Page images
PDF
EPUB

Hip. Indeed, I'll ha' none: indeed I will not.
Thanks.

Pretty fine lodging. I perceive my friend
Is old in your acquaintance.

Bel. Troth, sir, he comes

As other gentlemen, to spend spare hours:
If yourself like our roof, such as it is,
Your own acquaintance may be as old as his.
Hip. Say I did like; what welcome should I
find?

Bel. Such as my present fortunes can afford.
Hip. But would you let me play Matheo's part?
Bel. What part?

Hip. Why, embrace you; dally with you; kiss.
Faith, tell me; will you leave him and love me?
Bel. I am in bonds to no man, sir.
Hip. Why then,

You're free for any man: if any, me.
But I must tell you, lady, were you mine,
You should be all mine. I could brook no sharers;
I should be covetous, and sweep up all:
I should be pleasure's usurer; faith I should.
Bel. O fate!

Hip. Why sigh you, lady? may I know?
Bel. 'Thas never been my fortune yet to single
Out that one man, whose love could fellow mine,
As I have ever wished it. O my stars!
Had I but met with one kind gentleman,
That would have purchased sin alone to himself,
For his own private use; although scarce proper,
Indifferent handsome, meetly legg'd and thigh'd,
And my allowance reasonable-i'faith,
According to my body, by my troth,

I would have been as true unto his pleasures,
Yea, and as loyal to his afternoons,
As ever a poor gentlewoman could be.

Hip. This were well, now, to one but newly
fledged,

And scarce a day old in this subtle world:
'Twere pretty art, good bird-lime, cunning net.
But come, come, faith, confess: how many men
Have drank this self-same protestation,
From that red ticing lip?

Bel. Indeed, not any.
Hip. Indeed, and blush not!
Bel. No, in truth, not any.

Hip. Indeed! in truth!-how warily you swear? 'Tis well, if ill it be not: yet had I The ruffian in me, and were drawn before you But in right colours, I do know indeed, You could not swear indeed, but thunder oaths That should shake heaven, drown the harmonious spheres,

And pierce a soul (that loved her Maker's honour)

With horror and amazement.

Bel. Shall I swear?

Will you believe me then?

Hip. Worst then of all:

Our sins by custom seem at last but small.
Were I but o'er your threshold, a next man,
And after him a next, and then a fourth,
Should have this golden hook, and luscious bait,

Thrown out to the full length. Why, let me tell you,

I've seen letters sent from that white hand,
Tuning such music to Matheo's ear.

Bel. Matheo! that's true; but believe it, I
No sooner had laid hold upon your presence,
But straight mine eyes conveyed you to mine
heart.

Hip. Oh! you cannot feign with me. Why, I know, lady,

This is the common passion of you all,
To hook in a kind gentleman, and then
Abuse his coin, conveying it to your lover,
And in the end you shew him a French trick,
And so you leave him, that a coach may run
Between his legs, for breadth.

Bel. O, by my soul,

Not I: therein I'll prove an honest whore,
In being true to one, and to no more.

Hip. If any be disposed to trust your oath,
Let him I'll not be he. I know you feign
All that you speak. Aye, for a mingled harlot
Is true in nothing but in being false.
What! shall I teach you how to loath yourself;
And mildly too, not without sense and reason?

Bel. I am content; I would fain loath myself, If you not love me.

Hip. Then if your gracious blood
Be not ali wasted, I shall assay to do't.
Lend me your silence and attention.
You have no soul, that makes you weigh so light
Heaven's treasure bought it, and half-a-crown
Hath sold it for your body

Is like the common-shore, that still receives
All the town's filth. The sin of many men
Is within you; and thus much I suppose,
That if all your committers stood in rank,
They'd make a lane, in which your shame might
dwell,

And with their spaces reach from hence to hell. Nay, should I urge it more, there have been known,

