Fran.
Gods my life, is that old squire so amorous?
Ang.
You wrong him to terme him old, he can draw his bow, ride his horse, vse his sword, and traile his pike vnder Loues colours, as well as euer he did.
Fran.
I beleeue that easily.
Ang.
Well, go thy waies in and prepare to entertaine him now thy husband is from home, only with good words, and best kindnesses, making him put all into deeds till his treasury be deedlesse.
Fran.
You speake as if I had nothing to respect but his entertainment, when you know how close and timely it must be put in execution, considering with what enuious eyes my neighbours suruey mee.
Ang.
Think’st thou, I consider not all this? he shall come in disguis’d, wench, and do thou deuise for our mirth, what ridiculous disguise he shall come in, and he shall assume it.
Fran.
What a magnifico of the Citie, and one of the Senate, thinkest thou he will not see into that inconuenience?
Ang.
No more then no Senator, for in this case, my assurance is that Cupid will take the scarfe from his owne eyes, and hoodwinke the old buzzard, while two other true turtles enioy their happinesse: get thee in I beseech thee loue, tell thy gold, and say thy prayers.
(Enter Lorenzo.)
Now for a farre fetch’t deuice to fetch ouer my loue-squire.
Exit
Fran.
I see him within eare-shot; well may beauty inflame others, riches may tempt others; but for mee, mine eares and mine eyes, are proofe against all the Syrens, and Venusses, in all the seas of the world; beauty is a whore, riches a baud, and Ile trust none an you.
Lor.
What ailes poore Angelo?
Ang.
Nay mistresse Franke, if you proue disloyall once, farewell all constancy in women.
Lor.
How now man? what’s the matter?
Ang.
O Sir are you so neare? I shall trust your experience in women the better while I liue.
Lor.
I pre thee why so?
Ang.
Say true Sir, did you neuer sollicite your loue-sute to fayre mistresse Francischina?
Lor.
Neuer I protest Angelo.
Ang.
Vpon my life ’tis a strange thing; I would haue sworne all Italy, could not so sodainly haue fastned a fauour vpon her, I look’t for a siege of Troy at least, to surprize the turrets of her continence; but to yeeld at the first sight of her assaylants colours, and before any Cannon was mounted afore her, ’tis one of the loosest parts of a modest woman that euer I heard of.
Lor.
How saist thou? did not I tell thee as much? beware of an old colt while you liue, he can tell when to strike I warrant you.
Ang.
Women and fethers? now fie on that affinity.
Lor.
Alas Angelo, a feeble generation, soone ouercome God knowes, the honester minde, the sooner ouercome.
Ang.
Gods my life, what light huswife would yeeld at first to a stranger, and yet does this whirligig stand vpon termes of honour forsooth? tenders her reputation as the Apple of her eye; she has a ielous and a cutting husband, enuious neighbours, and will die many deathes rather then by any friends open accesse to her, be whip’t naked with the tongues of scandall and slander; and a whole sanctuary of such ceremonies.
Lor.
O she does worthily in that Angelo, and like a woman of honour, thou hast painted her perfection in her faults thou find’st, and tickil’st me with her appetite.
Ang.
And to auoid all sight of your entrance, you must needs come in some disguise she sayes; so much she tenders your high credit in the Citie, and her owne reputation, forsooth.
Lor.
How, come in some disguise?
Ang
A toy, a very toy which runnes in her head with such curious feete Sir, because if there be any resemblances of your person seene to enter her house, your whole substantiall selfe will be called in question; any other man she saies, might better aduenture with the least thing chang’d about ’em then you with all; as if you were the onely noted mutton-monger in all the Citie.
Ang.
Well Angelo, heauen forgiue vs the sinnes of our youth.
Ang.
That’s true Sir, but for a paltry disguise, being a magnifico, she shall goe snicke vp.
Lor.
Soft good Angelo, soft, let’s think on’t a little: what disguise would serue the turne saies shee?
Ang.
