Chapter III: Part 3

_2._ 'Foot we are lost, they are upon us.

_Devit._ Ha, upon us, make the least noise, 'tis thy parting gaspe.

_3._ Which way shall we make Sir?

_Devit._ Every man his own; do you hear, only bind me, bind me
before you goe, and when the company's past, make to this place
again, this karvel should have better lading in him, you are slow,
why do you not tye harder?

_1._ You are sure enough I warrant you Sir.

_Devit._ Darkness befriend you, away. [_Exit Soldiers._

_Prot._ What tyrants have I met with, they leave me alone in the
dark, yet would not have me cry. I shall grow wondrous melancho[l]y
if I stay long here without company; I was wont to get a nap with
saying my prayers, I'll see if they will work upon me now; but
then, if I should talk in my sleep, and they hear me, they would
make a Recorder of my windpipe, slit my throat: heaven be prais'd,
I hear some noise, it may be new purchase, and then I shall have
fellows.

_Devit._ They are gone past hearing, now to taske _Devitry_, help,
help, as you are men help; some charitable hand, relieve a poor
distressed miserable wretch, thieves, wicked thieves have robb'd
me; bound me.

_Prot._ 'Foot, would they had gagg'd you too, your noise will
betray us, and fetch them again.

_Devit._ What blessed tongue spake to me, where, where where are
you Sir?

_Prot._ A plague of your bawling throat, we are well enough if you
have the grace to be thankful for't, do but snore to me, and 'tis
as much as I desire, to pass away time with, till morning, then
talk as loud as you please Sir, I am bound not to stir, therefore
lie still and snore I say.

_Devit._ Then you have met with thieves too I see.

_Prot._ And desire to meet with no more of them.

_Devit._ Alas, what can we suffer more? they are far enough by this
time; have they not all, all that we have Sir?

_Prot._ No by my faith have they not Sir; I gave them one trick to
boot for their learning, my Boots Sir, my Boots, I have sav'd my
stock, and my jewels in them, and therefore desire to hear no more
of them.

_Devit._ Now blessing on your wit, Sir, what a dull slave was I,
dreamt not of your conveyance, help to unbind me Sir, and I'll
undoe you, my life for yours, no worse thief than my self meets you
again this night.

_Prot._ Reach me thy hands.

_Devit._ Here Sir, here, I could beat my brains out, that could not
think of boots, boots Sir, wide topt boots, I shall love them the
better whilst I live; but are you sure your Jewels are here Sir?

_Prot._ Sure sayst thou? ha, ha, ha.

_Devit._ So ho, illo ho. [_Within Soldiers._
Here Captain, here.

_Prot._ 'Foot what do you mean Sir?

_Enter Soldiers._

_Devit._ A trick to boot, say you; here you dull slaves, purchase,
purchase the soul of the Rock, Diamonds, sparkling Diamonds.

_Prot._ I'm betraid, lost, past recovery, lost, as you are men.

_Devit._ Nay rook, since you will be prating, we'll share your
carrion with you, have you any other conveyance now Sir?

_1._ 'Foot here are Letters, Epistles, familiar Epistles, we'll see
what treasure is in them, they are seal'd sure.

_Prot._ Gentlemen, as you are Gentlemen spare my Letters, and take
all willingly, all: I'll give you a release, a general release, and
meet you here to morrow with as much more.

_Devit._ Nay, since you have your tricks, and your conveyances, we
will not leave a wrinkle of you unsearcht.

_Prot._ Hark, there comes company, you will be betraid, as you love
your safeties, beat out my brains, I shall betray you else.

_Devit._ Treason, unheard of Treason, monstrous, monstrous
villanies.

_Prot._ I confess my self a Traitor, shew your selves good
subjects, and hang me up for't.

_1._ If it be treason, the discovery will get our pardon, Captain.

_Devit._ Would we were all lost, hang'd, quarter'd, to save this
one, one innocent Prince; _Thierry_'s poison'd, by his mother
poison'd, the Mistriss to this stallion, who by that poison ne'er
shall sleep again.

_2._ 'Foot let us mince him by piece-meal[e], till he eat himself
up.

_3._ Let us dig out his heart with needles, and half broil him like
a Mussel.

_Prot._ Such another and I prevent you, my bloud's setled already.

_Devit._ Here's that shall remove it, toad, viper, drag him unto
_Martel_, unnatural par[r]icide, cruel, bloudy woman.

_Omnes._ On you dogfish, leech, caterpillar.

_Devit._ A longer sight of him will make my rage turn pity, and
with his suddain end, prevent revenge and torture, wicked, wicked
_Brunhalt_. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Bawdber _and three Courtiers_.

_1._ Not sleep at all, no means.

_2._ No Art can do it.

_Bawdb._ I will assure you, he can sleep no more
Than a hooded Hawk[e], a centinel to him,
Or one of the City Constables are tops.

_3._ How came he so?

_Bawdb._ They are too wise that dare know,
Something's amiss, heaven help all.

_1._ What cure has he?

_Bawdb._ Armies of those we call Physitians, some with glisters,
Some with Lettice-caps, some posset-drinks, some Pills,
Twenty consulting here about a drench,
[As many here to blood him;
Then comes a Don of _Spaine_, and he prescribes
More cooling opium then would kill a turke,
Or quench a whore ith dogdayes; after him
A wise Italian, and he cries, tie unto him
A woman of fourescore, whose bones are marble,
Whose bloud snow water, not so much heate about her
As may conceive a prayer: after him
An English Doctor, with a bunch of pot hearbes;
And he cries out Endiffe and suckery,
With a few mallow rootes and butter milke,
And talkes of oyle made of a churchmans charity,
Yet still he wakes.

_1._ But your good honor
Has a praye[r] in store if all should faile.

_Bawdb._ I could have prayed, and handsomely,
But age and an ill memory.

_3._ Has spoyl'd your primmer.

_Bawdb._ Yet if there be a man of faith i'the Court,
And can pray for a pension.

_Enter Thierry, on a bed, with Doctors and attendants._

_2._ Here's the King Sir,
And those that will pray without pay.

_Bawdb._ Then pray for me too.

