Le. My lord, my labour is not altogether lost, for now I find that which I never thought. La. Ah, sirrah, is the edge of your I steel wit rebated then against her adamant? Le. It is, my lord; yet one word more, fair lady. La. Fain would he have it do, and it will not be hark you, wife, what sign will you make me now if you relent not? Flo. Lend him my handkercher to wipe his lips of their last disgrace. La. Excellent good; go forward, see, I pray. Flo. Another sign, i'faith, love is requited. Le. Let him have signs enow, my heavenly love; then know there is a private meeting this day at Verone's ordinary, where if you will do me the grace to come, and bring the beauteous Martia with you, I will provide a fair and private room, where you shall be unseen of any man, only of me, and of the king himself, whom I will cause to honour your repair with his high presence, and there with music and quick revellings you may revive your spirits so long time dulled. Flo. I'll send for Martia then, and meet you there, and tell my husband I will lock myself in my choice walk till supper-time. We pray, sir, wipe your lips of the disgrace They took in their last labour. Le. Marry, the devil was never so despited. La. Nay, stay, see. Le. No, no, my lord, you have the constant'st wife that ever: well, I'll say no more. [Exit. La. Never was minion so disminioned. Come, constancy, come, my girl, I'll leave thee loose to twenty of them, i'faith. Flo. Come [then he sighs], my good head, come. [Exit. Enter the King and all the Lords with the trumpets. all the affections of love swarming in me, without command or reason. Le. How now, my liege! what, quagmired in philosophy, bound with love's whipcord, and quite robbed of reason and I'll give you a receipt for this presently. King, Peace, Lemot; they say the young Lord Dowsecer is rarely learned, and nothing lunatic as men suppose, but hateth company, and worldly trash, the judgment and the just contempt of them, have in reason arguments that break affection (as the most sacred poets write) and still the roughest wind and his rare humour come we now to hear. Le. Yea, but hark you, my liege, I'll tell you a better humour than that: here presently will be your fair love Martia, to see his humour, and from thence fair Countess Florilla, and she will go unto Verone's ordinary, where none but you and I, and Count Moren, will be most merry. King. Why, Count Moren, I hope, dares not adventure into any woman's company but his wife's. Le. Yes, as I will work, my liege, and then let me alone to keep him there till his wife comes. King. That will be royal sport: see where all comes: welcome, fair lords and ladies. Enter Labervele, Labesha, and all the rest. La. My liege, you are welcome to my poor house. Le. I pray, my liege, know this gentleman especially; he is a gentleman born, I can tell you. King. With all my heart: what might I call your name? La. Monsieur Labesha, Signor de Foulasa. King. De Foulasa, an ill-sounding barrendry, of my word! but to the purpose, Lord Labervele; we are come to see the humour of your rare son, which by some means, I pray, let us partake. La. Your highness shall too unworthily King. Why sound these trumpets in the partake the sight which I with grief and devil's name? tears daily behold, seeing in him the end of my poor house. Ca. To show the king comes. King. To show the king comes? Go hang the trumpeters, they mock me boldly, and every other thing that makes me known, not telling what I am, but what I seem, a king of clouts, a scarecrow, full of cobwebs, spiders and earwigs, that sets jackdaw's long tongue in my bosom, and upon my head; and such are King. You know not that, my lord, your wife is young, and he perhaps hereafter may be moved to more society. La. Would to God he would, that we might do to your crown of France more worthy and more acceptable service. King. Thanks, good my lord; see where he appears. Enter Lavel with a picture, a pair of large hose, a codpiece, and a sword. King. Say, Lavel, where is your young friend, the young lord Dowsecer? your Lav. I look, my liege, he will be here anon, but then I must entreat Majesty and all the rest, to stand unseen, for he as yet will brook no company. King. We will stand close, Lavel; but wherefore bring you this apparel, that picture, and that sword? Lav. To put him by the sight of them in mind of their brave states that use them, or at the least, of the true use they should be put unto. King. Indeed the sense doth still stir up the soul, and though these objects