Chapter IV: Part 4

_Count._ 'Twas well thought of: you must not talk to him as you doe
to an ordinary man, honest plain sence, but you must wind about
him: for example, if he should aske you what a clock it is, you
must not say; If it please your grace 'tis nine; but thus; thrice
three a clock, so please my Sovereign: or thus;

Look how many Muses there doth dwell
Upon the sweet banks of the learned Well;
And just so many stroaks the clock hath struck,
And so forth; And you must now and then enter into a description.

_Laz._ I hope I shall doe it.

_Count._ Come: May it please your grace to take note of a
Gentleman, wel seen, deeply read, and throughly grounded in the
hidden knowledge of all sallets and potherbs whatsoever.

_Duke._ I shall desire to know him more inwardly.

_Laz._ I kiss the Oxe-hide of your graces foot.

_Count._ Very well: will your grace question him a little?

_Duke._ How old are you?

_Laz._ Full eight and twenty several Almanacks
Have been compiled, all for several years
Since first I drew this breath, four prentiships
Have I most truely served in this world:
And eight and twenty times hath _Phœbus_ Car
Run out his yearly course since.

_Duke._ I understand you Sir.

_Luci._ How like an ignorant Poet he talks.

_Duke._ You are eight and twenty year[e] old? what time of the day
doe you hold it to be?

_Laz._ About the time that mortals whet their knives
On thresholds, on their shooe sol[e]s, and on stairs,
New bread is grating, and the testy Cook
Hath much to doe now, now the Tables all.

_Duk._ 'Tis almost dinner time?

_Laz._ Your grace doth apprehend me very rightly.

_Count._ Your grace shall find him in your further conference
Grave, wise, courtly, and scholar like, understandingly read
In the necessities of the life of man.
He knows that man is mortal by his birth;
He knows that man must dye, and therefore live;
He knows that [man] must live, and therefore eat,

And if it shall please your grace, to accompany your self with
him, I doubt not, but that he will, at the least, make good my
commendations.

_Duk._ Attend us _Lazarello_, we doe want
Men of such Action, as we have received you
Reported from your honorable friend.

_Laza._ Good my Lord stand betwixt me and my overthrow, you know
I'm ti'd here, and may not depart, my gracious Lord, so waightie
are the businesses of mine own, which at this time do call upon me,
that I will rather chuse to die, than to neglect them.

_Count._ Nay you shall [well] perceive, besides the virtues that I
have alreadie inform'd you of, he hath a stomach which will stoop
to no Prince alive.

_Duk._ Sir at your best leisure, I shall thirst to see you.

_Laza._ And I shall hunger for it.

_Duk._ Till then farewell all.

_Gon. Count._ Long life attend your Grace.

_Duk._ I doe not tast this sport, _Arrigo, Lucio._

_Arrigo. Luci._ We doe attend. [_Exeunt Duke, Arrigo, Lucio._

_Gond._ His grace is gone, and hath left his _Hellen_ with me, I'm
no pander for him, neither can I be won with the hope of gain, or
the itching desire of tasting my Lords lecherie to him, to keep her
at (my house) or bring her in disguise, to his bed Chamber.

The twyns of Adders, and of Scorpions
About my naked brest, will seem to me
More tickling than those claspes, which men adore;
The lustfull, dull, ill spirited embraces
Of women; The much praysed _Amazones_,
Knowing their own infirmities so well,
Made of themselves a people, and what men
They take amongst them, they condemne to die,
Perceiving that their folly made them fit
To live no longer that would willingly
Come in the worthless presence of a woman.
I will attend, and see what my young Lord will doe with his sister.

_Enter Lazarilloes Boy._

_Boy._ My Lord; The fish head is gone again.

_Count._ W[h]ither?

_Boy._ I know whither my Lord.

_Count._ Keep it from _Lazarillo_: Sister shall I confer with you
in private, to know the cause of the Dukes coming hither, I know he
makes you acquainted with his business of State.

_Oria._ I'll satisfie you brother, for I see you are jealous of me.

_Gond._ Now there shall be some course taken for her conveiance.

_Laza. Lazarillo_, thou art happy, thy carriage hath begot love,
and that love hath brought forth fruits; thou art here in the
company of a man honorable, that will help thee to tast of the
bounties of the Sea, and when thou hast so done thou shalt retire
thy self unto the court, and there tast of the delicates of the
earth, and be great in the eyes of thy Soveraign: now no more shalt
thou need to scramble for thy meat, nor remove thy stomach with
the Court; But thy credit shall command thy hearts desire, and all
novelties shall be sent as presents unto thee.

_Count._ Good Sister, when you see your own time, wil[l] you return
home.

_Oria._ Yes brother, and not before.

_Laza._ I will grow popular in this State, and overthrow the
fortunes of a number, that live by extortion.

_Count. Lazarello_, bestirr thy self nimbly and sodainly, and
hear me with patience [to hear].

_Laza._ Let me not fall from my self; Speak I'm bound.

_Count._ So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear the fish head
is gone, and we know not whither.

_Laza._ I will not curse, nor swear, nor rage, nor rail,
Nor with contemptuous tongue, accuse my Fate;
Though I might justly doe it, nor will I
Wish my self uncreated for this evil:
Shall I entreat your Lordship to be seen
A little longer in the company
Of a man cross'd by Fortune?

_Count._ I hate to leave my friend in his extremities.

_Laza._ 'Tis noble in you, then I take your hand,
And doe protest, I doe not follow this
For any malice or for private ends,
But with a love, as gentle and as chast,
As that a brother to his sister bears:
And if I see this fish head yet unknown;
The last words that my dying father spake,
Before his eye strings brake, shall not of me
So often be remembred, as our meeting:
Fortune attend me, as my ends are just,
Full of pure love, and free from servile lust.

_Count._ Farwell my Lord, I was entreated to invite your Lordship
to a Lady's upsiting.

_Gond._ O my ears, why Madam, will not you follow your brother? you
are waited for by great men, heel bring you to him.

