Orl. Where is't, sir? Math. Come, we'll fly high. Nothing! there is a whore still in thine eye. [Exit. Orl. My twenty pounds flies high. O wretched woman! This varlet's able to make Lucrece common.How now, mistress? has my master dyed you Into this sad colour? Bel. Fellow, be gone, I pray thee; if thy tongue Itch after talk so much, seek out thy master, Thou'rt a fit instrument for him. Orl. Zownes, I hope he will not play upon me? Bel. Play on thee! no, you two will fly together, Because you are roving arrows of one feather. Would thou wouldst leave my house, thou ne'er shalt Please me; weave thy nets ne'er so high, With venom, to hurt him that gave thee bread; Orl. You have small reason to take his part; for I have heard him say five hundred times, you were as arrant a whore as ever stiffened tiffany neckcloths in water-starch upon a Saturday i'the afternoon. Bel. Let him say worse; when for the earth's offence Hot vengeance through the marble clouds is driven, Is't fit earth shoot again those darts at heaven? Orl. And so if your father call you whore, you'll not call him old knave?—Friscobaldo, she carries thy mind up and down; she's thine own flesh, blood, and bone (aside). —Truth, mistress, to tell you true, the fireworks that ran from me upon lines against my good old master, your father, were but to try how my young master, your husband, loved such squibs: but it's well known, I love your father as myself; I'll ride for him at mid-night, run for you by owl-light; I'll die for him, drudge for you; I'll fly low, and I'll fly high, (as my master says) to do you good, if you'll forgive me. Bel. I am not made of marble: I forgive thee. Orl. Nay, if you were made of marble, a good stone-cutter night cut you: I hope the twenty pounds I delivered to my master is in a sure hand. Bel. In a sure hand, I warrant thee, for spending. Orl. I see my young master is a madcap, and a bonus socius. I love him well, mistress: yet as well as I love him, I'll not play the knave with you; look you, I could cheat you of this purse full of money; but I am an old lad, and I scorn to coney-catch: yet I have been a dog at a coney in my time. Bel. A purse, where hadst it? Orl. The gentleman that went away, whispered in mine ear, and charged me to give it you. Bel. The lord Hipolito? Orl. Yes, if he be a lord, he gave it me. Orl. 'Tis like so: it may be, he thinks you want money, and therefore bestows his alms bravely, like a lord. Bel. He thinks a silver net can catch the poor; Here's bait to choke a nun, and turn her whore. Wilt thou be honest to me? Orl. As your nails to your fingers, which I think never deceived you. Bel. Thou to this lord shalt go, commend me to him, And tell him this;-the town has held out long, Ben Jonson's Devil is an Ass, A. 1. S. 6: 66 in me makes that proffer, "Which never fair one was so fond to lose." Euphues and his England, p. 9: " he that is young hinketh the olde man fond, and the olde knoweth the young man to be a foole." Ibid. p. 10: "that were as fond as not to cut one's meat with that knife that another hath cut his finger." The word in the same sense is still in use in the northern parts of this kingdom. VOL. I. 4 C Bel. A star may shoot, not fall. [Exit BELLAFRont. Orl. A star! nay, thou art more than the moon, for thou hast neither changing quarters, nor a man standing in thy circle with a bush of thorns. Is't possible the lord Hipolito, whose face is as civil as the outside of a dedicatory book, should be a mutton-monger "7? A poor man has but one ewe, and this grandee sheep-biter leaves whole flocks of fat wethers (whom he may knock down) to devour this. I'll trust neither lord nor butcher with quick flesh for this trick; the cuckoo I see now sings all the year, though every man cannot hear him, but I'll spoil his notes. Can neither love-letters, nor the Devil's common pick-locks (gold), nor precious stones, make my girl draw up her percullis? hold out still, wench, All are not bawds (I see now) that keep doors, [Exit. Enter CANDIDO, LODOVICO like a Prentice. Lod. Come, come, come, what do ye lack, sir? what do ye lack, sir? what is't ye lack, sir? is not my worship