Chapter XVIII: Act I: Scene I

_A Room in_ BRANDINO’S _House_.[578]

MARTINO _seated at a writing-table: enter_ FRANCISCO.

FRAN. Martino!
MAR. Signor Francisco? you’re the luckiest gentleman to
meet or see first in a morning: I never saw you yet but
I was sure of money within less than half an hour.
FRAN. I bring you the same luck still.
MAR. What, you do not? I hope, sir, you are not come for
another warrant?
FRAN. Yes, faith, for another warrant.
MAR. Why, there’s my dream come out then. I never
dreamed of a buttock but I was sure to have money for a
warrant; it is the luckiest part of all the body to me:
let every man speak as he finds. Now your usurer is of
opinion, that to dream of the devil is your wealthier
dream; and I think if a man dream of that part that
brings many to the devil, ’tis as good, and has all one
smatch indeed, for if one be the flesh, th’ other’s the
broth: so ’tis in all his members, and[579] we mark it;
if gluttony be the meat, lechery is the porridge;
they’re both boiled together, and we clerks will have
our modicum too, though it conclude in the twopenny
chop.
Why, sir, signor Francisco!
FRAN. 'Twas her voice sure,
Or my soul takes delight to think it was,
And makes a sound like her’s. [_Aside._
MAR. Sir, I beseech you——
FRAN. It is the prettiest-contriv’d building this!
What posy’s[580] that, I prithee?
MAR. Which, sir? that
Under the great brass squirt?
FRAN. Ay, that, sir, that.
MAR. _From fire, from water, and all things amiss,
Deliver the house of an honest justice._
FRAN. There’s like to be a good house kept then when
fire and water’s forbidden to come into the kitchen.—

Not yet a sight of her! this hour’s unfortunate.—
[_Aside._
And what’s that yonder, prithee?—O love’s famine,
There’s no affliction like thee! [_Aside._]—Ay, I hear
you, sir.
MAR. You’re quicker-ear’d than I then; you hear me
Before I heard myself.
FRAN. A gift in friendship;
Some call it an instinct.
MAR. It may be;
th’ other’s the sweeter phrase though. Look you, sir,
Mine own wit this, and ’tis as true as turtle;
_A goose-quill and a clerk, a constable and a lantern,_
_Bring[581] many a bawd from coach to cart, and many a
thief to one turn._
FRAN. That one turn help’d you well.
MAR. 'T has helped me to money indeed for many a
warrant. I am forty dollars the better for that one
turn; and[582] 'twould come off quicker, 'twere ne’er a
whit the worse for me. But indeed, when thieves are
taken, and break away twice or thrice one after another,
there’s my gains; then go[583] out more warrants to
fetch 'em again. One fine nimble villain may be worth a
man ten dollars in and out a’ that fashion: I love such
a one with my heart; ay, and will help him to ’scape
too, and[582] I can: hear you me that: I’ll have him in
at all times at a month’s warning; nay, say I let him
run like a summer nag all the vacation—see you these
blanks? I’ll send him but one of these bridles, and
bring him in at Michaelmas with a vengeance. Nothing
kills my heart but when one of 'em dies, sir; then
there’s no hope of more money: I had rather lose at all
times two of my best kindred than an excellent thief,
for he’s a gentleman I’m more beholding[584] to.
FRAN. You betray your mystery too much, sir.—Yet no
comfort?
’Tis but her sight that I waste precious time for,
For more I cannot hope for, she’s so strict;
Yet that I cannot have. [_Aside._
MAR. I’m ready now, signor. Here are blank warrants of
all dispositions; give me but the name and nature of
your malefactor, and I’ll bestow him according to his
merits.
FRAN. This only is th’ excuse that bears me out,
And keeps off impudence and suspicion
From my too frequent coming. What name now
Shall I think on, and not to wrong the house?
This coxcomb will be prating. [_Aside._]—One
Astilio,[585]
His offence wilful murder.
MAR. Wilful murder? O, I love a’ life[586] to have such
a fellow come under my fingers! like a beggar that’s
long a-taking leave of a fat louse, I’m loath to part
with him; I must look upon him over and over first. Are
you wilful? i’faith, I’ll be as wilful as you then.
[_Writes._
[PHILIPPA _and_ VIOLETTA _appear above at
a window_.
PHIL. Martino!
MAR. Mistress?
PHIL. Make haste, your master’s going.
MAR. I’m but about a wilful murder, forsooth;
I’ll despatch that presently.
PHIL. Good morrow, sir.—O that I durst say more!
[_Aside, and exit above with_ VIOLETTA.
FRAN. ’Tis gone again: since such are all life’s
pleasures,
No sooner known but lost, he that enjoys 'em
The length of life has but a longer dream,
He wakes to this i’ th’ end, and sees all nothing.
[PHILIPPA _and_ VIOLETTA _appear again above_.

