Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker

by Thomas Dekker

  Jul. And miss’d your leg?

  Far. Ay, and his hose, too.

  Emu. And miss’d my leg, most bright star: which advantageous sign I ( — ) this leg, (having a fair carnation silk stocking on) stumbled: my spangled garters in that imprision fell about my feet, and he, fetching a most valorous and ingenious career, invaded ray rapier hand, entered this gilded fort, and in that passado vulnerated my hand thus deep, I protest and contest Heaven.

  Jul. No more: it’s too tragical!

  Emu. I conclude: I thought (by the syntheresis of my soul) I had not been imperished, till the blood, showing his red tincture at the top of a fair enveloped glove, sunk along my arm, and spoiled a rich waistcoat wrought in silk and gold, a toy, &c.

  Far. He’ll strip himself out of his shirt, anon. For God’s sake, step in.

  Emu. My opinion is, I shall never recuperate the legitimate office of this member, my arm.

  All three. [Coming forward.] Signor Emulo!

  Emu. Sweet and accomplish’d signors.

  Far. Ha, ha! Madam, you had a pitiful hand with this fool; but see, he is recovered.

  Jul But, servant, where is your other hand?

  Ono, See, sweet mistress, one is my prisoner.

  Urc. The other I have ta’en up with the fine finger.

  Jul. Look in his scarf, Farneze, for another: he has a third hand, and ’tis pitifully wounded; he tells me, pitifully, pitifully. —

  Far. Wounded? oh, palpable! come, a demonstration of it.

  Ono. Give him your larded cloak, signor, to stop his mouth, for he will undo you with lies.

  Urc. Come, Signor, one fine be now to apparel all these former in some light sarcenet robe of truth: none, none in this mint? —

  Jul. Fie, servant: is your accomplish’d courtship nothing but lies?

  Ono. Fie, signor: no music in your mouth but battles, yet a mere milksop? —

  Urc. Fie, Emulo: nothing but wardrobe, yet here all your trunks of suits?

  Far. Fie, signor: a scarf about your neck, yet will not hang yourself to hear all this?

  Jul. Servant, I discharge you my service. I’ll entertain no braggarts.

  Ono. Signor, we discharge you the court. We’ll have no gulls in our company.

  Far. Abr’am, we cashier you our company. We must have no minions at court.

  Emu. Oh, patience! be thou my fortification. Italy, thou spurnest me for uttering that which I only suck’d from thee.

  Far. How? Italy? away, you idiot! Italy infects you not, but your own diseased spirits. Out, you froth! you scum! Because your soul is mud, and that you have breathed in Italy, you’ll say Italy hath defiled you. Away, you boar! thou wilt wallow in mire in the sweetest country in the world.

  Emu. I cannot conceit this rawness. Italy, farewell:

  Italians, adieu: A virtuous soul abhors to dwell with you.

  [Exit.

  All. Ha, ha, ha! [They laugh.]

  Enter MARQUESS and SIR OWEN.

  Jul. Peace, servants: here comes the duke, my brother.

  Mar. Lo, cousin, here they be. — Are ye here, gentlemen?

  And Julia, too? then, I’ll call your eyes

  To testify, that to Sir Meredith

  I do deliver here four sealed bonds.

  Coz, have a care to them, it much behoves you;

  For, gentlemen, within this parchment lies

  Five thousand ducats, payable to him,

  Just fourteen days before next Pentecost.

  Coz, it concerns you, therefore, keep them safe.

  Sir Ow. Fugh! hur warrant hur shall log them ub from sun and moon, and seven stars, too, I hobe. But, barg you, cousin marquess.

  Mar. Now, what’s the matter?

  Sir Ow. A pox on it, ’tis scald matter. Well, well: pray, cousin marquess, use her laty Grissil a good teal better; for, as God udge me, you hurt Sir Owen out o’ cry by maging her sad, and pout so, see you.

  Mar. Hurt you? What harm or good reap you thereby?

  Ono. Harm! yes, by God’s lid, a poggie teal of harm; for, loog you, cousin, and cousin Julia, and shentlemen all, (for all is to know hur wife’s case) you know hur tage to wife the widow Gwenthyan.

  Mar. True, cousin; and she’s a virtuous gentlewoman.

  Ono. One of the patientest ladies in the world.

  Urc. She’s wondrous beautiful, and wondrous kind.

  Far. She’s the quietest woman that ere I knew; for, good heart, she’ll put up any thing.

  Jul. Cousin, I am proud that you are sped so well.

