Chapter VI: Act V: Scene I

_A Hall in the Duke’s Palace._

_Enter_ VIOLA _with a petition, and_ GEORGE.

VIO. O watch, good George, watch which way the duke
comes!
GEO. Here comes one of the butterflies; ask him.

_Enter_ PIORATTO.

VIO. Pray, sir, comes the duke this way?
PIO. He’s upon coming, mistress.
VIO. I thank you, sir. [_Exit_ PIORATTO.]—George, are
there many mad folks where thy master lies?
GEO. O yes, of all countries some; but especially mad
Greeks,[199] they swarm. Troth, mistress, the world is
altered with you; you had not wont to stand thus with a
paper, humbly complaining: but you’re well enough
served. Provender pricked you, as it does many of our
city wives besides.
VIO. Dost think, George, we shall get him forth?
GEO. Truly, mistress, I cannot tell; I think you’ll
hardly get him forth. Why,’tis strange! ’sfoot, I have
known many women that have had mad rascals to their
husbands, whom they would belabour by all means possible
to keep 'em in their right wits; but of a woman to long
to turn a tame man into a madman, why, the devil himself
was never used so by his dam.
VIO. How does he talk, George? ha, good George, tell me.
GEO. Why, you’re best go see.
VIO. Alas, I am afraid!
GEO. Afraid? you had more need be ashamed; he may rather
be afraid of you.
VIO. But, George, he’s not stark mad, is he? he does not
rave? he’s not horn-mad, George, is he?
GEO. Nay, I know not that; but he talks like a justice
of peace of a thousand matters, and to no purpose.
VIO. I’ll to the monastery. I shall be mad till 1 enjoy
him; I shall be sick till I see him; yet when I do see
him, I shall weep out mine eyes.
GEO. I’d fain see a woman weep out her eyes; that’s as
true as to say a man’s cloak burns when it hangs in the
water. I know you’ll weep, mistress; but what says the
painted cloth?[200]
_Trust not a woman when she cries,
For she’ll pump water from her eyes
With a wet finger[201], and in faster showers
Than April when he rains down flowers._
VIO. Ay, but, George, that painted cloth is worthy to be
hanged up for lying: all women have not tears at will,
unless they have good cause.
GEO. Ay, but, mistress, how easily will they find a
cause! and as one of our cheese-trenchers[202] says,
very learnedly,
_As out of wormwood bees suck honey,
As from poor clients lawyers firk money,
As parsley from a roasted cony,
So, though the day be ne’er so sunny,
If wives will have it rain, down then it drives;
The calmest husbands make the stormiest wives._
VIO. Tame,[203] George; but I ha’ done storming now.
GEO. Why, that’s well done: good mistress, throw aside
this fashion of your humour; be not so fantastical in
wearing it; storm no more, long no more: this longing
has made you come short of many a good thing that you
might have had from my master. Here comes the duke.

_Enter Duke_, FLUELLO, PIORATTO, _and_ SINEZI.

VIO. O, I beseech you, pardon my offence,
In that I durst abuse your grace’s warrant!
Deliver forth my husband, good my lord.
DUKE. Who is her husband?
FLU. Candido, my lord.
DUKE. Where is he?
VIO. He’s among the lunatics.
He was a man made up without a gall;
Nothing could move him, nothing could convert
His meek blood into fury; yet, like a monster,
I often beat at the most constant rock
Of his unshaken patience, and did long
To vex him.
DUKE. Did you so?
VIO. And for that purpose
Had warrant from your grace to carry him
To Bethlem Monastery, whence they will not free him
Without your grace’s hand, that sent him in.
DUKE. You have long’d fair; ’tis you are mad, I fear;
It’s fit to fetch him thence, and keep you there.
If he be mad, why would you have him forth?
GEO. And[204] please your grace, he’s not stark mad,
but only talks like a young gentleman, somewhat
fantastically; that’s all: there’s a thousand about
your court, city, and country, madder than he.
DUKE. Provide a warrant, you shall have our hand.
GEO. Here’s a warrant ready drawn, my lord.
DUKE.[205] Get pen and ink, get pen and ink.
[_Exit_ GEORGE.

_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO.

CAS. Where is my lord the duke?
DUKE. How now? more madmen?
CAS. I have strange news, my lord.
DUKE. Of what? of whom?
CAS. Of Infelice and a marriage.
DUKE. Ha! where? with whom?
CAS. Hippolito.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE _with pen and ink_.