well suited? did you ever see a gentleman better disguised? Can. Never, believe me, signior. Lod. Yes: but when he has been drunk, there be prentices would make mad gallants, for they would spend all, and drink, and whore, and so forth; and I see we gallants could make mad prentices. How does thy wife like me? Nay, I must not be so saucy, then I spoil all: pray you, how does my mistress like me? Can. Well for she takes you for a very simple fellow. Lod. And they that are taken for such, are commonly the arrantest knaves: but to our comedy, come. Can. I shall not act it. Chide, you say, and fret, and grow impatient: I shall never do't. Lod. S'blood! cannot you do as all the world does-counterfeit? Can. Were I a painter, that should live by drawing nothing but pictures of an angry man, I should not earn my colours; I cannot do't. Lod. Remember you're a linen-draper, and that if you give your wife a yard, she'll take an ell: give her not therefore a quarter of your yard, not a nail. Can. Say I should turn to ice, and nip her love now 'tis but in the bud. Lod. Well, say she's nipt. Can. It will so overcharge her heart with That like a cannon, when her sighs go off, Or break in pieces, and so die: her death, By my unkindness might be counted murther. Lod. Die! never, never; I do not bid you beat her, nor give her black eyes, nor pinch her sides: but cross her humours. Are not hakers' arms the scales of justice? yet is not their bread light? and may not you, I pray, bridle her with a sharp bit, yet ride her gently? Can. Well, I will try your pills: do you your faithful service, and be ready still at a pinch to help me in this part, or else I shall be out clean. Lod. Come, come, I'll prompt you. Can. I'll call her forth now, shall I ? Lod. Do, do, bravely. Can. Luke, I pray bid your mistress to come hither. Lod. Luke, I pray bid your mistress to come hither. Can. Sirrah, bid my wife come to me: why, when? withinLuke. Presently, sir, she comes. Lod. La there's the echo, she comes. you, Enter BRIDE. Bride. What is your pleasure with me? I have intent, and (you see) this stripling here, Lod. Yes, indeed, sir, I would deal in linen, if my mistress like me so well as I like her. Can. I hope to find him honest. Pray, good wife, Look that his bed and chamber be made ready. I look to his bed! look to't yourself. I swear to you a great oath. Can. Then fast, then you may choose. Lod. Call her arrant whore. Can. Oh fie, by no means, then she'll call me cuckold. Sirrah, go look to the shop: how does this show? Lod. Excellent well, I'll go look to the shop, sir. Fine cambricks, lawns, what do you lack? [Exit LODOVICO. Can. A curst cow's milk I have drunk once before, 17 Mutton-monger-See Note 68 to the First Part of The Honest Whore, p. 552. And 'twas so rank in taste, I'll drink no more. Bride. You may, sir, if you can`; knaves, a yard. Lod. A yard for my master. Reach me, 1 Pren. My master is grown valiant. Can. Marry, my good prentice, nothing but Bride. Breathe me with your yard? Lod. No, he'll but measure you out, forsooth. For if you take a yard, I'll take an ell. Lod. An ell for my mistress. Keep the laws of the noble science, sir, and measure weapons with her; your yard is a plain heathenish weapon; 'tis too short, she may give you a handful, and yet you'll not reach her. Can. Yet I have the longer arm; come fall to't And spare not me, wife, for I'll lay't on soundly. Bride. Husband, I am for you, I'll not strike in Can. Nor I. Bride. But will you sign to one request? Bride. Let me give the first blow. Can. The first blow, wife, shall I? If she strike hard, in to her, and break her pate. Bride. Then guard you from this blow, [She kneels. They say, the breeches wore, which I detest: you, If me you make your master, I shall hate you. Can. Thou win'st the day indeed; give me thy I'll challenge thee no more: my patient breast Can. My man! my master, though his head But he's so courteous, he'll put off his hair. Lod. Nay, if your service be so hot, a man cannot keep his hair on, I'll serve you no longer. Bride. Is this your schoolmaster? Lod. Yes faith, wench, I taught him to take thee down I hope thou