Chapter XIV: Act II: Scene I

_A Street._[592]

_Enter_ FONTINELLE _from tennis, and_ TRUEPENNY.

FONT. Am I so happy then?
TRUE. Nay, sweet monsieur—
FONT. O, boy, thou hast new-wing’d my captiv’d soul!
Now to my fortune all the Fates may yield,
For I have won where first I lost the field.
TRUE. Why, sir, did my mistress prick you with the
Spanish needle[593] of her love, before I summoned you
from her to this parley?
FONT. Doubt’s[t] thou that, boy?
TRUE. Of mine honesty, I doubt extremely, for I cannot
see the little god’s tokens upon you: there is as much
difference between you and a lover, as between a cuckold
and a unicorn.
FONT. Why, boy?
TRUE. For you do not wear a pair of ruffled, frowning,
ungartered stockings, like a gallant that hides his
small-timbered legs with a quail-pipe boot:[594] your
hose stands upon too many points,[595] and are not
troubled with that falling sickness which follows pale,
meagre, miserable, melancholy lovers: your hands are not
groping continually—
FONT. Where, my little observer?
TRUE. In your greasy pocket, sir, like one that wants a
cloak for the rain, and yet is still weatherbeaten: your
hat nor head are not of the true heigh-ho block, for it
should be broad-brimmed, limber like the skin of a white
pudding when the meat is out, the facing fatty, the felt
dusty, and not entered into any band;[596] but your hat
is of the nature of a loose, light, heavy-swelling
wench, too strait-laced. I tell you, monsieur, a lover
should be all loose from the sole of the foot rising
upward, and from the bases or confines of the slop[597]
falling downwards. If you were in my mistress’s chamber,
you should find othergates[598] privy signs of love
hanging out there.
FONT. Have your little eyes watched so narrowly?
TRUE. O, sir, a page must have a cat’s eye, a spaniel’s
leg, a whore’s tongue (a little tasting of the
cog[599]), a catchpoll’s hand,—what he gripes is his
own; and a little, little bawdy.[600]
FONT. Fair Violetta, I will wear thy love,
Like this French order, near unto my heart.
_Via_[601] for fate! Fortune, lo, this is all,
At grief’s rebound I’ll mount, although I fall!

_Enter_ CAMILLO _and_ HIPPOLITO _from tennis_; DOYT
_and_ DANDYPRAT _with their cloaks and rapiers_.

CAM. Now, by Saint Mark, he’s a most treacherous
villain.
Dare the base Frenchman’s eye gaze on my love?
HIP. Nay, sweet rogue, why wouldst thou make his face a
vizard, to have two loopholes only? When he comes to a
good face, may he not do with his eyes what he will? ’S
foot, if I were as he, I’d pull them out, and if I
wist[602] they would anger thee.
CAM. Thou add’st heat to my rage. Away, stand back,
Dishonour’d slave, more treacherous than base!
This is the instance of my scorn’d disgrace.
FONT. Thou ill-advis’d Italian, whence proceeds
This sudden fury?
CAM. Villain, from thee.
HIP. Hercules, stand between them!
FONT. Villain? by my blood,
I am as free-born as your Venice duke!
Villain? Saint Denis and my life to boot,
Thy lips shall kiss this pavement or my foot.
HIP. Your foot, with a pox! I hope you’re no pope, sir:
his lips shall kiss my sister’s soft lip, and thine the
tough lips of this. Nay, sir, I do but shew you that I
have a tool. Do you hear, Saint Denis? but that we both
stand upon the narrow bridge of honour, I should cut
your throat now, for pure love you bear to my sister,
but that I know you would set out a throat.
CAM. Wilt thou not stab the peasant
That thus dishonours both thyself and me?
HIP. Saint Mark set his marks upon me then! Stab? I’ll
have my shins broken, ere I’ll scratch so much as the
skin off a’ the law of arms. Shall I make a Frenchman
cry O! before the fall of the leaf? not I, by the cross
of this Dandyprat.[603]
DANDY. If you will, sir, you shall coin me into a
shilling.
HIP. I shall lay too heavy a cross upon thee then.
CAM. Is this a time to jest? Boy, call my servants.
DOYT. Gentlemen, to the dresser![604]
CAM. You rogue, what dresser?