PHIL. He cannot see me now; I’ll mark him better
Before I be too rash. Sweetly compos’d he is;
Now as he stands he’s worth a woman’s love
That loves only for shape, as most on ’s do:
But I must have him wise as well as proper,[587]
He comes not in my books else;[588] and indeed
I’ve thought upon a course to try his wit.
Violetta.
VIO. Mistress?
PHIL. Yonder’s the gentleman again.
VIO. O sweet mistress,
Pray give me leave to see him!
PHIL. Nay, take heed,
Open not the window, and[589] you love me.
VIO. No, I’ve the view of [his] whole body here,
mistress,
At this poor little slit: O, enough, enough!
In troth, ’tis a fine outside.
PHIL. I see that.
VIO. Has curl’d his hair most judiciously well.
PHIL. Ay, there’s thy love now! it begins in barbarism.
She buys a goose with feathers that loves a gentleman
for’s hair; she may be cozened to her face, wench. Away:
he takes his leave. Reach me that letter hither; quick,
quick, wench.
[VIOLETTA _brings a letter, which_ PHILIPPA
_presently throws down_.
MAR. [_giving warrant to_ FRANCISCO] Nay, look upon’t,
and spare not: every one cannot get that kind of warrant
from me, signor. Do you see this prick i’ th’ bottom? it
betokens power and speed; it is a privy mark that runs
betwixt the constables and my master: those that cannot
read, when they see this, know ’tis for lechery or
murder; and this being away, the warrant comes gelded
and insufficient.
FRAN. I thank you, sir.
MAR. Look you; all these are _nihils_;
They want the punction.
FRAN. Yes, I see they do, sir.
There’s for thy pains [_giving money_]:—mine must go
unrewarded:
The better love, the worse by fate regarded.
[_Aside, and exit._[590]
MAR. Well, go thy ways for the sweetest customer
that ever penman was blest withal! Now
will he come for another to-morrow again: if he
hold on this course, he will leave never a knave
i’ th’ town within this twelvemonth: no matter, I
shall be rich enough by that time.
PHIL. Martino!
MAR. Say you, forsooth?
PHIL. What paper’s that the gentleman let fall there?
MAR. Paper?—’Tis the warrant, I hope: if it be, I’ll
hide it, and make him pay for’t again. No, pox; ’tis not
so happy. [_Aside._
PHIL. What is’t, sirrah?
MAR. ’Tis nothing but a letter, forsooth.
PHIL. Is that nothing?
MAR. Nothing in respect of a warrant, mistress.
PHIL. A letter? why, 't has been many a man’s undoing,
sir.
MAR. So has a warrant, and[591] you go to that,
mistress.
PHIL. Read but the superscription, and away with’t.
Alas, it may concern the gentleman nearly!
MAR. Why, mistress, this letter is at home already.
PHIL. At home? how mean you, sir?
MAR. You shall hear, mistress [_reads_]:—_To the
deservingest of all her sex, and most worthy of his best
respect and love, mistress Philippa Brandino._
PHIL. How, sir, to me?
MAR. To you, mistress.
PHIL. Run, as thou lov’st my honour and thy life,
Call him again; I’ll not endure this injury:—
But stay, stay, now I think on’t, ’tis my credit,
I’ll have your master’s counsel. Ah, base fellow,
To leave his loose lines thus! ’tis even as much
As a poor honest gentlewoman’s undoing,
Had I not a grave wise man to my husband:
And thou a vigilant varlet to admit
Thou car’st not whom!
MAR. 'Las, ’tis my office, mistress!
You know you have a kirtle every year,
And ’tis within two months of the time now;
The velvet’s coming over: pray be milder.