_Oria._ I'm very well my Lord, you doe mistake me, if you think I
affect greater company than your self.

_Gond._ What madness possesseth thee, that thou canst imagine me a
fit man to entertain [Ladies]; I tell thee, I doe use to tear their
hair, to kick them, and [to] twindge their noses, if they be not
carefull in avoiding me.

_Oria._ Your Lordship may discant upon your own behavior as please
you, but I protest, so sweet and courtly it appeares in my eye,
that I mean not to leave you yet.

_[Go]nd._ I shall grow rough.

_Oria._ A rough carriage is best in a man,
I'll dine with you my Lord.

_Gond._ Why I will starve thee, thou shalt have nothing.

_Oria._ I have heard of your Lordships nothing, I'll put that to
the venture.

_Gond._ Well thou shalt have meat, I'll send it to thee.

_Oria._ I'll keep no state my Lord, neither doe I mourn, I'll dine
with you.

_Gond._ Is such a thin[g] as this allowed to live?
What power hath let the[e] loose upon the earth
To plague us for our Sins? Out of my doors.

_Oria._ I would your Lordship did but see how well
This fury doth become you, it doth shew
So neer the life, as it were natural.

_Gond._ O thou damn'd woman, I will flie the vengeance
That hangs above thee, follow if thou dar'st. [_Exit Gondarino._

_Oria._ I must not leave this fellow, I will torment him to madness,
To teach his passions against kind to move,
The more he hates, the more I'll seem to love.

[_Exeunt Oriana and Maid._

_Enter Pandar and Mercer a citizen._

_Pand._ Sir, what may be done by art shall be done, I wear no[t]
this black cloak for nothing.

_Mer._ Perform this, help me to this great heir by learning, and
you shall want no black cloaks; taffaties, silkgrogra[m]s, sattins
and velvets are mine, they shall be yours; perform what you have
promis'd, and you shall make me a lover of Sciences, I will study
the learned languages, and keep my shop-book in Latine.

_Pand._ Trouble me not now, I will not fail you within this hour at
your shop.

_Mer._ Let Art have her course. [_Exit Mercer._

_Enter Curtezan._

_Pand._ 'Tis well spoken, _Madona_.

_Mad._ Hast thou brought me any customers.

_Pan._ No.

_Ma._ What the devil do'st thou in black?

_Pa._ As all solemn professors of setled courses, doe cover my
knavery with it: will you marry a citizen; Reasonably rich, and
unreasonably foolish, silks in his shop, mony in his purse, and no
wit in his head?

_Ma._ Out upon him, I could have [bin] otherwise than so, there was
a Knight swore he would have had me, if I would have lent him but
forty shillings to have redeem'd his cloak, to goe to Church in.

_Pan._ Then your wastcote wayter shall have him, call her in!

_Ma. Francessina!_

_Fr._ Anon!

_Ma._ Get you to the Church, and shrive your self,
For you shall be richly marryed anon.

_Pan._ And get you after her, I will work upon my citizen whilst
he is warm, I must not suffer him to consult with his neighbours,
the openest fools are hardly cousened, if they once grow jealous.
[_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._

_Enter Gondarino flying the Lady._

_Gond._ Save me ye better powers, let me not fall
Between the lo[o]se embracements of a woman:
Heaven, if my Sins be ripe grown to a head,
And must attend your vengeance: I beg not to divert my fate,
Or to reprive a while thy punishment
Only I crave, and hear me equall heavens,
Let not your furious rod, that must afflict me
Be that imperfect peece of nature,
That art makes up, woman, unsatiate woman.
Had we not knowing souls, at first infus'd
To teach a difference, 'twixt extremes and goods?
Were we not made our selves, free, unconfin'd
Commanders of our own affections?
And can it be, that this most perfect creature,
This image of his maker, well squar'd man,
Should leave the handfast, that he had of grace,
To fall into a womans easie armes.

_Enter Oriana._

_Orian._ Now _Venus_, be my speed, inspire me with all the severall
subtil temptations, that thou hast already given, or hast in store
heareafter to bestow upon our Sex: grant that I may apply that
Physick that is most apt to work upon him: whether he will soonest
be mov'd with wantonness, singing, dancing; or being passionate,
with scorn; or with sad and serious looks, cunningly mingled with
sighs, with smiling, lisping, kissing the hand, and making short
curt'sies, Or with whatsoever other nimble power, he may be caught,
doe thou infuse into me, and when I have him, I will sacrifice him
up to thee.

_Gond._ It comes again; New apparitions,
And tempting spirits: Stand and reveal thy self,
Tell why thou followest me! I fear thee
As I fear the place thou cam'st from: Hell.

_Orian._ My Lord, I 'm a woman, and such a one--

_Gond._ That I hate truely, thou hadst better bin a devill.

_Orian._ Why my unpatient Lord?

_Gond._ Devils were once good, there they excell'd you wom[e]n.

_Orian._ Can ye be so uneasie, can ye freeze, and
Such a summers heat so ready
To dissolve? nay gentle Lord, turn not away in scorn,
Nor hold me less fair than I am: look on these cheeks,
They have yet enough of nature, true complexion,
If to be red and white, a forehead high,
An easie melting lip, a speaking eye,
And such a tongue, whose language takes the ear
Of strict religion, and men most austere:
If these may hope to please, look here.

_Gond._ This woman with entreaty wo'd show all,
Lady there lies your way, I pray ye farewell.

_Orian._ Y'are yet too harsh, too dissonant,
There's no true musick in your words, my Lord.

_Gond._ What shall I give thee to be gone?

Here's ta, and tha wants lodging, take my house, 'tis big enough,
'tis thine own, 'twill hold five leacherous Lords, and their
lackies without discovery: there's stoves and bathing tubs.

_Orian._ Dear Lord: y'are too wild.

_Gond._ Shalt have a Doctor too, thou shalt, 'bout six and twentie,
'tis a pleasing age; Or I can help thee to a handsome Usher: or if
thou lack'st a page, I'll give thee one, preethee keep house, and
leave me.