GEO. Here, my lord.
DUKE. Hence with that woman! void the room!
FLU. Away! the duke’s vexed.
GEO. Whoop! come, mistress, the duke’s mad too.
[_Exeunt_ VIOLA _and_ GEORGE.
DUKE. Who told me that Hippolito was dead?
CAS. He that can make any man dead, the doctor. But, my
lord, he’s as full of life as wildfire, and as quick:
Hippolito, the doctor, and one more, rid hence this
evening; the inn at which they light is Bethlem
Monastery; Infelice comes from Bergamo, and meets them
there. Hippolito is mad, for he means this day to be
married: the afternoon is the hour, and friar Anselmo is
the knitter.
DUKE. From Bergamo! is’t possible? it cannot be,
It cannot be.
CAS. I will not swear, my lord;
But this intelligence I took from one
Whose brains work[206] in the plot.
DUKE. What’s he?
CAS. Matheo.
FLU. Matheo knows all.
PIO. He’s Hippolito’s bosom.
DUKE. How far stands Bethlem hence?
CAS. } Six or seven miles.
FLU., _&c._[207] }
DUKE. Is’t so?[208] not married till the afternoon?
Stay, stay, let’s work out some prevention. How?
This is most strange; can none but madmen serve
To dress their wedding-dinner? All of you
Get presently to horse, disguise yourselves
Like country gentlemen,
Or riding citizens, or so; and take
Each man a several path, but let us meet
At Bethlem Monastery, some space of time
Being spent between the arrival each of other,
As if we came to see the lunatics.
To horse; away! be secret, on your lives:
Love must be punish’d that unjustly thrives.
[_Exeunt all except_ FLUELLO.
FLU. Be secret, on your lives? Castruchio,
You’re but a scurvy spaniel. Honest lord!
Good lady! zounds, their love is just, ’tis good;
And I’ll prevent you, though I swim in blood.
[_Exit._

SCENE II.

_An Apartment in Bethlem Monastery._

_Enter_ ANSELMO, HIPPOLITO, MATHEO, _and_ INFELICE.

HIP. Nay, nay, resolve,[209] good father, or deny.
AN. You press me to an act both full of danger
And full of happiness; for I behold
Your father’s frowns, his threats, nay, perhaps death
To him that dare do this: yet, noble lord,
Such comfortable beams break through these clouds
By this blest marriage, that, your honour’d word
Being pawn’d in my defence, I will tie fast
The holy wedding knot.
HIP. Tush, fear not the duke.
AN. O son,
Wisely to fear is to be free from fear.
HIP. You have our words, and you shall have our lives,
To guard you safe from all ensuing danger.
MAT. Ay, ay, chop 'em up and away.
AN. Stay: when is’t fit for me, safest for you,
To entertain this business?
HIP. Not till the evening.
AN. Be’t so: there is a chapel stands hard by,
Upon the west end of the abbey-wall;
Thither convey yourselves; and when the sun
Hath turn’d his back upon this upper world,
I’ll marry you; that done, no thundering voice
Can break the sacred bond: yet, lady, here
You are most safe.
INF. Father, your love’s most dear.
MAT. Ay, well said; lock us into some little room by
ourselves, that we may be mad for an hour or two.
HIP. O good Matheo, no! let’s make no noise.
MAT. How? no noise? do you know where you are? ’sfoot,
amongst all the madcaps in Milan; so that to throw the
house out at window will be the better, and no man will
suspect that we lurk here to steal mutton.[210] The more
sober we are, the more scurvy ’tis; and though the friar
tell us that here we are safest, I’m not of his mind;
for if those lay here that had lost their money, none
would ever look after them: but here are none but those
that have lost their wits; so that if hue and cry be
made, hither they’ll come; and my reason is, because
none goes to be married till he be stark mad.
HIP. Muffle yourselves; yonder’s Fluello.

_Enter_ FLUELLO.

