SCENE I. ENTER THORELLO, AND PISO. PIS. He will expect you, sir, within this half hour. THO. Why, what's a clock? PIS. New stricken ten. THO. Hath he the money ready, can you tell? PIS. Yes, sir, Baptista brought it yesternight. THO. Oh, that's well: fetch me my cloak. [EXIT PISO.] Stay, let me see; an hour to go and come, Ay, that will be the least: and then 'twill be An hour before I can dispatch with him; Or very near: well, I will say two hours; Two hours? ha! things never dreamt of yet May be contrived, ay, and effected too, In two hours' absence: well, I will not go. Two hours; no, fleering opportunity, I will not give your treachery that scope. Who will not judge him worthy to be robb'd, That sets his doors wide open to a thief, And shews the felon where his treasure lies? Again, what earthy spirit but will attempt To taste the fruit of beauty's golden tree, When leaden sleep seals up the dragon's eyes? Oh, beauty is a project of some power, Chiefly when opportunity attends her: She will infuse true motion in a stone, Put glowing fire in an icy soul, Stuff peasants' bosoms with proud Caesar's spleen, Pour rich device into an empty brain: Bring youth to folly's gate: there train him in, And after all, extenuate his sin. Well, I will not go, I am resolved for that. Go, carry it again: yet stay: yet do too, I will defer it till some other time. [ENTER PISO.] PIS. Sir, Signior Platano will meet you there with the bond. THO. That's true: by Jesu, I had clean forgot it. I must go, what's a clock? PIS. Past ten, sir. THO. 'Heart, then will Prospero presently be here too, With one or other of his loose consorts. I am a Jew if I know what to say, What course to take, or which way to resolve. My brain (methinks) is like an hour-glass, And my imaginations like the sands Run dribbling forth to fill the mouth of time, Still changed with turning in the ventricle. What were I best to do? it shall be so. Nay, I dare build upon his secrecy. Piso. PIS. Sir. THO. Yet now I have bethought me too, I will not. Is Cob within? PIS. I think he be, sir. THO. But he'll prate too, there's no talk of him. No, there were no course upon the earth to this, If I durst trust him; tut, I were secure, But there's the question now, if he should prove, Rimarum plenus, then, 'sblood, I were rook'd. The state that he hath stood in till this present Doth promise no such change: what should I fear then? Well, come what will, I'll tempt my fortune once. Piso, thou mayest deceive me, but I think thou lovest me, Piso. PIS. Sir, if a servant's zeal and humble duty may be term'd love, you are possest of it. THO. I have a matter to impart to thee, but thou must be secret, Piso. PIS. Sir, for that — THO. Nay, hear me, man; think I esteem thee well, To let thee in thus to my private thoughts; Piso, it is a thing sits nearer to my crest, Than thou art 'ware of; if thou should'st reveal it — PIS. Reveal it, sir? THO. Nay, I do not think thou would'st, but if thou should'st — PIS. Sir, then I were a villain: Disclaim in me for ever if I do. THO. He will not swear: he has some meaning, sure, Else (being urged so much) how should he choose, But lend an oath to all this protestation? He is no puritan, that I am certain of. What should I think of it? urge him again, And in some other form: I will do so. Well, Piso, thou has sworn not to disclose; ay, you did swear? PIS. Not yet, sir, but I will, so please you. THO. Nay, I dare take thy word. But if thou wilt swear, do as you think good, I am resolved without such circumstance. PIS. By my soul's safety, sir, I here protest, My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of a word Deliver'd me in compass of your trust. THO. Enough, enough, these ceremonies need not, I know thy faith to be as firm as brass. Piso, come hither: nay, we must be close In managing these actions: So it is, (Now he has sworn I dare the safelier speak;) I have of late by divers observations — But, whether his oath be lawful, yea, or no? ha! I will ask counsel ere I do proceed: Piso, it will be now too long to stay, We'll spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow. PIS. At your pleasure, sir. THO. I pray you search the books 'gainst I return For the receipts 'twixt me and Platano. PIS. I will, sir. THO. And hear you: if my brother Prospero Chance to bring hither any gentlemen Ere I come back, let one straight bring me word. PIS. Very well, sir. THO. Forget it not, nor