_Oria._ I doe confess I'm too easie, too much woman,
Not coy enough to take affection,
Yet I can frown and nip a passion,
Even in the bud: I can say
Men please their present heats; Then please to leave us.
I can hold off, and, by my Chymick power,
Draw Sonnets from the melting lovers brain;
_Ayme's_, and _Elegies_: yet to you my Lord
My Love, my better self, I put these off,
Doing that office, not befits our sex,
Entreat a man to love;
Are ye not yet relenting? ha'ye blood and Spirit
In those veins? ye are no image, though ye be as hard
As marble: sure ye have no liver, if ye had,
'Twould send a lively and desiring heat
To every member; Is not this miserable?
A thing so truely form'd, shapt out by Symetry,
Has all the organs that belong to man,
And working too, yet to shew all these
Like dead motions moving upon wyers?
Then good my Lord, leave off what you have been,
And freely be what you were first intended for, a man.

_Gond._ Thou art a precious peece of slie damnation,
I will be deaf, I will lock up my ears,
Tempt me not, I will not love; If I doe.

_Oria._ Then I'll hate you.

_Gond._ Let me be 'nointed with hony, and turn'd into the Sun,
To be stung to death with horse-flies,
Hear'st thou, thou breeder, here I'll sit,
And, in despight of thee, I will say nothing.

_Oria._ Let me with your fair patience, sit beside you.

_Gond._ Madam, Lady, tempter, tongue, woman, ayr.
Look to me, I shall kick; I say again,
Look to me I shall kick.

_Oria._ I cannot think your better knowledg[e] can use a woman so
uncivilly.

_Gond._ I cannot think, I shall become a coxcombe,
To ha'my hair curl'd, by an idle finger,
My cheeks turn Tabers, and be plaid upon,
Mine eyes lookt babies in, and my nose blowd to my hand,
I say again I shall kick, sure I shall.

_Oria._ 'Tis but your outside that you shew, I know your mind
Never was guilty of so great a weakness,
Or could the to[n]gues of all men joyn'd together.
Possess me with a thought of your dislike
My weakness were above a womans, to fall off
From my affection, for one crack of thunder,
O wo'd you could love, my Lord.

_Gond._ I wo'd thou wouldst sit still, and say nothing: what
mad-man let thee lo[o]se to do more mischief than a dousen
whirlwinds, keep thy hands in thy muff, and warm the idle worms in
thy fingers ends: will ye be doing still? will no entreating serve
ye? no lawfull warning? I must remove and leave your Ladyship; Nay
never hope to stay me, for I will run, from that Smooth, Smiling,
Witching, Cousening, Tempting, Damning face of thine, as far as I
can find any land, where I will put my self into a daily course of
Curses for thee, and all thy Familie.

_Oria._ Nay good my Lord sit still, I'll promise peace
And fold mine Armes up, let but mine eye discourse;
Or let my voyce, set to some pleasing cord, sound out
The sullen strains of my neglected love.

_Gond._ Sing till thou crack thy treble-string in peeces,
And when thou hast done, put up thy pipes and walk,
Doe any thing, sit still and tempt me not.

_Oria._ I had rather sing at doors for bread, than sing to this
fellow, but for hate: if this should be told in the Court, that I
begin to woe Lords, what a troop of the untrust nobilitie should I
have at my lodging to morrow morning.

SONG.

_Come sleep, and with th[y] sweet deceiving,_
_Lock me in delight a while,_
_Let some pleasing Dreams beguile_
_All my fancies; That from thence,_
_I may feel an influence,_
_All my powers of care bereaving._
_Though but a shadow, but a sliding,_
_Let me know some little Joy,_
_We that suffer long anoy_
_Are contented with a thought_
_Through an idle fancie wrought_
_O let my joyes, have some abiding._

_Gond._ Have you done your wassayl? 'tis a handsome drowsie dittie
I'll assure ye, now I had as leave hear a Cat cry, when her tail
is cut off, as hear these lamentations, these lowsie love-layes,
these bewailements: you think you have caught me Lady, you think I
melt now, like a dish of May butter, and run, all into brine, and
passion, yes, yes, I 'm taken, look how I cross my arms, look pale,
and dwyndle, and wo'd cry, but for spoyling my face; we must part,
nay we'll avoyd all Ceremony, no kissing Lady, I desire to know
your Ladiship no more; death of my soul the Duke!

_Oria._ God keep your Lordship.

_Gond._ From thee and all thy sex.

_Oria._ I'll be the Clark, and crie, _Amen_,
Your Lordships ever assured enemie _Oriana_.

[_Exit. Oriana, Manet Gondarino._

_Actius Tertius. Scæna Secunda._

_Enter Duke, Arrigo, Lucia._

_Gond._ All the days good, attend your Lordship.

_Duk._ We thank you _Gondarino_, is it possible?
Can belief lay hold on such a miracle,
To see thee, one that hath cloyst'red up all passion,
Turn'd wilfull votary, and forsworn converse with women, in
company and fair discourse, with the best beauty of _Millain_?

_Gon._ 'Tis true, and if your Grace that hath the sway
Of the whole State, will suffer this lude sex,
These women, to pursue us to our homes,
Not to be prayd, no[r] to be rail'd away,
But they will woe, and dance, and sing,
And, in a manner, looser than they are
By nature (which should seem impossible)
To throw their armes, on our unwilling necks.

_Duk._ No more, I can see through your vissore, dissemble it no more.
Doe not I know thou hast us'd all Art,
To work upon the poor simplicitie
Of this yong Maid, that yet hath known none ill?
Thinkest that damnation will fright those that wooe
From oaths, and lies? But yet I think her chast,
And will from thee, before thou shalt apply
Stronger temptations, bear her hence with me.

_Gond._ My Lord, I speak not this to gain new grace,
But howsoever you esteeme my words,
My love and dutie will not suffer me
To see you favour such a prostitute,
And I stand by dumb; Without Rack, Torture,
Or Strappado, I[le] unrip my self:

I doe confess I was in company with that pleasing peece of
frailtie, that we call woman; I doe confess after a long and
tedious seige, I yielded.

