VIOLA

Yes trust me: I wondered who should be so bold to send for me, you are welcome to Milan brother. Very well; you would traveled enough now, I trow, to sow your wild oats. These are your old oaths. Well, well, you shall have them: put your self into better fashion, because I must employ you in a serious matter. You would cast off all your old swaggering humours. I am the more sorry, for I must employ a true swag rer. Then lend me your ears. I am married to a man that haz wealth enough, and wit enough. Very true, a grave Citizen; I want nothing that a wife can wish from a husband: but heeres the spite, he haz not all things belonging to a man. No lose of goods can increase in him a wrinkle, no crabbed language make his countenance sour, the stubburn nes of no servant shake him, he haz no more gall in him than a Dove, no more sting than and Ant: Musician will he never be, (yet I find much music in him,) but he loves no frets, and is so free from anger, that many times I am ready to bite off my tongue, because it wants that virtue which all women's tongues have (to anger their husbands:) Brother, mine can by no thun der: turn him into a sharpness. I protest to thee Fustigo, I love him most affection onately, but I know not — I would such a tickling with in me — such a strange longing; nay, verily I do long. You're wide ath bow hand still brother: my longings are not wanton, but wayward: I long to have my patient hus band eat up a whole Porcupine, to the intent, the bristling quills may stick about his lips Like a flemish, mustacho, and be shot at me: I shall be leaner than the new Moon, un less I can make him born mad. Puh, he would count such a cut no unkindness. Fie, fie, idle, idle, he's no Frenchman, to fret at the lose of a little scalde hair. No brother, thus it shall be, you must be secret. Repair to the Tortoys here in S. Christophers street, I will send you money, turn your self into a brave man: instead of the arms of your mistress, let your sword and your military scarf hang about your neck. Oh, by any means, to show your light head, else your hat will fit Like a coxcomb: to be brief, you must be in all points a most terrible wide-mouth'd swaggerer. Resort then to our shop, and (in my husbands presence) kiss me, snatch rings, jewels, or any things so you give it back again brother in secret. Swear as if you came but new from knight king. Swagger worse then a Lieutenant among fresh-wa ter soldiers, call me your love, your yngle, your cousin, or so; but sister at no hand. Haz herd I have a brother, but never saw him, there before put on a good face. Take up wares, but pay nothing, rifle my bosom, my pocket, my purse, the boxes for money to dice with all; but bro there, you must give all back again in secret. Be circumspect, and do so then, farewell. Thither I'll send: this law can none deny, Women must have their longings, or they die. Exit. Oh you run over me too fast brother, I have herd it often said, that he who cannot be angry, is no man. I am sure my husband is a man in pri to, for all things else, save only in this, no tempest can move him. Come, you put up your wares in good order here, do you not think you, one cast this way, another that way? you had need have a patient master indeed. You mumble, do you mumble? I would your or I could be a no e more angry: for two patient folks in a house spoil all the servants that ever shall come under them. Why fool, why husband, why madman, I hope you will not let'em Sneak away so with a silver and gilded beaker, the best in the house too: go fellows make hue and cry after them. Hang your agreements: But if my beaker be gone. Puh! nay you wrench my finger. What will he spoil the Lawn now? I, that patience makes a fool of you: Gentlemen, you might would found some other Citizen to have made a kind gull on, beside my husband. Customers with a murre ̄ : call you these customers? Pax, a your patience. Custom quoth a. You had needs so. Gods my life, We shall have all our gains drunk out in beakers, To make amends for penny-worths of lawn. Enter Georg. I begin to him. Oh you're a goodly patient Woodcock, are you not now? Exit George. See what your paty ̄ ce comes too: every one saddles you, and rides you, yowl be shortly the common stone-horse of Myllan : a woman's well holp't up with such a meacock, I had rather have a husband that would swaddle me thrice a day, then such a one, that will be gulled twice in half and how er, O I could burn all the wares in my shop for anger. Reach me those Cambricks, & the Lawns hither. Must I call twice for these Cambricks & lawns? When do you show those pieces? You will not suffer them. What, playing the woman? blabbing now you fool? Come not to me for any key. I'll not be troubled to deliver it. Moths swallow down your gown: you set my