_Enter Servingmen._

Seize on Fontinelle,
And lodge him in a dungeon presently.
FONT. He steps upon his death that stirs a foot.
CAM. That shall I try: as in the field before
I made thee stoop, so here I’ll make thee bow.
FONT. Thou play’dst the soldier then, the villain now.
[CAMILLO _and his men set upon him, get him down,
disweapon him, and hold him fast_.
FONT. Treacherous Italians!
CAM. Hale him to a dungeon.—
There, if your thoughts can apprehend the form
Of Violetta, doat on her rare feature;
Or if your proud flesh, with a sparing diet,
Can still retain her swelling sprightfulness,
Then court, instead of her, the croaking vermin
That people that most solitary vault.
HIP. But, sirrah Camillo, wilt thou play the wise and
venerable bearded master-constable, and commit him
indeed, because he would be meddling in thy precinct,
and will not put off the cap of his love to the brown-
bill[605] of thy desires? Well, thou hast given the law
of arms a broken pate already; therefore, if thou wilt
needs turn broker,[606] and be a cut-throat too, do. For
my part, I’ll go get a sweet ball, and wash my hands of
it.
CAM. Away with him! my life shall answer it.
FONT. To prison must I then? Well, I will go,
And with a light-wing’d spirit insult o’er woe;
For in the darkest hell on earth I’ll find
Her fair idea to content my mind.
Yet France and Italy with blister’d tongue
Shall publish thy dishonour in my wrong.
O, now how happy wert thou, could’st thou lodge me
Where I could leave to love her!
CAM. By heaven, I can.
FONT. Thou canst? O, happy man!
This [is] a kind of new-invented law,
First feed the axe, after produce the saw.
Her heart no doubt will thy affections feel,
For thou’lt plead sighs in blood and tears in steel.
Boy, tell my love her love thus sighing spake,
I’ll vail[607] my crest to death for her dear sake.
[_Exit, guarded by the Servingmen._
CAM. Boy? what boy is that?
HIP. Is’t you, Sir Pandarus, the broking[608] knight of
Troy? Are your two legs the pair of tressels for the
Frenchman to get up upon my sister?
TRUE. By the Nine Worthies, worthy gallants, not I: I a
gentleman for conveyance? I Sir Pandarus? Would Troy,
then, were in my breeches, and I burnt worse than poor
Troy! Sweet signior, you know, I know, and all Venice
knows, that my mistress scorns double-dealing with her
heels.
HIP. With her heels? O, here’s a sure pocket dag![609]
and my sister shoots him off, snip-snap, at her
pleasure. Sirrah Mephostophilis,[610] did not you bring
letters from my sister to the Frenchman?
TRUE. Signior, no.
CAM. Did not you fetch him out of the tennis court?
TRUE. No, _point, par ma foi_: you see I have many
tongues speak for me.
HIP. Did not he follow your crackship[611] at a beck
given?
TRUE. _Ita_, true, certes, he spied, and I spitting
thus, went thus.
HIP. But were stayed thus.
TRUE. You hold a’ my side, and therefore I must needs
stick to you; ’tis true: I going, he followed, and
following fingered me, just as your worship does now;
but I struggled and straggled, and wriggled and
wraggled, and at last cried _vale, valete_, as I do now,
with this fragment of a rhyme,
My lady is grossly fall’n in love, and yet her waist is
slender;
Had I not slipt away, you would have made my buttocks
tender. [_Exit._

