Mich. This man you put into a free possession Of what his wants could ask, or yourself render? Val. And shall do still.

Mich. Nothing was barr'd his liberty

But this fair maid: that friendship first was broken,
And you and she abused; next, (to my sorrow
So fair a form should hide so dark intentions)
He hath himself confess'd (my purpose being
Only to stop his journey, by that policy

Of laying felony to his charge, to fright the sailors)
Divers abuses done, thefts often practised,
Monies and jewels too, and those no trifles.

Cel. Oh, where have I bestow'd my faith? in neither

Let's in for ever now-there is virtue !

Mich. Nay, do not wonder at it;

Are you not guilty thus ?

Fran. Yes.-Oh, my fortune!

he shall say it.

Mich. To give a proof I speak not enviously, Look here: Do you know these jewels?

Dor. In truth, like him.

Mary. Upon my troth, exceeding like.
Mich. Beshrew me,

But much, and main resemblance, both of face
And lineaments of body: Now Heaven grant it!
Alice. My brother's full of passion. I'll speak
to him.-

Now, as you are a gentleman, resolve me,
Where did you get these jewels?

Fran. Now I'll tell you,

Because blind Fortune yet may make me happy.
Of whom I had 'em I have never heard yet,
But, from my infancy, upon this arm

I ever wore 'em.

Alice. 'Tis Francisco, brother;

By Heaven, I tied 'em on!-A little more, sir, A little, little more; what parents have you? Fran. None,

That I know yet, the more my stubborn fortune; But, as I heard a merchant say that bred me, Who, to my more affliction, died a poor man, When I reach'd eighteen years

Alice. What said that merchant?

Fran. He said an infant in the Genoa gallies, (But from what place he never could direct me) I was taken in a sea-fight, and from a mariner, Out of his manly pity, he redeem'd me. He told me of a nurse that waited on me,

with you.

Val. My best friend still, my dearest! Now
Heaven bless thee,

And make me worthy of this benefit!-
Now, my best mistress.

Cel. Now, sir, I come to you—

Abbess. No, no; let's in, wench.

Cel. Not for the world, now, mother.And thus, sir, all my service I pay to you, And all my love to him.

Val. And may it prosper !—

Take her, Francisco, now no more young Callidon, And love her dearly; for thy father does so.

Fran. May all hate seek me else! and thus I seal it.

Val. Nothing but mirth, now, friends.

Enter HYLAS and SAM,

Hylas. Nay, I will find him.

Sam. What do all these here? Tho. You are a trusty husband, And a hot lover too.

Hylas. Nay then, good morrow! Now I peceive the knavery.

Sam. I still told you!

[Kisses her.

Tho. Stay, or I'll make you stay. Come hither,

sister.

Val. Why, how now, Mistress Thomas?
Tho. Peace a little!-

Thou wouldst fain have a wife?

Hylas. Not I; by no means. Tho. Thou shalt have a wife, And a fruitful wife; for I find, Hylas, That I shall never be able to bring thee children. Seb. A notable brave boy! 'nown son again! Hylas. I am very well, sir.

Tho. Thou shalt be better.

Hylas, thou hast seven hundred pounds a-year, And thou shalt make her three hundred jointure. Hylas. No.

Tho. Thou shalt, boy, and shalt bestow Two hundred pounds in clothes. Look on her; A delicate lusty wench; she has fifteen hundred, And feasible: Strike hands, or I'll strike first. Dor. You'll let me like ?

Mary. He's a good handsome fellow;

Sam. Take her, and use her well; she's a brave gentlewoman.

Hylas. You must allow me another mistress. Dor. Then you must allow me another servant. Hylas. Well, let's together then. A lusty kindred!

Seb. I'll give thee five hundred pounds more for that word.

Mary. Now, sir, for you and I to make the feast full.

Tho. No, not a bit; you are a virtuous lady, And love to live in contemplation.

Mary. Come, fool; I am friends now.
Tho. The fool shall not ride you.

There lie, my woman! now my man again!
And now for travel once more!

Seb. I'll bar that first.

Mary. And I next.