_1 Doct._ How does your grace now feele your selfe?

_Thier._ What's that?

_1 Doct._ Nothing at all Sir, but your fancy.

_Thier._ Tell me,
Can ever these eyes more shut up in slumbers,
Assure my soule there is sleepe? is there night
And rest for humane labors? do not you
And all the world as I do, out stare time,
And live like funerall lampes never extinguisht?
Is there a grave, and do not flatter me,
Nor feare to tell me truth; and in that grave
Is there a hope I shall sleepe, can I die,
Are not my miseries immortall? o
The happinesse of him that drinkes his water
After his weary day, and sleepes for ever,
Why do you crucifie me thus with faces,
And gaping strangely upon one another,
When shall I rest?

_2 Doct._ O Sir, be patient.

_Thier._ Am I not patient? have I not endur'd
More then a maingy dog among your dosses?
Am I not now your patient? yee can make
Unholesome fooles sleepe for a garded foote-cloth;
Whores for a hot sin offering; yet I must crave
That feede ye, and protect ye, and proclame ye,
Because my powre is far above your searching,
Are my diseases so? can ye cure none
But those of equall ignorance, dare ye kill me?

_1 Doct._ We do beseech your grace be more reclam'd,
This talke doth but distemper you.

_Thier._ Well, I will die
In spight of all your potions; one of you sleepe,
Lie downe and sleepe here, that I may behold
What blessed rest it is my eyes are robde of:
See, he can sleepe, sleepe any where, sleepe now,
When he that wakes for him can never slumber,
I'st not a dainty ease?

_2 Doct._ Your grace shall feele it.

_Thier._ O never I, never, the eyes of heaven
See but their certaine motions, and then sleepe,
The rages of the _Ocean_ have their slumbers,
And quiet silver calmes; each violence
Crownes in his end a peace, but my fixt fires
Shall never, never set, who's that?

_Enter Martell, Brunhalt, Devitry, souldiers._

_Mart._ No woman,
Mother of mischiefe, no, the day shall die first,
And all good things live in a worse then thou art,
Ere thou shalt sleepe, doest thou see him?

_Brun._ Yes, and curse him,
And all that love him foole, and all live by him.

_Mart._ Why art thou such a monster?

_Brun._ Why art thou
So tame a knave to aske me?

_Mart._ Hope of hell,
By this faire holy light, and all his wrongs
Which are above thy yeares, almost thy vices,
Thou shalt not rest, not feele more what is pitty,
Know nothing necessary, meete no society,
But what shall curse and crucifie thee, feele in thy selfe
Nothing but what thou art, bane, and bad conscience,
Till this man rest; but for whose reverence
Because thou art his mother, I would say
Whore, this shall be, do ye nod? ile waken ye
With my swords point.

_Brun._ I wish no more of heaven,
Nor hope no more, but a sufficient anger
To torture thee.

_Mart._ See, she that makes you see Sir,
And to your misery still see, your mother,
The mother of your woes Sir, of your waking,
The mother of your peoples cries, and curses,
Your murdering mother, your malicious mother:

_Thier._ Phisitians, halfe my state to sleepe an houre now;
Is it so mother?

_Brun._ Yes it is so sonne;
And were it yet againe to do, it should be.

_Mart._ She nods againe, swing her.

_Thier._ But mother,
For yet I love that reverence, and to death
Dare not forget you have bin so; was this,
This endlesse misery, this curelesse malice,
This snatching from me all my youth together,
All that you made me for, and happy mothers
Crownde with eternall time are proud to finish,
Done by your will?

_Brun._ It was, and by that will.

_Thier._ O mother, do not lose your name, forget not
The touch of nature in you, tendernes
'Tis all the soule of woman, all the sweetnesse;
Forget not I beseech you what are children,
Nor how you [have] gron'd for um, to what love
They are borne inheritors, with what care kept,
And as they rise to ripenesse still remember
How they impe out your age; and when time calls you,
That as an Autum flower you fall, forget not
How round about your hearse they hang like penons.

_Brun._ Holy foole,
Whose patience to prevent my wrongs has kill'd thee,
Preach not to me of punishments, or feares,
Or what I ought to be, but what I am,
A woman in her liberall will defe[at]ed,
In all her greatnesse crost, in pleasure blasted,
My angers have bin laught at, my ends slighted,
And all those glories that had crownd my fortunes,
Suffer'd by blasted vertue to be scatter'd,
I am the fruitefull mother of these angers,
And what such have done, reade, and know thy ruine.

_Thier._ Heaven forgive you.

_Mart._ She tells you true, for milions of her mischiefes
Are now apparent, _Protaldye_, we have taken
An equall agent with her, to whose care
After the damnde defeate on you, she trusted.

_Enter Messenger._

The bringing in of _Leonor_ the bastard
Son to your murther'd brother, her Physitian
By this time is attacht to that damn'd devil.

_Mess._ 'Tis like he will be so, for e'er we came
Fearing an equal justice for his mischiefs,
He drencht himself.

_Brun._ He did like one of mine then.

_Thier._ Must I still see these miseries, no night
To hide me from their horrors, that _Protaldy_
See justice fall upon.

_Brun._ Now I could sleep too.

_Enter_ Ordella.

_Mart._ I'll give you yet more Poppy, bring the Lady
And heaven in her embraces; gives him quiet,
Madam, unveil yourself.

_Ordel._ I do forgive you,
And though you sought my bloud, yet I'll pray for you.

_Brun._ Art thou alive?

_Mart._ Now could you sleep?

_Brun._ For ever.

_Mart._ Go carry her without wink of sleep, or quiet,
Where her strong knave _Protaldye_'s broke o'th' wheel,
And let his cries and roars be musick to her,
I mean to waken her.

_Thier._ Do her no wrong.

_Mart._ Nor right, as you love justice.

_Brun._ I will think,
And if there be new curses in old nature,
I have a soul dare send them.

_Mart._ Keep her waking. [_Exit_ Brunhalt.

_Thier._ What's that appears so sweetly? there's that face.

_Mart._ Be moderate, Lady.

_Thier._ That Angels face.

_Mart._ Goe nearer.

