SCENE I.ENTER MUSCO, DISGUISED LIKE A SOLDIER.MUS. 'Sblood, I cannot choose but laugh to see myself translatedthus, from a poor creature to a creator; for now must I create anintolerable sort of lies, or else my profession loses his grace,and yet the lie to a man of my coat is as ominous as the Fico, oh,sir, it holds for good policy to have that outwardly in vilestestimation, that inwardly is most dear to us: So much for myborrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my master intends to followhis son dry-foot to Florence, this morning: now I, knowing of thisconspiracy, and the rather to insinuate with my young master, (forso must we that are blue waiters, or men of service do, or elseperhaps we may wear motley at the year's end, and who wears motleyyou know:) I have got me afore in this disguise, determining hereto lie in ambuscado, and intercept him in the midway; if I can butget his cloak, his purse, his hat, nay, any thing so I can stay hisjourney, Rex Regum, I am made for ever, i'faith: well, now mustI practise to get the true garb of one of these Lance-knights; myarm here, and my — God's so, young master and his cousin.LOR. JU. So, sir, and how then?[ENTER LOR. JU. AND STEP.]STEP. God's foot, I have lost my purse, I think.LOR. JU. How? lost your purse? where? when had you it?STEP. I cannot tell, stay.MUS. 'Slid, I am afraid they will know me, would I could get bythem.LOR. JU. What! have you it?STEP. No, I think I was bewitched, I.LOR. JU. Nay, do not weep, a pox on it, hang it, let it go.STEP. Oh, it's here; nay, an it had been lost, I had not cared butfor a jet ring Marina sent me.LOR. JU. A jet ring! oh, the poesie, the poesie!STEP. Fine, i'faith: "Though fancy sleep, my love is deep":meaning that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.LOR. JU. Most excellent.STEP. And then I sent her another, and my poesie was:"The deeper the sweeter, I'll be judged by Saint Peter."LOR. JU. How, by St. Peter? I do not conceive that.STEP. Marry, St. Peter to make up the metre.LOR JU. Well, you are beholding to that Saint, he help'd you atyour need; thank him, thank him.MUS. I will venture, come what will: Gentlemen, please you changea few crowns for a very excellent good blade here; I am a poorgentleman, a soldier, one that (in the better state of my fortunes)scorned so mean a refuge, but now it's the humour of necessity tohave it so: you seem to be, gentlemen, well affected to martialmen, else I should rather die with silence, than live with shame:howe'er, vouchsafe to remember it is my want speaks, not myself:this condition agrees not with my spirit.LOR. JU. Where hast thou served?MUS. May it please you, Signior, in all the provinces of Bohemia,Hungaria, Dalmatia, Poland, where not? I have been a poor servitorby sea and land, any time this xiiij. years, and follow'd thefortunes of the best Commanders in Christendom. I was twice shotat the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna; I have beenat America in the galleys thrice, where I was most dangerously shotin the head, through both the thighs, and yet, being thus maim'd,I am void of maintenance, nothing left me but my scars, the notedmarks of my resolution.STEP. How will you sell this rapier, friend?MUS. Faith, Signior, I refer it to your own judgment; you are agentleman, give me what you please.STEP. True, I am a gentleman, I know that; but what though, I prayyou say, what would you ask?MUS. I assure you the blade may become the side of the best princein Europe.LOR. JU. Ay, with a velvet scabbard.STEP. Nay, an't be mine it shall have a velvet scabbard, that isflat, I'd not wear it as 'tis an you would give me an angel.MUS. At your pleasure, Signior, nay, it's a most pure Toledo.STEP. I had rather it were a Spaniard: but tell me, what shall Igive you for it? an it had a silver hilt —LOR. JU. Come, come, you shall not buy it; hold, there's ashilling, friend, take thy rapier.STEP. Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so: what, shallI go without a rapier?LOR. JU. You may buy one in the city.STEP. Tut, I'll buy this, so I will; tell me your lowest price.LOR. JU. You shall not, I say.STEP. By God's lid, but I will, though I give more than 'tisworth.LOR. JU. Come away, you are a fool.STEP. Friend, I'll have it for that word: follow me.MUS. At your service, Signior.[EXEUNT.]
