Oh Sirens’ subtle tunes! yourselves you flatter,
And our weak sex betray: so men love water;
It serves to wash their hands, but being once foul,
The water down is poured, cast out of doors,
And even of such base use do men make whores.
A harlot, like a hen more sweetness reaps,
To pick men one by one up, than in heaps:
Yet all feeds but confounding. Say you should taste me,
I serve but for the time, and when the day
Of war is done, am cashiered out of pay:
If like lame soldiers I could beg, that’s all,
And there’s lust’s rendezvous, an hospital.
Who then would be a man’s slave, a man’s woman?
She’s half starved the first day that feeds in common.
Hip. You should not feed so, but with me alone.
Bell. If I drink poison by stealth, is’t not all one?
Is’t not rank poison still with you alone?
Nay, say you spied a courtesan, whose soft side
To touch you’d sell your birth-right, for one kiss
Be racked; she’s won, you’re sated: what follows this?
Oh, then you curse that bawd that tolled you in;
The night you curse your lust, you loathe the sin,
You loathe her very sight, and ere the day
Arise, you rise glad when you’re stol’n away.
Even then when you are drunk with all her sweets,
There’s no true pleasure in a strumpet’s sheets.
Women whom lust so prostitutes to sale,
Like dancers upon ropes, once seen, are stale.
Hip. If all the threads of harlot’s lives are spun,
So coarse as you would make them, tell me why
You so long loved the trade?
Bell. If all the threads
Of harlot’s lives be fine as you would make them,
Why do not you persuade your wife turn whore,
And all dames else to fall before that sin?
Like an ill husband, though I knew the same
To be my undoing, followed I that game.
Oh, when the work of lust had earned my bread,
To taste it how I trembled, lest each bit,
Ere it went down, should choke me chewing it!
My bed seemed like a cabin hung in hell,
The bawd, hell’s porter, and the liquorish wine
The pander fetched, was like an easy fine,
For which, methought, I leased away my soul,
And oftentimes, even in my quaffing bowl,
Thus said I to myself, I am a whore,
And have drunk down thus much confusion more.
Hip. It is a common rule, and ’tis most true,
Two of one trade ne’er love: no more do you.
Why are you sharp ‘gainst that you once professed?
Bell. Why dote you on that, which you did once detest?
I cannot, seeing she’s woven of such bad stuff,
Set colours on a harlot base enough.
Nothing did make me, when I loved them best,
To loathe them more than this: when in the street
A fair young modest damsel I did meet,
She seemed to all a dove, when I passed by,
And I to all a raven: every eye
That followed her went with a bashful glance,
At me each bold and jeering countenance
Darted forth scorn; to her as if she had been
Some tower unvanquished, would they vail,
‘Gainst me swoln rumour hoisted every sail.
She, crowned with reverend praises, passed by them,
I, though with face masked, could not ‘scape the hem,
For, as if Heaven had set strange marks on whores,
Because they should be pointing stocks to man,
Drest up in civilest shape, a courtesan —
Let her walk saint-like, noteless, and unknown,
Yet she’s betrayed by some trick of her own.
Were harlots therefore wise, they’d be sold dear:
For men account them good but for one year,
And then like almanacs whose dates are gone,
They are thrown by, and no more looked upon.
Who’ll therefore backward fall, who will launch forth
In seas so foul, for ventures no more worth?
Lust’s voyage hath, if not this course, this cross,
Buy ne’er so cheap, your ware comes home with loss.
What, shall I sound retreat? the battle’s done:
Let the world judge which of us two have won.
Hip. I!
Bell. You? nay then as cowards do in fight,
What by blows cannot, shall be saved by flight. [Exit.
Hip. Fly to earth’s fixèd centre: to the caves
Of everlasting horror, I’ll pursue thee,
Though loaden with sins, even to hell’s brazen doors.
Thus wisest men turn fools, doting on whores. [Exit.
SCENE II. — An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.
