not be better: gold enough stirring; choice
of men, choice of hair, choice of beards, choice of (30) legs, and
choice of every, every, everything. It cannot sink into my head, that
she should be such an ass. Roger, I never believe it.

_Rog._ Here she comes now.

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT.

_Mis. F._ O sweet madonna, on with your (35) loose gown, your
felt[2392] and your feather; there ’s the sweetest, prop’rest,[2393]
gallantest gentleman at my house; he smells all of musk and
ambergris, his pocket full of crowns, flame-coloured doublet, red
satin hose, carnation silk stockings, (40) and a leg, and a body,—oh!

_Bell._ Hence thou, our sex’s monster, poisonous bawd,
Lust’s factor, and damnation’s orator!
Gossip of hell! were all the harlots’ sins
Which the whole world contains, numb’red together, 45
Thine far exceeds them all: of all the creatures
That ever were created, thou art basest.
What serpent would beguile thee of thy office?
It is detestable: for thou livest
Upon the dregs of harlots, guard’st the door, 50
Whilst couples go to dancing. O coarse devil!
Thou art the bastard’s curse, thou brand’st his birth;
The lecher’s French disease, for thou dry-suck’st him;
The harlot’s poison, and thine own confusion.

_Mis. F._ Marry come up, with a pox! Have (55) you nobody to rail
against but your bawd now?

_Bell._ And you, knave pander, kinsman to a bawd.

_Rog._ You and I, madonna, are cousins.

_Bell._ Of the same blood and making, near allied;
Thou, that slave to sixpence, base metall’d villain! 60

_Rog._ Sixpence? Nay, that ’s not so: I never took under two
shillings four-pence; I hope I know my fee.

_Bell._ I know not against which most to inveigh;
For both of you are damn’d so equally. 65
Thou never spar’st for oaths, swear’st any thing,
As if thy soul were made of shoe-leather:
“God damn me, gentlemen, if she be within!”
When in the next room she ’s found dallying.

_Rog._ If it be my vocation to swear, every (70) man in his vocation.
I hope my betters swear and damn themselves, and why should not I?

_Bell._ Roger, you cheat kind gentlemen.

_Rog._ The more gulls they.

_Bell._ Slave, I cashier thee. 75

_Mis. F._ An you do cashier him, he shall be entertain’d.

_Rog._ Shall I? Then blurt a’ your service.

_Bell._ As hell would have it, entertain’d by you!
I dare the devil himself to match those two. _Exit._ 80

_Mis. F._ Marry gup,[2394] are you grown so holy, so pure, so honest
with a pox?

_Rog._ Scurvy honest punk! But stay, madonna, how must our agreement
be now? for, you know, I am to have all the comings-in at the
hall-door, and you at the chamber-door. 86

_Mis F._ True, Roger, except my vails.[2395]

_Rog._ Vails? What vails?

_Mis. F._ Why as thus: if a couple come in a coach, and light to lie
down a little, then, (90) Roger, that ’s my fee, and you may walk
abroad; for the coachman himself is their pander.

_Rog._ Is ’a so? In truth I have almost forgot, for want of exercise.
But how if I fetch this (95) citizen’s wife to that gull, and that
madonna to that gallant, how then?

_Mis. F._ Why then, Roger, you are to have sixpence a lane;[2396] so
many lanes, so many sixpences. 100

_Rog._ Is ’t so? Then I see we two shall agree, and live together.

_Mis. F._ Ay, Roger, so long as there be any taverns and bawdy-houses
in Milan. _Exeunt._

SCENE [III].[2397]

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _with lute_, _pen_, _ink_, _and paper being placed before her_.

SONG.

[_Bell._]

The courtier’s flattering jewels,
Temptation’s only fuels;
The lawyer’s ill-got moneys,
That suck up poor bees’ honeys;
The citizen’s son’s riot, 5
The gallant’s costly diet:
Silks and velvets, pearls and ambers,
Shall not draw me to their chambers.
Silks and velvets, &c.
_She writes._
Oh, ’t is in vain to write! it will not please; 10
Ink on this paper would ha’ but presented
The foul black spots that stick upon my soul,
And rather made me loathsomer, than wrought
My love’s impression in Hippolito’s thought. 14
No, I must turn the chaste leaves of my breast,
And pick out some sweet means to breed my rest.
Hippolito, believe me, I will be
As true unto thy heart, as thy heart to thee,
And hate all men, their gifts and company! 19

_Enter_ MATHEO, CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _and_ PIORATTO.