  Sir Ow. Are you? by God, so am not I. I’ll tell you what, cousin marquess, you all know hur well: you know her face is liddle fair and smug, but hur has a tongue goes jingle jangle, jingle jangle, petter and worse than pells when hur house is o’ fire. Patient! Sir Owen shall tage hur heels, and run to Wales, and hur play the tevil so out o’ cry, terrible, a pox on her la!

  Jul. Why, cousin, what are her qualities, that you so commend her?

  Sir Ow. Commend her! no, by God, not I. Ha, ha! is know her qualities petter and petter fore I commend her; but Gwenthyan is worse and worse out o’ cry; oh, out o’ cry worse, out of all cry! She’s feared to be made fool, as Grissil is, and, as God udge me, hur mage fine poobie fool of Sir Owen. Hur shide, and shide, and prawl, and scold, by God, and scradge terrible sometime. Ow! and said hur will do what hur can.

  Ha, ha, ha! an Sir Owen were handsome pachelor again! Pray, cousin marquess, tage some order in Grissil, or teach Sir Owen to mage Gwenthyans quiet, and tame her.

  Mar. To tame her? that I’ll teach you presently.

  You had no sooner spake the word of taming,

  But mine eye met a speedy remedy.

  See, cousin, here’s a plot where osiers grow;

  The ground belongs to old Janiculo,

  My Grissils father: come, Sir Meredith;

  Take out your knife, cut three, and so will I.

  So, keep yours, cousin; let them be safe laid up:

  These three, thus wound together, I’ll preserve.

  Sir Ow, What shall hur do now with these? peat and knog her, Gwenthyan?

  Mar, You shall not take such counsel from my lips.

  Enter MARIO.

  How, now, Mario? what news brings thee hither

  In such quick haste? —

  Ma, Your wife, my gracious lord,

  Is now delivered of two beauteous twins,

  A son and daughter.

  Mar. Take that for thy pains s

  Not for the joy that I conceive thereby,

  For Grissil is not gracious in the eye

  Of those that love me; therefore I must hate

  Those that do make my life unfortunate,

  And that’s my children: must I not, Mario?

  Thou bowest thy knee. Well, well, I know thy mind.

  Virtue in villains can no succour find, [aside.]

  A son and daughter? I by them will prove

  My Grissil’s patience better, and her love. —

  Come, Julia; come, Onophrio: coz, farewell.

  Reserve those wands: these three I’ll bear away.

  When I require them back, then will I show

  How easily a man may tame a shrew. — [Exeunt,

  Sir Ow. Ha, ha, ha! tame a shrew? Oh, ’tis out o’ cry terrible hard, and more worse than tame a mad pull. But what mean hur cousin to mage hur cut hur wands?

  Ha! ha! God udge me, ’tis fine knag. I see hur knavery now: ’tis to pang Gwenthyan’s pody, and she mage a noise and prabble. Is not so? by God’s lid, so; and,

  Gwenthyan, Sir Owen will knog you before hur abide such horrible do.

  Enter GWENTHYAN and RICE.

  God’s lid! here hur comes. Terdawgh, Gwenthian; terdawgh.

  Gwe. Terdawgh whee, Sir Owen, terdawgh whee.

  Sir Ow. Owe, loog here: fine wands, Gwenthyan, is not?

  Gwe. Rees, tage them, and preag them in pieces.

  Rice. What say you, forsooth?

  Gwe. What say you, forsooth! you sa
ucy knave! must hur tell hur once, and twice, and thrice, and four times what to do? preag these wands.

  Sir Ow. Rees is petter preag Rees his pate. Here,. Rees, carry hur home.

  Rice. Would I were at gallows, so I were not here«

  Gwe. Do, and hur tare; do, and hur tare. See you, now, what shall hur do with wands? peat Gwenthyan body, and mage Gwenthyan put her finger in me hole? ha! ha! by God, by God, is scradge hur eyes out that tudge her, that tawg to her, that loog on her: marg you that, Sir Owen.

  Sir Ow. Yes, hur marg hur, — Rees, pray marg hur lady.

  Rice. Not I, sir; she’ll set her marks on me, then.

  Gwe. Is prate? is prate? Go to, Rees: I’ll Rees hur, you tog you.

  Sir Ow. Pray, Gwenthian, be patient as her cousin Grissil is.

  Gwe. Grissil? how! how! Grissil? no, no, no, no. Hur shall not mage Gwenthian such ninny, pooby fool as

  Grissil. I say, preag hur wands.

  Sir Ow. God’s plude! is pought hur to peat dust out of hur cloag and parrels.

  Gwe. Peat hur cloag and parrels? fye, fye, fye! ’tis lie, Sir Owen, ’tis lie.