be not you out of the way. PIS. I will not, sir. THO. Or whether he come or no, if any other, Stranger or else: fail not to send me word. PIS. Yes, sir. THO. Have care, I pray you, and remember it. PIS. I warrant you, sir. THO. But, Piso, this is not the secret I told thee of. PIS. No, sir, I suppose so. THO. Nay, believe me, it is not. PIS. I do believe you, sir. THO. By heaven it is not, that's enough. Marry, I would not thou should'st utter it to any creature living, Yet I care not. Well, I must hence: Piso, conceive thus much, No ordinary person could have drawn So deep a secret from me; I mean not this, But that I have to tell thee: this is nothing, this. Piso, remember, silence, buried here: No greater hell than to be slave to fear. [EXIT THO.] PIS. Piso, remember, silence, buried here: When should this flow of passion (trow) take head? ha! Faith, I'll dream no longer of this running humour, For fear I sink, the violence of the stream Already hath transported me so far That I can feel no ground at all: but soft, [ENTER COB.] Oh, it's our water-bearer: somewhat has crost him now. COB. Fasting days: what tell you me of your fasting days? would they were all on a light fire for me: they say the world shall be consumed with fire and brimstone in the latter day: but I would we had these ember weeks and these villainous Fridays burnt in the mean time, and then — PIS. Why, how now, Cob! what moves thee to this choler, ha? COB. Collar, sir? 'swounds, I scorn your collar, I, sir, am no collier's horse, sir, never ride me with your collar, an you do, I'll shew you a jade's trick. PIS. Oh, you'll slip your head out of the collar: why, Cob, you mistake me. COB. Nay, I have my rheum, and I be angry as well as another, sir. PIE. Thy rheum? thy humour, man, thou mistakest. COB. Humour? mack, I think it be so indeed: what is this humour? it's some rare thing, I warrant. PIS. Marry, I'll tell thee what it is (as 'tis generally received in these days): it is a monster bred in a man by self-love and affectation, and fed by folly. COB. How? must it be fed? PIS. Oh ay, humour is nothing if it be not fed, why, didst thou never hear of that? it's a common phrase, "Feed my humour." COB. I'll none on it: humour, avaunt, I know you not, be gone. Let who will make hungry meals for you, it shall not be I: Feed you, quoth he? 'sblood, I have much ado to feed myself, especially on these lean rascal days too, an't had been any other day but a fasting day: a plague on them all for me: by this light, one might have done God good service and have drown'd them all in the flood two or three hundred thousand years ago, oh, I do stomach them hugely: I have a maw now, an't were for Sir Bevis's horse. PIS. Nay, but I pray thee, Cob, what makes thee so out of love with fasting days? COB. Marry, that that will make any man out of love with them, I think: their bad conditions, an you will needs know: First, they are of a Flemish breed, I am sure on't, for they raven up more butter than all the days of the week beside: next, they stink of fish miserably: thirdly, they'll keep a man devoutly hungry all day, and at night send him supperless to bed. PIS. Indeed, these are faults, Cob. COB. Nay, an this were all, 'twere something, but they are the only known enemies to my generation. A fasting day no sooner comes, but my lineage goes to rack, poor Cobs, they smoke for it, they melt in passion, and your maids too know this, and yet would have me turn Hannibal, and eat my own fish and blood: my princely coz, [PULLS OUT A RED HERRING.] fear nothing; I have not the heart to devour you, an I might be made as rich as Golias: oh, that I had room for my tears, I could weep salt water enough now to preserve the lives of ten thousand of my kin: but I may curse none but these filthy Almanacks, for an 'twere not for them, these days of persecution would ne'er be known. I'll be hang'd an some fishmonger's son do not make on them, and puts in more fasting days than he should do, because he would utter his father's dried stockfish. PIS. 'Soul, peace, thou'lt be beaten like a stockfish else: here is Signior Matheo. [ENTER MATHEO, PROSPERO, LORENZO JUNIOR, BOBADILLA, STEPHANO, MUSCO.] Now must I look out for a messenger to my master. [EXEUNT COB AND PISO.]