As many by one harlot maimed and dismembered,
As would ha' stuffed an hospital: this I might
Apply to you, and perhaps do you right.
O! you're as base as any beast that bears;
Your body is e'en hired, and so are theirs.
For gold and sparkling jewels’(if he can)
You'll let a Jew get you with Christian:
Be he a Moor, a Tartar, though his face
Looked uglier than a dead man's scull,
Could the devil put on a human shape,
If his purse shake out crowns, up then he gets:
Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits.
So that you're crueller than Turks; for they
Sell Christians only, you sell yourselves away.
Why, those that love you, hate you: and will term

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Rank, stinking, and most loathsome misery.
Hip. Methinks a toad is happier than a whore!
That with one poison swells, with thousands more
The other stocks her veins. Harlot! fie! fie!
You are the miserablest creatures breathing,
The very slaves of nature; mark me else:
You put on rich attires, others' eyes wear them;
You eat, but to supply your blood with sin :
And this strange curse e'en haunts you to your
graves.

From fools you get, and spend it upon slaves:
Like bears and apes, you're baited and shew tricks
For money; but your bawd the sweetness licks.
Indeed you are their journey-women, and do

All base and damned works they list set you to:
So that you ne'er are rich; for do but shew me,
In present memory, or in ages past,
The fairest and most famous courtezan,
Whose flesh was dear'st; that raised the price of
sin,

And held it up to whose intemperate bosom,
Princes, earls, lords, the worst has been a knight,
The meanest a gentleman, have offered up
Whole hecatombs of sighs, and rained in showers
Handfuls of gold; yet for all this, at last
Diseases suckt her marrow; then grew so poor,
That she has begged, e'en at a beggar's door.
And (wherein heaven has a finger) when this idol,
From coast to coast has leaped on foreign shores,
And had more worship, than th' outlandish
whores;

When several nations have gone over her;
When for each several city she has seen
Her maidenhead has been new, and been sold
dear,

Did live well there, and might have died unknown,
And undefamed; back comes she to her own;
Aud there both miserably lives and dies,
Scorned even of those that once adored her eyes;
As if her fatal-circled life thus ran,

Her pride should end there where it first began. What, do you weep to hear your story read? Nay, if you spoil your cheeks, I'll read no more. Bel. O, yes, I pray proceed;

Indeed, 'twill do me good to weep, indeed!

Hip. To give those tears a relish, this I add: You're like the Jews, scattered; in no place certain;

Your days are tedious, your hours burthensome;
And wer't not for full suppers, midnight revels,
Dancing, wine, riotous meetings, which do drown
And bury quite in you all virtuous thoughts,
And on your eye-lids hang so heavily,
They have no power to look so high as heaven,
You'd sit and muse on nothing, but despair;
Curse that devil Lust, that so burns up your blood;
And in ten thousand shivers break your glass
For his temptation. Say, you taste delight,
To have a golden gull from rise to set,
To meet you in his hot luxurious arms,
Yet your nights pay for all: I know you dream
Of warrants, whips, and beadles; and then start
At a door's windy creak; think ev'ry weazle
To be a constable; and every rat

A long-tailed officer: Are you now not slaves?
Oh! you have damnation without pleasure for it!
Such is the state of harlots. To conclude,
When you are old, and can well paint no more,
You turn bawd, and are then worse than before.
Make use of this. Farewell.

Bel. O, I pray stay.

Hip. See, Matheo comes not: time hath barred

me.

Would all the harlots in the town had heard me! [Exit.

Bel. Stay yet a little longer!-no; quite gone.
Cursed be that minute, for it was no more,
(So soon a maid is changed into a whore)
Wherein I first fell! be it for ever black!
Yet why should sweet Hipolito shun mine eyes,
For whose true love I would become pure honest,
Hate the world's mixtures, and the smiles of gold.
Am I not fair? why should he fly me then?
Fair creatures are desired, not scorned of men.
How many gallants have drunk healths to me,
39 Out of their dagger'd arms, and thought them
blest,

Enjoying but mine eyes at prodigal feasts!
And does Hipolito detest my love?
Oh, sure their heedless lusts but flattered me;
I am not pleasing, beautiful, nor young.
Hipolito hath spied some ugly blemish,
Eclipsing all my beauties. I am foul!
Harlot! aye, that's the spot that taints my soul!
What! has he left his weapon here behind him,
And gone forgetful? O fit instrument

To let forth all the poison of my flesh!
Thy master hates me, 'cause my blood hath ranged:
But when 'tis forth, then he'll believe I'm changed.

