Chapter XIII: Act I: Scene I

_A Room in_ CAMILLO’S _House_; _a Banquet set out_.

_Enter_ CAMILLO, HIPPOLITO, BAPTISTA, BENTIVOGLIO,
_and_ VIRGILIO (_with gloves in their hats, as
having lately returned from war_), _leading in_
VIOLETTA _and other Ladles_: DOYT _and_ DANDYPRAT
_attending_.

HIP. Ay, marry, sir, the only rising up in arms is in
the arms of a woman: peace, I say still, is your only
paradise, when every Adam may have his Christmas Eve.
And[551] you take me lying any more by the cold sides of
a brazen-face[d] field-piece, unless I have such a down
pillow under me, I’ll give you leave to knock up both my
golls[552] in my father’s hall, and hang hats upon these
tenpenny nails.
VIOL. And yet, brother, when, with the sharpest hooks of
my wit, I laboured to pull you from the wars, you broke
loose, like a horse that knew his own strength, and
vowed nothing but a man of war should back you——
HIP. I have been backed since, and almost unbacked too.
VIOL. And swore that honour was never dyed in grain till
it was dipt in the colours of the field.
HIP. I am a new man, sister, and now cry a pox a’ that
honour that must have none but barber-surgeons to wait
upon’t, and a band of poor straggling rascals, that,
every twinkling of an eye, forfeit their legs and arms
into the Lord’s hands! Wenches, by Mars his sweaty buff-
jerkin (for now all my oaths must smell a’ the soldado),
I have seen more men’s heads spurned up and down like
foot-balls at a breakfast, after the hungry cannons had
picked them, than are maidenheads in Venice, and more
legs of men served in at a dinner than ever I shall see
legs of capons in one platter whilst I live.
FIRST LADY. Perhaps all those were capons’ legs you did
see.
VIRG. Nay, mistress, I’ll witness against you for some
of them.
VIOL. I do not think, for all this, that my brother
stood to it so lustily as he makes his brags for.
THIRD LADY. No, no, these great talkers are never great
doers.
VIOL. Faith, brother, how many did you kill for your
share?
HIP. Not so many as thou hast done with that villanous
eye by a thousand.
VIOL. I thought so much; that’s just none.
CAM. ’Tis not a soldier’s glory to tell how many
lives he has ended, but how many he has saved: in
both which honours the noble Hippolito had most
excellent possession. Believe it, my fair mistress,
though many men in a battle have done more, your
brother in this equalled him who did most. He went
from you a worthy gentleman; he brings with him that
title that makes a gentleman most worthy, the name
of a soldier; which how well and how soon he hath
earned, would in me seem glorious to rehearse, in
you to hear; but, because his own ear dwells so near
my voice, I will play the ill neighbour, and cease
to speak well of him.
VIOL. An argument that either you dare not or love not
to flatter.
CAM. No more than I dare or love to do wrong; yet to
make a chronicle of my friend’s nobly-acted deeds, would
stand as far from flattery in me, as cowardice did from
him.
HIP. ’S foot, if all the wit in this company have
nothing to set itself about but to run division upon me,
why then e’en burn off mine ears indeed. But, my little
mermaids, Signior Camillo does this that I now might
describe the Ninevitical motion[553] of the whole
battle, and so tell what he has done;—and come, shall I
begin?
FIRST LADY. O, for beauty’s love, a good motion!
HIP. But I can tell you one thing, I shall make your
hair stand up an end at some things.
VIOL. Prithee, good brother soldier, keep the peace: our
hair stand an end! pity a’ my heart, the next end would
be of our wits. We hang out a white flag, most terrible
Tamburlain,[554] and beg mercy. Come, come, let us
neither have your Ninevitical motions, nor your
swaggering battles. Why, my lord Camillo, you invited me
hither to a banquet, not to the ballad of a pitched
field.
CAM. And here it stands, bright mistress, sweetly
attending what doom your lips will lay upon it.
VIOL. Ay, marry, sir, let our teeth describe this
motion.
SECOND LADY. We shall never describe it well for
fumbling i’ th’ mouth.
HIP. Yes, yes, I have a trick to make us understand one
another, and[555] we fumble never so.
VIOL. Meddle not with his tricks, sweetheart. Under
pardon, my lord, though I am your guest, I’ll bestow
myself. Sit, dear beauties: for the men, let them take
up places themselves. I prithee, brother fighter, sit,
and talk of any subject but this jangling law at arms.
[_They seat themselves._
HIP. The law at legs then.
VIOL. Will you be so lusty? no, nor legs neither; we’ll
have them tied up too. Since you are among ladies,
gallants, handle those things only that are fit for
ladies.
HIP. Agreed, so that we go not out of the compass of
those things that are fit for lords.
VIOL. Be’t so: what’s the theme then?
FIRST LADY. Beauty; that fits us best.
CAM. And of beauty what tongue would not speak the best,
since it is the jewel that hangs upon the brow of
heaven, the best colour that can be laid upon the cheek
of earth? Beauty makes men gods immortal, by making
mortal men to live ever in love.
SECOND LADY. Ever? not so: I have heard that some men
have died for love.
VIOL. So have I, but I could never see’t. I’d ride forty
miles to follow such a fellow to church; and would make
more of a sprig of rosemary at his burial, than of a
gilded bride-branch at mine own wedding.[556]
CAM. Take you such delight in men that die for love?
VIOL. Not in the men, nor in the death, but in the deed.
Troth, I think he is not a sound man that will die for a
woman; and yet I would never love a man soundly, that
would not knock at death’s door for my love.
HIP. I’d knock as long as I thought good, but have my
brains knocked out when I entered, if I were he.
CAM. What Venetian gentleman was there, that having this
in his burgonet[557] did not (to prove his head worthy
of the honour) do more than defy death to the very face?
Trust us, ladies, our signiory stands bound in greater
sums of thanks to your beauties for victory, than to our
valour. My dear Violetta, one kiss to this picture of
your whitest hand, when I was even faint with giving and
receiving the dole of war, set a new edge on my sword,
insomuch that
I singl’d out a gallant spirit of France,
And charg’d him with my lance in full career;
And after rich exchange of noble courage,
(The space of a good hour on either side),
At last crying, Now for Violetta’s honour!
I vanquish’d him, and him dismounted took,
Not to myself, but prisoner to my love.
VIOL. I have heard much praise of that French gallant:
good my lord, bring him acquainted with our eyes.
CAM. I will.—Go, boy, fetch noble Fontinelle.
[_Exit_ DANDYPRAT.
HIP. Will your French prisoner drink well, or else cut
his throat?
CAM. O, no! he cannot brook it.
HIP. The pox he can[not]! ’S light, methinks a Frenchman
should have a good courage to wine, for many of them be
exceeding hot fiery whoresons, and resolute as Hector,
and as valiant as Troilus; then come off and on bravely,
and lie by it, and sweat for’t too, upon a good and a
military advantage.
CAM. Prithee, have done; here comes the prisoner.

