ORLANDO

My Noble Lord: my Lord Hipollito! the Dukes Son! his brave Daughters brave Husband! how does your honoured Lordship! does your Nobility remember so poor a Gentleman as Signior Orlando Friscabaldo! old mad Orlando! I eat Snakes, my Lord, I eat Snakes. My heart shall never have a wrinkle in it, so long as I can cry Hem with a clear voice. Happy man! I'll give you (my Lord) the true picture of a happy man; I was turning leaves over this morning, and found it, and excellent Italian Painter drew it, If I have it in the right colours, I'll bestow it on your Lordship. He that makes gold his wife, but not his whore, He that at noonday walks by a prison door, He that 'ith Sun is neither beam nor moat, He that's not mad after a Petticoat, He for whom poor men's curses dig no graven, He that is neither Lords nor Lawyers slave, He that makes This his Sea, and That his Shore, He that in's Coffin is richer then before, He that counts Youth his Sword, and Age his Staff, He whose right hand carves his own Epitaph, He that upon his death-bead is a Swan, And Dead, no Crow, he is a happy man. After this Picture (my Lord) do I strive to have my face drawn: For I am not covetous, Am not in debt, Fit neither at the Dukes side, Nor lie at his feet. Wenching and I have done, no man I wrong, No man I fear, no man I fee; I take heed how far I walk, because I know yonders my home. I would not die Like a rich man, to carry nothing away save a winding sheet: But Like a good man, to leave Orlando behind me. I sowed leaves in my Youth, and I reap now Books in my Age. I fill this hand, and empty this, and when the bell shall toll for me, if I prove a Swan & go singing to my nest, why so? If a Crow! throw me out for carrion, & pick out mine eyes, May not old Friscabaldo (my Lord) be merry now! would? I have a little, Have all things; I have nothing; I have no wife, I have no child, have no chick, and why should not I be in my Iocundare? She's and old dweller in those high Countries, Yet not from me, Here, she's here: but before me, when a Knave and a Quean are married, they commonly walk Like Sergeants together: but a good couple are seldom parted. O my Lord! this old Tree had one Branch, (and but one Branch growing out of it) It was young, it was fair, it was straight; I prumde it daily, dressed it carefully, kept it from the wind, helped it to the Sun, yet for all my skill in planting, it grew crooked, it boar Crabs; I hewed it down, What's become of it, I neither know, nor care. Oh my Lord! a Strumpet is one of the Devils Vines; all the sins Like so many Poles are stuck upright out of hell, to be her props, that she may spread upon them. And when she's ripe, every Slave has a pull at her, then must she be pressed. The young beautiful Grape sets the teeth of Lust on edge, yet to taste that lickrish Wine, is to drink a men own damnation. Is she dead? Wood she were turned to heaven; Umh, is she dead! I am glad the world has lost one of his Idols; no Whore monger will at midnight Beatrice at the doors; In her graven sleep all my shame, and her own; and all my sorrows, and all her sins. In my daughter you will say! does she live then? I am sorry I wasted tears upon a Harlot, but the best is I have a handkerchief to drink them up, soap can wash them all out again. Is she poor? Then she's a right Strumper; I never knew any of their trade rich two years together; Siues can hold no water, nor Harlots hoard up money; they have many vents, too many sluices to let it out; Taverns, Tailors, Bawds, Panders, Fiddlers, Swaggerers, Fools and Knaves, do all wait upon a common Harlots trencher: she is the Galley pot to which these Drones fly: not for love to the pot, but for the sweet sucket within it, her money, her money. Not seventeen Summer's. Older; it has a white head, and shall never die till she be buried, Her wrongs shall be my bedfellow. No, let him hang, and half her infamy departs out of the world: I hate him for her; he taught her first to taste poison; I hate her for her self, because she refused my Physic. Yes, if he be a Lord, he gave it me. Is this all? From a poor Gentlewoman, Madam, whom I serve. This, Madam: my poor Mistress has a waste piece of ground, which is her own by inheritance, and left to her by her mother; There's a Lord now that goes about, not to take it clean from her, but to enclose it to himself, and to join it to a piece of his Lordship's. No more, Madam, but what one woman should do for another in such a case. My Honourable Lord, your Husband would do any thing in her behalf, but she had rather put her self into your hands, because you (a woman) may do more with the Duke your Father. From the foresaid party, Madam, that would keep the foresaid Land out of the foresaid Lords fingers. I do not think, Madam, but he fetched off some Poet or other for those