do not work, yet it is very probable in time she may-at least, we shall discern his humour of them. Le. See where he comes contemplating; stand close. Enter Dowsecer. Quid Dei potes videri magnum in rebus humanis quæ æterni omnes to thy ousque notas sic omnibus magna tutor. "What can seem strange to him on earthly things, To whom the whole course of eternity, And the round compass of the world is known ?" A speech divine, but yet I marvel much That sold for glory the sweet peace of life, Look on our lawyers' bills, not one contains virtue or honest drifts; but he cares, he cares, he cares; for acorns now are in request, but the oak's poor fruit did nourish men, men were like oaks of body, tough, and strong men were like giants then, but pigmies now, yet full of villanies as their skin can hold. Le. How like you this humour, my liege? King. This is no humour, this is but perfit judgment. Coun. Is this a frenzy? Mar. Oh, were all men such, Men were no men, but gods: this earth a heaven. Dɔ. See, see, the shameless world, that dares present her mortal enemy with these gross ensigns of her lenity, iron and steel, uncharitable stuff, good 'spital-founders, enemies to whole skins: as if there were not ways enough to die by natural and casual accidents, diseases, surfeits, brave carouses, old aqua-vitæ, and too base wives, and thousands more: hence with this art of murder. But here is goodly gear, the soul of man, for 'tis his better part; take away this, and take away their merits, and their spirits, scarce dare they come in any public view, without this countenance-giver, and some dare not come, because they have it too; for they may sing, in written books they find it; what is it then the fashion, or the cost, the cost doth match, but yet the fashion more; for let it be but mean, so in the fashion, make a hand in the margent, and burn the and 'tis most gentleman-like, is it so? book, a large house and a codpiece makes a man a codpiece, nay, indeed, but the house must down well for your gentle forgers of men, and for you come rest me into fashion, wear you thus, and sit upon the matter. to La. And he doth despise our purposes. Ca. Bear with him yet, my lord, he is not resolved. La. I would not have my friend mock worthy men, For the vain pride of some that are not so. Do. I do not here deride difference of states, No not in show, but wish that such as want show Might not be scorn'd with ignorant Turkish pride, Being pompous in apparel, and in mind: Nor would I have with imitated shapes, Men make their native land the land of apes, Living like strangers when they be at home, And so perhaps bear strange hearts to their home, Nor look a snuff like a piannet's tail, In their set faces, all their in parts then, But what a stock am I thus to neglect This figure of man's comfort, this rare piece? La. Heavens grant that make him more humane and sociable. King. Nay, he's more humane than all we are. La. I fear he will be too sharp to that sweet sex. my son's sons, that calf with a white face is his fair daughter; with which, when your fields are richly filled, then will my race content you; but for the joys of children, 'tush, 'tis gone-children will not deserve, nor parents take it: wealth is the only father and the child, and but in wealth no man hath any joy. La. Some course, dear son, take for thy honour sake. Do. She is very fair, I think that she be painted; and if she be, sir, she might ask of me, how many is there of our sex that are not? 'tis a sharp question: marry and I think they have small skill, if they were all of painting, 'twere safer dealing with them; and indeed were their minds strong enough to guide their bodies, their beaute-course. ous deeds should match with their heavenly books, 'twere necessary they should wear them, and would they vouchsafe it, even I would joy in their society. Mar. And who would not die with such a man? Do. But to admire them as our gallants do, "Oh, what an eye she hath! Oh! dainty hand, Rare foot and leg!" and leave the mind respectless, This is a plague that in both men and women Makes such pollution of our earthly being: Well, I will practise yet to court this piece. La. Oh! happy man, now have I hope in her. King, Methinks I could endure him days and nights. Do. Well, sir, now thus must I do, sir, ere it come to women; now, sir, a plague upon it, 'tis so ridiculous I can no further: what poor ass was it that set this in my way? Now if my father should be the man! God's precious coals, 'tis he. La. Good son, go forward in this