_Duke._ Forward.

_Gond._ Faith my Lord to come quickly to the point, the woman you
saw with me is a whore; An arrant whore.

_Duke._ Was she not Count _Valores_ Sister?

_Gond._ Yes, that Count _Valores_ Sister is naught.

_Duk._ Thou dar'st not say so.

_Gond._ Not if it be distasting to your Lordship, but give me
freedome, and I dare maintain, she ha's imbrac'd this body, and
grown to it as close, as the hot youthfull vine to the elme.

_Duk._ Twice have I seen her with thee, twice my thoughts were
prompted by mine eye, to hold thy strictness false and imposterous:
Is this your mewing up, your strict retirement, your bitterness
and gaul against that sex? Have I not heard thee say, thou wouldst
sooner meet the _Basilisks_ dead doing eye, than meet a woman for
an object? Look it be true you tell me, or by our countries Saint
your head goes off: if thou prove a whore, no womans face shall
ever move me more. [_Exeunt. Manet Gondarino._

_Gond._ So, so, 'tis as 't should be, are women grown so mankind?
Must they be wooing, I have a plot shall blow her up, she flyes,
she mounts; I'll teach her Ladyship to dare my fury, I will be
known, and fear'd, and more truely hated of women than an Eunuch.

_Enter Oriana._

She's here again, good gaul be patient, for I must dissemble.

_Orian._ Now my cold, frosty Lord, my woman-Hater, you that have
sworn an everlasting hate to all our sex: by my troth good Lord,
and as I'm yet a maid, my thought 'twas excellent sport to hear
your honor swear out an Alphabet, chafe nobly like a Generall, kick
like a resty Jade, and make ill faces: Did your good Honor think I
was in love? where did I first begin to take that heat? From those
two radiant eyes, that piercing sight? oh they were lovely, if the
balls stood right; and there's a leg made out of a dainty staff.
Where, the Gods be thanked, there is calf enough.

_Gond._ Pardon him Lady, that is now a convert[ite].
Your beauty, like a Saint hath wrought this wonder.

_Oriana._ Alass, ha's it been prick'd at the heart? is the stomach
come down? will it rail no more at women, and call 'em Divells, she
Cats, and Goblins?

_Gond._ He that shall marry thee, had better spend the poor
remainder of his days in a dung-barge, for two pence a week, and
find him self.

Down again Spleen, I prethee down again, shall I find favour Lady?
shall at length my true unfeigned penitence get pardon for my harsh
unseasoned follies? I'm no more an Atheist, no I doe acknowledge,
that dread powerfull Deity, and his all quic'kning heats burn in
my breast: oh be not as I was, hard unrelenting; but as I [am], be
partner of my fires.

_Oria._ Sure we [shall] have store of Larks, the Skies will not
hold up long, I should have look'd as soon for Frost in the dog
days, or another Inundation, as hop'd this strange conversion above
miracle: let me look upon your Lordship; is your name _Gondarino_?
are you _Millains_ Generall, that great Bugbear bloody-bones, at
whose name all women, from the Lady to the Landress, shake like a
cold fit?

_Gond._ Good patience help me, this Fever will inrage my blood
again: Madam I'm that man; I'm even he that once did owe
unreconcil'd hate to you, and all that bear the name of woman: I'm
the man that wrong'd your Honor to the Duke: [I am hee] that said
you were unchast, and prostitute, yet I'm he that dare deny all
this.

_Orian._ Your big Nobility is very merry.

_Gond._ Lady 'tis true that I have wrong'd you thus,
And my contritio[n] is as true as that,
Yet have I found a means to make all good again,
I doe beseech your beautie, not for my self,
My merits are yet in conception,
But for your honors safety and my zeal
Retire a while, while I unsay my self unto the Duke,
And cast out that [evill] Spirit I have possest him with,
I have a house conveniently private.

_Ori._ Lord, thou hast wrong'd my innocence, but thy confession
hath gain'd thee faith.

_Gond._ By the true honest service, that I owe th[o]se eyes
My meaning is as spotless as my faith.

_Oria._ The Duke doubt mine honor? a may judge [strangely,]
'Twill not be long, before I'll be enlarg'd again.

_Gond._ A day or two.

_Orian._ Mine own servants shall attend me.

_Gond._ Your Ladyships command is good.

_Orian._ Look you be true. [_Exit Oriana._

_Gond._ Else let me lose the hopes my soul aspires to: I will be
a scourge to all females in my life, and after my death, the name
of _Gondarino_ shall be terrible to the mighty women of the earth;
They shall shake at my name, and at the sound of it, their knees
shall knock together; And they shall run into Nunneries, for they
and I are beyond all hope irreconcilable: for if I could endure an
ear with a hole in't, or a pleated lock, or a bare headed Coachman,
that sits like a sign where great Lad[ie]s are to be sold within;
agreement betwixt us, were not to be dispaired of; if I could be
but brought to endure to see women, I would have them come all once
a week, and kiss me, [where] Witches doe the devill, in token of
homage: I must not live here; I will to the Court, and there pursue
my plot; when it hath took, women shall stand in awe, but of my
look. [_Exit._

_Actus Tertius. Scæna Tertia._

_Enter two Intelligencers, discovering treason in the_
_Courtiers words._

_1 Intel._ There take your standing, be close and vigilant, here
will I set my self, and let him look to his language, a shall know
the Duke has more ears in Court than two.

_2 Int._ I'll quote him to a tittle, let him speak wisely, and
plainly, and as hidden as a can, or I shall crush him, a shall not
scape charracters, though a speak Babel, I shall crush him: we have
a Fortune by this service hanging over us, that within this year
or two, I hope we shall be called to be examiners, wear politick
gowns garded with copper lace, making great faces full of fear and
office, our labors may deserve this.

_1 Int._ I hope it shall: why has not many men been raised from
this worming trade, first to gain good access to great men, then to
have commissions out for search, and lastly, to be worthily nam'd
at a great Arraignment: yes, and why not we? They that endeavor
well deserve their Fee. Close, close, a comes: mark well, and all
goes well.