  Rice. Your worship may stab her: she gives you the lie.

  Sir Ow. Peace, Rees! go to. — I pought them indeed to mage her horse run and go a mighty teal of pace. Pray let Rees tage hur in, good Gwenthyan.

  Gwe. Rees, bear in hur wands, because Sir Owen beg so gently.

  Sir Ow. Go, Rees, go; lock them up in a pox or shest: go.

  Rice. You shall not need to bid me go, for I’ll run.

  [Exit.

  Sir Ow. I pought them for her horse. Here, een now, was her cousin marquess, and prought her all these scribblings here for her money. Gwenthyan shall have her ponds and keep her wisely. Sirrah Gwenthyan, I will tell her prave news: Grissil is prought to bed of a shentleman and shentlewoman: is glad out o’ cryspeak her fair. — Yes, truly, Grissil is prought a bed.

  Gwe. Grissil! no pody but Grissil! what care I for Grissil! I say, if Sir Owen love Gwenthyan, shall not love Grissil nor marquess so; see you now.

  Sir Ow. God udge me, not love her cousin? is shealous? oh, is fine trig not love her cousin. God udge me, hur will, and hang herself; see you now.

  Gwe. Hang herself! how, how, how? Gwenthyan’s tother husband is scorn to say hang herself: hang herself! How, how, how, how?

  Sir Ow. God plude! what cannot get by prawls, is get by how, how, how. Is a terrible ladie. Pray be peace, and cry no more how, how, how. Tawson, Gwenthians: God udge me, is very fury.

  Gwe. O, mon Iago! mon due! hang Gwenthyans?

  Sir Ow. Adologo whee Gwenthyan bethog, en thonigh en moyen due.

  Gwe. Ne vetho en thonigh gna wathe gethla tee. Hang Gwenthyans?

  Sir Ow. Sir Owen shall say no more hang herself: be out o’ cry still, and hur shall puy hur new car to ride in, and two new fine horses, and more plue coats and padges to follow her heels; see you now.

  Gwe. But will hur say no more, hang herself?

  [Re-Enter RICE.

  Sir Ow. Oh, no more, as God udge me, no more; pray leave how, how, how.

  Rice. Tannekin, the frow, hath brought your rebato; it comes to three pound.

  Sir Ow. What a pestilence! is this for Gwenthyan?

  Gwe. For her neg; is call’d repatoe. Gwenthyan wear it here: is’t not prave?

  Sir Ow. Prave! yes, is prave: ’tis repatoes, I warrant her. Ay, patoes money out o’ cry: yes, ’tis prave. Rees, the preese? Rees, the preece?

  Rice. The frow, sir, says three pound.

  Sir Ow. Ha, ha, ha! [three] pound! Gwenthyan, pray do not puy it.

  Gwe. By God udge me, hur shall puy it.

  Sir Ow. God udge me, hur shall not.

  Gwe. Shall not! Rees, tage hur away; I say her shall, and were it puy and puy.

  Sir Ow. Then, mage a pooby fool of Sir Owen, indeed. God’s plude, shall! I say, shall not. Three pound for puble, for patoes? here, there;[Tears it] so, tage it now, wear it now pout her neg. Shall pridle Sir Owen, ha!

  Rice. Oh, rare Sir Owen! oh, precious knight! oh, rare Sir Owen!

  Gwe. Out, you rascals! you prade and prade. I’ll prade your neaces. — [Beats him.

  Rice. Oh, rare madam! oh, precious madam! oh

  God! oh God! oh God; oh! — [Exit.

  Gwe. Is domineer now? you tear her ruffs and repatoes? you preak her ponds? I’ll tear as good ponds, and petter too, and petter too. — [Tears the bonds.]

  Sir Ow. Oh, Gwenthyan! God’s plude, is five thousand ducats! hold, hold, hold! a pogs on hur pride! what has hur done?

  Gwe. Go loog: is now paid for her repatoes? I’ll have hur wills and desires: I’ll teadge hur pridle hur lady. Catho crogge, ne vetho, en thonigh gna wathee gnatla tee. — [Exit.

  Sir Ow. A breath vawer or no tee. Pridle her! Sir Owen is pridled, I warrant. Widows! were petter, God’s plude, marry whore: were petter be hang’d and quarter’d, than marry widows, as God udge me. Sir Owen, fall on hur knees and pray God to tag hur to hur mercy, or else put petter mind in hur lady. All Pritish shentlemans tage heed how her marry vixen widow.

  Sir Owen ap Meredith can rightly tell,

  A shrew’s sharp tongue is terrible as hell.

