HIPPOLITO

We would wasted half this morning: morrow Lodovico. Let's away to Horse. I'm in hast, pray the good woma ̄ take some apter time. Life! sweet heart? Seat your self, Il'e but read this and come. Your business, sir, to me? Presently sir; are you Mathaeos wife. I'm sorry these storms are fall ̄ on him, I love Mathaeo. And any good shall do him, he and I. Have sealed two bonds of friendship, which are strong In me, how ever Fortune does him wrong; He speaks here he's condemned. Is't so? What was he whom he killed? O, his name's here; old lacomo, son to the Florentine lacomo, a dog, that to meet profit, would to the very eyelids wade in blood of his own children. Tell Mathaeo, the Duke my father hardly shall deny his signed pardon, 'twas fair fight, yes if rumours tongue go true, so writes he here. To morrow morning I return from Court; Pray be you here then. I'll have done sir straight: But in troth say, are you Mathaeos wife? You have forgotten me. Your Turner, That made you smooth to run and even bias, You know I loved you when your very soul Was full of discord: art not a good wench still? Ride softly on before, I'll oretake you. Prithee good Lodonico. I come: to morrow let me see you, fare you well: commend me to Mathaeo: pray one word more: Does not your father live about the Court? Orlando Friscabaldo, Is't not? What does he for you? Shall I join him unto you, and restore you to wonted grace? It shall be put to trial: fare you well: The face I would not look on I sure then 'twas rare, When in despite of grief, it's still thus fair. Now, sir, your business with me. A Book! Are you a Scholar? Sir, you honour me. Kings may be Scholars Patrons, but faith tell me, To how many hands beside hath this bird flown, How many partners share with me? Your name I pray? Of Milan? I'll borrow leave To read you over, and then we'll talk: till then Drink up this gold, good wits should love good wine, This of your loves, the earnest that of mine. How now, sir, where's your Lady, not gone yet? Is the Coach gone? Saddle my Horse the sorrel. Well, sir, I pray lets see you Master Scholar. How now, what news? And we'll to them both presently, who's that? Friscabaldo, o! pray call him, and leave me, we two have business. O sir, our fry ̄ ds! they ought to be unto us as our Jew else, as dearly valued, being locked up, & unseen, as when we wear them in our hands. I see, Friscabaldo, age hath not command of your blood, for all Times Fickle has gone over you, you are Orlando still. Scarce can I read the Stories on your brow, Which age hath writ there, you look youthful still. You are the happier man, sir. I stay for it. It's very well, I thank you for this Picture. You may, would I were partner in your mirth. Is your wife then departed? You had a Daughter too sir, had you not? Then can I tell you whats become of it; That Branch is withered. Her name I think was Bellafront, she's dead. Yes, what of her was left, not worth the keeping, Even in my sighed was thrown into a Grave. Why, Friscabaldo, was she homely? She's turned to earth. I'm glad you are wax, not marble; you are made Of men best temper, there are now good Hope's That all these heaps of Ice about your heart, By which a father's love was frozen up, Are thawed in these sweet showers fetched from your eyes, We are never Like Angels till our passion die, She is not dead, but lives under worse fate, I think she's poor, and more to clip her wings, Her Husband at this hour lies in the Jail, For killing of a man, to save his blood, Join all your force with mine: mine shall be shown, The getting of his life preserves your own. Trust me, I think she is. I almost dare pawn my word, her bosom gives warmth to no such Snakes; when did you see her? Is your hate so old? Work yet his life, since in it lives her fame. Nay but Friscabaldo. Hear her but speak. You're now beyond all reason. Is't dotage to relieve your child being poor? It's charity too. Fare you well, for I'll trouble you no more. Was bold to see you. Is that your wife? I'll borrow her lip. Came not my Footman to you? I sent by him a Diamond and a Letter, Did you receive them? Read you the letter? And faith your answer? I'll now then leave you, And choose mine hour; but ere I partly away, Hark, you remember I must have no nay. Matheo, I will leave you. Not now, I'll visit you at other times. You're come off well then? I'll take no such deer payment, hark you Matheo, I know, the prison is a gulf, if money run low with you, my purse is yours: call for it. I will not see your Fortune's ebb, pray try. To starve in full barns were found modesty. Drink this, and anon I pray thee give thy Mistress this. How now? why Infaelice? what's your quarrel? Away you rogue. What, grown a fighter? prithee what's the matter? Lest you cuff me, I'll tell you presently: I am near two. One of us then goes false. I think (indeed) mine runs somewhat too fast. One? it's passed: It's passed one by the Sun. You're very pleasant, Madam. Why Infaelice, what should make you sad? Faith on both. He may by knavery spoil them, we by sloth, But why talk you all riddle thus? I read Strange Comments in those margins of your looks: Your cheeks of late are (Like bade printed Books) So dimly charactered, I scarce can spell, One line of love in them. Sure all's not well. What means this? Why do you kneel? Hah? 