Return thee her and this young gentleman,
Thy son and daughter: kiss with patience,
And breathe thy virtuous spirit into their souls.
Gwe. Oh! Sir Owen, marg you now; the man is yielded to her laty: learn now,
Sir Owen, learn, learn, knight, your duty: see you that?
Mar. Why stands my wronged Grissil thus amazed?
Gri. Joy, fear, love, hate, hope, doubts, encompass me.
Are these my children I supposed slain?
Jan. Are these my nephews that were murdered?
Gri. Blessing distil on you like morning dew!
My soul, knit to your souls, knows you are mine.
Mar. They are, and I am thine. Lords, look not strange;
These two are they at whose births envy’s tongue
Darted envenom’d stings: these are the fruit
Of this most virtuous tree. That multitude,
That many-headed beast, nipp’d their sweet hearts
With wrongs, with bitter wrongs: all you have wrong’d her;
Myself have done most wrong, for I did try
To break the temper of true constancy.
But these, whom all thought murder’d, are alive;
My Grissil lives, and, in the book of fame,
All worlds in gold shall register her name,
Lep and Ma. Most dreaded lord!
Mar. Arise, flatterers; get you gone!
Your souls are made of black confusion.
[Exeunt MARIO and LEPIDO.
Father Janiculo.
Jan. Oh, pardon me,
Though dumb betwixt my grief and joy I be.
Mar. Who stands thus sad? what, brother Laureo?
Lau. Pardon me, gracious lord; for now I see
That scholars with weak eyes pore on their books,
But want true souls to judge on majesty.
None else but kings can know the hearts of kings:
Henceforth my pride shall fly with humbler wings.
Mar. Our pardon and our love circle thee round.
Let’s all to banquet; mirth our cares confound.
Sir Ow. Hold, hold, hold! banquet? if you banquet so, Sir Owen is like to have sheer. Her laty here is cog a hoop now at this. Pray, cousin, keep your promise. — Rees, the wands! Rees! — your medicines and fine trigs to tame shrews.
Mar. Furio, where be the wands that I bound up?
Fu. Here, my lord.
Mar. I wreath’d them then, Sir Owen; and you see,
They still continue so: wreathe you these three.
Sir Ow. Oh i wind them? yes, is wind them, and mage good mighty cudgel, to tame and knog hur laty, and she prawl or cry, or give pread and meat to peggars, or tear ponds. By Cod, is well remembered too: cousin, you promised to help her to her duck-eggs, for all her paper and ponds are torn.
Mar. And I will keep my promise. Wreathe your wands.
Sir Ow. Oh, God’s lid! mine is stubborn, like Gwenthyan. God’s plude! see it preaks in snip snap pieces. What now, cousin?
Mar. But, cousin, these you see did gently bow.
I tried my Grissil’s patience, when ’twas green
Like a young osier, and I moulded it
Like wax to all impressions. Married men,
That long to tame their wives, must curb them in
Before they need a bridle; then they’ll prove
All Grissils, full of patience, full of love:
Yet that old trial must be tempered so,
Lest, seeking to tame them, they master you.
Sir Ow. By Cod, is true as Pistle and Gospel. Oh! true out o’ cry.
Mar. But you, Sir Owen, giving her the head,
As you gave liberty to those three wands,
She’ll break as those do, if you bend her now;
And then y’are past all help, for if you strive,
You’ll gain as gamesters do, that seldom thrive.
Sir Ow. What shall do to hur laty then? is pest run away, cousin, or knog her brains out? for is as faliant as Mars, if I be anger.
Jul. That were a shame — either to run away from a woman, or to strike her. Your best physic, Sir Owen, is to wear a velvet hand, leaden ears, and no tongue: you must not fight, howsoever she quarrels; you must be deaf whensoever she brawls, and dumb when yourself. Should brabble. Take this caudle next your heart every morning, and, if your wife be not patient, the next remedy that I know is to buy your winding-sheet.
Gwe, Cousin marquess, cousin Julia, lords and laties all, it shall not need: as her cousin has tried Grissil, so Gwenthyan has Sir Owen.