_Mat._ You, goody punk, _subaudi_[2398] cockatrice, oh y ’are a sweet
whore of your promise, are you not; think you? How well you came
to supper to us last night! Mew, a whore, and break her word! Nay,
you may blush, and hold down your head at it well enough. ’Sfoot, 25
ask these gallants if we stay’d not till we were as hungry as
sergeants.

_Flu._ Ay, and their yeomen too.

_Cas._ Nay, faith, acquaintance, let me tell you, you forgat yourself
too much. We had (30) excellent cheer, rare vintage, and were drunk
after supper.

_Pio._ And when we were in, our woodcocks,[2399] sweet rogue, a brace
of gulls, dwelling here in the city, came in, and paid all the shot. 35

_Mat._ Pox on her! let her alone.

_Bell._ Oh, I pray do, if you be gentlemen;
I pray, depart the house. Beshrew the door
For being so easily entreated! Faith,
I lent but little ear unto your talk; 40
My mind was busied otherwise, in troth,
And so your words did unregarded pass.
Let this suffice,—I am not as I was.

_Flu._ I am not what I was? No, I ’ll be sworn thou art not; for
thou wert honest at five, (45) and now th’ art a punk at fifteen.
Thou wert yesterday a simple whore, and now th’ art a cunning,
cony-catching[2400] baggage to-day.

_Bell._ I ’ll say I ’m worse; I pray, forsake me then:
I do desire you leave me, gentlemen, 50
And leave yourselves. O be not what you are,
Spendthrifts of soul and body!
Let me persuade you to forsake all harlots,
Worse than the deadliest poisons, they are worse:
For o’er their souls hangs an eternal curse. 55
In being slaves to slaves, their labours perish;
They ’re seldom blest with fruit; for ere it blossoms,
Many a worm confounds it.
They have no issue but foul ugly ones, 59
That run along with them, e’en to their graves;
For, ’stead of children, they breed rank diseases.
And all you gallants can bestow on them
Is that French infant, which ne’er acts, but speaks.
What shallow son and heir, then, foolish gallants,
Would waste all his inheritance, to purchase 65
A filthy, loath’d disease? and pawn his body
To a dry evil: that usury’s worst of all,
When th’ interest will eat out the principal.

_Mat._ [_Aside._] ’Sfoot, she gulls ’em the best! This is always her
fashion, when she would be (70) rid of any company that she cares not
for, to enjoy mine alone.

_Flu._ What ’s here? Instructions, admonitions, and caveats? Come
out, you scabbard of vengeance. 75

_Mat._ Fluello, spurn your hounds when they foist,[2401] you shall
not spurn my punk, I can tell you: my blood is vext.

_Flu._ Pox a’ your blood! make it a quarrel. 79

_Mat._ You ’re a slave! Will that serve turn?

_All._ ’Sblood, hold, hold!

_Cas._ Matheo, Fluello, for shame, put up!

_Bell._ O how many thus
Mov’d with a little folly, have let out
Their souls in brothel houses! fell down and died 85
Just at their harlot’s foot, as ’t were in pride.

_Flu._ Matheo, we shall meet.

_Mat._ Ay, ay; any where, saving at church;
Pray take heed we meet not there.

_Flu._ Adieu, damnation!

_Cas._ Cockatrice, farewell! 90

_Pio._ There ’s more deceit in women, than in hell.
_Exeunt_ [CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _and_ PIORATTO].

_Mat._ Ha, ha, thou dost gull ’em so rarely, so naturally! If I did
not think thou hadst been in earnest!
Thou art a sweet rogue for ’t i’ faith. 95

_Bell._ Why are not you gone too, Signor Matheo?
I pray depart my house: you may believe me,
In troth, I have no part of harlot in me.

_Mat._ How ’s this?

_Bell._ Indeed, I love you not: but hate you worse 100
Than any man, because you were the first
Gave money for my soul: you brake the ice,
Which after turn’d a puddle; I was led
By your temptation to be miserable.
I pray, seek out some other that will fall, 105
Or rather, I pray seek out none at all.

