Chapter XXXI: Act IV: Scene I

_The rendezvous of the Gipsies,[923] near Milan._

_Enter_ ANDRUGIO.

AND. Now, fortune, shew thyself the friend of love,
Make her way plain and safe; cast all their eyes
That guard the castle
Into a thicker blindness than thine own,
Darker than ignorance or idolatry,
That in that shape my love may pass unknown,
And by her freedom set my comforts free.
This is the place appointed for our meeting,
Yet comes she [not]; I’m covetous of her sight;
That gipsy-habit alters her so far
From knowledge, that our purpose cannot err;
She might have been here now by this time largely,
And much to spare: I would not miss her now
In this plight for the loss of a year’s joy.
She’s ignorant of this house, nor knows she where
Or which way to bestow herself through fear.

_Enter_ LACTANTIO _with a Guard_.

LAC. Close with him, gentlemen.—In the duchess’ name
We do attach your body.
AND. How, my body?
What means this rudeness?
LAC. You add to your offences,
Calling that rudeness that is fair command,
Immaculate justice, and the duchess’ pleasure.
AND. Signor Lactantio! O, are you the speaker?
LAC. I am what I am made.
AND. Shew me my crime.
LAC. I fear you’ll have too many shewn you, sir.
AND. The father of untruths possesses thy spirit,
As he commands thy tongue: I defy fear
But in my love, it only settles there.
LAC. Bring him along.
AND. Let law’s severest brow
Bend at my deeds, my innocence shall rise
A shame to thee and all my enemies.
LAC. You’re much the happier man.
AND. O, my hard crosses!
Grant me the third part of one hour’s stay.
LAC. Sir, not a minute.
AND. O, she’s lost!
LAC. Away! [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ AURELIA _disguised as a Gipsy_.

AUR. I’m happily escap’d, not one pursues me;
This shape’s too cunning for 'em; all the sport was,
The porter would needs know his fortune of me
As I pass’d by him: ’twas such a plunge[924] to me,
I knew not how to bear myself; at last
I did resolve of somewhat, look’d in’s hand,
Then shook my head, bade him make much on’s eyes,
He’d lose his sight clean long before he dies;
And so[925] away went I; he lost the sight of me
quickly:
I told him his fortune truer for nothing than some
Of my complexion that would have cozen’d him of his
money.
This is the place of meeting; where’s this man now
That has took all this care and pains for nothing?
The use of him is at the last cast now,
Shall only bring me to my former face again,
And see me somewhat cleanlier at his cost,
And then farewell, Andrugio; when I’m handsome,
I’m for another straight. I wonder, troth,
That he would miss me thus; I could have took
Many occasions besides this to have left him;
I’m not in want, he need not give me any;
A woman’s will has still enough to spare
To help her friends, and[926] need be. What, not yet?
What will become of me in this shape then?
If I know where to go, I’m no dissembler;
And I’ll not lose my part in woman[927] so
For such a trifle, to forswear myself.
But comes he not indeed?

_Enter_ DONDOLO.

DON. O excellent! by this light here’s one of them! I
thank my stars: I learnt that phrase in the Half-moon
tavern. [_Aside._]—By your leave, good gipsy;
I pray how far off is your company?
AUR. O happiness! this is the merry fellow
My love, signor Lactantio, takes delight in;
I’ll send him away speedily with the news
Of my so strange and fortunate escape,
And he’ll provide my safety at an instant. [_Aside._
My friend, thou serv’st signor Lactantio?
DON. Who, I serve? gipsy, I scorn your motion;[928] and
if the rest of your company give me no better words, I
will hinder 'em the stealing of more pullen[929] than
fifty poulterers were ever worth, and prove a heavier
enemy to all their pig-booties; they shall travel like
Jews, that hate swine’s flesh, and never get a sow by
th’ ear all their lifetime. I serve Lactantio! I scorn
to serve any body; I am more gipsy-minded than so:
though my face look of a Christian colour, if my belly
were ripped up, you shall find my heart as black as any
patch about you. The truth is, I am as arrant a thief as
the proudest of your company; I’ll except none: I am run
away from my master in the state of a fool, and till I
be a perfect knave I never mean to return again.
AUR. I’m ne’er the happier for this fortune now;
It did but mock me. [_Aside._
DON. Here they come, here they come!