ACT II. SCENE II.ENTER LORENZO SENIOR.LOR. SE. My labouring spirit being late opprestWith my son's folly, can embrace no restTill it hath plotted by advice and skill,How to reduce him from affected willTo reason's manage; which while I intend,My troubled soul begins to apprehendA farther secret, and to meditateUpon the difference of man's estate:Where is decipher'd to true judgment's eyeA deep, conceal'd, and precious mystery.Yet can I not but worthily admireAt nature's art: who (when she did inspireThis heat of life) placed Reason (as a king)Here in the head, to have the marshallingOf our affections: and with sovereigntyTo sway the state of our weak empery.But as in divers commonwealths we see,The form of government to disagree:Even so in man, who searcheth soon shall findAs much or more variety of mind.Some men's affections like a sullen wife,Is with her husband reason still at strife.Others (like proud arch-traitors that rebelAgainst their sovereign) practise to expelTheir liege Lord Reason, and not shame to treadUpon his holy and anointed head.But as that land or nation best doth thrive,Which to smooth-fronted peace is most proclive,So doth that mind, whose fair affections rangedBy reason's rules, stand constant and unchanged,Else, if the power of reason be not such,Why do we attribute to him so much?Or why are we obsequious to his law,If he want spirit our affects to awe?Oh no, I argue weakly, he is strong,Albeit my son have done him too much wrong.[ENTER MUSCO.]MUS. My master: nay, faith, have at you: I am flesh'd nowI have sped so well: Gentleman, I beseech you respect theestate of a poor soldier; I am ashamed of this base course oflife, (God's my comfort) but extremity provokes me to't; whatremedy?LOR. SE. I have not for you now.MUS. By the faith I bear unto God, gentleman, it is no ordinarycustom, but only to preserve manhood. I protest to you, a man Ihave been, a man I may be, by your sweet bounty.LOR. SE. I pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.MUS. Good Signior: by Jesu, you may do the part of a kindgentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer,a matter of small value, the King of heaven shall pay you, and Ishall rest thankful: sweet Signior —LOR. SE. Nay, an you be so importunate —MUS. O Lord, sir, need will have his course: I was not made tothis vile use; well, the edge of the enemy could not have abated meso much: it's hard when a man hath served in his Prince's causeand be thus. Signior, let me derive a small piece of silver fromyou, it shall not be given in the course of time, by this goodground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last night for a poor supper,I am a Pagan else: sweet Signior —LOR. SE. Believe me, I am rapt with admiration,To think a man of thy exterior presenceShould (in the constitution of the mind)Be so degenerate, infirm, and base.Art thou a man? and sham'st thou not to beg?To practise such a servile kind of life?Why, were thy education ne'er so mean,Having thy limbs: a thousand fairer coursesOffer themselves to thy election.Nay, there the wars might still supply thy wants,Or service of some virtuous gentleman,Or honest labour; nay, what can I name,But would become thee better than to beg?But men of your condition feed on sloth,As doth the Scarab on the dung she breeds in,Not caring how the temper of your spiritsIs eaten with the rust of idleness.Now, afore God, whate'er he be that shouldRelieve a person of thy quality,While you insist in this loose desperate course,I would esteem the sin not thine, but his.MUS. Faith, Signior, I would gladly find some other course,if so.LOR. SE. Ay, you'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it.MUS. Alas, sir, where should a man seek? in the wars, there'sno ascent by desert in these days, but — and for service,would it were as soon purchased as wish'd for, (God's mycomfort) I know what I would say.LOR. SE. What's thy name?MUS. Please you: Portensio.LOR. SE. Portensio?Say that a man should entertain thee now,Would thou be honest, humble, just, and true?MUS. Signior: by the place and honour of a soldier —LOR. SE. Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths;Speak plainly, man: what thinkst thou of my words?MUS. Nothing, Signior, but wish my fortunes were as happy asmy service should be honest.LOR. SE. Well, follow me, I'll prove thee, if thy deedsWill carry a proportion to thy words.[EXIT LOR. SE.]MUS. Yes, sir, straight, I'll but garter my hose; oh, thatmy belly were hoop'd now, for I am ready to burst withlaughing. 'Slid, was there ever seen a fox in years tobetray himself thus? now shall I be possest of all hisdeterminations, and consequently my young master; well, heis resolved to prove my honesty: faith, and I am resolvedto prove his patience: oh, I shall abuse him intolerably:this small piece of service will bring him clean out oflove with the soldier for ever. It's no matter, let theworld think me a bad counterfeit, if I cannot give him theslip at an instant; why, this is better than to have stayedhis journey by half: well, I'll follow him. Oh, how I longto be employed.[EXIT.]
