[Exit.



[SCENE 3.]

Enter Valentia, Montano, and Vandermas.

Val. Have you the instruments I gave in charge.

Vand. Wee have.

Val. And resolution fitting for the purpose?

Mon. All things are ready, with our faithfull hearts.

Val. And she that undertakes so great an act As I intend, had need of faithfull hearts This is the prison, and the jaylor comes In happy time: where's trayterous Fredericke?

Enter Jaylor.

Jaylor. What is your highnesse pleasure with the Prince?

Val. Looke there, if you can reade.

Jai. O heavenly God, What doe I read? a warrant for his death?

Valen. Resigne your keyes, goe weepe a dirge or twaine But make no clamour with your lamentation.

Jay. I dare not prophesie what my soule feares, Yet Ile lament his tragedie in teares. [Exit.

Valen. Oft have I seene a Nobleman arraign'd By mighty Lords, the pillars of the land, Some of which number, his inclined friends, Have wept, yet past the verdict of his death: So fares it with the Prince. Were I his jaylor, And so affected unto Fredericks life, The fearfull'st tyrant nor the cruell'st plagues That ever lighted on tormented soules, Should make me yeeld my prisoner to their hands.

Mon. Madam, he knowes his duty, and performes it.

Valen. Setting aside all dutie, I would die Ere like a woman weepe a tragedie; Tis basenesse, cowardize. Dutie! O slave, Had I a friend, I'de dye in my friends grave. But it sorts well for us; Hindes will be Hindes, And the Ambitious tread upon such mindes. Waite, whilest I call you, in the jaylors house.

Mon. We will. [Exeunt Van. and Mon.

Valen. My Lord, Prince Fredericke.

Enter Fred.

Fred. Wofull Fredericke Were a beseeming Epitaph for me, The other tastes of too much soveraigntie. What? is it you! the glory of the stewes!

Valen. Thy mother, Fredericke.

Fred. I detest that name, My mother was a Dutches of true fame; And now I thinke upon her, when she died I was ordain'd to be indignified. She never did incense my Princely Father To the destruction of his loving sonne: Oh she was vertuous, trulie naturall, But this step-divell doth promise our fall.

Val. Why doest thou raile on me? I am come To set thee free from all imprisonment.

Fred. By what true supersedeas but by death? If it be so, come, strike me to the earth; Thou needest no other weapon but thine eye; Tis full of poyson, fixe it, and Ile die.

Val. Uncharitable youth, I am no serpent venom'd, No basiliske to kill thee with my sight.

Fre. Then thou speak'st death, I am sorry I mistooke; They both are fatall, theres but little choice; The first inthral'd my father, the last me, No deadlier swords ever us'd enemie; My lot's the best that I dye with the sound, But he lives dying in a death profound. I grow too bitter, being so neere my end; Speake quickly, boldly, what your thoughts intend.

Valen. Behold this warrant, you can reade it well.

Fred. But you the interpretation best can tell: Speake, beautious ruine, twere great injurie That he should reade the sentence that must dye.

Val. Then know in briefe 'tis your fathers pleasure.

Fred. His pleasure, what?

Val. That you must loose your life.

Fred. Fatall is his pleasure, 'tis to please his wife. I prethee, tell me, didst thou ever know A Father pleased his sonne to murder so? For what is't else but murder at the best? The guilt whereof will gnawe him in his brest, Torment him living, and when I am dead Curse thee by whose plot I was murdered? I have seene the like example, but, O base! Why doe I talke with one of your disgrace? Where are the officers? I have liv'd too long, When he that gave me life does me this wrong.

Val. That is thy fathers hand, thou dost not doubt? And if thou shouldst, I have witnesse to approve it. Yet tho it be his hand, grant to my request, Love me and live.

Fred. To live so, I detest. Love thee!

Valen. I, love me, gentle Fredericke, love me.

Fred. Incestuous strumpet, cease.

Val. Oh thou dealest ill, To render so much spleene for my good will.

Fred. Torment farre worse then death.

Valen. Ile follow thee: Deare Fredericke, like thy face, be thy words faire.

Fre. This monstrous dealing doubles my deaths care.

Valen. What shall I call thee to allay this ire?

Fred. Why, call me son and blush at thy desire.

Valen. I never brought thee foorth.

Fred. Art thou not wife Unto my father?

Val. Thinke upon thy life: It lyes like mine, onely in gentle breath; Or that thy father's dead, and after death 'Tis in my choice to marry whom I will.

Fred. Any but me.

Valen. O doe not thinke so ill, Rather thinke, thou art a stranger, not his sonne; Then 'tis no incest tho the Act be done. Nature unto her selfe is too unkind To buzze such scruples into Fredericks minde; Twas a device of man to avoid selfe love, Else every pleasure in one stocke should move, Beautie in grace part never from the kinne.

Fred. If thou persever as thou hast begun, I shall forget I am my fathers sonne, I shall forget thou art my fathers wife, And where 'tis I must die abridge thy life.

Valen. Why did'st not kill me, being thy prisoner then, But friendly didst deliver me again[212] Unto thy father, wert not thou didst love me?

Fred. Beyond all sufferance, monster, thou dost move me. 'Twas for my fathers sake, not for thine owne; That, to thy lifes losse, thou hadst throughly knowne But that relenting nature playde her part, To save thy blood whose losse had slaine his heart: And it repents me not hee doth survive, But that his fortune was so ill to wive. Come, kill, for for that you came; shun delayes Lest living Ile tell this to thy dispraise, Make him to hate thee, as he hath just cause, And like a strumpet turne thee to the lawes.

Valen. Good Fredericke.

Fred. Tis resolv'd on, I haue said.

Valen. Then fatall Ministers I craue your ayde.

Enter Van. and Mont.

Come, Vandermas, Montano, wheres your corde? Quicklie dispatch, strangle this hatefull Lord. Or stay: because I love him, he shall chuse The easiest of three deaths that we may use, The halter, poyson, or bloodshedding blade.

Fred. Any of them.

Valen. This Aconite's well made, a cup of poyson Stuft with despatching simples, give him this, And he shall quickly leave all earthly blisse. There, take it, Fredericke, our last guift of grace; Since thou must die, Ile have thee die apace.

Fred. O happie meanes, given by a trecherous hand, To be my true guide to the heavenly land! Death steales upon me like a silken sleepe; Through every vaine doe leaden rivers flowe,[213] The gentlest poyson that I ever knewe, To work so coldly, yet to be so true. Like to an infant patiently I goe, Out of this vaine world, from all worldly woe; Thankes to the meanes, tho they deserve no thankes, My soule beginnes t'ore-flow these fleshly bankes. My death I pardon unto her and you, My sinnes God pardon; so vaine world adiew. [He falls asleep.

Valen. Ha, ha, ha.

Mon. Hee's dead, why does your highnesse laugh?

Valen. Why, Lord Montano, that I love to see, He that hath sav'd my life, to die for me. But theres a riddle in this Princes death, And Ile explaine it on this floore of earth. Come, to his sisters execution goe, We have varietie of joyes in woe. I am sure, you have heard his Excellence did sweare Both of their heads should grace a Kingly beare. Upon a mourning hearse let him be layd; He shalbe intombed with a wived maid.

[Exeunt.



Actus Quintus.

[SCENE 1.]

Enter Duke, Hatto, and Alfred.

Duke. Bring forth the prisoners: wher's my beauteous Dutches That she may see the ruine of her foes? She that upbraided her with slanderous wordes, She that in scorne of due obedience Hath matcht the honour of the Saxons blood Unto a beggar; let them be brought foorth, I will not rise from this tribunal seate Till I have seene their bodies from their heads.

Alfred. Here comes the Dutches with proud Fredericks hearse.

Enter, Valentia, Montano, Vandermas, with others, bearing the hearse, with Fredericke on, covered with a black robe.

Duke. So, set it downe: why have you honored it With such a sable coverture? A traytor, Deserves no cloth of sorrow: set it downe, And let our other offspring be brought foorth. My beauteous, lovely, and admired love, Come, sit by us in an imperiall chayre, And grace this state throne with a state more fayre.

Valen. My gracious Lord, I hope your Excellence Will not be so forgetfull of your honour, Prove so unnaturall to your loving daughter As to bereave her of her life Because she hath wedded basely gainst your will. Though Fredericke dyed deservedly, yet shee May by her loves death clear her indignitie.

Duke. She and her love we have sentenced to die, Not for her marriage onely, tho that deede Crownes the contempt with a deserved death, But chiefly for she raild against thy worth, Upbraided thee with tearmes so monstrous base That nought but death can cleare the great disgrace. How often shall I charge they be brought foorth? Were my heart guilty of a crime so vilde, I'de rend it forth, then much more kill my childe.

Val. O, that this love may last! 'tis sprung so hie, Like flowers at full growth that grow to die.

Enter Julia, with a vaile over her head, Otho with another, with Officers.

Duke. What means these sable vailes upon their faces?

Val. In signe they sorrow for your high displeasure. For since the houre they were imprisoned, They have liv'd like strangers, hood-winkt together. You may atchieve great fame, victorious Lord, To save the lives of two such innocents.

Duke. Tis pretty in thee, my soule lov'd Dutchesse, To make this Princely motion for thy foes. Let it suffice, the'are traitors to the state, Confederators with those that sought my life, A kinne to Fredericke, that presumptious boy, That durst beare armes against his naturall father: Are they more deare then he? off with their vailes.

Mon. O yet be mercifull unto your daughter.

Duke. You make me mad, headsman; dispatch I say, They are doom'd to die, and this the latest day.

Otho. Then let him strike, who ever traitors be, I am sure no treason lives in her or me.

Duke. How now, whats here? Otho and Julia! Am I deluded? where is Euphrata, And that audacious traitor Constantine?

Otho. Why, fled.

Duke. To whom?

Otho. To safetie, here was none. I can resolve you of the circumstance: Betwixt the noble Constantine and I,— Noble I call him for his virtuous minde— There was a league of love so strongly made That time wants houres, and occasion cause, To violate the contract of our hearts. Yet on my part the breach did first appeare: He brought me to behold his beauteous love The faire Euphrata; her Angel sight Begate in me the fire of private love: I that before did like her for my friend, Now to deceive him, sought her for my selfe; But my device was knowne unto my friend, And worthilie he banisht me his sight.

Duke. Whats this to their destruction? seeke them forth.