ACT III. SCENE II. PROS. Beshrew me, but it was an absolute good jest, and exceedingly well carried. LOR. JU. Ay, and our ignorance maintain'd it as well, did it not? PROS. Yes, faith, but was't possible thou should'st not know him? LOR. JU. 'Fore God, not I, an I might have been join'd patten with one of the nine worthies for knowing him. 'Sblood, man, he had so writhen himself into the habit of one of your poor Disparview's here, your decayed, ruinous, worm-eaten gentlemen of the round: such as have vowed to sit on the skirts of the city, let your Provost and his half dozen of halberdiers do what they can; and have translated begging out of the old hackney pace, to a fine easy amble, and made it run as smooth off the tongue as a shove-groat shilling, into the likeness of one of these lean Pirgo's, had he moulded himself so perfectly, observing every trick of their action, as varying the accent: swearing with an emphasis. Indeed, all with so special and exquisite a grace, that (hadst thou seen him) thou would'st have sworn he might have been the Tamberlane, or the Agamemnon on the rout. PROS. Why, Musco, who would have thought thou hadst been such a gallant? LOR. JU. I cannot tell, but (unless a man had juggled begging all his life time, and been a weaver of phrases from his infancy, for the apparelling of it) I think the world cannot produce his rival. PROS. Where got'st thou this coat, I marle? MUS. Faith, sir, I had it of one of the devil's near kinsmen, a broker. PROS. That cannot be, if the proverb hold, a crafty knave needs no broker. MUS. True, sir, but I need a broker, ergo, no crafty knave. PROS. Well put off, well put off. LOR. JU. Tut, he has more of these shifts. MUS. And yet where I have one, the broker has ten, sir. [ENTER PIS.] PIS. Francisco, Martino, ne'er a one to be found now: what a spite's this? PROS. How now, Piso? is my brother within? PIS. No, sir, my master went forth e'en now, but Signior Giuliano is within. Cob, what, Cob! Is he gone too? PROS. Whither went thy master? Piso, canst thou tell? PIS. I know not, to Doctor Clement's, I think, sir. Cob. [EXIT PIS.] LOR. JU. Doctor Clement, what's he? I have heard much speech of him. PROS. Why, dost thou not know him? he is the Gonfaloniere of the state here, an excellent rare civilian, and a great scholar, but the only mad merry old fellow in Europe: I shewed him you the other day. LOR. JU. Oh, I remember him now; Good faith, and he hath a very strange presence, methinks, it shews as if he stood out of the rank from other men. I have heard many of his jests in Padua; they say he will commit a man for taking the wall of his horse. PROS. Ay, or wearing his cloak on one shoulder, or any thing indeed, if it come in the way of his humour. PIS. Gaspar, Martino, Cob: 'Sheart, where should they be, trow? [ENTER PISO.] BOB. Signior Thorello's man, I pray thee vouchsafe us the lighting of this match. PIS. A pox on your match, no time but now to vouchsafe? Francisco, Cob. [EXIT.] BOB. Body of me: here's the remainder of seven pound, since yesterday was sevennight. It's your right Trinidado: did you never take any, signior? STEP. No, truly, sir; but I'll learn to take it now, since you commend it so. BOB. Signior, believe me (upon my relation) for what I tell you, the world shall not improve. I have been in the Indies, (where this herb grows) where neither myself nor a dozen gentlemen more (of my knowledge) have received the taste of any other nutriment in the world, for the space of one and twenty weeks, but tobacco only. Therefore it cannot be but 'tis most divine. Further, take it in the nature, in the true kind, so, it makes an antidote, that had you taken the most deadly poisonous simple in all Florence it should expel it, and clarify you with as much ease as I speak. And for your green wound, your Balsamum, and your — are all mere gulleries, and trash to it, especially your Trinidado: your Nicotian is good too: I could say what I know of the virtue of it, for the exposing of rheums, raw humours, crudities, obstructions, with a thousand of this kind; but I profess myself no quack-salver. Only thus much; by Hercules, I do hold it, and will affirm it (before any Prince in Europe) to be the most sovereign and precious herb that ever the earth tendered to the use of man. LOR. JU. Oh, this speech would have done rare in an apothecary's mouth. [ENTER PISO AND COB.] PIS. Ay; close by Saint Anthony's: Doctor Clement's. COB. Oh, oh. BOB. Where's the match I gave thee? PIS. 