_Thier. Martel_, I cannot last long, see the soul,
I see it perfectly of my _Ordella_,
The heavenly figure of her sweetness there,
Forgive me gods, it comes, Divinest substance,
Kneel, kneel, kneel every one, Saint of thy Sex,
If it be for my cruelty thou comest,
Do ye see her hoe?

_Mart._ Yes Sir, and you shall know her.

_Thier._ Down, down again, to be reveng'd for bloud,
Sweet Spirit I am ready, she smiles on me,
O blessed sign of Peace.

_Mart._ Goe nearer Lady.

_Ordel._ I c[o]me to make you happy.

_Thier._ Hear you that, Sir?
She comes to crown my soul: away, get sacrifice
Whilst I with holy Honors.

_Mart._ She's alive, Sir.

_Thier._ In everlasting life, I know it friend,
Oh happy, happy soul.

_Ordel._ Alas, I live Sir,
A mortal woman still.

_Thier._ Can spirits weep too?

_Mart._ She's no spirit Sir, pray kiss her, Lady,
Be very gentle to him.

_Thier._ Stay, she is warm,
And by my life the same lips tell me brightness,
Are you the same _Ordella_ still?

_Mart._ The same, Sir,
Whom heavens and my good Angel staid from ruin.

_Thier._ Kiss me again.

_Ordel._ The same still, still your servant.

_Thier._ 'Tis she, I know her now _Martel_; sit down sweet.
Oh blest and happiest woman, a dead slumber
Begins to creep upon me, oh my jewel!

_Enter Messenger and_ Memberge.

_Ordel._ Oh sleep my Lord.

_Thier._ My joyes are too much for me.

_Mess. Brunhalt_ impatient of her constraint to see
_Protaldye_ tortur'd, has choak'd her self.

_Mart._ No more, her sins go with her.

_Thier._ Love, I must die, I faint, close up my glasses.

_1 Doct._ The Queen faints too, and deadly.

_Thier._ One dying kiss.

_Ordel._ My last Sir, and my dearest, and now
Close my eyes too.

_Thier._ Thou perfect woman.
_Martel_, the Kingdom's yours, take _Memberge_ to you,
And keep my line alive; nay, weep not, Lady,
Take me, I go.

_Ordel._ Take me too, farewel honour. [_Die both._

_2 Doct._ They are gone for ever.

_Mart._ The peace of happy souls go after them,
Bear them to their last beds, whilst I study
A Tomb to speak their loves; whilst old time laste[t]h
I am your King in sorrows.

_Omnes._ We your subjects.

_Mart. Devitry_, for your service, be near us,
Whip out these instruments of this mad mother
From Court, and all good people; and because
She was born Noble, let that Title find her
A private grave, but neither tongue nor honor:
And now lead on, they that shall read this story,
Shall find that Virtue lives in Good, not Glory.

[_Exeunt Omnes._

The Woman-Hater.

PROLOGUE.

_Gentlemen, Inductions are out of date, and a Prologue in Verse,
is as stale as a black Velvet Cloak, and a Bay Garland: therefore
you shall have it plain Prose, thus: If there be any amongst you,
that come to hear lascivious Scenes, let them depart: for I do
pronounce this, to the utter discomfort of all twopenny Gallery
men, you shall have no bawdery in it: or if there be any lurking
amongst you in corners, with Table-books, who have some hope to
find fit matter to feed his ---- ---- malice on, let them claspe
them up, and slink away, or stay and be converted. For he that
made this Play, means to please Auditors so, as he may be an
Auditor himself hereafter, and not purchase them with the dear
[losse] of his [e]ares: I dare not call it_ Comedy _or_ Tragedy;
_'tis perfectly neither: A Play it is, which was meant to make you_
_laugh, how it [will] please you, is not written in my Part: for_
_though you should like it to day, perhaps your selves know not
how you should digest it to morrow: Some things in it you may
meet with, which are out of the common road: a Duke there is,
and the Scæne lies in Italy, as those two things lightly we never
miss. But you shall not find in it the ordinary and over-worn
Trade of jesting at Lords and Courtiers, and Citizens, without
taxation of any particular or new vice by them found out, but at
the persons of them; such, he, that made this, thinks vile, and
for his own part vows; That he did never think, but that a [Lord]
born might be a wise man, and a Courtier an honest man._

_Actus Primus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter Duke of_ Millain, Arrigo, Lucio, _and two Courtiers_.

Tis now the sweetest time for sleep, the night is scarce
spent; _Arrigo_, what's a clock?

_Arri._ Past four.

_Duke._ Is it so much, and yet the morn not up?
See yonder where the shamefac'd Maiden comes
Into our sight, how gently doth she slide,
Hiding her chaste cheeks, like a modest Bride,
With a red veil of blushes; as [is] she,
Even such all modest virtuous Women be.
Why thinks your Lordship I am up so soon?

_Lucio._ About some weighty State plot.

_Duke._ And what thinks your knighthood of it?

_Arr._ I do think to cure some strange corruptions in the
Common-wealth.

_Duke._ Y'are well conceited of your selves to think
I chuse you out to bear me company
In such affairs and business of state:
For am not I a pattern for all Princes,
That break my soft sleep for my subjects good?
Am I not careful? very provident?

_Luc._ Your Grace is careful.

_Arri._ Very provident.

_Duke._ Nay, knew you how my serious working plots,
Concern the whole Estates of all my subjects,
I, and their lives; then _Lucio_ thou wouldst swear,
I were a loving Prince.

_Luc._ I think your Grace intends to walk the publick
streets disguis'd, to see the streets disorders.

_Duke._ It is not so.

_Arri._ You secretly will cross some other states, that do
conspire against you.

_Duke._ Weightier far:
You are my friends, and you shall have the cause;
I break my sleeps thus soon to see a wench.

_Luc._ Y'are wond'rous careful for your subjects good.

_Arri._ You are a very loving Prince indeed.

_Duke._ This care I take for them, when their dull eyes,
Are clos'd with heavy slumbers.

_Arri._ Then you rise to see your wenches?

_Luc._ What _Milan_ beauty hath the power, to charme her
Sovereign eyes, and break his sleeps?