39 Out of their dagger'd arms.-To drink a mistress's health in wine mingled with one's own blood was antiently regarded as an act of gallantry. So, in Marston's Dutch Courtezan, 1605 :-"Have I not been drunk to your health, swallowed flag dragons, eat glasses, drunk urine, stabb'd arms, and done all the offices of protested gallantry, for your sake?" S.

[blocks in formation]

What is't you lack?

Fust. 'Stoot, I lack'em all; nay, more, I lack money to buy'em. Let me see, let me look again; 'mass this is the shop-What, cuz! sweet cuz! how do'st, i'faith, since last night after candlelight? We had good sport, faith; had we not? And when shall's laugh again?

Wife. When you will, cousin. Fust. Spoke like a kind Lacedemonian. I see yonder's thy husband.

Wife. Aye, there's the sweet youth, God bless him.

Fust. And how is't, cousin? and how, how is't, thou squall?

Wife. Well, cousin, how fare you?

Fust. How fare I? troth, for sixpence a meal, wench, as well as heart can wish, with calves' 40 chaldrons and chitterlings; besides, I have a punk after supper, as good as a roasted apple.

[ocr errors]

Can. Are you my wife's cousin?

Fust. I am, sir; what hast thou to do with that?

Can. O nothing, but you're welcome.

Fust. The devil's dung in thy teeth! I'll be welcome whether thou wilt or no: aye, what ring's this, cuz? very pretty and fantastical i'faith, let's see it.

Wife. Puh! nay, you wrench my finger.

Fust. I ha' sworn I'll ha' it, and I hope you will not let my oaths be 4 cracked in the ring, will you? I hope, sir, you are not melancholy at this for all your great looks, are you angry?

Can. Angry! not I, sir: nay, if she can part So easily with her ring, 'tis with my heart. George. Suffer this, sir, and suffer all; a whoreson gull to

Can. Peace, George; when she has reaped what I have sown,

She'll say, one grain tastes better of her own, Than whole sheaves gathered from another's land;

Wit's never good till bought at a dear hand.

George. But in the mean time she makes an ass of somebody.

2 'Pren. See, see, see, sir, as you turn your back, they do nothing but kiss.

Can. No matter, let 'em : 42 when I touch her

lip,

I shall not feel his kisses, no nor miss;
Aud of her lip, no harm in kissing is.
Look to your business, pray make up your wares.

Fust. Troth, cuz, and well remembered! I would thou wouldst give me five yards of lawn, to make my punck some falling bands of the fashion, three falling one upon another; for that's the new edition now; she's out of linen horribly too; troth, she's never a good smock to her back neither, but one that has a great many patches in't, and that I'm fain to wear myself for want of shift too; pr'ythee put me into some wholesome napery, 43 and bestow some clean commodities

upon us.

4° Chaldron.—Or, as it is oftener spelt, chawdron, i. e. says Mr Steevens, (Note on Macbeth, A. 4. S. 1.) "Entrails; a word formerly in common use in the books of cookery, in one of which, printed in 1591, I meet with a receipt to make a pudding of a calf's chaldron. At the coronation feast of Elizabeth of York, queen of Henry VII. among other dishes, one was, "swan with a chawdron,” meaning, I suppose, roasted with entrails in it, or undrawn." See Ives's Select Papers, No. 3. p. 141.

41 Crack'd in the ring. This phrase occurs in Hamlet, A. 2. S. 2. and Dr Johnson explains it to be crack'd too much for use. See instances produced by Mr Steevens. Again, in Your five Gallants, by Middleton, Sign D. 2: "Here's Mistresse Rose noble has lost her maidenhead, crackt in the ring, shee's good enough for gaimsters," &c.