A man that has a place must take money of any body:
please you to throw me down but half a dollar, and I’ll
make you a warrant for him now; that’s all I care for
him.
PHIL. Well, look you be clear now from this foul
conspiracy
Against mine honour; or your master’s love to you,
That makes you stout, shall not maintain you here;
It shall not, trust to’t.
[_Exit above, with_ VIOLETTA.
MAR. This is strange to me now:
Dare she do this, and but eight weeks to new-year’s
tide?
A man that had his blood as hot as her’s now
Would fit her with French velvet: I’ll go near it.

_Enter_ BRANDINO _and_ PHILIPPA.

PHIL. If this be a wrong to modest reputation,
Be you the censurer, sir, that are the master
Both of your fame and mine.
BRAN. Signor Francisco!
I’ll make him fly the land.
MAR. That will be hard, sir:
I think he be not so well-feather’d, master;
Has spent the best part of his patrimony.
PHIL. Hark of his bold confederate!
BRAN. There thou’rt bitter;
And I must chide thee now.
PHIL. What should I think, sir?
He comes to your man for warrants.
BRAN. There it goes then.—
Come hither, knave: comes he to you for warrants?
MAR. Why, what of that, sir?
You know I give no warrants to make cuckolds:
That comes by fortune and by nature, sir.
BRAN. True, that comes by fortune and by nature.—Wife,
Why dost thou wrong this man?
MAR. He needs no warrant, master, that goes about such
business: a cuckold-maker carries always his warrant
about him.
BRAN. La, has he answer’d well now, to the full?
What cause hast thou t’ abuse him?
PHIL. Hear me out, I pray:
Through his admittance, has had opportunity[592]
To come into the house, and court me boldly.
BRAN. Sirrah, you’re foul again, methinks.
MAR. Who, I, sir?
BRAN. You gave this man admittance into th’ house.
MAR. That’s true, sir: you ne’er gave me any order yet
To write my warrants i’ th’ street.
BRAN. Why, sure thou tak’st delight
To wrong this fellow, wife, ha? 'cause I love him.
PHIL. Pray, see the fruits; see what has left behind
here:
Be angry where you should be: there’s few wives
Would do as I do.
BRAN. Nay, I’ll say that for thee,
I ne’er found thee but honest.
PHIL. She’s a beast
That ever was found otherways.
BRAN. Read, Martino:
Mine eyes are sore already, and such business
Would put 'em out quite.
MAR. [_reads letter_] _Fair, dear, and incomparable
mistress_——
BRAN. O, every letter draws a tooth, methinks!
MAR. And it leads mine to watering.
PHIL. Here’s no villany![593]
MAR. [_reads_] _My love being so violent, and the
opportunity so precious in your husband’s absence
to-night, who, as I understand, takes a journey this
morning_——
BRAN. O plot of villany!
PHIL. Am I honest, think you, sir?
BRAN. Exactly honest, perfectly improv’d.[594]—
On, on, Martino.
MAR. [_reads_] _I will make bold, dear mistress, though
your chastity has given me many a repulse, to wait the
sweet blessings of this long-desired opportunity at the
back gate, between nine and ten this night_——
BRAN. I feel this Inns-a’-court man in my temples!
MAR. [_reads_] _Where, if your affection be pleased to
receive me, you receive the faithfullest that ever vowed
service to woman.—Francisco._
BRAN. I will make Francisco smart for’t!
PHIL. Shew him the letter, let him know you know him;
That will torment him: all your other courses
Are nothing, sir, to that; that breaks his heart.
BRAN. The strings shall not hold long then.—Come,
Martino.
PHIL. Now if Francisco have any wit at all,
He comes at night; if not, he never shall. [_Aside._
[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_The Country: near_ FRANCISCO’S _House_.

_Enter_ FRANCISCO, RICARDO, _and_ ATTILIO.