Otho. They are far enough from suffering such a death. I, well considering my unfriendly part, Bethought me how to reconcile my self Unto my hearts endeared Constantine; And seeing him carried to the prison, we Followed, and found meanes for their libertie.

Duke. Are they escapt then?

Otho. Both, in our disguise, And we stand here to act their tragedies. If they have done amisse, on us Impose the Law.

Julia. O let our suites prevaile, I ask to dye for my deare Ladies sake.

Otho. I for my friend.

Duke. This friendly part doth make My heart to bleede within me, and my minde Much perplext that I have beene so unkind. What second funerall march is that I heare?

Enter Rainaldo and Alberto, like schollers, grieving before the Beare, others following them with bodies of Euphrata and Constantine covered with blacke.

Alberto. Health to this presence, though the newes Impairing health I bring unto this presence; The bodies of the drowned Constantine And the faire Euphrata, behold them both.

Duke. Of drowned Constantine and Euphrata! Declare the manner, and with killing words Temper thy words, that it may wound my life.

Albert. Passing the Rhine, bordering upon the tower, From whence, it seemes they lately had escapt, By an unskilfull Guide their gundelet[214] Encountred with an other, and the shocke Drown'd both the vessayles, and their haplesse lives. Their bodies hardly were recovered;[215] But, knowne, we brought them to your excellence As to a father, that should mourne for them.

Duke. Unto a tyrant, doe not call me father, For I have beene no father to their lives. The barbarous Canniball, that never knew The naturall touch of humane beauty, Would have beene farre more mercifull then I. Oh tyrannic, the overthrow of Crownes, Kingdomes subversion, and the deaths of Kings! Loe here a piteous object so compleate With thy intestine and destroying fruite, That it will strike thee dead! oh Euphrata, Oh princely Fredericke, never deare to me Till now, in you I see my misery. My sonne, my daughter, vertuous Constantine!

Hat. What meanes this griefe, my Lord? these are the traytors That you in justice sentenced to dye.

Alfred. A trecherous sonne and a rebellious daughter.

Valen. Those that did seeke to take away your life.

Mon. Bereave you of your Crownes prerogative.

Duke. Hence from my sight, blood-thirsty Counsellors! They never sought my life, but you have sought it. Vertuous Alberto and Rinaldo, Had I given eare to them and to my sonne, My joyes had flourished, that now are done.

Valen. Yet for my sake allay this discontent.

Duke. Tis for thy sake, thou vilde notorious woman, That I have past the limits of a man, The bonds of nature. 'Twas thy bewitching eye, thy Syrens voice, That throwes me upon millions of disgrace, Ile have thee tortur'd on the Racke, Plucke out those basiliske enchaunting eyes, Teare thee to death with Pincers burning hot, Except thou giue me the departed lives Of my deare childeren.

Valen. What, am I a Goddesse That I should fetch their flying soules from heaven And breath them once more in their clay cold bodies?

Duke. Thou art a witch, a damn'd sorceresse, No goddesse, but the goddesse of blacke hell, And all those devils thy followers. What makes thou, on the earth, to murder men? Will not my sonnes and daughters timelesse[216] lives, Taken away in prime of their fresh youth, Serve to suffice thee?

Valen. O, you are mad, my Lord.

Duke. How can I choose, And such a foule Erynnis gase on me, Such furious legions circle me about, And my slaine Sonne and Daughters fire brands Lying so neere me, to torment my soule? Extremitie of all extremities: Take pitty on the wandering sense of mine Or it will breake the prison of my soule And like to wild fire fly about the world, Till they have no abiding in the world. I faint, I dye, my sorrowes are so great, Oh mortalitie, renounce thy seate. [He fals down.

Valen. The Duke, I feare, is slaine with extreame griefe. I that had power, to kill him, will assay henceforth My utmost industry to save his life. Looke up my Lord, 'tis not Valentias voice, That Courtezan that hath betray'd thy honour, Murder'd thy childeren, and almost slaine thee: I am thy sonne, I am Prince Fredericke; If thou hast any liking for that name, Looke on my face, I come to comfort thee.

Duke. The name of Fredericke is like Hermes wande Able to charme and uncharme sorrowfull men. Who nam'd Fredericke?

Valen. I pronounc't his name, That have the power to give thee thy lost Sonne, Had I like virtue to restore the other. Behold my Lord, behold thy headlesse Sonne Blest with a head, the late deceased living; As yet not fully waken'd from the sleepe, My drowsie potion kindled in his braine, But much about this houre the power should cease; And see, he wakes.

Duke. O happinesse, tis hee.

Valen. Imbrace him then, but ne're more imbrace me.

Fred. Where am I, in what dungeon, wheres my grave? Was I not dead, or dreamt I was dead? This am I sure, that I was poisoned.[217]

Duke. Thou art deceiv'd, my Sonne, but this deceit Is worth commendations; thanke my Dutchesse, Her discretion reedified thy life, But she hath prov'd her selfe a gracious wife.

Fred. She tempt[ed] me to lust; wast in my grave?

Valen. 'Twas but to try thy faith unto thy father: Let it suffice, his hand was at thy death But twas my mercie that proclaim'd thy breath.

Fred. To heaven and you, I render worthy thankes.

Duke. O liv'd my Euphrata and Constantine, How gladly would I all my griefe resigne.

Albert. On that condition, and with this besides, That you be pleas'd to pardon us and them, We doe referre our persons to your mercie.

Duke. My daughter, my deare sonne in law, Vertuous Alberto? then, my friend, My joyes are at the highest, make this plaine How these sav'd drownd, as Fredericke has bin slaine.

Albert. Presuming on the example of these friends, And know we are all actors in this plot Boldly presented your presence, with this minde, If pardoning them your grace would pardon us; If otherwise, this was the joy of either, That death's lesse painefull when friends die together.

Duke. We doe receive you all into our favour, And my faire Dutchesse; my unkind divorce Shall be confounded with a second marriage, I here receive thee once more as my wife.

Val. You have your childeren, I have paid that debt, You have divorc'd me, therefore I am free, And henceforth I will be at libertie.

Duke. Theres no divorce can part thee from thy Lord.

Valen. Like to unkindnesse there is no divorce, I will no more be won unto your bed, But take some course to lament my life mislead.

Duke. Canst thou live better then in sacred wedlock?

Valen. Wedlocke to me is unpleasing, since my Lord Hath broke the band of marriage with unkindnesse.

Duke. Intreate her, children, Fredericke, Euphrata, Let me not loose the essence of my soule.

Fred. Divine Valentia, mirrour of thy sexe, The pride of true reclaim'd incontinence, Honour of the dishonoring, yeeld I pray, And be mercifull, pitty my fathers smart, Since thy last thraldome hath neare cleft his heart.

Euph. 'Twas for his children that his spleene did rise, Anger a torture haunting the most wise.

Valen. O no I am a murderesse, an Erinnis, A fury sent from Limbo to affright Legions of people with my horrid sight.

Hat. What doe you meane? be won by their intreaties.

Alfred. 'Tis madnesse in you to be thus perverse.

Val. Who ever speaks, base wretches, be you dumb; You are the catterpillers of the state, By your bad dealings he is unfortunate. Thou, honorable, true, beloved Lord, Hearken to me, and by thy antient love, I charge thee, banish these realme-sucking slaves, That build their pallace upon poore mens graves. O those are they that have wrong'd both you and me, Made this blest land a land of miserie; And since, by too much loving, your grace hath falne Into a generall hating of your subjects, Redeeme your lost estate with better dayes; So shall you merit never dying praise, So shall you gaine lives quietnesse on earth, And after death a new celestiall birth.

Duke. Unto thy wisedome I referre their doomes, My selfe, my Dukedome, and my crowne. Oh were there anything of higher rate, That unto [t]hee I'de wholly consecrate.

Val. This kind surrender shewes you are a Prince, Worthy to be an Angell in the world Of immortalitie, Which these cursed creatures never can attaine. But that this world may know how much I hate This cruell, base oppression of the poore, First, I enjoyne you for the wrongs you have done, Make restitution; and because your goods Are not sufficient so to satisfie, I doe condemn your bodies to the Mynes, Where live like golden drudges all your lives, In digging of the mettall you best love: Death is your due, but for your noble race This gentle sentence I impose on you: The Duke succeeding shall behold it done.

Duke. Who's that, my love?

Valen. Kind Fredericke, your sonne: The interest that your grace hath given to me, I freely doe impart.

Duke. We doe agree, To what my Dutchesse please.

Valen. The state is thine, Thy Uncles sentence, Fredericke, shall be mine.

Fred. Beare them away, what you have said shall stand, Whilst I have interest in this new given land.

Hat. We doe receive our judgements, with a curse.

Valen. Learne to pray better, or it shall be worse: Lords, see those wormes of kingdomes be destroyed. And now, to give a period to my speeche I doe intreate your grace, if that your love Be not growne colde, but that your heart desires The true societie of a chaste wife, Be pleas'd to undergoe a further doome. Wee haue liv'd too lightly, we have spent our dayes, Which should be dedicated to our God, In soule destroying pleasure, and our sloth Hath drawne upon the Realme a world of plagues.[218] Therefore hereafter let us live together In some removed cell or hermitage, Unto the which poore travellers mislead May have direction and reliefe of wants.

Duke. A hermetary life is better then a kingdome, So my Valentia beare me company.

Valen. If my dread Lord will for my sake endure So strickt a calling, my bewitching haires Shall be made napkins to dry up the teares That true repentance wringeth from our hearts; Our sinnes we'l number with a thousand sighes, Fasting shall be the Steward of our Feast, Continuall prayer in stead of costly cates, And the remainder of our life a schoole To learne new lessons for the land of heaven. The will, where power is wanting, is good payment; Grace doth reject no thought, tho' nere so small, So it be good; our God is kind to all. Come, my deare Lord, this is a course more kind; No life like us that have a heavenly mind.

Mon. O let me be a servant in that life.

Valen. With all my heart, a Partner let him be There's small ambition in humility.

Duke. Fredericke, farewell, deare Euphrata, adue; Remember us in prayer, as we will you.

[Exeunt D. & D

Fred. A happy change: would all that step awry Would take like course in seeking pietie.

Otho. Two humble suites I crave of my best friend: First, pardon for my rashnesse in your love, Next this most loyall Virgin for my wife.

Con. With all my heart, if Julia be pleas'd.

Julia. I have no power to disobey your grant.

Con. Then she is yours.

Fred. Alberto, The offices belonging to our Uncles We doe derive to you for your good service In our late warres, and in our sisters love. And now set forwards: Lords, let us be gone To solemnize two mariages in one.



