BELLAFRONT

Will it be long, sir, ere my Lord come forth? I do beseech your Lordship, let your eye read ever this wretched Paper. That most unfortunate woman. O las! it does concern a poor men life. Too true. No, my Lord. Umph, when ̄ I had lost my way to heaven, you shewedit: I was new born that day. I think he does, but such rude spots of shame Stick on my cheek, that he scarce knows my name. Yes my Lord. All he should: when Children From duty start, Parents from love may swerve. He nothing does: for nothing I deserve. It is impossible. And glad am I th'art here. Matheo? Matheo, prithee make thy prison thy glass, And in it view the wrinkles, and the scars, By which thou Wertenberg disfigured, viewing them, mend them. Thou dost not hear me? Thou hast been in the hands of misery, and taken strong Physic, prithee now be found. Nay see, th'art thirsty still for poison, come, I will not have thee swagger. It's that sharpened and axe to cut thy throat. Good Love, I would not have thee fell thy substance And time (worth all) in those damned shops of Hell; Those Dicing houses, that stand never well, But when they stand most ill, that four-squared sin Has almost lodged us in the beggars Inn. Beside (to speak which even my soul does grieve) A sort of Ravens have hung upon thy sleeve, And fed upon thee: good Mat. (if you please) so base as Scorn to spread wing amongst these; By them thy fame is speckled, yet it shows Clear amongst them; so Crows are fair with Crows. Custom in sin, gives sin a lovely die. Blackness in Moors is no deformity. One knocks at door. How wild is his behaviour! o, I fear He's spoiled by prison, he's half damned comes there, But I must fit all storms: when a full sail his Fortune's spread, he loved me: being now poor, I'll beg for him, and no wife can do more. My Father? any tongue that sounds his name, Speaks Music to me: welcome good old man. How does my father? lives he? has he health? How does my father? I so much do shame him, So much do wound him, that I scarce dare name him. Alas, Matheo, wilt thou load a back That is already broke? Thou villain, curb thy tongue, thou art a Judas, To fell thy Master's name to slander thus. Gentleman. Art not ashamed to strike and absent man thus? Art not ashamed to let this vild Dog bark, And bite my Father thus? I'll not endure it; Out of my doors, base slave. Yes my Lord. Yes my Lord, I did. Over and over it's read. Now the time's not fit, You see, my Husbands here. Nothing. Why I tell you nothing. Fellow, be gone I pray thee; if thy tongue itch after talk so much, seek out thy Master, th'art a fit instrument for him. Play on thee? no, you two will fly together, Because you are roving arrows of one feather. Would thou wouldst leave my house, thou never shalt Please, me weave thy nets never so hie, Thou shalt be but a spider in mine eye. Th'art rank with poison, poison tempered well, Is food for health; but thy black tongue does swell With venom, to hurt him that gave thee bred, To wrong men absent, is to spurn the dead. And so didst thou thy Master, and my Father. Let him say worse, when for the earth's offence Hight vengeance through the marble clouds is driven, Is't fit earth shoot again those darts at heaven? I am not made of marble: I forgive thee. In a sure hand I warrant thee for spending. A purse, where hadst it? The Lord Hipollito? It's all gold. He thinks a silver net can catch the poor, Here's bait to choke a Nun, and turn her whore. Wilt thou be honest to me? Thou to this Lord shalt go, commend me to him, And tell him this, the Town has held out long, Because (within) 'twas rather true, then strong. To fell it now were base; Say it's no hold Built of weak stuff, to be blown up with gold. He shall believe thee by this token, or this; if not, by this. This is all. A Star may shoot, not fallen. How now, what ails your Master? Where is his Cloak and Rapier? Where's all his money? I prithee vex not. Las I would none. What limetwigs should I set? Undo me? Yes, yes, at these riflings I have been too often. With all my heart, since heaven will have me poor, As good he drowned at sea, as drowned at shore. Why do I grieve? A thousand sorrows strike At one poor heart, and yet it lives. Matheo, Thou art a Gamester, prithee throw at all, Set all upon one cast, we kneel and pray, And struggle for life, yet must be cast away. Meet misery quickly then, split all, fell all, And when thou hast sold all, spend it, but I beseech thee Built not thy mind on me to coin thee more, To get it wouldst thou have me play the whore? Umh? it was indeed: if all men should be branded For sins long since laid up, who could be saved? The Quarter day's at hand, how will you do To pay the Rend, Matheo? I would no money. Wouldst have me be so base? Thou seest he does. Thou shouldst have given him all. Like waves, my misery drives on misery. Yes, sir, you are suited well. The Taylor has played his partly with you. And why did you so, sir? Is this the suit the Knight bestowed upon you? This is your fault to wound your friends still. Matheo? it's my Father. Yes, and our Kingdom, for it's our content. O sweet Matheo, peace. Upon my knees I do beseech you, sir, not to arraign me For sins, which heaven, I hope, long since hath pardoned. Those flames (Like lightning flashes) are so spent, The heat no more remains, then where ships went, Or where birds cut the air, the print remains. She that's a Whore, Lives gallant, fares well, is not (Like me) poor, I would now as small acquaintance with that sin, As if I had never known it; that, never been. Matheo? Good dearest Mat. —Father. Dear Father. O me! O, sir, no more. Is this your comfort, when so many years You would left me frozen to death? Yes, so I shall: I must: I must and will. If as you say I'm poor, relieve me then, Let me not fell my body to base men. You call me Strumpet, Heaven knows I am none: Your cruelty may driven me to be one: Let not that sin be yours, let not the shame Of common Whore live longer then my name. That cunning Bawd (Necessity) night and day Plots to undo me; driven that Hag away, Lest being at lowest ebb, as now I am, I