The Venetian uses it;140 my tutor reads it.
SIR WAL. Heart, if she were so locked up, how got she out?
YEL. There was a little hole looked into the gutter;
But who would have dreamt of that?
SIR WAL. A wiser man would.
TIM. He says true, father; a wise man for love
Will seek every hole; my tutor knows it.
TUTOR. Verum poeta dicit.
TIM. Dicit Virgilius, father.141
YEL. Prithee, talk of thy gills142 somewhere else; sh’as played
The gill with me: where’s your wise mother now?
TIM. Run mad, I think; I thought she would have drowned herself;
She would not stay for oars, but took a smelt-boat;
Sure I think she be gone a-fishing for her.
YEL. She’ll catch a goodly dish of gudgeons now,
Will serve us all to supper.
Enter Maudlin, drawing in Moll by the hair, and Watermen
MAUD. I’ll tug thee home by the hair.
1ST W. Good mistress, spare her!
MAUD. Tend your own business.
1ST W. You’re a cruel mother.
Exeunt Watermen
MOLL. O, my heart dies!
MAUD. I’ll make thee an example
For all the neighbors’ daughters.
MOLL. Farewell, life!
MAUD. You that have tricks can counterfeit.
YEL. Hold, hold, Maudlin!
MAUD. I’ve brought your jewel by the hair.
YEL. She’s here, knight.
SIR WAL. Forbear, or I’ll grow worse.
TIM. Look on her, tutor;
She hath brought her from the water like a mermaid;
She’s but half my sister now, as far as the flesh goes,
The rest may be sold to fishwives.
MAUD. Dissembling, cunning baggage!
YEL. Impudent strumpet!
SIR WAL. Either give over, both, or I’ll give over.—
Why have you used me thus unkindly, mistress?
Wherein have I deserved?
YEL. You talk too fondly,143 sir:
We’ll take another course and prevent all:
We might have done’t long since; we’ll lose no time now,
Nor trust to’t any longer: to-morrow morn,
As early as sunrise, we’ll have you joined.
MOLL. O, bring me death to-night, love-pitying fates;
Let me not see to-morrow up on the world!
YEL. Are you content, sir? till then she shall be watched.
MAUD. Baggage, you shall.
TIM. Why, father, my tutor and I
Will both watch in armor.
Exeunt Maudlin, Moll, and Yellowhammer
TUTOR. How shall we do for weapons?
TIM. Take you
No care for that; if need be, I can send
For conquering metal, tutor, ne’er lost day yet.
’Tis but at Westminster; I am acquainted
With him that keeps the monuments; I can borrow
Harry the Fifth’s sword; it will serve us both
To watch with.
Exeunt Tim and Tutor
SIR WAL. I never was so near my wish
As this chance makes me: ere to-morrow noon
I shall receive two thousand pound in gold,
And a sweet maidenhead worth forty.
Re-enter Touchwood junior and Waterman
TOUCH. JUN. O, thy news splits me!
WATER. Half-drowned, she cruelly tugged her by the hair,
Forced her disgracefully, not like a mother.
TOUCH. JUN. Enough; leave me, like my joys.—
Exit Waterman
Sir, saw you not a wretched maid pass this way?
Heart, villain, is it thou?
SIR WAL. Yes, slave, ’tis I.
TOUCH. JUN. I must break through thee then: there is no stop
That checks my tongue144 and all my hopeful fortunes,
That breast excepted, and I must have way.
SIR WAL. Sir, I believe ’twill hold your life in play.
TOUCH. JUN. Sir, you will gain the heart in my breast first.
SIR WAL. There is no dealing then; think on the dowry
For two thousand pounds.
[They fight]
TOUCH. JUN. O, now ’tis quit, sir.
SIR WAL. And being of even hand, I’ll play no longer.
TOUCH. JUN. No longer, slave?
SIR WAL. I’ve certain things to think on,
Before I dare go further.