MAT. Zounds!
FLU. O my lord, these cloaks are not for this rain! the
tempest is too great: I come sweating to tell you of it,
that you may get out of it.
MAT. Why, what’s the matter?
FLU. What’s the matter! you have mattered it fair: the
duke’s at hand.
ALL. The duke!
FLU. The very duke.
HIP. Then all our plots
Are turn’d upon our heads, and we’re blown up
With our own underminings. ’Sfoot, how comes he?
What villain durst betray our being here?
FLU. Castruchio; Castruchio told the duke, and Matheo
here told Castruchio.
HIP. Would you betray me to Castruchio?
MAT. ’Sfoot, he damned himself to the pit of hell if he
spake on’t again.
HIP. So did you swear to me; so were you damn’d.
MAT. Pox on 'em, and there be no faith in men, if a man
shall not believe oaths. He took bread and salt,[211] by
this light, that he would never open his lips.
HIP. O God, O God!
AN. Son, be not desperate,
Have patience; you shall trip your enemy down
By his own slights.[212]—How far is the duke hence?
FLU. He’s but new set out: Castruchio, Pioratto, and
Sinezi, come along with him; you have time enough yet to
prevent[213] them, if you have but courage.
AN. You shall steal secretly into the chapel,
And presently be married. If the duke
Abide here still, spite of ten thousand eyes
You shall ’scape hence like friars.
HIP. O blest disguise![214] O happy man!
AN. Talk not of happiness, till your closed hand
Have her by th’ forehead like the lock of time.
Be nor too slow nor hasty, now you climb
Up to the tower of bliss; only be wary
And patient, that’s all. If you like my plot,
Build and despatch; if not, farewell, then not.
HIP. O yes, we do applaud it! we’ll dispute
No longer, but will hence and execute.
Fluello, you’ll stay here; let us be gone.
The ground that frighted[215] lovers tread upon
Is stuck with thorns.
AN. Come, then, away: ’tis meet,
To escape those thorns, to put on winged feet.
[_Exeunt_ ANSELMO, HIPPOLITO, _and_ INFELICE.
MAT. No words, pray,[216] Fluello, for’t stands us
upon.
FLU. O sir, let that be your lesson! [_Exit_ MATHEO.
Alas, poor lovers! on what hopes and fears
Men toss themselves for women! when she’s got,
The best has in her that which pleaseth not.

_Enter the_ DUKE, CASTRUCHIO, PIORATTO, _and_ SINEZI,
_from different sides, muffled_.

DUKE. Who’s there?
CAS. My lord!
DUKE. Peace, send that lord away;
A lordship will spoil all: let’s be all fellows.
What’s he?
CAS. Fluello; or else Sinezi, by his little legs.
FLU. }
PIO. } All friends, all friends.
SIN. }

DUKE. What? met upon the very point of time!
Is this the place?
PIO. This is the place, my lord.
DUKE. Dream you on lordships? come, no more lords,
pray.
You have not seen these lovers yet?
ALL. Not yet.
DUKE. Castruchio, art thou sure this wedding feat
Is not till afternoon?
CAS. So ’tis given out, my lord.
DUKE. Nay, nay, ’tis like; thieves must observe their
hours;
Lovers watch minutes like astronomers.
How shall the interim hours by us be spent?
FLU. Let’s all go see the madmen.
CAS. }
PIO. } Mass, content.
SIN. }

_Enter a Sweeper._[217]

DUKE. O, here comes one; question him, question him.
FLU. How now, honest fellow? dost thou belong to the
house?
SWEEP. Yes, forsooth, I am one of the implements; I
sweep the madmen’s rooms, and fetch straw for 'em, and
buy chains to tie 'em, and rods to whip 'em. I was a mad
wag myself here once; but I thank father Anselmo, he
lashed me into my right mind again.
DUKE. Anselmo is the friar must marry them;
Question him where he is.

CAS. And where is father Anselmo now?
SWEEP. Marry, he’s gone but e’en now.
DUKE. Ay, well done.—Tell me, whither is he gone?
SWEEP. Why, to God a’mighty.
FLU. Ha, ha! this fellow is a fool, talks idly.
PIO. Sirrah, are all the mad folks in Milan brought
hither?
SWEEP. How, all? there’s a wise question indeed! why, if
all the mad folks in Milan should come hither, there
would not be left ten men in the city.
DUKE. Few gentlemen or courtiers here, ha?
SWEEP. O yes, abundance, abundance! lands no sooner fall
into their hands but straight they run out a’ their
wits: citizens’ sons and heirs are free of the house by
their fathers’ copy: farmers’ sons come hither like
geese, in flocks; and when they ha’ sold all their
corn-fields, here they sit and pick the straws.
SIN. Methinks you should have women here as well as men.
SWEEP. O ay, a plague on 'em, there’s no ho with
them;[218] they are madder than March-hares.
FLU. Are there no lawyers here amongst you?
SWEEP. O no, not one; never any lawyer: we dare not let
a lawyer come in, for he’ll make 'em mad faster than we
can recover 'em.
DUKE. And how long is’t ere you recover any of these?
SWEEP. Why, according to the quantity of the moon
that’s got into 'em. An alderman’s son will be mad a
great while, a very great while, especially if his
friends left him well; a whore will hardly come to her
wits again; a puritan, there’s no hope of him, unless
he may pull down the steeple, and hang himself i’ th’
bell-ropes.
FLU. I perceive all sorts of fish come to your net.
SWEEP. Yes, in truth, we have blocks[219] for all heads;
we have good store of wild oats here: for the courtier
is mad at the citizen, the citizen is mad at the
countryman,[220] the shoemaker is mad at the cobbler,
the cobbler at the carman, the punk is mad that the
merchant’s wife is no whore, the merchant’s wife is mad
that the punk is so common a whore. God’s-so, here’s
father Anselmo! pray, say nothing that I tell tales out
of the school. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ ANSELMO _and Servants_.

