Chapter LXXI: Act III: Scene I.2507 (1)

_Enter_ INFELICE, _and_ ORLANDO [_disguised as a_ Serving-man].

_Inf._ From whom say’st thou?

_Orl._ From a poor gentlewoman, madam, whom I serve.

_Inf._ And what ’s your business?

_Orl._ This madam: my poor mistress has a (5) waste piece of ground,
which is her own by inheritance, and left to her by her mother. There
’s a lord now that goes about not to take it clean from her, but to
enclose it to himself, and to join it to a piece of his lordship’s. 10

_Inf._ What would she have me do in this?

_Orl._ No more, madam, but what one woman should do for another in
such a case. My honourable lord your husband, would do any thing in
her behalf, but she had rather put herself (15) into your hands,
because you, a woman, may do more with the duke, your father.

_Inf._ Where lies this land?

_Orl._ Within a stone’s cast of this place. My mistress, I think,
would be content to let (20) him enjoy it after her decease, if that
would serve his turn, so my master would yield too; but she cannot
abide to hear that the lord should meddle with it in her lifetime.

_Inf._ Is she then married? Why stirs not (25) her husband in it?

_Orl._ Her husband stirs in it underhand: but because the other is a
great rich man, my master is loth to be seen in it too much.

_Inf._ Let her in writing draw the cause at large, 30
And I will move the duke.

_Orl._ ’T is set down, madam, here in black and white already.
Work it so, madam, that she may keep her own without disturbance,
grievance, molestation, or meddling of any (35) other; and she
bestows this purse of gold on your ladyship.

_Inf._ Old man, I ’ll plead for her, but take no fees.
Give lawyers them, I swim not in that flood;
I ’ll touch no gold, till I have done her good. 40

_Orl._ I would all proctors’ clerks were of your mind, I should law
more amongst them than I do then. Here, madam, is the survey, not
only of the manor itself, but of the grange-house, with every meadow
pasture, plough-land, (45) cony-burrow, fish-pond, hedge, ditch, and
bush, that stands in it. [_Gives a letter._]

_Inf._ My husband’s name, and hand and seal at arms
To a love letter? Where hadst thou this writing?

_Orl._ From the foresaid party, madam, that (50) would keep the
foresaid land out of the foresaid lord’s fingers.

_Inf._ My lord turn’d ranger now?

_Orl._ You ’re a good huntress, lady; you ha’ found your game
already. Your lord would (55) fain be a ranger, but my mistress
requests you to let him run a course in your own park. If you ’ll not
do ’t for love, then do ’t for money! She has no white money, but
there ’s gold; or else she prays you to ring him by this token, (60)
and so you shall be sure his nose will not be rooting other men’s
pastures. [_Gives purse and ring._]

_Inf._ This very purse was woven with mine own hands;
This diamond on that very night, when he
Untied my virgin girdle, gave I him; 65
And must a common harlot share in mine?
Old man, to quit thy pains, take thou the gold.

_Orl._ Not I, madam, old serving-men want no money.

_Inf._ Cupid himself was sure his secretary; 70
These lines are even the arrows love let flies.
The very ink dropt out of Venus’ eyes.

_Orl._ I do not think, madam, but he fetcht off some poet or other
for those lines, for they are parlous hawks to fly at wenches. 75

_Inf._ Here ’s honied poison! To me he ne’er thus writ;
But lust can set a double edge on wit.

_Orl._ Nay, that ’s true, madam, a wench will whet any thing, if it
be not too dull.

_Inf._ Oaths, promises, preferments, jewels, gold, 80
What snares should break, if all these cannot hold?
What creature is thy mistress?

_Orl._ One of those creatures that are contrary to man; a woman.

_Inf._ What manner of woman? 85

_Orl._ A little tiny woman, lower than your ladyship by head and
shoulders, but as mad a wench as ever unlaced a petticoat: these
things should I indeed have delivered to my lord, your husband. 90

_Inf._ They are delivered better: why should she
Send back these things?

_Orl._ ’Ware, ’ware, there ’s knavery.

_Inf._ Strumpets, like cheating gamesters, will not win
At first; these are but baits to draw him in.
How might I learn his hunting hours? 95

_Orl._ The Irish footman can tell you all his hunting hours, the park
he hunts in, the doe he would strike; that Irish shackatory[2508]
beats the bush for him, and knows all; he brought that letter, and
that ring; he is the carrier. 100

_Inf._ Knowest thou what other gifts have past between them?

_Orl._ Little Saint Patrick knows all.

_Inf._ Him I ’ll examine presently.

_Orl._ Not whilst I am here, sweet madam. 105

_Inf._ Be gone then, and what lies in me command. _Exit_ ORLANDO.

_Enter_ BRYAN.

_Inf._ How much cost those satins,
And cloth of silver, which my husband sent
By you to a low gentlewoman yonder? 109

_Bry._ Faat satins? faat silvers, faat low gentlefolks? Dow pratest
dow knowest not what, i’ faat, la.

_Inf._ She there, to whom you carried letters.

_Bry._ By dis hand and bod dow saist true, if I did so, oh how? I
know not a letter a’ de (115) book i’ faat, la.

_Inf._ Did your lord never send you with a ring, sir,
Set with a diamond?

_Bry._ Never, sa crees sa’ me, never! He may run at a towsand rings
i’ faat, and I never (120) hold his stirrup, till he leap into de
saddle. By St. Patrick, madam. I never touch my lord’s diamond, nor
ever had to do, i’ faat, la, with any of his precious stones. 124

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Inf._ Are you so close,[2509] you bawd, you pand’ring slave?
[_Strikes_ BRYAN.]

_Hip._ How now? Why, Infelice; what ’s your quarrel?

_Inf._ Out of my sight, base varlet! get thee gone.

_Hip._ Away, you rogue!

_Bry. Slawne loot_,[2510] fare de well, fare de well. _Ah marragh
frofat boddah breen!_[2511] _Exit._

_Hip._ What, grown a fighter? Prithee, what ’s the matter? 131

_Inf._ If you ’ll needs know, it was about the clock.
How works the day, my lord, pray, by your watch?

_Hip._ Lest you cuff me, I ’ll tell you presently:[2512] I am near
two.

_Inf._ How, two? I ’m scarce at one. 135

_Hip._ One of us then goes false.

_Inf._ Then sure ’t is you,
Mine goes by heaven’s dial, the sun, and it goes true.

_Hip._ I think, indeed, mine runs somewhat too fast.

_Inf._ Set it to mine at one then.

_Hip._ One? ’t is past:
’T is past one by the sun.