'Sblood, would his match, and he, and pipe, and all, were at Sancto Domingo. [EXIT.] COB. By God's deins, I marle what pleasure or felicity they have in taking this roguish tobacco; it's good for nothing but to choke a man, and fill him full of smoke and embers: there were four died out of one house last week with taking of it, and two more the bell went for yesternight, one of them (they say) will ne'er escape it, he voided a bushel of soot yesterday, upward and downward. By the stocks, an there were no wiser men than I, I'd have it present death, man or woman, that should but deal with a tobacco pipe; why, it will stifle them all in the end as many as use it; it's little better than rat's-bane. [EXIT PISO.] ALL. Oh, good Signior; hold, hold. BOB. You base cullion, you. PIS. Sir, here's your match; come, thou must needs be talking too. COB. Nay, he will not meddle with his match, I warrant you; well, it shall be a dear beating, an I live. BOB. Do you prate? LOR. JU. Nay, good Signior, will you regard the humour of a fool? Away, knave. PROS. Piso, get him away. [EXIT PISO AND COB.] BOB. A whoreson filthy slave, a turd, an excrement. Body of Caesar, but that I scorn to let forth so mean a spirit, I'd have stabb'd him to the earth. PROS. Marry, God forbid, sir. BOB. By this fair heaven, I would have done it. STEP. Oh, he swears admirably; (by this fair heaven!) Body of Caesar: I shall never do it, sure (upon my salvation). No, I have not the right grace. MAT. Signior, will you any? By this air, the most divine tobacco as ever I drunk. LOR. JU. I thank you, sir. STEP. Oh, this gentleman doth it rarely too, but nothing like the other. By this air, as I am a gentleman: By Phoebus. [EXIT BOB. AND MAT.] MUS. Master, glance, glance: Signior Prospero. STEP. As I have a soul to be saved, I do protest — PROS. That you are a fool. LOR. JU. Cousin, will you any tobacco? STEP. Ay, sir: upon my salvation. LOR. JU. How now, cousin? STEP. I protest, as I am a gentleman, but no soldier indeed. PROS. No, Signior, as I remember, you served on a great horse, last general muster. STEP. Ay, sir, that's true, cousin, may I swear as I am a soldier, by that? LOR. JU. Oh yes, that you may. STEP. Then as I am a gentleman, and a soldier, it is divine tobacco. PROS. But soft, where's Signior Matheo? gone? MUS. No, sir, they went in here. PROS. Oh, let's follow them: Signior Matheo is gone to salute his mistress, sirrah, now thou shalt hear some of his verses, for he never comes hither without some shreds of poetry: Come, Signior Stephano. Musco. STEP. Musco? where? Is this Musco? LOR. JU. Ay; but peace, cousin, no words of it at any hand. STEP. Not I, by this fair heaven, as I have a soul to be saved, by Phoebus. PROS. Oh rare! your cousin's discourse is simply suited, all in oaths. LOR. JU. Ay, he lacks nothing but a little light stuff, to draw them out withal, and he were rarely fitted to the time. [EXEUNT.]
ACT III. SCENE III. ENTER THORELLO WITH COB. THO. Ha, how many are there, sayest thou? COB. Marry, sir, your brother, Signior Prospero. THO. Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man? COB. Strangers? let me see, one, two; mass, I know not well, there's so many. THO. How? so many? COB. Ay, there's some five or six of them at the most. THO. A swarm, a swarm? Spite of the devil, how they sting my heart! How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob? COB. But a little while, sir. THO. Didst thou come running? COB. No, sir. THO. Tut, then I am familiar with thy haste. Ban to my fortunes: what meant I to marry? I that before was rank'd in such content, My mind attired in smooth silken peace, Being free master of mine own free thoughts, And now become a slave? what, never sigh, Be of good cheer, man: for thou art a cuckold, 'Tis done, 'tis done: nay, when such flowing store, Plenty itself falls in my wife's lap, The Cornucopiae will be mine, I know. But, Cob, What entertainment had they? I am sure My sister and my wife would bid them welcome, ha? COB. Like enough: yet I heard not a word of welcome. THO. No, their lips were seal'd with kisses, and the voice Drown'd in a flood of joy at their arrival, Had lost her motion, state, and faculty. Cob, which of them was't that first kiss'd my wife? (My sister, I should say,) my wife, alas, I fear not her: ha? who was it, say'st thou? COB. By my troth, sir, will you have the truth of it? THO. Oh ay, good Cob: I pray thee. COB. God's my judge, I saw nobody to be kiss'd, unless they would have kiss'd the post in