Chapter XX: Act III: Scene I

_The Country._

_Enter_ OCCULTO, SILVIO, STRATIO, FIDUCIO, _and other
Thieves_.
OCC. Come, come, let’s watch th’ event on yonder hill;
If he need help, we can relieve him suddenly.
SIL. Ay, and with safety too, the hill being watch’d,
sir.
OCC. Have you the blue coats[627] and the beards?
SIL. They’re here, sir.
OCC. Come, come away, then; a fine cock-shoot[628]
evening.
[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ LATROCINIO, _and_ MARTIA _disguised as a man_.
LAT. [_sings_] _Kuck before, and kuck behind, &c._
MARTIA. Troth, you’re the merriest and delightfull’st
company, sir,
That ever traveller was blest withal;
I praise my fortune that I overtook you, sir.
LAT. Pish, I’ve a hundred of 'em.
MARTIA. And believe me, sir,
I’m infinitely taken with such things.
LAT. I see there’s music in you; you kept time,
methought,
Pretty and handsomely with your little hand there.
MARTIA. It only shews desire, but, troth, no skill,
sir.
LAT. Well, while our horses walk down yonder hill,
sir,
I’ll have another for you.
MARTIA. It rids way pleasantly.
LAT. Le’ me see now—one confounds another, sir—
You’ve heard this certainly, _Come, my dainty doxies_?
MARTIA. O, that is all the country over, sir!
There’s scarce a gentlewoman but has that prick’d.
LAT. Well, here comes one I’m sure you never heard,
then.
[_Sings._

_I keep my horse, I keep my whore,
I take no rents, yet am not poor;
I traverse all the land about,
And yet was born to never a foot;
With partridge plump, with woodcock fine,
I do at midnight often dine;
And if my whore be not in case,
My hostess’ daughter has her place:
The maids sit up and watch their turns;
If I stay long, the tapster mourns;
The cookmaid has no mind to sin,
Though tempted by the chamberlin:_[629]
_But when I knock, O how they bustle!
The ostler yawns, the geldings justle;
If maid but sleep, O how they curse her!
And all this comes of, Deliver your purse, sir!_
MARTIA. How, sir?
LAT. Few words: quickly, come, deliver your purse,
sir!
MARTIA. You’re not that kind of gentleman, I hope,
sir,
To sing me out of my money?
LAT. ’Tis most fit
Art should be rewarded: you must pay your music, sir,
Where’er you come.
MARTIA. But not at your own carving.
LAT. Nor am I common in’t: come, come, your purse,
sir!
MARTIA. Say it should prove th’ undoing of a
gentleman?
LAT. Why, sir, do you look for more conscience in us
than in usurers? young gentleman, you’ve small reason
for that, i’faith.
MARTIA. There ’tis, and all I have [_gives purse_];
and, so truth comfort me,
All I know where to have!
LAT. Sir, that’s not written
In my belief yet; search—’tis a fine evening,
Your horse can take no harm—I must have more, sir.
MARTIA. May my hopes perish, if you have not all, sir!
And more, I know, than your compassionate charity
Would keep from me, if you but felt my wants.
LAT. Search, and that speedily: if I take you in hand,
You’ll find me rough; methinks men should be rul’d,
When they’re so kindly spoke to: fie upon’t!
MARTIA. Good fortune and my wit assist me then!
A thing I took in haste, and never thought on’t.
[_Aside._
Look, sir, I’ve search’d; here’s all that I can find,
[_Presents a pistol._
And you’re so covetous, you’ll have all, you say,
And I’m content you shall, being kindly spoke to.
LAT. A pox o’ that young devil of a handful long,
That has fray’d many a tall thief from a rich
purchase![630]
MARTIA. This and my money, sir, keep[631] company;
Where one goes, th’ other must; assure your soul
They vow’d never to part.
LAT. Hold, I beseech you, sir!
MARTIA. You rob a prisoner’s box, and[632] you rob me,
sir.
LAT. There ’tis again. [_Returns purse._
MARTIA. I knew 'twould never prosper with you;
Fie, rob a younger brother? O, take heed, sir!
’Tis against nature that: perhaps your father
Was one, sir, or your uncle; it should seem so,
By the small means was left you, and less manners.
Go, keep you still before me; and, do you hear me?
To pass away the time to the next town,
I charge you, sir, sing all your songs for nothing.
LAT. O horrible punishment! [_A song._[633]

_Re-enter_ STRATIO, _disguised as a servant_.