TOUCH. JUN. But one bout!
I’ll follow thee to death, but ha’ it out.
Exeunt
ACT V, SCENE I
Enter Allwit, Mistress Allwit, and Davy
MIS. ALL. A misery of a house!
ALLWIT. What shall become of us!
DAVY. I think his wound be mortal.
ALLWIT. Think’st thou so, Davy?
Then am I mortal too, but a dead man, Davy;
This is no world for me, whene’er he goes;
I must e’en truss up all, and after him, Davy;
A sheet with two knots, and away.
DAVY. O see, sir!
Enter Sir Walter Whorehound led in by two Servants, who place him in a chair
How faint he goes! two of my fellows lead him.
MIS. ALL. O me!
[Swoons]
ALLWIT. Heyday, my wife’s laid down too; here’s like to be
A good house kept, when we’re all together down:
Take pains with her, good Davy, cheer her up there;
Let me come to his worship, let me come.
SIR WAL. Touch me not, villain; my wound aches at thee,
Thou poison to my heart!
ALLWIT. He raves already;
His senses are quite gone, he knows me not.—
Look up, an’t like your worship; heave those eyes,
Call me to mind; is your remembrance left?
Look in my face; who am I, an’t like your worship?
SIR WAL. If anything be worse than slave or villain,
Thou art the man!
ALLWIT. Alas, his poor worship’s weakness!
He will begin to know me by little and little.
SIR WAL. No devil can be like thee!
ALLWIT. Ah, poor gentleman.
Methinks the pain that thou endurest mads thee.
SIR WAL. Thou know’st me to be wicked; for thy baseness
Kept the eyes open still on all my sins;
None knew the dear account my soul stood charged with
So well as thou, yet, like hell’s flattering angel,
Wouldst never tell me on’t, lett’st me go on,
And join with death in sleep; that if I had not
Waked now by chance, even by a stranger’s pity,
I had everlasting slept out all hope
Of grace and mercy.
ALLWIT. Now he’s worse and worse.
Wife, to him, wife; thou wast wont to do good on him.
MIS. ALL. How is it with you, sir?
SIR WAL. Not as with you,
Thou loathsome strumpet! Some good, pitying man
Remove my sins out of my sight a little;
I tremble to behold her, she keeps back
All comfort while she stays. Is this a time,
Unconscionable woman, to see thee?
Art thou so cruel to the peace of man,
Not to give liberty now? the devil himself
Shows a far fairer reverence and respect
To goodness than thyself; he dares not do this,
But parts in time of penitence, hides his face;
When man withdraws from him, he leaves the place:
Hast thou less manners and more impudence
Than thy instructor? prithee, show thy modesty,
If the least grain be left, and get thee from me:
Thou shouldst be rather locked many rooms hence
From the
poor miserable sight of me,
If either love or grace had part in thee.
MIS. ALL. [Aside] He’s lost for ever!
ALLWIT. Run, sweet Davy, quickly,
And fetch the children hither; sight of them
Will make him cheerful straight.
Exit Davy
SIR WAL. O death! is this
A place for you to weep? what tears are those!
Get you away with them, I shall fare the worse
As long as they’re a-weeping, they work against me;
There’s nothing but thy appetite in that sorrow,
Thou weep’st for lust; I feel it in the slackness
Of comforts coming towards me; I was well
Till thou began’st t’ undo me: this shows like
The fruitless sorrow of a careless mother,
That brings her son with dalliance to the gallows,
And then stands by and weeps to see him suffer.
Re-enter Davy with Nick, Wat, and other children
DAVY. There are the children, sir, an’t like your worship,
Your last fine girl; in troth, she smiles;
Look, look, in faith, sir.
SIR WAL. O my vengeance!
Let me for ever hide my cursèd face
From sight of those that darken all my hopes,
And stand between me and the sight of Heaven!
Who sees me now—O, and those so near me,
May rightly say I am o’ergrown with sin.