_Enter_ FONTINELLE _and_ DANDYPRAT.

VIOL. My Lord Camillo, is this the gentleman
Whose valour by your valour is subdued?
CAM. It is, fair lady; and I yield him up
To be your beauty’s worthy prisoner.
Lord Fontinelle, think your captivity
Happy in this; she that hath conquer’d me
Receives my conquest as my love’s fair fee.
VIOL. Fair stranger, droop not, since the chance of
wars
Brings to the soldier death, restraint, or scars.
FONT. Lady, I know the fortune of the field
Is death with honour, or with shame to yield,
As I have done.
VIOL. In that no scandal lies:
Who dies when he may live, he doubly dies.
FONT. My reputation’s lost.
VIOL. Nay, that’s not so;
You fled[558] not, but were vanquish’d by your foe:
The eye of war respects not you nor him;
It is our fate will have us lose or win:
You will disdain if I you prisoner call?
FONT. No, but rejoice since I am beauty’s thrall.
HIP. Enough of this; come, wenches, shake your heels.
CAM. Music, advance thee on thy golden wing,
And dance division from sweet string to string.
FONT. Camillo, I shall curb[559] thy tyranny,
In making me that lady’s prisoner:
She has an angel’s body, but within’t
Her coy heart says there lies a heart of flint.
[_Music for a measure:[560] whilst_ FONTINELLE
_speaks, they dance a strain_.
Such beauty be my jailor! a heavenly hell!
The darkest dungeon which spite can devise
To throw this carcass in, her glorious eyes
Can make as lightsome as the fairest chamber
In Paris Louvre. Come, captivity,
And chain me to her looks! How am I tost,
Being twice in mind, as twice in body lost!
[_Here_ VIOLETTA _on a sudden breaks off; the
rest stand talking_.
CAM. Not the measure out, fair mistress?
VIOL. No, fair servant, not the measure out: I have, on
the sudden, a foolish desire to be out of the measure.
CAM. What breeds that desire?
VIOL. Nay, I hope it is no breeding matter. Tush, tush,
by my maidenhead, I will not: the music likes[561] me
not, and I have a shoe wrings me to th’ heart; besides,
I have a woman’s reason, I will not dance, because I
will not dance. Prithee, dear hero, take my prisoner
there into the measure: fie, I cannot abide to see a man
sad nor idle. I’ll be out once, as the music is in mine
ear.
FONT. Lady, bid him[562] whose heart no sorrow feels
Tickle the rushes with his wanton heels:
I’ve[563] too much lead at mine.
FIRST LADY. I’ll make it light.
FONT. How?
FIRST LADY. By a nimble dance.
FONT. You hit it right.
FIRST LADY. Your keeper bids you dance.
FONT. Then I obey:
My heart I feel grows light, it melts away.
[_They dance_; VIOLETTA _stands by
marking_ FONTINELLE.
VIOL. In troth, a very pretty Frenchman: the carriage of
his body likes[564] me well; so does his footing; so
does his face; so does his eye above his face; so does
himself, above all that can be above himself.
Camillo, thou hast play’d a foolish part:
Thy prisoner makes a slave of thy love’s heart.
Shall Camillo then sing Willow, willow, willow?[565]
not for the world. No, no, my French prisoner; I will
use thee Cupid knows how, and teach thee to fall into
the hands of a woman. If I do not feed thee with fair
looks, ne’er let me live; if thou get’st out of my
fingers till I have thy very heart, ne’er let me love;
nothing but thy life shall serve my turn; and how
otherwise I’ll plague thee, monsieur, you and I’ll deal:
only this, because I’ll be sure he shall not start, I’ll
lock him in a little low room besides[566] himself,
where his wanton eye shall see neither sun nor moon. So,
the dance is done, and my heart has done her worst,—made
me in love. Farewell, my lord; I have much haste, you
have many thanks; I am angered a little, but am greatly
pleased. If you wonder that I take this strange leave,
excuse it thus, that women are strange fools, and will
take any thing. [_Exit._
HIP. Tricks, tricks; kerry merry buff! How now, lad, in
a trance?
CAM. Strange farewell! After, dear Hippolito.
O, what a maze is love of joy and woe!
[_Exeunt_ CAMILLO _and_ HIPPOLITO.
FONT. Strange frenzy! After, wretched Fontinelle.
O, what a heaven is love! O, what a hell!
[_Exit; and then exeunt_ LADIES, BAPTISTA, _&c._

SCENE II.

_A Street: before_ BLURT’s _House_.

_Enter_ LAZARILLO _melancholy, and_ PILCHER.

LAZ. Boy, I am melancholy, because I burn.
PILCH. And I am melancholy, because I am a-cold.
LAZ. I pine away with the desire of flesh.
PILCH. It’s neither flesh nor fish that I pine for, but
for both.
LAZ. Pilcher, Cupid hath got me a stomach, and I long
for laced mutton.[567]
PILCH. Plain mutton, without a lace, would serve me.
LAZ. For as your tame monkey is your only best, and most
only beast to your Spanish lady; or, as your tobacco is
your only smoker away of rheum, and all other rheumatic
diseases; or, as your Irish louse does bite most
naturally fourteen weeks after the change of your
saffron-seamed shirt; or, as the commodities which are
sent out of the Low Countries, and put in vessels called
mother Cornelius’ dry-fats[568], are most common in
France; so it pleaseth the Destinies that I should
thirst to drink out of a most sweet Italian vessel,
being a Spaniard.
PILCH. What vessel is that, signior?
LAZ. A woman, Pilcher, the moist-handed Madonna Imperia,
a most rare and divine creature.
PILCH. A most rascally damned courtesan.
LAZ. Boy, hast thou foraged the country for a new
lodging? for I have sworn to lay my bones in this
chitty[569] of Venice.
PILCH. Any man that sees us will swear that we shall
both lay our bones, and nothing but bones, and[570] we
stalk here longer. They tell me, signior, I must go to
the constable, and he is to see you lodged.

LAZ. Inquire for that busy member of the chitty.[571]

_Enter_ DOYT _and_ DANDYPRAT, _passing over the stage_.