lines, for they are perilous Hawks to fly at wenches. Nay, that's true, Madam, a wench will whet any thing, if it be not too dull. Why my Lord, are not the fields mowen and cut down, and stripped bore, and yet wear they not pide coats again? though my head be Like a Leek, white: may not my heart be Like the blade, green? So 'twas long ago. Dead! my last and best peace go with her, I see death's a good trencherman, he can eat course homely meat, as well as the daintiest. I detest her, I defy both, she's not mine, she's. I love no Marcmaides, I'll not be caught with a quaill pipe. I am then a Beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not dishonour my creation, then be a doting father, & Like Time, be the destruction of mine own brood. Is't fit for and old man to keep a whore? It's foolery; relieve her! Were her cold limbs stretched out upon a Beer, I would not fell this dirt under my nails To buy her and hours breath, nor give this hair, Unless it were to choke her. And fare you well sir, go thy ways, we have few Lords of thy making, that love wenches for their honesty; Las my Girl! art thou poor? poverty dwells next door to despair, there's but a wall between them; despair is one of hells Catchpoles; and lest that Devil arrest her, I'll to her, yet she shall not know me; she shall drink of my wealth, as beggars do of running water, freely, yet never know from what Fountains head it flows. Shall a silly bird pick her own breast to nourish her young ones, and can a father see his child starve? That were hard; The Peli can does it, and shall not I. Yes, I will victual the Camp for her, but it shall be by some stratagem; that knave there her husband will be hanged I fear, I'll keep his neck out of the nooze if I can, he shall not know how. How now knaves, whither wander you? Stay, which of you has my purse, what money have you about you? Give it me, I think I have some gold about me; yes, it's well; leave my Lodging at Court, and get you home. Come sir, though I never turned any man out of doors, yet I'll be so bold as to pull your Coat over your ears. Hold thy tongue knave, take thou my Cloak, I hope I play not the paltry Merchant in this bartering; bid the Steward of my house, sleep with open eyes in my absence, and to look to all things, whatsoever I command by Letters to be done by you, see it done. So, does it fit well? You proud Varlets, you needs not be ashamed to wear blue, when your Master is one of your fellows; away, do not see me. I should put on a worse suit too; perhaps I will. My Vizard is on, now to this mask. Say I should shave off this Honour of and old man, or tie it up shorter; Well, I will spoil a good face for once. My beard being off, how should I look? even Like A Winter Cuckoo, or unfeathered Owl; Yet better loose this hair, then loose her soul. Is your name Signior Matheo? Is this Gentlewoman your wife, sir? The Destinies spin a strong and even thread of both your loves: the Mother's own face, I would not forgotten that, I'm and old man, sir, & am troubled with awhoreson salt rhew me, that I cannot hold my water. Gentlewoman, the last man I served was your Father. I can speak no more. Troth, sir, I have a mind to serve your Worship. Nay look you, sir, I know when all sins are old in us, and go upon Crutches, that Covetousness does but then lie in her Cradle; It's not so with me. Lechery loves to dwell in the fairest lodging, and Covetousness in the oldest buildings, that are ready to fallen: but my white head, sir, is no Inn for such a gossip. If a Servingman at my years be not stored with biscuit enough, that has sailed about the world to serve him the voyage out of his life, and to bring him East-home; Ill pity but all his days should be fasting days: I care not so much for wages, for I have scraped a handful of gold together; I have a little money, sir, which I would put into your Worships hands, not so much to make it more. About twenty pound, Sir. No, no, no, sir, no; I cannot abide to have money in gender: fie upon this silver Lechery, fie; if I may have meat to my mouth, and rags to my back, and a flock-bed to snort upon, when I die, the longer liver take all. That's if you have money to hire horses. Nay, look you sir, I have it here. Safe! and 'twere ten thousand Ducats, your Worship should be my cashkeeper; I have herd what your Wor ship is, and excellent dunghill Cock, to scatter all abroad: but I'll venture twenty pounds on's head. I served him so long, till he turned me out of doors. No matter and you never see him: it's and arrant Gran die, a Churl, and as damned a cutthroat. Or so much as a Gammon of Bacon, Hee'll give it his Dogs first. A Jew, a Jew, sir. And English Mastiff, sir. He shall live to see thee hanged first. Who's this, I pray sir? Pacheco. Oh Noble Spirit, if no worse guests here dwell, My blue