RIC. Nay, mark, mark it, Francisco; it was the
naturallest courtesy that ever was ordained; a young
gentleman being spent, to have a rich widow set him up
again. To see how fortune has provided for all
mortality’s ruins! your college for your old-standing
scholar, your hospital for your lame-creeping soldier,
your bawd for your mangled roarer,[595] your open house
for your beggar, and your widow for your gentleman;—ha,
Francisco?
FRAN. Ay, sir, you may be merry; you’re in hope of a
rich widow.
RIC. And why shouldst not thou be in hope of another, if
there were any spirit in thee? thou art as likely a
fellow as any is in the company. I’ll be hanged now if I
do not hit the true cause of thy sadness; and confess
truly, i’faith; thou hast some land unsold yet, I hold
my life.
FRAN. Marry, I hope so, sir.
RIC. A pox on’t, have I found it? ’Slight, away with’t
with all speed, man! I was never merry at heart while I
had a foot. Why, man, fortune never minds us till we are
left alone to ourselves; for what need she take care for
them that do nothing but take care for themselves? Why,
dost think if I had kept my lands still, I should ever
have looked after a rich widow? alas, I should have
married some poor young maid, got five and twenty
children, and undone myself!
FRAN. I protest, sir, I should not have the face though,
to come to a rich widow with nothing.
RIC. Why, art thou so simple as thou makest thyself?
dost think, i’faith, I come to a rich widow with
nothing?
FRAN. I mean with state not answerable to her’s.
RIC. Why, there’s the fortune, man, that I talk’d on;
She knows all this, and yet I’m welcome to her.
FRAN. Ay? that’s strange, sir.
RIC. Nay more, to pierce thy hard heart,
And make thee sell thy land, if thou’st any grace,
She has, 'mongst others, two substantial suitors:
One, in good time be’t spoke, I owe much money to;
She knows this too, and yet I’m welcome to her,
Nor dares th’ unconscionable rascal trouble me;
Sh’as told him thus, those that profess love to her
Shall have the liberty to come and go,
Or else get him gone first; she knows not yet
Where fortune may bestow her; she’s her gift,
Therefore to all will shew a kind respect.
FRAN. Why, this is like a woman: I ha’ no luck in’t.
RIC. And as at a sheriff’s table,—O blest custom!—
A poor indebted gentleman may dine,
Feed well and without fear, and depart so,
So to her lips fearless I come and go.
FRAN. You may well boast, you’re much the happier man,
sir.
RIC. So you would be, and[596] you would sell your
land, sir.
FRAN. I’ve heard the circumstance of your sweet
fortunes:
Prithee give ear to my unlucky tale now.
RIC. That’s an ill hearing; but come on for once, sir.
FRAN. I never yet lov’d but one woman.
RIC. Right,
I begun so too; but I’ve lov’d a thousand since.
FRAN. Pray, hear me, sir: but this is a man’s wife.
RIC. So have[597] five hundred of my thousand been.
FRAN. Nay see and[596] you’ll regard me!
RIC. No? you see I do;
I bring you an example in for every thing.
FRAN. This man’s wife——
RIC. So you said.
FRAN. Seems very strict.
RIC. Ha, humph!
FRAN. Do you laugh at that?
RIC. Seems very strict, you said;
I hear you, man, i’faith; you’re so jealous still!
FRAN. But why should that make you laugh?
RIC. Because she seems so: you’re such another!
FRAN. Nay, sir, I think she is.
RIC. You cannot tell[598] then?
FRAN. I dare not ask the question, I protest,
For fear of a repulse; which yet not having,
My mind’s the quieter, and I live in hope still.
RIC. Ha, hum! this ’tis to be a landed man.
Come, I perceive I must shew you a little of my
fortune, and instruct you.

Not ask the question?
FRAN. Methought still she frown’d, sir.
RIC. Why that’s the cause, fool, that she look’d so
scurvily.
Come, come, make me your woman; you’ll ne’er do’t else;
I’ll shew you her condition[599] presently.

I perceive you must begin like a young vaulter, and get
up at horse-tail before you get into the saddle: have
you the boldness to utter your mind to me now, being but
in hose[600] and doublet? I think, if I should put on a
farthingale, thou wouldst never have the heart to do’t.