PILCH. I will; and here come a leash of informers. Save
you, plump youths.
DANDY. And thee, my lean stripling.
PILCH. Which is the constable’s house?
DOYT. That at the sign of the Brown-bill.[572]
PILCH. Farewell.
DANDY. Why, and farewell? The rogue’s made of pie-crust,
he’s so short.
PILCH. The officious gentleman inherits here.
LAZ. Knock, or enter, and let thy voice pull him out by
the ears.

[PILCHER _knocks at the constable’s door_.

DOYT. ’Slid, Dandyprat, this is the Spanish curtal[573]
that in the last battle fled twenty miles ere he looked
behind him.
DANDY. Doyt, he did the wiser: but, sirrah, this block
shall be a rare threshold for us to whet our wits upon.
Come, let’s about our business; and if here we find him
at our return, he shall find[574] us this month in
knavery. [_Exit with_ DOYT.
PILCH. What, ho! Nobody speaks? Where dwells the
constable?

_Enter from the house_ BLURT _and_ SLUBBER.

BLURT. Here dwells the constable.—Call assistance, give
them my full charge[575] raise, if you see cause.—Now,
sir, what are you, sir?
PILCH. Follower to that Spanish-leather gentleman.
BLURT. And what are you, sir, that cry out upon me?—Look
to his tools.—What are you, sir? speak, what are you? I
charge you, what are you?
LAZ. Most clear Mirror of Magistrates,[576] I am a
servitor to god Mars.
BLURT. For your serving of God I am not to meddle: why
do you raise me?
LAZ. I desire to have a wide room in your favour: sweet
blood, cast away your name upon me; for I neither know
you by your face nor by your voice.
BLURT. It may be so, sir: I have two voices in any
company; one as I am master-constable, another as I am
Blurt, and the third as I am Blurt master-constable.
LAZ. I understand you are a mighty pillar or post in the
chitty.[577]
BLURT. I am a poor post, but not to stand at every man’s
door, without my bench of bill-men.[578] I am (for a
better) the duke’s own image, and charge you, in his
name, to obey me.
LAZ. I do so.
BLURT. I am to stand, sir, in any bawdy-house, or sink
of wickedness. I am the duke’s own grace, and in any
fray or resurrection am to bestir my stumps as well as
he. I charge you, know this staff.
SLUB. Turn the arms to him.
BLURT. Upon this may I lean, and no man say black’s mine
eye.
LAZ. Whosoever says you have a black eye, is a
camooch.[579] Most great Blurt, I do unpent-house the
roof of my carcass,[580] and touch the knee of thy
office, in Spanish compliment. I desire to sojourn in
your chitty.[581]
BLURT. Sir, sir, for fault of a better, I am to charge
you not to keep a soldiering in our city without a
precept[239.10]: besides, by my office, I am to search
and examine you. Have you the duke’s hand to pass?
LAZ. Signior, no; I have the general’s hand at large,
and all his fingers.
BLURT. Except it be for the general good of the
commonwealth, the general cannot lead you up and down
our city.
LAZ. I have the general’s hand to pass through the world
at my pleasure.
BLURT. At your pleasure! that’s rare. Then, rowly,
powly, our wives shall lie at your command. Your general
has no such authority in my precinct; and therefore I
charge you pass no further.
LAZ. I tell thee I will pass through the world, thou
little morsel of justice, and eat twenty such as thou
art.
BLURT. Sir, sir, you shall find Venice out of the world:
I’ll tickle you for that.