DANDY. Shall Doyt and I play the bloodhounds, and after
him?
CAM. No, let him run.
HIP. Not for this wager of my sister’s love; run! away,
Dandyprat, catch Truepenny, and hold him; thyself shall
pass more current.[612]
DANDY. I fly, sir; your Dandyprat is as light as a clipt
angel.[613] [_Exit._
HIP. Nay, God’s lid, after him, Camillo; reply not, but
away.
CAM. Content; you know where to meet. [_Exit._
HIP. For I know that the only way to win a wench is not
to woo her; the only way to have her fast is to have her
loose; the only way to triumph over her is to make her
fall; and the way to make her fall,—
DOYT. Is to throw her down.
HIP. Are you so cunning, sir?
DOYT. O Lord, sir, and have so perfect a master?
HIP. Well, sir, you know the gentlewoman that dwells in
the midst of Saint Mark’s Street?
DOYT. Midst of Saint Mark’s Street, sir?
HIP. A pox on you! the flea-bitten-faced lady.
DOYT. O, sir, the freckle-cheeke[d] Madonna; I know her,
signior, as well—
HIP. Not as I do, I hope, sir.
DOYT. No, sir, I’d be loath to have such inward
acquaintance with her as you have.
HIP. Well, sir, slip, go presently to her, and from me
deliver to her own white hands Fontinelle’s picture.
DOYT. Indeed, sir, she loves to have her chamber hung
with the pictures of men.
HIP. She does. I’ll keep my sister’s eyes and his
painted face asunder. Tell her, besides, the masque
holds, and this the night, and nine the hour: say we are
all for her: away.
DOYT. And she’s for you all, were you an army.
[_Exeunt severally._

SCENE II.

_A Room in_ IMPERIA’s _House_.

_Enter_ IMPERIA, _and_ TRIVIA _and_ SIMPERINA _with
perfumes_.

IMP. Fie, fie, fie, fie, by the light oath of my fan,
the weather is exceeding tedious and faint. Trivia,
Simperina, stir, stir, stir: one of you open the
casements, t’other take a ventoy[614] and gently cool
my face. Fie, I ha’ such an exceeding high colour, I
so sweat! Simperina, dost hear? prithee be more
compendious; why, Simperina!
SIMP. Here, madam.
IMP. Press down my ruff before. Away; fie, how thou
blowest upon me! thy breath, (God’s me!) thy breath,
fie, fie, fie, fie, it takes off all the painting and
colour from my cheek. In good faith, I care not if I go
and be sick presently: heigho, my head so aches with
carrying this bodkin! in troth I’ll try if I can be
sick.
TRIV. Nay, good sweet lady.
SIMP. You know a company of gallants will be here at
night: be not out of temper, sweet mistress.
IMP. In good troth, if I be not sick, I must be
melancholy then. This same gown never comes on but I am
so melancholy and so heart-burnt! ’tis a strange
garment: I warrant, Simperina, the foolish tailor that
made it was troubled with the stitch when he composed
it.
SIMP. That’s very likely, madam; but it makes you have,
O, a most incony[615] body!
IMP. No, no, no, no, by Saint Mark, the waist is not
long enough, for I love a long and tedious waist;
besides, I have a most ungodly middle in it; and, fie,
fie, fie, fie, it makes me bend i’ th’ back: O, let me
have some music!
SIMP. That’s not the fault in your gown, madam, but of
your bawdy. [_Music._
IMP. Fa, la, la, fa, la, la![616]—indeed, the bending of
the back is the fault of the body,—la, la, la, la! fa,
la, la! fa, la, la, la, la, la!
TRIV. O, rich!
SIMP. O, rare!
IMP. No, no, no, no, no; ’tis slight and common all
that I do. Prithee, Simperina, do not ingle[617] me;
do not flatter me, Trivia: I ha’ never a cast gown
till the next week. Fa, la, la, la, la, la, fa, la,
la, fa, la, la, &c.[618] This stirring to and fro has
done me much good. A song, I prithee. I love these
French movings: O, they are so clean! if you tread
them true, you shall hit them to a hair. Sing, sing,
sing; some odd and fantastical thing, for I cannot
abide these dull and lumpish tunes; the musician
stands longer a-pricking them than I would do to hear
them. No, no, no, give me your light ones, that go
nimbly and quick, and are full of changes, and carry
sweet division. Ho, prithee, sing! Stay, stay, stay;
here’s Hippolito’s sonnet; first read it, and then
sing it.