_The Epilogue.

Encouragement unto the valiant Is like a golden spurre upon the heele Of a young Knight, like to a wreath of Bay To a good Poet; like a sparkeling Crowne, Unto a Kings Son. Honour and renowne Is the efficient and persevering cause Of every well deserved action. Take away some recorde, encouragement, And the World's like a_ Chaos, _all delight Buried unborne in everlasting night. Even so it fares with us, and with the rest Of the same facultie, all meerely nothing: Without your favour every labour dyes, Save such whose second springs comes from your eyes. Extend your beames of love to us at full, As the Sunne does unto the Easterne clime, And England may bring forth like India As costly spice, as orientall Jems. The earth's all one, the heate refines the moulde, And favour makes the poorest ground yielde gold_.

FINIS.



INTRODUCTION TO EVERIE WOMAN IN HER HUMOR.

This old "comical satire" has come down in a very corrupt state. A sadly tattered appearance is presented by the metrical passages. I have ventured to patch only a few of the many rents in the old coat of 1609.

The anonymous playwright owes much more than the title of the play to Ben Jonson. Acutus, overflowing with bitter and tedious moralising, is evidently modelled on Macilente in Every Man Out of His Humour. The very dog—Getica's dog—was suggested by Puntarvolo's dog. Indeed, throughout the play we are constantly reminded of Every Man Out of His Humour; but the unknown writer had some inventiveness of his own, and was not a mere copyist. The jolly fat host, with his cheery cry "merry hearts live long," is pleasant company; and his wife, the hard-working hostess, constantly repining at her lot, yet seemingly not dissatisfied at heart, has the appearance of being a faithful transcript from life. Cornutus (the hen-pecked citizen) and his gadding wife are familiar figures, but not the less welcome on that account. Getica's anxiety at the loss of her dog is amusingly depicted. In fact, the whole play would be tolerable, if the moralising were cut out and the text were free from corruptions.



EVERIE Woman in her Humor.

LONDON Printed by E.A. for Thomas Archer, and are to be solde at his shop in the Popes-head-Pallace, neere the Royall Exchange. 1609.



Everie Woman in her Humor.

Enter Flavia as a Prologue.

Gentles of both sexes and all sortes, I am sent to bid yee welcome; I am but instead of a Prologue, for a she-prologue[219] is as rare as an Usurers Almes, non reperitur in usu; and the rather I come woman because men are apt to take kindelye any kinde thing at a womans hand; and wee poore foules are but too kinde if wee be kindely intreated, marry otherwise, there I make my Aposiopesis. The Author hath indeede made me an honest merrye wench one of his humorists, yet I am so much beholding to him, I cannot get mee a husband in his play that's worthe the having, unlesse I be better halfe of the sutor my selfe; and having imposed this audacity on me, he sends me hither first for exercise. I come among ye all, these are the Contentes: that you would heare with patience, judge with lenity, and correct with smiles; for the which our endeavour[220] shall shew it selfe, like a tall fellow in action; if we shall joyne hands, a bargaine.

As a lowely earnest, I give this curtesie before, And in conceite I give ye twenty more.



[ACT THE FIRST.

Scene 1.]

Enter Accutus and Graccus.

Gra. Nay but, Accutus, prethee what mis-shapen vizard of Melancholly hast thou mask't thy selfe in? Thou lookst as thou wer't changing thy religion; what? is there a breach in thy Faith? come declare, and let me set thy [my?] wits on worke to amend it.

Acut. Ha, ha, ha!

Gra. Prettie; a man's well advisd to offer good counsell, and be laught at for his labour: we shall shortly have no counsellors, but Physitians; I spend my breath to thee, and thou answerest me some half an houre after in a sem[i]breve, or like to a Sexton, with a Sobeit or Amen.

Acu. Condemn my Stars then!

Grac. I should wrong am then, as thou dost with a false inditment. I know it took not beeing at thy birth: thou hast been merrie, thou hast sounded hoopes, swallowed whiffes, walkt late, worn favours, seene whoresons; thou canst feele and understand, come thou hast bene a sinner, unloade, discharge, untune, confesse, is Venus dominatrix? art not in love?

Acut. Yes, I love God and my neighbors.

Grac. Then either for God's sake or thy Neighbors, or both, be smothe, and participate; ist not some underlayer, some she Cammell, that will beare as much of her belly as three beastes on their backes? some Lanthorne-maker? Ile holde thy head; come, up with't!

Acut. Prethee, I hate none, but heaven hate me if I be in love with any.

Grac. Off with these clogs; then break prison and get out of this melancholly Gaole. Harke how the generall noise doth welcome from the Parthian wars; each spirit's jocund, fraught with glee, then wrong not thine with this dull meditation.

Accut. Oh! how doe they then wrong my meditation! my thoughts are with themselues at a counsell; til with noise, and thou with continuall talke, hast driven them to a nonplus.

Gra. Then make me of thy counsell, and take my advice, for ile take no denyall; Ile not leave thee til the next new Almanackes be out of date; let him threaten the sharpest weather he can in Saint Swithin week, or it snow on our Ladies face, ile not budge, ile be thy mid-wife til thou beest delivered of this passion.

Accut. Partake then, and give me the beleefe; thinkst thou or knowst thou any of this opinion, that that mooving marish element, that swels and swages as it please the Moone, to be in bignes equall to that solid lump that brings us up?

Gra. I was sure that thou wer't beyond the Antipodes; faith, I am of that faith I was brought up in, I have heard my Father say, and i'me sure, his Recordes came from his Father, that Land and Sea are in nature thus much alike; the owne [sic] growes by the Sunne, the other by the Moone, both by God's blessing, and the Sea rather the greater; and so thinke I.

Acut. Good; there we have a farther scope, and holde the sea can (as a looking glasse) answer with a meere simile[221] any mooving shape uppon the earth.

Gra. Nay, that's most certaine, I have heard of Sea-horses, Sea-calves, and Sea-monsters.

Acut. Oh, they are monstrous, madde, merrie, wenches, and they are monsters.

Grac.[222] They call them Sea-maides, or Mermaides, singing sweetelye, but none dares trust them; and are verie like our Land-wenches, devouring Serpents, from the middle downeward.

Acut. Thou hast even given me satisfaction, but hast thou this by proofe?

Grac. Not by my travels (so God helpe me): marrie, ile bring ye fortie Saylers, will sweare they have seene them.

Acut. In truth!

Grac. In truth or otherwise.

Acut. Faith they are not unlike our land-monsters, else why should this Maximilian Lord, for whom these shoots [sic] and noises befits thus, forsake his honours to sing a Lullabye? These seeming Saints, alluring evils, That make earth Erebus, and mortals devils—

Gra. Come, thou art Sea-sicke, and will not be well at ease, til thou hast tane a vomit: up with 't.

Acu. Why, ifaith, I must; I can not soothe the World With velvet words and oyly flatteries, And kiss the sweatie feet of magnitude To purchace smiles or a deade mans office; I cannot holde to see a rib of man, A moytie of it selfe, commaund the whole; Bafful and bend to muliebritie. O[223] female scandal! observe, doe but observe: Heere one walks ore-growne with weeds of pride, The earth wants shape to apply a simile, A body prisoned up with walles of wyer, With bones of whales; somewhat allyed to fish, But from the wast declining, more loose doth hang Then her wanton dangling lascivious locke Thats whirld and blowne with everie lustfull breath; Her necke in chaines, all naked lyes her brest, Her body lighter than the feathered Crest. Another powtes, and scoules, and hangs the lip, Even as the banckrout[224] credit of her husband Cannot equal her with honors liverie. What does she care if, for to deck her brave, Hee's carryed from the Gate-house to his grave! Another in a rayling pulppet key, Drawes through her nose the accent of her voice, And in the presence of her good-man Goate Cries 'fye, now fye, uppon these wicked men That use such beastly and inhumane talke,' When being in private all her studies warne To make him enter into Capricorn. Another as she goes treads a Canarie[225] pace, Jets it so fine and minces so demure As mistris Bride upon her marriage day; Her heels are Corke, her body Atlas, Her Beautie bought, her soule an Atomus. Another, with a spleene-devoured face, Her eies as hollow as Anatomy,[226] Her tung more venome then a Serpents sting, Which when it wagges within her chap-faln jawes Is noise more horrid then a cry of hounds With open mouths pursuing of their game. Wants she but ritch attire or costly dyet, With her the Devill can nere live in quiet. Yet these are weaker vessels, heaven doth knowe; Lay on them ought but ease, you doe them wrong; They are as weake as water and indeede as strong, And then, like mightie ships when pellets sincke, To them lay more men, sheele never shrinke.

[Enter[227] Getica and Boss, with a dog.]

Boss. Mistris, that face wants a fresh Glosse.

Gent. Prethee, dib it in well, Bos.

Acut. Pigmaleon, Pigmaleon, I coniure thee appeare; to worke, to worke, make more Marble Ingles. Nature thou art a foole, Art is above thee; Belzebub, paint thy face there's some will love thee.

Boss. Rare, Mistris, heeres a cheeke like a Camelion or a blasing Star, you shall heere me blaze it; heere's two saucers sanguine in a sable field pomegranet, a pure pendat ready to drop out of the stable, a pin and web argent in hayre de Roy.

Grac. And a fooles head in the Crest.

Bos. In the Crest? oh sweete Vermilion mistris, tis pittie the Vermilion Wormes shoulde eate thee, ile set it with pretious stones and ye will.

Gent. Enough, sweete Bosse, throwe a little water to spurt's face and lets away.

Bo. Hold up; so, sir, now away. Oh Mistris, your scantling, most sweete mistriss, most derydent starre.

Acut. Then most rydent starre, faire fall ye.

Grac. Nay tis the Moone her self, for there's her man and her Dogge before.

Bosse. I, sir, but the man is not in the moone, and my bush is before me, ergo, not at my backe, et ergo, not moone sir.

Gent. What's your will sir?

Acut. That you would leave us.

Boss. Leave you! zounds, sir! we scorne their companies, come they are still, doe not open to them, we have no Conies to catch.

[Exeunt[228] Getica and Boss, with the dog.

Acut. Away, keepe no distance, even both together, for wit ye may be Coacht together. What sleeke-browde Saint can see this Idiotisme, The shape and workmanship of omnipotency To be so blinde with drugs of beastlinesse, That will not bend the browe and bite the lippe, Trouble his quiet soule with venome spleene And feare least the all over-seeer Can without vengeance see these ignomies?