LAZ. I will pass through the world, as Alexander Magnus
did, to conquer.
BLURT. As Alexander of Saint Magnus did! that’s another
matter: you might have informed this at the first, and
you never needed to have come to your answer. Let me see
your pass: if it be not the duke’s hand, I’ll tickle you
for all this: quickly, I pray; this staff is to walk in
other places.
LAZ. There it is.
BLURT. Slubber, read it over.
LAZ. Read it yourself. What besonian[582] is that?
BLURT. This is my clerk, sir; he has been clerk to a
good many bonds and bills[583] of mine. I keep him only
to read, for I cannot; my office will not let me.
PILCH. Why do you put on your spectacles then?
BLURT. To see that he read right. How now, Slubber? is’t
the duke’s hand? I’ll tickle him else.
SLUB. Mass, ’tis not like his hand.
BLURT. Look well; the duke has a wart on the back of his
hand.
SLUB. Here’s none, on my word, master-constable, but a
little blot.
BLURT. Blot! let’s see, let’s see. Ho, that stands for
the wart; do you see the trick of that? Stay, stay; is
there not a little prick in the hand? for the duke’s
hand had a prick in’t, when I was with him, with opening
oysters.
SLUB. Yes, mass, here’s one; besides, ’tis a goodly
great long hand.
BLURT. So has the duke a goodly huge hand; I have shook
him by it (God forgive me!) ten thousand times. He must
pass, like Alexander of Saint Magnus.—Well, sir,—’tis
your duty to stand bare,—the duke has sent his fist to
me, and I were a Jew if I should shrink for it. I obey;
you must pass: but, pray, take heed with what dice you
pass; I mean, what company; for Satan is most busy where
he finds one like himself. Your name, sir?
LAZ. Lazarillo de Tormes in Castile, cousin-german to
the adelantado[584] of Spain.
BLURT. Are you so, sir? God’s blessing on your heart!
Your name again, sir, if it be not too tedious for you?
LAZ. Lazarillo de Tormes in Castile, cousin-german to
the Spanish adelantado.
SLUB. I warrant, he’s a great man in his own country.
BLURT. Has a good name: Slubber, set it down: write,
Lazarus in torment at the Castle, and a cozening German
at the sign of the Falantido-diddle in Spain. So, sir,
you are ingrost: you must give my officer a groat; it’s
nothing to me, signior.
LAZ. I will cancel when it comes to a sum.
BLURT. Well, sir, well, he shall give you an item
for’t.—Make a bill, and he’ll tear it, he says.
LAZ. Most admirable Blurt, I am a man of war, and
profess fighting.
BLURT. I charge you, in the duke’s name, keep the peace.
LAZ. By your sweet favour, most dear Blurt, you charge
too fast: I am a hanger-on upon Mars, and have a few
crowns.
PILCH. Two; his own and mine. [_Aside._
LAZ. And desire you to point out a fair lodging for me
and my train.
BLURT.’Tis my office, signior, to take men up a’ nights;
but, if you will, my maids shall take you up a’
mornings. Since you profess fighting, I will commit you,
signior, to mine own house. But will you pitch and
pay,[585] or will your worship run—
LAZ. I scorn to run from the face of Thamer Cham.[586]
BLURT. Then, sir, you mean not to run?
LAZ. Signior, no.
BLURT. Bear witness, Slubber, that his answer is,
Signior, no: so now, if he runs upon the score, I have
him straight upon Signior, no. This is my house,
signior; enter.
LAZ. March, excellent Blurt. Attend, Pilcher.
[_Exeunt_ LAZARILLO, BLURT, _and_ SLUBBER.