_Inf._ Faith, then, belike, 140
Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike;
And since it is uncertain which goes true,
Better be false at one, than false at two.

_Hip._ Y’ are very pleasant, madam.

_If._ Yet not merry.

_Hip._ Why, Infelice, what should make you sad? 145

_Inf._ Nothing, my lord, but my false watch. Pray, tell me,—
You see, my clock or yours is out of frame,
Must we upon the workmen lay the blame,
Or on ourselves that keep them?

_Hip._ Faith on both.
He may by knavery spoil them, we by sloth. 150
But why talk you all riddle thus? I read
Strange comments in those margins of your looks.
Your cheeks of late are like bad printed books,
So dimly charact’red, I scarce can spell
One line of love in them. Sure all ’s not well. 155

_Inf._ All is not well indeed, my dearest lord;
Lock up thy gates of hearing, that no sound
Of what I speak may enter.

_Hip._ What means this?

_Inf._ Or if my own tongue must myself betray,
Count it a dream, or turn thine eyes away, 160
And think me not thy wife. _She kneels._

_Hip._ Why do you kneel?

_Inf._ Earth is sin’s cushion: when the sick soul feels
Herself growing poor, then she turns beggar, cries,
And kneels for help. Hippolito, for husband
I dare not call thee, I have stolen that jewel 165
Of my chaste honour, which was only thine,
And given it to a slave.

_Hip._ Ha?

_Inf._ On thy pillow
Adultery and lust have slept; thy groom
Hath climb’d the unlawful tree, and pluckt the sweets;
A villain hath usurp’d a husband’s sheets. 170

_Hip._ S’death, who?—a cuckold!—who?

_Inf._ This Irish footman.

_Hip._ Worse than damnation! a wild kerne,[2513] a frog,
A dog: whom I ’ll scarce spurn. Long’d you for shamrock?
Were it my father’s father, heart, I ’ll kill him,
Although I take him on his death-bed gasping
’Twixt Heaven and hell! A shag-hair’d cur! Bold strumpet, 176
Why hang’st thou on me? Think’st I ’ll be a bawd
To a whore, because she ’s noble?

_Inf._ I beg but this,
Set not my shame out to the world’s broad eye,
Yet let thy vengeance, like my fault, soar high,
So it be in dark’ned clouds.

_Hip._ Dark’ned! my horns 181
Cannot be dark’ned, nor shall my revenge.
A harlot to my slave? The act is base,
Common, but foul, so shall not thy disgrace.
Could not I feed your appetite? O women 185
You were created angels, pure and fair;
But since the first fell, tempting devils you are.
You should be men’s bliss, but you prove their rods:
Were there no women, men might live like gods.
You ha’ been too much down already; rise, 190
Get from my sight, and henceforth shun my bed;
I ’ll with no strumpet’s breath be poisoned.
As for your Irish lubrican,[2514] that spirit
Whom by prepost’rous charms thy lust hath raised
In a wrong circle, him I ’ll damn more black 195
Than any tyrant’s soul.

_Inf._ Hippolito!

_Hip._ Tell me, didst thou bait hooks to draw him to thee,
Or did he bewitch thee?

_Inf._ The slave did woo me.

_Hip._ Tu-whoos in that screech-owl’s language! Oh, who ’d trust
Your cork-heel’d sex? I think to sate your lust
You ’d love a horse, a bear, a croaking toad, 201
So your hot itching veins might have their hound:
Then the wild Irish dart was thrown? Come, how?
The manner of this fight?

_Inf._ ’T was thus, he gave me this battery first.—Oh, I 205
Mistake—believe me, all this in beaten gold;
Yet I held out, but at length thus was charm’d.
[_Gives letter, purse and ring._]
What? change your diamond, wench? The act is base,
Common, but foul, so shall not your disgrace.
Could not I feed your appetite? O men 210
You were created angels, pure and fair,
But since the first fell, worse than devils you are.
You should our shields be, but you prove our rods.
Were there no men, women might live like gods.
Guilty, my lord?

_Hip._ Yes, guilty, my good lady. 215

_Inf._ Nay, you may laugh, but henceforth shun my bed.
With no whore’s leavings I ’ll be poisoned. _Exit._

_Hip._ O’er-reached so finely? ’T is the very diamond
And letter which I sent. This villany 219
Some spider closely weaves, whose poison’d bulk
I must let forth. Who ’s there without?

_Ser._ (_within._) My lord calls?

_Hip._ Send me the footman.

_Ser._ (_within._) Call the footman to my lord.—Bryan, Bryan! 224

_Re-enter_ BRYAN.

_Hip._ It can be no man else, that Irish Judas,
Bred in a country where no venom prospers
But in the nation’s blood, hath thus betray’d me.—
Slave, get you from your service.

_Bry._ Faat meanest thou by this now?

_Hip._ Question me not, nor tempt my fury, villain! 230
Couldst thou turn all the mountains in the land
To hills of gold, and give me, here thou stayest not.

_Bry._ I’ faat, I care not.

_Hip._ Prate not, but get thee gone, I shall send else. 234

_Bry._ Ay, do predy, I had rather have thee make a scabbard of my
guts, and let out all de Irish puddings in my poor belly, den to be
a false knave to de, i’ faat! I will never see dine own sweet face
more. _A mawhid deer a gra_,[2515] fare dee well, fare dee well; I
will go steal (240) cows again in Ireland. _Exit._

_Hip._ He ’s damn’d that raised this whirlwind, which hath blown
Into her eyes this jealousy: yet I ’ll on,
I ’ll on, stood armed devils staring in my face.
To be pursued in flight, quickens the race, 245
Shall my blood-streams by a wife’s lust be barr’d?
Fond[2516] woman, no: iron grows by strokes more hard;
Lawless desires are seas scorning all bounds,
Or sulphur, which being ramm’d up, more confounds;
Struggling with madmen madness nothing tames; 250
Winds wrestling with great fires incense the flames. _Exit._

[SCENE II.][2517]

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT, _and_ ORLANDO [_disguised as a_ Serving-man], MATHEO [_following_].

_Bell._ How now, what ails your master?

_Orl._ Has taken a younger brother’s purge, forsooth, and that works
with him.

_Bell._ Where is his cloak and rapier?

_Orl._ He has given up his cloak, and his rapier (5) is bound to the
peace. If you look a little higher, you may see that another hath
ent’red into hatband for him too. Six and four[2518] have put him
into this sweat.