the middle of the warehouse; for there I left them all, at their tobacco, with a pox. THO. How? were they not gone in then ere thou cam'st? COB. Oh no, sir. THO. Spite of the devil, what do I stay here then? Cob, follow me. [EXIT THO.] COB. Nay, soft and fair, I have eggs on the spit; I cannot go yet sir: now am I for some divers reasons hammering, hammering revenge: oh, for three or four gallons of vinegar, to sharpen my wits: Revenge, vinegar revenge, russet revenge; nay, an he had not lien in my house, 'twould never have grieved me; but being my guest, one that I'll be sworn my wife has lent him her smock off her back, while his own shirt has been at washing: pawned her neckerchers for clean bands for him: sold almost all my platters to buy him tobacco; and yet to see an ingratitude wretch strike his host; well, I hope to raise up an host of furies for't: here comes M. Doctor. [ENTER DOCTOR CLEMENT, LORENZO SENIOR, PETO.] CLEM. What's Signior Thorello gone? PET. Ay, sir. CLEM. Heart of me, what made him leave us so abruptly? How now, sirrah; what make you here? what would you have, ha? COB. An't please your worship, I am a poor neighbour of your worship's. CLEM. A neighbour of mine, knave? COB. Ay, sir, at the sign of the Water-tankard, hard by the Green Lattice: I have paid scot and lot there any time this eighteen years. CLEM. What, at the Green Lattice? COB. No sir: to the parish: marry, I have seldom scaped scot-free at the Lattice. CLEM. So: but what business hath my neighbour? COB. An't like your worship, I am come to crave the peace of your worship. CLEM. Of me, knave? peace of me, knave? did I e'er hurt thee? did I ever threaten thee? or wrong thee? ha? COB. No, God's my comfort, I mean your worship's warrant, for one that hath wrong'd me, sir: his arms are at too much liberty, I would fain have them bound to a treaty of peace, an I could by any means compass it. LOR. Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him? COB. No, sir; but I go in danger of my death every hour by his means; an I die within a twelve-month and a day, I may swear, by the laws of the land, that he kill'd me. CLEM. How? how, knave? swear he kill'd thee? what pretext? what colour hast thou for that? COB. Marry, sir, both black and blue, colour enough, I warrant you, I have it here to shew your worship. CLEM. What is he that gave you this, sirrah? COB. A gentleman in the city, sir. CLEM. A gentleman? what call you him? COB. Signior Bobadilla. CLEM. Good: But wherefore did he beat you, sirrah? how began the quarrel 'twixt you? ha: speak truly, knave, I advise you. COB. Marry, sir, because I spake against their vagrant tobacco, as I came by them: for nothing else. CLEM. Ha, you speak against tobacco? Peto, his name. PET. What's your name, sirrah? COB. Oliver Cob, sir, set Oliver Cob, sir. CLEM. Tell Oliver Cob he shall go to the jail. PET. Oliver Cob, master Doctor says you shall go to the jail. COB. Oh, I beseech your worship, for God's love, dear master Doctor. CLEM. Nay, God's precious! an such drunken knaves as you are come to dispute of tobacco once, I have done: away with him. COB. Oh, good master Doctor, sweet gentleman. LOR. SE. Sweet Oliver, would I could do thee any good; master Doctor, let me intreat, sir. CLEM. What? a tankard-bearer, a thread-bare rascal, a beggar, a slave that never drunk out of better than piss-pot metal in his life, and he to deprave and abuse the virtue of an herb so generally received in the courts of princes, the chambers of nobles, the bowers of sweet ladies, the cabins of soldiers: Peto, away with him, by God's passion, I say, go to. COB. Dear master Doctor. LOR. SE. Alas, poor Oliver. CLEM. Peto: ay: and make him a warrant, he shall not go, I but fear the knave. COB. O divine Doctor, thanks, noble Doctor, most dainty Doctor, delicious Doctor. [EXEUNT PETO WITH COB.] CLEM. Signior Lorenzo: God's pity, man, Be merry, be merry, leave these dumps. LOR. SE. Troth, would I could, sir: but enforced mirth (In my weak judgment) has no happy birth. The mind, being once a prisoner unto cares, The more it dreams on joy, the worse it fares. A smiling look is to a heavy soul As a gilt bias to a leaden bowl, Which (in itself) appears most vile, being spent To no true use; but only for ostent. CLEM. Nay, but, good Signior, hear me a word, hear me a word, your cares are nothing; they are like my cap, soon put on, and as soon put off. What? your son is old enough to govern himself; let him run his course, it's the only way to make him a staid man: if he were an unthrift, a ruffian, a drunkard, or a licentious liver, then you had reason: you had reason to take care: but being none of these, God's passion, an I had twice so many cares as you have, I'd drown them all in a cup of sack: come, come, I muse your parcel of a soldier returns not all this while. [EXEUNT.]