Sir Ow. O! by Cod, is thought, should pull her down: ah, ha!
Gwe. Is not pulled down neither; but Sir Owen shall be her head, and is sorry has anger her head, and mage it acke: but pray, good knight, be not proud, and triumph too much, and tread hur laty down. God udge me, will tage her will again, do what hur can.
Sir Ow. By Cod, is love her out o’ cry now. Sir Owen could tame her before, but Pritish plude scorns to fight hur laties; yes, faith, scorns out o’ cry. A pogs on’t,
’tis nought: Gwenthyan shall no more be called Gwenthyan, but patient Grissil, ah ha! is?
Mar. Our joys are complete; forward to our feast: Patience hath won the prize, and now is blest.
Jul. Nay, brother, your pardon a while. Besides ourselves, there are a number here that have beheld Grissil’s patience, your own trials, and Sir Owen’s sufferance,
Gwenthian’s frowardness, these gentlemen lovertine, and myself a hater of love. Amongst this company, I trust, there are some maiden bachelors, and virgin maidens: those that live in that freedom and love it, those that know the war of marriage and hate it, set their hands to my bill; which is, rather to die a maid, and lead apes in hell, than to live a wife, and be continually in hell.
Gwe, Julia, by your leaves, a liddle while. You tawg and you prabble about shidings in marriages, and you abuse young men and damsels, and fraid them from good sports, and honourable states: but, hear you now, all that be sembled here: know you that discord’s mage good music, and when lovers fall out, is soon fall in, and ’tis good, you know. Pray you, all be married, for wedlock increases peobles and cities: all you, then, that have husbands that you would pridle, set your hand to Gwenthyan’s pill, for ’tis not fit that poor womens should be kept always under.
Mar. Since Julia of the maids, and Gwenthyan of froward wives, entreat a kind applaud, see, Grissil, among all this multitude, who will be friend to gentle patience?
Sir Ow. Ha, ha, ha! Grissil is weary: pray let Sir Owen speak. Grissil is patient, and her cousin is patient; therefore is speak for two. God’s plude! you see hur laty is sprite of buttry! yet Sir Owen tame her, and tear her ruffs, and mage her cry, and put on her parrels, and say is sorry, Sir Owen: marg that well. If Sir Owen was not patient, hur laty had not been pridled; if Grissil had not been patient, her cousin marquess had not been pridled. Well, now, if you love Sir Owen’s laty, I hope you love Sir Owen too, or is grow mighty angry. Sir Owen love you, as God udge me, out o’ cry, a terrible teal, do you hear now? then, pray, all that have crabbed husbands, and cannot mend them, as Grissils had; and all that have fixen wives, and yet is tame her well enough, as Sir Owen does, and all that have scolds, as Sir Owen does, and all that love fair laties, as Sir Owen does, to set hur two hands to his pill, and by God shall have Sir Owen’s heart and soul in his pelly, and so God save you all! Man gras wortha whee.
Man gras wortha whee. Good night, cousins all.
[Exeunt.
FINIS.
The Honest Whore, Part I (1604)
In collaboration with Thomas Middleton
The Honest Whore; Part I was entered into the Stationers’ Register on 9 November 1604. The first quarto was published shortly afterwards and five more followed in the subsequent twenty years, including one that was produced by the famous Jacobean printer Nicholas Okes. Middleton’s contribution to part one has been a debated topic among scholars, although Dekker is considered
to be the primary author of the work. Whether a facet of the collaborative process or not, there is an element of inconsistency within the play which is not easily resolved, and at times the parallel and interweaving plots exist uncomfortably together. One production of the work in London is believed to have occurred in the outside space at Fortune Theatre, where it was performed by Prince Henry’s Men.