STRA. Honest gentleman——
MARTIA. How now, what art thou?
STRA. Stand you in need of help?
I made all haste I could, my master charg’d me,
A knight of worship; he saw you first assaulted
From top of yonder hill.
MARTIA. Thanks, honest friend.
LAT. I taste this trick already. [_Aside, and exit._
STRA. Look, he’s gone, sir;
Shall he be stopt? what is he?
MARTIA. Let him go, sir;
He can rejoice in nothing, that’s the comfort.
STRA. You have your purse still then?
MARTIA. Ay, thanks fair fortune
And this grim handful!
STRA. We were all so 'fraid o’ you;
How my good lady cried, O help the gentleman!
’Tis a good woman that. But you’re too mild, sir;
You should ha’ mark’d him for a villain, faith,
Before h’ad gone, having so sound a means too.
MARTIA. Why, there’s the jest, man; he had once my
purse.
STRA. O villain! would you let him ’scape unmassacred?
MARTIA. Nay, hear me, sir, I made him yield it
straight again,
And, so hope bless me, with an uncharg’d pistol.
STRA. Troth, I should laugh at that.
MARTIA. It was discharg’d, sir,
Before I meddled with’t.
STRA. I’m glad to hear’t. [_Seizes her._
MARTIA. Why, how now? what’s your will?
STRA. Ho, Latrocinio,
Occulto, Silvio!

_Re-enter_ LATROCINIO, OCCULTO, SILVIO, FIDUCIO, _and
other Thieves_.
LAT. What, are you caught, sir?
STRA. The pistol cannot speak.
LAT. He was too young,
I ever thought he could not; yet I fear’d him.
MARTIA. You’ve found out ways too merciless to betray,
Under the veil of friendship and of charity.
LAT. Away, sirs, bear him in to th’ next copse, and
strip him.
STRA. Brandino’s copse, the justice?
LAT. Best of all, sir, a man of law; a spider lies
unsuspected in the corner of a buckram-bag, man.
MARTIA. What seek you, sirs? take all, and use no
cruelty.
LAT. You shall have songs enough.

_Song by_ LATROCINIO _and the other Thieves_.

_How round the world goes, and every thing that’s in it!
The tides of gold and silver ebb and flow in a minute:
From the usurer to his sons there[’s] a current swiftly
runs;
From the sons to queans in chief, from the gallant to
the thief;
From the thief unto his host, from the host to
husbandmen;
From the country to the court; and so it comes to us
agen.[634]
How round the world goes, and every thing that’s in it!
The tides of gold and silver ebb and flow in a minute._
[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Before_ BRANDINO’S _House_.

_Enter_ PHILIPPA _and_ VIOLETTA _above, at a window_.

PHIL. What time of night is’t?
VIO. Time of night do you call’t?
It is so late, ’tis almost early, mistress.
PHIL. Fie on him! there’s no looking for him then;
Why, sure this gentleman apprehends me not.
VIO. ’Tis happy then you’re rid of such a fool,
mistress.
PHIL. Nay, sure, wench, if he find me not out in this,
Which were a beaten path to any wise man,
I’ll never trust him with my reputation;
Therefore I made this trial of his wit:
If he cannot conceive what’s good for himself,
He will worse understand what’s good for me.
VIO. But suppose, mistress, as it may be likely,
He never saw your letter?
PHIL. How thou pliest me
With suppositions! why, I tell thee, wench,
’Tis equally as impossible for my husband
To keep it from him as to be young again,
Or as his first wife knew him, which he brags on,
For bearing children by him.
VIO. There’s no remedy then;
I must conclude Francisco is an ass.
PHIL. I would my letter, wench, were here again!
I’d know him wiser ere I sent him one,
And travel some five year first.
VIO. So h’ad need, methinks,
To understand the words; methinks the words
Themselves should make him do’t, had he but the
perceiverance[635]
Of a cock-sparrow, that will come at Philip,[636]
And can nor write nor read, poor fool! this coxcomb
He can do both, and your name’s but Philippa;
And yet to see, if he can come when’s call’d!
PHIL. He never shall be call’d again for me,
sirrah.[637]
Well, as hard as the world goes, we’ll have a song,
wench,
We’ll not sit up for nothing.
VIO. That’s poor comfort though.
PHIL. Better than any’s brought, for aught I see yet:
So set to your lute. [_They sing._
PHIL. _If in this question I propound to thee
Be any, any choice,
Let me have thy voice._
VIO. _You shall most free._
PHIL. _Which hadst thou rather be,
If thou might choose thy life,
A fool’s, a fool’s mistress,
Or an old man’s wife?_
VIO. _The choice is hard, I know not which is best;
One ill you’re bound to, and I think that’s
least._
PHIL. _But being not bound, my dearest sweet,
I could shake off the other._
VIO. _Then as you lose your sport by one,
You lose your name by t’other._
PHIL. _You counsel well, but love refuses
What good counsel often chooses._
[_Exeunt above._