Grac. Why, therfore are they belooved like Sargeants and entertained like Beggers; Think'st thou but any honorable Gate, But will be shut against these Butterflies?

Acut. Oh Graccus! thou beguil'st opinion: The Gates of great men stand more wide To entertaine a foole then Cresus armes To hug the Golden God; and faster bard Against necessitie then Dives entrance At Olympus gate.

Enter Servulus,[229] Scillicet, Philautus and boy.

Servu.[230] Fa, la, sol, lasol; Boy, a Glasse.

Boy. Tis but one and all, sir.

Acut. Angels protect us, what have we heare?

Boy. Ye haue a good memorie, Sir, for they are five minutes ere windefall of your Glasse.

Ser. Sir, be credible, tis ballanst to be superlative politicke custome in these houres to dwell in shallowe accoutrements, as a defence for the abilitie of his pursse from the infringed Oath of some impudent face, that will borrowe a gentlemans revenewes if he be vestally adornd: Ile tell you sir by this bright Horrison—

Scil. A word, I pray yee, sir, ere ye go any further: Boy, my Tables.

Boy. Your Tables are ready, Sir, and all the men ye keep which is indeede halfe a Boy, Scillicet Videlicet.

Scil. I pray ye let me request that oath of you.

Serv. A graceful enquirie, and well observ'd: Sir, my company shall make ye copious of novelties, let your Tables befriend your memorie: write, 'by this bright Horrison.'

Phy. 'Here's[231] none but only I' [sing]; Boy, how likest thou my head of hayre?

Boy. Your Glasse may flatter ye, but truely I will not; your head is not a hayre better than it should be.

Phy. Is there any scarcitie of haire, Boy?

Boy. Somewhat thin and yet there is more hayre than wit.[232]

Phy. How, Boy?

Boy. Then wit of man can number sir, take it i'th right sence, I pray yee.

Phy. Most ingenious!

Acu. O muffle muffle, good Graccus, do not taint thy sence With sight of these infectious animalles, 'Less[233] reason in thee have the upper hand To governe sence, to see and shun the sight. Here's new discovered sins, past all the rest; Men strive to practice how to sweare the best.'

Scil. I have quoted it, sir; by this bright Hore, Horeson, pronounce ye, sir?

Serv. Horison!

Scil. Horison:—the Widowes mite, sir.

Serv. Not for the Soldans crown, sir.

Scil. Indeede yee shall, by this bright horison ye shall; beleeve me, if I sweare, I think myself beholding for I know it to be no common oath.

Serv. Were it common it past not these doores; Sir, I shift my oathes, as I wash my hands, twice in the artificial day; for in dialoguising, tis to be observ'd, your sentences, must ironically, metaphorically, and altogether figuratively, [be] mixt with your morning oathes.

Scil. Faith, tis verie true.

Accu. That he neither knowes what he saies nor thou understandest.

Serv. As for example, by this illuminate welkin.

Scil. Oh excellent! it shall be downe to.

Accut. There's another Ducket. He utters his oathes apace. Sure this Villaine has no soule, and for gold Heele damn his body too, hee's at peace with hell And brings his Merchandise from thence to sell.

Boy. I have heere two Mistresses, but if the best were chosen out, if Poliphemus tother eye were out his choice might be as good as Argus broade waking, so difficult is the difference.

Phy. Boy, sleepe wayward thoughts?

Boy. Sir.

Phy. Is it not now most amyable and faire?

Boy. Yes sir, God be praised.

Phy. What meanst thou, Boy?

Boy. The weather, sir.

Phy. I meane my haire and face, Boy.

Boy. Twere amiable if it would not alter.

Phy. Wherfore I often repaire it.

Boy. Me thinkes that should weare it the sooner.

Phy. Not so Boy, for to trimme the Hayer well is a rare qualitie; to bee rarelye quallified is to be wise; apply, Boy.

Boy. That you are wise in trimming your hayre, Maister?

Phy. Right, to be wise is to be rare, for it is rare to see a wise man.

Boy. True, Maister, but if youle see a foole, looke in your Glasse, maister!

Phy. Goe to, I must correct you, Boy.

Boy. You can correct no more then is your own; I am but halfe yours to commaund, if you steale away any parte that is not your owne you are so farre in daunger as the striking of an other mans servant.

Scil.[234] By this illuminate welkin! most sincere and singular: as a small remembrance.

Serv. Not for to winne the faire Angelica.

Scillicet. By this illuminate Welkin ye shall now.[235] Sir, I doe not bestowe it, for that I thinke you have neede of it; for if you had, by this bright Horizon, I would not give it, for I know tis no credit to give to the poore. By this illuminate welkin I have (since I tooke upon me this fleshie desire of a Gentleman) throwne out of a window, for a hunts-up, when I had as leef have heard the grinding of a Mustard-Mill; for those are thinges are heere too day, and gone to morrowe; this will sticke by a man, and doe him credit where ere hee goes.

Acut. I, when the foole is clad in clay, It will sticke sore unto thy soule for aye.

Phy. Signior Scillicet, I assure you I have discovered the most queint and new-found device for the encounter of the Ladies at the interview; tis in pricke-song.

Scil. That's excellent and rare.

Phi. I, for prick-song to Ladies is most pleasant and delightfull: as thus for your congie, All hayle to my belooved; then for your departure, sad dispaire doth drive me hence: for all must be to effect.

Grac. Nay, prethee raise no quarrels.

Acut. I can holde no longer: heare you, sir, are not you a foole? and you an Asse? and you a knave?

Phy. Zoundes! an Asse?

Scil. A Foole?

Ser. A Knave, without respect?

Acut. I, for an Asse can beare, a Foole abide, and a Knave deserve.

Omn. Helpe, Helpe!

Gra. Prethee let's away.

Acut. Fooles often brings wise men to trouble, Farewell, another time ile pay ye double. [Exit.

Enter Host, Hostesse, and Prentises.

Host. Bring your Clubs out of doores. There goe in, my fine hostes, Ile talke to the proudest; what, knaves are i'th streete, my dore is my dore, my house is my castell, goe in dame Helena, let thine Host alon with this; he that knocks at my hobby, while I have Ale in my house, shall pay for a Surgeon: the honest shall come in, the knaves shall go by; bring Clubs, I say.

Scil. Nay, sir, the heate is past, they that did it have tooke them to their heeles, for indeed heere are of us—

Host. Away with your Clubs then; welcome, my brave Bullies, my Guests shall take no wrong; but welcome, my Bullies.

Scil. Indeede sir, I am a man of few words, I have put up a little bloodshed; marrie, I hope it shall be no stain to my manhoode, if I keepe it out of my clothes.

Host. He shall pay for the blood-shed, my guestes shall take no wrong; mine Host will spend his Cruse as franke as an Emperor; welcome, my brave bullies.

Ser. Sir, be pacificall, the fellowe was possest with some critique frenzie, and wee impute it to his madnes.

Scil. Madde! by Gods slid, if he were as madde as a weaver, I can hardly put it up; for my blow, I care not so much, but he cald me foole; slid, if I live till I dye, the one of us shall prove it.

Host. Some prophane Villaine, ile warrant him.

Scil. Doe you thinke I may not have an action against him?

Host. There's so many swaggerers; but alasse, how fel ye out?

Scil. By the welkin, I gave him not a foule word; first he calles me foole, then he makes a full blowe at my body, and if, by good chance, I had not warded it with my head, he might have spoild me.

Enter Prentices.

Host. There, there my fine fil-pots; give the word as you passe; anon, anon, sir anon; heere and there in the twinckling, looke well at the barre, there again my little Mercuries, froath them up to the brimme, and fill as tis needeful; if their Pates be full of Wine let your Pottles be three quarters; trip and goe, here and there; now, my brave Lad, wash thy woundes with good Wine; bidde am welcom, my little Sybil; put sugar in his hole there, I must in to my guests; sleepe soundly till morning; Canarie is a Jewell, and a Figge for Browne-bastard.[236] [Exit.

Hostes. Gentlemen, ye are welcom, though my husband be a little talkative, yet truly he is an unreasonable honest man, yee shall finde his words and his sayings all one.

Scil. I thinke no less, yet I would desire to enter as time and place shall serve.

Hostes. Ile lead the way forsooth.

Phy. Nay, pray ye, Hostesse, a word. I say little, but i'me sure I have sustained the most wrong; by this light, I had rather he had broke my head in three places; I pray you lend me a brush, hee has put my hat quite out of fashion.

Host. That shall ye sir, a brush there, hoe!

Enter[237] Boss, with the dog.

Bos. Salve, sis salvus. I pray yee which of you five is Hostis of this house?

Boy. That's easily discernd, for foure weare breeches.

Bos. Nere the sooner for that, my diminitive youth, for women now adaies weare breeches as well as men; mary, the difference lies in the bawble.

Hostis. Well, sir, to open the truth, I am the Hostesse.

Bos. The fruit is known, by the Tree at the first view, as the Author writes, learnedly; come basilus manus.[238]

Scil. This kissing becomes a Gentleman, ile use it sure.[239]

Bos. Secondly, Mistris Hostesse, I would know what lodging ye have for my Lady and her traine.

Hostis. What will serve your turne, sir?

Bos. Ile call my selfe to account and specifie thus: my Lady and her Dogge, that's two visible; then there's the Dogge and my Lady, thats four invisible; then there's my Ladies dogge and I, quoth the dogge, that's six; then theres sequence of three, viz., the Dogge, and I, and my Lady; then there's a pair of Knaves, viz., the Dogge & my selfe & my Lady turnd up; viz., my Lady sequence of three, a paire of Knaves and my Lady, turn'd up to play upon:—we can have no less than five beds.

Hostis. Truely you must lye close together (the Servants I meane), for I am so thrust with Guest I [c]an hardly spare so many.

Bos. Faith, weele lie together as close as we can; there's my Lady and her dogge lye al together and I at the bed's feete, and theres all our family of Love.[240]

Hostis. How farre is your mistris behinde?

Bos. The truth is the fatall sisters have cut the thred of her Cork-shoe, & shee's stept aside in to a Coblers shop to take a true stitch, whether I mean to send myself as a Court of Guard to conduct her, but see, oh inconstant fortune! see where she comes, solus.

Enter[241] Getica.

Gent. Bos, you serve me well, to let me wait upon my selfe.

Bos. Of two evils, the least is to be chosen, I had a care of your puppie being less then your selfe.