The drama features three main plots: one involves the Duke of Milan wishing to prevent his daughter, Infelice, from marrying Hippolito, the son of an old enemy. The Duke’s machinations include pretending his daughter has died and attempting to have Hippolito murdered by poisoning him. Throughout the play, the young man repeatedly asserts his love for Infelice and his intention to remain true to her despite her death. Another plot is centred on the eponymous ‘honest whore’ Bellafront, who falls in love with Hippolito. She is shamed and castigated by him for her profession, so she determines to stop working as a prostitute. The final narrative strand is based on the desire of Viola, the wife of a successful draper, to infuriate her seemingly infinitely patient husband, Candido. She concocts a series of schemes intended to inflame her husband’s temper and break his calm resolve; the three gallants in the play also contrive to anger and vex Candido.
The figure of the ‘whore’ was popular in Renaissance English drama, where it was often used to signify attraction and destruction, alongside a host of other complex and ambiguous meanings. In The Honest Whore; Part I, Bellafront is not only driven to repent and renounce her profession, but is also forced into marriage; this was the most common method by which the patriarchal order asserted social control on women. Middleton and Dekker also suggest the danger of Candido’s unrelenting patience as they highlight the terrible result of the linen-draper’s refusal to enforce normative gender relations and assert his authority over his wife in his home.
Title page of the 1604 quarto
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I. — A Street in Milan.
SCENE II. — Another Street.
SCENE III. — A Chamber in the Duke’s Palace.
SCENE IV. — A Street.
SCENE V. — Candido’s Shop.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I. — A Room in Bellafront’s House.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I. — Candido’s Shop.
SCENE II. — An outer Apartment in Bellafront’s House.
SCENE III. — A Chamber in Bellafront’s House.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I. — A Chamber in Hippolito’s House.
SCENE II. A Street.
SCENE III. Candido’s Shop.
SCENE IV. — Grounds near the Duke’s Palace.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I. — A Hall in the Duke’s Palace.
SCENE II. An Apartment in Bethlem Monastery.
Thomas Middleton
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Gasparo Trebazzi, Duke of Milan.
Hippolito, a Count.
Castruchio.
Sinezi.
Pioratto.
Fluello.
Matheo.
Benedict, a Doctor.
Anselmo, a Friar.
Fustigo, Brother of Viola.
Candido, a Linen-draper.
George, his Servant.
First Prentice.
Second Prentice.
Crambo.
Poh.
Roger, Servant of Bellafront.
Porter,
Sweeper.
Madmen, Servants, &c.
Infelice, Daughter of the Duke.
Bellafront, a Harlot.
Viola, Wife of Candido.
Mistress Fingerlock, a Bawd.
SCENE — Milan and the Neighbourhood.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I. — A Street in Milan.
ENTER AT ONE side a Funeral (a coronet lying on the hearse, scutcheon and garlands hanging on the sides), attended by Gasparo Trebazzi, Duke of Milan, Castruchio, Sinezi, Pioratto, Fluello, and others. At the other side enter Hippolito, and Matheo labouring to hold him back.
Duke. Behold, yon comet shows his head again!
Twice hath he thus at cross-turns thrown on us
Prodigious looks: twice hath he troubled
The waters of our eyes. See, he’s turned wild: —
Go on, in God’s name.
Cas., Sin. On afore there, ho!
Duke. Kinsmen and friends, take from your manly sides
Your weapons to keep back the desperate boy
From doing violence to the innocent dead.
Hip. I prithee, dear Matheo ——
Matheo. Come you’re mad!
Hip. I do arrest thee, murderer! Set down.
Villains, set down that sorrow, ’tis all mine.
Duke. I do beseech you all, for my blood’s sake
Send hence your milder spirits, and let wrath
Join in confederacy with your weapons’ points;
If he proceed to vex us, let your swords
Seek out his bowels: funeral grief loathes words.
Cas., Sin. Set on.
Hip. Set down the body!
Mat. O my lord!
You’re wrong! i’th’ open street? you see she’s dead.
Hip. I know she is not dead.