Faith, I know not what disguise shee would haue for you: shee would haue you come like a Calfe with a white face, I thinke, shee talkes of Tinkers, pedlers, porters, chimney-sweepers, fooles and Physitians, such as haue free egresse and regresse into mens houses without suspicion.
Lor.
Out vpon ’em, would she haue me vndergoe the shame and hazard of one of those abiects?
Ang.
Yfaith I told her so, a squire of that worship, one of the Senate, a graue Iusticer, a man of wealth, a magnifico?
Lor.
And yet by my troth, for the safegard of her honour, I would doe much; me thinks a Friers weede were nothing.
Ang.
Out vppon’t, that disguise is worne thread bare vpon euery stage, and so much villany committed vnder that habit; that ’tis growne as supicious as the vilest. If you will hearken to any, take such a transformance, as you may be sure will keepe you from discouery: for though it be the stale refuge of miserable Poets, by change of a hat or a cloake, to alter the whole state of a Comedie, so as the father must not know his owne child forsooth, nor the wife her husband, yet you must not thinke they doe it earnest to carry it away so: for say you were stuffed into a motley coate, crowded in the case of a base Violl, or buttond vp in a cloakbag, euen to your chinne, yet if I see your face, I am able to say this is signior Lorenzo, and therefore vnlesse your disguise be such that your face may beare as great a part in it as the rest, the rest is nothing.
Lor.
Good reason, in faith Angelo; and what, shall I then smurch my face like a chimney sweeper, & weare the rest of his smokinesse?
Ang.
Ile tell you sir, if you be so mad to condescend to the humour of a foolish woman, by consideration that Ioue for his loue tooke on him the shape of a Bull, which is farre worse then a chimney sweeper, I can fit you rarely.
Lor.
As how I pre thee?
Ang.
There is one little snaile you know, an old chimney sweeper.
Lor.
What, hee that sings, Maids in your smocks, hold open your locks, fluds.
Ang.
The very same sir, whose person (I borrowing his words) you will so liuely resemble, that himselfe in person cannot detect you.
Lor.
But is that a fit resemblance to please a louer Angelo?
Ang.
For that sir, she is prouided: for you shall no sooner enter but off goes your rustie skabberd, sweete water is readie to scoure your filthy face, milk, & a bath of fernebraks for your fustie bodie, a chamber perfum’d, a wrought shirt, night cap, and her husbands gowne, a banquet of Oysters pyes, Potatoes, Skirret rootes, Eringes, and diuers other whetstones of venery.
Lor.
O let me hugge thee Angelo.
Ang.
A bed as sost as her hayre, sheets as delicate as her skinne, and as sweete as her breath, pillowes imitating her breasts, and her breasts to boote, Hypocras in her cups, and Nectar in her lips, Ah, the gods haue bene beasts for lesse felicitie.
Lor.
No more good Angelo, no more, how shall I requite the happinesse thou wilt bring me too? haste any mind of marriage?
Ang.
Not much sir, but an extraordinary wife might tempt me.
Lor.
By my troth and she were not promist, thou shouldest haue my da
ughter: but come lets to our disguise, in which I long to be singing.
Ang.
Ile folow you presently.
Exit. Signior Lodouico.
(Enter Lodouico and Giouenelle.)
Lod.
How now Angelo?
Ang.
Why sir, I am prouiding meanes to leade your old vncle out ath’way, as you will’d me, by drawing him into the way of Quintilianoes wife, my sweet heart, and so make roome for him by Quintilianoes roome: you that lead him any way, must needes seeke him out and employ him to some tauerne.
Lod.
He will be with me presently Angelo, and here’s a freshman come from Padua, whom I will powder with his acquaintance, and so make him an excellent morsell to rellish his carouses.
Ang.
Goe to Sir, by this light you’ll be complain’d on, there cannot be a foole within twenty mile of your head, but you engrosse him for your owne mirth: Noble-mens tables cannot be seru’d for you.
Lod.
Stut, Ile complaine of them man, they hunt me out and hang vpon me, so that I cannot be ridde on’em, but they shall get some body else to laugh at, or Ile turne’em ouer to our Poets, and make all the world laugh at’em.