_Enter Gipsy Captain with a company of Gipsies, male
and female, carrying booties of hens and
ducks, &c., and singing._
G. CAP. _Come, my dainty doxies,
My dells,[930] my dells most dear;
We have neither house nor land,
Yet never want good cheer._
CHORUS. _We never want good cheer._
G. CAP. _We take no care for candle rents._
SEC. GIP. _We lie._
TH. GIP. _We snort._
G. CAP. _We sport[931] in tents,
Then rouse betimes and steal our dinners.
Our store is never taken
Without pigs, hens, or bacon,
And that’s good meat for sinners:
At makes and fairs me cozen
Poor country folks by dozen;
If one have money, he disburses;
Whilst some tell fortunes, some pick purses;
Rather than be out of use,
We’ll steal garters, hose, or shoes,
Boots, or spurs with gingling rowels,
Shirts or napkins, smocks or towels.
Come live with us, come live with us,
All you that love your eases;
He that’s a gipsy
May be drunk or tipsy
At what hour he pleases._
CHORUS. _We laugh, we quaff, we roar, we scuffle;
We cheat, we drab, we filch, we shuffle._
DON. O sweet! they deserve to be hanged for ravishing of
me.
AUR. What will become of me? if I seem fearful now,
Or offer sudden flight, then I betray myself;
I must do neither. [_Aside._
G. CAP. _Ousabel,[932] camcheteroon, puscatelion,
Hows-drows._
SEC. GIP. _Rumbos stragadelion_
_Alla piskitch in sows-clows._
_Oh, oh!_
DON. _Piskitch in howse-clout!_ I shall never keep a
good tongue in my head till I get this language.
G. CAP. _Umbra fill kevolliden, magro-pye._
DON. He calls her magot-o'-pie.[933]
AUR. I love your language well, but understand it not.
G. CAP. Hah!
AUR. I am but lately turn’d to your profession;
Yet from my youth I ever lov’d it dearly,
But never could attain to’t: steal I can,
It was a thing I ever was brought up to;
My father was a miller, and my mother
A tailor’s widow.
DON. She’s a thief on both sides.
G. CAP. Give me thy hand; thou art no bastard born,
We have not a more true-bred thief amongst us.
GIPSIES. Not any, captain.
DON. I pray, take me into some grace amongst you too;
for though I claim no goodness from my parents to help
me forward into your society, I had two uncles that were
both hanged for robberies, if that will serve your turn,
and a brave cut-purse to my cousin-german: if kindred
will be taken, I am as near akin to a thief as any of
you that had fathers and mothers.
G. CAP. What is it thou requirest, noble cousin?
DON. Cousin? nay, and[934] we be so near akin already,
now we are sober, we shall be sworn brothers when we are
drunk: the naked truth is, sir, I would be made a gipsy
as fast as you could devise.
G. CAP. A gipsy?
DON. Ay, with all the speed you can, sir; the very sight
of those stolen hens eggs me forward horribly.
G. CAP. Here’s dainty ducks too, boy.
DON. I see 'em but too well; I would they were all
rotten roasted and stuffed with onions.
G. CAP. Lov’st thou the common food of Egypt, onions?
DON. Ay, and garlic too; I have smelt out many a knave
by’t; but I could never smell mine own breath yet, and
that’s many a man’s fault; he can smell out a knave in
another sometimes three yards off, yet his nose standing
so nigh his mouth, he can never smell out himself.
G. CAP. A pregnant gipsy!
GIPSIES. A most witty sinner!
G. CAP. Stretch forth thy hand, coz: art thou
fortunate?
DON. How? fortunate? nay, I cannot tell that myself;
wherefore do I come to you but to learn that? I have
sometimes found money[935] in old shoes; but if I had
