FULVIA

Darkness grows more & more! And I. Look Within, i'my blue Cabinet, for the pearl I'had sent me last, and bring it. From Caius Caesar. You're for Clodius, still. Or Curius. Sirrah, if Quintus Curius come, I am not in fit mood; I keep my Chamber: Give warning so, without. Yes, help to hang it in mine ear. I hope so: It should not be worn there else. Make and end, And bind my hair up. No, nor the tother day. When knew you me Appear, two days together, in one dressing? How thou wilt; Any way, so thou wilt do it, good Impertinence. Thy company, if I slept not very well A nights, would make me, and errant fool, with questions. Nay gentle half o'the Dialogue, cease. How! Do's he bid you To anger me for exercise? Jove! She means to cook me, I think? Pray you, ha'done. Oh my Juno, Be friend to me! Offering at wit, too? Why, Galla! Where hast thou been? What hast thou done With thy poor innocent self? Thus to come forth, so suddenly, a wit-worme? Oh, the wonder is out. That did infect thee? Well, and how? That ever thou heardest? In thy sleep? Of what was her discourse? Thou dreamp'tst all this? I, but I never dreamt it, Galla, As thou hast done, and therefore you must pardon me. Indeed, no. Forth with your learned Lady: She has a wit, too? A she- Critic, Galla? And can compose, in verse, and make quick jests, Modest, or otherwise? She can sing, too? And play on Instruments? And does dance rarely? What of her money, or her hono r, pray thee? A comely commendation. Why Galla? Oh, is that all? I thought thou' hadst had a reason. They say, it is Rather a visor, then a face she wears. Thou knowest all. But Galla, What say you to Catiline Lady, Orestilla? There is the Gallant. And body too, and have the better match on't? Say they not so too, Galla? Now! What news Travails your countenance with? Peac The fool is wild, I think. Well, Sempronia Whither are you thus early addressed? I cannot now, in troth, I have some letters To write, and send away. Do's he stand for't? Who stands beside? Give me some wine, and poulder for my teeth. A pretty one. No? Why He has virtue. 'Twas virtue only, at first, made all men noble. Sempronia, you are beholden to my woman, here She do's admire you. You see I use it. It may be so. Faith, I keep No Catalogue of them. Sometime I have one, Sometime another, as the toy takes their bloods. My special servant? He may be yours, If you do Like him. He comes, not, here, I have forbid him, hence. Why? So much the rather. I would have change. So would you too, I am sure. And now, you may have him. Faith, for me, He' is somewhat too fresh, indeed. The salt is gone, That gave him season. His good gifts are done. He do's not yield the crop that he was wont. And, for the act, I can have secret fellows, With backs worth ten of him, and shall pl see me (Now that the Land is fled) a myriad better. 'Tis true, These Lordings, Your noble Fans, they are so imperious, saucy, Rude, and as boisterous as Centaur's; leaping A Lady, at first sighed. Tut, I'll obferue None of them all: nor humour them a jot Longer, then they come laden in the hand, And say, here's tone, for tother. (Which is the happiness.) Yes, and they study your kitchen, more then you: Why, that's because You affect young faces only, and smooth chins, Sempronia. If youled love beards, and bristles, (One with another, as others do) or wrinkles— Who's that? Look Galla. What party? Has he no name? Did I not bid them, say, I kept may chamber? Nay, good Sempronia, stay. By Juno, I would not see him. As I do live, Sempronia. Go, say, I am asleep, and ill at ease. Spite, with your courtesy. How shall I be tortured! WHere are you, fair one, hat conceal your self; And keep your beauty, within locks, and bars, here, Like a fools treasure? True, she was a fool, When, first she showed it to a thief. The fools Artillery, sir. Stay sir. I am not in the mood. Best, put your self, i'your case again, and keep Your furious appetite warm, against you have place for't. No sir. I'am not proud. I shall not change it. I wonder, Who let this Promiser in! Did you, good Diligence? Give him his bribe, again. Or if you had none, Pray you demand him, why he is so venturous, To press, thus, to my chamber, being for bidden Both, by my self, and servants? It's not strained, Sir. It's very natural. For your foreknowledge, Thank that, which