ENTER THE DUKE, Lodovico, and Orlando, disguised as a Serving-man; after them Infelice, Carolo, Astolfo, Beraldo, and Fontinell.
Orl. I beseech your grace, though your eye be so piercing as under a poor blue coat to cull out an honest father from an old serving-man, yet, good my lord, discover not the plot to any, but only this gentleman that is now to be an actor in our ensuing comedy.
Duke. Thou hast thy wish, Orlando, pass unknown,
Sforza shall only go along with thee,
To see that warrant served upon thy son.
Lod. To attach him upon felony, for two pedlars: is’t not so?
Orl. Right, my noble knight: those pedlars were two knaves of mine; he fleeced the men before, and now he purposes to flay the master. He will rob me; his teeth water to be nibbling at my gold, but this shall hang him by th’ gills, till I pull him on shore.
Duke. Away: ply you the business.
Orl. Thanks to your grace: but, my good lord, for my daughter —
Duke. You know what I have said.
Orl. And remember what I have sworn. She’s more honest, on my soul, than one of the Turks’ wenches, watched by a hundred eunuchs.
Lod. So she had need, for the Turks make them whores.
Orl. He’s a Turk that makes any woman a whore; he’s no true Christian, I’m sure. I commit your grace.
Duke. Infelice.
Inf. Here, sir.
Lod. Signor Friscobaldo.
Orl. Frisking again? Pacheco.
Lod. Uds so, Pacheco? we’ll have some sport with this warrant: ’tis to apprehend all suspected persons in the house. Besides, there’s one Bots a pander, and one Madam Horseleech a bawd, that have abused my friend; those two conies will we ferret into the purse-net.
Orl. Let me alone for dabbing them o’th’ neck: come, come.
Lod. Do ye hear, gallants? meet me anon at Matheo’s.
Car., Ast., &c. Enough. [Exeunt Lodovico and Orlando.
Duke. Th’ old fellow sings that note thou didst before
Only his tunes are, that she is no whore,
But that she sent his letters and his gifts,
Out of a noble triumph o’er his lust,
To show she trampled his assaults in dust.
Inf. ’Tis a good honest servant, that old man.
Duke. I doubt no less.
Inf. And it may be my husband,
Because when once this woman was unmasked,
He levelled all her thoughts, and made them fit,
Now he’d mar all again, to try his wit.
Duke. It may be so too, for to turn a harlot
Honest, it must be by strong antidotes;
’Tis rare, as to see panthers change their spots.
And when she’s once a star fixed and shines bright,
Though ‘twere impiety then to dim her light,
Beca
use we see such tapers seldom burn,
Yet ’tis the pride and glory of some men,
To change her to a blazing star again,
And it may be, Hippolito does no more.
It cannot be but you’re acquainted all
With that same madness of our son-in law,
That dotes so on a courtesan.
All. Yes, my lord.
Car. All the city thinks he’s a whoremonger.
Ast. Yet I warrant he’ll swear no man marks him.
Ber. ’Tis like so, for when a man goes a wenching, it is as if he had a strong stinking breath, every one smells him out, yet he feels it not, though it be ranker than the sweat of sixteen bear warders.
Duke. I doubt then you have all those stinking breaths,
You might be all smelt out.
Car. Troth, my lord, I think we are all as you ha’ been in your youth when you went a-maying, we all love to hear the cuckoo sing upon other men’s trees.
Duke. It’s well; yet you confess. But, girl, thy bed
Shall not be parted with a courtesan.
’Tis strange,
No frown of mine, no frown of the poor lady,
My abused child, his wife, no care of fame,
Of honour, heaven, or hell, no not that name
Of common strumpet, can affright, or woo him
To abandon her; the harlot does undo him;
She has bewitched him, robbed him of his shape,
Turned him into a beast, his reason’s lost;
You see he looks wild, does he not?
Car. I ha’ noted new moons
In’s face, my lord, all full of change.
Duke. He’s no more like unto Hippolito,
Than dead men are to living — never sleeps,
Or if he do, it’s dreams: and in those dreams
His arms work, and then cries, Sweet — what’s her name,
What’s the drab’s name?