_Duke._ Sister to Count _Valore_, she's a Maid
Would make a Prince forget his throne, and sta[t]e,
And lowly kneel to her: the general fate
Of all mortality, is hers to give;
As she disposeth, so we die and live.

_Luc._ My Lord, the day grows clear, the Court will rise.

_Duk._ We stay too long, is the _Umbranoes_ head as we commanded,
sent to the sad _Gondarino_, our General?

_Arr._ 'Tis sent.

_Duke._ But stay, where shines that light?

_Arri._ 'Tis in the chamber of _Lazarello_.

_Duke. Lazarillo?_ what is he?

_Arri._ A Courtier my Lord, and one that I wonder your Grace knows
not: for he hath followed your Court, and your last predecessors,
from place to place, any time this seven year[e], as faithfully as
your Spits and your Dripping-pans have done, and almost as greasily.

_Duke._ Oh we know him, as we have heard, he keeps a Kalender of
all the [famous] dishes of meat, that have been in the Court, ever
since our great Grandfathers time; and when he can thrust in at no
Table, he makes his meat of that.

_Lucio._ The very same my Lord.

_Duk[e]._ A Courtier call'st thou him?
Believe me _Lucio_, there be many such
About our Court, respected, as they think,
Even by our self; with thee I will be plain:

We Princes do use, to preferre many for nothing, and to take
particular and free knowledg[e], almost in the nature of
acquaintance of many; whom we do use only for our pleasures, and
[d]o give largely to numbers; more out of policy to be thought
liberal, and by that means to make the people strive to deserve
our Love; than to reward any particular desert of theirs, to whom
we give: and do suffer our selves to hear flatterers, more for
recreation

Than for love of it, though we seldom hate it:
And yet we know all these, and when we please,
Can touch the wheel, and turn their names about.

_Luc._ I wonder they that know their states so well, should fancy
such base slaves.

_Duke._ Thou wond'rest _Lucio_,
Dost not thou think, if thou wert Duke of _Milan_,
Thou should'st be flattered?

_Luc._ I know my Lord, I would not.

_Duke._ Why so, I thought till I was Duke, I thought I should have
left me no more flatterers, than there are now Plain-dealers; and
yet for all this my resolution, I am most palpably flattered: the
poor man may loath covetousness and flattery, but fortune will
alter the mind when the wind turns: there may be well a little
conflict, but it will drive the billows before it.

_Arrigo_ it grows late, for see, fair _Thetis_ hath undone the barrs
To _Phebus_ team; and his unrival'd light,
Hath cha[s]'d the mornings modest blush away:
Now must we to our love, bright _Paphian_ Queen;
Thou _Cytherean_ goddess, that delights
In stirring glances, and art still thy self,
More toying than thy team of Sparrows be;
Thou laughing _Errecina_, oh inspire
Her heart with love, or lessen my desire. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Lazarillo _and his boy_.

_Laz._ Go run, search, pry in every nook and angle of the Kitchins,
Larders, and Pasteries, know what meat's boil'd, bak'd, rost,
stew'd, fri'd, or sous'd, at this dinner to be serv'd directly, or
indirectly, to every several Table in the Court, be gone.

_Boy._ I run, but not so fast as your mouth will do upon the stroke
of Eleven. [_Exit Boy._

_Laz._ What an excellent thing did God bestow upon man, when he
[did give] him a good stomach! what unbounded graces there are
pour'd upon them that have the continual command of the very best
of these blessings! 'tis an excellent thing to be a Prince; he is
serv'd with such admirable variety of Fare; such innumerable choice
of Delicates; his Tables are full fraught with most nourishing
food, and his Cubbards heavy laden with rich Wines; his Court
is still filled with most [pleasing varieties]: In the Summer,
his Palace is full of Green Geese; and in Winter it [swarmeth]
Woodcocks,

Oh thou goddess of Plenty
Fill me this day with some rare delicates
And I will every year most constantly,
As this day celebrate a sumptuous Feast,
If thou wilt send me victuals in thine honor;
And to it shall be bidden for thy sake,
Even all the valiant stomachs in the Court:
All short-cloak'd Knights, and all cross-garter'd Gentlemen;
All pump and pantofle, foot-cloth riders;
With all the swarming generation
Of long stocks, short pain'd hose, and huge stuff'd doublets:
All these shall eat, and which is more than yet
Hath e'er been seen, they shall be satisfied.
I wonder my Ambassador returns not!

_Enter Boy._

_Boy._ Here I am Master.

_Laza._ And welcome:
Never did that sweet Virgin in her smock,
Fair-cheek'd _Andromeda_, when to the rock
Her Ivorie limbs were chain'd, and straight before
A huge Sea-monster, tumbling to the shore,
To have devour'd her, with more longing sight
Expect the coming of some hardy Knight,
That might have quell'd his pride, and set her free,
Than I with longing sight have look'd for thee.

_Boy._ Your _Perseus_ is come Master, that will destroy him,
The very comfort of whose presence shuts
The monster hunger from your yelping guts.

_Laza._ Brief boy, brief, discourse the service of each several
Table compendiously.

_Boy._ Here's a Bill of all Sir.

_Laza._ Give it me, a Bill of all the several services this day
appointed for every Table in the Court,

I, this is it on which my hopes relye,
Within this paper all my joyes are clos'd:
Boy, open it, and read it with reverence.

_Boy._ For the Captain of the Guards Table, three chines of Beef,
and two jo[l]ls of Sturgeon.

_Laza._ A portly service, but gross, gross, proceed to the Dukes
own Table, dear boy, to the Dukes own Table.

_Boy._ For the Dukes own Table, the head of an _Umbrana_.

_Laza._ Is't possible? can Heaven be so propitious to the Duke?

_Boy._ Yes, I'll assure you Sir, 'tis possible, Heaven is so
propitious to him.

_Laza._ Why then he is the richest Prince alive:
He were the wealthiest Monarch in all _Europe_,
Had he no other Territories, Dominions, Provinces, Seats,
No[r] Palaces, but only that _Umbrana_'s head.

_Boy._ 'Tis very fresh and sweet, Sir, the fish was taken but
this night, and the head, as a rare novelty, appointed by special
commandement for the Dukes own Table, this dinner.