teeth and edge with talking on't. Set on your coxcomb: tush, fine me no fi es. Well, then you're Like to cross that custom once, You get nor key, nor gown, and so depart: This trick will vex him sure, and fret his heart. Exit. Key sink to hell: still patient, patient still! I am with child to vex him: prithee George, If ere thou lookest for favour at my hands, Uphold one Jest for me. Whats a clock now. Thats well. The Senate will leave wording presently: But is George ready, Now as you ever hope to win my favour, Throw both your duties and respects on him, With the Like awe as if he were your master, Let not your looks betray it with a smile, Or jeering glance to any customer, Keep a true Settled countenance, and beware, You laugh not whatsoever you hear or see. enough then, call down George. Be ready with your legs then let me see, How curtsy would become him: gallantly! Beshrew my blood a proper seemly man, Of a choice carriage walks with a good port, Girded about him Like a madman: what: has he lost his cloak too: this is the maddest fashion that ere I saw. What said he George when he paced by thee? Yonder he stands. O I beseech you pardon my offence, In that I durst abuse your Graces warrant, Deliver forth my husband good my Lord. And for that purpose, Had warrant from your Grace, to carry him To Bethlehem Monastery, whence they will not free him, Without your Graces hand that sent him in. Forgive me, and isle vex your spirit no more. When you will, Cozen. hers the sweet youth, God bless him. Well, Cozen, how fare you? What, not my men, I hope? What, to my face so impudent? Take away those pieces. Cozen, I give them freely. Help, help, my brother will be murdered. Enter Can. They are of your keeping sir, alas poor brother. What, is your master gone? And in his cloak? did he not vex and swear? 'Tis a mere iestin faith: say, wilt thou doo't? Here, take this key, thou knowest where all things lie, Put on thy Master's best apparel, Gown, Chain, Cap, Ruff, every thing, be Like himself, And against his coming home, walk in the shop, Fain the same carriage, and his patient look, It'll breed but a jest thou knowest, speak, wilt thou? Prithee George. No wrong at all: here take the Key, be gone: If any vex him, this: if not this, none Exeunt. Sure he's vexed now, this trick has moved his Spleen, He's angered now, because he uttered nothing: And wordless wrath breaks out more violent, May be heel strive for place, when he comes down, But if thou lovest me George, afford him none. Spoke with the spirit of a Master, though with the tongue of a Prentice. Why how now madman? what in your tricksicoates! I that he can, out of a whole piece of Lawn i'faith. Oh fine fool? what a madman? a patient madman? who ever herd of the Like? well sir I'll fit you and your hu mour presently: what? cross-points, I'll untie em all in a trice, I'll vex you faith: Boy take your cloak, quick, come. Exit. I, I, by degrees I pray: o me! what makes he with the Lawn in his hand, heel tear all the beware in my shop. Oh you had needs do so, pray take heed of your warrant What news with you he says: o he's far gone. He laughs in your faces. La: he desires no rescue, I as poor heart, He talks against himself. Look how his head goes! should he get but lose, O it as much as all our lives were worth. O I, I went in danger of my life, every minute. I think, I would fitted now, you and your clothes, If this move not his patience, nothing can, I'll swear then I have a saint, and not a man Exit. Oh watch good George, watch which way the Duke comes. Pray sir, comes the duke this way. I thank you sir: Geroge are there many madfolkes, where thy Master lies. Sure I should think it were the least of sin, To mistake the master, and to let him in. You all know your tasks: gods my life, whats that he has God upon's back? who can tell? I, I, mad, mad, pray take heed. He talks to himself, o he's much gone indeed. Dost think George we shall get him forth. How does he talk George ! would! good George tell me. Alas I am afraid. But George he's not stark mad, is he? he does not rave, he's not horn-mad George is he? I'll to the monastery: I shall be mad till I enjoy him, I shall be sick till I see him, yet when I do see him, I shall weep out mine eyes. I but George, that painted cloth is worthy to be hanged up for lying, all women have not tears at will, unless they have good cause. Tame George, but I had on storming now. He's among the lunatics, He was a man made up without a gall, Nothing could move him, nothing could convert His meek blood into fury, yet Like a monster, I often beat at the most constant rock Of his unshaken patience, and did long To vex him. My husband good my Lord. Pray talk as little to him as you can, You see he's too far spent. A pennyworth! call you these Gentlemen?