gentle humour: observe this picture: it presents a maid of noble birth and excellent of parts, whom for our house and honour sake, I wish thou wouldst confess to marry. Do. To marry, father? why, we shall have children. La. Why, that's the end of marriage, and the joy of men. Do. Oh, how you are deceived! you have but me, and what a trouble am I to your joy! but, father, if you long to have some fruit of me, see, father, I will creep into this stubborn earth and mix my flesh with it, and they shall breed grass, to fat oxen, asses, and such-like, and when they in the grass the spring converts into beasts' nourishment, then comes the fruit of this my body forth; then may you well say, seeing my race is so profitably increased, that good fat ox, and that same large-eared ass are VOL. I. Do. Then, father, here's a most excellent La. This is some comfort yet. Do. If you will straight be gone and leave me here, I'll stand as quietly as any lamb, and trouble none of you, La. An hapless man. Le. How like you this humour yet, my liege? King. As of a holy fury, not a frenzy. Mo. See, see, my liege, he hath seen us, sure. King, Nay, look how he views Martia, and makes him fine. Le. Yea, my liege, and she as I hope well observed, hath uttered many kind conceits of hers. King. Well, I'll be gone, and when she comes to Verone's ordinary, I'll have her taken to my custody. Le. I'll stay, my liege, and see the event of this. Kin Do so, Lemot. [Exit the King. Do. What have I seen? how am I burnt to dust with a new Sun, and made a novel Phoenix; is she a woman that objects this sight, able to work the chaos of the world into gestion? Oh, divine aspect! the excellent disposer of the mind shines in thy beauty, and thou hast not changed my soul to sense, but my sense unto soul, And I desire thy pure society, But even as angels do to angels fly. [Exit. Mar. Fly, soul, and follow him. La. I marvel much at my son's sudden strange behaviour. Le. Bear with him yet, my lord, 'tis but his humour: come, what, shall we go to Verone's ordinary? La. Yea, for God's sake, for I am passing hungry. Mo. Yea, come, Monsieur Lemot ; will you walk? Coun. What, will you go? Mo. Yea, sweet bird, I have promised so. Coun. Go to, you shall not go and leave me alone. Mo. For one meal, gentle bird. Verone D invites us to buy some jewels he hath brought of late from Italy: I'll buy the best, and bring it thee, so thou wilt let me go. Coun. Well said, flattering Fabian; but tell me then what ladies will be there? Mo. Ladies? why, none. Le. No ladies use to come to ordinaries, madam. Coun. Go to, bird, tell me now the very truth. Mo. None, of mine honour, bird; you never heard that ladies came to ordinaries. Coun. Oh, that's because I should not go with you. Mar. Why, 'tis not fit you should. Coun. Well, hark you, bird, of my word you shall not go, unless you will swear to me you will neither court nor kiss a dame in any sort, till you come home again. Mar. Why, I swear I will not." Mar. Yea, by this kiss. tables with their white veils, accomplish the court cupboard, wait diligently to-day for my credit and your own, that if the meat should chance to be raw, yet your behaviours being neither rude nor raw, may excuse it; or if the meat should chance to be tough, be you tender over them in your attendance, that the one may bear with the other. Ja. Faith, some of them be so hard to please, finding fault with your cheer, and discommending your wine, saying, they fare better at Valere's for half the money. Boy. Besides, if there be any cheboules in your napkins, they say your nose or ours have dropt on them, and then they throw them about the house. Ve. But these be small faults; you may bear with them; young gentlemen and wild heads will be doing. Enter the Maid. Maid. Come, whose wit was it to cover in this room, in the name of God, I trow Fo. Martia, learn by this when you are ye? a wife. La. I like the kissing well. Flo. My lord, I'll leave you; your son Dowsecer hath made me melancholy with his humour, and I'll go lock myself in my close walk till supper-time. La. What, and not dine to-day? Flo. No, my good head: come, Martia, you and I will fast together. Mar. With all my heart, madam. [Exit. [Exit. La. Well, gentlemen, I'll go see my son. Fo. By'rlady, gentlemen, I'll go home to dinner. La. Home to dinner? by'rlord, but you shall not; you shall go with us to the ordinary, where you shall meet gentlemen of so good carriage, and passing compliments, it will do your heart good to see them; why, you never saw the best