SONG,[619]
_By_ TRIVIA _and_ SIMPERINA.

First. _In a fair woman what thing is best?_
Second. _I think a coral lip._
First. _No, no, you jest;_
_She has a better thing._
Second. _Then ’tis a pretty eye._
First. _Yet ’tis a better thing,_
_Which more delight does bring._
Second. _Then ’tis a cherry cheek._
First. _No, no, you lie;_
_Were neither coral lip, nor cherry
cheek, nor pretty eyes,_[620]
_Were not her swelling breast stuck with
strawberries,_
_Nor had smooth hand, soft skin, white
neck, pure eye,_
_Yet she at this alone your love can
tie._
_It is, O, ’tis the only joy to men,_
_The only praise to women!_
[Second] _What is’t then?_
First. _This it is, O, this it is, and in a
woman’s middle it is plac’d,_
_In a most beauteous body, a heart most
chaste!_
_This is the jewel kings may buy;_
_If women sell this jewel, women lie._
[DOYT _knocks within_; FRISCO _answers within_.

FRIS. [_within_] Who, the pox, knocks?
DOYT. [_within_] One that will knock thy coxcomb, if he
do not enter.
FRIS. [_within_] If thou dost not enter, how canst thou
knock me?
DOYT. [_within_] Why then I’ll knock thee when I do
enter.
FRIS. [_within_] Why then thou shalt not enter, but
instead of me knock thy heels.
DOYT. [_within_] Frisco, I am Doyt, Hippolito’s page.
FRIS. [_within_] And I am Frisco, squire to a bawdy-
house.
DOYT. [_within_] I have a jewel to deliver to thy
mistress.
FRIS. [_within_] Is’t set with precious stones?
DOYT. [_within_] Thick, thick, thick.
FRIS. [_within_] Why, enter then, thick, thick, thick.
IMP. Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie, who makes that yawling at
door?

_Enter_ FRISCO, _and_ DOYT _with_ FONTINELLE’s
_picture_.

FRIS. Here’s signior Hippolito’s man (that shall be)
come to hang you.
IMP. Trivia, strip that villain; Simperina, pinch him,
slit his wide nose. Fie, fie, fie, I’ll have you gelded
for this lustiness.
FRIS. And[621] she threatens to geld me unless I be
lusty, what shall poor Frisco do?
IMP. Hang me?
FRIS. Not I; hang me if you will, and set up my quarters
too.
IMP. Hippolito’s boy come to hang me?
DOYT. To hang you with jewels, sweet and gentle; that’s
Frisco’s meaning, and that’s my coming.
IMP. Keep the door.
FRIS. That’s my office: indeed, I have been your door-
keeper so long, that all the hinges, the spring-locks,
and the ring, are worn to pieces. How if any body knock
at the door?
IMP. Let them enter. [_Exit_ FRISCO.] Fie, fie, fie,
fie, fie, his great tongue does so run through my little
ears! ’tis more harsh than a younger brother’s courting
of a gentlewoman, when he has no crowns. Boy!
DOYT. At your service.
IMP. My service? alas, alas, thou canst do me small
service! Did thy master send this painted gentleman to
me?
DOYT. This painted gentleman to you.
IMP. Well, I will hang his picture up by the walls, till
I see his face; and, when I see his face, I’ll take his
picture down. Hold it, Trivia.
TRIV. It’s most sweetly made.
IMP. Hang him up, Simperina.
SIMP. It’s a most sweet man.
IMP. And does the masque hold?—Let me see it again.
DOYT. If their vizards hold, here you shall see all
their blind cheeks: this is the night, nine the hour,
and I the jack[622] that gives warning.
SIMP. He gives warning, mistress; shall I set him out?
DOYT. You shall not need; I can set out myself.
[_Exit._
IMP. Flaxen hair, and short too; O, that’s the French
cut! but fie, fie, fie, these[623] flaxen-haired men are
such pulers, and such piddlers, and such chicken-hearts
(and yet great quarrellers), that when they court a lady
they are for the better part bound to the peace! No, no,
no, no; your black-haired man (so he be fair) is your
only sweet man, and in any service the most active. A
banquet, Trivia; quick, quick, quick.
TRIV. In a twinkling.—’Slid, my mistress cries like the
rod-woman,—quick, quick, quick, buy any rosemary and
bays? [_Aside and exit._
IMP. A little face, but a lovely face: fie, fie, fie, no
matter what face he make, so the other parts be
legitimate and go upright. Stir, stir, Simperina; be
doing, be doing quickly; move, move, move.
SIMP. Most incontinently.[624]—Move, move, move? O,
sweet! [_Aside and exit._
IMP. Heigho! as I live, I must love thee, and suck
kisses from thy lips. Alack, that women should fall thus
deeply in love with dumb things, that have no feeling!
but they are women’s crosses, and the only way to take
them is to take them patiently.