Ast. In troth, my lord, I know not,
I know no drabs, not I.
Duke. Oh, Bellafront! —
And, catching her fast, cries, My Bellafront!
Car. A drench that’s able to kill a horse, cannot kill this disease of smock smelling, my lord, if it have once eaten deep.
Duke. I’ll try all physic, and this medicine first:
I have directed warrants strong and peremptory
To purge our city Milan, and to cure
The outward parts, the suburbs, for the attaching
Of all those women, who like gold want weight,
Cities, like ships, should have no idle freight.
Car. No, my lord, and light wenches are no idle freight; but what’s your grace’s reach in this?
Duke. This, Carolo. If she whom my son doats on,
Be in that muster-book enrolled, he’ll shame
Ever t’approach one of such noted name.
Car. But say she be not?
Duke. Yet on harlots’ heads
New laws shall fall so heavy, and such blows shall
Give to those that haunt them, that Hippolito
If not for fear of law, for love to her,
If he love truly, shall her bed forbear.
Car. Attach all the light heels i’th’ city, and clap ’em up? why, my lord, you dive into a well unsearchable: all the whores within the walls, and without the walls? I would not be he should meddle with them for ten such dukedoms; the army that you speak on is able to fill all the prisons within this city, and to leave not a drinking room in any tavern besides.
Duke. Those only shall be caught that are of note;
Harlots in each street flow:
The fish being thus i’th net, ourself will sit,
And with eye most severe dispose of it.
Come, girl. [Exeunt Duke and Infelice.
Car. Arraign the poor whores!
Ast. I’ll not miss that sessions.
Font. Nor I.
Ber. Nor I, though I hold up my hand there myself. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Room in Matheo’s House.
ENTER MATHEO, LODOVICO, and Orlando disguised as a Serving-man.
Mat. Let who will come, my noble chevalier, I can but play the kind host, and bid ’em welcome.
Lod. We’ll trouble your house, Matheo, but as Dutchmen do in taverns, drink, be merry, and be gone.
Orl. Indeed, if you be right Dutchmen, if you fall to drinking, you must be gone.
Mat. The worst is, my wife is not at home; but we’ll fly high, my generous knight, for all that: there’s no music when a woman is in the concert.
Orl. No; for she’s like a pair of virginals,
Always with jacks at her tail.
Enter Astolfo, Carolo, Beraldo and Fontinell.
Lod. See, the covey is sprung.
Ast., Car., &c. Save you, gallants.
Mat. Happily encountered, sweet bloods.
Lod. Gentlemen, you all know Signor Candido, the linen-draper, he that’s more patient than a brown baker, upon the day when he heats his oven, and has forty scolds about him.
Ast., Car., &c. Yes, we know him all, what of him?
Lod. Would it not be a good fit of mirth, to make a piece of English cloth of him, and to stretch him on the tenters, till the threads of his own natural humour crack, by making him drink healths, tobacco, dance, sing bawdy songs, or to run any bias according as we think good to cast him?
Car. ‘Twere a morris-dance worth the seeing.
Ast. But the old fox is so crafty, we shall hardly hunt him out of his den.
Mat. To that train I ha’ given fire already; and the hook to draw him hither, is to see certain pieces of lawn, which I told him I have to sell, and indeed have such; fetch them down, Pacheco.
Orl. Yes, sir, I’m your water-spaniel, and will fetch any thing — but I’ll fetch one dish of meat anon shall turn your stomach, and that’s a constable. [Aside and exit.
Enter Bots ushering in Mistress Horseleech.
Ast., Ber., Fon. How now? how now?
Car. What gally-foist is this?
Lod. Peace, two dishes of stewed prunes, a bawd and a pander. My worthy lieutenant Bots; why, now I see thou’rt a man of thy word, welcome. — Welcome Mistress Horseleech: pray, gentlemen, salute this reverend matron.
Mis. H. Thanks to all your worships.