42

When I touch her lip,

I shall not feel his kisses.-Imitated by Shakespeare in Othello, A. 3. S. 3.

"I slept the next night well, was free and merry;

I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips."

43 Napery.-Napery signifies linen in general. So, in Dekker's Belman of London, Sign. G 4: "— At which time they lift away Goblets or other pieces of plate, nappery, or any thing worth ventring for." See also Mr Steevens's Note on Othello, A. 3. S. 3.

Wife. Reach me those cambricks and the lawns hither.

Can. What to do, wife? to lavish out my goods upon a fool?

Fust. Fool! Snails eat the fool, or I'll so batter your crown, that it shall scarce go for five shillings.

2 Pren. Do you hear, sir? y'are best be quiet, and say a fool tells you so.

Fust. Nails, I think so, for thou tellest me.
Can. Are you angry, sir, because I named thee
fool?

Trust me, you are not wise, in mine own house
And to my face to play the antic thus;
If you'll needs play the madman, chuse a stage
Of lesser compass, where few eyes may note
Your action's error; but if still you miss,
As here you do, for one clap, ten will hiss.
Fust. Zounds, cousin, he talks to me, as if I
were a scurvy tragedian.

2 Pren. Sirrah, George, I have thought upon a device how to break his pate, beat him soundly, and ship him away.

George. Do it.

2 Pren. I'll go in, pass through the house, give some of our fellow-prentices the watch-word when they shall enter, then come and fetch my master in by a while, and place one in the hall to hold him in conference, whilst we cudgel the cull out of his coxcomb.

George, Do't; away, do't.

Wife. Must I call twice for these cambricks and lawns?

Can. Nay see, you anger her; George, pr'ythee dispatch.

2 Pren. Two of the choicest pieces are in the warehouse, sir.

Can. Go fetch them presently. [Exit 1 Prentice.
Fust. Aye, do, make haste, sirrah.
Can. Why were you such a stranger all this
while, being my wife's cousin?

Fust. Stranger! no, sir, I am a natural Milaner born.

Can. I perceive still it is your natural guise to mistake me; but you are welcome, sir, I much wish your acquaintance.

Fust. My acquaintance! I scorn that i'faith. I hope my acquaintance goes in chains of gold three and fifty times double; you know who I mean, cuz; 44 the posts of his gate are a painting too.

Enter the Second Prentice.

2 Pren. Signor Pandulfo, the merchant, desires conference with you.

Can. Signor Pandulfo ? I'll be with him straight.
Attend your mistress and the gentleman. [Exit.
Wife. When do you show those pieces?
Fust. Aye, when do you show those pieces?
Omnes. Presently, sir, presently, we are but
charging them.

Fust. Come, sirrah, you
those whites?

45 flat cap, where be

George. Flat-cap? hark in your ear, sir, you're a flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I'll thrumb you; do you see this cambrick, sir?

44 The posts of his gate are a painting too.-i. e. He will soon be sheriff. At the door of that officer large posts, on which it was customary to stick proclamations, were always set up. So, in 4 Woman never vea'd, by Rowley, 1632:

"If e'er I live to see thee Sheriff of London,
I'll gild thy posts,”—S.

Again, in Ben Jonson's Every Man out of his Humour, A. 3. S. 9:

"How long should I be, ere I should put off

To the Lord Chancellor's tomb, or the sheriff's posts ?"

Mr Whalley observes, that it was usual, out of respect, to read the proclamations fastened on the sheriff's posts bare-headed.

45 Flat-cap.-Flat-caps, like those now worn by the children belonging to Christ-Church Hospital, and to the apprentices of Bridewell, were, I apprehend, formerly part of the dress particularly confined to the Citizens of London. They are mentioned as such in several contemporary writers. As Ben Jonson, in Every Man in his Humour, A. 2. S. 1:

"Make their loose comments upon every word,

Gesture, or look I use; mock me all over,
From my flat-cap, unto my shining shoes."