_Bell._ Where’s all his money? 10

_Orl._ ’T is put over by exchange; his doublet was going to be
translated, but for me. If any man would ha’ lent but half a ducat
on his beard, the hair of it had stuft a pair of breeches by this
time. I had but one poor penny, and (15) that I was glad to niggle
out,[2519] and buy a holly-wand to grace him through the street. As
hap was, his boots were on, and them I dustied, to make people think
he had been riding, and I had run by him.— 20

_Bell._ Oh me!——How does my sweet Matheo? [MATHEO _comes forward_.]

_Mat._ Oh rogue, of what devilish stuff are these dice made of,—the
parings of the devil’s corns of his toes, that they run thus damnably?

_Bell._ I prithee, vex not. 25

_Mat._ If any handicraft’s-man was ever suff’red to keep shop in
hell, it will be a dice-maker; he’s able to undo more souls than the
devil; I play’d with mine own dice, yet lost. Ha’ you any money? 30

_Bell._ ’Las, I ha’ none.

_Mat._ Must have money, must have some, must have a cloak, and
rapier, and things. Will you go set your lime-twigs, and get me some
birds, some money? 35

_Bell._ What lime-twigs should I set?

_Mat._ You will not then? Must have cash and pictures, do ye hear,
frailty? Shall I walk in a Plymouth cloak,[2520] that ’s to say, like
a rogue, in my hose and doublet, and a crabtree cudgel (40) in my
hand, and you swim in your satins? Must have money, come! [_Taking
off her gown._]

_Orl._ Is ’t bed-time, master, that you undo my mistress?

_Bell._ Undo me? Yes, yes, at these riflings I
Have been too often.

_Mat._ Help to flay, Pacheco. 45

_Orl._ Flaying call you it?

_Mat._ I ’ll pawn you, by th’ lord, to your very eyebrows.

_Bell._ With all my heart, since Heaven will have me poor;
As good be drown’d at sea, as drown’d at shore.

_Orl._ Why, hear you, sir? I ’faith, do not make away her gown. 51

_Mat._ Oh! it’s summer, it’s summer; your only fashion for a woman
now is to be light, to be light.

_Orl._ Why, pray sir, employ some of that (55) money you have of mine.

_Mat._ Thine? I ’ll starve first, I ’ll beg first; when I touch a
penny of that, let these fingers’ ends rot.

_Orl._ [_Aside._] So they may, for that ’s past (60) touching. I saw
my twenty pounds fly high.

_Mat._ Knowest thou never a damn’d broker about the city?

_Orl._ Damn’d broker? Yes, five hundred.

_Mat._ The gown stood me in[2521] above twenty (65) ducats; borrow
ten of[2522] it. Cannot live without silver.

_Orl._ I ’ll make what I can of it, sir, I ’ll be your broker,—
[_Aside_] But not your damn’d broker. Oh thou scurvy knave! 70
What makes a wife turn whore, but such a slave?
_Exit_ [_with_ BELLAFRONT’S _gown_].

_Mat._ How now, little chick, what ailest? Weeping for a handful of
tailor’s shreds? Pox on them, are there not silks enow at mercer’s?

_Bell._ I care not for gay feathers, I. 75

_Mat._ What dost care for then? Why dost grieve?

_Bell._ Why do I grieve? A thousand sorrows strike
At one poor heart, and yet it lives. Matheo,
Thou art a gamester; prithee, throw at all, 80
Set all upon one cast. We kneel and pray,
And struggle for life, yet must be cast away.
Meet misery quickly then, split all, sell all,
And when thou ’st sold all, spend it; but, I beseech thee,
Build not thy mind on me to coin thee more; 85
To get it wouldst thou have me play the whore?

_Mat._ ’T was your profession before I married you.

_Bell._ Umh? it was indeed. If all men should be branded
For sins long since laid up, who could be saved?
The quarter-day ’s at hand, how will you do 91
To pay the rent, Matheo?

_Mat._ Why, do as all of our occupation do against[2523]
quarter-days: break up house, remove, shift your lodgings: pox a’
your quarters! 95

_Enter_ LODOVICO.

_Lod._ Where ’s this gallant?

_Mat._ Signor Ludovico? how does my little Mirror of
Knighthood?[2524] This is kindly done, i’ faith: welcome, by my troth.

_Lod._ And how dost, frolic?—Save you fair lady.— 100
Thou lookest smug and bravely, noble Mat.

_Mat._ Drink and feed, laugh and lie warm.

_Lod._ Is this thy wife?

_Mat._ A poor gentlewoman, sir, whom I make use of a’nights. 105

_Lod._ Pay custom to your lips, sweet lady. [_Kisses her._]

_Mat._ Borrow some shells[2525] of him.—Some wine, sweetheart.

_Lod._ I ’ll send for ’t then, i ’faith.

_Mat._ You send for ’t!—Some wine, I prithee.

_Bell._ I ha’ no money. 110

_Mat._ ’Sblood, nor I.—What wine love you, signor?

_Lod._ Here! [_offering money_] or I ’ll not stay, I
protest; trouble the gentlewoman too much? _Exit_ BELLAFRONT.
And what news flies abroad, Matheo? 114

_Mat._ Troth, none. Oh, signor, we ha’ been merry in our days.

_Lod._ And no doubt shall again.
The divine powers never shoot darts at men
Mortal, to kill them.

_Mat._ You say true. 120

_Lod._ Why should we grieve at want? Say the world made thee
Her minion, that thy head lay in her lap,
And that she danc’d thee on her wanton knee,
She could but give thee a whole world: that ’s all, 124
And that all’s nothing; the world’s greatest part
Cannot fill up one corner of thy heart.
Say the three corners were all fill’d, alas!
Of what art thou possest? A thin blown glass,
Such as is by boys puft into the air!
Were twenty kingdoms thine, thou ’dst live in care: 130
Thou couldst not sleep the better, nor live longer,
Nor merrier be, nor healthfuller, nor stronger.
If, then, thou want’st, thus make that want thy pleasure,
No man wants all things, nor has all in measure.

_Mat._ I am the most wretched fellow: sure (135) some left-handed
priest hath christ’ned me. I am so unlucky; I am never out of one
puddle or another; still falling.
_Re-enter_ BELLAFRONT [_with wine_] _and_ ORLANDO.
Fill out wine to my little finger.—With my heart, i’ faith.
[_Drinks._] 140

_Lod._ Thanks, good Matheo. To your own sweet self. [_Drinks._]

_Re-enter_ ORLANDO.

_Orl._ All the brokers’ hearts, sir, are made of flint. I can with
all my knocking strike but six sparks of fire out of them; here’s six
ducats, if you’ll take them. 146

_Mat._ Give me them! [_Taking money._] An evil conscience gnaw them
all! Moths and plagues hang upon their lousy wardrobes!