_Mat._ Is ’t possible to be impossible! An honest whore! I have heard
many honest wenches turn strumpets with a wet finger,[2402] but for a
harlot to turn honest is one of Hercules’ labours. (110) It was more
easy for him in one night to make fifty queans, than to make one of
them honest again in fifty years. Come, I hope thou dost but jest.

_Bell._ ’T is time to leave off jesting; I had almost 115
Jested away salvation. I shall love you,
If you will soon forsake me.

_Mat._ God be with thee!

_Bell._ O tempt no more women! Shun their weighty curse!
Women, at best, are bad, make them not worse.
You gladly seek our sex’s overthrow; 120
But not to raise our states. For all your wrongs,
Will you vouchsafe me but due recompense,
To marry with me?

_Mat._ How! marry with a punk, a cockatrice, a harlot? Marry, faugh,
I ’ll be burnt through the nose first. 126

_Bell._ Why, la, these are your oaths! you love to undo us.
To put Heaven from us, whilst our best hours waste;
You love to make us lewd, but never chaste.

_Mat._ I ’ll hear no more of this, this ground upon; 130
Thou ’rt damn’d for alt’ring thy religion. _Exit._

_Bell._ Thy lust and sin speak so much. Go thou, my ruin,
The first fall my soul took! By my example
I hope few maidens now will put their heads
Under men’s girdles; who least trusts is most wise: 135
Men’s oaths do cast a mist before our eyes.
My best of wit, be ready! Now I go,
By some device to greet Hippolito.

[ACT IV]

SCENE [I].[2403]

_Enter a_ Servant, _setting out a table, on which he places a skull, a picture_ [_of_ INFELICE], _a book, and a taper_.

_Ser._ So, this is Monday morning, and now must I to my huswifery.
Would I had been created a shoemaker, for all the gentle craft are
gentlemen every Monday by their copy,[2404] and scorn then to work
one true stitch. My (5) master means sure to turn me into a student,
for here ’s my book, here my desk, here my light, this my close
chamber, and here my punk: so that this dull drowsy first day of the
week makes me half a priest, half a chandler, half (10) a painter,
half a sexton, ay, and half a bawd; for all this day my office is to
do nothing but keep the door. To prove it, look you, this good face
and yonder gentleman, so soon as ever my back is turn’d, will be
naught together. 15

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip._ Are all the windows shut?

_Ser._ Close, sir, as the fist of a courtier that hath stood in three
reigns.

_Hip._ Thou art a faithful servant, and observ’st
The calendar both of my solemn vows, 20
And ceremonious sorrow. Get thee gone;
I charge thee on thy life, let not the sound
Of any woman’s voice pierce through that door.

_Ser._ If they do, my lord, I ’ll pierce some of them;
What will your lordship have to breakfast? 25

_Hip._ Sighs.

_Ser._ What to dinner?

_Hip._ Tears.

_Ser._ The one of them, my lord, will fill you too full of wind, the
other wet you too much. (30) What to supper?

_Hip._ That which now thou canst not get me, the constancy of a woman.

_Ser._ Indeed that ’s harder to come by than ever was Ostend.[2405] 35

_Hip._ Prithee, away.

_Ser._ I ’ll make away myself presently, which few servants will
do for their lords; but rather help to make them away. Now to my
door-keeping; I hope to pick something out of it. _Exit._ 40

