Gen. Cheer them with hearty welcomes in my name;
Attend them as great lords; let no man dare
To send ’em sad hence; bounty shall be plac’d
At the board’s upper end; for mariners
Are clocks of danger that do ne’er stand still;
Their dial’s hand e’er points to th’ stroke of death,
And (albeit seldom windless) lose their breath;
I love ’em, for they eat the dearest bread
That life can buy; when the elements make wars,
Water, and air, they are sav’d by their good stars.
And for the galley-slaves, make much of those, love that man
Who suffers only for being Christian: what suiters wait?
Stew. Come near, one at once; keep back, pray,
Brok. A sorry man, a very sorry man.
Gen. What makes thee sorry?
Brok. All I bad is burnt, and that which touches me to the quick, a box of my sweet evidence, my lord.
Gen. Show me some proof of this.
Brok. Alas, too good proof, all burnt, nor stick nor stone left. —
Gen. What wou’dst have me do?
Brok. Bestow but a bare hundred pound on me, to set me up.
Gen. Steward, deliver him a hundred pound.
Brok. Now all the —
Gen, Nay, kneel not, sir; but hear me.
Brok. Oh, my honey lord!
Gen. Faces are speaking pictures; thine’s a book,
Which if the leaf be truly printed, shows
A page of close dissembling.
Brok. Oh, my lord!
Gen. But say thou art such, yet the money’s thine,
Which I to charity give, not to her shrine;
If thou cheat’st me, thou art cheated? how? thou’st got
(Being liquorish) ratsbane from a galley-pot,
Taking it for sugar; thou art now my debtor,
I am not hurt, nor thou I fear, much better;
Farewell.
Enter a lame-legg’d SOLDIER.
Sol. Cannons defend me! gunpowder of hell,
Whom dost thou blow up here? —
Brok. Some honest sculler, row this lame dog to hanging.
Gen. What noise is that?
Stew. My lord calls to you.
Sol. Was there ever call’d
A devil by name from hell? then this is one.
Gen. My friend, what is he?
Sol. A city pestilence;
A moth that eats up gowns, doublets and hose;
One that with bills, leads smocks and shirts together
To linen-close-adultery, and upon them
Strows lavender, so strongly, that the owners
Dare never smell them after; he’s a broker.
Gen. Suppose all this; what hurt hath he done thee?
Sol. More than my limb’s loss; in one week he eat
My wife up, and three children; this Christian
Jew did; —
Has a long lane of hellish tenements,
Built all with pawns.
Gen. All that he had is burnt.
Sol. He keeps a whore indeed; this is the raven,
Cried knock before you call; he may be fir’d,
His lousy wardrobes are not; to this hell-hound
I pawn’d my weapons to buy brown bread
To feed my brats and me; (they forfeited)
Twice so much as his money him I gave
To have my arms redeem’d, the griping slave
Swore (not to save my soul) unless that I
Laid down my stump here for the interest,
And so hop home. —
Gen. Unheard-of villain!
Broker, is this true?
Brok. ‘Twere sin, my lord, to lie.
Gen. Soldier, what is’t thou now crav’st at my hands?
Sol. This my petition was, which now I tear;
My suit here was, when the next place did fall,
To be a beadsman in your hospital;
But now I come most piteously complaining
Against this three-pile rascal, widow’s decayer,
The orphan’s beggerer, and the poors’ betrayer;
Give him the Russian law for all these sins.
Gen. How?
Sol. But one hundred blows on his bare shins.
Brok. Come home and take thine arms.
Sol. I’ll have those legs.
Gen. Broker, my soul foresaw goods thus ill got
Would as ill thrive; you ask’d a hundred pound,
Tis yours; but, crafty broker, you play’d the knave
To beg, not needing. This man now must have
His request too; ’tis honest, fair, and just,
Take hence that varlet therefore, and on his shins,
In ready payment, give him an hundred blows.
Brok. My lord! my pitiful lord!
Sol. I must bestir my stumps too. Justice, “my lord!
Gen. I will not ravel out time; Broker, I offer you
A hundred for a hundred.
Sol. That’s his own usury.
Gen. A hundredpound, or else a hundred blows;
Give him that money, he shall release you those.
Brok. Take it, and may’st thou rot with it.
[Exit.
Sol. Follow thee thy curse,
Wou’d blows might make all brokers still disburse!
Gen. What next?
Serv. The party, sir.
Gen. What party, sir?
If honest, speak; I love no whisperer.
Ser. This gentleman is a great shooter.
Gen. In a long bow? how far shoots he?
Ser. To your lordship, to be your apothecary.
Gen. Umph; what spy you in my face, that I shou’d buy,
Your drugs and drenches? bears not my cheek a colour
As fresh as any old man’s? do my bones
Ache with youth’s riots? or my blood boil hot
With fevers? or is’t numb’d with dropsies, cold
Coughs, rheums, catarrhs, gouts, apoplexy fits?
The common sores of age on me never ran;
Nor Galenist, nor Paracel sian,
Shall e’er read physical lectures upon me.
Apot. Two excellent fellows, my lord.