canst take him down without teaching; you have got the conquest, and you both are friends. Can. Bear witness else. Lod. My prenticeship then ends. Can. For the good service you to me have done, I give you all your years. Lod. 1 thank you, master. I'll kiss my mistress now, that she may say, [Exeunt. Enter ORLANDO, and INFELICE. Inf. From whom, sayst thou? Inf. And what's your business? Orl. This, madam: my poor mistress has a waste piece of ground, which is her own by inheritance, and left to her by her mother; there's a lord now that goes about, not to take it clean from her, but to inclose it to himself, and to join it to a piece of his lordship's. Inf. What would she have me do in this? Orl. No more, madam, but what one woman should do for another in such a case. My honourable lord, your husband, would do any thing in her behalf, but she had rather put herself into your hands, because you, a woman, may do more with the duke your father. 18 Wasters-Wasters are cudgels; as in Churchyard's Challenge, p. 34: "—and sodainely a stout, taule cobber will lay down the waster, and yeelde to him that hath more practise and skill in the weapon than himselfe." Philaster, A. 4: "Thou would'st be loth to play half a dozen of venies at wasters." Minshew, in his Dictionary, as Mr Theobald observes, has given a most ridiculous reason for the etymology of this word: That cudgels were called Wasters, because in playing and beating bouts with them, they waste and fitter. In opposition to this conjecture, Mr Theobald offers the following: "We find in our old law-books, that the statute of Westm. (50 Edwardi tertii, Cap. 14.) was made against nightwalkers and suspected persons, called Roberdesmer Wastours and draw latches. These wastours, or plunderers, derived their name from the Latin term vastatores; and thence the mischievous weapons, o bludgeons, with which they went armed, were called wasters, i. e. destroyers." Inf. Where lies this land? Orl. Within a stone's cast of this place. My mistress, I think, would be content to let him enjoy it after her decease, if that would serve his turn, so my master would yield too: but she cannot abide to hear that the lord should meddle with it in her lifetime. Inf. Is she then married? why stirs not her husband in it? Orl. Her husband stirs in it under hand; but because the other is a great rich man, my master is loth to be seen in it too much. Inf. Let her in writing draw the cause at large: And I will move the duke. Orl. 'Tis set down, madam, here in black and white already: work it so, madam, that she may keep her own without disturbance, grievance, molestation, or meddling of any other; and she bestows this purse of gold on your ladyship. Inf. Old man, I'll plead for her, but take no fees: Give lawyers them, I swim not in that flood; Orl. I would all proctors' clerks were of your mind, I should law more amongst them than I do then; here, madam, is the survey, not only of the manor itself, but of the grange-house, with every meadow, pasture, plough-land, cony-borough, fish-pond, hedge, ditch, and bush, that stands in it. Inf. My husband's name, and hand and seal at arms, to a love-letter? where hadst thou this writing? Orl. From the foresaid party, madam, that would keep the foresaid land out of the foresaid lord's fingers. Inf. My lord turned ranger now? Orl. You're a good huntress, lady; you have found your game already; your lord would fain be a ranger, but my mistress requests you to let him run a course in your own park, if you'll not do't for love, then do't for money; she has no white money, but there's gold, or else she prays you to ring him by this token, and so you shall be sure his nose will not be rooting other men's pastures. 