ALL. God bless you, father!
AN. Thank you, gentlemen.
CAS. Pray, may we see some of those wretched souls
That here are in your keeping?
AN. Yes, you shall;
But, gentlemen, I must disarm you then:
There are of madmen, as there are of tame,
All humour’d not alike: we have here some
So apish and fantastic, play with a feather;
And, though 'twould grieve a soul to see God’s image
So blemish’d and defac’d, yet do they act
Such antic and such pretty lunacies,
That, spite of sorrow, they will make you smile:
Others again we have like hungry lions,
Fierce as wild bulls, untameable as flies;
And these have oftentimes from strangers’ sides
Snatch’d rapiers suddenly, and done much harm;
Whom if you’ll see, you must be weaponless.
ALL. With all our hearts. [_Giving their weapons
to_ ANSELMO.
AN. Here, take these weapons in.— [_Exit Servant
with weapons._
Stand off a little, pray; so, so, ’tis well.
I’ll shew you here a man that was sometimes
A very grave and wealthy citizen;
Has serv’d a prenticeship to this misfortune,
Been here seven years, and dwelt in Bergamo.
DUKE. How fell he from his wits?
AN. By loss at sea.
I’ll stand aside, question him you alone;
For if he spy me, he’ll not speak a word,
Unless he’s throughly vex’d.

_Opens a door and then retires: enter First Madman wrapt
in a net._[221]

FLU. Alas, poor soul!
CAS. A very old man.
DUKE. God speed, father!
FIRST MAD. God speed the plough! thou shalt not speed
me.
PIO. We see you, old man, for all you dance in a net.
FIRST MAD. True, but thou wilt dance in a halter, and I
shall not see thee.
AN. O, do not vex him, pray!
CAS. Are you a fisherman, father?
FIRST MAD. No, I’m neither fish nor flesh.
FLU. What do you with that net, then?
FIRST MAD. Dost not see, fool, there’s a fresh salmon
in’t? If you step one foot further, you’ll be over
shoes, for you see I’m over head and ears[222] in the
salt water: and if you fall into this whirlpool where I
am, you’re drowned, you’re a drowned rat!—I am fishing
here for five ships, but I cannot have a good draught,
for my net breaks still, and breaks; but I’ll break some
of your necks, and[223] I catch you in my clutches.
Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay: where’s the wind, where’s
the wind, where’s the wind, where’s the wind? Out, you
gulls, you goosecaps, you gudgeon-eaters! do you look
for the wind in the heavens? ha, ha, ha, ha! no, no!
look there, look there, look there! the wind is always
at that door: hark, how it blows! puff, puff, puff!
ALL. Ha, ha, ha!
FIRST MAD. Do you laugh at God’s creatures? do you mock
old age, you rogues? is this grey beard and head
counterfeit, that you cry ha, ha, ha?—Sirrah, art not
thou my eldest son?
PIO. Yes indeed, father.
FIRST MAD. Then thou’rt a fool; for my eldest son had a
polt foot,[224] crooked legs, a verjuice face, and a
pear-coloured[225] beard: I made him a scholar, and he
made himself a fool.—Sirrah, thou there! hold out thy
hand.
DUKE. My hand? well, here ’tis.
FIRST MAD. Look, look, look, look! has he not long nails
and short hair?
FLU. Yes, monstrous short hair and abominable long
nails.
FIRST MAD. Ten-penny nails, are they not?
FLU. Yes, ten-penny nails.
FIRST MAD. Such nails had my second boy.—Kneel down,
thou varlet, and ask thy father’s blessing. Such nails
had my middlemost son, and I made him a promoter;[226]
and he scraped, and scraped, and scraped, till he got
the devil and all: but he scraped thus, and thus, and
thus, and it went under his legs, till at length a
company of kites, taking him for carrion, swept up all,
all, all, all, all, all, all. If you love your lives,
look to yourselves! see, see, see, see, the Turk’s
galleys are fighting with my ships! bounce go[227] the
guns! O—O, cry the men! rumble, rumble go the waters!
alas, there, ’tis sunk, ’tis sunk! I am undone, I am
undone! you are the damned pirates have undone me, you
are, by th’ lord, you are, you are!—stop 'em—you are!
AN. Why, how now, sirrah? must I fall to tame you?
FIRST MAD. Tame me? no; I’ll be madder than a roasted
cat. See, see, I am burnt with gunpowder! these are our
close fights!
AN. I’ll whip you, if you grow unruly thus.
FIRST MAD. Whip me? out, you toad! whip me? what justice
is this, to whip me because I’m a beggar? Alas, I am a
poor man, a very poor man! I am starved, and have had no
meat, by this light, ever since the great flood; I am a
poor man.
AN. Well, well, be quiet, and you shall have meat.
FIRST MAD. Ay, ay, pray, do; for, look you, here be my
guts; these are my ribs, you may look through my ribs;
see how my guts come out! these are my red guts, my very
guts, O, O!
AN. Take him in there.
_Servants remove First Madman._
FLU. } A very piteous sight.
PIO., _&c._ }
CAS. Father, I see you have a busy charge.
AN. They must be us’d like children; pleas’d with
toys,
And anon whipt for their unruliness.
I’ll shew you now a pair quite different
From him that’s gone; he was all words; and these,
Unless you urge 'em, seldom spend their speech,
But save their tongues.