Duke. Frantic young man,
Wilt thou believe these gentlemen? — Pray speak —
Thou dost abuse my child, and mock’st the tears
That here are shed for her: if to behold
Those roses withered, that set out her cheeks:
That pair of stars that gave her body light,
Darkened and dim for ever; all those rivers
That fed her veins with warm and crimson streams
Frozen and dried up: if these be signs of death,
Then is she dead. Thou unreligious youth,
Art not ashamed to empty all these eyes
Of funeral tears, a debt due to the dead,
As mirth is to the living? Sham’st thou not
To have them stare on thee? hark, thou art cursed
Even to thy face, by those that scarce can speak.
Hip. My lord ——
Duke. What would’st thou have? Is she not dead?
Hip. Oh, you ha’ killed her by your cruelty!
Du. Admit I had, thou kill’st her now again;
And art more savage than a barbarous Moor.
Hip. Let me but kiss her pale and bloodless lip.
Duke. O fie, fie, fie.
Hip. Or if not touch her, let me look on her.
Mat. As you regard your honour ——
Hip. Honour? smoke!
Mat. Or if you loved her living, spare her now.
Duke. Ay, well done, sir, you play the gentleman —
Steal hence;— ’tis nobly done; — away; — I’ll join
My force to yours, to stop this violent torment —
Pass on.
[Exeunt with hearse, all except the Duke, Hippolito and Matheo.
Hip. Matheo, thou dost wound me more.
Mat. I give you physic, noble friend, not wounds.
Duke. O, well said, well done, a true gentleman!
Alack, I know the sea of lovers’ rage
Comes rushing with so strong a tide, it beats
And bears down all respects of life, of honour,
Of friends, of foes! Forget her, gallant youth.
Hip. Forget her?
Duke. Nay, nay, be but patient;
For why death’s hand hath sued a strict divorce
‘Twixt her and thee: what’s beauty but a corse?
What but fair sand-dust are earth’s purest forms?
Queen’s bodies are but trunks to put in worms.
Mat. Speak no more sentences, my good lord, but slip hence; you see they are but fits; I’ll rule him, I warrant ye. Ay, so, tread gingerly; your grace is here somewhat too long already. [Exit Duke.] S’blood, the jest were now, if, hav
ing ta’en some knocks o’ th’ pate already, he should get loose again, and like a mad ox, toss my new black cloaks into the kennel. I must humour his lordship. [Aside]. My Lord Hippolito, is it in your stomach to go to dinner?
Hip. Where is the body?
Mat. The body, as the duke spake very wisely, is gone to be wormed.
Hip. I cannot rest; I’ll meet it at next turn:
I’ll see how my love looks. [Matheo holds him back.
Mat. How your love looks? worse than a scare-crow.
Wrestle not with me: the great fellow gives the fall for a ducat.
Hip. I shall forget myself.
Mat. Pray, do so, leave yourself behind yourself, and go whither you will. ‘Sfoot, do you long to have base rogues that maintain a Saint Anthony’s fire in their noses by nothing but twopenny ale, make ballads of you? If the duke had but so much mettle in him, as is in a cobbler’s awl, he would ha’ been a vexed thing: he and his train had blown you up, but that their powder has taken the wet of cowards: you’ll bleed three pottles of Alicant, by this light, if you follow ’em, and then we shall have a hole made in a wrong place, to have surgeons roll thee up like a baby in swaddling clouts.
Hip. What day is to-day, Matheo?
Mat. Yea marry, this is an easy question: why to-day is — let me see — Thursday.
Hip. Oh! Thursday.
Mat. Here’s a coil for a dead commodity. ‘Sfoot, women when they are alive are but dead commodities, for you shall have one woman lie upon many men’s hands.
Hip. She died on Monday then.
Mat. And that’s the most villanous day of all the week to die in: and she was well, and eat a mess of water-gruel on Monday morning.
Hip. Ay? it cannot be,
Such a bright taper should burn out so soon.
Mat. O yes, my lord. So soon? why, I ha’ known them, that at dinner have been as well, and had so much health, that they were glad to pledge it, yet before three a’clock have been found dead drunk.
Hip. On Thursday buried! and on Monday died!
Quick haste, byrlady; sure her winding sheet
Was laid out ‘fore her body; and the worms
That now must feast with her, were even bespoke,
And solemnly invited like strange guests.
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 118