And grow impatient: I shall never do’t.
Lod. ‘Sblood, cannot you do as all the world does, counterfeit?
Cand. Were I a painter, that should live by drawing
Nothing but pictures of an angry man,
I should not earn my colours; I cannot do’t.
Lod. Remember you’re a linen-draper, and that if you give your wife a yard, she’ll take an ell: give her not therefore a quarter of your yard, not a nail.
Cand. Say I should turn to ice, and nip her love
Now ’tis but in the bud.
Lod. Well, say she’s nipt.
Cand. It will so overcharge her heart with grief,
That like a cannon, when her sighs go off,
She in her duty either will recoil,
Or break in pieces and so die: her death,
By my unkindness might be counted murder.
Lod. Die? never, never. I do not bid you beat her, nor give her black eyes, nor pinch her sides; but cross her humours. Are not baker’s arms the scales of justice? yet is not their bread light? and may not you, I pray, bridle her with a sharp bit, yet ride her gently?
Cand. Well, I will try your pills,
Do you your faithful service, and be ready
Still at a pinch to help me in this part,
Or else I shall be out clean.
Lod. Come, come, I’ll prompt you.
Cand. I’ll call her forth now, shall I?
Lod. Do, do, bravely.
Cand. Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither.
Lod. Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither.
Cand. Sirrah, bid my wife come to me: why, when?
1st Pren. [Within] Presently, sir, she comes.
Lod. La, you, there’s the echo! she comes.
Enter Bride.
Bride. What is your pleasure with me?
Cand. Marry, wife,
I have intent; and you see this stripling here,
He bears good will and liking to my trade,
And means to deal in linen.
Lod. Yes, indeed, sir, I would deal in linen, if my mistress like me so well as I like her.
Cand. I hope to find him honest, pray; good wife, look that his bed and chamber be made ready.
Bride. You’re best to let him hire me for his maid.
I look to his bed? look to’t yourself.
Cand. Even so?
I swear to you a great oath —
Lod. Swear, cry Zounds! —
Cand. I will not — go to, wife — I will not —
Lod. That your great oath?
Cand. Swallow these gudgeons!
Lod. Well said!
Bride. Then fast, then you may choose.
Cand. You know at table
What tricks you played, swaggered, broke glasses, fie!
Fie, fie, fie! and now before my prentice here,
You make an ass of me, thou — what shall I call thee?
Bride. Even what you will.
Lod. Call her arrant whore.
Cand. Oh fie, by no means! then she’ll call me cuckold.
Sirrah, go look to th’ shop. How does this show?
Lod. Excellent well — I’ll go look to the shop, sir.
Fine cambrics, lawns; what do you lack? [Goes into the shop.
Cand. A curst cow’s milk I ha’ drunk once before,
And ’twas so rank in taste, I’ll drink no more.
Wife, I’ll tame you.
Bride. You may, sir, if you can,
But at a wrestling I have seen a fellow
Limbed like an ox, thrown by a little man.
Cand. And so you’ll throw me? — Reach me, knaves, a yard!
Lod. A yard for my master.
[Lodovico returns from the shop with a yard-wand and followed by Prentices.
1st Pren. My master is grown valiant.
Cand. I’ll teach you fencing tricks.
Prentices. Rare, rare! a prize!
Lod. What will you do, sir?
Cand. Marry, my good prentice, nothing but breathe my wife.
Bride. Breathe me with your yard?
Lod. No, he’ll but measure you out, forsooth.
Bride. Since you’ll needs fence, handle your weapon well,
For if you take a yard, I’ll take an ell.
Reach me an ell!
Lod. An ell for my mistress! [Brings an ell wand from the shop. Keep the laws of the noble science, sir, and measure weapons with her; your yard is a plain heathenish weapon; ’tis too short, she may give you a handful, and yet you’ll not reach her.