Lod. I bade a drawer send in wine, too: did none come along with thee, grannam, but the lieutenant?
Mis. H. None came along with me but Bots, if it like your worship.
Bots. Who the pox should come along with you but Bots.
Enter two Vintners with wine.
Ast., Car., &c. Oh brave! march fair.
Lod. Are you come? that’s well.
Mat. Here’s ordnance able to sack a city.
Lod. Come, repeat, read this inventory.
1st Vint. Imprimis, a pottle of Greek wine, a pottle of Peter-sameene, a pottle of Charnico, and a pottle of Leatica.
Lod. You’re paid?
2nd Vint. Yes, Sir. [Exeunt Vintners.
Mat. So shall some of us be anon, I fear.
Bots. Here’s a hot day towards: but zounds, this is the life out of which a soldier sucks sweetness! when this artillery goes off roundly, some must drop to the ground: cannon, demi-cannon, saker, and basilisk.
Lod. Give fire, lieutenant.
Bots. So, so: Must I venture first upon the breach? to you all, gallants: Bots sets upon you all. [Drinks.
Ast., Car., &c. It’s hard, Bots, if we pepper not you, as well as you pepper us.
Enter Candido.
Lod. My noble linen-draper! — some wine! — Welcome old lad!
Mat. You’re welcome, signor.
Cand. These lawns, sir?
Mat. Presently; my man is gone for them: we ha’ rigged a fleet, you see here, to sail about the world.
Cand. A dangerous voyage, sailing in such ships.
Bots. There’s no casting over board yet.
Lod. Because you are an old lady, I will have you
be acquainted with this grave citizen, pray bestow your lips upon him, and bid him welcome.
Mis. H. Any citizen shall be most welcome to me: — I have used to buy ware at your shop.
Cand. It may be so, good madam.
Mis. H. Your prentices know my dealings well; I trust your good wife be in good case: if it please you, bear her a token from my lips, by word of mouth. [Kisses him.
Cand. I pray no more; forsooth, ’tis very well,
Indeed I love no sweetmeats: — Sh’as a breath
Stinks worse than fifty polecats. [Aside.] Sir, a word,
Is she a lady?
Lod. A woman of a good house, and an ancient, she’s a bawd.
Cand. A bawd? Sir, I’ll steal hence, and see your lawns
Some other time.
Mat. Steal out of such company? Pacheco, my man is but gone for ’em: Lieutenant Bots, drink to this worthy old fellow, and teach him to fly high.
Lod., Ast., &c. Swagger: and make him do’t on his knees.
Cand. How, Bots? now bless me, what do I with Bots?
No wine in sooth, no wine, good Master Bots.
Bots. Gray-beard, goat’s pizzle: ’tis a health, have this in your guts, or this, there [Touching his sword.] I will sing a bawdy song, sir, because your verjuice face is melancholy, to make liquor go down glib. Will you fall on your marrowbones, and pledge this health? ’Tis to my mistress, a whore.
Cand. Here’s ratsbane upon ratsbane, Master Bots;
I pray, sir, pardon me: you are a soldier,
Press me not to this service, I am old,
And shoot not in such pot-guns.
Bots. Cap. I’ll teach you.
Cand. To drink healths, is to drink sickness — gentlemen.
Pray rescue me.
Bots. Zounds, who dare?
Lod., Ast., &c. We shall ha’ stabbing then?
Cand. I ha’ reckonings to cast up, good Master Bots.
Bots. This will make you cast ’em up better.
Lod. Why does your hand shake so?
Cand. The palsy, signor, danceth in my blood.
Bots. Pipe with a pox, sir, then, or I’ll make your blood dance —
Cand. Hold, hold, good Master Bots, I drink. [Kneels.
Ast., Lod., &c. To whom?
Cand. To the old countess there. [Drinks.
Mis. H. To me, old boy? this is he that never drunk wine! Once again to’t.
Cand. With much ado the poison is got down,
Though I can scarce get up; never before
Drank I a whore’s health, nor will never more.
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 76