Ang.
Well Sir, here comes your man, make him sure from his wife, and I’le make the tother sure with her.
Exit.
Enter Quintiliano, Innocentio, Fannio, Taylor, Taylors sonne, he Reades a bill.
Lod.
SEe Signior Gionanelle, here comes the famous Captaine you would so faine bee acquainted withall; be acquainted with him at your perill: Ile defend you from his swaggering humor, but take heede of his cheating.
Gio.
I warrant you Sir, I haue not beene matriculated at the Vniuersity, to be meretriculated by him: salted there to be colted here.
Lod.
Very well Sir, lets heare him.
Quin.
I haue examin’d the particulars of your bill Master Taylor, and I finde them true Orthographie, thy payment shall be correspondent: marry I will set no day, because I am loth to breake.
Tailor.
Alas Sir, pray let this be the day: consider my charge. I haue many children, and this my poore child here whom I haue brought vp at schoole, must loose all I haue bestowed on him hitherto, if I pay not his Master presen [...]y the quartridge I owe him.
Quint.
Foole do’st thou delight to heare thy sonne begge in Latin, pose him Lieftenant.
Innoc.
How make you this in Latin boy? My father is an honest Taylor.
Boy.
That will hardly be done in true Latin Sir.
Innoc.
No? why so Sir?
Boy.
Because it is false English sir.
Quint.
An excellent Boy.
Innoc.
Why is it false English?
Boy.
Marry sir, as bona Mulier is said to be false Latin, because though bona be good, Mulier is naught; so to say my father is an honest Taylor, is false English; for though my father be honest, yet the Taylor is a theefe.
Quint.
Beleeue it a rare shred, not of home-spunne cloth vpon my life: Taylor, goe, send the schoole-master to me at night and Ile pay him.
Tay.
Thanke you good Captaine, and if you doe not pay him, at night my wife will come to you her selfe, that’s certaine, and you know what a tongue shee has.
Quint.
Like the sting of a Scorpion, shee nailes mine eares to the pillory with it, in the shame and torment shee does me. Goe I will voide this Bill and auoide her.
Tay.
I thanke you sir.
Exit cum filio.
Quint.
Lieftenant, is not this a braue gullery? The slaue has a pretty wife, and shee will neuer haue me pay him, because shee may euer come to my chamber, as shee sayes, to raile at me, and then shee goes home and tels her husband shee has tickled me yfaith.
Innoc.
By my life, a rare jest.
Quint.
Thou maist see this Boy is no shred of a Taylor, is he not right of my looke and spirit?
Innoc.
Right as a line, yfaith.
Lod.
And will agree in the halter. — Saue you Captaine Quintiliano.
Quint.
And do’st thou liue my noble Lodouico? Boy, take my cloake, when shals haue a rouse, ha? my Lieftenant and I were drunke last night, with drinking health on our knees to thee.
Giou.
Why, would not your legs beare you Sir?
Quint.
How many miles to midsommer? S’blood, whose foole are you? are not you the tassell of a Gander?
Giou.
No indeede not I Sir: I am your poore friend Sir glad to see you in health.
Quint.
Health? S’fut, how meane you that? dee thinke I came lately out ath’ powdering Tubbe?
Giou.
Gossaue mee Sir ’twas the furthest part of my thought.
Quint.
Why y’are not angry, are you?
Lod.
No, nor you shall not be.
Quint.
S’blood, I hope I may and I will.
Lod.
Be and you dare Sir.
Quint.
Dare?
Lod.
I, dare.
Quint.
Plague on thee, th’art the mad’st Lodouico in the world, s’fut doe thou stabbe me, and th’ast a minde too’t, or bid me stabbe my selfe, is this thy friend? do’st thou loue Lodouico?
Giou.
With my heart I protest Sir.
Quint.
S’heart, a lyes in’s throate that does not; and whence com’st thou wagge, ha?
Giou.
Euen new arriued from Padua Sir to see fashio [...]s.
Quint.