_Re-enter_ FRISCO, _and_ TRIVIA _and_ SIMPERINA _setting
out a banquet_.

Heigho! set music, Frisco!
FRIS. Music, if thou hast not a hard heart, speak to my
mistress. [_Music._
IMP. Say he scorn to marry me, yet he shall stand me in
some stead by being my Ganymede. If he be the most
decayed gallant in all Venice, I will myself undo myself
and my whole state, to set him up again. Though speaking
truth would save my life, I will lie to do him pleasure.
Yet to tell lies may hurt the soul: fie, no, no, no;
souls are things to be trodden under our feet when we
dance after love’s pipe. Therefore here, hang this
counterfeit[625] at my bed’s feet.
FRIS. If he be counterfeit, nail him up[626] upon one of
your posts. [_Exit with the picture._
IMP. By the moist hand of love, I swear I will be his
lottery, and he shall never draw but it shall be a
prize!

CURVETTO _knocks within_.

FRIS. [_within_] Who knocks?
CUR. [_within_] Why, ’tis I, knave.
FRIS. [_within_] Then, knave, knock there still.
CUR. [_within_] Wut[627] open door?
FRIS. [_within_] Yes, when I list I will.
CUR. [_within_] Here’s money.
FRIS. [_within_] Much![628]
CUR. [_within_] Here’s gold.
FRIS. [_within_] Away!
CUR. [_within_] Knave, open.
FRIS. [_within_] Call to our maids; good[629] night; we
are all aslopen.[630] [_Entering._

Mistress, if you have ever a pinnace to set out, you may
now have it manned and rigged; for signior Curvetto,—he
that cries, _I am, an old courtier, but lie close, lie
close_, when our maids swear he lies as wide as any
courtier in Italy—
IMP. Do we care how he lies?
[CURVETTO _knocks again within_.

FRIS. Anon, anon, anon!—this old hoary red deer serves
himself in at your keyhole.
CUR. [_within_] What, Frisco!
FRIS. Hark! shall he enter the breach?
IMP. Fie, fie, fie, I wonder what this gurnet’s head
makes here! Yet bring him in; he will serve for picking
meat. [_Exit_ FRISCO.] Let music play, for I will feign
myself to be asleep. [_Music._

_Re-enter_ FRISCO _with_ CURVETTO.