_Laza._ If poor unworthy I may come to eat
Of this most sacred dish, I here do vow
(If that blind Huswife, Fortune will bestow
But means on me) to keep a sumptuous house,

A board groaning under the heavy burden of the beasts that cheweth
the cudd, and the Fowl that cutteth the Air: I shall not like the
Table of a countrey Justice, besprinkled over with all manner of
cheap Sallads, sliced Beef, Giblets, and Petitoes, to fill up room,
nor should there stand any great, cumbersom, un-cut-up pies, at
the nether end fill'd with moss and stones, partly to make a shew
with and partly to keep the lower Mess from eating, nor shall my
meat come in sneaking, like the City service, one dish a quarter
of an hour after another, and gone, as if they had appointed to
meet there, and had mistook the hour, nor should it, like the new
Court service, come in in haste, as if it fain would be gone again,
all courses at once, like a hunting breakfast, but I would have
my several courses, and my dishes well fill'd, my first course
should be brought in after the antient manner, by a score of old
bleer-ey'd Serving-men, in long blew coats, (marry they shall buy
Silk, Facing, and Buttons themselves) but that's by the way.

_Boy._ Master the time calls on, will you be walking? [_Exit Boy._

_Laza._ Follow boy, follow, my guts were half an hour since in the
privy Kitchin. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Tertia._

_Enter Count, and his Sister_ Oriana.

_Oria._ Faith brother, I must needs go yonder.

_Count._ And faith Sister what will you do yonder?

_Oria._ I know the Lady _Honoria_ will be glad to see me.

_Count._ Glad to see you? faith the Lady _Honoria_ cares for you
as she doth for all other young Ladies, she's glad to see you, and
will shew you the Privy Garden, and tell you how many Gowns the
Duchess had; Marry if you have ever an old Uncle, that would be a
Lord, or ever a kinsman that hath done a murther, or committed a
robbery, and will give good store of Money to procure his pardon,
then the Lady _Honoria_ will be glad to see you.

_Oria._ I, but they say one shall see fine sights at the Court.

_Count._ I'll tell you what you shall see, you shall see many faces
of mans making, for you shall find very few as God left them: and
you shall see many legs too; amongst the rest you shall behold one
pair, the feet of which, were in times past, sockless, but are now
through the change of time (that alters all things) very strangely
become the legs of a Knight and a Courtier; another pair you shall
see, that were heir apparent legs to a Glover, these legs hope
shortly to be honourable; when they pass by they will bow, and the
mouth to these legs, will seem to offer you some Courtship; it
[will] swear, but [it] will lye, hear it not.

_Oria._ Why, and are not these fine sights?

_Count._ Sister, in seriousness you yet are young
And fair, a fair young Maid, and apt.

_Oria._ Apt?

_Count._ Exceeding apt[, apt] to be drawn to.

_Oria._ To what?

_Count._ To that you should not be, 'tis no dispraise,
She is not bad that hath desire to ill,
But she that hath no power to rule that Will:
For there you shall be wooed in other kinds
Than yet your years have known, the chiefest men
Will seem to throw themselves
As vassals at your [service], kiss your hand,
Prepare [you] Banquets, Masques, Shews, all inticements
That Wit and Lust together can devise,
To draw a Lady from the state of Grace
To an old Lady widdows Gallery;
And they will praise your virtues, beware that,
The only way to turn a Woman whore,
Is to commend her chastity: you'll goe?

_Oria._ I would go, if it were but only to shew you, that I could
be there, and be mov'd with none of these tricks.

_Count._ Your servants are ready?

_Oria._ An hour since.

_Count._ Well, if you come off clear from this hot service, Your
praise shall be the greater. Farewel Sister.

_Oria._ Farewel Brother.

_Count._ Once more, if you stay in the presence till candle-light,
keep on the foreside o'th' Curtain; and do you hear, take heed
of the old Bawd, in the cloth of Tissue sleeves, and the knit
Mittines. Farewel Sister. [_Exit_ Oria.

Now am I idle, I would I had been a Scholar, that I might a studied
now: the punishment of meaner men is, they have too much to do;
our only misery is, that without company we know not what to do;
I must take some of the common courses of our Nobility; which is
thus: if I can find no company that likes me, pluck off my Hatband,
throw an old Cloak over my face, and as if I would not be known,
walk hastily through the streets, till I be discovered; then there
goes Count such a one, says one; there goes Count such a one, says
another: Look how fast he goes, says a third; there's some great
matters in hand questionless, says a fourth; when all my business
is to hav[e] them say so: this hath been used; or if I can find any
company, I'll after dinner to the Stage, to see a Play; where, when
I first enter, you shall have a murmure in the house, every one
that does not know cries, What Nobleman is that? all the Gallants
on the Stage rise, vail to me, kiss their hand, offer me their
places: then I pick out some one, whom I please to grace among the
rest, take his seat, use it, throw my cloak over my face, and laugh
at him: the poor Gentleman imagines himself most highly grac'd,
thinks all the Auditors esteem him one of my bosom friends; and
in right special regard with me. But here comes a Gentleman, that
I hope will make me better sport, than either street and stage
fooleries.

_Enter_ Lazarello _and Boy_.

This man loves to eat good meat, always provided, he do not pay for
it himself, he goes by the name of the _Hungry Courtier_, marry,
because I think that name will not sufficiently distinguish him,
for no doubt he hath more fellows there, his name is _Lazarello_,
he is none of these [same] ordinary eaters, that will devour three
breakfasts, and as many dinners, without any prejudice to their
Beavers, Drinkings, or Suppers; but he hath a more courtly kind
of hunger, and doth hunt more after novelty, than plenty, I'll
overhear him.

_Laza._ Oh thou most itching kindly appetite,
Which every creature in his stomach feels;
Oh leave, leave yet at last thus to torment me.
Three several Sallads have I sacrific'd,
Bedew'd with precious oil and vinegar
Already to appease thy greedy wrath. Boy.

_Boy._ Sir.

_Laza._ Will the Count speak with me?

_Boy._ One of his Gentlemen is gone to inform him of your coming,
Sir.