_Enter Count, Lazarello, and his Boy._

_Laz._ Farewell my hopes, my Anchor now is broken,
Farewell my _quondam_ joys, of which no token
Is now remaining, such is the sad mischance,
Where Lady Fortune leads the slipp'ry dance.
Yet at the length, let me this favour have,
Give me my wishes, or a wished grave.

_Count._ The gods defend so brave and valiant maw,
Should slip into the never satiate jaw
Of black Despair; no, thou shalt live and know
Thy full desires, hunger thy ancient foe,
Shall be subdued; those guts that daily tumble
Through ayr and appetite, shall cease to rumble:
And thou shalt now at length obtain thy dish,
That noble part, the sweet head of a fish.

_Laz._ Then am I greater than the Duke.

_2 Int._ There, there's a notable peece of treason, greater than
the Duke, mark that.

_Count._ But how, or where, or when this shall be compas'd, is yet
out of my reach.

_Laz._ I am so truely miserable, that might
I be now knockt oth' head, with all my heart
I would forgive a dog-killer.

_Count._ Yet doe I see through this confusedness some little com[f]ort.

_Laz._ The plot my Lord, as er'e you came of a woman, discover.

_1 Int._ Plots, dangerous plots, I will deserve by this most liberally.

_Count._ 'Tis from my head again.

_Laz._ O that it would stand me, that I might fight, or have
some venture for it, that I might be turn'd loose, to try my
fortune amongst the whole frie in a Colledge, or an Inn of
Court; or scramble with the prisoners in the dungeon; nay
were it set down in the [owter] court,
And all the Guard about it in a ring,
With their knives drawn, which were a dismall sight,
And after twenty leisurely were told,
I to be let loose only in my shirt,
To trie the valour, how much of the spoyl,
I would recover from the enemies mouths:
[I would accept the challenge.

_Count._ Let it go: hast not thou beene held
To have some wit in the Court, and to make fine jests]
Upon country people in progress time, and
Wilt thou lose this opinion, for the cold head of a Fish?
I say, let it goe: I'll help thee to as good a dish of meat.

_Laz._ God let me not live, if I doe not wonder,
Men should talk so profanely:
But it is not in the power of loose words,
Of any vain or misbeleeving man,
To make me dare to wrong thy purity.
Shew me but any Lady in the Court,
That hath so full an eye, so sweet a breath,
So soft and white a flesh: this doth not lie
In almond gloves, nor ever hath bin washt
In artificiall baths: no traveller
That hath brought doctor home with him, hath dar'd
With all his waters, powders, Fucusses,
To make thy lovely corps sophisticate.

_Count._ I have it, 'tis now infus'd, be comforted.

_Laz._ Can there be that little hope yet left in nature? shall I
once more erect up Trophies? Shall I enjoy the sight of my dear
Saint, and bless my pallate with the best of creatures, ah good my
Lord, by whom I breathe again, shall I receive this Being?

_Count._ Sir I have found by certain calculation, and setled
revolution of the stars, the Fish is sent by the Lord _Gondarino_
to his Mercer, now 'tis a growing hope to know where 'tis.

_Laz._ O 'tis far above the good of women, the _Pathick_ cannot
yield more pleasing titilation.

_Count._ But how to compass it, search, cast about, and bang your
brai[n]s, _Lazarello_, thou art too dull and heavy to deserve a
blessing.

_Laz._ My Lord, I will not be idle; now _Lazarello_, think, think,
think.

_Count._ Yonder's my informer
And his fellow with table books, they nod at me
Upon my life, they have poor _Lazarello_, that beats
His brains about no such waighty matter, in for
Treason before this--

_Laz._ My Lord, what doe you think, if I should shave my self,
Put on midwives apparell, come in with a hand-kercher,
And beg a piece for a great bellied woman, or a sick child?

_Count._ Good, very good.

_Laz._ Or corrupt the waiting prentise to betray the reversion.

_1 Inte._ There's another point in's plot, [corrupt] with money; to
betray: sure 'tis some Fort a means: mark, have a care.

_Laz._ And 'twere the bare vinegar 'tis eaten with, it would in
some sort satisfie nature: but might I once attain the dish it
self, though I cut out my means through sword[s] and fire, through
poison, through any thing that may make good my hopes.

_2 Int._ Thanks to the gods, and our officiousness, the plots
discover'd, fire, steel, and poison, burn the Palace, kill the Duke
and poison his privie Councell.

_Count._ To the mercers, let me see: how, if before we can attain
the means, to make up our acquaintance, the fish be eaten?

_Laz._ If it be eaten, here he stands, that is the most dejected,
most unfortunate, miserable, accursed, forsaken slave this Province
yields: I will not sure outlive it, no I will dye bravely, and like
a Roman; and after death, amidst the Elizian shades, I'll meet my
love again.

_1 In._ I will dye bravely, like a Roman: have a care, mark that,
when he hath done all, he will kill himself.

_Count._ Will nothing ease your appetite but this?

_Laz._ No could the Sea throw up his vastness,
And offer free his best inhabitants: 'twere not so much as
a bare temptation to me.

_Count._ If you could be drawn to affect Beef, Venison,
or Fowl, 'twould be far the better.

_Laza._ I doe beseech your Lordships patience,
I doe confess that in this heat of blood,
I have contemn'd all dull and grosser meats,
But I protest I doe honor a Chine of Beef,
I doe reverence a loyn of Veal,
But good my Lord, give me leave a little to adore this:
But my good Lord, would your Lordship, under color of
taking up some silks, goe to the Mercers, I would in all
humilitie attend your honor, where we may be invited, if
Fortune stand propitious.

_Count._ Sir you shall work me as you please.

_Laza._ Let it be suddenly, I doe beseech your Lordship, 'tis now
upon the point of dinner time.

_Count._ I am all yours. [_Exeunt Lazarello and Count._

_1 In._ Come let us confer, Imprimis he saith, like a blasphemous
villain, he's greater than the Duke, this peppers him, and there
were nothing else.