ACT III. SCENE IV. ENTER GIULIANO, WITH BIANCHA. GIU. Well, sister, I tell you true: and you'll find it so in the end. BIA. Alas, brother, what would you have me to do? I cannot help it; you see, my brother Prospero he brings them in here, they are his friends. GIU. His friends? his friends? 'sblood, they do nothing but haunt him up and down like a sort of unlucky sprites, and tempt him to all manner of villainy that can be thought of; well, by this light, a little thing would make me play the devil with some of them; an't were not more for your husband's sake than any thing else, I'd make the house too hot for them; they should say and swear, hell were broken loose, ere they went. But by God's bread, 'tis nobody's fault but yours; for an you had done as you might have done, they should have been damn'd ere they should have come in, e'er a one of them. BIA. God's my life; did you ever hear the like? what a strange man is this! could I keep out all them, think you? I should put myself against half a dozen men, should I? Good faith, you'd mad the patient'st body in the world, to hear you talk so, without any sense or reason. [ENTER MATHEO WITH HESPERIDA, BOBADILLA, STEPHANO, LORENZO JUNIOR, PROSPERO, MUSCO.] HESP. Servant, (in troth) you are too prodigal of your wits' treasure, thus to pour it forth upon so mean a subject as my worth. MAT. You say well, you say well. GIU. Hoyday, here is stuff. LOR. JU. Oh now stand close; pray God she can get him to read it. PROS. Tut, fear not: I warrant thee he will do it of himself with much impudency. HES. Servant, what is that same, I pray you? MAT. Marry, an Elegy, an Elegy, an odd toy. GIU. Ay, to mock an ape withal. O Jesu. BIA. Sister, I pray you let's hear it. MAT. Mistress, I'll read it, if you please. HES. I pray you do, servant. GIU. Oh, here's no foppery. 'Sblood, it frets me to the gall to think on it. [EXIT.] PROS. Oh ay, it is his condition, peace: we are fairly rid of him. MAT. Faith, I did it in an humour: I know not how it is, but please you come near, signior: this gentleman hath judgment, he knows how to censure of a — I pray you, sir, you can judge. STEP. Not I, sir: as I have a soul to be saved, as I am a gentleman. LOR. JU. Nay, it's well; so long as he doth not forswear himself. BOB. Signior, you abuse the excellency of your mistress and her fair sister. Fie, while you live avoid this prolixity. MAT. I shall, sir; well, incipere dulce. LOR. JU. How, incipere dulce? a sweet thing to be a fool indeed. PROS. What, do you take incipere in that sense? LOR. JU. You do not, you? 'Sblood, this was your villainy to gull him with a motte. PROS. Oh, the benchers' phrase: pauca verba, pauca verba. MAT. "Rare creature, let me speak without offence, Would God my rude words had the influence To rule thy thoughts, as thy fair looks do mine, Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine." LOR. JU. 'Sheart, this is in Hero and Leander! PROS. Oh ay: peace, we shall have more of this. MAT. "Be not unkind and fair: misshapen stuff Is of behaviour boisterous and rough": How like you that, Signior? 'sblood, he shakes his head like a bottle, to feel an there be any brain in it. MAT. But observe the catastrophe now, "And I in duty will exceed all other, As you in beauty do excel love's mother." LOR. JU. Well, I'll have him free of the brokers, for he utters nothing but stolen remnants. PROS. Nay, good critic, forbear. LOR. JU. A pox on him, hang him, filching rogue, steal from the dead? it's worse than sacrilege. PROS. Sister, what have you here? verses? I pray you let's see. BIA. Do you let them go so lightly, sister? HES. Yes, faith, when they come lightly. BIA. Ay, but if your servant should hear you, he would take it heavily. HES. No matter, he is able to bear. BIA. So are asses. HES. So is he. PROS. Signior Matheo, who made these verses? they are excellent good. MAT. O God, sir, it's your pleasure to say so, sir. Faith, I made them extempore this morning. PROS. How extempore? MAT. Ay, would I might be