Gen. I honour their profession; —
What the Creator does, they in part do,
For a physician’s a man-maker too:
But, honest friend,
My kitchen is my doctor, and my garden,
Trusty apothecary; when they give me pills,
So gently work they, I’m not choak’d with bills,
Which are a stronger purge than the disease.
Apot. Alas, my lord, and ‘twere not for bills, our shops wou’d down.
Gen. Sir, I believe you; bills nor pills I’ll take;
I stand on sickness’s shore, and see men toss’d
From one disease to another, at last lost;
But to such seas of surfeits, where they’re drown’d,
I never venturing, am ever sound.
Apot. Ever sound, my lord? if all our gallants shou’d be so, doctors, apothecaries, and barbersurgeons, might feed upon onions and buttermilk; ever sound! a brave world then.
Gen. Tis their own fault, if they fear springs or falls,
Wine-glasses fill’d too fast, make urinals;
Man was at first born sound, and he grows ill
Seldom by course of nature, but by will;
Distempers are not ours, there should be then.
(Were we ourselves) no physic; men to men
Are both disease’s cause and the disease,
I’m free from (thanks, good fate) either of these.
Apot. (To Ser.) My fifty crowns!
Ser. Not I.
Apot. No! must I give you a glister?
Ser. Hist! hist!
Apot. If your lordship will not allow me to minister to yourself, pray let me give your man a purgation.<
br />
Ser. Me a purgation? my lord, I’m passing well.
Gen. Him a purge! why?
Apot. Or rather a vomit, that he may cast up fifty crowns,
Which he swallowed as a bribe to prefer me.
Gen. My health is bought and sold, sir, then by you;
A doctor baits you next, whose mess of potions
Striking me full of ulcers, a gibberish-surgeon,
For fifty crowns more, comes to draw my will,
For money, slaves their sovereigns thus kill;
Nay, nay, so got, so keep it; for his fifty
Give him a hundred crowns, because his will
Aim’d at my health I know, and not at ill:
Fare you well, sir. —
Apot. Who pays me, sir?
Ser. Follow me; I, sir. [Exit Ser and Apot.
Enter GOLDSMITH.
Gold. The fellow, my lord, is fast.
Gen. What fellow, sir?
Gold. The thief that stole this jewel from your honour;
He came unto my stall, my lord —
Gen. So!
Gold. And ask’d me
Not the fourth part in money it was worth,
And so smelling him out ——
Gen. You did —
Gold. I did, sir,
Smell him out presently, and underhand
Sent for a constable, examined him,
And finding that he is your steward’s man,
Committed him to th’ jail.
Gen. What money had he upon this jewel of you?
Gold. None, my good lord, after I heard it yours.
Gen. Else you had bought it,
And been the thief’s receiver; you’re a varlet,
Go to! a saucy knave; if I want money,
And send my servant’s servant (‘cause the world
Shall not take notice of it) to pawn, or sell
Jewels or plate, tho’ I lose half in half,
Must you, sir, play the marshall, and commit him,
As if he were a rogue? go and release him,
Send him home presently, and pay his fees; do you see, sir?
Gold. My lord, I do see.
Gen. Lest by the innocent fellow,
I lay you fast by th’ heels; do this you’re best;
You may be gone.
Gold. Here’s a most excellent jest. [Exit.
Enter STEWARD.
Gen. Hark you, the Duke of Florence sent me once —
A jewel, have ye it? for you laid it up.
Stew. My lord, I have it.
Gen. Are you sure you have it?
Why change you colour? know you this? do you know
Your man you sent to sell it? you belike
Thought in my memory it had been dead,
And so your honesty too came buried; —
Tis well; out of mine eye!
Enter TORRENTI’S BROTHER.
What wou’d you with me?
Bro. Your pity on a wretch late wreck’d at sea,
Beaten a shore by penury; three years a Turkish, galley-slave.
Gen. Your birth?
Bro. Such, sir,
As I dare write myself a gentleman;
In Florence stood my cradle, my house great,
In money, not in mercy; I am poor,
And dare not with the beggar pass their door.
Gen. Name them, they shall be forc’d to thy relief.
Bro.To steal compassion from them like a thief?
Good my lord pardon me; under your noble wing,
I had rather sit, than on the highest tree sing,
That shadows their gay buildings.
Gen. Young man I do commend thee; where’s my steward?
Give me thy hand, I entertain thee mine:
Make perfect your accounts, and see the books deliver’d
To this gentleman.
Stew. This poor rogue, sir?
Gen. Thou art a villain, so to term the man,
Whom I to liking take; sir, I discharge you;
I regard no man’s outside, ’tis the linings
Which I take care for.
Stew. Not if you knew how lousy they were.
Gen. Cast not thy scorn upon him; (to the Bro.) prove thou but just,
I’ll raise the cedar’s spring out first from dust.
[Exit.
The Scene changes to LORD VANNI’S House. Enter NICOLETTO, DARIENE, ALPHONSINA, ALESSANDRA, TIBALDO, and CARGO.
Nic. Madam, this night I have received from court,
A book of deep import, which I must read,
And for that purpose will I lie alone.
Dar. Be master of your own content, my lord,
I’ll change you for some female bed-fellow.