_2 In._ Then he was naming plots; did you not hear?

_1 In._ Yes but he fell from that unto discovery, to corrupt by
money, and so attain.

_2 In._ I, I, he meant some Fort, or Cyttadell the Duke hath, his
very face betraid his meaning, O he is [a] very subtile and a
dangerous knave, but if he deal a Gods name, we shall worm him.

_1 In._ But now comes the Stroak, the fatall blow, Fire, Sword and
Poyson, O Canibal, thou bloody Canibal.

_2 In._ What had become of this poor state, had [not we] been?

_1 In._ Faith it had lyen buried in his own ashes; had not a
greater hand been in't.

_2 In._ But note the rascalls resolution, after th'acts done,
because he wo'd avoid all fear of torture, and cousen the Law, he
wo'd kill himself; was there ever the like danger brought to light
in this age? sure we shall merit much, we shall be able to keep
two men a peece, and a two handsword between us, we will live in
favour of the State, betray our ten or twelve treasons a week, and
the people shall fear us: come, to the Lord _Lucio_, the Sun shall
not goe down till he be hang'd. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scæna Quarta._

_Enter Mercer._

_Mer._ Look to my shop, and if there come ever a Scholar in black,
let him speak with me; we that are shopkeepers in good trade, are
so pester'd, that we can scarce pick out an hour for our mornings
meditation: and howsoever we are all accounted dull, and common
jesting stocks for your gallants; There are some of us doe not
deserve it: for, for my own part, I doe begin to be given to my
book, I love a scholar with my heart, for questionless there are
merveilous things to be done by Art: why Sir, some of them will
tell you what is become of horses, and silver spoons, and will make
wenches dance naked to their beds: I am yet unmarried, and because
some of our neighbours are said to be Cuckolds, I will never
[marrie] without the consent of some of these scholars, that know
what will come of it.

_Enter Pander._

_Pan._ Are you busie Sir?

_Mer._ Never to you Sir, nor to any of your coat. Sir is there any
thing to be done by Art, concerning the great heir we talk'd on?

_Pan._ Will she, nill she: she shall come running into my house at
the farther corner, in Sa. Marks street, betwixt three and four.

_Mer._ Betwixt three and four? she's brave in cloaths, is she not?

_Pan._ O rich! rich! where should I get cloaths to dress her in?
Help me invention: Sir, that her running through the street may
be less noted, my Art more shown, and your fear to speak with her
less, she shall come in a white wastcoat, And--

_Mer._ What shall she?

_Pan._ And perhaps torn stockings, she hath left her old wont else.

_Enter Prentice._

_Pren._ Sir my Lord _Gond._ hath sent you a rare fish head.

_Mer._ It comes right, all things sute right with me since I began
to love scholars, you shall have it home with you against she come:
carrie it to this Gentleman's house.

_Pan._ The fair white house at the farther corner at S. Marks
street, make haste, I must leave you too Sir, I have two hours to
study; buy a new Accedence, and ply your book, and you shall want
nothing that all the scholars in the Town can doe for you. [_Exit
Pander._

_Mer._ Heaven prosper both our studies, what a dull slave was I
before I fell in love with this learning! not worthy to tread upon
the earth, & what fresh hopes it hath put in to me! I doe hope
within this twelve-month to be able by Art to serve the Court with
silks, and not undoe my self; to trust Knights, and yet get in my
money again; to keep my wife brave, and yet she keep no body else
so.

_Enter Count, and Lazarello._

Your Lordship is most honourably welcome in regard of your
Nobility; but most especialy in regard of your scholarship: did
your Lordship come openly?

_Count._ Sir this cloak keeps me private, besides no man will
suspect me to be in the company of this Gentleman, with whom, I
will desire you to be acquainted, he may prove a good customer to
you.

_Laza._ For plain silks and velvets.

_Mer._ Are you scholasticall?

_Laza._ Something addicted to the Muses.

_Count._ I hope they will not dispute.

_Mer._ You have no skill in the black Art.

_Enter a Prentice._

_Pren._ Sir yonder's a Gentleman enquires hastily for Count
_Valore_.

_Count._ For me? what is he?

_Pren._ One of your followers my Lord I think.

_Count._ Let him come in.

_Mer._ Shall I talk with you in private Sir?

_Enter a Messenger with a Letter to the Count, he reads._

_Count._ Count, _come to the Court your business calls you
thither_, I will goe, farewell Sir, I will see your silks some
other time: Farewell _Lazarillo_.

_Mer._ Will not your Lordship take a piece of Beef with me?

_Count._ Sir I have greater business than eating; I will leave this
Gentleman with you. [_Exeunt Count. & Mes._

_Laza._ No, no, no, no: now doe I feel that strain'd strugling
within me, that I think I could prophesie.

_Mer._ The Gentleman is meditating.

_Laza._ Hunger, valour, love, ambition are alike pleasing, and let
our Philosophers say what they will, are one kind of heat, only
hunger is the safest: ambition is apt to fall; love and valour are
not free from dangers; only hunger, begotten of some old limber
Courtier, in pan'de hose, and nurs'd by an Attourneys wife; now so
thriven, that he need not fear to be of the great Turks guard: is
so free from all quarrels and dangers, so full of hopes, joyes, and
ticklings, that my life is not so dear to me as his acquaintance.

_Enter Lazarello's boy._

_Boy._ Sir the Fish head is gone.

_Laza._ Then be thou henceforth dumb, with thy ill-boding voice.
Farewell _Millain_, farewell Noble Duke,
Farewell my fellow Courtiers all, with whom,
I have of yore made many a scrambling meal
In corners, behind Arasses, on stairs;
And in the action oftentimes have spoil'd,
Our Doublets and our Hose with liquid stuff:
Farewell you lusty Archers of the Guard,
To whom I now doe give the bucklers up,
And never more with any of your coat
Will eat for wagers, now you happy be,
When this shall light upon you, think on me:
You sewers, carvers, ushers of the court
Sirnamed gentle for your fair demean,
Here I doe take of you my last farewell,
May you stand stifly in your proper places, and execute your offices
aright.
Farewell you Maidens, with your mother eke,
Farewell you courtly Chaplains that be there
All good attend you, may you never more
Marry your Patrons Ladys wayting-woman,
But may you raised be by this my fall
May _Lazarillo_ suffer for you all.