_Lod._ Is this your man, Matheo? 150

[_Mat._] An old serving-man.

_Orl._ You may give me t’ other half too, sir; that’s the beggar.

_Lod._ What hast there,—gold? 154

_Mat._ A sort[2526] of rascals are in my debt, God knows what, and
they feed me with bits, with crumbs, a pox choke them.

_Lod._ A word, Matheo; be not angry with me;
Believe it that I know the touch of time, 159
And can part copper, though it be gilded o’er,
From the true gold: the sails which thou dost spread,
Would show well if they were not borrowed.
The sound of thy low fortunes drew me hither,
I give my self unto thee; prithee, use me,
I will bestow on you a suit of satin, 165
And all things else to fit a gentleman,
Because I love you.

_Mat._ Thanks, good, noble knight!

_Lod._ Call on me when you please; till then farewell. _Exit._

_Mat._ Hast angled? Hast cut up this fresh salmon? 170

_Bell._ Wouldst have me be so base?

_Mat._ It’s base to steal, it’s base to be a whore:
Thou ’lt be more base, I’ll make thee keep a door.[2527] _Exit._

_Orl._ I hope he will not sneak away with all the money, will he? 175

_Bell._ Thou seest he does.

_Orl._ Nay then, it’s well. I set my brains upon an upright
last;[2528] though my wits be old, yet they are like a wither’d
pippin, wholesome. Look you, mistress, I told him I had but six 180
ducats of the knave broker, but I had eight, and kept these two for
you.

_Bell._ Thou should’st have given him all.

_Orl._ What, to fly high?

_Bell._ Like waves, my misery drives on misery. _Exit._

_Orl._ Sell his wife’s clothes from her back? (185) Does any
poulterer’s wife pull chickens alive? He riots all abroad, wants all
at home: he dices, whores, swaggers, swears, cheats, borrows, pawns.
I’ll give him hook and line, a little more for all this; 190
Yet sure i ’th’ end he ’ll delude all my hopes,
And show me a French trick danc’d on the ropes.[2529] _Exit._ 195

[SCENE III.]

_Enter at one door_ LODOVICO _and_ CAROLO; _at another_ BOTS, _and_ Mistress HORSELEECH. CANDIDO _and his_ Wife _appear in the Shop_.

_Lod._ Hist, hist, Lieutenant Bots! How dost, man?

_Car._ Whither are you ambling, Madam Horseleech?

_Mis. H._ About worldly profit, sir: how (5) do your worships?

_Bots._ We want tools, gentlemen, to furnish the trade: they wear out
day and night, they wear out till no metal be left in their back. We
hear of two or three new wenches are come (10) up with a carrier, and
your old goshawk here is flying at them.

_Lod._ And, faith, what flesh have you at home?

_Mis. H._ Ordinary dishes; by my troth, (15) sweet men, there’s few
good i’ th’ city. I am as well furnisht as any, and, though I say it,
as well custom’d.

_Bots._ We have meats of all sorts of dressing; we have stew’d meat
for your Frenchman, (20) pretty light picking meat for your Italian,
and that which is rotten roasted for Don Spaniardo.

_Lod._ A pox on ’t.

_Bots._ We have poulterer’s ware for your sweet bloods, as dove,
chicken, duck, teal, (25) woodcock, and so forth: and butcher’s meat
for the citizen: yet muttons[2530] fall very bad this year.

_Lod._ Stay, is not that my patient linen-draper yonder, and my fine
young smug mistress, (30) his wife?

_Car._ Sirrah,[2531] grannam, I ’ll give thee for thy fee twenty
crowns, if thou canst but procure me the wearing of yon velvet cap.

_Mis. H._ You ’d wear another thing besides (35) the cap. You’re a
wag.

_Bots._ Twenty crowns? We ’ll share, and I ’ll be your pully to draw
her on.

_Lod._ Do’t presently; we’ll ha’ some sport.

_Mis. H._ Wheel you about, sweet men: (40) do you see? I’ll cheapen
wares of the man, whilst Bots is doing with his wife.

_Lod._ To ’t: if we come into the shop to do you grace, we’ll call
you madam.

_Bots._ Pox a’ your old face, give it the (45) badge of all scurvy
faces, a mask.
[Mistress HORSELEECH _puts on a mask_.]

_Cand._ What is ’t you lack, gentlewoman? Cambric or lawns, or fine
hollands? Pray draw near; I can sell you a pennyworth.

_Bots._ Some cambric for my old lady. 50

_Cand._ Cambric? You shall, the purest thread in Milan.

_Lod., Car._ Save you, Signor Candido.

_Lod._ How does my noble master? How my fair mistress? 55

_Cand._ My worshipful good servant.—View it well, for ’t is both
fine and even. [_Shows cambric._]

_Car._ Cry you mercy, madam; though mask’d, I thought it should be
you by your man.—Pray, signor, show her the best, for she commonly
deals for good ware. 61

_Cand._ Then this shall fit her.—This is for your ladyship.

_Bots._ [_to Bride._] A word, I pray. There is a waiting gentlewoman
of my lady’s—her (65) name is Ruyna—says she’s your kinswoman, and
that you should be one of her aunts.

_Bride._ One of her aunts? Troth, sir, I know her not. 69

_Bots._ If it please you to bestow the poor labour of your legs at
any time, I will be your convoy thither.

_Bride._ I am a snail, sir, seldom leave my house. If ’t please her
to visit me, she shall be welcome. 75

_Bots._ Do you hear? The naked truth is, my lady hath a young knight,
her son, who loves you; you ’re made, if you lay hold upon ’t; this
jewel he sends you. [_Offers jewel._] 79

_Bride._ Sir, I return his love and jewel with scorn. Let go my hand,
or I shall call my husband. You are an arrant knave. _Exit._

_Lod._ What will she do?

_Bots._ Do? They shall all do if Bots sets upon them once. She was
as if she had profest (85) the trade, squeamish at first; at last I
showed her this jewel, said a knight sent it her.

_Lod._ Is’t gold, and right stones?

_Bots._ Copper, copper; I go a fishing with these baits. She nibbled,
but would not swallow the hook, because the conger-head, her 91
husband, was by; but she bids the gentleman name any afternoon, and
she’ll meet him at her garden house,[2532] which I know.

_Lod._ Is this no lie now? 95

_Bots._ Damme, if—

_Lod._ Oh, prithee, stay there.

_Bots._ The twenty crowns, sir.