19 Inf. This very purse was woven with mine own hands; Orl. I do not think, madam, but he fetcht off some poet or other for those lines, for they are parlous hawkes to flie at wenches. Inf. Here's honied poison! to me he ne'er thus writ, But lust can set a double edge on wit. Orl. Nay, that's true, madam; a wench will whet any thing, if it be not too dull. Inf. Oaths, promises, preferments, jewels, gold, What snares should break, if all these cannot hold? What creature is thy mistress? Orl. One of those creatures that are contrary to man, a woman. Inf. What manner of woman? Orl. A little tiny woman, lower than your ladyship by head and shoulders, but as mad a wench as ever unlaced a petticoat: these things should I indeed have delivered to my lord your husband. Inf. They are delivered better: why should she send back these things? Orl. Ware, ware, there's knavery. not win At first: these are but baits to draw him in. Orl. The Irish foootman can tell you all his hunting hours, the park he hunts in, the doe he would strike; that 20 Irish shackatory beats the bush for him, and knows all; he brought that letter, and that ring; he is the carrier. Inf. Know'st thou what other gifts have past between them? Orl. Little S. Patrick knows all. Inf. Him I'll examine presently. Orl. Not whilst I am here, sweet madam. Inf. Begone then, and what lies in me command. [Exit ORLANDO. Enter BRYAN. Inf. Come hither, sirrab; how much cost those satins, and cloth of silver, which my husband sent by you to a low gentlewoman yonder? Bryan. Faat sattins? faat silvers, faat low gentlefolkes? dow pratest dow knowest not what, yfaat la. Inf. She there, to whom you carried letters. Bryan. By dis hand and bod dow saist true, if I did so, oh how? I know not a letter a de book, yfaat la. Inf. Did your lord never send you with a ring, sir, set with a diamond? Bryan. Never sa crees sa me, never; he may run at a towsand rings yfaat, and I never hold his stirrup, till he leap into de saddle. By S. Patrick, madam, I never touch my lord's diamond, 19 Ring him-To prevent swine from doing mischief, it is usual to put rings through their nostrils. 20 Irish sharkatory-Irish hound. So in The Wandering Jew, Sign: "for time, though he be an old man, is an excellent footman: no shackatory comes neere him; if hee once get the start, hee's gone, and you gone too." nor ever had to do, yfaat la, with any of his pre cious stones. Enter HIPOLITO. Inf. Are you so close, you bawd, you pandring slave? Hip. How now? why Infelice? what's your quarrel? Inf. Out of my sight! base varlet! get thee gone, Hip. Away, you rogue. Bryan. Slawne loot, fare de well, fare de well. [Exit. Ah marragh frofat boddah breen. Hip. What, grown a fighter? pr'ythee what's the matter? Inf. If you'll needs know, it was about the clock: how works the day, my lord, pray, by your watch? Hip. Lest you cuff me, I'll tell you presently: I am near two. Inf. How, two? I am scarce at one. Mine goes by heaven's dial, the sun, and it goes true. Hip. I think, indeed, mine runs somewhat too fast. Inf. Set it to mine, at one, then, Hip. One? 'tis past: 'Tis past one by the sun. Inf Faith, then, belike, Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike; Hip. Why, Iufclice, what should make you sad? You see, my clock or yours is out of frame, Hip. Faith, on both. He may, by knavery, spoil them; 'we, by sloth.- Inf. All is not well, indeed, my dearest lord: Hip. What means this? sweets; A villain hath usurped a husband's sheets. Hip. 'Sdeath, who?—a cuckold !—who? Hip. Worse than damnation! a wild kerne, a frog, a dog, whom I'll scarce spurn! Longed you for shamrock? 21 Were it my father's father, heart! I'll kill him, although I take him on his death-bed, gasping 'twixt heaven and hell! a shag-haired cur! 22 Bold strumpet, why hangest thou on me? think'st I'll be a bawd to a whore, because she's noble? Inf. I beg but this, Set not my shame out to the world's broad eye; Yet let thy vengeance (like my fault) soar high, So it be in darkened clouds. Hip. Darkened! my horns Cannot be darkened, nor shall my revenge. 21 Shamrock. The quarto reads shamock, a weed which the Irish wear in their hats on some particular festival. A collection of Hibernian Poetry, published not many years ago, is entitled, The Shamrock. S. In the Dedication to Dericke's Image of Irelande, 1581 : " My harte abhorreth their dealynges, and my soule dooth detest their wilde shamrocke manners.' 22 A shag-haired cur.-Shakespeare bestows the same epithet on a Kerne of Ireland, in the Second Part of King Henry VI. edit. 1778, p. 357, |