FRAN. Perhaps I should not then for laughing at you,
sir.
RIC. In the mean time I fear I shall laugh at thee
without one.
FRAN. Nay, you must think, friend, I dare speak to a
woman.
RIC. You shall pardon me for that, friend: I will not
think it till I see’t.
FRAN. Why, you shall then: I shall be glad to learn
too
Of one so deep as you are.
RIC. So you may, sir.—
Now ’tis my best course to look mildly; I shall put him
out at first else.
FRAN. A word, sweet lady!
RIC. With me, sir? say your pleasure.
FRAN. O Ricardo,
Thou art too good to be a woman long!
RIC. Do not find fault with this, for fear I prove
Too scornful; be content when you’re well us’d.
FRAN. You say well, sir.—Lady, I’ve lov’d you long.
RIC. ’Tis a good hearing, sir.—If he be not out now,
I’ll be hanged!
FRAN. You play a scornful woman! I perceive, Ricardo,
you have not been used to 'em: why, I’ll come in at my
pleasure with you. Alas, ’tis nothing for a man to talk
when a woman gives way to’t! one shall seldom meet with
a lady so kind as thou playedst her.
RIC. Not altogether, perhaps: he that draws their
pictures must flatter 'em a little; they’ll look he that
plays 'em should do’t a great deal then.
FRAN. Come, come, I’ll play the woman that I’m us’d
to:
I see you ne’er wore shoe that pinch’d you yet;
All your things come[601] on easy.
RIC. Say you so, sir?
I’ll try your ladyship, 'faith.—Lady, well met.
FRAN. I do not think so, sir.
RIC. A scornful gom![602] and at the first dash too!
My widow never gave me such an answer;
I’ll to you again, sir.—
Fairest of creatures, I do love thee infinitely!
FRAN. There’s nobody bids you, sir.
RIC. Pox on thee, thou art the beastliest, crossest
baggage that ever man met withal! but I’ll see thee
hanged, sweet lady, ere I be daunted with this.—Why,
thou’rt too awkward, sirrah.
FRAN. Hang thee, base fellow!
RIC. Now, by this light, he thinks he does’t indeed!

Nay, then, have at your plum-tree![603] faith, I’ll not
be foiled.—Though you seem to be careless, madam, as you
have enough wherewithal to be, yet I do, must, and will
love you.
FRAN. Sir, if you begin to be rude, I’ll call my woman.
RIC. What a pestilent quean’s this! I shall have much
ado with her, I see that.—Tell me, as you’re a woman,
lady, what serve kisses for but to stop all your mouths?
FRAN. Hold, hold, Ricardo!
RIC. Disgrace me, widow?

FRAN. Art mad? I’m Francisco.
ATT. Signor Ricardo, up, up!
RIC. Who is’t? Francisco?
FRAN. Francisco, quotha! what, are you mad, sir?
RIC. A bots on thee, thou dost not know what injury thou
hast done me; I was i’ th’ fairest dream. This is your
way now, and[604] you can follow it.
FRAN. ’Tis a strange way, methinks.
RIC. Learn you to play a woman not so scornfully then;
For I am like the actor that you spoke on:
I must have the part that overcomes the lady,
I never like the play else. Now your friendship,
But to assist a subtle trick I ha’ thought on,
And the rich widow’s mine within these three hours.
ATT. } We should be proud of that, sir.
FRAN. }
RIC. List to me then.
I’ll place you two,—I can do’t handsomely,
I know the house so well,—to hear the conference
'Twixt her and I. She’s a most affable one,
Her words will give advantage, and I’ll urge 'em
To the kind proof, to catch her in a contract;
Then shall you both step in as witnesses,
And take her in the snare.
FRAN. But do you love her?
And then 'twill prosper.
RIC. By this hand, I do,
Not for her wealth, but for her person too.
FRAN. It shall be done then.
RIC. But stay, stay, Francisco;
Where shall we meet with thee some two hours hence, now?
FRAN. Why, hark you, sir. [_Whispers._
RIC. Enough; command my life:
Get me the widow, I’ll get thee the wife. [_Exeunt_
RICARDO _and_ ATTILIO.
FRAN. O, that’s now with me past hope! yet I must love
her:
I would I could not do’t!

_Enter_ BRANDINO _and_ MARTINO.