_Lod._ Before he has his work done?—But on my knightly word he shall
pay ’t thee. 100

_Enter_ ASTOLFO, BERALDO, FONTINELL, _and the Irish footman_ [BRYAN].

_Ast._ I thought thou hadst been gone into thine own country.

_Bry._ No, faat, la, I cannot go dis four or tree days. 104

_Ber._ Look thee, yonder ’s the shop, and that ’s the man himself.

_Fon._ Thou shalt but cheapen, and do as we told thee, to put a jest
upon him, to abuse his patience. 109

_Bry._ I’ faat, I doubt my pate shall be knocked: but, sa crees sa’
me, for your shakes, I will run to any linen-draper in hell. Come,
predee.

_All._ Save you, gallants.

_Lod., Car._ Oh, well met! 115

_Cand._ You ’ll give no more, you say? I cannot take it.

_Mis. H._ Truly, I ’ll give no more.

_Cand._ It must not fetch it.
What would you have, sweet gentlemen. 120

_Ast._ Nay, here ’s the customer.
_Exeunt_ BOTS _and_ Mistress HORSELEECH.

_Lod._ The garden-house, you say? We ’ll bolt[2533] out your roguery.

_Cand._ I will but lay these parcels by—my men
Are all at custom house unloading wares. 125
If cambric you would deal in, there ’s the best;
All Milan cannot sample it.

_Lod._ Do you hear it? one, two, three,— ’Sfoot, there came in four
gallants! Sure your wife is slipt up, and the fourth man, I hold my
life, is grafting your warden tree.[2534] 131

_Cand._ Ha, ha, ha! you gentlemen are full of jest,
If she be up, she ’s gone some wares to show;
I have above as good wares as below.

_Lod._ Have you so? Nay, then— 135

_Cand._ Now, gentlemen, is ’t cambrics?

_Bry._ I predee now, let me have de best waures.

_Cand._ What ’s that he says, pray, gentlemen?

_Lod._ Marry, he says we are like to have the best wars. 141

_Cand._ The best wars? All are bad, yet wars do good,
And, like to surgeons, let sick kingdom’s blood.

_Bry._ Faat a devil pratest tow so? a pox on dee! I preddee, let me
see some hollen, to make linen shirts, for fear my body be lousy. 146

_Cand._ Indeed, I understand no word he speaks.

_Car._ Marry, he says that at the siege in Holland
There was much bawdry us’d among the soldiers,
Though they were lousy. 150

_Cand._ It may be so, that ’s likely.—True, indeed,
In every garden, sir, does grow that weed.

_Bry._ Pox on de gardens, and de weeds, and de fool’s cap dere,
and de clouts! Hear? dost make a hobby-horse of me. [_Tearing the
cambric._] 155

_All._ Oh, fie! he has torn the cambric.

_Cand._ ’T is no matter.

_Ast._ It frets me to the soul.

_Cand._ So does ’t not me.
My customers do oft for remnants call,
These are two remnants, now, no loss at all.
But let me tell you, were my servants here. 160
It would ha’ cost more.—Thank you, gentlemen,
I use you well, pray know my shop again. _Exit._

_All._ Ha, ha, ha! come, come, let ’s go, let ’s go. _Exeunt._

[ACT IV]

[SCENE I.][2535]

_Enter_ MATHEO _brave_,[2536] _and_ BELLAFRONT.

_Mat._ How am I suited, Front? Am I not gallant, ha?

_Bell._ Yes, sir, you are suited well.

_Mat._ Exceeding passing well, and to the time.[2537] 4

_Bell._ The tailor has play’d his part with you.

_Mat._ And I have play’d a gentleman’s part with my tailor, for I owe
him for the making of it.

_Bell._ And why did you so, sir?

_Mat._ To keep the fashion; it ’s your only (10) fashion now, of
your best rank of gallants, to make their tailors wait for their
money; neither were it wisdom indeed to pay them upon the first
edition[2538] of a new suit; for commonly the suit is owing for, when
the linings (15) are worn out, and there ’s no reason, then, that the
tailor should be paid before the mercer.

_Bell._ Is this the suit the knight bestowed upon you?

_Mat._ This is the suit, and I need not shame to wear it, for better
men than I would be (21) glad to have suits bestowed on them. It ’s
a generous fellow,—but—pox on him—we whose pericranions are the
very limbecks and stillatories of good wit and fly high, must drive
liquor out of stale gaping oysters. Shallow (26) knight, poor squire
Tinacheo: I ’ll make a wild Cataian[2539] of forty such: hang him, he
’s an ass, he ’s always sober.

_Bell._ This is your fault to wound your friends still. 31

_Mat._ No, faith, Front, Lodovico is a noble Slavonian: it ’s more
rare to see him in a woman’s company, than for a Spaniard to go into
England, and to challenge the English (35) fencers there.—[_Knocking
within._] One knocks,—see.—[_Exit_ BELLAFRONT.]—La, fa, sol, la,
fa, la, [_sings_] rustle in silks and satins! There ’s music in this,
and a taffeta petticoat, it makes both fly high. _Catso._ 40

_Re-enter_ BELLAFRONT; _after her_ ORLANDO, _like himself, with four men after him_.

_Bell._ Matheo! ’t is my father.

_Mat._ Ha! father? It ’s no matter, he finds no tatter’d prodigals
here.

_Orl._ Is not the door good enough to hold your blue coats? Away,
knaves, wear not your (45) clothes threadbare at knees for me; beg
Heaven’s blessing, not mine. [_Exeunt_ Servants.]—Oh cry your
worship mercy, sir; was somewhat bold to talk to this gentlewoman,
your wife here. 50

_Mat._ A poor gentlewoman, sir.

_Orl._ Stand not, sir, bare to me; I ha’ read oft
That serpents who creep low, belch ranker poison
Than winged dragons do that fly aloft.

_Mat._ If it offend you, sir, ’t is for my pleasure. 55

_Orl._ Your pleasure be ’t, sir. Umh, is this your palace?

_Bell._ Yes, and our kingdom, for ’t is our content.

_Orl._ It ’s a very poor kingdom then; what, are all your subjects
gone a sheep-shearing? Not a maid? not a man? not so much as a cat?
You keep a good house belike, just like one (61) of your profession,
every room with bare walls, and a half-headed bed to vault upon, as
all your bawdy-houses are. Pray who are your upholsters? Oh, the
spiders, I see, they bestow hangings upon you. 66

_Mat._ Bawdy-house? Zounds, sir—

_Bell._ Oh sweet Matheo, peace. Upon my knees
I do beseech you, sir, not to arraign me
For sins, which Heaven, I hope, long since hath pardoned! 70
Those flames, like lightning flashes, are so spent,
The heat no more remains, than where ships went,
Or where birds cut the air, the print remains.