not stolen more than I have found, I had had but a
scurvy thin-cheeked fortune on’t.
G. CAP. [_taking_ DONDOLO’S _hand_] Here’s a fair
table.[936]
DON. Ay, so has many a man that has given over
housekeeping; a fair table, when there’s neither cloth
nor meat upon’t.
G. CAP. What a brave line of life’s here; look you,
gipsies.
DON. I have known as brave a line end in a halter.
G. CAP. But thou art born to precious fortune.
DON. The devil I am!
G. CAP. _Bette bucketto._
DON. How, to beat bucks?
G. CAP. _Stealee bacono._
DON. O, to steal bacon; that’s the better fortune o’ th’
two indeed.
G. CAP. Thou wilt be shortly captain of the gipsies.
DON. I would you’d make me corporal i’ th’ meantime,
Or standard-bearer to the women’s regiment.
G. CAP. Much may be done for love.
DON. Nay, here’s some money;
I know an office comes not all for love.
[_Feels in his pockets._
A pox of your lime-twigs! you have’t all already.
G. CAP. It lies but here in cash for thine own use,
boy.
DON. Nay, an 't lie there once, I shall hardly come to
the fingering on’t in haste; yet make me an apt scholar,
and I care not: teach me but so much gipsy, to steal as
much more from another, and the devil do you good of
that.
G. CAP. Thou shalt have all thy heart requires:
First, here’s a girl for thy desires;
This doxy fresh, this new-come dell,[937]
Shall lie by thy sweet side and swell.
Get me gipsies brave and tawny,
With cheek full plump and hip full brawny;
Look you prove industrious dealers,
To serve the commonwealth with stealers,
That th’ unhous’d race of fortune-tellers
May never fail to cheat town-dwellers,
Or, to our universal grief,
Leave country fairs without a thief.
This is all you have to do,
Save every hour a filch or two,
Be it money, cloth, or pullen:[938]
When the evening’s brow looks sullen,
Lose no time, for then ’tis precious;
Let your slights[939] be fine, facetious:
Which hoping you’ll observe, to try thee,
With rusty bacon thus I gipsify thee.
[_Rubs his face with bacon._
DON. Do you use to do’t with bacon?
G. CAP. Evermore.
DON. By this light, the rats will take me now for some
hog’s cheek, and eat up my face when I am asleep, I
shall have never a bit left by to-morrow morning; and
lying open mouthed as I use to do, I shall look for all
the world like a mouse-trap baited with bacon.
G. CAP. Why, here’s a face like thine so done,
Only grain’d in by the sun;
And this, and these.
DON. Faith, then, there’s a company of bacon-faces of
you, and I am one now to make up the number: we are a
kind of conscionable people, and[940] 'twere well
thought upon, for to steal bacon, and black our faces
with’t; ’tis like one that commits sin, and writes his
faults in his forehead.
G. CAP. Wit, whither wilt thou?[941]
DON. Marry, to the next pocket I can come at; and if it
be a gentleman’s, I wish a whole quarter’s rent in’t. Is
this my in dock, out nettle?[942] What’s gipsy for her?
G. CAP. Your _doxy_ she.
DON. O, right.—Are you my doxy, sirrah?[943]
AUR. I’ll be thy doxy and thy dell,
With thee I’ll live, for thee I’ll steal;
From fair to fair, from wake to wake,
I’ll ramble still for thy sweet sake.
DON. O, dainty fine doxy! she speaks the language
as familiarly already as if sh’ad been begot of a
canter.[944] I pray, captain, what’s gipsy for the
hind quarter of a woman?
G. CAP. _Nosario._
DON. _Nosario?_ why, what’s gipsy for my nose then?
G. CAP. Why, _arsinio_.
DON. _Arsinio?_ faith, methinks you might have devised a
sweeter word for’t.