APTNESS for mirth to all! This instant night
Thalia hath prepared, for your delight,
Her choice and curious viands, in each part
Seasoned with rarities of wit and art:
Nor fear I to be taxed for a vain boast;
My promise will find credit with the most,
When they know ingenious Fletcher made it, he
Being in himself a perfect Comedy.
And some sit here, I doubt not, dare aver
Living he made that house a theatre

Which he pleased to frequent; and thus much we
Could not but pay to his loud memory.

For ourselves, we do entreat that you would not
Expect strange turns and windings in the plot,
Objects of state, and now and then a rhyme,
To gall particular persons with the time;
Or that his towering muse hath made her flight
Nearer your apprehension than your sight;
But if that sweet expressions, quick conceit,
Familiar language, fashioned to the weight
Of such as speak it, have the power to raise
Your grace to us, with trophies to his praise;
We may profess, presuming on his skill,
If his CHANCES please not you, our fortune's ill.

SCENE I-A Room in the House of the

Landlady.

Enter PETER and ANTHONY.

Peter. I would we were removed from this town,

Anthony,

That we might taste some quiet: For mine own I am almost melted with continual trotting [part, After inquiries, dreams, and revelations,

Of who knows whom, or where. Serve wenching soldiers,

That know no other paradise but plackets?
I'll serve a priest in lent first, and eat bell-ropes.
Anth. Thou art the frowardest fool-
Peter. Why, good tame Anthony,

Tell me but this; to what end came we hither?
Anth. To wait upon our masters.
Peter. But how, Anthony?

Answer me that; resolve me there, good Anthony.

Anth. To serve their uses.
Peter. Shew your uses, Anthony.
Anth. To be employed in any thing.
Peter. No, Anthony,

Not any thing, I take it; nor that thing
We travel to discover, like new islands;

A salt itch serve such uses! In things of moment,
Concerning things, I grant you; not things errant,
Sweet ladies' things, and things to thank the sur-

geon;

In no such things, sweet Anthony. Put case— Anth. Come, come, all will be mended; this invisible woman,

Of infinite report for shape and virtue,
That bred us all this trouble to no purpose,
They are determined now no more to think on,
But fall close to their studies.

Peter. Was there ever

Fred. I' th' High Street;

Men known to run mad with report before?
Or wander after that they know not where
To find? or, if found, how to enjoy? Are men's
brains

Made now-a-days of malt, that their affections
Are never sober, but, like drunken people,
Founder at every new fame? I do believe, too,
That men in love are ever drunk, as drunken men
Are ever loving.

Anth. Pr'ythee be thou sober,

And know, that they are none of those; not guilty
Of the least vanity of love; only a doubt
Fame might too far report, or rather flatter
The graces of this woman, made them curious
To find the truth, which since they find so block'd
And lock'd up from their searches, they are now
To give the wonder over.
[settled

Peter. 'Would they were settled

To give me some new shoes too! for I'll be sworn
These are e'en worn out to th' reasonable soles
In their good worships' business: and some sleep
Would not do much amiss, unless they mean
To make a bell-man of me. And what now
Mean they to study, Anthony? moral philosophy,
After their mar-all women?

Anth. Mar a fool's head!

Peter. It will mar two fools' heads, an they take not heed,

Besides the giblets to 'em.

Anth. Will you walk, sir,

And talk more out of hearing? your fool's head May chance to find a wooden night-cap else. Peter. I never lay in any.

Anth. Then leave your lying,

And your blind prophesying.

Enter DON JOHN and FREDERIC,

Here they come;

You had best tell them as much.

Peter. I am no tell-tale.

[Exeunt PETER and ANTHONY.

John. I would we could have seen her though; for sure

She must be some rare creature, or report lies,
All men's reports too.

Fred. I could well wish I had seen her;
But since she's so conceal'd, so beyond venture
Kept and preserved from view, so like a Paradise,
Placed where no knowledge can come near her, so
guarded

As 'twere impossible, though known, to reach her, I have made up my belief.

John. Hang me, from this hour,

If I more think upon her, or believe her;

But, as she came, a strong report unto me,

So the next fame shall lose her.

Fred. 'Tis the next way.

But whither are you walking?
John. My old round

After my meat, and then to bed.