_Hip._ [_taking up_ INFELICE’S _picture_.] My Infelice’s face, her
brow, her eye,
The dimple on her cheek! and such sweet skill,
Hath from the cunning workman’s pencil flown,
These lips look fresh and lively as her own, 44
Seeming to move and speak. ’Las! now I see,
The reason why fond[2406] women love to buy
Adulterate complexion! Here, ’t is read:
False colours last after the true be dead.
Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks,
Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, 50
Of all the music set upon her tongue,
Of all that was past woman’s excellence,
In her white bosom,—look! a painted board
Circumscribes all. Earth can no bliss afford,
Nothing of her but this. This cannot speak, 55
It has no lap for me to rest upon,
No lip worth tasting; here the worms will feed,
As in her coffin. Hence, then, idle art!
True love ’s best pictur’d in a true-love’s heart.
Here art thou drawn, sweet maid, till this be dead; 60
So that thou liv’st twice, twice art buried.
Thou figure of my friend, lie there. What ’s here?
[_Takes up the skull._]
Perhaps this shrewd pate was mine enemy’s:
’Las! say it were; I need not fear him now!
For all his braves, his contumelious breath, 65
His frowns, though dagger-pointed, all his plot,
Though ne’er so mischievous, his Italian pills,
His quarrels, and that common fence, his law,
See, see, they ’re all eaten out! Here ’s not left one:
How clean they ’re pickt away to the bare bone! 70
How mad are mortals, then, to rear great names
On tops of swelling houses! or to wear out
Their fingers’ ends in dirt, to scrape up gold!
Not caring, so that sumpter-horse, the back,
Be hung with gaudy trappings, with what coarse— 75
Yea, rags most beggarly, they clothe the soul:
Yet, after all, their gayness looks thus foul.
What fools are men to build a garish tomb,
Only to save the carcase whilst it rots,
To maintain ’t long in stinking, make good carrion, 80
But leave no good deeds to preserve them sound!
For good deeds keep men sweet, long above ground.
And must all come to this? fools, wise, all hither?
Must all heads thus at last be laid[2407] together?
Draw me my picture then, thou grave neat workman, 85
After this fashion, not like this; these colours
In time, kissing but air, will be kist off:
But here ’s a fellow; that which he lays on
Till doomsday alters not complexion.
Death ’s the best painter then: they that draw shapes, 90
And live by wicked faces, are but God’s apes.
They come but near the life, and there they stay;
This fellow draws life too: his art is fuller,
The pictures which he makes are without colour. 94

_Re-enter_ Servant.

_Ser._ Here ’s a person would speak with you, sir.

_Hip._ Hah!

_Ser._ A parson, sir, would speak with you.

_Hip._ Vicar? 99

_Ser._ Vicar! No, sir; has too good a face to be a vicar yet; a
youth, a very youth.

_Hip._ What youth? Of man or woman? Lock the doors.

_Ser._ If it be a woman, marrow-bones[2408] and potato pies[2408]
keep me from meddling with her, for the thing has got the breeches!
’T is a (105) male-varlet sure, my lord, for a woman’s tailor ne’er
measur’d him.

_Hip._ Let him give thee his message and be gone.

_Ser._ He says he ’s Signor Matheo ’s man, but I know he lies. 110

_Hip._ How dost thou know it?

_Ser._ ’Cause he has ne’er a beard. ’T is his boy, I think, sir,
whosoe’er paid for his nursing.

_Hip._ Send him and keep the door. [_Exit_ Servant.]

(_Reads._) “_Fata si liceat mihi, 115
Fingere arbitrio meo,
Temperem zephyro levi
Vela._”[2409]
I ’d sail were I to choose, not in the ocean;
Cedars are shaken, when shrubs do feel no bruise. 120
_Enter_ BELLAFRONT, _like a_ Page, [_with a letter_].
How? from Matheo?

_Bell._ Yes, my lord.

_Hip._ Art sick?

_Bell._ Not all in health, my lord.

_Hip._ Keep off.

_Bell._ I do.—
[_Aside._] Hard fate when women are compell’d to woo.

_Hip._ This paper does speak nothing.

_Bell._ Yes, my lord,
Matter of life, it speaks, and therefore writ 125
In hidden character: to me instruction
My master gives, and, ’less you please to stay
Till you both meet, I can the text display.

_Hip._ Do so; read out.

_Bell._ I am already out.[2410] 129
Look on my face, and read the strangest story!

_Hip._ What, villain, ho?——

_Re-enter_ Servant.

_Ser._ Call you, my lord?

_Hip._ Thou slave, thou hast let in the devil!

_Ser._ Lord bless us, where? He ’s not cloven, my lord, that I can
see: besides the devil goes (135) more like a gentleman than a page.
Good my lord, _Buon coraggio_.[2411]

_Hip._ Thou hast let in a woman in man’s shape.
And thou art damn’d for ’t. 139

_Ser._ Not damn’d I hope for putting in a woman to a lord.