_Opens another door, from which enter Second and Third
Madmen._

La, you; this hithermost
Fell from the happy quietness of mind
About a maiden that he lov’d, and died:
He follow’d her to church, being full of tears,
And as her body went into the ground,
He fell stark mad. That is a married man,
Was jealous of a fair, but, as some say,
A very virtuous wife; and that spoil’d him.
THIRD MAD. All these are whoremongers, and lay with my
wife: whore, whore, whore, whore, whore!
FLU. Observe him.
THIRD MAD. Gaffer shoemaker, you pulled on my wife’s
pumps, and then crept into her pantofles:[228] lie
there, lie there!—This was her tailor. You cut out her
loose-bodied gown, and put in a yard more than I allowed
her: lie there, by the shoemaker.—O master doctor, are
you here? you gave me a purgation, and then crept into
my wife’s chamber to feel her pulses; and you said, and
she said, and her maid said, that they went pit-a-pat,
pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat: doctor, I’ll put you anon into my
wife’s urinal.—Heigh, come aloft, Jack![229] This was
her schoolmaster, and taught her to play upon the
virginals;[230] and still his jacks leapt up, up. You
pricked her out nothing but bawdy lessons; but I’ll
prick you all! fiddler—doctor—tailor—shoemaker,—
shoemaker—fiddler—doctor—tailor!—so! lie with my wife
again, now!
CAS. See how he notes the other now he feeds.
THIRD MAD. Give me some porridge.
SEC. MAD. I’ll give thee none.
THIRD MAD. Give me some porridge.
SEC. MAD. I’ll not give thee a bit.
THIRD MAD. Give me that flap-dragon.[231]
SEC. MAD. I’ll not give thee a spoonful: thou liest,
it’s no dragon; ’tis a parrot that I bought for my
sweetheart, and I’ll keep it.
THIRD MAD. Here’s an almond for parrot.[232]
SEC. MAD. Hang thyself!
THIRD MAD. Here’s a rope for parrot.[233]
SEC. MAD. Eat it, for I’ll eat this.
THIRD MAD. I’ll shoot at thee, and[234] thou’t give me
none.
SEC. MAD. Wu’t thou?
THIRD MAD. I’ll run a tilt at thee, and thou’t give me
none.
SEC. MAD. Wu’t thou? do, and thou darest.
THIRD MAD. Bounce!
SEC. MAD. O—O, I am slain! murder, murder, murder! I am
slain; my brains are beaten out.
AN. How now, you villains!—Bring me whips—I’ll whip
you.
SEC. MAD. I am dead! I am slain! ring out the bell, for
I am dead.
DUKE. How will you do now, sirrah? you ha’ kill’d him.
THIRD MAD. I’ll answer’t at sessions. He was eating of
almond-butter, and I longed for’t: the child had never
been delivered out of my belly, if I had not killed him.
I’ll answer’t at sessions, so my wife may be burnt i’
th’ hand too.
AN. Take 'em in both; bury him, for he’s dead.
SEC. MAD. Ay, indeed, I am dead; put me, I pray, into a
good pit-hole.
THIRD MAD. I’ll answer’t at sessions.
[_Servants remove Second and Third Madmen._

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT.

AN. How now, huswife? whither gad you?
BEL. A nutting, forsooth.—How do you, gaffer?—how do
you, gaffer?—there’s a French curtsey for you too.
FLU. ’Tis Bellafront!
PIO. ’Tis the punk, by th’ lord!
DUKE. Father, what’s she, I pray?
AN. As yet I know not:
She came in but[235] this day; talks little idly,
And therefore has the freedom of the house.
BEL. Do not you know me?—nor you?—nor you?—nor you?
ALL. No, indeed.
BEL. Then you are an ass—and you are an ass—and you are
an ass; for I know you.
AN. Why, what are they? come, tell me, what are they?
BEL. They’re fish-wives: will you buy any gudgeons?
God’s-santy,[236] yonder come friars! I know them too.—

_Re-enter_ HIPPOLITO, MATHEO, _and_ INFELICE, _disguised
as friars_.