_Enter_ MARTIA _in a shirt_.
MARTIA. I ha’ got myself unbound yet; merciless
villains,
I never felt such hardness since life dwelt in me;
’Tis for my sins. That light in yonder window,
That was my only comfort in the woods,
Which oft the trembling of a leaf would lose me,
Has brought me thus far; yet I cannot hope
For succour in this plight, the world’s so pitiless,
And every one will fear or doubt me now:
To knock will be too bold; I’ll to the gate,
And listen if I can hear any stirring.

_Enter_ FRANCISCO.

FRAN. Was ever man so cross’d? no, ’tis but sweat,
sure,
Or the dew dropping from the leaves above me;
I thought 't had bled again. These wenching businesses
Are strange unlucky things and fatal fooleries;
No mar’l[638] so many gallants die ere thirty;
’Tis able to vex out a man’s heart in five year,
The crosses that belong to’t: first, arrested,
That set me back two mangy hours at least;
Yet that’s a thing my heat could have forgiven,
Because arresting, in what kind soever,
Is a most gentleman-like affliction;
But here, within a mile o’ th’ town, forsooth,
And two mile off this place, when a man’s oath
Might ha’ been taken for his own security,
And his thoughts brisk and set upon the business,
To light upon a roguy flight of thieves!
Pox on 'em, here’s the length of one of their
whittles:[639]
But one of my dear rascals I pursu’d so,
The gaol has him, and he shall bring out ’s fellows.
Had ever young man’s love such crooked fortune?
I’m glad I’m so near yet; the surgeon bade me too
Have a great care; I shall ne’er think of that now.
MARTIA. One of the thieves come back again? I’ll stand
close;
He dares not wrong me now, so near the house,
And call in vain ’tis, till I see him offer’t.
FRAN. 'Life, what should that be? a prodigious[640]
thing
Stands just as I should enter, in that shape too
Which always appears terrible.
Whate’er it be, it is made strong against me
By my ill purpose; for ’tis man’s own sin
That puts on armour upon all his evils,
And gives them strength to strike him. Were it less
Than what it is, my guilt would make it serve:
A wicked man’s own shadow has distracted him.
Were this a business now to save an honour,
As ’tis to spoil one, I would pass this then,
Stuck all hell’s horrors i’ thee: now I dare not.
Why may’t not be the spirit of my father,
That lov’d this man so well, whom I make haste
Now to abuse? and I’ve been cross’d about it
Most fearfully hitherto, if I well think on’t;
Scap’d death but lately too, nay, most miraculously.
And what does fond[641] man venture all these ills for,
That may so sweetly rest in honest peace?
For that which being obtain’d, is as he was
To his own sense, but remov’d nearer still
To death eternal. What delight has man
Now at this present for his pleasant sin
Of yesterday’s committing? 'las, ’tis vanish’d,
And nothing but the sting remains within him!
The kind man bail’d me too; I will not do’t now,
And[642] 'twere but only that. How blest were man,
Might he but have his end appear still to him,
That he might read his actions i’ th’ event!
'Twould make him write true, though he never meant.
Whose check soe’er thou art, father’s, or friend’s,
Or enemy’s, I thank thee; peace requite thee!
Light, and the lighter mistress, both farewell!
He keeps his promise best that breaks with hell.
[_Exit._
MARTIA. He’s gone to call the rest, and makes all
speed;
I’ll knock, whate’er befalls, to please my fears,
For no compassion can be less than theirs.
[_Knocks at the door._

_Re-enter_ PHILIPPA _and_ VIOLETTA _above_.