_Mat._ Pox on him, kneel to a dog.

_Bell._ She that ’s a whore, 75
Lives gallant, fares well, is not, like me, poor.
I ha’ now as small acquaintance with that sin,
As if I had never known ’t, that never been.

_Orl._ No acquaintance with it? What maintains thee then? How dost
live then? Has thy husband any lands, any rents coming in, any 81
stock going, any ploughs jogging, any ships sailing? Hast thou any
wares to turn,[2540] so much as to get a single penny by?
Yes thou hast ware to sell; 85
Knaves are thy chapmen, and thy shop is hell.

_Mat._ Do you hear, sir?

_Orl._ So, sir, I do hear, sir, more of you than you dream I do.

_Mat._ You fly a little too high, sir. 90

_Orl._ Why, sir, too high?

_Mat._ I ha’ suff’red your tongue, like a barr’d cater-tray,[2541] to
run all this while, and ha’ not stopt it.

_Orl._ Well, sir, you talk like a gamester. 95

_Mat._ If you come to bark at her because she ’s a poor rogue, look
you, here ’s a fine path, sir, and there, there, the door.

_Bell._ Matheo!

_Mat._ Your blue coats stay for you, sir. I love a good honest
roaring boy, and so— 101

_Orl._ That ’s the devil.

_Mat._ Sir, sir, I ’ll ha’ no Joves in my house to thunder avaunt.
She shall live and be maintained when you, like a keg of musty
sturgeon, (105) shall stink. Where? In your coffin. How? Be a musty
fellow, and lousy.

_Orl._ I know she shall be maintained, but how? She like a quean,
thou like a knave; she like a whore, thou like a thief. 110

_Mat._ Thief? Zounds! Thief?

_Bell._ Good, dearest Mat!—Father!

_Mat._ Pox on you both! I ’ll not be braved. New satin scorns to be
put down with bare bawdy velvet. Thief! 115

_Orl._ Ay, thief, th’ art a murderer, a cheater, a whoremonger, a
pot-hunter, a borrower, a beggar—

_Bell._ Dear father—

_Mat._ An old ass, a dog, a churl, a chuff, an usurer, a villain, a
moth, a mangy mule, (121) with an old velvet foot-cloth on his back,
sir.

_Bell._ Oh me!

_Orl._ Varlet, for this I ’ll hang thee.

_Mat._ Ha, ha, alas!

_Orl._ Thou keepest a man of mine here, (126) under my nose.

_Mat._ Under thy beard.

_Orl._ As arrant a smell-smock, for an old mutton-monger[2542] as
thyself. 130

_Mat._ No, as yourself.

_Orl._ As arrant a purse-taker as ever cried, Stand! yet a good
fellow I confess, and valiant; but he ’ll bring thee to th’ gallows.
You both have robb’d of late two poor country pedlars. 136

_Mat._ How ’s this? How ’s this? Dost thou fly high? Rob
pedlars?—Bear witness, Front—rob pedlars? My man and I a thief?

_Bell._ Oh, sir, no more.

_Orl._ Ay, knave, two pedlars. Hue and cry (141) is up, warrants are
out, and I shall see thee climb a ladder.

_Mat._ And come down again as well as a bricklayer or a tiler.
[_Aside._] How the vengeance knows he this?—If I be hanged, 146
I ’ll tell the people I married old Friscobaldo’s daughter; I ’ll
frisco you, and your old carcass.

_Orl._ Tell what you canst; if I stay here longer, I shall be hang’d
too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found you, I leave 151
you—

_Mat._ Kneel, and get money of him.

_Orl._ A knave and a quean, a thief and a strumpet, a couple of
beggars, a brace of baggages. 156

_Mat._ Hang; upon him—Ay, ay, sir, fare you well; we are so—follow
close—we are beggars—in satin—to him.

_Bell._ Is this your comfort, when so many years 160
You ha’ left me frozen to death?

_Orl._ Freeze still, starve still!

_Bell._ Yes, so I shall: I must: I must and will.
If, as you say, I’m poor, relieve me then,
Let me not sell my body to base men.
You call me strumpet, Heaven knows I am none: 165
Your cruelty may drive me to be one:
Let not that sin be yours; let not the shame
Of common whore live longer than my name.
That cunning bawd, Necessity, night and day
Plots to undo me; drive that bag away, 170
Lest being at lowest ebb, as now I am,
I sink for ever.

_Orl._ Lowest ebb, what ebb?

_Bell._ So poor, that, though to tell it be my shame,
I am not worth a dish to hold my meat;
I am yet poorer, I want bread to eat. 175

_Orl._ It’s not seen by your cheeks.

_Mat._ [_Aside._] I think she has read an homily to tickle the old
rogue.

_Orl._ Want bread! There’s satin: bake that.

_Mat._ ’Sblood, make pasties of my clothes? 180

_Orl._ A fair new cloak, stew that; an excellent gilt rapier.

_Mat._ Will you eat that, sir?

_Orl._ I could feast ten good fellows with these hangers.[2543]

_Mat._ The pox, you shall! 185

_Orl._ I shall not, till thou begg’st, think thou art poor;
And when thou begg’st I’ll feed thee at my door,
As I feed dogs, with bones; till then beg, borrow,
Pawn, steal, and hang, turn bawd, when thou art whore,—
[_Aside._] My heart-strings sure would crack, were they strain’d
more. _Exit._ 190

_Mat._ This is your father, your damn’d—Confusion light upon all
the generation of you! He can come bragging hither with four white
herrings at ’s tail in blue coats, without roes in their bellies; but
I may starve ere he give me so much as a cob.[2544] 196

_Bell._ What tell you me of this? alas!

_Mat._ Go, trot after your dad, do you capitulate; I’ll pawn not for
you; I’ll not steal to be hanged for such an hypocritical, close,
common harlot: away, you dog!— 201
Brave i’ faith! Udsfoot, give me some meat.

_Bell._ Yes, sir. _Exit._

_Mat._ Goodman slave, my man too, is gallop’d to the devil a’ the t’
other side: Pacheco, I’ll checo you. Is this your dad’s day? England,
(206) they say, is the only hell for horses, and only paradise for
women: pray get you to that paradise, because you’re called an honest
whore; there they live none but honest whores with a pox. Marry, here
in our city, all your (211) sex are but foot-cloth nags:[2545] the
master no sooner lights but the man leaps into the saddle.