How do you, friar?
AN. Nay, nay, away; you must not trouble friars.—
The duke is here, speak nothing.
BEL. Nay, indeed, you shall not go; we’ll run at
barley-break[237] first, and you shall be in hell.
MAT. My punk turn’d mad whore, as all her fellows are!
HIP. Speak nothing; but steal hence when you spy time.
AN. I’ll lock you up, if you’re unruly: fie!
BEL. Fie? marry, foh! they shall not go, indeed, till I
ha’ told 'em their fortunes.
DUKE. Good father, give her leave.
BEL. Ay, pray, good father, and I’ll give you my
blessing.
AN. Well, then, be brief; but if you’re thus unruly,
I’ll have you lock’d up fast.
PIO. Come, to their fortunes.
BEL. Let me see; one, two, three, and four. I’ll begin
with the little friar[238] first. Here’s a fine hand
indeed! I never saw friar have such a dainty hand:
here’s a hand for a lady! Here’s your fortune:
You love a friar better than a nun;
Yet long you’ll love no friar nor no friar’s son.
Bow a little:
The line of life is out; yet, I’m afraid,
For all you’re holy, you’ll not die a maid.
God give you joy!—
Now to you, friar Tuck.[239]
MAT. God send me good luck!
BEL. You love one, and one loves you;
You’re a false knave, and she’s a Jew.
Here is a dial that false ever goes——
MAT. O, your wit drops.
BEL. Troth, so does your nose.—
Nay, let’s shake hands with you too; pray, open:
here’s a fine hand!
Ho, friar, ho! God be here!
So he had need; you’ll keep good cheer.
Here’s a free table,[240] but a frozen breast,
For you’ll starve those that love you best;
Yet you’ve good fortune, for if I’m no liar,
Then you’re no friar, nor you, nor you, no friar.
Haha, haha! [_Discovers them._
DUKE. Are holy habits cloaks for villany?
Draw all your weapons!
HIP. Do; draw all your weapons!
DUKE. Where are your weapons? draw!
CAS. } The friar has gull’d us of ’em.
PIO., _&c._ }
MAT. O rare trick!
You ha’ learnt one mad point of arithmetic.
HIP. Why swells your spleen so high? against what
bosom
Would you your weapons draw? her’s? ’tis your
daughter’s;
Mine? ’tis your son’s.
DUKE. Son?
MAT. Son, by yonder sun!
HIP. You cannot shed blood here but ’tis your own;
To spill your own blood were damnation.
Lay smooth that wrinkled brow, and I will throw
Myself beneath your feet:
Let it be rugged still and flinted o’er,
What can come forth but sparkles, that will burn
Yourself and us? She’s mine; my claim’s most good;
She’s mine by marriage, though she’s yours by blood.
AN. [_kneeling_] I have a hand,[241] dear lord, deep
in this act,
For I foresaw this storm, yet willingly
Put forth to meet it. Oft have I seen a father
Washing the wounds of his dear son in tears,
A son to curse the sword that struck his father,
Both slain i’ th’ quarrel of your families.
Those scars are now ta’en off; and I beseech you
To seal our pardon! All was to this end,
To turn the ancient hates of your two houses
To fresh green friendship, that your loves might look
Like the spring’s forehead, comfortably sweet,
And your vex’d souls in peaceful union meet.
Their blood will now be yours, yours will be theirs,
And happiness shall crown your silver hairs.
FLU. You see, my lord, there’s now no remedy.
CAS. } Beseech your lordship!
PIO., _&c._ }
DUKE. You beseech fair; you have me in place fit
To bridle me.—Rise, friar; you may be glad
You can make mad men tame, and tame men mad.
Since fate hath conquer’d, I must rest content;
To strive now would but add new punishment.
I yield unto your happiness; be blest;
Our families shall henceforth breathe in rest.
ALL. O happy change!
DUKE. Yours now is my content;[242]
I throw upon your joys my full consent.
BEL. Am not I a good girl for finding the friar in
the well? God’s-so, you are a brave man! will not
you buy me some sugar-plumbs, because I am so good a
fortune-teller?
DUKE. Would thou hadst wit, thou pretty soul, to ask,
As I have will to give!
BEL. Pretty soul? a pretty soul is better than a pretty
body.—Do not you know my pretty soul? I know you: is not
your name Matheo?
MAT. Yes, lamb.
BEL. Baa, lamb! there you lie, for I am mutton.[243]—
Look, fine man! he was mad for me once, and I was mad
for him once, and he was mad for her once; and were you
never mad? yes, I warrant. I had a fine jewel once, a
very fine jewel, and that naughty man stole it away from
me,—a very fine jewel.
DUKE. What jewel, pretty maid?
BEL. Maid? nay, that’s a lie. O, ’twas a very rich
jewel, called a maidenhead! and had not you it, leerer?
MAT. Out, you mad ass, away!
DUKE. Had he thy maidenhead?
He shall make thee amends, and marry thee.
BEL. Shall he? O brave Arthur of Bradley then![244]
DUKE. And if he bear the mind of a gentleman,
I know he will.
MAT. I think I rifled her of some such paltry jewel.
DUKE. Did you? then marry her; you see the wrong
Has led her spirits into a lunacy.
MAT. How? marry her, my lord? ’sfoot, marry a mad woman!
let a man get the tamest wife he can come by, she’ll be
mad enough afterward, do what he can.
DUKE. Nay, then, father Anselmo here shall do his best
To bring her to her wits: and will you then?
MAT. I cannot tell: I may choose.
DUKE. Nay, then, law shall compel: I tell you, sir,
So much her hard fate moves me, you should not breathe
Under this air, unless you married her.
MAT. Well, then, when her wits stand in their right
place, I’ll marry her.
BEL. I thank your grace.—Matheo, thou art mine.
I am not mad, but put on this disguise
Only for you, my lord; for you can tell
Much wonder of me: but you are gone; farewell.
Matheo, thou didst first turn my soul black,
Now make it white again. I do protest,
I’m pure as fire now, chaste as Cynthia’s breast.
HIP. I durst be sworn, Matheo, she’s indeed.
MAT. Cony-catch’d![245] gull’d! must I sail in your
fly-boat
Because I help’d to rear your mainmast first?
Plague ’found[246] you for’t! ’Tis well;
The cuckold’s stamp goes current in all nations;
Some men have horns given them at their creations;
If I be one of those, why, so, it’s better
To take a common wench, and make her good,
Than one that simpers, and at first will scarce
Be tempted forth over the threshold door,
Yet in one se’nnight, zounds, turns arrant whore.
Come, wench, thou shalt be mine; give me thy golls,[247]
We’ll talk of legs hereafter.—See, my lord!
God give us joy!
ALL. God give you joy!