ACT II. SCENE III.ENTER PROSPERO, BOBADILLA, AND MATHEO.MAT. Yes, faith, sir, we were at your lodging to seekyou too.PROS. Oh, I came not there to-night.BOB. Your brother delivered us as much.PROS. Who, Giuliano?BOB. Giuliano. Signior Prospero, I know not in what kindyou value me, but let me tell you this: as sure as God, Ido hold it so much out of mine honour and reputation, if Ishould but cast the least regard upon such a dunghill offlesh; I protest to you (as I have a soul to be saved) Ine'er saw any gentlemanlike part in him: an there were nomore men living upon the face of the earth, I should notfancy him, by Phoebus.MAT. Troth, nor I, he is of a rustical cut, I know not how:he doth not carry himself like a gentleman.PROS. Oh, Signior Matheo, that's a grace peculiar but to afew; "quos aequus amavit Jupiter."MAT. I understand you, sir.[ENTER LOR. JU. AND STEP.]PROS. No question you do, sir: Lorenzo! now on my soul,welcome; how dost thou, sweet rascal? my Genius! 'Sblood,I shall love Apollo and the mad Thespian girls the betterwhile I live for this; my dear villain, now I see there'ssome spirit in thee: Sirrah, these be they two I writ tothee of, nay, what a drowsy humour is this now? why dostthou not speak?LOR. JU. Oh, you are a fine gallant, you sent me a rareletter.PROS. Why, was't not rare?LOR. JU. Yes, I'll be sworn I was ne'er guilty of readingthe like, match it in all Pliny's familiar Epistles, andI'll have my judgment burn'd in the ear for a rogue, makemuch of thy vein, for it is inimitable. But I marle whatcamel it was, that had the carriage of it? for doubtlesshe was no ordinary beast that brought it.PROS. Why?LOR. JU. Why, sayest thou? why, dost thou think that anyreasonable creature, especially in the morning, (the sobertime of the day too) would have ta'en my father for me?PROS. 'Sblood, you jest, I hope?LOR. JU. Indeed, the best use we can turn it to, isto make a jest on't now: but I'll assure you, my fatherhad the proving of your copy some hour before I saw it.PROS. What a dull slave was this! But, sirrah, whatsaid he to it, i'faith?LOR. JU. Nay, I know not what he said. But I have ashrewd guess what he thought.PRO. What? what?LOR. JU. Marry, that thou are a damn'd dissolute villain,And I some grain or two better, in keeping thee company.PROS. Tut, that thought is like the moon in the lastquarter, 'twill change shortly: but, sirrah, I pray theebe acquainted with my two Zanies here, thou wilt takeexceeding pleasure in them if thou hear'st them once, butwhat strange piece of silence is this? the sign of thedumb man?LOR. JU. Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that maymake our music the fuller, an he please, he hath hishumour, sir.PROS. Oh, what is't? what is't?LOR. JU. Nay, I'll neither do thy judgment nor hisfolly that wrong, as to prepare thy apprehension: I'llleave him to the mercy of the time, if you can take him:so.PROS. Well, Signior Bobadilla, Signior Matheo: I prayyou know this gentleman here, he is a friend of mine, andone that will well deserve your affection, I know notyour name, Signior, but I shall be glad of any goodoccasion to be more familiar with you.STEP. My name is Signior Stephano, sir, I am thisgentleman's cousin, sir, his father is mine uncle; sir,I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir,in whatsoever is incident to a gentleman.BOB. Signior, I must tell you this, I am no generalman, embrace it as a most high favour, for (by thehost of Egypt) but that I conceive you to be a gentlemanof some parts, I love few words: you have wit: imagine.STEP. Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melancholy.MAT. O Lord, sir, it's your only best humour, sir,your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir:I am melancholy myself divers times, sir, and then do Ino more but take your pen and paper presently, and writeyou your half score or your dozen of sonnets at a sitting.LOR. JU. Mass, then he utters them by the gross.STEP. Truly, sir, and I love such things out of measure.LOR. JU. I'faith, as well as in measure.MAT. Why, I pray you, Signior, make use of my study,it's at your service.STEP. I thank you, sir, I shall be bold, I warrantyou, have you a close stool there?MAT. Faith, sir, I have some papers there, toys ofmine own doing at idle hours, that you'll say there'ssome sparks of wit in them, when you shall see them.PROS. Would they were kindled once, and a good firemade, I might see self-love burn'd for her heresy.STEP. Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy enough?LOR. JU. Oh, ay, excellent.PROS. Signior Bobadilla, why muse you so?LOR. JU. He is melancholy too.BOB. Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honourablepiece of service was perform'd to-morrow, being St.Mark's day, shall be some ten years.LOR. JU. In what place was that service, I pray you,sir?BOB. Why, at the beleaguering of Ghibelletto, where,in less than two hours, seven hundred resolute gentlemen,as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon the breach:I'll tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the bestleaguer that ever I beheld with these eyes, except thetaking in of Tortosa last year by the Genoways, but that(of all other) was the most fatal and dangerous exploitthat ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms beforethe face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman and a soldier.STEP. So, I had as lief as an angel I could