_Hip._ Fetch me my rapier,—do not; I shall kill thee.
Purge this infected chamber of that plague,
That runs upon me thus. Slave, thrust her hence. 144

_Ser._ Alas, my lord, I shall never be able to thrust her hence
without help! Come, mermaid, you must to sea again.

_Bell._ Hear me but speak, my words shall be all music;
Hear me but speak. [_Knocking within._

_Hip._ Another beats the door,
T ’other she-devil! look.

_Ser._ Why, then, hell ’s broke loose. 150

_Hip._ Hence; guard the chamber: let no more come on, _Exit_ [Servant].
One woman serves for man’s damnation—
Beshrew thee, thou dost make me violate
The chastest and most sanctimonious vow,
That e’er was ent’red in the court of Heaven!
I was, on meditation’s spotless wings, 156
Upon my journey thither; like a storm
Thou beat’st my ripened cogitations,
Flat to the ground; and like a thief dost stand,
To steal devotion from the holy land. 160

_Bell._ If woman were thy mother—if thy heart,
Be not all marble, or if ’t marble be,
Let my tears soften it, to pity me—
I do beseech thee, do not thus with scorn
Destroy a woman!

_Hip._ Woman, I beseech thee, 165
Get thee some other suit, this fits thee not;
I would not grant it to a kneeling queen,
I cannot love thee, nor I must not: see
[_Points to_ INFELICE’S _picture_.]
The copy of that obligation,
Where my soul’s bound in heavy penalties. 170

_Bell._ She ’s dead, you told me; she ’ll let fall her suit.

_Hip._ My vows to her fled after her to Heaven.
Were thine eyes clear as mine, thou might’st behold her,
Watching upon you battlements of stars,—
How I observe them! Should I break my bond,
This board would rive in twain, these wooden lips 176
Call me most perjur’d villain. Let it suffice,
I ha’ set thee in the path; is ’t not a sign
I love thee, when with one so most most dear,
I ’ll have thee fellows? All are fellows there. 180

_Bell._ Be greater than a king; save not a body,
But from eternal shipwrack keep a soul.
If not, and that again sin’s path I tread,
The grief be mine, the guilt fall on thy head!

_Hip._ Stay, and take physic for it; read this book, 185
Ask counsel of this head, what ’s to be done;
He ’ll strike it dead, that ’t is damnation
If you turn Turk again. Oh, do it not!
Though Heaven cannot allure you to do well,
From doing ill let hell fright you; and learn this, 190
The soul whose bosom lust did never touch,
Is God’s fair bride, and maidens’ souls are such:
The soul that leaving chastity’s white shore,
Swims in hot sensual streams, is the devil’s whore.—
_Re-enter_ Servant [_with letter_].
How now, who comes? 195

_Ser._ No more knaves, my lord, that wear smocks: here ’s a letter
from Doctor Benedict. I would not enter his man, though he had hairs
at his mouth, for fear he should be a woman, for some women have
beards; marry, they (200) are half-witches. ’Slid! you are a sweet
youth to wear a cod-piece, and have no pins to stick upon ’t.

_Hip._ I ’ll meet the doctor, tell him; yet tonight
I cannot: but at morrow rising sun 205
I will not fail.—Go, woman; fare thee well.
_Exeunt_ [HIPPOLITO _and_ Servant].

_Bell._ The lowest fall can be but into hell;
It does not move him: I must therefore fly
From this undoing city, and with tears
Wash off all anger from my father’s brow: 210
He cannot sure but joy, seeing me new born.
A woman honest first, and then turn whore,
Is, as with me, common to thousands more; 213
But from a strumpet to turn chaste, that sound
Has oft been heard, that woman hardly found. _Exit._

SCENE [II].[2412]

_Enter_ FUSTIGO, CRAMBO, _and_ POLI.

_Fus._ Hold up your hands, gentlemen, here ’s one, two, three
[_giving money_]—nay, I warrant they are sound pistoles, and without
flaws; I had them of my sister and I know she uses to put [up]
nothing that’s crackt—four, five, (5) six, seven, eight, and nine;
by this hand bring me but a piece of his blood, and you shall have
nine more. I ’ll lurk in a tavern not far off, and provide supper to
close up the end of the tragedy. The linen-draper’s, remember. Stand
(10) to ’t, I beseech you, and play your parts perfectly.