Scil. Gentlewoman, you have an excellent Ch: [sic] I have an appetite as a man would say.

Gent. Whats your will, sir?

Scil. Truth will to light, and the truth is I have an appetite to kisse you.

Phil. This point would become a Gentleman, sure; I pray, who trim'd it so?

Gent. My man, forsooth.

Phy. Sir, I desire your acquaintance; tis excellent, rare.

Gent. You would have said so, had you seene it an houre since.

Ser. Heeres game for me! I hunt for fooles and have sprung a covey.

Hostis. Gentles, please you, draw neere? lead the way into the chambers.

Bos. Bos is the name of a thing may be seene, felt, heard, or understood, and the nominative case goes before my Mistris the Verbe; my mistris requires an accusative case to follow, as usus feminae proptus facit. [Exeunt al but Hostis.

Hostis. Oh fye upont, who would be an hostis, & could do otherwise? [A] Ladie [h]as the most lascivious life, conges and kisses, the tyre, the hood, the rebato, the loose bodyed Gowne, the pin in the haire, and everie day change, when an Hostis must come and go at everye mans pleasure. And what's a Lady more then another body? Wee have legs, and hands, rowling eyes and hanging lips, sleek browes, and cherie cheeks & other things as Ladies have, but the fashion carries it away.

Prentices passe over. [Re-enter[242] Host.]

Host. There, there, my little Lacky boies, againe, again, my fine fil-pots! where is my fine Hostis? come, come, my little Dido, set your corks on a creaking, my knaves are unthrifty; dance not your Canaries heere up & down, looke about to my Guests I say.

Hostis. I, I have much joy, an Hostesse!

Host. What, abides my Penelope? heere stand[s] thy Ulisses, ile tarry with thee still, thou shall want for no cost. Ile buy thee a brave wistle; looke about to my Guestes, I say.

Hostis. I, Hostesses will bee knowne shortelye as their Signes; still in one weather-beaten suite, as though none weare hoodes but Monkes and Ladies, and feathers but fore-horses and Waiting Gentlewomen, or chaines but prisoners and Courtiers; no Perywigges but Players and Pictures: but the weakest must to the wall still.

Host. Tush, tush, these are toies; ile none of these Flipflaps, ile have no soping, no puffs, nor no Cobwebs, no busks, nor bumbarrels;[243] thou shalt weare thine own haire & fine cloath of Sheep-skins, thy colour shall be Dowlas as white as a Lillie, ile kisse these chop-cheries; thou shalt goe Gossip at Shrovetide; look about to my Guests then. [Exit.

Hostis. I, twas my hard fortune to be an Hostesse; time was I might have done other wise.

Enter Cittizens Wife.

City W. Why how now, woman, a'th olde disease still? will it never be better? cannot a Woman finde one kinde man amongst twentie? Ah the daies I have seen, when a Womans will was a lawe: If I had a mind to such a thing, or such a thing, I could have had it, but twa's never better since men were Purse-bearers.

Hosty. Mine is een the unnaturallist man to his Wife.

Citie wi. Truely, and commonly are all such fat men: ile tell thee, Gossip, I have buried sixe, I, sixe husbands, but if I should live to have as many more, as I know not what may happen, but sure Ide never have such a fatte man: they be the most unweldey men; that woman[244] shall not want a sore stomack, that's troubled with them I warrant her.

Hosty. And hee maintaines me heare like I knowe not what.

City wi. I, and what say, they are their wives head; well if he be the head, shee's the body, and the body is to beare the head, and the body is to beare the pursse.

Hostis. They cannot misse us, yet they regard us not.

Citty wife. Misse us! no faith, but would all women were of my minde, they call us weaker vessels, they should finde vessels of us, but no weake vessels, I warrant them.

Enter[245] Prentice.

Pren. Mistris, my Maister cals for ye.

Hostis. Goe, ile come anon, hees not so hastie to give me what I want, I warrant ye.

[Exit[245] Prentice.

City w. No, would he were; little thinkes the husband what goes through the wives hand, washing, wringing, and rubbing, up early, down late, & a thousand things they looke not too.

Hostis. And yet they must have the government of all.

City w. And great reason they have for it, but a wise man will put in a Woman's hand: what sheele save that hee spends.

Hostis. You have a pretty Ruffe, how deepe is it?

City w. Nay, this is but shallowe, marrie I have a Ruffe is a quarter deepe, measured by the yard.

Hostis. Indeede, by the yard.

City w. By the standard: you have a pretty set too, how big is the steele you set it with?

Hostis. As bigge as a reasonable sufficient—

Enter Prentice.

Pren. Mistris, my Maister would desire you to come in.

Citty w. What? she shall not come yet: if you lay down the bucklers, you lose the victorie.

Hostis. By my troth, I must goe, we shall have such a coyle else.

Cittie w. A coyle! why, have you not a tongue in your head? faith if ye win not all at that weapon, yee are not worthy to be a woman. You heare not the news abroade?

Hostis. No: what newes?

City W. No, I warrant ye, you never come abroad; this is to be troubled with a fatte man, he never comes abroad himself nor suffers his wife out of his sight: yee shall ever have a fatte Host either on his bench at the dore or in his chair at the chimney; & there he spits and spaules a roome like twentie Tobacco-takers. Oh! fye on them, beasts!

Hostis. I prethee, what newes?

Citty w. Oh! woman, the most hardfavoured newes, and without all conscience: they say theres a statute made, any woman that buries her husband is not to marrie againe of two monthes after.

Hostis. A tedious time, by Lady; a month were enough.

Cittie w. I, halfe a month; winter nights are long and colde. Ile tell ye, I have buried sixe, and thank my good fortune I ever knewe the next ere the other was in his winding sheete.

Pre. Mistris, my maister is angrie, and the Guests cal for their Hostesse.

Hostis. Goe, I come: Gossip, when shall I see you agen?

Citty w. Nay, when shall I see you abroad? sildome, i'me sure.

Hostis. I must needes away; God buy you, Gossip.

Cittie w. God buy ye; Gods so, I have forgot wherefore I came: a word ere you goe, the party yee wott on commends him unto ye, he that met the other party in the white felt, the yellow scarf, and the round Venetian,[246] when the other party kis't you, and I broake the jest on him, when hee said kisses kindeles Coules and love searches.

Hostis. Oh! I remember him, yes faith, hee's prettie well set; hee ha's the right trick with the tongue in his kisse, and hee dances reasonably comely, but he fals heavie.

Citty w. He savours of a kinde of Gallant, but not of a Courtyer.

Hostis. Well weele have a night out, god be with ye, Gossip.

Cittie wife. God buy ye.

[Exeunt.



[ACT THE SECOND.

Scene 1.]

Enter Lentulus and Tulley.

Lentu. Not yours nor her owne, Terentia.—Yours in modestie, Flavia. See, Tulley, what an active passive love hath plaide; I love and am again beloved, but at the shrine Where I do offer up my Cordiall sacrifice, I am returnd with peremptorie scorne; And where I stand but as a gazer, viewing All alike, I am pursude With violent passions, a speaking eye Bindes favours and now discovering lines.[247] Thy counsell now, deere friend; for at thy direction Stands my thrall or freedome.

Tul. Oh my Lord, affection is unlimited, Daring all dangers, having no tipe nor figure, Beyond all arte. Then tye not that (Great Lord,) to Tullies awe; Fancy forswears all reason, love all lawe.

Lent. How well thy power can shun that which I followe with obedience. Too true yfaith; Thou mightst as well put out the eie of day, Or cover sinne from heaven, or to erect A towre of sand on the uncertain surge, Or any thing that were more inficient, Then to remoove one doting thought of mine From her disdain. Thy aide, deere Tulley, Be thou an Orratour for Lentulus, My tongue stands tun[e]d to a harsher method; Breath in her eares, those Organs of receite, A quintessence distild of honny words, And charme with a beguiling lullabye Her free consent to thine and my request: Which done, thats done which is my sole delight, Which done, thats done that I can never quite.

Tull. All which to me are problematique mines, Obscurde inigmaes, and to my studies Incognite Language; yet, if my powers Have power to cloath my tongue in love, Ile be a Lover and in love so pleade As if that Tully loved Terentia.

Lent. Thanks, sweete Cicero; This day we dine with olde Flaminius, The forward Father of my Aukeward love. His willing minde doth strive to make the peace Betwixt our discord thoughts; his free consent Is given to Lentulus; there, Tulley, take on holde, And, when a Sunne of thy intent shines fayre, Onset loves fort with polliticke assaults And conquer; conquest in obtaining that Where victors are repulsed. But see! our talke Hath over-tane our way; see, olde Flaminius Comes to welcome us. With him a looke like[248] the bright orient verge At the uprising of Auroraes shine.

Enter Flaminius, Terentia, and Flavia.

Flam. And, my good Lorde, y'are happily met. Heartily welcome; young Tullie, welcome to; yee come wel to ease my charge, these Ladies find fault with their Guardian, I goe too softly for them: old blood is stiffe, & young Ladies will not beare with age; I resigne, I resigne, to you that followe.

Lent. If they admit us for their Guardian, Weele dare dangers ere we part from them.

Flam. Why well saide, my Lords, Soldiers will not flye indeede; I have seene the day, I could have crackt a tree of yew, made my bowstring whisper in mine eare in[249] the twang, tost my pike lustilye. Tis since the siedge of Parthia: bith-'mas a great while; I was lustie then at the service was done there, yet I love the discourse. Come my Lord, I chuse your companye, leave Tulley to the Ladies; he can tell them tales of Venus and Adonis and that best pleaseth them. Now I must heere of raps and blowes, and Bils and Guns, and swords and bucklers. I loved it once; come, our Cookes are backeward, discourse will beget stomacks; y'are like to tarrie long for leane Cates. [Exit.

Lent. Now, gentle Tulley, advocate my suite; Her fore-amazing person makes me mute.

Cicero. He beare these Ladies company if they Shall deeme acceptance. [Exit.

Teren. With interest of thankes to Cicero.

Flav. Faith, I like not this ods of female, an equallitie were better: yet of both twere fitter the woman should undergoe the oddes. I had rather a said three men to one woman, then two women to one man. Heeres Tulley addrest to Terentia, Terentia drawing neere to Tulley; her's smal comfot [sic] left for Flavia. Wel, gentles, ile leave ye to the Goddesse. So ho! my Lords, take me with ye.

Teren. Nay stay, good Flavia. Youle not loose the sight of Lentulus.