_Merc._ Sir I was hearkning to you.

_Laz._ I will hear nothing, I will break my knife, the Ensign of
my former happy state, knock out my teeth, have them hung at a
Barbers, and enter into Religion.

_Boy._ Why Sir, I think I know whither it is gone.

_Laza._ See the rashness of man in his nature, whither? I do unsay
all that I have said, go on, go on: Boy, I humble my self and
follow thee; Farewell Sir.

_Mer._ Not so Sir, you shall take a piece of Beef with me.

_Laz._ I cannot stay.

_Mer._ By my fay but you shall Sir, in regard of your love to
learning, and your [s]kill in the black Art.

_Laz._ I do hate learning, and I have no skill in [the] black Art,
I would I had.

_Mer._ Why your desire is sufficient to me, you shall stay.

_Laz._ The most horrible and detested curses that can be imagined,
light upon all the professors of that Art; may they be drunk, and
when they goe to conjure, and reel in the Circle, may the spirits
by them rais'd, tear 'em in pieces, and hang their quarters on old
broken walls and Steeple tops.

_Mer._ This speech of yours, shews you to have some skill in the
Science, wherefore in civilitie, I may not suffer you to depart
empty.

_Laz._ My stomach is up, I cannot endure it, I will fight in this
quarrell as soon as for my Prince.

_Draws his Rapier._ [_Exeunt Omnes._

Room, make way:
Hunger commands, my valour must obey.

_Actus_ [iiii]. _Scæna Prima._

_Enter Count and Arrigo._

_Count._ Is the Duke private?

_Arr._ He is alone, but I think your Lordship may enter.

[_Exit Count._

_Enter Gondarino._

_Gond._ Who's with the Duke?

_Arr._ The Count is new gone in; but the Duke will come forth,
before you can be weary of waiting.

_Gond._ I will attend him here.

_Arr._ I must wait without the door. [_Exit_ Arrigo.

_Gond._ Doth he hope to clear his Sister? she will come no more to
my house, to laugh at me: I have sent her to a habitation, where
when she shall be seen, it will set a gloss upon her name; yet upon
my soul I have bestow'd her amongst the purest hearted creatures of
her sex, and the freest from dissimulation; for their deeds are all
alike, only they dare speak, what the rest think: the women of this
age, if there be any degrees of comparison amongst their sex, are
worse than those of former times; for I have read of women, of that
truth, spirit, and constancy, that were they now living, I should
endure to see them: but I fear the writers of the time belied them,
for how familiar a thing is it with the Poets of our age, to extoll
their whores, which they call Mistresses, with heavenly praises!
but I thank their furies, and their craz'd brains, beyond belief:
nay, how many that would fain seem serious, have dedicated grave
Works to Ladies, toothless, hollow-ey'd, their hair shedding,
purple fac'd, their nails apparently coming off; and the bridges
of their noses broken down, and have call'd them the choice handy
works of nature, the patterns of perfection, and the wonderment of
Women. Our Women begin to swarm like Bees [in] Summer: as I came
hither, there was no pair of stairs, no entry, no lobby, but was
pestred with them: methinks there might be some course taken to
destroy them.

_Enter_ Arrigo, _and an old deaf countrey Gentlewoman
suitor to the Duke_.

_Arri._ I do accept your money, walk here, and when the Duke comes
out, you shall have fit opportunity to deliver your petition to him.

_Gentlew._ I thank you heartily, I pray you who's he that walks
there?

_Ar._ A Lord, and a Soldier, one in good favour with the Duke; if
you could get him to deliver your Petition--

_Gentlew._ What do you say, Sir?

_Ar._ If you could get him to deliver your petition for you, or to
second you, 'twere sure.

_Gentlew._ I hope I shall live to requite your kindness.

_Ar._ You have already. [_Exit_ Arri.

_Gentlew._ May it please your Lordship--

_Gond._ No, no.

_Gentlew._ To consider the estate--

_Gond._ No.

_Gentlew._ Of a poor oppressed countrey Gentlewoman.

_Gond._ No, it doth not please my Lordship.

_Gentlew._ First and formost, I have had great injury, then I have
been brought up to the Town three times.

_Gond._ A pox on him, that brought thee to the Town.

_Gentlew._ I thank your good Lordship heartily; though I cannot
hear well, I know it grieves you; and here we have been delaid, and
sent down again, and fetch'd up again, and sent down again, to my
great charge: and now at last they have fetch'd me up, and five of
my daughters--

_Gond._ Enough to damn five worlds.

_Gentlew._ Handsome young women, though I say it, they are all
without, if it please your Lordship I'll call them in.

_Gond._ Five Women! how many of my sences should I have left me
then? call in five Devils first.

_No, I will rather walk with thee alone,_
_And hear thy tedious tale of injury,_
_And give thee answers; whisper in thine ear,_
_And make thee understand through thy French hood:_
_And all this with tame patience._

_Gentlew._ I see your Lordship does believe, that they are without,
and I perceive you are much mov'd at our injury: here's a paper
will tell you more.

_Gond._ Away.

_Gentlew._ It may be you had rather hear me tell it _viva voce_,
as they say.

_Gond._ Oh no, no, no, no, I have heard it before.

_Gentlew._ Then you have heard of enough injury, for a poor
Gentlewoman to receive.

_Gond._ Never, never, but that it troubles my conscience, to wish
any good to these women; I could afford them to be valiant, and
able, that it might be no disgrace for a Soldier to beat them.

_Gentlew._ I hope your Lordship will deliver my petition to his
grace, and you may tell him withal--

_Gond._ What? I will deliver any thing against my self, to be rid
on thee.

_Gentlew._ That yesterday about three a clock in the after noon, I
met my adversary.