_Laza._ There is no way left for me to compass th[is] Fish-head,
but by being presently made known to the Duke.

_Boy._ That will be hard Sir.

_Laza._ When I have tasted of this sacred dish,
Then shall my bones rest in my Fathers tomb
In peace; then shall I dye most willingly,
And as a dish be serv'd to satisfie,
Deaths hunger, and I will be buried thus:
My Bier shall be a charger born by four,
The Coffin where I lye, a powd'ring-tub,
Bestrew'd with Lettice, and cool Sallad herbs,
My Winding-sheet of Tansies, the black Guard
Shall be my solemn Mourners, and instead
Of ceremonies, wholsom burial Prayers:
A printed dirge in rhyme, shall bury me.
Instead of tears, let them pour Capon sauce upon my hearse,
And salt instead of dust, Manchets for stones, for other glorious
shields
Give me a Voider; and above my Hearse
For a Trutch sword, my naked knife stuck up.

[_The Count discovers himself._

_Boy._ Master, the Count's here.

_Laza._ Where? my Lord I do beseech you.

_Count._ Y'are very welcome Sir, I pray you stand up, you shall
dine with me.

_Laza._ I do beseech your Lordship by the love I still have born to
your honourable house.

_Count._ Sir, what need all this? you shall dine with me, I pray
rise.

_Laza._ Perhaps your Lordship takes me for one of these same
fellows, that do as it were respect victuals.

_Count._ Oh Sir by no means.

_Laza._ Your Lordship has often promised, that whensoever I should
affect greatness, your own hand should help to raise me.

_Count._ And so much still assure your self of.

_Laza._ And though I must confess, I have ever shun'd popularity,
by the example of others, yet I do now feel my self a little
ambitious, your Lordship is great, and though young, yet a Privy
Counsellor.

_Count._ I pray you Sir leap into the matter, what would You have
me do for you?

_Laza._ I would intreat your Lordship to make me known to the Duke.

_Count._ When Sir?

_Laza._ Suddainly my Lord, I would have you present me unto him
this morning.

_Count._ It shall be done, but for what virtues, would you have him
take notice of you?

_Laza._ Your Lordship shall know that presently.

_Count._ 'Tis pity of this fellow, he is of good wit, and
sufficient understanding, when he is not troubled with this greedy
worm.

_Laza._ 'Faith, you may intreat him to take notice of me for
any thing; for being an excellent Farrier, for playing well at
Span-counter, or sticking knives in walls, for being impudent, or
for nothing; why may not I be a Favorite on the suddain? I see
nothing against it.

_Count._ Not so Sir, I know you have not the face to be a Favourite
on the suddain.

_Laz._ Why then you shall present me as a Gentleman well qualified,
or one extraordinary seen in divers strange mysteries.

_Count._ In what Sir? as how?

_Laz._ Marry as thus--

_Enter [I]ntelligencer._

_Count._ Yonder's my old Spirit, that hath haunted me daily, ever
since I was a privy Counsellor, I must be rid of him, I pray you
stay there, I am a little busie, I will speak with you presently.

_Laza._ You shall bring me in, and after a little other talk taking
me by the hand, you shall utter these words to the Duke: May it
please your grace, to take note of a Gentleman, well read, deeply
learned, and throughly grounded in the hidden knowledge of all
Sallads and Pot-herbs whatsoever.

_Count._ 'Twill be rare, if you will walk before, Sir, I will
overtake you instantly.

_Laza._ Your Lordships ever.

_Count._ This fellow is a kind of an informer, one that lives in
Alehouses and Taverns, and because he perceives some worthy men in
this Land, with much labour and great expence, to have discovered
things dangerously hanging over the State; he thinks to discover
as much out of the talk of drunkards in Tap-houses: he brings me
informations, pick'd out of broken words, in mens common talk,
which, with his malicious mis-application, he hopes will seem
dangerous, he doth besides, bring me the names of all the young
Gentlemen in the City, that use Ordinaries, or Taverns, talking
(to my thinking) only as the freedom of their youth teach them,
without any further ends; for dangerous and seditious spirits;
he is besides, an arrant whoremaster, as any is in _Milan_, of a
Lay-man; I will not meddle with the Clergy: he is parcel Lawyer,
and in my conscience much of their religion, I must put upon him
some piece of service; come hither Sir, what have you to do with me?

_Int._ Little my Lord, I only come to know how your Lordship would
employ me.

_Count._ Observed you that Gentleman, that parted from me but now?

_Int._ I saw him now my Lord.

_Count._ I was sending for you, I have talked with this man, and I
do find him dangerous.

_Int._ Is your Lordship in good earnest?

_Count._ Hark you Sir, there may perhaps be some within ear-[shot].
[_He whispers with him._

_Enter_ Lazarello _and his Boy_.

_Laz._ Sirrah, will you venture your life, the Duke hath sent the
Fish-head to my Lord?

_Boy._ Sir if he have not, kill me, do what you will with me.

_Laz._ How uncertain is the state of all mortal things! I have
these crosses from my Cradle, from my very Cradle, insomuch that
I do begin to grow desperate: Fortune I do despise thee, do thy
worst; yet when I do better gather my self together, I do find
it is rather the part of a wise man, to prevent the storms of
Fortune by stirring, than to suffer them by standing still, to pour
themselves upon his naked body. I will about it.

_Count._ Who's within there?

_Enter a Servingman._

Let this Gentleman out at the back door, forget not my
instructions, if you find any thing dangerous; trouble not
your self to find out me, but carry your informations to the
Lord _Lucio_, he is a man grave, and well experienced in these
businesses.

[_Int._ Your Lordships Servant.] [_Exit Intelligencer and
Servingman._

_Laz._ Will it please your [worship walke]?

_Count._ Sir I was coming, I will overtake you.

_Laz._ I will attend you over against the Lord _Gonderinoes_ house.

_Count._ You shall not attend there long.