_Re-enter_ BELLAFRONT [_with meat and drink_].

_Bell._ Will you sit down, I pray, sir?

_Mat._ [_sitting down._] I could tear, by th’ Lord, his flesh, and
eat his midriff in salt, as I eat (216) this:—must I choke?—My
father Friscobaldo, I shall make a pitiful hog-louse of you, Orlando,
if you fall once into my fingers—Here’s the savourest meat! I ha’
got a stomach with chafing.[2546] What rogue should tell him of those
(221) two pedlars? A plague choke him, and gnaw him to the bare
bones!—Come fill.

_Bell._ Thou sweatest with very anger, good sweet. Vex not, ’las,
’tis no fault of mine. 225

_Mat._ Where didst buy this mutton? I never felt better ribs.

_Bell._ A neighbour sent it me.

_Re-enter_ ORLANDO [_disguised as a_ Serving-man].

_Mat._ Hah, neighbour? Foh, my mouth stinks. You whore, do you beg
victuals for me? Is this satin doublet to be bombasted[2547] with
broken (231) meat? _Takes up the stool._

_Orl._ What will you do, sir?

_Mat._ Beat out the brains of a beggarly— 234

_Orl._ Beat out an ass’s head of your own.—Away, Mistress! [_Exit_
BELLAFRONT.] Zounds, do but touch one hair of her, and I’ll so quilt
your cap with old iron, that your coxcomb shall ache the worse these
seven years for ’t. Does she look like a roasted rabbit, that you
must have the head for the brains? 241

_Mat._ Ha, ha! go out of my doors, you rogue! Away, four marks;
trudge.

_Orl._ Four marks? No, sir, my twenty pound that you ha’ made fly
high, and I am gone. 245

_Mat._ Must I be fed with chippings? You’re best get
a clapdish,[2548] and say y’ are proctor to some
spittle-house.[2549]—Where hast thou been, Pacheco? Come hither my
little turkey-cock.

_Orl._ I cannot abide, sir, to see a woman wrong’d, not I. 251

_Mat._ Sirrah, here was my father-in-law to-day.

_Orl._ Pish, then y’ are full of crowns.

_Mat._ Hang him! he would ha’ thrust crowns upon me, to have fall’n
in again, but I scorn cast clothes, or any man’s gold. 256

_Orl._ [_Aside._]—But mine. How did he brook that, sir?

_Mat._ Oh, swore like a dozen of drunken tinkers; at last growing
foul in words, he and (260) four of his men drew upon me, sir.

_Orl._ In your house? Would I had been by!

_Mat._ I made no more ado, but fell to my old lock,[2550] and so
thrashed my blue-coats and old crab-tree-face my father-in-law, and
then walkt like a lion in my grate.[2551] 266

_Orl._ O noble master!

_Mat._ Sirrah, he could tell me of the robbing the two pedlars, and
that warrants are out for us both. 270

_Orl._ Good sir, I like not those crackers.[2552]

_Mat._ Crackhalter,[2553] wou’t set thy foot to mine?

_Orl._ How, sir? at drinking.

_Mat._ We ’ll pull that old crow my father: rob thy master. I know
the house, thou (275) the servants: the purchase[2554] is rich, the
plot to get it is easy; the dog will not part from a bone.

_Orl._ Pluck’t out of his throat, then. I ’ll snarl for one, if
this[2555] can bite.

_Mat._ Say no more, say no more, old coal; (280) meet me anon at the
sign of the Shipwrack.

_Orl._ Yes, sir.

_Mat._ And dost hear, man?—the Shipwrack. _Exit._

_Orl._ Th’ art at the shipwrack now, and like a swimmer,
Bold, but unexpert, with those waves dost play, 285
Whose dalliance, whorelike, is to cast thee away.
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO _and_ BELLAFRONT.
And here ’s another vessel, better fraught,
But as ill-mann’d; her sinking will be wrought,
If rescue come not: like a man of war
I ’ll therefore bravely out; somewhat I ’ll do,
And either save them both, or perish too. _Exit._ 291

_Hip._ It is my fate to be bewitched by those eyes.

_Bell._ Fate? your folly.
Why should my face thus mad you? ’Las, those colours 295
Are wound up long ago, which beauty spread:
The flowers that once grew here, are withered.
You turn’d my black soul white, made it look new,
And should I sin, it ne’er should be with you.

_Hip._ Your hand, I ’ll offer you fair play. When first 300
We met i’ th’ lists together, you remember
You were a common rebel; with one parley
I won you to come in.

_Bell._ You did.

_Hip._ I ’ll try
If now I can beat down this chastity
With the same ordnance. Will you yield this fort, 305
If the power of argument now, as then,
I get of you the conquest: as before
I turn’d you honest, now to turn you whore,
By force of strong persuasion?

_Bell._ If you can,
I yield.

_Hip._ The alarum ’s struck up; I ’m your man.

_Bell._ A woman gives defiance.

_Hip._ Sit. [_They seat themselves._]

_Bell._ Begin: 311
’T is a brave battle to encounter sin.

_Hip._ Yon men that are to fight in the same war
To which I ’m prest, and plead at the same bar,
To win a woman, if you ’d have me speed, 315
Send all your wishes!

_Bell._ No doubt you ’re heard; proceed.

_Hip._ To be a harlot, that you stand upon,
The very name ’s a charm to make you one.
Harlotta[2556] was a dame of so divine 319
And ravishing touch[2557] that she was concubine
To an English king; her sweet bewitching eye
Did the king’s heart-strings in such love-knots tie
That even the coyest was proud when she could hear
Men say, “Behold, another Harlot there!”
And after her all women that were fair 325
Were harlots call’d, as to this day some are:
Besides, her dalliance she so well does mix,
That she ’s in Latin call’d the _Meretrix_.
Thus for the name: for the profession, this:
Who lives in bondage, lives lac’d; the chief bliss 330
This world below can yield, is liberty:
And who, than whores, with looser wings dare fly?
As Juno’s proud bird spreads the fairest tail,
So does a strumpet hoist the loftiest sail,
She ’s no man’s slave; men are her slaves; her eye 335
Moves not on wheels screw’d up with jealousy.
She, hors’d or coach’d, does merry Journeys make,
Free as the sun in his gilt zodiac:
As bravely does she shine, as fast she ’s driven,
But stays not long in any house of heaven; 340
But shifts from sign to sign, her amorous prizes
More rich being when she ’s down, than when she rises.
In brief, gentlemen haunt them, soldiers fight for them,
Few men but know them, few or none abhor them.
Thus for sport’s sake speak I, as to a woman
Whom, as the worst ground, I would turn to common: 346
But you I would enclose for mine own bed.