_Enter_ AURELIA’S _Father, and Governor_.

G. CAP. Stop, stop! fresh booties,—gentlefolks,
signoroes,
_Calavario_, _fulkadelio_.
SEC. GIP. _La gnambrol a tumbrel._
DON. How? give me one word amongst you, that I may be
doing too.
AUR. Yonder they are again! O guiltiness,
Thou putt’st more trembling fear into a maid
Than the first wedding-night. Take courage, wench,
Thy face cannot betray thee with a blush now.
[_Aside._
FATH. Which way she took her flight, sir, none can
guess,
Or how she ’scap’d.
GOV. Out at some window certainly.
FATH. O, ’tis a bold daring baggage!
GOV. See, good fortune, sir,
The gipsies! they’re the cunning’st people living.
FATH. They cunning? what a confidence have you, sir!
No wise man’s faith was ever set in fortunes.
GOV. You’re the wilfull’st man against all learning
still:
I will be hang’d now, if I hear not news of her
Amongst this company.
FATH. You are a gentleman of the flatt’ring’st hopes
That e’er lost woman yet.
GOV. Come hither, gipsy.
AUR. Luck now, or I’m undone. [_Aside._]—What says my
master?
Bless me with a silver cross,[945]
And I will tell you all your loss.
GOV. Lo you there, sir! all my loss; at first word
too:
There is no cunning in these gipsies now?
FATH. Sure I’ll hear more of this.
GOV. Here’s silver for you. [_Gives money._
AUR. Now attend your fortune’s story:
You lov’d a maid.
GOV. Right.
AUR. She ne’er lov’d you:
You shall find my words are true.
GOV. Mass, I am afraid so.
AUR. You were about
To keep her in, but could not do’t:
Alas the while, she would not stay,
The cough o’ th’ lungs[946] blew her away!
And, which is worse, you’ll be so crost,
You’ll never find the thing that’s lost;
Yet oftentimes your sight will fear her,
She’ll be near you, and yet you ne’er the nearer:
Let her go, and be the gladder;
She’d but shame you, if you had her:
Ten counsellors could never school her;
She is so wild, you could not rule her.
GOV. In troth I’m of thy mind, yet I’d fain find her.
AUR. Soonest then when you least mind her;
But if you mean to take her tripping,
Make but haste, she’s now a-shipping.
GOV. I ever dream’d so much.
FATH. Hie to the key.—
We’ll mar your voyage, you shall brook no sea.
[_Exeunt Father and Governor._
G. CAP. _Cheteroon, high gulleroon._
DON. _Filcheroon, purse-fulleroon_: I can say somewhat
too.
GIPSIES. Excellent gipsy! witty, rare doxy!
DON. I would not change my dell[947] for a dozen
of black bell-wethers.

_Song._
G. CAP. _Our wealth swells high, my boys._
DON. _Our wealth swells high, my boys._
G. CAP. _Let every gipsy
Dance with his doxy,
And then drink, drink for joy._
DON. _Let every gipsy
Dance with his doxy,
And then drink, drink for joy._
CHORUS. _And then drink, drink for joy._
[_Exeunt with a strange wild-fashioned dance to the
hautboys or cornets._

SCENE II.

_An apartment in the house of the Duchess._

_Enter Duchess, Cardinal, Lords, and_ CELIA.

CAR. That which is merely call’d a will in woman,
I cannot always title it with a virtue.
DUCH. O good sir, spare me!
CAR. Spare yourself, good madam;
Extremest justice is not so severe
To great offenders, as your own forc’d strictness
To beauty, youth, and time; you’ll answer for’t.
DUCH. Sir, settle your own peace; let me make mine.
CAR. But here’s a heart must pity it, when it thinks
on’t;
I find compassion, though the smart be yours.
FIRST LORD. None here but does the like.
SEC. LORD. Believe it, madam,
You have much wrong’d your time.
FIRST LORD. Nay, let your grace
But think upon the barrenness of succession.
SEC. LORD. Nay, more, a vow enforc’d.
DUCH. What, do you all
Forsake me then, and take part with yon man?
Not one friend have I left? do they all fight
Under th’ inglorious banner of his censure,[948]
Serve under his opinion?
CAR. So will all, madam,
Whose judgments can but taste a rightful cause;
I look for more force yet; nay, your own women
Will shortly rise against you, when they know
The war to be so just and honourable
As marriage is; you cannot name that woman
Will not come ready arm’d for such a cause:
Can chastity be any whit impair’d
By that which makes it perfect? answer, madam;
Do you profess constancy, and yet live alone?
How can that hold? you’re constant then to none;
That’s a dead virtue; goodness must have practice,
Or else it ceases; then is woman said
To be love-chaste, knowing but one man’s bed;
A mighty virtue! beside, fruitfulness
Is part of the salvation of your sex;
And the true use of wedlock’s time and space
Is woman’s exercise for faith and grace.
DUCH. O, what have you done, my lord!
CAR. Laid the way plain
To knowledge of yourself and your creation;
Unbound a forcèd vow, that was but knit
By the strange jealousy of your dying lord,
Sinful i’ th’ fastening.
DUCH. All the powers of constancy
Will curse you for this deed!
CAR. You speak in pain, madam,
And so I take your words, like one in sickness
That rails at his best friend: I know a change
Of disposition has a violent working
In all of us; ’tis fit it should have time
And counsel with itself: may you be fruitful, madam,
In all the blessings of an honour’d love!
FIRST LORD. In all your wishes fortunate,—and I
The chief of 'em myself! [_Aside._
CAR. Peace be at your heart, lady!
FIRST LORD. And love, say I. [_Aside._
CAR. We’ll leave good thoughts now to bring in
themselves. [_Exit with Lords._
DUCH. O, there’s no art like a religious cunning,
It carries away all things smooth before it!
How subtlely has his wit dealt with the lords,
To fetch in their persuasions to a business
That stands in need of none, yields of itself,
As most we women do, when we seem farthest.
But little thinks the cardinal he’s requited
After the same proportion of deceit
As he sets down for others.