Cand. Yet I ha’ the longer arm. — Come fall to’t roundly,
And spare not me, wife, for I’ll lay’t on soundly:
If o’er husbands their wives will needs be masters,
We men will have a law to win’t at wasters.
Lod. ’Tis for the breeches, is’t not?
Cand. For the breeches!
Bride. Husband, I’m for you, I’ll not strike in jest.
Cand. Nor I.
Bride. But will you sign to one request?
Cand. What’s that?
Bride. Let me give the first blow.
Cand. The first blow, wife? shall I?
Lod. Let her ha’t:
If she strike hard, in to her, and break her pate.
Cand. A bargain: strike!
Bride. Then guard you from this blow,
For I play all at legs, but ’tis thus low. [Kneels.
Behold, I’m such a cunning fencer grown,
I keep my ground, yet down I will be thrown
With the least blow you give me: I disdain
The wife that is her husband’s sovereign.
She that upon your pillow first did rest,
They say, the breeches wore, which I detest:
The tax which she imposed on you, I abate you;
If me you make your master, I shall hate you.
The world shall judge who offers fairest play;
You win the breeches, but I win the day.
Cand. Thou win’st the day indeed, give me thy hand;
I’ll challenge thee no more: my patient breast
Played thus the rebel, only for a jest:
Here’s the rank rider, that breaks colts; ’tis he
Can tame the mad folks, and curst wives easily.
Bride. Who? your man?
Cand. My man? my master, though his head be bare,
But he’s so courteous, he’ll put off his hair.
Lod. Nay, if your service be so hot a man cannot keep his hair on, I’ll serve you no longer. [Takes off his false hair.
Bride. Is this your schoolmaster?
Lod. Yes, faith, wench, I taught him to take thee down: I hope thou canst take him down without teaching;
You ha’ got the conquest, and you both are friends.
Cand. Bear witness else.
Lod. My prenticeship then ends.
Cand. For the good service you to me have done,
I give you all your years.
Lod. I thank you, master.
I’ll kiss my mistress now, that she may say,
My man was bound, and free all in one day. [Exeunt.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I. — An Apartment in Hippolito’s House.
ENTER INFELICE, AND Orlando disguised as a Serving-man.
Inf. From whom sayst thou?
Orl. From a poor gentlewoman, madam, whom I serve.
Inf. And what’s your business?
Orl. This madam: my poor mistress has a waste piece of ground, which is her own by inheritance, and left to her by her mother. There’s a lord now that goes about not to take it clean from her, but to enclose it to himself, and to join it to a piece of his lordship’s.
Inf. What would she have me do in this?
Orl. No more, madam, but what one woman should do for another in such a case. My honourable lord your husband, would do any thing in her behalf, but she had rather put herself into your hands, be
cause you, a woman, may do more with the duke, your father.
Inf. Where lies this land?
Orl. Within a stone’s cast of this place; my mistress, I think, would be content to let him enjoy it after her decease, if that would serve his turn, so my master would yield too; but she cannot abide to hear that the lord should meddle with it in her lifetime.
Inf. Is she then married? why stirs not her husband in it?
Orl. Her husband stirs in it underhand: but because the other is a great rich man, my master is loath to be seen in it too much.
Inf. Let her in writing draw the cause at large:
And I will move the duke.
Orl. ’Tis set down, madam, here in black and white already: work it so madam, that she may keep her own without disturbance, grievance, molestation, or meddling of any other; and she bestows this purse of gold on your ladyship.
Inf. Old man, I’ll plead for her, but take no fees:
Give lawyers them, I swim not in that flood;
I’ll touch no gold, till I have done her good.
Orl. I would all proctors’ clerks were of your mind, I should law more amongst them than I do then; here, madam, is the survey, not only of the manor itself, but of the grange-house, with every meadow, pasture, plough-land, cony-burrow, fish-pond, hedge, ditch, and bush, that stands in it. [Gives a letter.