'Sdeath, who, (a Cuckold) who? Worse then damnation, a wild Kern, a Frog, a Dog: whom I'll scarce spurn. Longed you for Shamocke? were it my father's father (heart) I'll kill him, although I take him on his deathbed gasping betwixt heaven and hell; a shag-haired Cur? Bold Strumpet, why hangest thou on me? thinkest I'll be a Bawd to a Whore, because she's Noble? Darkened! my horns Cannot be darkened, nor shall my revenge. A Harlot to my slave? the act is base, Common, but foul, so shall thy disgrace: Could not I feed your appetite? o women You were created Angels, pure and fair; But since the first fell, tempting Devils you are, You should be men's bliss, but you prove their rods. Were there no women, men might live Like gods: You would been too much down already, rise, Get from my sighed, and henceforth shun my bed, I'll with no Strumpets breath be poisoned. As for your Irish Lubrican, that spirit Whom by preposterous charms thy lust hath raised In a wrong Circle, him I'll damn more black Then any Tyrants soul. Tell me, didst thou bait Hawks to draw him to thee, or did he bewitch thee? Two wooes in that Skreech-owles language? O who would trust your corcke-heeld sex? I think to sat your lust, you would love a Horse, a Bear, a croaking Toad, so your hight itching veins might have their bound, then the wild Irish Dart was thrown. Come, how? the manner of this fight. Yes, guilty my good Lady. Overreached so finely? It's the very Diamond And Letter which I sent: this villainy Some Spider closely weaves, whose poisoned bulk I must let forth. Who's there without? Send me the Footman. It can be no man else, that Irish Judas, Bred in a Country where no venom prospers, But in the Nations blood hath thus betrayed me. Slave, get you from your service. Question me not, nor tempt my fury, villain, Couldst thou turn all the Mountains in the land, To hills of gold, and to give me; here thou stayest not. Prate not, but get thee gone, I shall send else. He's damned that raised this whirlwind, which hath blown Into her eyes this jealousy: yet I'll on, I'll on, stood armed Devils staring in my face, To be pursued in flight, quickens the raze, Shall my blood streams by a wives lust be barred? Found woman, no: Iron grows by strokes more hard, Lawless desires are seas scorning all bounds, Or sulphur which being rammed up, more confounds, Struggling with mad men, madness nothing tames, Winds wrestling with great fires, incense the flames. It is my fate to be bewitched by those eyes. Your hand, I'll offer you fair play: When first We met i'th Lists together, you remember You were a common Rebel; with one parlee I wone you to come in. I'll try If now I can beat down this Chastity With the same Ordnance; will you yield this Fort, If with the power of Argument now (as then) I get of you the conquest: as before I turned you honest, now to turn you whore, By force of strong persuasion? The alarm's struck up: I'm your man. Fit. You men that are to fight in the same war, To which I'm pressed, and plead at the same bar, To win a woman, if you would have me speed, Send all your wishes. To be a Harlot, that you stand upon, The very name's a charm to make you one. Harlot was a Dame of so divine And ravishing touch, that she was Concubine To and English King: her sweet bewitching eye Did the Kings heartstrings in such love-knots tie, That even the coyest was proud when she could hear Men say, Behold; another Harlot there; And after her all women that were fair Were Harlots called, as to this day some are: Beside her dalliance, she so well does mix, That she's in Latin called the Meretrix. Thus for the name; for the profession, this, Who lives in bondage, lives laced, the chief bliss This world below can yield, is liberty: And who (than whores) with looser wings dare fly? As Juno's proud bird spreads the fairest tail, So does a Strumpet hoist the loftiest sail. She's no men slave; (men are her slaves) her eye Moves not on wheels screwd up with Iealowsie. She (Horst, or Coached) does merry journeys make, Free as the Sun in his gilded Zodiac: As bravely does she shine, as fast she's driven, But stays not long in any house of Heaven: But shifts from Sign, to Sign, her amorous prizes More rich being when she's down, then when she rizes. In brief, Gentlemen haunt them, Soldiers fight for them, Few men but know them, few or none abhor them: Thus (for sport sake) speak I, as to a woman, Whom (as the worst ground) I would turn to common: But you I would enclose for mine own bed. Dishonoured? not a whit: to fallen to one (Beside your husband) is to fallen to none, For one no number is. Say, have I won, Is the day ours? If you can win the day, The glory's yours. You should not feed so, but with me alone. If all the threads of Harlots lives are span, So course as you would make them, tell me why You so long loved the trade? It is a common rule, and it's most true, Two of one trade never love; no more do you. Why are you sharp against that you once professed? I! Fly to earth's fixed Centre: to the Caves Of everlasting horror, I'll pursue thee, (Though loaded with sins) even to Hells brazen doors. Thus wisest men turn fools, doting on whores. What are they? How's this? Would? Blue Gown! Where, who dares? I know it not. What Rogue durst serve that Warrant, knowing I loved her? I'll Beatrice the Lodgings down about their ears That are her Keepers. I'll to her— I'll to her, stood armed Fiends to guard the doors. It is most fit, That where the Sun goes, Attomyes follow it. And now the Law must teach you to fly High. Sure it cannot be. I, sir, am I her Bawd then? My Whore? Close thy rank Jaws: pardon me, I am vexed, Thou art a Villain, a malicious Devil, Deep as the place where thou art lost, thou liest, Since I am thus far God into this storm, I'll thorough, and thou shalt see I'll thorough untouched. When thou shalt perish in it. Against that black-mouthed Devil, against Letters, and Gold, And against a jealous Wife I do uphold, Thus far her reputation, I could sooner Shake the Apennine, and crumble Rocks to dust, Then (though Jove's shower rained down) tempt her to lust. And be so still, it's a good sign when our cheeks blush at ill. Your Credit's cracked being here. He seems a Soldier? O, and Apple-squire. All this may be, and yet you no Soldier. Oh, let the Gentlewoman alone, she's going to shrift. Was she ever here before?