PHIL. He’s come, he’s come!—O, are you come at last,
sir?
Make little noise.—Away, he’ll knock again else.
[_Exit above with_ VIOLETTA.
MARTIA. I should have been at Istria, by daybreak too;
Near to Valeria’s house, the wealthy widow’s,
There waits one purposely to do me good.
What will become of me?

_Enter_ VIOLETTA.

VIO. O, you are a sweet gallant! this your hour?
Give me your hand; come, come, sir, follow me,
I’ll bring you to light presently: softly, softly, sir.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A Room in_ BRANDINO’S _House_.

_Enter_ PHILIPPA.

PHIL. I should ha’ given him up to all my thoughts
The dullest young man, if he had not found it;
So short of apprehension and so worthless,
He were not fit for woman’s fellowship;
I’ve been at cost too for a banquet for him:
Why, 'twould ha’ kill’d my heart, and most especially
To think that man should ha’ no more conceit;[643]
I should ha’ thought the worse on’s wit for ever,
And blam’d mine own for too much forwardness.

_Enter_ VIOLETTA.

VIO. O mistress, mistress!
PHIL. How now, what’s the news?
VIO. O, I was out of my wits for a minute and a half!
PHIL. Hah!
VIO. They are scarce settled yet, mistress.
PHIL. What’s the matter?
VIO. Do you ask that seriously?[644]
Did you not hear me squeak?
PHIL. How? sure thou art
Out of thy wits indeed.
VIO. O, I’m well now,
To what I was, mistress.
PHIL. Why, where’s the gentleman?
VIO. The gentleman’s forthcoming, and a lovely one,
But not Francisco.
PHIL. What say’st? not Francisco?
VIO. Pish, he’s a coxcomb! think not on him, mistress.
PHIL. What’s all this?
VIO. I’ve often heard you say, ye’d rather have
A wise man in his shirt than a fool feather’d;
And now fortune has sent you one, a sweet young
gentleman,
Robb’d even to nothing, but what first he brought with
him:
The slaves had stript him to the very shirt, mistress;
I think it was a shirt; I know not well,
For gallants wear both[645] now-a-days.
PHIL. This is strange.
VIO. But for a face, a hand, and as much skin
As I durst look upon, he’s a most sweet one;
Francisco is a child of Egypt[646] to him:
I could not but, in pity to th’ poor gentleman,
Fetch him down one of my old master’s suits.
PHIL. ’Twas charitably done.
VIO. You’d say, mistress, if you had seen him as I
did. Sweet youth! I’ll be sworn, mistress, he’s the
loveliest, properest young gentleman, and so you’ll
say yourself, if my master’s clothes do not spoil him,
that’s all the fear now; I would’t had been your luck
to have seen him without 'em, but for scaring on you.
PHIL. Go, prithee, fetch him in, whom thou commend’st
so.
[_Exit_ VIOLETTA.
Since fortune sends him, surely we’ll make much on him;
And better he deserves our love and welcome
Than the respectless fellow ’twas prepar’d for:
Yet if he please mine eye never so happily,
I will have trial of his wit and faith
Before I make him partner with my honour.
'Twas just Francisco’s case, and he deceiv’d me;
I’ll take more heed o’ th’ next for’t: perhaps now,
To furnish his distress, he will appear
Full of fair, promising courtship; but I’ll prove him
then
For a next meeting, when he needs me not,
And see what he performs then when the storm
Of his so rude misfortunes is blown over,
And he himself again. A distrest man’s flatteries
Are like vows made in drink, or bonds in prison;
There’s poor assurance in 'em: when he’s from me,
And in’s own power, then I shall see his love.
'Mass, here he comes.

_Enter_ MARTIA _in_ BRANDINO’S _clothes, and_ VIOLETTA.