sink for ever. So poor, that (though to tell it be my shame) I am not worth a dish to hold my meat; I am yet poorer, I want bred to eat. What tell you me of this? alas. Yes, Sir. Will you fit down I pray, sir? Thou sweatest with very anger, good sweet, vex not, alas, it's no fault of mine. A neighbour sent it me. Fate? your folly. Why should my face thus mad you? alas, those colours Are wound up long ago, which beauty spread, The flowers that once grew here, are withered. You turned my black soul white, made it look new, And should I sin, it never should be with you. You did. A woman gives defiance. Begin: It's a brave battle to encounter sin. No doubt you're herd, proceed. So should a husband be dishonoured. Faith, should you take One in your bed, would you that reckoning make? It's time you found retreat. The battle's but half done, None but your self have yet sounded alarms, Let us strike too, else you dishonour arms. To prove a woman should not be a whore, When she was made, she had one man, and no more, Yet she was tied to laws then, for (oven than) It's said, she was not made for men, but man. Anon, increase earth's brood, the law was varied, Men should take many wives: and though they married According to that Act, yet it's not known, But that those wives were only tied to one. New Parliaments were since: for now one woman Is shared between three hundred, nay she's common; Common? as spotted Leopards, whom for sport Men hunt, to get the flesh, but care not for't. So spread they Nets of gold, and tune their Calls, To inchant silly women to take falls: Swearing they are Angels, (which that they may win) They'll hire the Devil to come with false Dice in. O Sirens subtle tunes! your selves you flatter, And our weak sex betray, so men love water; It serves to wash their hands, but (being once foul) The water down is poured, cast out of doors, And even of such base use do men make whores. A Harlot (Like a Hen) more sweetness reaps, To pick men one by one up, then in heaps: Yet all feeds but confounding. Say you should taste me, I serve but for the time, and when the day Of war is done, am casheerd out of pay: If Like lame Soldiers I could beg, that's all, And there's lustest Rendezvous, and Hospital. Who then would be a men slave, a men woman? She's half starn'd the first day that feeds in Common. If I drink poison by stealth, is't not all one? Is't not rank poison still? with you alone! Nay say you spied a Courtesan, whose soft side To touch, you'd fell your birthright for one kiss, Be racked, she's wone, you're sated: what follows this? O, then you curse that Bawd that toald you in, (The Night) you curse your lust, you loath the sin, You loath her very sighed, and ere the day Arise, you rise glad when you're stolen away. Even then when you are drunk with all her sweets, There's no true pleasure in a Strumpets sheets. Women, whom Lust so prostitutes to sale, Like Dancers upon ropes; once seen, are stale. If all the threads Of Harlots lives be fine as you would make them, Why do not you persuade your wife turn whore, And all Dams else to fallen befere that sin? Like and ill husband ( ho I knew the same, To be my undoing) followed I that game. O when the work of Lust had earned my bred, To taste it, how I trembled, lest each bit, Ere it went down, should choke me (chewing it?) My bed seemed Like a Cabin hung in Hell, The Bawd Hells Porter, and the lickorish wine The Pander fetched, was Like and easy Fine, For which, me thought I leased away my soul, And oftentimes (even in my quaffing bowl) Thus said I to my self, I am a whore, And have drunk down thus much confusion more. Why dote you on that, which you did once detest? I cannot (seeing she's woven of such bade stuff) Set colours on a Harlot base enough. Nothing did make me, when I loved them best, To loath them more then this: when in the street A fair young modest Damsel I did meet, She seemed to all a Dove (when I passed by) And I (to all) a Raven: every eye That followed her, wont with a bash full glance At me, each bold and jeering countenance Darted forth scorn: to her (as if she had been Some Tower unvanquished) would they veil, against me swollen Rumor hoist every sail. She (crowned with reverend praises) passed by them, I (though with face masked) could not escape the hem, For (as if Heaven had set strange marks on Whores, Because they should be pointing stocks to man) Dressed up in civilest shape a Courtesan. Let her walk Saintlike, noteless, and unknown, Yet she's betrayed by some trick of her own. Were Harlots therefore wise, they be sold deer: For men account them good but for one year: And then Like Almanacs (whose dates are gone) They are thrown by, and no more looked upon. Who'le therefore backward fallen, who will launch forth In Seas so foul, for ventures no more worth? Lustest voyage hath (if not this course) this cross, Buy never so cheap, your Beware comes home with lose. What, shall I found retreat? the battle's done: Let the world judge which of us two have wone. You? nay then as cowards do in fight, What by blows cannot, shall be saved by flight. Let mercy touch your heartstrings (gracious Lord) That it may found Like music in the ear Of a man desperate, (being i'th hands of Law.) Matheo. In this House. Be good to my poor husband, deer my Lords. Alas, I? My Lords, (fellow give me speech) if my poor life may ransom thine, I yield it to the Law, Thou hurtest thy soul (yet wipest off no offence) By casting blots upon my Innocence: Let not these spare me, but tell truth: no, see Who slips his neck out of the misery, Though not out of the mischief: let thy Servant That shared in this base Act, accuse me here, Why should my Husband perish, he go clear? What shall I say? Be yet more kind and merciful, good Father. O yes, good sir, women shall learn of me, To love their husbands in greatest misery, Then show him pity, or you wrack my self. O my sweet Husband, Wertenberg thou in thy graven, and art alive again? Oh welcome, welcome. O me, how does my sweet Matheo? If you can, I yield. I care not for gay feathers, I. No sir, my business is unto my Lord.