  [Exit.

  ACT IV.

  SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Palace of Saluzzo.

  ENTER MARQUESS, AND Furio with an infant in his arms.

  Mar. Did she not see thee when thou took’st it up?

  Fu. No; she was fast asleep.

  Mar. Give me this blessed burthen. Pretty fool!

  With what an amiable look it sleeps,

  And in that slumber how it sweetly smiles,

  And in that smile how my heart leaps for joy!

  Furio, I’ll turn this circle to a cradle,

  To rock my dear babe. A great Roman lord

  Taught his young son to ride a hobbyhorse;

  Then, why should I think scorn to dandle mine?

  Furio, behold it well; to whom is’t like?

  Fu. You: there’s your nose and black eyebrows.

  Enter MARIO.

  Mar. Thou dost but flatter me; here comes Mario:

  I know Mario will not flatter me.

  Mario, thy opinion: view this child;

  Doth not his lips, his nose, his forehead,

  And every other part, resemble mine?

  Ma. So like, my lord, that the nice difference

  Would stay the judgment of the curious’t eye.

  Mar. And yet, methinks, I am not half so brown.

  Ma. Indeed, your cheeks bear a more lively colour.

  Mar. Furio, play thou the nurse: handle it softly.

  Fu. One were better get a dozen, than nurse one.

  Mar. Mario, step to Grissil; she’s asleep,

  Her white hand is the pillow to those cares

  Which I ungently lodge within her head:

  Steal thou the other child, and bring it hither.

  If Grissil be awake, and strive with thee,

  Bring it perforce, nor let her know what hand

  Hath robb’d her of this other. Haste, Mario.

  Ma. I fly, my gracious lord. — [Exit.

  Mar. Run, flattery.

  Because I did blaspheme and call it brown,

  This parasite cried, like an echo, brown.

  Fu. The child is fair: my lord, you were ne’er so fair.

  Mar. I know ’tis fair, I know ’tis wondrous fair.

  Dear, pretty infant let me with a kiss

  Take that dishonour off, which the foul breath

  Of a profane slave laid upon thy cheeks.

  Had I but said, my boy’s a blackamoor,

  He would have damn’d himself, and so have swore.

  Enter GRISSIL, and MARIO with a child.

  Gri. Give me mine infant! where’s my other babe?

  You cannot play the nurse; your horrid eyes

  Will fright my little ones, and make them cry:

  Your tongue’s too rough to sound a lullaby.

  ’Tis not
the pleasure of my lord, I know,

  To load me with such wrong.

  Ma. No; I unload you. [scoffingly.]

  Mar. Give her her child, Mario: and yet stay —

  Furio, hold thou them both. Grissil, forbear;

  You are but nurse to them; they are not thine.

  Gri. I know, my gracious lord, they are not mine;

  I am but their poor nurse, I must confess.

  Alas! let not a nurse be pitiless.

  To see the cold air make them look thus bleak

  Makes me shed tears, because they cannot speak.

  Mar. If they could speak, what think you they would say?

  Gri. That I in all things will your will obey.

  Mar. Obey it then in silence. Shall not I

  Bestow what is mine own as likes me best?

  Deliver me these brats. Come, press me down

  With weighty infamy: here is a load

  Of shame, of speckled shame! Oh, God! how heavy

  An armful of dishonour is: here’s two.

  Grissil, for this I’ll thank none else but you.

  Which way soe’er I turn I meet a face

  That makes my cheeks blush at mine own disgrace.

  [Aside.] This way or this way, never shall mine eye

  Look thus, or thus; but (oh me!) presently,

  (Take them, for God’s sake, Furio) presently

  I shall spend childish tears: true tears, indeed,

  That thus I wrong my babes, and make her bleed.

  [To her.] Go, Grissil; get you in.

  Gri. I go, my lord.

  Farewell, sweet, sweet, dear babes: so you were free,

  Would all the world’s cares might be thrown on me!

  [Exit.

  Mar. Ha! ha! why, this is pleasing harmony.

  Fu. My lord, they’ll wrawle: what shall I do with them?

  Mar. Tell her thou must provide a nurse for them.

  Comes she not back, Mario.

  Ma. No, my lord.

  Mar. Tush, tush! it cannot be but she’ll return.

  I know her bosom bears no marble heart;

  I know a tender mother cannot part,

  With such a patient soul, from such sweet souls.

  She stands and watches sure, and sure she weeps

  To see my seeming flinty breast. Mario,

  Withdraw with me: Furio, stay thou here still.

  If she return, seem childish, and deny