VANNI

Old! hem? all heart of brass, found as a bell, Old? why, I'll tell your Graces; I have gone But half the bridge over yet; there lies before me As much as I have passed, and I'll go it all. I thank your grace. I charge you in the Dukes name, keep the peace; Beat down their weapons, knock em down Cargo. O my Lord: make a fray in and open street? it's to Make a bonfire to draw children and fools Together; Signior Angelo, pray be wise, and begun. If he be banished, why dwells he ith'house, whose Tiles are pulled down over his head? You must hunt No more in this Park of Florence; why then Do you lie sneaking here, to steal venison? A good health to you both. The Constable wisely; Cargo he calls me fool by craft, But let they pass. I have another case to handle: thou knowest the Donna Alphonsina, of the Neri Family. The same Aspenleaf, the same; is't not a Galley for The Great Turk to be rowed in? Commend me to this Angelica. I am all fire. Would 'twere come to that. Give her this paper, and this; in the one she may know my mind, in the other, feel me: this a Letter, this a Jewel: Tell her, I kiss the little white nail of her little white Finger, of her more little white hand, of her most Little white body. Thou hast been my weavers shuttle to run betwixt me and my stuffs of Procreandi causam. No Cargo, I have still the Lapis mirabilis; be thou close— Away then, nay quick knave, thou rackest me. Thou shalt have Caesars pay—my Coach, O out upon this Doctor; hang him, does he think to cure dejected Ladies with Fiddlers— Suppose all kingdoms on the earth were balls, And that thou heldest a racket in thy hand, To toss they as thou wu'd'st, how wouldst thou play? A tennes-court of kings could do no more; But faith what dost thou think, that I now think, Of thy this days expense? I think thee a proud vainglorious bragging knave, That golden womb thy father left so full, thou Vulturelike eatest through: o heeres trimstuffe; A goodmans state, in Gartyres, strings and ruff; Hast not a saffron shirt on too? I fear th'art Troubled with the greensickness, thou lookest won. No, but I'de have thee live in compass. Vain riotous coxcomb, Tha'st fier'd to much already, Parks, Forests, chases, Have no partly left of them, but names and places; It's voiced abroad thy lands are all at pawn. And that the money went to Entertain the Popes great Nuntio, On whom you spent the ransom of a king. I thank you Sir, And leave your Courtezans bore, that leaving bore, Will one day leave thee naked, one nights waking, With a fresh-whore, cost thee 4000. ducats, Else the bawd lies. I a whoremaster? To show how much I hate it, hark, when next thy tumblers Come to dance upon the ropes, Play this jig to they. They shall. What's that circle? I hope a wallet hanging at thy back, Who spends all young, ere age comes, all will lack. No christian creature, I enter solus. What's that? Vd's my life! I hear a lute, and sure it comes this way. Pox on your Catts guts. Brave girl. With what? But not with the manner my Lady. Am I then gulled? Wilt it no worse, let's in, and give they the morning's Salutation. He that loves ducking, let him come learn of thee. Old Oaks do not easily fallen: Decembers cold hand combes my head and beard, But May swims in my blood; and he that walks Without his wooden third leg, is never old. Age, what call you age? I have lived some half a day, some half and hour. Let whores keep diet, Tibaldo never; never did Rivers run In wilder, madder streams, then I have done, I'll drink as hard yet as and Englishman, I'll yet upon a wager hit any fencers button, Then knave I'll hit his flesh, and hit your cocks- If you cross mine once more. (comb I have my Passees: and my Passadoes, My Longes, my Stoccadoes, Imbrocado's, And all my Pimtoes, and Pimtillioes Here at my fingers ends. Old why; I never took Physic, nor ever will, I'll trust none that has Art and leave to kill: Now for that chopping herb of hell Tobacco; The idle-mans-Devill, and the Drunkards-whore, I never meddled with her, my smoke goes, Out at my kitchen chimney, not my nose. Tobacco-shops show Like prisons in hell; Hight, smoky, stinking, and I hate the smell. What think you then of me sweere Lady. The time may come I may give it her too. We shall your will obey, He's my near kinsman, mine own brother's son, Who desperately a prodigal raze does run, And for this riotous humour, he has the byname, Signior Torrenti, a swift Headlong stream. Old Giacomo? open handed charity, Sit's ever at his gates to welcome guests, He makes no bonfires, as my riotous kinsman, And yet his chimneis cast out braver smoke, The Bellows which he blows with are good deeds, The rich he smiles upon, the poor he feeds. To what end is he driven from the City? Hoida. What speak the people of him? Away Sir knave and fool. This muttering long ago flew to mine ear, The Genoway is but a line thrown out, But Fiametta's love, the net that chokes him. Peace foolish boy, At these state bonfires (whose flames reach so high) To stand aloose, is safer then too nigh. He that she finds most ease in, is Dr. Jordan. Well, well, If death do take her, he shall have the sweet est bedfellow that ever lay by lean mans-side. With all my heart. Do prithee wife. Wo'ld I were at it, for it is a book, My fingers itch till I be turning over; Good rest fair Alphonsina you'll not fail. All all to bed, to bed. What says my most moist-handed sweet Lady. As long as thou desirest, but-wilt come down? Shall I mount then? Crack a pudding: I'll not meddle with thine honour. I hope I am not the first Lord has God a lady with child. Ther's nothing stirring, the very mice are a sleeepe, as I am noble, I'll deal with thee Like a gentleman. Now the devil lay her down, prevented in the very Act. My Lord those tides, Are turned, these Ladies are transformed to brides. How mean you overthrown? A terrible case, i'de not be in't for all Florence. Madam this night I have received from court, A book of deep import, which I must read, And for that purpose will I he alone. In this chamber she lies, and that's her window wo'd I were in: the air bites, but the bit that I shall bite anon sharpens. my stomach, the watchword is a cornet, (Cornet within) it speaks, she bids me come without a lighr, and reason snes light enough herself; wink thou one-eyed baud, be thou and em bleme of thy Mr. and burn in secret. How! my sons fist? (Harlot Sweet Lady, seal my pardon with a kiss, He never was born, that never did amiss. THou art my noble kinsman, and but thy mother (Upon my soul) was chased I should believe Some Emperor begotten thee,