_Laz._ Thither must I to see my Loves face, the chaste
Virgin head
Of a dear Fish, yet pure and undeflowred,
Not known of man no rough bred countrey hand,
Hath once toucht thee, no Pandars withered paw,
Nor an un-napkin'd Lawyers greasie fist,
Hath once slubbered thee: no Ladies supple hand,
Wash'd o'er with Urine, hath yet seiz'd on thee
With her two nimble talents: no Court hand,
Whom his own natural filth, or change of air,
Hath bedeck'd with scabs, hath marr'd thy whiter grace:
Oh let it be thought lawful then for me,
To crop the flower of thy Virginity. [_Exit_ Lazarello.

_Count._ This day I am for fools, I am all theirs,
Though like to our young wanton cocker'd heirs,
Who do affect those men above the rest,
In whose base company they still are best:
I do not with much labour strive to be
The wisest ever in the company:
But for a fool, our wisdom oft amends,
As enemies do teach us more than friends. [_Exit Count._

_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter Gondarino and his servants._

_Serv._ My Lord:

_Gond._ Ha!

_Serv._ Here's one hath brought you a present.

_Gond._ From whom? from a woman? if it be from a woman, bid him
carrie it back, and tell her she's a whore; what is it?

_Serv._ A Fish head my Lord.

_Gond._ What Fish head?

_Serv._ I did not aske that my Lord.

_Gond._ Whence comes it?

_Ser._ From the Court.

_Gond._ O 'tis a Cods-head.

_Serv._ No my Lord, 'tis some strange head, it comes from the Duke.

_Gond._ Let it be carried to my Mercer, I doe owe him money for
silks, stop his mouth with that. [_Exit Serv._

Was there ever any man that hated his wife after death but I?
and for her sake all women, women that were created only for the
preservation of little dogs.

_Enter Servant._

_Serv._ My Lord the Count's sister being overtaken in the streets,
with a great hail-storm, is light at your gate, and desires [room]
till the storm be overpast.

_Gond._ Is she a woman?

_Serv._ I my Lord I think so.

_Gond._ I have none for her then: bid her get her gone, tell her
she is not welcome.

_Serv._ My Lord, she is now comming up.

_Gond._ She shall not come up, tell her any thing; tell her I have
but one great room in my house, and I am now in it at the close
stool.

_Serv._ She's here my Lord.

_Gond._ O impudence of women: I can keep dogs out of my house, or I
can defend my house against theeves, but I cannot keep out women.

_Enter_ Oriana, _a waiting woman, and a Page_.

Now Madam, what hath your Ladyship to say to me?

_Oria._ My Lord, I was bold to crave the help of your house against
the storm.

_Gond._ Your Ladyships boldness in coming will be impudence in
staying; for you are most unwelcome.

_Oriana._ Oh my Lord!

_Gond._ Doe you laugh? by the hate I bear to you, 'tis true.

_Orian._ Y'are merry my Lord.

_Gond._ Let me laugh to death if I be, or can be whilst thou art
here, or livest; or any of thy sex.

_Oriana._ I commend your Lordship.

_Gond._ Doe you commend me? why doe you commend me? I give you no
such cause: thou art a filthy impudent whore; a woman, a very woman.

_Oria._ Ha, ha, ha.

_Gond._ Begot when thy father was drunk.

_Orian._ Your Lordship hath a good wit.

_Gond._ How? what have I a good wit?

_Orian._ Come my Lord, I have heard before of your Lordships merry
vain in jesting against our Sex, which I being desirous to hear,
made me rather choose your Lordships house, than any other, but I
know I am welcome.

_Gond._ Let me not live if you be: me thinks it doth not become
you, to come to my house being a stranger to you, I have no woman
in my house, to entertain you, nor to shew you your chamber; why
should you come to me? I have no Galleries, nor banqueting houses,
nor bawdy pictures to shew your Ladyship.

_Orian._ Believe me this your Lordships plain[n]ess makes me think
my self more welcome, than if you had sworn by all the pretty Court
oaths that are, I had been welcomer than your soul to your body.

_Gond._ Now she's in, talking treason will get her out, I durst
sooner undertake to talk an Intelligencer out of the room, and
speak more than he durst hear, than talk a woman out of my company.

_Enter a Servant._

_Serv._ My Lord the Duke being in the streets, and the storm
continuing, is entred your gate, and now coming up.

_Gond._ The Duke! now I know your Errand Madam; you have plots and
private meetings in hand: why doe you choose my house? are you
asham'd to goe to't in the old coupling place, though it be less
suspicious here; for no Christian will suspect a woman to be in
my house? yet you may do it cleanlyer there, for there is a care
had of those businesses; and wheresoever you remove, your great
maintainer and you shall have your lodgings directly opposite, it
is but putting on your night-gown, and your s[l]ippers; Madam, you
understand me?

_Orian._ Before I would not understand him, but now he speaks
riddles to me indeed.

_Enter the Duke, Arrigo, and Lucio._

_Duke._ 'Twas a strange hail-storm.

_Lucio._ 'Twas exceeding strange.

_Gond._ Good morrow to your grace.

_Duke._ Good morrow _Gonderino_.

_Gond._ Justice great Prince.

_Duke._ Why should you beg for justice, I never did you wrong;
What's the offendor?

_Gond._ A woman.

_Duke._ I know your ancient quarrell against that Sex; but what
hainous crime hath she committed?

_Gond._ She hath gone abroad.

_Duke._ What? it cannot be.

_Gond._ She hath done it.

_Duke._ How? I never heard of any woman that did so before.

_Gond._ If she have not laid by that modesty
That should attend a Virgin, and, quite void
Of shame, hath left the house where she was born,
As they should never doe; let me endure
The pains that she should suffer.

_Duke._ Hath she so? Which is the woman?

_Gond._ This, this.

_Duke._ How! _Arrigo? Lucio?_

_Gond._ I then it is a plot, no Prince alive
Shall force me make my house a Brothell house;
Not for the sins, but for the womans sake,
I will not have her in my doors so long:
Will they make my house as bawdy as their own are?

_Duke._ Is it not _Oriana_?

_Lucio._ 'Tis.

_Duke._ Sister to Count _Valero_?

_Arri._ The very same.

_Duke._ She that I love?

_Lucio._ She that you love.

_Duke._ I do suspect.

_Lucio._ So doe I.