coat sits on my old shoulders well. Where is't, sir? My twenty pounds flies high, Oh wretched woman, This varlot's able to make Lucrece common. How now Mistress? has my Master died you into this sad colour? Zownes, I hope he will not play upon me? You have small reason to take his partly; for I have herd him say five hundred times, you were as arrant a whore as ever stiffened tiffany neckcloathes in water-starch upon a Saturday 'ith afternoon. And so if your Father call you whore, you'll not call him old knave: Friscabaldo, she carries thy mind up and down; she's thine own flesh, blood, and bone; troth Mi stris, to tell you true, the fireworks that ran from me upon lines against my good old Master, your father, were but to try how my young Master, your Husband loved such squibs: but it's well known, I love your father as my self; I'll ride for him at midnight, run for you by Owl-light; I'll die for him, drudge for you; I'll fly low, and I'll fly hie (as my Master says) to do you good, if you'll forgive me. Nay, if you were made of marble, a good Stone cutter might cut you: I hope the twenty pound I delivered to my Master, is in a sure hand. I see my young Master is a madcap, and a bonus socius, I love him well, Mistress: yet as well as I love him, I'll not play the knave with you; look you, I could cheat you of this purse full of money; but I am and old Lad, and I scorn to cunny-catch: yet I would been Dog at a Cony in my time. The Gentleman that went away, whispered in mine care, and charged me to give it you. It's Like so: it may be, he thinks you want money, and therefore bestows his alms bravely, Like a Lord. As your nails to your fingers, which I think ne ver deceived you. Mine own Girl still. A Star? nay, thou art more then the moon, for thou hast neither changing quarters, nor a man standing in thy circle with a bush of thorns. Is't possible the Lord Hipollito, whose face is as civil as the outside of a Dedicato ry Book, should be a Muttonmunger? A poor man has but one Ewe, and this Grandy Sheepbiter leaves whole Flocks of fat Weathers (whom he may knock down) to devour this. I'll trust neither Lord nor Butcher with quick flesh for this trick; the Cuckoo I see now sings all the year, though every man cannot hear him, but I'll spoil his notes; can neither Loveletters, nor the Devils common Picklocks (Gold) nor Precious Stones make my Girl draw up her Percullis: hold out still, wench. All are not Bawds (I see now) that keep doors, Nor all good wenches that are marked for Whores. Within a stones cast of this place; my Mistress, I think, would be content to let him enjoy it after her decease, if that would serve his turn, so my Master would yield too: but she cannot abide to hear that the Lord should meddle with it in her life time. Her Husband stirs in it under hand: but because the other is a great rich man, my Master is loath to be seen in it too much. It's set down, Madam, here in black and white already: work it so, Madam, that she may keep her own without disturbance, grievance, molestation, or meddling of any other; and she bestows this purse of gold on your La dyship. I would all Proctors Clerks were of your mind, I should law more amongst them then I do then; here, Ma dam, is the survey, not only of the Manor it self, but of the Grange house, with every Meadow pasture, Ploughland, Cony-borough, Fishpond, hedge, ditch, and bush that stands in it. You're a good Huntress, Lady, you would found your Game already; your Lord would feign be a Ranger, but my Mistress requests you to let him run a course in your own Park, if you'll not doo't for love, then doo't for money; she has no white money, but there's gold, or else she prays you to ring him by this token, and so you shall be sure his nose will not be rooting other men's pastures. Not I, Madam, old Servingmen want no money. One of those creatures that are contrary to man; a woman. A little tiny woman, lower then your Ladyship by head and shoulders, but as mad a wench as ever unlaced a petticoat: these things should I indeed have delivered to my Lord your Husband. Beware, beware, there's knavery. The Irish Footman can tell you all his hunting hours, the Park he Hunt's in, the Do he would strike, that Irish Shackatory beats the bush for him, and knows all; he brought that Letter, and that Ring; he is the Carrier. Little S. Patrick knows all. Not whilst I am here, sweet Madam. Has taken a younger brother's purge, forsooth, and that works with him. He has given up his Cloak, and his Rapier is bound to the Peace: If you look a little higher, you may see that another hath entered into hatband for him too. Six and four have put him into this sweat. It's put over by exchange: his doublet was going to be translated, but for me: if any man would would lent but half a ducat on his beard, the hair of it