Inf. My husband’s name, and hand and seal at arms
To a love letter? Where hadst thou this writing?
Orl. From the foresaid party, madam, that would keep the foresaid land out of the foresaid lord’s fingers.
Inf. My lord turned ranger now?
Orl. You’re a good huntress, lady; you ha’ found your game already: your lord would fain be a ranger, but my mistress requests you to let him run a course in your own park. If you’ll not do’t for love, then do’t for money! she has no white money, but there’s gold; or else she prays you to ring him by this token, and so you shall be sure his nose will not be rooting other men’s pastures. [Gives purse and ring.
Inf. This very purse was woven with mine own hands;
This diamond on that very night, when he
Untied my virgin girdle, gave I him:
And must a common harlot share in mine?
Old man, to quit thy pains, take thou the gold.
Orl. Not I, madam, old serving-men want no money.
Inf. Cupid himself was sure his secretary;
These lines are even the arrows love let flies,
The very ink dropt out of Venus’ eyes.
Orl. I do not think, madam, but he fetched off some poet or other for those lines, for they are parlous hawks to fly at wenches.
Inf. Here’s honied poison! To me he ne’er thus writ;
But lust can set a double edge on wit.
Orl. Nay, that’s true, madam, a wench will whet any thing, if it be not too dull.
Inf. Oaths, promises, preferments, jewels, gold,
What snares should break, if all these cannot hold?
What creature is thy mistress?
Orl. One of those creatures that are contrary to man; a woman.
Inf. What manner of woman?
Orl. A little tiny woman, lower than your ladyship by head and shoulders, but as mad a wench as ever unlaced a petticoat: these things should I indeed have delivered to my lord, your husband.
Inf. They are delivered better: why should she
Send back these things?
Orl. ‘Ware, ‘ware, there’s knavery.
Inf. Strumpets, like cheating gamesters, will not win
At first: these are but baits to draw him in.
How might I learn his hunting hours?
Orl. The Irish footman can tell you all his hunting hours, the park he hunts in, the doe he would strike; that Irish shackatory beats the bush for him, and knows all; he brought that letter, and that ring; he is the carrier.
Inf. Knowest thou what other gifts have passed between them?
Orl. Little Saint Patrick knows all.
Inf. Him I’ll examine presently.
Orl. Not whilst I am here, sweet madam.
Inf. Be gone then, and what lies in me command. [Exit Orlando.
Enter Bryan.
Inf. How much cost those satins,
And cloth of silver, which my husband sent by you
To a low gentlewoman yonder?
Bry. Faat satins? faat silvers, faat low gentlefolks? dow pratest dow knowest not what, i’faat, la.
Inf. She there, to whom you carried letters.
Bry. By dis hand and bod dow saist true, if I did so, oh how? I know not a letter a’ de book i’faat, la.
Inf. Did your lord never send you with a ring, sir,
Set with a diamond?
Bry. Never, sa crees fa’ me, never! he may run at a towsand rings i’faat, and I never hold his stirrup, till he leap into de saddle. By Saint Patrick, madam, I never touch my lord’s diamond, nor ever had to do, i’faat, la, with any of his precious stones.
Enter Hippolito.
Inf. Are you so close, you bawd, you pandering slave? [Strikes Bryan.
Hip. How now? why, Infelice; what’s your quarrel?
Inf. Out of my sight, base varlet! get thee gone.
Hip. Away, you rogue!
Bry. Slawne loot, fare de well, fare de well. Ah marragh frofat boddah breen! [Exit.
Hip. What, grown a fighter? prithee, what’s the matter?
Inf. If you’ll needs know, it was about the clock:
How works the day, my lord, pray, by your watch?
Hip. Lest you cuff me, I’ll tell you presently: I am near two.
Inf. How, two? I’m scarce at one.
Hip. One of us then goes false.
Inf. Then sure ’tis you,
Mine goes by heaven’s dial, the sun, and it goes true.