O, how my offences wrestle with my repentance!
It hath scarce breath;
Still my adulterous guilt hovers aloft,
And with her black wings beats down all my prayers
Ere they be half-way up. What’s he knows now
How long I have to live? O, what comes then?
My taste grows bitter; the round world all gall now;
Her pleasing pleasures now hath poisoned me,
Which I exchanged my soul for!
Make way a hundred sighs at once for me!
ALLWIT. Speak to him, Nick.
NICK. I dare not, I’m afraid.
ALLWIT. Tell him he hurts his wounds, Wat, with making moan.
SIR WAL. Wretched, death of seven!145
ALLWIT. Come let’s be talking
Somewhat to keep him alive. Ah, sirrah Wat,
And did my lord bestow that jewel on thee
For an epistle thou mad’st in Latin? thou
Art a good forward boy, there’s great joy on thee.
SIR WAL. O sorrow!
ALLWIT. [Aside] Heart, will nothing comfort him?
If he be so far gone, ’tis time to moan.
Here’s pen and ink, and paper, and all things ready;
Will’t please your worship for to make your will?
SIR WAL. My will! yes, yes, what else? who writes apace now?
ALLWIT. That can your man Davy, an’t like your worship;
A fair, fast, legible hand.
SIR WAL. Set it down then.
[Davy writes]
Imprimis, I bequeath to yonder wittol
Three times his weight in curses.
ALLWIT. HOW!
SIR WAL. All plagues
Of body and of mind.
ALLWIT. Write them not down, Davy.
DAVY. It is his will; I must.
SIR WAL. Together also
With such a sickness ten days ere his death.
ALLWIT. [Aside] There’s a sweet legacy! I’m almost choked with’t.
SIR WAL. Next, I bequeath to that foul whore his wife
All barrenness of joy, a drouth of virtue,
And dearth of all repentance: for her end,
The common misery of an English strumpet,
In French and Dutch; beholding, ere she dies,
Confusion146 of her brats before her eyes,
And never shed a tear for’t.
Enter 3rd Servant
3RD SER. Where’s the knight—
O sir, the gentleman you wounded is
Newly departed!
SIR WAL. Dead, lift, lift, who helps me?
ALLWIT. Let the law lift you now, that must have all;
I have done lifting on you, and my wife too.
3RD SER. You were best lock yourself close.
ALLWIT. Not in my house, sir;
I’ll harbor no such persons as men-slayers;
Lock yourself where you will.
SIR WAL. What’s this?
MIS. ALL. Why, husband!
ALLWIT. I know what I do, wife.
MIS. ALL. You cannot tell yet;
For having killed the man in his defence,
Neither his life nor estate will be touched, husband.
ALLWIT. Away, wife! hear a fool! his lands will hang him.
SIR WAL. Am I denied a chamber?—What say you, forsooth?
MIS. ALL. Alas, sir, I am one that would have all well,
But must obey my husband.—Prithee, love,
Let the poor gentleman stay, being so sore wounded:
There’s a close chamber at one end of the garret
We never use; let him have that, I prithee.
ALLWIT. We never use? you forgot sickness then,
And physic-times; is’t not a place for easement?
SIR WAL. O, death! do I hear this with part
Of former life in me?—
Enter 4th Servant
What’s the news now?
4TH SER. Troth, worse and worse; you’re like to lose your land,
If the law save your life, sir, or the surgeon.
ALLWIT. Hark you there, wife.
SIR WAL. Why, how, sir?
4TH SER. Sir Oliver Kix’s wife is new quickened;
That child undoes you, sir.
SIR WAL. All ill at once!
ALLWIT. I wonder what he makes here with his consorts?
Cannot our house be private to ourselves,
But we must have such guests? I pray, depart, sirs,
And take your murderer along with you;
Good he were apprehended ere he go,
Has killed some honest gentleman; send for officers.
SIR WAL. I’ll soon save you that labor.