sort of gentlemen if not at ordinaries. Fo. I promise you that's rare, my lord; and Monsieur Leinot, I'll meet you there presently. Le. We'll expect your coming. [Exeunt all. Enter Verone with his napkin upon his shoulder, and his man Jaques with another, and his Son bringing in cloth and napkins. Boy. Why, I hope this room is as fair as the other. Maid. In your foolish opinion. You might have told a wise body so, and kept yourself a fool still. Fo. I cry for mercy; how bitter you are in your proverbs. Maid. So bitter I am, sir. Ve. Oh, sweet Sateena! I dare not say I love thee. Ja. Must you control us, you proud baggage you? Maid. Baggage? you are a knave to call me baggage. Ja. A knave? my master shall know that. Ve. I will not see them. Ja. Master, here is your maid uses herself so saucily, that one house shall not hold us two long, God willing. Ve. Come hither, huswife. Pardon me, sweet Jacenan: I must make an angry face outwardly, though I smile inwardly. Maid. Say what you will to me, sir. Ve. Oh, you are a fine gossip; can I not keep honest servants in my house, but you must control them? you must be their mistress. cloth, because my mistress would have the Maid. Why, I did but take up the dinner in another room; and he called me Ve. Come on, my masters: shadow these baggage. Ja. You called me knave and fool, I thank you, small bones. Maid. Go to, go to, she were wise enough would talk with you. Boy. Go thy ways for the proudest harlotry that ever came in our house. Ve. Let her alone, boy; I have schooled her, I warrant thee; she shall not be my maid long, if I can help it. Boy. No, I think so, sir; but what, shall I take up the cloth? Ve. No, let the cloth lie; hither they'll come first-I am sure of it. Then if they will dine in the other room, they shall. Enter Rowl. Ro. Good morrow, my host; is nobody come yet? Ve. Your worship is the first, sir. Ro. I was invited by my cousin Colenet, to see your jewels. Ve. I thank his worship and yours. Ro. Here's a pretty place for an ordinary. I am very sorry I have not used to come to ordinaries. Ve. I hope we shall have your company bereafter. Ro. You are very like so. Enter Berger. at old Lucilla's house, the muster-mistress of all the smock-tearers in Paris, and both the bawd and the pander were carried to the dungeon. Ve. There was dungeon upon dungeon; but call you her the muster-mistress of all the smock-tcarers in Paris? Ber. Yea, for she hath them all trained up afcre her. Enter Blanuel. Bla. Good morrow, my host; good morrow, gentlemen all. Ve. Good morrow, Monsieur Blanuel; I am glad of your quick delivery. Bla. Delivery! what, didst thou think I was with child? Ve. Yea, of a dungeon. Bla. Why, how knew you that? Ro. Why, Berger told us. Bla. Berger, who told you of it? Bla. Oh excellent, you are still playing the wag. Enter Lemot and Moren. Le. Good morrow, gentlemen all; good morrow, good Monsieur Rowl. Ro. At your service. Le. I pray, my lord, look what a pretty Ber. Good morrow, my host; good falling band he hath, 'tis pretty fantastimorrow, good Monsieur Rowl. Ro. Good morrow to you, sir. Ber. What, are we two the first? give's the cards. Here, come, this gentleman and I will go to cards while dinner be ready. Ro. No, truly, I cannot play at cards. Ber. How! not play? Oh for shame, say not so; how can a young gentleman spend his time but in play, and in courting his mistress? Come, use this, lest youth take too much of the other. Ro. Faith, I cannot play, and yet I care not so much to venture two or three crowns with you. Ber. Oh, I thought that I should find of you; I pray God I have not met with my match. Ro. No, trust me, sir, I cannot play. Ber. Hark you, my host; have you a pipe of good tobacco ? Ve. The best in the town. Boy, dry a leaf. Boy. There's none in the house, sir. B. My host, do you know Monsieur Blanuel? Ve. Yea, passing well, sir. Be. Why, he was taken learning tricks cal, as I have seen made, with good judgment, great show, and but little cost. Mo. And so it is, I promise you; who made it, I pray? Ro. I know not, i'faith, I bought it by chance. Le. It is a very pretty one, make much of it. Enter Catalian, sweating. Ca. Boy, I prithee call for a coarse napkin. Good morrow, gentlemen; I would you had been at the tennis court, you should have seen me a beat Monsieur Besan, and I gave him fifteen and all his faults. Maid. Who called for a coarse napkin? Ca. Marry I, sweetheart; do you take the pains to bring it yourself? have at you, by my host's leave. Maid. Away, sir! fie, for shame! |