damn'd else; ask Signior Bobadilla. He saw me write them, at the — (pox on it) the Mitre yonder. MUS. Well, an the Pope knew he cursed the Mitre it were enough to have him excommunicated all the taverns in the town. STEP. Cousin, how do you like this gentleman's verses? LOR. JU. Oh, admirable, the best that ever I heard. STEP. By this fair heavens, they are admirable, The best that ever I heard. [ENTER GIULIANO.] GIU. I am vext I can hold never a bone of me still, 'Sblood, I think they mean to build a Tabernacle here, well? PROS. Sister, you have a simple servant here, that crowns your beauty with such encomiums and devices, you may see what it is to be the mistress of a wit that can make your perfections so transparent, that every blear eye may look through them, and see him drowned over head and ears in the deep well of desire. Sister Biancha, I marvel you get you not a servant that can rhyme and do tricks too. GIU. O monster! impudence itself! tricks! BIA. Tricks, brother? what tricks? HES. Nay, speak, I pray you, what tricks? BIA. Ay, never spare any body here: but say, what tricks? HES. Passion of my heart! do tricks? PROS. 'Sblood, here's a trick vied, and revied: why, you monkeys, you! what a cater-wauling do you keep! has he not given you rhymes, and verses, and tricks? GIU. Oh, see the devil! PROS. Nay, you lamp of virginity, that take it in snuff so: come and cherish this tame poetical fury in your servant, you'll be begg'd else shortly for a concealment: go to, reward his muse, you cannot give him less than a shilling in conscience, for the book he had it out of cost him a teston at the least. How now gallants, Lorenzo, Signior Bobadilla! what, all sons of silence? no spirit. GIU. Come, you might practise your ruffian tricks somewhere else, and not here, I wiss: this is no tavern, nor no place for such exploits. PROS. 'Sheart, how now! GIU. Nay, boy, never look askance at me for the matter; I'll tell you of it, by God's bread, ay, and you and your companions mend yourselves when I have done. PROS. My companions? GIU. Ay, your companions, sir, so I say! 'Sblood, I am not afraid of you nor them neither, you must have your poets, and your cavaliers, and your fools follow you up and down the city, and here they must come to domineer and swagger? sirrah, you ballad-singer, and slops, your fellow there, get you out; get you out: or (by the will of God) I'll cut off your ears, go to. PROS. 'Sblood, stay, let's see what he dare do: cut off his ears; you are an ass, touch any man here, and by the Lord I'll run my rapier to the hilts in thee. GIU. Yea, that would I fain see, boy. BIA. O Jesu! Piso! Matheo! murder! HES. Help, help, Piso! [THEY ALL DRAW, ENTER PISO AND SOME MORE OF THE HOUSE TO PART THEM, THE WOMEN MAKE A GREAT CRY.] LOR. JU. Gentlemen, Prospero, forbear, I pray you. BOB. Well, sirrah, you Holofernes: by my hand, I will pink thy flesh full of holes with my rapier for this, I will, by this good heaven: nay, let him come, let him come, gentlemen, by the body of St. George, I'll not kill him. [THEY OFFER TO FIGHT AGAIN, AND ARE PARTED.] PIS. Hold, hold, forbear. GIU. You whoreson, bragging coistril. [ENTER THORELLO.] THO. Why, how now? what's the matter? what stir is here? Whence springs this quarrel? Piso, where is he? Put up your weapons, and put off this rage. My wife and sister, they are cause of this. What, Piso? where is this knave? PIS. Here, sir. PROS. Come, let's go: this is one of my brother's ancient humours, this. STEP. I am glad nobody was hurt by this ancient humour. [EXIT PROSPERO, LORENZO JU., MUSCO, STEPHANO, BOBADILLA, MATHEO.] THO. Why, how now, brother, who enforced this brawl? GIU. A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care neither for God nor the devil. And they must come here to read ballads and roguery, and trash. I'll mar the knot of them ere I sleep, perhaps; especially Signior Pithagoras, he that's all manner of shapes: and songs and sonnets, his fellow there. HES. Brother, indeed you are too violent, Too sudden in your courses, and you know My brother Prospero's temper will not bear Any reproof, chiefly in such a presence, Where every slight disgrace he should receive, Would wound him in opinion and respect. GIU. Respect? what talk you of respect 'mongst such As had neither spark of manhood nor good manners? By God I am ashamed to hear you: respect? [EXIT.] HES. Yes, there was one a civil gentleman, And very worthily demeaned himself. THO. Oh, that was some love of yours, sister. HES. A love of mine? i'faith, I would he were No other's love but mine. BIA. Indeed, he seem'd to be a gentleman of an exceeding fair disposition, and of very excellent good parts. [EXIT HESPERIDA, BIANCHA.] THO. Her love, by Jesu: my wife's minion, Fair disposition? excellent good parts? 