_Enter Page._[949]

O, here’s the pretty boy he preferr’d to me;
I never saw a meeker, gentler youth,
Yet made for man’s beginning: how unfit
Was that poor fool to be Lactantio’s page!
He would have spoil’d him quite; in one year utterly;
There had been no hope of him.—Come hither, child;
I have forgot thy name.
PAGE. Antonio, madam.
DUCH. Antonio? so thou toldst me. I must chide thee;
Why didst thou weep when thou cam’st first to serve me?
PAGE. At the distrust of mine own merits, madam,
Knowing I was not born to those deserts
To please so great a mistress.
DUCH. 'Las, poor boy,
That’s nothing in thee but thy modest fear,
Which makes amends faster than thou canst err.—
It shall be my care to have him well brought up
As a youth apt for good things.—Celia.
CELIA. Madam?
DUCH. Has he bestow’d his hour to-day for music?
CELIA. Yes, he has, madam.
DUCH. How do you find his voice?
CELIA. A pretty, womanish, faint, sprawling[950]
voice, madam,
But 'twill grow strong in time, if he take care
To keep it when he has it from fond[951] exercises.
DUCH. Give order too the dancing-schoolmaster
Observe an hour with him.
CELIA. It shall be done, lady:
He is well made for dancing; thick i’ th’ chest, madam;
He will turn long and strongly.
DUCH. He shall not be behind a quality
That aptness in him or our cost can purchase;
And see he lose no time.
CELIA. I’ll take that order, madam.
PAGE. Singing and dancing! 'las, my case is worse!
I rather need a midwife and a nurse.
[_Aside, and exit with_ CELIA.
DUCH. Lactantio, my procurer, not return’d yet?
His malice I have fitted with an office
Which he takes pleasure to discharge with rigour.
He comes, and with him my heart’s conqueror;
My pleasing thraldom’s near.

_Enter_ LACTANTIO _with_ ANDRUGIO _and Guard_.