_Duke._ This fellow to be but a counterfeit,
One that doth seem to loath all woman-kind,
To hate himself, because he hath some part
Of woman in him; seems not to endure
To see, or to be seen of any woman,
Only, because he knows it is their nature
To wish to tast that which is most forbidden:
And with this shew he may the better compass
(And with far less suspition) his base ends.

_Lucio._ Upon my life 'tis so.

_Duke._ And I doe know,
Before his slain wife gave him that offence,
He was the greatest servant to that Sex
That ever was: what doth this Lady here
With him alone? why should he rail at her to me?

_Lucio._ Because your grace might not suspect.

_Duke._ 'Twas so: I doe love her strangely:
I would fain know the truth: counsell me. [_They three whisper._

_Enter Count, Lazarello, and his boy._

_Count._ It falls out better than we could expect Sir, that we
should find the Duke and my Lord _Gondarino_ together; both which
you desire to be acquainted with.

_Laz._ 'Twas very happy: Boy, goe down into the kitchen, and see if
you can spy that same; I am now in some hope: I have me thinks a
kind of fever upon me. [_Exit Boy._

A certain gloominess within me, doubting as it were, betwixt two
passions: there is no young maid upon her wedding night, when
her husband sets first foot in the bed, blushes, and looks pale
again, oftner than I doe now. There is no Poet acquainted with
more shakings and quakings, towards the latter end of [his] new
play, when he's in that case, that he stands peeping betwixt [the]
Curtains, so fearfully that a Bottle of Ale cannot be opened, but
he thinks some body hisses, than I am at this instant.

_Count._ Are they in consultation? If they be, either my young Duke
hath gotten some Bastard, and is persuading my Knight yonder to
father the child, and marry the wench, or else some Cock-pit is to
be built.

_Laz._ My Lord! what Nobleman's that?

_Count._ His name is _Lucio_, 'tis he that was made a Lord at the
request of some of his friends for his wives sake: he affects to
be a great States-man, and thinks it consists in night-caps and
jewells, and tooth-picks.

_Laz._ And what's that other?

_Count._ A Knight Sir, that pleaseth the Duke to favour, and to
raise to some extraordinary fortunes, he can make as good men as
himself, every day in the week, and doth--

_Laz._ For what was he raised?

_Count._ Truely Sir, I am not able to say directly, for what; But
for wearing of red breeches as I take it; he's a brave man, he will
spend three Knighthoods at a Supper without Trumpets.

_Laza._ My Lord I'll talk with him, for I have a friend, that would
gladly receive the humor.

_Count._ If he have the itch of Knighthood upon him, let him repair
to that Physitian, he'll cure him: but I will give you a note; is
your friend fat or lean?

_Laz._ Something fat.

_Count._ 'Twill be the worse for him.

_Laza._ I hope that's not material.

_Count._ Very much, for there is an impost set upon Knighthoods, &
your friend shall pay a Noble in the pound.

_Duke._ I doe not like examinations,
We shall find out the truth more easily,
Some other way less noted, and that course,
Should not be us'd, till we be sure to prove
Some thing directly, for when they perceive
Themselves suspected, they will then provide
More warily to answer.

_Luc._ Doth she know your Grace doth love her?

_Duke._ She hath never heard it.

_Luc._ Then thus my Lord. [_They whisper_

_Laz._ What's he that walks [_again_
alone so sadly with his hands behind him?

_Count._ The Lord of the house, he that you desire to be acquainted
with, he doth hate women for the same cause that I love them.

_Laz._ What's that?

_Count._ For that which Apes want: you perceive me Sir?

_Laz._ And is he sad? Can he be sad that hath so rich a gem under
his roof, as that which I doe follow. What young Lady's that?

_Count._ Which? Have I mine eye-sight perfect, 'tis my sister:
did I say the Duke had a Bastard? What should she make here with
him and his Councell? She hath no papers in her hand to petition
to them, she hath never a husband in prison, whose release she
might sue for: That's a fine trick for a wench; to get her husband
clapt up, that she may more freely, and with less suspition, visit
the private studies of men in authority. Now I doe discover their
consultation, yon fellow is a Pander without all salvation: But let
me not condemn her too rashly without weighing the matter; she's a
young Lady, she went forth early this morning with a waiting woman,
and a Page, or so: This is no garden house; in my conscience she
went forth with no dishonest intent: for she did not pretend going
to any Sermon in the further end of the City: Neither went she
to see any odd old Gentlewoman, that mourns for the death of her
husband, or the loss of her friend, and must have young Ladys come
to comfort her: those are the damnable Bawds: 'Twas no set meeting
certainly; for there was no wafer-woman with her these three days
on my knowledge: I'll talk with her; Good morrow my Lord.

_Gond._ Y'are welcome Sir: here's her brother come now to doe a
kind office for his sister; is it not strange?

_Count._ I am glad to meet you here sister.

_Orian._ I thank you good brother: and if you doubt of the cause of
my coming I can satisfie you.

_Count._ No faith, I dare trust thee, I doe suspect thou art
honest; for it is so rare a thing to be honest amongst you, that
some one man in an age, may perhaps suspect some two women to be
honest, but never believe it verily.

_Luci._ Let your return be suddain.

_Arri._ U[n]suspected by them.

_Duke._ It shall; so shall I best perceive their Love, if there be
any; Farewell.

_Count._ Let me entreat your grace to stay a little,
To know a gentleman, to whom your self
Is much beholding; he hath made the sport
For your whole Court these eight years, on my knowledge.

_Duke._ His name?

_Count. Lazarello._

_Duke._ I heard of him this morning, which is he?

_Count. Lazarello_, pluck up thy spirits, thy [Fortuns are] now
raising, the Duke calls for thee, and thou shalt be acquainted with
him.

_Laz._ He's going away, and I must of necessity stay here upon
business.

_Count._ 'Tis all one, thou shalt know him first.

_Laz._ Stay a little, if he should offer to take me away with him,
and by that means I should loose that I seek for; but if he should
I will not goe with him.

_Count. Lazarello_, the Duke stayes, wilt thou lose this
opportunity?

_Laz._ How must I speak to him?