ALLWIT. I must tell you, sir,
You have been somewhat bolder in my house
Than I could well like of; I suffered you
Till it stuck here at my heart; I tell you truly
I thought y’had been familiar with my wife once.
MIS. ALL. With me! I’ll see him hanged first; I defy him,
And all such gentlemen in the like extremity.
SIR WAL. If ever eyes were open, these are they:
Gamesters, farewell, I’ve nothing left to play.
ALLWIT. And therefore get you gone, sir.
Exit Sir Walter, led off by Servants
DAVY. Of all wittols
Be thou the head—thou the grand whore of spittles!
Exit
ALLWIT. So, since he’s like now to be rid of all,
I am right glad I’m so well rid of him.
MIS. ALL. I knew he durst not stay when you named officers.
ALLWIT. That stopped his spirits straight. What shall we do now, wife?
MIS. ALL. AS we were wont to do.
ALLWIT. We’re richly furnished, wife,
With household stuff.
MIS. ALL. Let’s let out lodgings then,
And take a house in the Strand.
ALLWIT. In troth, a match, wench!
We’re simply stocked with cloth-of-tissue cushions
To furnish out bay-windows; pish, what not
That’s quaint and costly, from the top to the bottom;
Life, for furniture we may lodge a countess:
There’s a close-stool of tawny velvet too,
Now I think on it, wife.
MIS. ALL. There’s that should be, sir;
Your nose must be in everything.
ALLWIT. I’ve done, wench.
&n
bsp; And let this stand in every gallant’s chamber,—
There is no gamester like a politic sinner,
For whoe’er games, the box is sure a winner.
Exeunt
SCENE II
Enter Yellowhammer and Maudlin
MAUD. O husband, husband, she will die, she will die!
There is no sign but death.
YEL. ’Twill be our shame then.
MAUD. O, how she’s changed in compass of an hour!
YEL. Ah, my poor girl! good faith, thou wert too cruel
To drag her by the hair.
MAUD. You’d have done as much, sir.
To curb her of her humor.
YEL. ’Tis curbèd sweetly;
She catched her bane o’ th’ water.
Enter Tim
MAUD. How now, Tim?
TIM. Faith, busy, mother, about an epitaph
Upon my sister’s death.
MAUD. Death? she’s not dead, I hope?
TIM. NO, but she means to be, and that’s as good,
And when a thing’s done, ’tis done; you taught me that, mother.
YEL. What is your tutor doing?
TIM. Making one too, in principal147 pure Latin,
Culled out of Ovid de Tristibus.
YEL. How does your sister look? is she not changed?
TIM. Changed? gold into white money was ne’er so changed
As is my sister’s color into paleness.
Enter Moll, led in by Servants, who place her in a chair
YEL. O, here she’s brought; see how she looks like death!
TIM. Looks she like death, and ne’er a word made yet?
I must go beat my brains against a bed-post,
And get before my tutor.
Exit
YEL. Speak, how dost thou?
MOLL. I hope I shall be well, for I’m as sick
At heart as I can be.
YEL. ’Las, my poor girl!
The doctor’s making a most sovereign drink for thee,
The worst ingredience dissolved pearl and amber;
We spare no cost, girl.
MOLL. Your love comes too late,
Yet timely thanks reward it. What is comfort,
When the poor patient’s heart is past relief?
It is no doctor’s art can cure my grief.
YEL. All is cast away, then;
Prithee, look upon me cheerfully.
MAUD. Sing but a strain or two; thou wilt not think
How ’twill revive thy spirits; strive with thy fit,
Prithee, sweet Moll.
MOLL. You shall have my good will, mother.
MAUD. Why, well said, wench.
MOLL. [Sings]
Weep eyes, break heart!
My love and I must part.
Cruel fates true love do soonest sever:
O, I shall see thee never, never, never!
O, happy is the maid whose life takes end
Ere it knows parent’s frown or loss of friend!
The Duchess of Malfi Page 45