had stuffed a pair of breeches by this time; I had but one poor penny, and that I was glad to niggle out, and buy a holly-wand to grace him thorough the street. As hap was, his boots were on, and then I dustied, to make people think he had been riding, and I had run by him. Is't bedtime, Master, that you undo my Mistress? Flaying call you it? Why hear you, sir? i'faith do not make away her Gown. Why, pray sir, employ some of that money you have of mine. So they may, for that's passed touching. I saw my twenty pounds fly High. Damned Broker? yes, five hundred. I'll make what I can of it, sir, I'll be your Broker, But not your damned broker: O thou scurvy knave, What makes a wife turn whore, but such a slave? All the Brokers hearts, sir, are made of flint, I can with all my knocking, strike but six sparks of fire out of them, here's six ducats, if yowl take them. You may give me tother half too, sir: That's the Beggar. I hope he will not Sneak away with all the money, will he? Nay then it's well. I set my brains upon and upright Last; though my wits be old, yet they are Like a withered pip pin, wholesome. Look you, Mistress, I told him I had but six ducats of the (Knave) Broker, but I had eight, and kept these two for you. What, to fly High? Fell his wives clothes from her back? does any Poulterers wife pull chickens alive? He Riots all abroad, wants all at home; he Dices, whores, swaggers, swears, cheats, borrows, pawns: I'll give him hook and line, a little more for all this. Yet sure i'th end he'll delude all my Hope's, And show me a French trick danced on the ropes. Is not the door good enough to hold your blue Coats? away, Knaves. Wear not your clothes threadbare at knees for me; beg Heavens blessing, (not mine.) O cry your Worship mercy, sir, was somewhat bold to talk to this Gentlewoman, your wife here. Stand not, sir, bore to me; I would read oft That Serpents who creep low, belch ranker poison That winged Dragons do, that fly aloft. Your pleasure be't, sir; umh, is this your Palace? It's a very poor Kingdom then; what, are all your Subjects gone a Sheepshearing? not a Maid? not a Man? not so much as a Cat? you keep a good house belike, joust Like one of your profession, every room with bore walls, and a half-headed bed to vault upon (as all your bawdy houses are.) Pray who are your Upholsters? O, the Spider. I see, they bestow hangings upon you. No acquaintance with it? what maintains thee then? how dost live then? has thy husband any Lands? any Rends coming in, any Stock going, any Ploughs jogging, any Ships sailing? hast thou any Wares to turn, so much as to get a single penny by? yes, thou hast Beware to fell, Knaves are thy Chapmen, and thy Shop is Hell. So sir, I do hear, sir, more of you then you dream I do. Why, sir, too High? Well, sir, you talk Like a Gamester. That's the Devil. I know she shall be maintained, but how? she Like a Quean, thou Like a Knave; she Like a Whore, thou Like a Thief. I Thief, th'art a Murderer, a Cheater, a Whoremonger, a Pothunter, a Borrower, a Beggar— Varlet, for this I'll hang thee. Thou keepest a man of mine here, under my nose. As arrant a smell-smock, for and old Mutton-munger, as thy self. As arrant a purse-take. as ever cried, Stand, yet a good fellow, I confess, and valiant, but he'll bring thee to'th Gallows; you both have robbed of late two poor Country Pedlars. I Knave, two Pedlars, hue and cry is up, Warrants are out, and I shall see thee climb a Ladder. Tell what thou canst; if I stay here longer, I shall be hanged too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found you, I leave you. A Knave and a Quean, a Thief and a Strumpet, a couple of Beggars, a brace of Baggages. Freeze still, starve still. Lowest ebb, what ebb? It's not seen by your cheeks. Want bred? there's Satin: bake that. A fair new Cloak, stew that; and excellent gilded Ra pier. I could feast ten good fellows with those Hangers. I shall not (till thou beggest,) think thou art poor; And when thou beggest, I'll feed thee at my door, As I feed Dogs, (with bones) till then beg, Borrow, pawn, steal, and hang, turn Bawd. When th'art no Whore, my heartstrings sure Would crack, were they strained more. What will you do, sir? Beatrice out and Asses head of your own; away, Mistress. Zownds, do but touch one hair of her, and I'll so quilt your cap with old Iron, that your coxcomb shall ache the worse these seven years for't: Does she look Like a roasted Rabbet, that you must have the head for the brains? Four marks? no, sir, my twenty pound that you would made fly High, and I am gone. I cannot abide, sir, to see a woman wronged, not I. Pish, then you're full of Crowns. But mine: how did he brook that (sir?) In your house? would I had been by. O Noble Master! Good, sir, I Like not those crackers. How, sir? at drinking. Plucked out of his