AND. Not know the cause?
LAC. Yes, you shall soon do that now, to the ruin
Of your neck-part, or some nine years’ imprisonment;
You meet with mercy, and[952] you ’scape with that;
Beside your lands all begg’d and seiz’d upon;
That’s admirable favour. Here’s the duchess.
DUCH. O sir, you’re welcome!
LAC. Marry, bless me still
From such a welcome!
DUCH. You are hard to come by,
It seems, sir, by the guilt of your long stay.
AND. My guilt, good madam?
DUCH. Sure y’had much ado
To take him, had you not? speak truth, Lactantio,
And leave all favour; were you not in danger?
LAC. Faith, something near it, madam: he grew
headstrong,
Furious and fierce; but ’tis not my condition[953]
To speak the worst things of mine enemy, madam,
Therein I hold mine honour: but had fury
Burst into all the violent storms that ever
Play’d over anger in tempestuous man,
I would have brought him to your grace’s presence,
Dead or alive.
DUCH. You would not, sir?
AND. What pride
Of pamper’d blood has mounted up[954] this
puck-foist?[955]
If any way, uncounsell’d of my judgment,
My ignorance has stept into some error,
Which I could heartily curse, and so brought on me
Your great displeasure, let me feel my sin
In the full weight of justice, virtuous madam,
And let it wake me throughly: but, chaste lady,
Out of the bounty of your grace, permit not
This perfum’d parcel of curl’d powder’d hair
To cast me in the poor relish of his censure.[956]
DUCH. It shall not need, good sir; we are ourself
Of power sufficient to judge you; ne’er doubt it, sir.
Withdraw, Lactantio; carefully place your guard
I’ the next room.
LAC. You will but fare the worse;
You see your niceness[957] spoils you; you’ll go nigh
now
To feel your sin indeed.
[_Exit_ LACTANTIO _with Guard_.
AND. Hell-mouth be with thee!
Was ever malice seen yet to gape wider
For man’s misfortunes?
DUCH. First, sir, I should think
You could not be so impudent to deny
What your own knowledge proves to you.
AND. That were a sin, madam,
More gross than flattery spent upon a villain.
DUCH. Your own confession dooms you, sir.
AND. Why, madam?
DUCH. Do not you know I made a serious vow
At my lord’s death, never to marry more?
AND. That’s a truth, madam, I’m a witness to.
DUCH. Is’t so, sir? you’ll be taken presently.
This man needs no accuser. Knowing so much,
How durst you then attempt so bold a business
As to solicit me, so strictly settled,
With tempting letters and loose lines of love?
AND. Who? I do’t, madam?
DUCH. Sure the man will shortly
Deny he lives, although he walks and breath[es.]
AND. Better destruction snatch me quick from sight
Of human eyes, than I should sin so boldly!
DUCH. 'Twas well I kept it then from rage or fire,
For my truth’s credit. Look you, sir; read out;
You know the hand and name. [_Gives letter._
AND. [_reads_] _Andrugio!_
DUCH. And if such things be fit, the world shall
judge.
AND. Madam——
DUCH. Pish, that’s not so; it begins otherwise;
Pray, look again, sir; how you’d slight your knowledge!
AND. By all the reputation I late won——
DUCH. Nay, and[958] you dare not read, sir, I am gone.
AND. Read? [_reads_] _Most fair duchess._
DUCH. O, have you found it now?
There’s a sweet flattering phrase for a beginning!
You thought belike that would overcome me.
AND. I, madam?
DUCH. Nay, on, sir; you are slothful.
AND. [_reads_] _The report of your vow shall not fear
me_——
DUCH. No? are you so resolute? ’tis well for you, sir.
AND. [_reads_] _I know you’re but a woman_——
DUCH. Well, what then, sir?
AND. [_reads_] _And what a woman is, a wise man knows._
DUCH. Let him know what he can, he’s glad to get us.
AND. [_reads_] _Perhaps my condition[959] may seem blunt
to you_——
DUCH. Well, we find no fault with your bluntness.
AND. [_reads_] _But no man’s love can be more sharp
set_——
DUCH. Ay, there’s good stuff now!
AND. [_reads_] _And I know desires in both sexes have
skill at that weapon._
DUCH. Weapon?
You begin like a flatterer, and end like a fencer.
Are these fit lines now to be sent to us?
AND. Now, by the honour of a man, his truth, madam,
My name’s abus’d!
DUCH. Fie, fie, deny your hand?
I will not deny mine; here, take it freely, sir,
And with it my true constant heart for ever:
I never disgrac’d man that sought my favour.
AND. What mean you, madam?
DUCH. To requite you, sir;
By courtesy I hold my reputation,
And you shall taste it. Sir, in as plain truth
As the old time walk’d in, when love was simple
And knew no art nor guile, I affect you;
My heart has made her choice; I love you, sir,
Above my vow: the frown that met you first
Wore not the livery of anger, sir,
But of deep policy; I made your enemy
The instrument for all; there you may praise me,
And ’twill not be ill given.
AND. Here’s a strange language!
The constancy of love bless me from learning on’t,
Although ambition would soon teach it others!
[_Aside._
Madam, the service of whole life is yours;
But——
DUCH. Enough! thou’rt mine for ever.—Within, there!

_Re-enter_ LACTANTIO _with Guard_.

LAC. Madam?
DUCH. Lay hands upon him; bear him hence;
See he be kept close prisoner in our palace.—
The time’s not yet ripe for our nuptial solace.
[_Aside, and exit._
LAC. This you could clear yourself!
AND. There’s a voice that wearies me
More than mine own distractions.
LAC. You are innocent!
AND. I’ve not a time idle enough from passion[960]
To give this devil an answer. O, she’s lost!
Curs’d be that love by which a better’s crost!
There my heart’s settl’d. [_Aside._
LAC. How is he disgrac’d,
And I advanc’d in love! faith, he that can
Wish more to his enemy is a spiteful man,
And worthy to be punish’d. [_Exeunt._