Fred. 'Tis healthful.

John. Will not you stir?

Fred. I have a little business.

John. Upon my life, this lady still-
Fred. Then you will lose it
John. 'Pray let us walk together.
Fred. Now I cannot.

John. I have something to impart.
Fred. An hour hence

I will not miss to meet you
John. Where?

For, not to lie, I have a few devotions To do first, then I am yours.

possible

I wish it with my soul, so much I tremble
To offend the sacred image of my Maker!—
My sword could only kill his crimes! No, 'tis
Honour,

Honour, my noble friends, that idol Honour,
That all the world now worships, not Petruccio,
Must do this justice.

Ant. Let it once be done,

And 'tis no matter whether you, or Honour,
Or both, be accessary.

2 Gent. Do you weigh, Petruccio,

The value of the person, power and greatness,
And what this spark may kindle?

Petr. To perform it,

So much I am tied to reputation,

And credit of my house, let it raise wild-fires

A less offence has been the desolation
Of a whole name.

2 Gent. No other way to purge it?
Petr. There is, but never to be hoped for.
2 Gent. Think an hour more :

And if then you find no safer road to guide you,
We'll set up our rests too.

Ant. Mine's up already;

And hang him, for my part, goes less than life!

2 Gent. If we see noble cause, 'tis like our swords May be as free and forward as our words. [Exeunt.

SCENE III-A Street before the House of CONSTANTIA.

Enter DON JOHN.

John. The civil order of this town, Bologna,
Makes it beloved and honour'd of all travellers,
As a most safe retirement in all troubles;
Besides the wholesome seat, and noble temper
Of those minds that inhabit it, safely wise,
And to all strangers virtuous. But I see

My admiration has drawn night upon me,
And longer to expect my friend may pull me
Into suspicion of too late a stirrer,

Which all good governments are jealous of:
I'll home, and think at liberty. Yet, certain,
'Tis not so far night as I thought; for see,
A fair house yet stands open; yet all about it
Are close, and no lights stirring: There may be

foul play,

I'll venture to look in; if there be knaves,
I may do a good office.

Woman. [Within.] Signor?

John. What? How is this?

Woman. [Within.] Signor Fabritio ?
John. I'll go nearer.

Woman. [Within.] Fabritio?

John. This is a woman's tongue; here may be good done.

Woman. [Within.] Who's there? Fabritio?
John. Ay.

Woman. [Within.] Where are you?
John. Here.

Woman. [Within.] Oh, come, for Heaven's
John. I must see what this means.

[sake!

Enter DON JOHN, with a Child in his arms.
John. Was ever man so paid for being curious,
Ever so bobb'd for searching out adventures,
As I am? Did the devil lead me? Must I needs
be peeping

Into men's houses, where I had no business,
And make myself a mischief? 'Tis well carried!
I must take other men's occasions on me,
And be I know not whom! Most finely handled!
What have I got by this now? what's the purchase?
A piece of evening arras-work, a child,
Indeed an infidel: This comes of peeping!
A lump got out of laziness.-Good White-bread,
Let's have no bawling with you!-'Sdeath, have I
Known wenches thus long, all the ways of wenches,
Their snares and subtilties; have I read over
All their school-learnings, dived into their quiddits,
And am I now bum-fiddled with a bastard?
Fetch'd over with a card of five, and in mine old
After the dire massacre of a million
[days,
Of maidenheads, caught the common way? i'th'
night too,

Under another's name, to make the matter
Carry more weight about it? Well, Don John,
You will be wiser one day, when you have pur-
A bevy of these butter-prints together,
With searching out conceal'd iniquities,
Without commission. Why, it would never grieve

me,

[chased

If I had got this gingerbread; never stirr'd me,
So I had had a stroke for't; it had been justice
Then to have kept it: But to raise a dairy
For other men's adulteries, consume myself in
caudles,

And scow'ring-works, in nurses, bells, and babies,
Only for charity, for mere I thank you,'
A little troubles me: The least touch for it,
Had but my breeches got it, had contented me.
Whose-e'er it is, sure 't had a wealthy mother;
For 'tis well clothed, and, if I be not cozen'd,