Nic. With all my heart.
Tib. Pray, madam, then take me.
Nic. Do, prithee, wife.
Dar. And, sir, she is most welcomè.
Nic. Wou’d I were at it, for it is a book
My fingers itch till I be turning o’er;
Good rest! (aside) fair Alphonsina, you’ll not fail.
Alph. (Aside.) No, fear me not.
Nic. All, all to bed! to bed!
Alph. Mine eyes are full of sleep; I’ll follow you. — [Exit.
Dar. I to my closet, and then, bed-fellow,
Expect your company. —
Tib. I will be for you, lady.
Ales. Madam, so please you, forfeit to my mother,
And let yourself and I be bed-fellows,
Tib. Dear heart, I humbly thank you, but I must not.
Ales. Lady, I rather wish your company,
Because I know one maiden best conceals
What’s bosom’d in another; but I’ll wait
With patience a time fitting.
Tib. Worthy lady,
This time is yours and mine.
Ales. Thus I begin then,
And if I cannot woo relief from you,
Let me at least win pity; I have fix’d
Mine eye upon your brother, whom I never
But once beheld here in this house, yet wish
That he beheld me now and heard me;
You are so like your brother, that methinks I speak to him,
And that provokes a blush to assail my cheek;
He smiles like you, his eyes like yours; pray, lady,
Where is the gentleman? ’twas for his sake
I would have lien with you, wou’d ‘twere as lawful,
To fellow nights with him.
Tib. Troth, I do wish it.
Ales. And if in this you enrich me with your counsel,
I’ll be a grateful taker.
Tib. Sure my brother
Is bless’d in your affection, and shall have
Good time to understand so.
Dar. (Within.) Alessandra.
Ales. Madam.
Dar. A word! come quickly. — [Exit Ales.
Tib. O ye heavens!
How strangely one hour works upon another.
I was but now heart-sick, and long’d for meat,
Which being set before me I abhor.
Enter ALPHONSINA.
Alph. Brother.
Tib. What frights you thus from your chamber?
Alph. Such a fury as thou.
Tib. How now? hast lost thy wits?
Alph. I’ll swear thou hast; for thou hast candied
Thy sweet but poisonous language to dishonour
Me thy most wretched sister; who no better than a vile
Instrument to thy desires, deserves to be styl’d
Bawd; worse than the bawds,
Who every day i’ th’ week shake hands with hell.
Tib. Ha’ patience, dearest sister; I protest,
By all the graces that become a man,
I have not wrong’d Dariene nor her lord.
Alph. Thou shalt not then, by heaven!
Tib. By all goodness not;
With a well-blush’d discourse, fair Alessandra,
; Supposing me your sister, hath discovered
The true pangs of her fancy towards Tibaldo,
And in it crav’d my aid; which heard, even then,
My brutish purpose broke its neck, and I
Will prove the daughter’s husband, that came hither
A traitor to the mother.
Alph. My noble brother!
Our doings are alike, for by Trebatio
(Whom I with honour name) his father’s foulness shall be
Cut off and crost.
Tib. Get to your chamber;
No longer will I play the woman’s part,
This night shall change my habit with my heart.
Enter NICOLETTI with a Light.
Nic. In this chamber she lies, and that’s her window; wou’d I were in: the air bites, but the bit that I shall bite anon sharpens my stomach; the watch-word is a cornet; (cornet within), it speaks, she bids me come without a light; and reason, she’s light enough herself; wink thou one-eyed bawd, be thou an emblem of thy master, and burn in secret.
Enter ALPHONSINA above.
Alph. My lord!
Nic. What says my most moist-handed * sweet lady?
Alph. Who is there with you?
Nic. No Christian creature, I enter solus.
Alph. I fear I must entreat you to stay a little.
Nic. As long as thou desirest, but wilt come down? —
Alph. I would be loath to lose all upon one rest.
Nic. Shall I mount then?
Alph. For mine honour being once crack’d —
Nic. Crack a pudding! I’ll not meddle with thine honour.
Alph. Say you should get me with child?
Nic. I hope I am not the first lord has got a lady with child.
Alph. Is the night hush’d?
Nic. There’s nothing stirring; the very mice are asleep ; as I am noble, I’ll deal with thee like a gentleman.
Alph. I’ll do that then, which some citizens will not do to some lord.
Nic. What’s that?
Alph. Take your word; I come.
Nic. Ud’s my life!
Alph. What’s the matter, sir? [Music within.
Nic. I hear a lute, and sure it comes this way.
Alph. My most lov’d lord, step you aside; I would not have you seen for the saving of my right hand; preserve mine honour, as I preserve your love.
Enter TREBATIO with Music.
Nic. Pox on your cat’s guts!
Alph. To an unworthy window, who is thus kind?
Tre. Look out of it, and ’tis the richest casement
That ever let in air.
Alph. Trebatio?
Tre. Ay, my most fair mistress.
Alph. Neither of both, good sir;
Pray play upon some other, you abuse me,
And that which seems worse, in your father’s house.
Nic. Brave girl.
Alph. But you are young enough to be forgiven? ‘
If you will mend hereafter; the night has in it
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 92