CUR. [_giving_ FRISCO _money_] Threepence, and here’s a
teston;[631] yet, take all;
Coming to jump, we must be prodigal:
Hem!
I’m[632] an old courtier, and I can lie close:
Put up, Frisco, put up, put up, put up.
FRIS. Any thing at your hands, sir, I will put up,
because you seldom pull out any thing.
SIMP. Softly, sweet signior Curvetto, for she’s fast.
CUR. Hah! fast? my roba[633] fast, and but young
night?
She’s wearied, wearied:—ah, ha, hit I right?
SIMP. How, sir, wearied? marry, foh!
FRIS. Wearied, sir? marry, muff![634]
CUR. No words here, mouse? no words, no words, sweet
rose?
I’m[635] an hoary courtier, and lie close, lie close.
Hem!
FRIS. An old hoary courtier? why, so has a jowl of ling
and a musty whiting been, time out of mind. Methinks,
signior, you should not be so old by your face.
CUR. I have a good heart, knave; and a good heart
Is a good face-maker; I’m[636] young, quick, brisk.
I was a reveller in a long stock,[637]
(There’s not a gallant now fills such a stock,)
Plump hose, pan’d,[638] stuft with hair (hair then was
held
The lightest stuffing), a fair cod-piece,—ho!
An eel-skin sleeve lasht here and there with lace,
High collar lasht again, breech lasht also,
A little simpering ruff, a dapper cloak
With Spanish-button’d cape, my rapier here,
Gloves like a burgomaster here, hat here
(Stuck with some ten-groat brooch), and over all
A goodly long thick Abram-colour’d[639] beard.
Ho God, ho God! thus did I revel it,
When Monsieur Motte lay here ambassador.[640]
But now those beards are gone, our chins are bare;
Our courtiers now do all against the hair.[641]
I can lie close and see this, but not see:
I’m[642] hoary, but not hoary as some be.
IMP. Heigho! who’s that? Signior Curvetto! by my
virginity—
CUR. Hem! no more.
Swear not so deep at these[643] years: men have eyes,
And though the most are fools, some fools are wise.
IMP. Fie, fie, fie: and[644] you meet me thus at half
weapon, one must down.
FRIS. She, for my life. [_Aside._
IMP. Somebody shall pay for’t.
FRIS. He, for my head. [_Aside._
IMP. Do not therefore come over me so with cross blows:
no, no, no, I shall be sick if my speech be stopt. By my
virginity I swear,—and why may not I swear by that I
have not, as well as poor musty soldiers do by their
honour, brides at four-and-twenty, ha, ha, ha! by their
maidenheads, citizens by their faith, and brokers as
they hope to be saved?—by my virginity I swear, I
dreamed that one brought me a goodly codshead, and in
one of the eyes there stuck, methought, the greatest
precious stone, the most sparkling diamond: O, fie, fie,
fie, fie, fie, that diamonds should make women such
fools!
CUR. A codshead and a diamond? ha, ha, ha!
’Tis common, common: you may dream as well
Of diamonds and of codsheads, where’s not one,
As swear by your virginity, where’s none.—
I am that codshead; she has spied my stone,
My diamond: noble wench, but nobler stone;[645]
I’m[646] an old courtier, and lie close, lie close.
[_Aside, and puts it up._

[_The cornets sound a lavolta, which the masquers are to
dance_: CAMILLO, HIPPOLITO, _and other gallants, every
one, save_ HIPPOLITO,[647] _with a lady masqued, and
zanies with torches,[648] enter suddenly_: CURVETTO
_offers to depart_.
IMP. No, no, no, if you shrink from me, I will not love
you: stay.
CUR. I am conjured, and will keep my circle.
[_They dance._
IMP. Fie, fie, fie, by the neat tongue of eloquence,
this measure is out of measure; ’tis too hot, too hot.
Gallants, be not ashamed to shew your own faces. Ladies,
unapparel your dear beauties. So, so, so, so: here is a
banquet; sit, sit, sit. Signior Curvetto, thrust in
among them. Soft music, there! do, do, do.
[_Music, while they seat themselves._
CUR. I will first salute the men, close with the women,
and last sit.
HIP. But not sit last: a banquet, and have these
suckets[649] here! O, I have a crew of angels[650]
prisoners in my pocket, and none but a good bale[651] of
dice can fetch them out.—Dice, ho!—Come, my little
lecherous baboon; by Saint Mark, you shall venture your
twenty crowns.
CUR. And have but one.
HIP. I swore first.
CUR. Right, you swore;
But oaths are now, like Blurt our constable,
Standing for nothing.—A mere plot, a trick:
The masque dogg’d me, I hit it in the nick;
A fetch to get my diamond, my dear stone:
I’m[652] a hoary courtier, but lie close, close, close.—
I’ll play, sir. [_Aside._
HIP. Come.
CUR. But in my t’other hose. [_Exit._
OMNES. Curvetto!
HIP. Let him go: I knew what hook would choke him, and
therefore baited that for him to nibble upon. An old
comb-pecked rascal, that was beaten out a’ th’ cock-pit,
when I could not stand a’ high lone[653] without I held
by a thing, to come crowing among us! Hang him, lobster.
Come, the same oath that your foreman took, take all,
and sing.