Fla. Nor you of Tulley; come, if you tel, ile blab.

Cice. But, sweete Lady, Tulley is not heere.

Fla. But Cicero is, his neere friend, thats as good.

Cice. He was, Lady, till hee changed his habit by putting on the office of an unskillful Servingman, intending to garde Terentia to her father's house.

Fla. Then Flavia must gard her self; wel use good words and good action, and stalke well before your Ladie; she's kinde, yfaith, and a little thing will please her.

Ter. Will it please Flavia to partake?

Fla. Oh fye! twere an injurie I could [not] brook myself, therefore ile leave ye; but be breefe, stand not on pointes, cut them all first; & if ye fall to kissing, kisse not too long for feare ye kisse the post.

Teren. Goe to, youle still be a wagge, Flavia. But what saies Tulley to Terentia?

[Exit[250] Flavia.

Cicero. Lady I must maintain my former argument. Tullie's not heere but heere is Tullies friend; For, ere I speake, I must intreate you wil Transforme poore Tulley into Lentulus.

Teren. I have no power of Metamorphosing; If Tulley be not heere, you must concede,[251] I cannot make of Tulley Lentulus.

Cice. Nor can the world make Cicero so worthy. Yet for an houreś discourse a Pesant's shape May represent the person of a king; Then in the person of the great Lentulus I doe salute Sunne-bright Terentia. Lady, vouchsafe a Saint-like smile on him (From that angell forme) whose honord minde Lies prostrate lowly at Terentia's feete; Who hath put off a Golden victors honour And left the Parthyan spoyle to Lepido; Whome many Ladies have bedecked with favours Of rich esteeme, oh proud he deignd to weare them, Yet guiftes and givers hee did slight esteeme; For why? the purpose of his thoughts were bent To seek the love of faire Terentia. The cho[i]ce is such as choiser cannot bee Even with a nimble eye; his vertues through His smile is like the Meridian Sol Discern'd a dauncing in the burbling brook; His frowne out-dares the Austerest face Of warre or Tyranny to sease upon; His shape might force the Virgine huntresse With him for ever live a vestall life; His minde is virtues over-matcht, yet this And more shall dye if this and more want force To win the love of faire Terentia. Then, gentle Lady, give a gentle do[o]me; Never was brest the Land-lord to a heart More loving, faithful, or more loyall then is The brest of noble—

Teren. Tullie!

Tul. Lentulus!

Ter. And why not Tullie?

Tul. It stands not aptly.

Tere. I wants a sillible.

Tul. It doth.

Tere. Then noble Cicero.

Tul. Thats too deere.

Tere. Gentle is as good: Then say the best of gentle Cicero.

Tul. Good Lady, wrong not your honour so To seate unworthy Tully with your worth. Oh looke upon the worth of Lentulus, Let your faire hand be beame unto the ballance And with a stedded peyze lift up that beame. In th'one[252] scale put the worth of Lentulus, His state, his honors, and his revenewes; Against that heavy waite put povertie, The poore and naked name of Cicero, A partner of unregarded Orators; Then shall you see with what celeritie One title of his worth will soone pull up Poore Tullies dignitie.

Tere. Just to the height of Terentias heart Where I will keepe and Character that name, And to that name my heart shall adde that love That shall wey downe the worth of Lentulus.

Tul. Deare Madam.

Tere. Speake still, if thou wilt, but not for him; The more thou speak'st the more augments my love, If that thou can'st adde more to infinite; The more thou speakest the more decreaseth his, If thou canst take away ought from nothing; Thinke, Tulley, if Lentulus can love me, So much and more Terentia doth love thee.

Tull. Oh Madam, Tulley is poore, and poore is counted base.

Ter. Vertue is ritch and blots a poore disgrace.

Tul. Lentulus is great, his frowne's my woe, And of a friend he will become my foe.

Ter. As he is friend, we will intreate his love; As he is great, his threatenings shall not make me love.

Tul. Your fathers graunt makes Lentulus your Lord.

Teren. But if thereto his daughter not accord, That graunt is cancel'd; fathers may commaund Life before love, for life to true love's paund.

Tul. How will Flaminius brooke my povertie?

Ter. Well, when Flaminius see's no remedie. Lord how woman-like are men when they are woe'd! Tully, weigh me not light, nere did immodest blush Colour these cheeckes, but ardent.

Tully. Silence, sweet Lady, heere comes Flavia.

Enter[253] Flavia.

Fla. Fie, Fie, how tedius ye are; yonders great looking for Tulley, the old senate has put on his spectacles, and Lentulus and he are turning the leaves of a dog-hay [?], leaves of a worm-eaten Chronicle, and they want Tullies judgment.

Tul. About what, sweet Lady?

Fla. To know what yeare it was the showers of raine fell in Aprill.

Tul. I can resolve it by rote, Lady, twas that yeare the Cuckoo sung in May: another token Lady; there raigned in Rome a great Tyrant that yeare, and many Maides lost their heads for using flesh on Fish-daies.

Fla. And some were sacrificed as a burnt offering to the Gods of Hospitallitie, were they not?

Tul. Y'are a wag, Flavia, but talk and you must needes have a parting blowe.

Flav. No matter so we stand out and close not.

Tull. Or part faire at the close and too't again.

Flav. Nay, if we should too't againe, Terentia would growe jealous.

Tul. Ladies, I take my leave And my love.

Ter. Take heede ye sigh not, nor looke red at the table, Tully.

[Exit [Tully].

Flav. Your shoe wrings you, Lady.

Ter. Goe to, ye are a wanton, Flavia.

Fla. How now Terentia, in your nine Muses? Theres none must pleade in your case but an Orator.

Ter. I want one indeede Wench, but thou hast two, and the gentle destinies may send thee three; neere blush, for smoke and the fire of a womans love cannot bee hid. Oh a fine tongue dipt in Helicon! a comedian tongue is the onely perswasive ornament to win a Lady; why his discourse is as pleasant—

Fla. As how, I prethee?

Ter. And keepes as good decorum; his prologue with obedience to the skirt; a rough Sceane of ciuill Warres and a clapping conclusion; perhappes a Jigge;[254] if not, the Tragicomicall tale of Mars and Venus; then must she take the Tale by the end, where he defending Mars, & she Venus, must fall from billing to byting, from byting to blowes, to get the supremacie.

Fla. A good policie to praise Cicero, For feare I rob you of your Lentulus.

Ter. Faith, a Souldier is not for thy[255] humor; now I crie a Warrier; he fights stoutly in a field-bed, discharges his work sure, under his Curtaines would I fight. But come, our Lovers melt while we meditate; thou for thy Scholler, I for my soldier; and if we can not please them so, weele shake off this loose habit and turn Pages to suit their humors.

[Exeunt.



[Scene 2.]

Enter Accutus and Graccus.

Grac. Come, Accutus, discharge your follower; lets leave rubbing a while, since the byas runs so much the wrong way. Sirra! these bowles which we roule and turn in our lower sypher are by use made wodden worldlings right, for every one strives who shall lye neerest the mistris.[256]

Ac. They post indeed, as their nature is, in an even way, but they are cowards, theile abide no danger, they rub at everie mole-hil; if they tyre in going up a hill, they retire and come back againe.

Grac. Well let them alley, bet all, then to rest away, begone.

Acut.[257] S'foote Graccus, heeres a couple of our old gamsters. Oh! for quick conceite to beget a jest! heeres two, that either a man must be aquainted or quarrell with, & of two evils ile chose the latter; I hope I make it the lesser. If I should be acquainted, the foole will haunt me, if I quarrell I may be so blest, as to be rid of a foole.

Grac. I have a womans wit for a suddaine stratageme.

Enter Scil. and Servulis.[258]

Scil. No, by my troth, by this bright horrison—

Accut. An excellent Cuckoo, hee keepes his note in Winter.

Scil. I haue no appetite at all to live in the countrie any more; now, as they say, I have got a smacke on the Cittie. Slid, I thinke (as the proverbe goes) I was wrapt in my mother's smocke the day I was begotten, I thank the Goddesse Cupid for it. I am so favourd of the Women, my hostes loves me execrably.

Accut. Good reason, fooles make good sport.

Grac. Sever, sever, ere wee bee discovered.

Ser. Sir, the respective regard of your well governed partes do challenge a mellifluous species of enduement or contumelious estimation.

Grac. Gentles, God save ye, well over-taken Gallants.

Scil. Welcome, by the welkin.

Grac. This is verie pleasant weather.

Ser. Sir the ayre is frugall.

Grac. Is that Gentleman of your Company?

Scil. Our company sir, no, we are no companions for lame Souldiers.

Grac. Propper man, pittie he is so regardles. A good legge, it seemes he has some greefe in it.

Scil. Nay, and he be lame, ile talke to him; there's so many lustie knaves walkes now a daies will not sticke to give a man hard words, if he be not disposed to charitie. Harke ye sir, I understand ye are a propper man, and that you have a good legge.

Accut. And what of that, Sir?

Scil. What of that! slid, he answers me like a sturdie beggar alreadie! by the five elements, or sences, I aske ye for no hurt, ile bestowe my charitie as franke as—

Acut. Stoope and looke out, zounds a Gentleman cannot come by a misfortune in service or so, but everie foole wil ride him. Take that. [Exit.

Gra. Sirra, stay, ile combat thee in his defence.

Serv. Sir, be pacifical, the impotent must be lightly regarded.

Grac. Give me leave Gentlemen, ile follow him.

Scil. Nay, I pray you be malcontented, I have no great hurt, but in revenge hee's a rascall for using me so; he may thank God, discretion governed me, tis wel known I have always bene a man of peace; ile not strike yee the least mouse in anger, nor hurt the poorest Conney that goes in the street, for I know of fighting comes quarrelling, of quarrelling comes brawling, and of brawling growes hard words, and as the learned puerelis[259] writes, tis good sleeping in a whole skin.

Grac. Sir, your discretion shall governe me at this time. Your name, I pray ye sir?

Scil. My name is signior Scillicet.

Grac. Even so sir? nay, sir, I doe not forget your Argument.

Enter Accutus.

Acut. Save ye, sir, saw ye not a Gentleman come this way even now, somewhat hurt in one of his Legges?

Scil. He went by even now, sir; is he a friend of yours?

Acu. A deare friend, and a propper Gentleman, sir.

Scil. By the horison hee's a propper man indeede, he gave me the time of day as he went by, I have a gallon of wine for him at any time. If ye see anything in me worth Commendations, I pray ye commend me to him.