MARTIA. Never was star-cross’d gentleman
More happy in a courteous virgin’s love
Than I in yours.
VIO. I’m sorry they’re no better for you;
I wish’d 'em handsomer and more in fashion,
But truly, sir, our house affords it not:
There is a suit of our clerk’s hangs i’ th’ garret,
But that’s far worse than this, if I may judge
With modesty of men’s matters.
MARTIA. I deserve not this,
Dear and kind gentlewoman. Is yond your mistress?
PHIL. Why, trust me, here’s my husband young again!—
It is no sin to welcome you, sweet gentleman.
MARTIA. I am so much indebted, courteous lady,
To the unmatched charity of your house,
My thanks are such poor things they would but shame me.
PHIL. Beshrew thy heart for bringing o’ him! I fear me
I have found wit enough already in him.
If I could truly but resolve[647] myself
My husband was thus handsome at nineteen,
Troth, I should think the better of him at fourscore
now.
VIO. Nay, mistress, what would he be, were he in
fashion—
A hempen curse on those that put him out on’t!—
That now appears so handsome and so comely
In clothes able to make a man an unbeliever,
And good for nothing but for shift, or so,
If a man chance to fall i’ th’ ditch with better?
This is the best that ever I mark’d in 'em,—
A man may make him ready[648] in such clothes
Without a candle.
PHIL. Ay, for shame of himself, wench.
VIO. My master does it oft in winter mornings,
And never sees himself till he be ready.
PHIL. No, nor then neither, as he should do, wench.—
I’m sorry, gentle sir, we cannot shew you
A courtesy in all points answerable
To your undoubted worth: your name, I crave, sir.
MARTIA. Ansaldo, lady.
PHIL. ’Tis a noble name, sir.
MARTIA. The most unfortunate now!
VIO. So do I think truly,
As long as that suit’s on.
PHIL. The most unfitting
And unprovided’st, sir, of all our courtesies,
I do presume is that you’ve pass’d already;
Your pardon but for that, and we’re encourag’d.
MARTIA. My faithful service, lady.
PHIL. Please you, sir, to taste the next,
A poor slight banquet, for sure I think you were
Unluckily prevented of your supper, sir.
MARTIA. My fortune makes me more than amends, lady,
In your sweet kindness, which so nobly shewn to me,
It makes me bold to speak my occasions to you:
I am this morning, that with clearness now
So cheerfully hastens me, to meet a friend
Upon my state’s establishing, and the place
Ten mile from hence: O, I am forc’d unwillingly
To crave your leave for’t, which done, I return
In service plentiful.
PHIL. Is’t so important?
MARTIA. If I should fail, as much as my undoing.
PHIL. I think too well of you, t’ undo you, sir,
Upon this small acquaintance.
MARTIA. My great happiness!
PHIL. But when should I be sure of you here again,
sir?
MARTIA. As fast as speed can possibly return me.
PHIL. You will not fail?
MARTIA. May never wish go well with me then!
PHIL. There’s to bear charges, sir. [_Gives purse._
MARTIA. Courtesy dwells in you:
I brought my horse up with me from the woods,
That’s all the good they left me, 'gainst their wills
too.
May your kind breast never want comfort, lady,
But still supplied as liberally as you give!
PHIL. Farewell, sir, and be faithful.
MARTIA. Time shall prove me. [_Exit._
PHIL. In my opinion, now, this young man’s likeliest
To keep his word; he’s modest, wise, and courteous,
He has the language of an honest soul in him;
A woman’s reputation may lie safe there,
I’m much deceiv’d else; has a faithful eye,
If it be well observ’d.
VIO. Good speed be with thee, sir!—
He puts him to’t, i’faith. [_Looking out._
PHIL. Violetta.
VIO. Mistress?
PHIL. Alas, what have we done, wench?
VIO. What’s the matter, mistress?
PHIL. Run, run, call him again; he must stay, tell
him,
Though it be upon’s undoing; we’re undone else;
Your master’s clothes, they’re known the country over.
VIO. Now, by this light, that’s true, and well
remember’d;
But there’s no calling of him, he’s out of sight now.
PHIL. O, what will people think?
VIO. What can they think, mistress?
The gentleman has the worst on’t: were I he now,
I’d make this ten mile forty mile about,
Before I’d ride through any market-town with 'em.
PHIL. Will he be careful, think’st?
VIO. My life for yours, mistress.
PHIL. I shall long mightily to see him agen.[649]
VIO. And so shall I; I shall ne’er laugh till then.
[_Exeunt._