'Sheart, these phrases are intolerable, Good parts? how should she know his parts? well, well, It is too plain, too clear: Piso, come hither. What, are they gone? PIS. Ay, sir, they went in. THO. Are any of the gallants within? PIS. No sir, they are all gone. THO. Art thou sure of it? PIS. Ay, sir, I can assure you. THO. Piso, what gentleman was that they praised so? PISO. One they call him Signior Lorenzo, a fair young gentleman, sir. THO. Ay, I thought so: my mind gave me as much: 'Sblood, I'll be hang'd if they have not hid him in the house, Some where, I'll go search, Piso, go with me, Be true to me and thou shalt find me bountiful. [EXEUNT.]
ACT III. SCENE V. ENTER COB, TO HIM TIB. COB. What, Tib, Tib, I say. TIB. How now, what cuckold is that knocks so hard? Oh, husband, is't you? What's the news? COB. Nay, you have stunn'd me, i'faith; you have given me a knock on the forehead will stick by me: cuckold? 'Swounds, cuckold? TIB. Away, you fool, did I know it was you that knock'd? Come, come, you may call me as bad when you list. COB. May I? 'swounds, Tib, you are a whore. TIB. 'Sheart, you lie in your throat. COB. How, the lie? and in my throat too? do you long to be stabb'd, ha? TIB. Why, you are no soldier? COB. Mass, that's true, when was Bobadilla here? that rogue, that slave, that fencing Burgullion? I'll tickle him, i'faith. TIB. Why, what's the matter? COB. Oh, he hath basted me rarely, sumptuously: but I have it here will sauce him, oh, the doctor, the honestest old Trojan in all Italy, I do honour the very flea of his dog: a plague on him, he put me once in a villainous filthy fear: marry, it vanish'd away like the smoke of tobacco: but I was smok'd soundly first, I thank the devil, and his good angel my guest: well, wife, or Tib, (which you will) get you in, and lock the door, I charge you; let nobody into you, not Bobadilla himself, nor the devil in his likeness; you are a woman; you have flesh and blood enough in you; therefore be not tempted; keep the door shut upon all comers. TIB. I warrant you there shall nobody enter here without my consent. COB. Nor with your consent, sweet Tib, and so I leave you. TIB. It's more than you know, whether you leave me so. COB. How? TIB. Why, sweet. COB. Tut, sweet or sour, thou art a flower. Keep close thy door, I ask no more. [EXEUNT.]
ACT III. SCENE VI. ENTER LORENZO JUN., PROSPERO, STEPHANO, MUSCO. LOR JU. Well, Musco, perform this business happily, And thou makest a conquest of my love for ever. PROS. I'faith, now let thy spirits put on their best habit, But at any hand remember thy message to my brother, For there's no other means to start him. MUS. I warrant you, sir, fear nothing; I have a nimble soul that hath waked all my imaginative forces by this time, and put them in true motion: what you have possest me withal, I'll discharge it amply, sir. Make no question. [EXIT MUSCO.] PROS. That's well said, Musco: faith, sirrah, how dost thou approve my wit in this device? LOR JU. Troth, well, howsoever; but excellent if it take. PROS. Take, man: why, it cannot choose but take, if the circumstances miscarry not, but tell me zealously: dost thou affect my sister Hesperida, as thou pretendest? LOR JU. Prospero, by Jesu. PROS. Come, do not protest, I believe thee: i'faith, she is a virgin of good ornament, and much modesty, unless I conceived very worthily of her, thou shouldest not have her. LOR JU. Nay, I think it a question whether I shall have her for all that. PROS. 'Sblood, thou shalt have her, by this light, thou shalt! LOR JU. Nay, do not swear. PROS. By St. Mark, thou shalt have her: I'll go fetch her presently, 'point but where to meet, and by this hand, I'll bring her! LOR JU. Hold, hold, what, all policy dead? no prevention of mischiefs stirring. PROS. Why, by — what shall I swear by? thou shalt have her, by my soul. LOR. JU. I pray thee have patience, I am satisfied: Prospero, omit no offered occasion that may make my desires complete, I beseech thee. PROS. I warrant thee. [EXEUNT.]
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