Sec. That all the world shall wonder. Spa. A pox on them that envy you! Sec. How do the beauties, my dainty knave? live, wish, think, and dream, sirrah, ha! Spa. Fumble, one with another, on the gambos of imagination between their legs; eat they do, and sleep, game, laugh, and lie down, as beauties ought to do; there's all. Sec. Commend me to my choicest, and tell her, the minute of her appointment shall be waited on; say to her, she shall find me a man at all points. Enter NITIDO. Spa. Why, there's another quarrel,—man, once more, in spite of my nose, Nit. Away, Secco, away! my lord calls, he has a loose hair started from his fellows; a clip of your art is commanded. Sec. I fly, Nitido; Spadone, remember me. [Exit. Nit. Trudging between an old mule, and a young calf, my nimble intelligencer? What! thou fatten'st apace on capon still? Spa. Yes, crimp; 'tis a gallant life to be an old lord's pimp-whiskin: but, beware of the porter's lodge, for carrying tales out of the school.* Nit. What a terrible sight to a libb'd breech is a sow-gelder! 2 Beware of the porter's lodge, &c.] i. e. of the place where punishment was usually inflicted on refractory servants. See Jonson, vol. vii. p. 434. Spa. Not so terrible as a cross-tree that never grows, to a wag-halter page. Nit. Good! witty rascal, thou'rt a Satire, I protest, but that the nymphs3 need not fear the evidence of thy mortality:-go, put on a clean bib, and spin amongst the nuns, sing 'em a bawdy song: all the children thou gett'st, shall be christened in wassel-bowls,+ and turned into a college of men-midwives. Farewell, night-mare! Spa. Very, very well; if I die in thy debt for this, crack-rope, let me be buried in a coal-sack. I'll fit ye, ape's-face! look for't. Nit. [Sings.] And still the urchin would, but could not do. Spa. Mark the end on't, and laugh at last. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Room in the House of LIVIO. : Enter ROMANELLO and CASTAMELA. Rom. Tell me you cannot love me. Too strict a resolution: as a gentleman 3 But that the nymphs.] i. e. except that, &c. This would have called for no notice, had I not ventured to alter the pointing of the former editions, which deprived the passage of all meaning. Ford plays on the similarity of the words satyr and satire. + Shall be christened in wassel-bowls.] i. e. in ale or wine, instead of water. Nitido is still jesting with the incapacity of Spadone. Of commendable parts, and fair deserts, Th' example of your youth; but, sir, our fortunes, Move you to construe gently my forbearance, Rom. Why, Castamela, I have shaped thy vir tues, Even from our childish years, into a dowry Your own prosperity; I am resolv'd 'Tis rarely cherish'd with the love of want." 5 Labours to fall into the gulf of riot.] The old copy has guilt, which the whole context shews to be a misprint. 6 want of love. 'Tis rarely cherish'd with the love of want.] I have adopted the pointing of the old copy, simply because I could not satisfy myself with any new arrangement. It is not easy to guess at the speaker's meaning; she appears to consider poverty and want of love, Rom. Sure some dotage Of living stately, richly, lends a cunning Rom. A devil of pride Ranges in airy thoughts to catch a star, Cast. Worse and worse, I vow. Rom. But that some remnant of an honest sense Ebbs a full tide of blood to shame, all women Would prostitute all honour to the luxury Of ease and titles. Cast. Romanello, know You have forgot the nobleness of truth, Rom. A dog, a parrot, A monkey, a caroch, a garded lackey, Cast. This is uncivil; I am not, sir, your charge. as synonimous; with a reference, perhaps, to the insinuation of the old proverb, that the latter is a necessary consequence of the former. In the next line, she seems to say-It (love) is rarely cherished by those, who, like Romanello, embrace a voluntary poverty. But this is all conjecture. The reader must decide whether the play on words has led the poet into this perplexed expression, or whether any part of it has been corrupted at the press. Rom. My grief you are; For all my services are lost and ruin'd. Cast. So is my chief opinion of your worthiness, When such distractions tempt you; you would prove A cruel lord, who dare, being yet a servant, Enter LIVIO, richly habited. Liv. Sister! look ye, How by a new creation of my tailor's, Cast. True, good brother, For my well-doing must consist in yours. Liv. Here's Romanello, a fine temper'd gallant, Of decent carriage, of indifferent means, Considering that his sister, new hoist up, From a lost merchant's warehouse, to the titles Of a great lord's bed, may supply his wants;— Not sunk in his acquaintance, for a scholar Able enough, and one who may subsist Without the help of friends, provided always, He fly not upon wedlock without certainty |