Marston's Dutch Curtezan, A. 2. S. 1: "-Who helped thee to thy custome, not of swaggering Ireland Captains, nor of 2s. Innes-a-court men, but with honest art caps, wealthy flat-caps, that pay for their pleasure the best of any men in Europe."

Dekker's Wonderful Yeare, 1603: "For those misbelieving Pagans, the Plough-drivers, those worse than infidels, that (like their swine) never looke up so high as heaven, when citizens borded them, they wrung their hands, and wisht rather they had fallne into the hands of Spaniards: for the sight of a flatcap was more dreadful to a Lob, than the discharging of a caliver."

Dekker's Newes from Hell, 1606: "-You may eyther meete him at dicing ordinaries like a captayne, at cocke-pits like a young countrey gentleman; or else at a bowling-ally in a flat-cap like a Shopkeeper." 3 Y

VOL. I.

Fust. 'Sfoot, cuz, a good jest, did you hear him? he told me in my ear, I was a flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I'll thrumb you; do you see this cambrick, sir?

Wife. What, not my men, I hope? Fust. No, not your men, but one of your men, i'faith.

1 Pren. I pray, sir, come hither; what say you to this? here's an excellent good one.

Fust. Aye marry, this likes me well; cut me off some half score yards.

2 Pren. Let your whores cut; you're an impudent coxcomb, you get none, and yet I'll thrumb you. A very good cambrick, sir.

Fust. Again, again, as God judge me: 'sfoot, cuz, they stand thrumming here with me all day, and yet I get nothing.

1 Pren. A word I pray, sir; you must not be angry, prentices have hot bloods, young fellows. What say you to this piece? look you, 'tis so delicate, so soft, so even, so fine a thread, that a lady may wear it.

Fust. 'Sfoot I think so, if a knight marry my punk, a lady shall wear it; cut me off twenty yards; thou art an honest lad.

1 Pren. Not without money, gull, and I'll thrumb you too.

Omnes. Gull, we'll thrumb you.

Fust. O lord, sister, did you not hear something cry thrumb? zounds! your men here make

a plain ass of me.

Wife. What, to my face so impudent?

[blocks in formation]

I not?

Can. Sister, and brother! brother to my wife? Fust. If you have any skill in heraldry, you may soon kuow that; break but her pate, and you shall see her blood aud mine is all one.

Can. A surgeon! run, a surgeon! Why then wore you that forged name of cousin? Fust. Because its a common thing to call cuz, and mingle now a-days all the world over.

Can. Cousin! a name of much deceit, folly,
and sin;

For under that common abused word,
Many an honest-tempered citizen
Is made a monster, and his wife trained out
To foul adulterous action, full of fraud.
I may well call that word a city's bawd.

Fust. Troth, brother, my sister would needs have me take upon me to gull your patience a little; but it has made double 46 gules on my coxcomb.

Wife. What, playing the woman? blabbing now, you fool?

Can. O, my wife did but exercise a jest upon your wit.

Fust. 'Sfoot, my wit bleeds for't, methinks. Can. Then let this warning more of sense afford;

George. Aye, in a cause so honest; we'll not The name of cousin is a bloody word.

suffer

Our master's goods to vanish moneyless.

Wife. You will not suffer them!

2 Pren. No, and you may blush,

In going about to vex so mild a breast,
As is our master's.

Wife. Take away those pieces,
Cousin; I give them freely.

Fust. Mass, and I'll take them as freely. Omnes. We'll make you lay them down again more freely.

Wife. Help! Help! my brother will be murdered.

[blocks in formation]

Fust. I'll ne'er call cuz again whilst I live, to have such a coil about it; this should be a coronation-day; for my head runs claret lustily.

Enter an Officer.

[Erit.

[blocks in formation]

46 Gules.-Gulls in the Editions of 1615, 1616, 1635.

47 Go, wish the surgeon, &c.-To wish, was, in the language of the times, to recommend, or desire. So, in The City Night Cap, vol. xi. p. 305: "She looks for one, they call father Antony, sir; and he's wish'd to her by Madona Lussuriosa."

« PreviousContinue »