made it. It will not be so, Hereafter, I assure you. No though you bring the same materials. As I have done heretofore? You are and impudent fellow. I take you in? You have a slanderous, beastly, unwashed tongue, In your rude mouth, and savouring your self, Unmannered Lord. It is your title, Sir. Who (since you have lost your own good name, and know not What to lose more) care not, whose honour you wound, Or fame' you poison with it. You should go, And vent your self, in the region, where you live, Among the Suburb-brothels, Bawds, and Brokers, Whither your broken Fortune's have designed you. No, but by Castor, Hold off your Ravishers hands, I pierce your heart, else. I'll not be put to kill my self, as she did For you, sweet Tarquin. What? do you fallen off? Nay, it becomes you graciously. Put not up. You'll sooner draw your weapon on me, I think it, Then on the Senate, who have cast you forth Disgracefully, to be the common tale Of the whole City; base, infamous Man: For, were you other, you would there employ Your desperate dagger. I do know, Sir, So do's the Senate, too, know, you can bear. Do you think so? By what Augury? Tut, all your promised Mountains, And Seas, I am so stalely acquainted with—. Call him again, Galla: This is not usual, something hangs on this That I must win out of him. Come, you will laugh, now, at my easiness? But, it's no miracle; Doves, they say, will bill, After their pecking, and their murmuring. You do see, I study How I may please you, then. But you think, Curius 'Tis covetise hath wrought me; If you love me Change that unkind conceit. And'tis that joust revenge does make me happy To hear you prosequute: and which, indeed, Hath won me, to you, more, then all the hope Of what can else be promised. I love valour Better, then any Lady loves her face, Or dressing: then my self do's. Let me grow Still, where I do embrace. But what good means have you t'effect it? Shall I know your project? As I can be. As close as shells Of Cockles meet. Quite through Our subtle lips. I will sow them. Faster then you can reap. What is your plot? Nay, answer me, your plot: I pray thee tell me, Quintus. Will you not tell me, what I ask you? What is your design, then? Nay, deer Love. 'Tis true, my Lord, I had the same discourse. I assure your Lordship, The extreme horror of it almost turned me To air, when first I herd it; I was all A vapor, when it was told me; And I longed To vent it any where; 'Twas such a secret, I thought, it would have burned me up. I do not, my good Lord. I know to whom I have uttered it. My Lord, I did it not To any other aim, but for it self. To no ambition. It is my duty. Your Honour thinks too highly of me. My Lord, he understands it; and will follow Your saving counsel. But his shame, yet, stays him. I know, that he is coming. Yes, let me speak with you. What a I? I am, what you should be, Come, do you think, I'd walk in any plot, Where Madame Sempronia should take place of me, And Fulvia come in the rear, or on the by? That I would be her second, in a business, Though it might vantage me all the Sun sees? It was a Silly phantasy of yours. Apply Your self to me, and the Consul, and be wife; Follow the fortune I have put you into: You may be some thing this way, and with safety. Sir, you may hear. I tell him, in the way, Wherein he was, how hazardous his course was. He tells you right, sweet friend: It's saving counsel. No, faith, Sempronia, I am not well; I'll take my leave, it draws Towards the morning. Curius shall stay with you. Madam, I pray you pardon me, my health I must respect. I am, my Lord, in truth, In some indisposition. Curius says, he met him, Coming from thence. She that would be, had there be forty more; Sempronia, who had both her Greek, and Figures; And, ever and anon, would ask us, if The witty Consul could have mended that? Or Orator Cicero could have said it better? They hall all give, and pay well, that come here If they will have it; and that jewels, pearl, Plate, or round sums, to buy these. I'am not taken With a Cob-Swan, or a high-mounting Bull, As foolish Leda, and Europa were, But the bright gold, with Danae. For such price, I would endure, a rough, harsh Jupiter, Or ten such thundering Gamesters, and refrain To laugh at them, till they are gone, with my much suffering. I'll undertake, my Lord, he will be won.