SONG.

_Love is like a lamb, and love is like a lion;
Fly from love, he fights, fight, then does he fly on;
Love is all in fire, and yet is ever freezing;
Love is much in winning, yet is more in leesing;[654]
Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying;
Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying;
Love does doat in liking, and is mad in loathing;
Love indeed is any thing, yet indeed is nothing._

_During the song_ LAZARILLO _enters_.[655]

LAZ. Mars armipotent with his court of guard, give
sharpness to my toledo! I am beleaguered. O Cupid, grant
that my blushing prove not a linstock, and give fire too
suddenly to the Roaring Meg[656] of my desires!—Most
sanguine-cheeked ladies—
HIP. ’S foot, how now, Don Diego?[657] sanguine-cheeked?
dost think their faces have been at cutler’s?[658] out,
you roaring, tawney-faced rascal! ’Twere a good deed to
beat my hilts about’s coxcomb, and then make him
sanguine-cheeked too.
CAM. Nay, good Hippolito.
IMP. Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie; though I hate his company,
I would not have my house to abuse his countenance; no,
no, no, be not so contagious: I will send him hence with
a flea in’s ear.
HIP. Do, or I’ll turn him into a flea, and make him skip
under some of your petticoats.
IMP. Signior Lazarillo.
LAZ. Most sweet face, you need not hang out your silken
tongue as a flag of truce, for I will drop at your feet
ere I draw blood in your chamber. Yet I shall hardly
drink up this wrong: for your sake I will wipe it out
for this time. I would deal with you in secret, so you
had a void room, about most deep and serious matters.
IMP. I’ll send these hence.—Fie, fie, fie, I am so
choked still with this man of gingerbread, and yet I can
never be rid of him! but hark, Hippolito.
[_Whispers_ HIPPOLITO.
HIP. Good; draw the curtains, put out candles; and,
girls, to bed.
[_Exeunt all but_ IMPERIA _and_ LAZARILLO.[659]
LAZ. Venus, give me suck from thine own most white and
tender dugs, that I may batten in love. Dear instrument
of many men’s delight, are all these women?
IMP. No, no, no, they are half men and half women.
LAZ. You apprehend too fast: I mean by women, wives; for
wives are no maids, nor are maids women. If those
unbearded gallants keep the doors of their wedlock,
those ladies spend their hours of pastime but ill, O
most rich armful of beauty! But if you can bring all
those females into one ring, into one private place, I
will read a lecture of discipline to their most great
and honourable ears, wherein I will teach them so to
carry their white bodies, either before their husbands
or before their lovers, that they shall never fear to
have milk thrown in their faces, nor I wine in mine,
when I come to sit upon them in courtesy.
IMP. That were excellent: I’ll have them all here at
your pleasure.
LAZ. I will shew them all the tricks and garbs of
Spanish dames; I will study for apt and [e]legant phrase
to tickle them with; and when my devise is ready, I will
come. Will you inspire into your most divine spirits the
most divine soul of tobacco?
IMP. No, no, no; fie, fie, fie, I should be choked up,
if your pipe should kiss my underlip.
LAZ. Henceforth, most deep stamp of feminine perfection,
my pipe shall not be drawn before you but in secret.

_Re-enter_ HIPPOLITO _and the rest of the Masquers, as before,
dancing_: HIPPOLITO _takes_ IMPERIA; _and then exeunt all
except_ LAZARILLO.

LAZ. Lament my case, since thou canst not provoke
Her nose to smell, love fill thine own with smoke.[660]
[_Exit._