throat then: I'll snarl for one, if this can bite. Yes, sir. Th'art at the Shipwreck now, and Like a swimmer Bold (but unexpert) with those waves dost play, Whose dalliance (whorelike) is to cast thee away. And here's another Vessel, (better fraught, But as ill maned) her sinking will be wraught, If rescue come not: Like a Man of war I'll therefore bravely out: somewhat I'll do, And either save them both, or perish too. I beseech your Grace (though your eye be so piercing) as under a poor blue Coat, to cull out and honest Father from and old Servingman: yet good my Lord discover not the plot to any, but only this Gentleman that is now to be and Actor in our ensuing Comedy. Right, my Noble Knight: those Pedlars were two Knaves of mine; he fleeced the men before, and now he pur poses to flay the Master. He will rob me, his teeth water to be nibbling at my gold, but this shall hang him by'th gills, till I pull him on shore. Thanks to your Grace: but my good Lord, for my Daughter. And remember what I have sworn: She's more ho nest, on my soul, then one of the Turks Wenches, watched by a hundred Eunuchs. He's a Turk that makes any woman a Whore, he's no true Christian I'm sure. I commit your Grace. Frisking again, Pacheco? Let me alone for dabbing them o'th neck: come, come. Indeed if you be right Dutchmen, if you fallen to drink king, you must be gone. No, for she's Like a pair of Virginals, Always with Jacks at her tail. Yes, sir, I'm your Water-spanniell, and will fetch any thing: but I'll fetch one dish of meat anon, shall turn your stomach, and that's a Constable. Yes, sir, for I make account to suffer to day. He would be going. Yes, Sir: as shafts by piecing are made strong, So shall thy life be straightened by this wrong. This is the Hen, my Lord, that the Cock (with the Lordly comb) your Sonne-in-law would crow over, and tread. My two Pedlars are packed together, my good Lord. Thus nice Dams swear, it is unfit their eyes Should view men carved up for Anatomies, Yet they'll see all, so they may stand unseen, Many women sure will sin behind a Skreen. Oh everlasting, supernatural superlative Villain! My Lords. A God Child, hang thine own Father. My hand was in the Pie, my Lord, I confess it: my Mistress I see, will bring me to the Gallows, and so leave me; but I'll not leave her so: I had rather hang in a woman's come pany, then in a men; because if weshould go to hell together, I should scarce be let in, for all the Devils are afraid to have any women come amongst them, as I am true Thief, she neither consented to this felony, nor knew of it. Ah, Toad, Toad, Toad. Yea Spider, dost catch at great Flies? Say thou art not a Whore, and that's more then fifteen women (amongst five hundred) dare swear with out lying: this shalt thou say, no let me say't for thee; thy Husband's a Knave, this Lord's and honest Man; thou art no Punk, this Lady's a right Lady. Pacheco is a Thief as his Master is, but old Orlando is as true a man as thy Father is: I would seen you fly High, sir, & I would seen you fly low, sir, and to keep you from the Gallows, sir, a blue Coat have I worn, and a Thief did I turn, mine own men are the Pedlars, my twenty pound did fly High, sir, your wives Gown did fly low, sir: whither fly you now, sir? you would scaped the Gall lowes, to the Devil you fly next, sir. Am I right, my Liege? Fie, Punk, fie, fie, fie. My head's cloven. Abroad? I think so. Hang not on me, I prithee, old Trees bear no such fruit. Keep your ground, Bots. Marry this, my Lord, he is my Sonne-in-law, and in law will I be his Father: for if law can pepper him, he shall be so parboiled, that he shall stink no more i'th nose of the Commonwealth. Dost thou beg for him, thou precious men meat, thou? has he not beaten thee, kicked thee, trod on thee, and dost thou fawn on him Like his Spaniel? has he not pawned thee to thy Petticoat, sold thee to thy smock, made ye leap at a crust, yet wouldst have me save him? Have ye eaten Pigeons that you're so kindhearted to your Mate? Nay, you're a couple of wild Bears, I'll have ye both baited at one stake: but as for this Knave, the Gallows is thy endue, and the Gallows thou shalt have, I'll have justice of the Duke, the Law shall have thy life, what, dost thou hold him? let go his hand: if thou dost not for sake him, a Father's everlasting blessing fallen upon both your heads: away, go, kiss out of my sighed, play thou the Whore no more, nor thou the Thief again, my house shall be thine, my meat shall be thine, and so shall my wine, but my money shall be mine, and yet when I die, (so thou dost not fly High) take all, yet good Matheo, mend. Thus for joy weeps Orlando, and does end. Would? dead? The rhewme still, sir, nothing else; I should be well seasond, for mine eyes lie in brine: look you, sir, I have a suit to you. Save you Gallants.