_Cram._ Look you, signor, ’t is not your gold that we weigh—

_Fus._ Nay, nay, weigh it and spare not; if (15) it lack one grain of
corn, I ’ll give you a bushel of wheat to make it up.

_Cram._ But by your favour, signor, which of the servants is it?
because we ’ll punish justly.

_Fus._ Marry, ’t is the head man; you shall (20) taste him by his
tongue; a pretty, tall, prating fellow, with a Tuscalonian beard.

_Poli._ Tuscalonian? Very good.

_Fus._ God’s life, I was ne’er so thrummed since I was a gentleman.
My coxcomb was (25) dry beaten, as if my hair had been hemp.

_Cram._ We ’ll dry-beat some of them.

_Fus._ Nay, it grew so high, that my sister cried out murder, very
manfully. I have her consent, in a manner, to have him pepper’d; 30
else I ’ll not do ’t, to win more than ten cheaters do at a
rifling.[2413] Break but his pate, or so, only his mazer,[2414]
because I ’ll have his head in a cloth as well as mine; he ’s a
linen-draper, and may take enough. I could enter mine action 35
of battery against him, but we may perhaps be both dead and rotten
before the lawyers would end it.

_Cram._ No more to do, but ensconce yourself i’ th’ tavern; provide
no great cheer, a (40) couple of capons, some pheasants, plovers, an
orangeado[2415]—pie, or so: but how bloody howsoe’er the day be,
sally you not forth.

_Fus._ No, no; nay, if I stir, somebody shall stink. I ’ll not budge;
I ’ll lie like a dog in (45) a manger.

_Cram._ Well, well, to the tavern, let not our supper be raw, for you
shall have blood enough, your bellyful.

_Fus._ That ’s all, so God sa’ me, I thirst (50) after; blood for
blood, bump for bump, nose for nose, head for head, plaster for
plaster; and so farewell. What shall I call your names? because I ’ll
leave word, if any such come to the bar. 55

_Cram._ My name is Corporal Crambo.

_Poli._ And mine, Lieutenant Poli. _Exit._

_Cram._ Poli is as tall a man as ever opened oyster; I would not be
the devil to meet Poli. Farewell. 60

_Fus._ Nor I, by this light, if Poli be such a Poli. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.]

_Enter Candido’s wife_ [VIOLA] _in her shop, and the two_ Prentices.

_Vio._ What ’s a’clock now?

_2 Pren._ ’T is almost twelve.

_Vio._ That ’s well,
The Senate will leave wording presently:
But is George ready?

_2 Pren._ Yes, forsooth, he ’s furbisht.

_Vio._ Now, as you ever hope to win my favour,
Throw both your duties and respects on him 5
With the like awe as if he were your master;
Let not your looks betray it with a smile
Or jeering glance to any customer;
Keep a true settled countenance, and beware
You laugh not, whatsoe’er you hear or see. 10

_2 Pren._ I warrant you, mistress, let us alone for keeping our
countenance: for, if I list, there ’s ne’er a fool in all Milan shall
make me laugh, let him play the fool never so like an ass, whether it
be the fat court-fool, or the lean (15) city-fool.

_Vio._ Enough then, call down George.

_2 Pren._ I hear him coming.

_Enter_ GEORGE [_in_ CANDIDO’S _apparel_].

_Vio._ Be ready with your legs[2416] then; let me see
How courtesy would become him.—Gallantly!
Beshrew my blood, a proper seemly man. 20
Of a choice carriage, walks with a good port!

_Geo._ I thank you, mistress, my back ’s broad enough, now my
master’s gown ’s on.

_Vio._ Sure, I should think it were the least of sin,
To mistake the master, and to let him in. 25

_Geo._ ’T were a good Comedy of Errors that, i’ faith.

_2 Pren._ Whist, whist! my master.

_Enter_ CANDIDO, [_dressed as before in the carpet he stares at_ GEORGE,] _and exit presently_.

_Vio._ You all know your tasks.—God ’s my life, what ’s that he has
got on ’s back? Who can tell?

_Geo._ [_Aside._] That can I, but I will not. 30