_Gond._ Give me thy paper, he can abide no long tales.

_Gentlew._ 'Tis very short my Lord, and I demanding of him--

_Gond._ I'll tell him that shall serve thy turn.

_Gentlew._ How?

_Gond._ I'll tell him that shall serve thy turn, begone: man never
doth remember how great his offences are, till he do meet with one
of you, that plagues him for them: why should Women [only] above
all other creatures that were created for the benefit of man, have
the use of speech? or why should any deed of theirs, done by their
fleshly appetites, be disgraceful to their owners? nay, why should
not an act done by any beast I keep, against my consent, disparage
me as much as that of theirs?

_Gentlew._ Here's some few Angels for your Lordship.

_Gond._ Again? yet more torments?

_Gentlew._ Indeed you shall have them.

_Gond._ Keep off.

_Gentlew._ A small gratuity for your kindness.

_Gond._ Hold away.

_Gentlew._ Why then I thank your Lordship, I'll gather them up
again, and I'll be sworn, it is the first money that was refus'd
since I came to the Court.

_Gond._ What can she devise to say more?

_Gentlew._ Truly I would have willingly parted with them to your
Lordship.

_Gond._ I believe it, I believe it.

_Gentlew._ But since it is thus--

_Gond._ More yet.

_Gentlew._ I will attend without, and expect an answer.

_Gond._ Do, begone, and thou shalt expect, and have any thing, thou
shalt have thy answer from him; and he were best to give thee a
good one at first, for thy deaf importunity, will conquer him too,
in the end.

_Gentlew._ God bless your Lordship, and all tha[t] favour a poor
distressed countrey Gentlewoman. [_Exit Gentlew._

_Gond._ All the diseases of man light upon them that doe, and upon
me when I do. A week of such days, would either make me stark mad
or tame me: yonder other woman that I have sure enough, shall
answer for thy sins: dare they incense me still, I will make them
fear as much to be ignorant of me and my moods, as men are to be
ignorant of the law they live under. Who's there? My bloud grew
cold, I began to fear my Suiters return; 'tis the Duke.

_Enter the Duke and the Count._

_Count._ I know her chaste, though she be young and free,
And is not of that forc'd behaviour
That many others are, and that this Lord,
Out of the boundless malice to the sex,
Hath thrown this scandal on her.

_Gond._ Fortune befriended me against my Will, with this good old
countrey gentlewoman; I beseech your grace, to view favourably the
petition of a wronged Gentlewoman.

_Duke._ What _Gondarino_, are you become a petitioner for your
enemies?

_Gond._ My Lord, they are no enemies of mine, I confess, the better
to [cover] my deeds, which sometimes were loose enough, I pretended
it, as it is wisdom, to keep close our incontinence, but since you
have discover'd me, I will no more put on that vizard, but will as
freely open all my thoughts to you, as to my Confessor.

_Duke._ What say you to this?

_Count._ He that confesses he did once dissemble,
I'll never trust his words: can you imagine
A Maid, whose beauty could not suffer her
To live thus long untempted, by the noblest,
Richest, and cunningst Masters in that Art
And yet hath ever held a fair repute;
Could in one morning, and by him be brought,
To forget all her virtue, and turn whore?

_Gond._ I would I had some other talk in hand,
Than to accuse a Sister to her Brother:
Nor do I mean it for a publick scandal,
Unless by urging me you make it so.

_Duke._ I will read this at better leisure: [_Gondarino_, where is
the Lady?]

_Count._ At his house.

_Gond._ No, she is departed thence.

_Count._ Whither?

_Gond._ Urge it not thus, or let me be excus'd,
If what I speak betray her chastity,
And both increase my sorrow, and your own?

_Count._ Fear me not so, if she deserve the fame
Which she hath gotten, I would have it publisht,
Brand her my self, and whip her through the City:
I wish those of my bloud that doe offend,
Should be more strictly punish[t], than my foes.
Let it be prov'd.

_Duke. Gondarino_, thou shalt prove it, or suffer worse than
she should do.

_Gond._ Then pardon me, if I betray the faults
Of one, I love more dearly than my self,
Since opening hers, I shall betray mine own:
But I will bring you where she now intends
Not to be virtuous: pride and wantonness,
That are true friends indeed, though not in shew,
Have entr'd on her heart, there she doth bathe,
And sleek her hair, and practise cunning looks
To entertain me with; and hath her thoughts
As full of lust, as ever you did think
Them full of modesty.

_Duke. Gondarino_, lead on, we'll follow thee. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quartus. Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Pandar.

_Pan._ Here hope I to meet my Citizen, and [here] hopes he to meet
his [Scholar]; I am sure I am grave enough, to his eyes, and knave
enough to deceive him: I am believ'd to conjure, raise storms, and
devils, by whose power I can do wonders; let him believe so still,
belief hurts no man; I have an honest black cloak, for my knavery,
and a general pardon for his foolery, from this present day, till
the day of his breaking. Is't not a misery, and the greatest of our
age, to see a handsome, young, fair enough, and well mounted wench,
humble her self, in an old stammel petticoat, standing possest of
no more fringe, than the street can allow her: her upper parts so
poor and wanting, that ye may see her bones through her bodies:
shooes she would have, if [her] Captain were come over, and is
content the while to devote her self to antient slippers. These
premisses well considered, Gentlemen, will move, they make me melt
I promise ye, they stirr me much: and wer't not for my smooth,
soft, silken Citizen, I would quit this transitory Trade, get me
an everlasting Robe, sear up my conscience, and turn Serjeant.
But here he comes, is mine as good as prize: Sir _Pandarus_ be my
speed, ye are most fitly met Sir.

_Enter Mercer._

_Mer._ And you as well encount'red, what of this heir? hath your
Books been propitious?

_Pan._ Sir, 'tis done, she's come, she's in my house, make your
self apt for Courtship, stroke up your stockings, loose not an inch
of your legs goodness; I am sure ye wear socks.

_Mer._ There your Books fail ye Sir, in truth I wear no socks.