LADY WOULD-BE

Come nearer: is this curl In his right place? or this? why is this higher Then all the rest? you have not washed your eyes, yet? Or do they not stand even i'your head? Where's your fellow? call her. I pray you, view This tire, forsooth: are all things apt, or no? Do's it so forsooth? and where was your deer sighed When it did so, forsooth? what now? bird-eyed? And you, too? pray you both approach, and mend it. Now (by that light) I muse, yo'are not ashamed! I, that have preached these things, so oft, unto you, Read you the principles, argued all the grounds, Disputed every fitness, every grace, Called you to counsel of so frequent dressings— Made you acquainted, what and ample dowry The knowledge of these things would be unto you, Able, alone, to get you noble husbands At your return: and you, thus, to neglect it? Beside, you seeing what a curious nation the Italians are, what will they say of me? The English lady cannot dress her self; Here's a fine imputation, to our country! Well, go your ways, and stay, i'the next room. This fucus was too course too, it's no matter. Good-sir, you'll giue'hem entertainment? How do's my VOLP? Believe me, and I Had the most fearful dream, could I remember't— Me thought, the golden mediocrity Polite, and delicate— Alas, good soul! the passion of the heart. Seed-pearl were good now, boiled with syrrope of apples, Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills, Your elicampane root, mirobalanes — Burned silk, and amber, you have muscadel Good i'the house— No, fear not that. I doubt, we shall not get Some english saffron (half a dram would serve) Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints. Buglosse, and barley-meal— And these applied, with a right scarlet-cloth— Shall I, sir, make you a poultise? I have, a little, studied physic; but, now, I'am all for music: save, i'the forenoons, And hour, or two, for painting. I would have A lady, indeed, to-have all, letters, and arts, Be able to discourse, to write, to paint, But principal (as PLATO holds) your music (And, so do's wise PYTHAGORAS, I take it) Is your true rapture; when there is concent In face, in voice, and clothes: and is, indeed, Our sexes chiefest ornament. Which o'your Poets? PETRARCH? or TASSO? or DANTE? GVERRINI? ARIOSTO? ARETINE? CIECO di Hadrian ? I have read them all. I think, I ha'two or three of'hem, about me. Here's PASTOR FIDO— All our English writers, I mean such, as are happy in the Italian , Will deign to steal out of this author, mainly; Almost as much, as from MONTAGNIE: He has so modern, and facile a vein, Fitting the time, and catching the court-eare. Your PETRARCH is more passionate, yet he, In days of sonetting, trusted them, with much: DANTE is hard, and few can understand him. But, for a desperate wit, there's ARETINE! Only, his pictures are a little obscene— You mark me not? Why, in such cases, we must cure our selves, Make use of our philosophy— And, as we find our passion do rebel, Encounter them with reason; or divert them, By giving scope unto some other humour Of lesser danger: as, in politic bodies, There's nothing, more, does overwhelm the judgement, And clouds the understanding, then too much Settling, and fixing, and (as't were) subsiding Upon one object. For the incorporating Of these same outward things, into that partly, Which we call mental, leaves some certain faeces , That stop the organs, and, as PLATO says, Assassinates our knowledge. Come, in faith, I must Visit you more, a days; and make you well: Laugh, and be lusty. There was but one sole man, in all the world, With whom I ere could sympathise; and he Would lie you often, three, four hours together, To hear me speak: and be (sometime) so rap't, As he would answer me, quite from the purpose, Like you, and you are Like him, joust. I'll discourse (And it be but only, sir, to bring you asleep How we did spend our time, and loves, together, For some six years. For we were coaetanci , and brought up— Good sir. I have brought your patron A toy, a cap here, of mine own work— Where? Is't true? But do you hear, sir?— Which way Rowed they together? I pray you lend me your dwarf. I, he plays both, with me: I pray you, stay. This heat will do more harm To my complexion, then his heart is worth. (I do not care to hinder, but to take him) How it comes of! Where? That same's the party! In men apparel. pray you, sir, jog my knight: I will be tender to his reputation, How ever he demerit. None? You mean, as early? but to day? Why in this habit, sir, you apprehend me. Well, master WOULD-BEE, this does not become you; I had thought, the odour, sir, of your good name, Had been more precious to you; that you would not Have done this dire massacre, on your honour; One of your gravity, and rank, beside! But, knights, I see, care little for the oath They make to ladies: chiefly, their own ladies. Right, sir, your polity May bear it through, thus. Sir, a word with you. I would be loath, to contest publicly, With any gentlewoman; or to seem Froward, or violent (as the courtier says) It comes too near rusticity, in a lady, Which I would shun, by all means: and, however I may deserve from master WOULD-BEE, yet, To-have one fair gentlewoman, thus, be made Th'vnkind instrument, to wrong another, And one she knows not, I, and to persever; In my poor judgement, is not warranted From being a solecism in our sex, If not in manners. Marry, and will, sir. Since you provoke me, with your impudence, And laughter of your light land- siren , here, Your SPORUS, your hermaphrodite — I, your Whitefriars nation? Come, I blush for you, master WOULD-BEE, I; And am ashamed, you should have no more forehead, Then, thus, to be the patron, or S to . GEORGE To a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice, A female devil, in a male outside. I, you may carry't clear, with your state-face! But, for your carniuale concupiscence, Who here is fled for liberty of conscience, From furious persecution of the Marshal, Her will I disc'ple. Go to, sir. This cannot work you, Out of my snare. This cannot be endured, by any patience. WHat's the matter, madame? If the Senate Right not my quest, in this; I will protest them, To all the world, no aristocracy. Why, the callet, You told me of, here I have taken disguised. Where? Is't possible! how has my judgement wandered! Sir, I must, blushing, say to you, I have erred: And plead your pardon. I hope, you have not the malice to remember A gentlewoman's passion. If you stay, In Venice , here, please you to use me, sir— pray you, sir, use me. In faith, The more you see me, the more I shall conceive, You have forgotten our quarrel. I, this same is she. Out, thou chameleon harlot; now, thine eyes Vie tears with the hyaena : darest thou look Upon my wronged face? I cry your pardons. I fear, I have (forgettingly) transgressed Against the dignity of the court— And been exorbitant— Surely, I had no purpose: To scandalise your honours, or my sexes. Surely, you may believe it. Indeed, you may; my breeding Is not so course— To offend With pertinacy— Such a presence: No, surely. You may think it. No, I'll go see your patron. You shall sway me. WEll, I am here; and all this brunt is passed: I never was in dislike with my disguise, Till this fled moment; here, 'twas good, in private, But, in your public, Cave , whilst I breathe. Before God, my left leg begin to have the cramp; And I apprehended, straight, some power had struck me With a dead palsy: well, I must be merry, And shake it off. A many of these fears Would put me into some villainous disease, Should they come thick upon me: I'll prevent them. Give me a boul of lusty wine, to fright This humour from my heart; (hum, hum, hum) It's almost gone, already: I shall conquer. Any device, now, of rare, ingenious knavery, That would possess me with a violent laughter, Would make me up, again! So, so, so, so. This heat is life; it's blood, by this time: MOSCA! HOw now, sir? do's the day look clear again? Are we recovered? and wrought out of error, Into our way? to see our path, before us? Is our trade free, once more? MOSCA? Is his thread spun? Do you hear, sir? How! Sir, I must have a fairer answer.