_Enter_ VIOLA _and_ GEORGE.

GEO. Come, mistress, we are in Bedlam now; mass, and
see, we come in pudding-time, for here’s the duke.
VIO. My husband, good my lord!
DUKE. Have I thy husband?
CAS. It’s Candido, my lord; he’s here among the
lunatics.—Father Anselmo, pray, fetch him forth. [_Exit_
ANSELMO.]—This mad woman is his wife; and though she
were not with child, yet did she long most spitefully to
have her husband mad; and because she would be sure he
should turn Jew, she placed him here in Bethlem. Yonder
he comes!

_Re-enter_ ANSELMO _with_ CANDIDO.

DUKE. Come hither, signor: are you mad?
CAN. You are not mad.
DUKE. Why, I know that.
CAN. Then may you know I am not mad, that know
You are not mad, and that you are the duke.
None is mad here but one.—How do you, wife?
What do you long for now?—Pardon, my lord;
She had lost her child’s nose else: I did cut out
Pennyworths of lawn, the lawn was yet mine own;
A carpet was my[248] gown, yet ’twas mine own;
I wore my man’s coat, yet the cloth mine own;
Had a crack’d crown, the crown was yet mine own:
She says for this I’m mad: were her words true,
I should be mad indeed. O foolish skill![249]
Is patience madness? I’ll be a madman still.
VIO. Forgive me, and I’ll vex your spirit no more.
[_Kneels._
DUKE. Come, come, we’ll have you friends; join hearts,
join hands.
CAN. See, my lord,[250] we are even.—
Nay, rise; for ill deeds kneel unto none but heaven.
DUKE. Signor, methinks patience has laid on you
Such heavy weight, that you should loathe it——
CAN. Loathe it?
DUKE. For he whose breast is tender, blood so cool
That no wrongs heat it, is a patient fool:
What comfort do you find in being so calm?
CAN. That which green wounds receive from sovereign
balm.
Patience, my lord! why, ’tis the soul of peace;
Of all the virtues ’tis nearest kin to heaven;
It makes men look like gods. The best of men
That e’er wore earth about him was a sufferer,
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit,
The first true gentleman that ever breath’d.
The stock of patience, then, cannot be poor;
All it desires it has; what monarch more?
It is the greatest enemy to law
That can be; for it doth embrace all wrongs,
And so chains up lawyers’ and women’s tongues:
’Tis the perpetual prisoner’s liberty,
His walks and orchards: ’tis the bond-slave’s freedom,
And makes him seem proud of each iron chain,
As though he wore it more for state than pain:
It is the beggars’ music, and thus sings,
Although their bodies beg, their souls are kings:
O my dread liege! it is the sap of bliss,
Rears us aloft, makes men and angels kiss:
And, last of all, to end a household strife,
It is the honey 'gainst a waspish wife.
DUKE. Thou giv’st it lively colours: who dare say
He’s mad whose words march in so good array?
'Twere sin all women should such husbands have,
For every man must then be his wife’s slave:
Come, therefore, you shall teach our court to shine;
So calm a spirit is worth a golden mine.
Wives with meek husbands that to vex them long,
In Bedlam must they dwell, else dwell they wrong.
[_Exeunt omnes._

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE HONEST WHORE.