Hip. I think, indeed, mine runs somewhat too fast.
Inf. Set it to mine at one then.
Hip. One? ’tis past:
’Tis past one by the sun.
Inf. Faith, then, belike,
Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike;
And since it is uncertain which goes true,
Better be false at one, than false at two.
Hip. You’re very pleasant, madam.
Inf. Yet not merry.
Hip. Why, Infelice, what should make you sad?
Inf. Nothing, my lord, but my false watch: pray, tell me, —
You see, my clock or yours is out of frame,
Must we upon the workmen lay the blame,
Or on ourselves that keep them?
Hip. Faith on both.
He may by knavery spoil them, we by sloth.
But why talk you all riddle thus? I read
Strange comments in those margins of your looks:
Your cheeks of late are like bad printed books,
So dimly charactered, I scarce can spell
One line of love in them. Sure all’s not well.
Inf. All is not well indeed, my dearest lord;
Lock up thy gates of hearing, that no sound
Of what I speak may enter.
Hip. What means this?
Inf. Or if my own tongue must myself betray,
Count it a dream, or turn thine eyes away,
And think me not thy wife. [Kneels.
Hip. Why do you kneel?
Inf. Earth is sin’s cushion: when the sick soul feels
Herself growing poor, then she turns beggar, cries,
And kneels for help: Hippolito, for husband
I dare not call thee, I have stolen that jewel
Of my chaste honour, which was only thine,
And given it to a slave.
Hip. Ha?
Inf. On thy pillow
Adultery and lust have slept, thy groom
Hath climbed the unlawful tree, and plucked the sweets,
A villain hath usurped a husband’s sheets.
Hip. S’death, who? — a cuckold! — who?
Inf. Th
is Irish footman.
Hip. Worse than damnation! a wild kerne, a frog,
A dog: whom I’ll scarce spurn. Longed you for shamrock?
Were it my father’s father, heart, I’ll kill him,
Although I take him on his death-bed gasping
‘Twixt Heaven and hell! a shag-haired cur! Bold strumpet,
Why hang’st thou on me? think’st I’ll be a bawd
To a whore, because she’s noble?
Inf. I beg but this,
Set not my shame out to the world’s broad eye,
Yet let thy vengeance, like my fault, soar high,
So it be in darkened clouds.
Hip. Darkened! my horns
Cannot be darkened, nor shall my revenge.
A harlot to my slave? the act is base,
Common, but foul, so shall not thy disgrace.
Could not I feed your appetite? O women
You were created angels, pure and fair;
But since the first fell, tempting devils you are,
You should be men’s bliss, but you prove their rods:
Were there no women, men might live like gods;
You ha’ been too much down already; rise,
Get from my sight, and henceforth shun my bed;
I’ll with no strumpet’s breath be poisonèd.
As for your Irish lubrican, that spirit
Whom by preposterous charms thy lust hath raised
In a wrong circle, him I’ll damn more black
Then any tyrant’s soul.
Inf. Hippolito!
Hip. Tell me, didst thou bait hooks to draw him to thee,
Or did he bewitch thee?
Inf. The slave did woo me.
Hip. Tu-whoos in that screech-owl’s language. Oh, who’d trust
Your cork-heeled sex? I think to sate your lust,
You’d love a horse, a bear, a croaking toad,
So your hot itching veins might have their bound:
Then the wild Irish dart was thrown? Come, how?
The manner of this fight?
Inf. ’Twas thus, he gave me this battery first. — Oh, I
Mistake — believe me, all this in beaten gold;
Yet I held out, but at length thus was charmed. [Gives letter, purse and ring.
What? change your diamond, wench, the act is base,
Common, but foul, so shall not your disgrace:
Could not I feed your appetite? O men,
You were created angels, pure and fair,
But since the first fell, worse than devils you are.
You should our shields be, but you prove our rods.
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 73