_Bell._ So should a husband be dishonoured.

_Hip._ Dishonour’d? Not a whit: to fall to one
Besides your husband is to fall to none, 350
For one no number is.

_Bell._ Faith, should you take
One in your bed, would you that reckoning make?
’T is time you found retreat.

_Hip._ Say, have I won,
Is the day ours?

_Bell._ The battle ’s but half done,
None but yourself have yet sounded alarms, 355
Let us strike too, else you dishonour arms.

_Hip._ If you can win the day, the glory’s yours.

_Bell._ To prove a woman should not be a whore:
When she was made, she ’d one man, and no more; 359
Yet she was tied to laws then, for even than,[2558]
’T is said, she was not made for men, but man.
Anon, t’ increase earth’s brood, the law was varied,
Men should take many wives: and though they married
According to that act, yet ’t is not known
But that those wives were only tied to one. 365
New parliaments were since: for now one woman
Is shar’d between three hundred, nay she ’s common,
Common! as spotted leopards, whom for sport
Men hunt to get the flesh, but care not for ’t.
So spread they nets of gold, and tune their calls, 370
To enchant silly women to take falls;
Swearing they ’re angels, which that they may win
They ’ll hire the devil to come with false dice in.
Oh Sirens’ subtle tunes! yourselves you flatter,
And our weak sex betray: so men love water;
It serves to wash their hands, but being once foul, 375
The water down is pour’d, cast out of doors;
And even of such base use do men make whores.
A harlot, like a hen, more sweetness reaps,
To pick men one by one up, than in heaps: 380
Yet all feeds but confounding.[2559] Say you should taste me,
I serve but for the time, and when the day
Of war is done, am cashier’d out of pay:
If like lame soldiers I could beg, that ’s all,
And there ’s lust’s rendezvous, an hospital. 385
Who then would be a man’s slave, a man ’s woman?
She ’s half starv’d the first day that feeds in common.

_Hip._ You should not feed so, but with me alone.

_Bell._ If I drink poison by stealth, is ’t not all one?
Is ’t not rank poison still with you alone? 390
Nay, say you spi’d a courtesan, whose soft side
To touch you ’d sell your birth-right, for one kiss
Be rack’d; she ’s won, you’re sated: what follows this?
Oh, then you curse that bawd that toll’d[2560] you in,
The night; you curse your lust, you loathe the sin, 395
You loathe her very sight, and ere the day
Arise, you rise glad when y’ are stol’n away.
Even then when you are drunk with all her sweets,
There ’s no true pleasure in a strumpet’s sheets.
Women whom lust so prostitutes to sale, 400
Like dancers upon ropes, once seen, are stale.

_Hip._ If all the threads of harlot’s lives are spun,
So coarse as you would make them, tell me why
You so long lov’d the trade?

_Bell._ If all the threads
Of harlot’s lives be fine as you would make them, 405
Why do not you persuade your wife turn whore,
And all dames else to fall before that sin?
Like an ill husband, though I knew the same
To be my undoing, followed I that game.
Oh, when the work of lust had earn’d my bread, 410
To taste it how I trembled, lest each bit,
Ere it went down, should choke me chewing it!
My bed seem’d like a cabin hung in hell,
The bawd, bell’s porter, and the lickerish[2561] wine
The pander fetch’d, was like an easy fine, 415
For which, methought, I leas’d away my soul;
And oftentimes, even in my quaffing bowl,
Thus said I to myself, I am a whore,
And have drunk down thus much confusion more. 419

_Hip._ It is a common rule, and ’t is more true,
Two of one trade ne’er love: no more do you.
Why are you sharp ’gainst that you once profest?

_Bell._ Why dote you on that, which you did once detest?
I cannot, seeing she ’s woven of such bad stuff,
Set colours on a harlot base enough. 425
Nothing did make me, when I lov’d them best,
To loathe them more than this: when in the street
A fair young modest damsel I did meet,
She seem’d to all a dove, when I pass’d by,
And I to all a raven: every eye 430
That followed her went with a bashful glance,
At me each bold and jeering countenance
Darted forth scorn; to her as if she had been
Some tower unvanquished, would they vail,[2562]
’Gainst me swoln rumour hoisted every sail;
She, crown’d with reverend praises, pass’d by them, 436
I, though with face mask’d, could not scape the “Hem!”
For, as if Heaven had set strange marks on whores,
Because they should be pointing stocks to man,
Drest up in civilest shape, a courtesan— 440
Let her walk saint-like, noteless, and unknown,
Yet she ’s betray’d by some trick of her own.
Were harlots therefore wise, they ’d be sold dear:
For men account them good but for one year,
And then like almanacs whose dates are gone, 445
They are thrown by, and no more look’d upon.
Who ’ll therefore backward fall, who will launch forth
In seas so foul, for ventures no more worth?
Lust’s voyage hath, if not this course, this cross,
Buy ne’er so cheap, your ware comes home with loss. 450
What, shall I sound retreat? The battle ’s done:
Let the world judge which of us two have won.

_Hip._ I!

_Bell._ You? nay then as cowards do in fight,
What by blows cannot, shall be sav’d by flight. _Exit._

_Hip._ Fly to earth’s fixed centre: to the caves
Of everlasting horror. I ’ll pursue thee, 456
Though loaden with sins, even to hell’s brazen doors.
Thus wisest men turn fools, doting on whores. _Exit._

[SCENE II.][2563]

_Enter the_ DUKE, LODOVICO, _and_ ORLANDO [_disguised as a_ Serving-man]; _after them_ INFELICE, CAROLO, ASTOLFO, BERALDO, _and_ FONTINELL.

_Orl._ I beseech your grace, though your eye be so piercing as
under a poor blue coat to cull out an honest father from an old
serving-man, yet, good my lord, discover not the plot to any, but
only this gentleman that is now to be an (5) actor in our ensuing
comedy.

_Duke._ Thou hast thy wish, Orlando, pass unknown,
Sforza shall only go along with thee,
To see that warrant serv’d upon thy son.

_Lod._ To attach him upon felony, for two (10) pedlars: is ’t not so?

_Orl._ Right, my noble knight: those pedlars were two knaves of mine;
he fleec’d the men before, and now he purposes to flay the master. He
will rob me; his teeth water to be nibbling (15) at my gold; but this
shall hang him by th’ gills, till I pull him on shore.

_Duke._ Away: ply you the business.