Acut. I will sir;—twere best you gave me good words, but ile trie ye farther yet;—fare ye well, sir.

Scil. I pray you remember me to him.—You see my anger is over already. [Exit[260] Acutus.

Grac. Would ye not strike him? lets followe.

Scil. Indeede ye shall not, I hate it.

Ser. I will not be barren of my armorie, in my future perambulation for the lower element.

Grac. You are too patient in wrongs, sir.—Zoundes I know not how to picke a quarrell.

Serv. Sir, the grievous youth is inwardlye possest of a supple spirit, he can brooke impugnying, but tis adverse to my spirit if I were armed.

Enter Accutus.

Accut. Save ye, gallants, sawe ye not a fellowe come halting this way of late?

Scil. Hath he done any hurt, or is hee a friend of yours?

Acut. Hee's a Rascall and ile maintaine him so.

Scil. Hee's a verie Rascall indeede, and he used mee like a knave: if ere I meete him, I shall hardly put it up; I have it in blacke and blue to shew heere.

Serv. Say, I breath defyance to his front.

Acut. Challenge him the field.

Scil. Doos't thinke heele answere me? I'l challenge him at the pich-fork, or the Flaile, or ile wrastle a fall with him for a bloody nose; anye weapon I have bene brought up in ile—

Accut. What will ye? heere he is, you minime, that will be friend with friends and foe with foes; and you that will defie Hercules, and out-brave Mars and feares not the Devil; passe, bladder, ile make ye swell.

Scil. By Gods-lid, if I had knowne it had bene you, I would not have said so to your face. [Exeunt.

Accut. Away, with your Champion, goe.

Grac. This was excellentlye performed, ifaith a better breathing then a game at bowles.

Accut. Theile give you the good salve at any time this month, for I am sure they have salving enough for so long.

Grac. I pittie the foole yfaith, but the tother Horseleach I wish his blowes trebled. I converst with him, but a Rogue so stuft with the lybrary of new minted[261] words, so tearing the sence, I never met with.

Accut. But now we have spoilde our determinate dinner at my hostesse of the Hobbye; we shall nowe bee knowne.

Grac. That holds well still, I am taken for a prooved friend, and thou shalt be disguised, till, I have wrought a league by vertue of a pottle of Canarie.

Acut. Content, mine Host shall be accessarie and ile be a serviter to observe myracles.

Grac. They are good subjects for idle houres:—but soft, what second course is entring heere?

Enter Phy., Bos, and Boy.

Phy. For I did but kisse her; Bos, how lik'st thou my relish?

Bos. Oh sir, relish but your licour, as you doe your song, you may goe drunke to bed any day in the weeke.

Phy. Sister,[262] awake, close not, &c. Does my face hold colour still?

Bos. I, and you would but scaviage the pavilion of your nose.

Gra. I, marrie, Accutus, how lik'st thou this Gentlewoman Gallant?

Accut. A good states-man, for common-wealth of Brownists; the Rogue hates a Church like the Counter.

Gra. I, and if my Ladie Argentile were dead, he wold rather live upon almes then fall to worke.

Accut. So he might have tolleration.—What, shal's close with them?

Gra. In any case, but in some mild imbrace, for if we should continue thus rough, we should be shunned like an Appoplex.

Accut. Gallants, the fortune of the day runs with ye: what all at mumchance?[263] how is't? how is't?

Phy. Sir, I think twas you bestowed some abuse of me tother day.

Accu. Which I would wipe out of your memorie With satisfaction of a double courtesie.

Phy. I accept it ifaith, sir, I am not prone to anger, I assure ye the following night knew not my anger. Your acquaintance, Signior.

Gra. Fye, without ceremony lets yoake this triplicity as we did in the daies of olde, with mirth and melody.

Phy. I, say you? so then Coll[264] her and clip her and kisse her, too, &c.

Bos. The triplicitie! heere's those has supt at an ordinarie.

Accu. This gallant humors.

Gra. But the other walkes aloofe.

Bos. The triplicite! heere's those has crackt glasses and drawn blood of a Tapster.

Gra. The visitation of your hand, sir.

Bos. The Triplicitie! will colours change?

Acut. Sir, take no offence, I beseech ye, we gave onlye satisfaction for an olde injurie, but in the degree of amitie your selfe sits in the superlative.

Bos. No sir, but in respect.

Gra. What kinde is your Dogge of, sir?

Bos. Verie kinde to anything but his meat, that hee devours with great alacritie.

Grac. Where was he bred?

Bos. In a Bitch.

Gra. What Countrie?

Bos. A kind of Mungrill, he will carrie but not fetch, marrie hee is to be put to a dauncing schoole for instruction.

Acut. The tricke of the rope were excellent in him, & that ile teach him, if I misse not my mark. Come, Gallants, we waste time, the first Taverne we arrive at weel see the race of an houre-glasse.

Phy. Can ye a part in a Song?

Gra. Verie tollerably.

Phy. Weele have a catch then, if with sol, sol, la: Gentlemen have you any good herbe? you have match, boy.

Boy. Your pipe shall want no fire sir.

Acut. Oh, without ceremony: now, Graccus, if we can but pawne their senses in Sack and Sugar, let mee alone to pursue the sequell.

Gra. Follow it away.

[Exeunt.



[Scene 3.]

Enter Hostis, Cittizens wife, Servulus, and Scillicet.

Hostis. Come, come, bring them out of the ayre: alas good hearts, what rogorous villaine would commit with him? ile tell ye Gosip, hee's eene as kinde an animall, he would not wrong them y'faith.

Citty wife. Tush, feare nothing woman, I hope to make him so again. Alacke, alacke, how fell you out all a head?[265] Oh Butcher! are ye hurt in another place?

Hostis. Did he not throw you against the stones? If he did, doe not conceale, I dare say you gave them not a foule word.

Scil. By the illuminate welkin not a word till my mouth was full of blood, and so made my words foule.

Citty wife. Is not this Gentleman hurt too?

Serv. Onelye the extravagant Artire[266] of my arme is brused.

Cittie wi. See, see, the extravagant of his arme is brused to. Alas, how could ye quarrell so?

Serv. I will demonstrate: in the defence of the generous youth I did appugne my adverse, let violently flie.

Cittie wife. Ah good hearts! would I had stood between you, when he let flie so violently.

Ser. We voide of hostile armes.

Hostis. I, if they had had horses, they had sav'd their armes.

Serv. Be capable, I meane, void of armorie.

Citty-wife. Untill ye had armor on.

Serv. Had I bene accompanied, with my Toledo or morglay.[267]

Cittie wife. I, your Dogge or Bitch.

Serv. Continue, I beseech, I meane my sword, sole lye my sword.

Cittie wife. Or solely your sword, better a bad toole then none at all.

Serv. In the concourse—

Cittie w. Nay, the concourse will light on him for it, I warrant.

Serv. I, for the tuition of my Capitall, did mount my Semisphere, three degrees, that as a strong, & stony guard did defend my Capitall.

Citty w. Twas well ye kept him out, for if he had entered on your stony Guard, he would have spoilede your Capitall.

Serv. In fine, being mortally assaild, he did preambulate [sic] or walk off.

Scil. Yes, faith, he did preambulate, and walke mee finely.

Cittie w. Good heartes, how many were there of them?

Serv. About the number of seaven.

Scil. I, there was seaven.

Serv. Or eight.

Scil. Or eight.

Serv. Rather more.

Citty w. I, more at least, I warrant ye.

Hostis. Alasse ye cannot chuse but be more hurt, but ile search you throughly, be assured.

Citty w. And if she cannot helpe ye fewe can; shee knowes what belongs to a Tent,[268] or a bruse, and experience is good in those cases.

Serv. I have a concupiscent forme of trust in your skil, it will malladise.

Citty wi. I, feare not, put both your concupisences in me for that matter.

Serv. The generous will disburse coynage for satisfaction of your metaphisicall endevour.

Scil. Yes, yes, I will discharge all.

Cittie wife. Wee make no doubt of that; come into a chamber, ye shall lye downe awhile; perhaps youle bee stiffe anon, then you shall use your legges, the more you strive with it the better. Alas, good hearts!

[Exeunt.

Phy. Sol, sol, la! Tapster, give attendance! Gentlemen, I hope all we are friends, the welkin is skie colour still, and men must grow by degrees; you must pardon me, I must sp—speak my minde.

Grac. The uttermost of your minde at this time cannot be offensive.

Phy. The fryer was in the—sol, sol, draw the tother quart. I hope you are not angrie gallants; and ye come to my lodging, ye shall be welcome; my Hostes shall bid you welcome, shee's a good wench; if I say the word, she wil fa—fullfill it.

Acut. Sirra drawer, for the other thats a sleepe; let him so remaine; for the Dog, let him be bound to a post for his appearance, till I take order for his undooing.

Draw. The foole and the Dogge shall both take rest at your commaund, Sir.

Phy. Gentlemen, I hope we are all friends: sol, sol, shal's have a catch?

Grac. I, come, come, everie one catch a part. [Sing.

Phy. Hey good boies ifaith, now a three man's song, or the olde downe a downe; well things must be as they may, fils the other quart; muskadine,[269] with an egg is fine, there's a time for all things. Bonos nocthus.[270] [Sleepe.

Grac. Good night to you sirs.

Accut. So now, Graccus, see what a polluted lumpe, A deformed Chaos of unsteddy earth Man is, being in this ill kinde unmand seeming somthing Bestial man, brutish animall. Well tis thus decreede, He shall be what he seemes, that's deade. For what in him shows life but a breathing ayre? Which by a free constraint it self ingenders In things without life, as twixt a pair of bellowes We feele a forcible aire, having of it self Force and being, no more is this breathing block But for his use in kinde.—Give out in some bursse or congregation Among the multitude Philautus[271] death. Let all the customarie rights of funerall, His knell or what else, be solemnly observed. Ile take order for his winding sheete, And further, to furnish it with further suertie, Ile have a potion that for twentie houres Shall quench the motion of his breath. Goe, spread, Let me alone to effect it.

Gra. Ile sow it, I warrant thee; thou talkst of bursse,—I have a way worth ten on't, ile first give it out in my Barbers shop, then at my ordinarie, and that's as good as abroad; and as I cross Tiber my waterman shall attach it, heele send it away with the tide, then let it come out to an Oyster wenches eare, and sheele crie it up and down the streetes.

Acut. Let's first secure him from eyes, and at night he shall be portered to our chamber; so, now away.