MAR. Yonder’s the villain, master.
BRAN. Francisco? I am happy.
MAR. Let’s both draw, master, for there’s nobody with
him:
Stay, stay, master,
Do not you draw till I be ready too;
Let’s draw just both together, and keep even.
BRAN. What and[605] we kill’d him now, before he saw
us?
MAR. No, then he’ll hardly see to read the letter.
BRAN. That’s true; good counsel, marry.
MAR. Marry, thus much, sir; you may kill him lawfully
all the while he’s a-reading on’t; as an Anabaptist may
lie with a brother’s wife all the while he’s asleep.
BRAN. He turns, he looks.—Come on, sir; you,
Francisco!
I lov’d your father well, but you’re a villain;
He lov’d me well too, but you love my wife, sir:
After whom take you that? I will not say
Your mother play’d false.
FRAN. No, sir, you were not best.
BRAN. But I will say, in spite of thee, my wife’s
honest.
MAR. And I, my mistress.
FRAN. You may, I’ll give you leave.
BRAN. Leave or leave not, there she defies you, sir.
[_Gives the letter._
Keep your adulterous sheet to wind you in,
Or cover your forbidden parts at least,
For fear you want one: many a lecher may,
That sins in cambric now.
MAR. And in lawn too, master.
BRAN. Nay, read and tremble, sir.
MAR. Now shall I do’t, master? I see a piece of an open
seam in his shirt: shall I run him in there? for my
sword has ne’er a point.
BRAN. No; let him foam a while.
MAR. If your sword be no better than mine, we shall not
kill him by daylight; we had need have a lanthorn.
BRAN. Talk not of lanthorns, he’s a sturdy lecher;
He would make the horns fly about my ears.
FRAN. I apprehend thee: admirable woman!
Which to love best I know not, thy wit or beauty.
[_Aside._
BRAN. Now, sir, have you well view’d your bastard
there,
Got of your lustful brain? give you joy on’t!
FRAN. I thank you, sir: although you speak in jest,
I must confess I sent your wife this letter,
And often courted her, tempted and urg’d her.
BRAN. Did you so, sir? then first,
Before I kill thee, I forewarn thee my house.
MAR. And I, before I kill thee, forewarn thee my office:
die to-morrow next, thou never get’st warrant of me
more, for love or money.
FRAN. Remember but again from whence I came, sir,
And then I know you cannot think amiss of me.
BRAN. How’s this?

MAR. Pray, hear him; it may grow to a peace: for,
master, though we have carried the business nobly, we
are not altogether so valiant as we should be.
BRAN. Peace? thou say’st true in that.—What is’t you’d
say, sir?
FRAN. Was not my father—quietness be with him!—
And you sworn brothers?
BRAN. Why, right; that’s it urges me.
FRAN. And could you have a thought that I could wrong
you,
As far as the deed goes?
BRAN. You took the course, sir.
FRAN. To make you happy, and[606] you rightly weigh’d
it.
MAR. Troth, I’ll put up[607] at all adventures,
master:
It comes off very fair yet.
FRAN. You in years
Married a young maid: what does the world judge, think
you?
MAR. Byrlady,[608] master, knavishly enough, I warrant
you;
I should do so myself.
FRAN. Now, to damp slander,
And all her envious and suspicious brood,
I made this friendly trial of her constancy,
Being son to him you lov’d; that, now confirm’d,
I might advance my sword against the world
In her most fair defence, which joys my spirit.
MAR. O master, let me weep while you embrace him!
BRAN. Francisco, is thy father’s soul in thee?
Lives he here still? what, will he shew himself
In his male seed to me? Give me thy hand;
Methinks it feels now like thy father’s to me:
Prithee, forgive me!
MAR. And me too, prithee!
BRAN. Come to my house; thy father never miss’d it.
MAR. Fetch now as many warrants as you please, sir,
And welcome too.
FRAN. To see how soon man’s goodness
May be abus’d!
BRAN. But now I know thy intent,
Welcome to all that I have!
FRAN. Sir, I take it:
A gift so given, hang him that would forsake it!
[_Exit._
BRAN. Martino, I applaud my fortune and thy counsel.
MAR. You never have ill fortune when you follow it. Here
were[609] things carried now in the true nature of a
quiet duello; a great strife ended, without the rough
soldier or the ——.[610] And now you may take your
journey.
BRAN. Thou art my glee, Martino. [_Exeunt._