(PART SECOND.)

_The Second Part of the Honest Whore, With the Humors of the Patient Man, the Impatient Wife: the Honest Whore, perswaded by strong Arguments to turne Curtizan againe: her braue refuting those Arguments. And lastly, the Comicall Passages of an Italian Bridewell, where the Scæne ends. Written by Thomas Dekker. London, Printed by Elizabeth All-de, for Nathaniel Butter, An. Dom. 1630._ 4to.

No earlier impression than that of 1630 is known to exist. It has been reprinted in the second and third editions of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_, vol. iii.; and, as there given, is perhaps the most wretchedly edited drama in the English language.

It was licensed by Sir George Bucke, 29th April, 1608: see Chalmers’s _Suppl. Apol._ p. 202 (where it is by mistake called “the _convicted_,” instead of the “converted Courtisan, or Honest Whore”). As Middleton certainly wrote a portion of the First Part of this play (see p. 3 of the present vol.), there is every reason to believe that he was concerned in the composition of the Second Part.

Because the title-page makes no mention of its having been represented on the stage, Langbaine very unnecessarily concludes that it was never acted. “The passage,” he continues, “between the Patient Man and his Impatient Wife’s going to fight for the Breeches, with the happy Event, is exprest by S^r. John Harrington in Verse. See his Epigrams at the end of _Orlando Furioso_, Book 1. Epigr. 16.” _Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 122. The epigram in question is as follows:

“OF A HOUSEHOLD FRAY FRIENDLY ENDED.

A man and wife stroue earst who should be masters,
And hauing chang’d between them houshold speeches,
The man in wrath brought forth a paire of wasters,[251]
And swore those 2 should proue who ware the breeches.
She that could breake his head yet giue him plasters,
Accepts the challenge, yet withall beseeches
That shee (as weakest) then might strike the first,
And let him ward, and after doe his worst.

He swore that should be so, as God should blesse him,
And close he laid him to the sured locke.
Shee flourishing as though she would not misse him,
Laid downe her cudgell, and with witty mocke
She told him for his kindnes she would kisse him
That now was sworne to giue her neuer knock:
You sware, said she, I should the first blow giue,
And I sweare I’le neuer strike you while I liue.

Ah flattring slut, said he, thou dar’st not fight!
I am no larke, quoth she, man doe not dare me,[252]
Let me point time and place, as ’tis my right
By law of challenge, and then neuer spare me.
Agreed, said he. Then rest (quoth she) to night;
To-morrow, at Cuckolds hauen, I’le prepare me.
Peace, wife, said he, wee’le cease all rage and rancor,
Ere in that Harbor I will ride at Ancor.”

“Although Harington’s Epigrams,” says the last editor of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_, “were not printed in an entire state until 1618 (see Ritson’s _Bibl. Poet._ 236), yet many of them were written when their author (who died in 1612) was a very young man. It seems probable that the incident was founded upon the epigram; for though Sir John Harington borrowed from the Latin and Italian, he most likely would not steal from an English play, especially when it appears that his originality had been attacked.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

GASPARO TREBAZZI, _duke of Milan_.
HIPPOLITO, _a count, husband to Infelice_.
ORLANDO FRISCOBALDO,[253] _father to Bellafront_.
MATHEO, _husband to Bellafront_.
CANDIDO, _a linen-draper_.
LODOVICO SFORZA.
BERALDO.
CAROLO.
FONTINELL.
ASTOLFO.
ANTONIO GEORGIO, _a poor scholar_.
BRYAN, _an Irish footman_.
BOTS, _a pander_.
_Masters of Bridewell, Prentices, Servants, &c._

INFELICE, _wife to Hippolito_.
BELLAFRONT, _wife to Matheo_.
CANDIDO’S _Bride_.
MISTRESS HORSELEECH, _a bawd_.
DOROTHEA TARGET, }
PENELOPE WHOREHOUND, } _harlots_.
CATHERINA BOUNTINALL, }

Scene, MILAN.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE SECOND PART

OF

THE HONEST WHORE.