Grac. Oh a couple that would spred rarely,[272] lets give it for loves sake.

Enter Hostis and Cittizens wife.

Acut. Call, call.

Grac. Hem, hem.

Citty wife. A pox on your hemmings, do you think we care for your hemmings?

Hostis. Tis some stinking troublesome knave, I warrant ye.

Citty wife. Hang him, regard him not; theres hemming indeede, like a Cat, God blesse us, with a burre in her throate. [Exeunt

Grac. S'hart, how we are ript up for this?

Ac. Oh man, this hemming is the most hatefulst thing, theres not the most publique punck,[273] nor worm-eaten bawd that can abide it, and honestie would run madde to heare it. But come we waste time, tis now about the mid of day; we must sowe arithmatike by the houres, that at[274] the morrowes highth Philautus awake again, at which time he shall be on his Hearse, and all the Guestes of the Hobbye invited to accompany his ghost, when being awake, himselfe and all shall see if drunkenesse be not mad misterie.

Grac. But I prethee, practise some milder behaviour at the ordinarie, be not al madman.

Acut. Push,[275] ile bee all observative, and yet ifaith I grieve to see this double garded[276] age, all side-coate, all foole. Fye thou keepest the sports from the marke; away, and returne. What newes is now in progresse.

Grac. I have the newest. Terentia, Daughter to the olde Senate, thogh Lentulus left the field to come to her, yet she hath forsaken him in the open field, and shee's for our young Oratour, Tully; she has vowd by Venus legge and the little God of Love, he shall be her captaine; sheele serve under him, till death us depart,[277] and thereto, I plight thee my troth.

Acut. More Ladies Terentias, I crie still, That prise a saint before a Silken foole. She that loves true learning and pomp disdaines Treads on Tartarus and Olimpus gaines.

Grac. I, marrie, but then would learning be in colours, proud, proud; then would not foure nobles purchase a benefice, two Sermons in a yeare.

Accut. I, Graccus, now thou hitst the finger right Upon the shoulder of Ingratitude. Thou hast clapt an action of flat felony; Now, ill betide that partiall judgement That doomes a farmers rich adultus To the supremacie of a Deanrie, When needie, yet true grounded Discipline, Is govern'd with a threed bare Vycarage.

Grac. I, thou speakst well of their sides that are liberally overseene in the sciences. I take no hold on't, but were all men of thy minde, then would everie Schoole-maister bee a Senate, and there would never come Cobler to be Constable againe.

Accut. Ynough, ynough, Graccus, let silence seale up our secret thoughts and libertie say,

Virtus sola summa gloria, Quae format homines vero honore.



[ACT THE THIRD.

Scene 1.]

Enter Flaminius and Tully.

Flam. Goe to, I say, urge no more, tis Taverne talke, for Taverners Table talke for all the vomit of rumor. What newes, saies one? none so new as this: Tully shall be married to Terentia. What newes says another? the same, the same. Whose consent have ye? not mine, I deny it. I must know of it, ile have a hand; goe to, no more.

Tul. Gentle Sir, Lay not a leaden loade of foule reproach Upon so weake a prop; what's done is past recal. If ought is done, unfitting to be done, The worst is done, my life must answer it.

Flam. I, you shall answer it in the Senate house, the Emperor shall knowe it. If she be my childe, I will rule her, ile bridle her, ile curbe her, ile raine her; if she will not, let her goe, starve, begge, hang, drawe, sinke, swimme, she gets not a doit, a deneire, ile not owne her.

Tul. Reverend Sir, be more patient.

Flam. I am impatient, I am troubled, I am vext, I am scoft, I am pointed at, ile not endure it, ile not abide it, ile be revenged, I wil, of her, of you both, proud boy, wanton giglot,[278] aspyring, hautie. Knowe your equals, shee's not for ye, if ye persist, by my holy maker, you shall answer it, looke to it, you shall, you shall indeede. [Exit[279] Flaminus.

Tull. I shall, I must, I will, I will indeede, Even to the greatest I will answere it; If great mens eares be ope to inocency, If greatnesse be not partial with greatenesse, Even to the greatest I will answere it. Perhaps, some shallow censurer will say, The Orator was proud, he would climbe too hie; But heaven and truth will say the contrarie. My greatest grief is, I have my friend betraide; The treasons done, I, and the Traitor's free, Yet innocent Treason needes not to flee. His loyaltie bids me abide his frowne, And he hath power to raise or hurle me downe.

Enter[280] Terentia.

Tere. What ailes my Tully? wherefore look'st thou sad? What discontent hath stopped the crimson current Which ran so cheerefully within that brow, And makes it sullen like a standing poole? Tell me who ist hath wrong[d] my Cicero? [Say,[281] is it Lentulus?]

Tul. Oh wrong him not.

Tere. Who is it then, that wrongs my Tully so? What, hath Terentia ought offended thee? Doost thou recall my former promises? Dost thou repent thee of—

Tul. Oh wrong me not.

Tere. What, hath my father done this injurie? There, there, my thoughts accord to say tis so. I will deny him then, hee's not my father; Hee's not my friend will envie Cicero.

Tul. Wrong not thy self.

Teren. What heavie string doost thou devide[282] upon? Wrong not him, wrong not me, wrong not thy selfe. Where didst thou learne that dolefull mandrake's note To kill the hearers? Tully, canst thou not Indure a little danger for my love, The fierie spleene of an angrie Father, Who like a storme will soon consume it self? I have indurde a thousand jarring houres Since first he did mistrust my fancies aime, And will indure a thousand thousand more If life or discord either live so long.

Tul. The like will I for sweete Terentia. Feare not, I have approoved armour on, Will bide the brunt of popular reproach Or whatsoever.

Tere. Enough, Tully, we are discovered.

Enter[283] Flavia.

Fla. Yfaith,[284] are ye at it? what, is there never a loving teare shed on either side? nor you? nor you? Tullies [eyes] are red, come, come, ye fooles, be more breefe. I would have buried three husbands, before youle be married.

Tul. Why lives Flavia a Virgin still?

Fla. Because, I haue vow'd virginitie til I can get a husband.

Teren. Why, Flavia, you haue many suitors.

Flav. Oh, I am loaden with suitors; for indeede I am faine to beare with any of them, I have a dumbe-shewe of all their pictures, each has sent in his severall shadow, and I swear I had rather have them then the substance of any of them.

Tul. Can you not describe them in action?

Flav. Yes, and their action; I have one honest man of the age of fortie five, or there about, that traverses his ground three mile everie morning to speake to mee, and when hee is come, after the saluting ceremony, of 'how do you, Lady,' he falles to calculating the nativitie of the Moone, prognosticating what faire weather will follow, if it either snow or raine; sometime with a gentle pinche by the fingar intermixed with the volley[285] of sighes, hee falles to discoursing of the prise of pease, and that is as pleasing to me as a stinking breath.

Tul. A good description.

Fla. Another brings Letters of commendation from the Constable of the Parish, or the Church-warden, of his good behaviour and bringing up, how he could write and reade written hand; further desiring that his Father would request my Father that his Fathers Sonne might marrie my Fathers Daughter and heele make her a joynter of a hundred pound a yeare, and beget three or foure fooles to boote.

Teren. Better and better.

Tul.[286] Usus promptus [sic] facit; Faemina[e] ludificantur viros; well, forward.

Flav.[287] I have another that I prise derer then the rest, a most sweete youth, and if the wind stand with him I can smell him half a mile ere hee come at me, indeede hee weares a Musk-cat—what call ye it?—about him.

Tul. What doe you call it?

Flav. What ye will, but he smels better then burnt Rosemarie, as well as a perfuming pan, and everie night after his first sleepe writes lovesicke sonnets, railing against left handed fortune his foe,[288] that suffers his sweet heart to frowne on him so.

Tul. Then it seemes you graunt him no favour.

Flav. Faith, I dare not venture on him, for feare he should be rotten; give me nature, not arte.

Tere. Here comes Lord Lentulus.

Tul. Swift danger, now ride poaste through this passage.

Enter[289] Lentulus.

Health to your honour.

Len. And happines to you.

Tul. In[290] heaven, deere Lord, but—

Lent. Tush, tush, on earth; come, come, I know your suite, tis graunted sure, what ere it be.

Tul. My sute craves death, for treason to my friend.

Teren. The Traitor lives while I have breath to spend, Then let me die to satisfie your will.

Lent. Neither, yfaith, kneele not, rise, rise, I pray; You both confesse you have offended me?

Both. We doe, we have.

Lent. Then for this offence, be this your doome: Tulley must die, but not till fates decree To cut your vital threed, or Terentia Finde in her heart to be your Deathes-man.

Flav. Faith the Fates may doe as they may, but Terentia will never finde in her heart to kill him, sheele first burie him quick.

Len. The like is doomde to faire Terentia. How say you both, are yee content?

Teren. My thoughts are plung'd in admiration.

Tul. But can your honour burie such a wrong?

Len. I can, I can; heere, Tulley, take Terentia, Live many happie yeares in faithfull love. This is no more then friendships lawes allow; Thinke me thy self, another Cicero.

Flav. Twere better, my Lord, you did perswade her to think you another Cicero, so you might claim some interest in her now and then.

Lent. That I would claim with you, faire Ladie; Hark in your eare, nay, I must conclude with you.

Flau. Y'oule not bite, my Lord?

Len. No, of my faith, my Lady.

Tere. Thus far, my love, our hopes have good successe; One storme more past, my griefes were much the less.

Tul. Friendship itself hath beene more prodigal Then a bolde face could begge upon a friend.

Lent. Why, then theres a bargaine.

Flav. Strike hands upon the same, I am yours to commaund. Ile love with ye, ile lie with ye, ile love with all my heart, With all my strength, with all my power and virtue: Seald and delivered in the presence of us—

Lent. Marcus Tullius Cicero. Then you deliver this as your act and deede?

Flav. I doe, and scale it with this—

Lent. Why, well said, tis done; see, we begin but now, And are as ready to goe to Church as you. What needes further ceremony?

Flav. Yes, a little matrimony.

Lent. I, Lady. Come Tully and Terentia; One day shall shine on both our Nuptials; Feare not, ile quench the fire of your Fathers heate With my consent.

Flav. I prethee, appoint the time.

Lent. About a week hence, love.

Flav. Oh, tis too intolerable long.

Lent. Then foure daies.

Flav. Foure daies is foure times foure & twenty hours. That's too long too.