Giue me thy hand, th’art welcome▪ and for thy fashions, thou shalt first drinke and wench it: to which end we will carouse a little, some sixe or seauen miles hence, and euery man carry his wench.
Innoc.
But where shall we haue them Captaine?
Quint.
Haue’em Lieftenant? if we haue’em not, my Valentine shall be one, and shee shall take a neighbour or two with her to see their nurst childes or so; wee’ll want for no wenches I warrant thee,
(Enter Cuthbert Barber.)
Lod.
But who comes here?
Quint.
O tis my Barber.
Lod.
S’blood how thy trades men haunt thee.
Quint.
Alas they that liue by men, must haunt’em,
Cut.
God saue you Sir.
Quint.
How now Cutberd, what newes out of Barbary?
Cut.
Sir, I would borrow a word with you in priuate.
Quint.
Be briefe then Cutbeard, thou look’st leane me thinks, I thinke th’art newly marryed.
Cut.
I am indeede Sir.
Quint.
I thought so, keepe on thy hat man, twill be the lesse perceiu’d, what, is not my Taylor and you friends yet? I will haue you friends thats certaine, Ile maintaine you both else.
Cut.
I know no enmity betwixt vs Sir, you know Captaine I come about another matter.
Quint.
Why but Cutbeard, are not you neighbours? your trades Cosen german, the Taylor and the Barber? does not the Taylor sow? doest not thou Barber reape? and doe they not both band themselues against the common enemy of mankinde, the louse? are you not both honest men alike? is not he an arrant knaue? you next dore to a knaue, because next dore to him?
Cut.
Alas Sir, all this is to no purpose, there are certaine odde crownes betwixt vs you know.
Quint.
True Cutbeard, wilt thou lend me as many moe to make’em euen Boy?
Cut.
F
aith Sir, they haue hung long enough a conscience.
Quint.
Cut’em downe then Cutbeard, it belongs to thy profession if they hang too long.
Cut.
Well Sir if this be all, Ile come by’em as I can, and you had any honesty.
Giou.
S’blood honesty you knaue? doe you taxe any Gentleman in this company for his honesty?
Cut.
Blame me not sir, I am vndone by him, and yet I am still of as good credit in my Parish as he too.
Quint.
S’blood Rascall, as good credit as I?
Lod.
Nay pre thee Captaine forbeare.
Innoc.
Good Captaine be gone.
Quint.
Let me alone; Ile not strike him by this hand, why hearke yee Rogue: put your credit in ballance with mine? do’st thou keepe this company? here’s Signior Lodouico, one of the Clarissimi, a man of worship: here’s a Gentleman of Padua, a man of rare parts, [...]n excellent scholler, a fine Ciceronian.
Cut.
Well sir.
Quint.
And here’s my Lieftenant, I hope thou know’st the Worshipfull man his father with the blew beard, and all these are my companions; and dare you a barbarous slaue, a squirting companion, compare with me? but here’s the point; now behold and see: Signior Giouenelle, lend me foure or fiue pounds, let it be fiue pounds, if you haue so much about you.
Giou.
Here’s my purse sir, I thinke there be iust so much in’t.
Quint.
Very good, now Cutbeard, are you a slanderous cut-throat or no? will thy credit doe this now? without scrip or scrowle. But thou wilt thinke this is done for a colour now; doe you not lend it me simply?
Giou.
What a question’s that?
Quint.
For how long?
Giou.
At your pleasure Captaine.
Quint.
Why so, here you poling Rascall, here’s two crownes out of this money: now I hope wilt beleeue ’tis mine, now the property is altered.
Cut.
Why you might a done this before then.
Quint.
No Cutbeard, I haue beene burnd ith’ hand for that, Ile pay n’ere a knaue an yee all money, but in the presence of such honest Gentleman that can witnesse it; of my conscience I haue paid it thee halfe a dozen times; goe to sir be gone.
Cut.
Fare yee well sir.
Quint.
Thanke you Signior Giouenelle; though y’are sure of this money againe at my hands, yet take heede how this same Lodouico get it from you, he’s a great sharker; but th’ast no more money about thee hast thou?
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 194