_Enter_ DOYT _and_ DANDYPRAT.

PILCH. Upon your trencher, signior, most hungerly.
DOYT. Now, sirrah, where’s thy master?
PILCH. The constable has prest him.
DOYT. What, for a soldier?
PILCH. Ay, for a soldier; but ere he’ll go, I think,
indeed, he and I together shall press the constable.
DANDY. No matter; squeeze him, and leave no more liquor
in him than in a dried neat’s tongue. Sirrah thin-gut,
what’s thy name?
PILCH. My name, you chops! why, I am of the blood of the
Pilchers.
DANDY. Nay, ’s foot, if one should kill thee, he could
not be banged for’t, for he would shed no blood; there’s
none in thee. Pilcher! thou’rt a most pitiful dried
one.[587]
DOYT. I wonder thy master does not slice thee, and
swallow thee for an anchovies.
PILCH. He wants wine, boy, to swallow me down, for he
wants money to swallow down wine. But farewell; I must
dog my master.
DANDY. As long as thou dogst a Spaniard, thou’lt ne’er
be fatter: but stay; our haste is as great as thine;
yet, to endear ourselves into thy lean acquaintance,
cry, rivo[588] hoh! laugh and be fat; and for joy that
we are met, we’ll meet and be merry. Sing.
PILCH. I’ll make a shift to squeak.
DOYT. And I.
DANDY. And I, for my profession is to shift[589] as well
as you: hem!

SONG.[590]

DOYT. _What meat eats the Spaniard?_
PILCH. _Dried pitchers and poor-john._[591]
DANDY. _Alas, thou art almost marr’d!_
PILCH. _My cheeks are fall’n and gone._
DOYT. _Wouldst thou not leap at a piece of meat?_
PILCH. _O, how my teeth do water! I could eat:
’Fore the heavens, my flesh is almost gone
With eating of pilcher and poor-john._
[_Exeunt._