swear aswell as that gentleman.LOR. JU. Then you were a servitor at both, it seems.BOB. O Lord, sir: by Phaeton, I was the first man thatentered the breach, and had I not effected it withresolution, I had been slain if I had had a million oflives.LOR. JU. Indeed, sir?STEP. Nay, an you heard him discourse you wouldsay so: how like you him?BOB. I assure you (upon my salvation) 'tis true,and yourself shall confess.PROS. You must bring him to the rack first.BOB. Observe me judicially, sweet Signior: they hadplanted me a demi-culverin just in the mouth of thebreach; now, sir, (as we were to ascend), their mastergunner (a man of no mean skill and courage, you mustthink,) confronts me with his linstock ready to givefire; I spying his intendment, discharged my petronelin his bosom, and with this instrument, my poor rapier,ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the ordnance,and put them pell-mell to the sword.PROS. To the sword? to the rapier, Signior.LOR. JU. Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir: butdid you all this, Signior, without hurting your blade?BOB. Without any impeach on the earth: you shallperceive, sir, it is the most fortunate weapon thatever rid on a poor gentleman's thigh: shall I tell you,sir? you talk of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so:tut, I lend no credit to that is reported of them, Iknow the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare theboldlier maintain it.STEP. I marle whether it be a Toledo or no?BOB. A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, Signior.STEP. I have a countryman of his here.MAT. Pray you let's see, sir: yes, faith, it is.BOB. This a Toledo? pish!STEP. Why do you pish, Signior?BOB. A Fleming, by Phoebus! I'll buy them for aguilder a piece, an I'll have a thousand of them.LOR. JU. How say you, cousin? I told you thus much.PROS. Where bought you it, Signior?STEP. Of a scurvy rogue soldier, a pox of God onhim, he swore it was a Toledo.BOB. A provant rapier, no better.MAT. Mass, I think it be indeed.LOR. JU. Tut, now it's too late to look on it, put itup, put it up.STEP. Well, I will not put it up, but by God's foot,an ever I meet him —PROS. Oh, it is past remedy now, sir, you must havepatience.STEP. Whoreson, coney-catching rascal; oh, I couldeat the very hilts for anger.LOR. JU. A sign you have a good ostrich stomach, cousin.STEP. A stomach? would I had him here, you should seean I had a stomach.PROS. It's better as 'tis: come, gentlemen, shall we go?LOR. JU. A miracle, cousin, look here, look here.[ENTER MUSCO.]STEP. Oh, God's lid, by your leave, do you know me, sir?MUS. Ay, sir, I know you by sight.STEP. You sold me a rapier, did you not?MUS. Yes, marry did I, sir.STEP. You said it was a Toledo, ha?MUS. True, I did so.STEP. But it is none.MUS. No, sir, I confess it, it is none.STEP. Gentlemen, bear witness, he has confest it.By God's lid, an you had not confest it —LOR. JU. Oh, cousin, forbear, forbear.STEP. Nay, I have done, cousin.PROS. Why, you have done like a gentleman, he hasconfest it, what would you more?LOR. JU. Sirrah, how dost thou like him?PROS. Oh, it's a precious good fool, make much on him:I can compare him to nothing more happily than a barber'svirginals; for every one may play upon him.MUS. Gentleman, shall I intreat a word with you?LOR. JU. With all my heart, sir, you have not anotherToledo to sell, have you?MUS. You are pleasant, your name is Signior Lorenzo,as I take it?LOR. JU. You are in the right: 'Sblood, he means tocatechise me, I think.MUS. No, sir, I leave that to the Curate, I am none ofthat coat.LOR. JU. And yet of as bare a coat; well, say, sir.MUS. Faith, Signior, I am but servant to God Marsextraordinary, and indeed (this brass varnish beingwashed off, and three or four other tricks sublated)I appear yours in reversion, after the decease ofyour good father, Musco.LOR. JU. Musco, 'sblood, what wind hath blown theehither in this shape?MUS. Your easterly wind, sir, the same that blewyour father hither.LOR. JU. My father?MUS. Nay, never start, it's true, he is come to townof purpose to seek you.LOR. JU. Sirrah Prospero, what shall we do, sirrah?my father is come to the city.PROS. Thy father: where is he?MUS. At a gentleman's house yonder by St. Anthony's,where he but stays my return; and then —PROS. Who's this? Musco?MUS. The same, sir.PROS. Why, how com'st thou transmuted thus?MUS. Faith, a device, a device, nay, for the love of God,stand not here, gentlemen, house yourselves, and I'll tellyou all.LOR. JU. But art thou sure he will stay thy return?MUS. Do I live, sir? what a question is that!PROS. Well, we'll prorogue his expectation a little:Musco, thou shalt go with us: Come on, gentlemen: nay,I pray thee, (good rascal) droop not, 'sheart, an ourwits be so gouty, that one old plodding brain can outstripus all. Lord, I beseech thee, may they lie and starvein some miserable spittle, where they may never see theface of any true spirit again, but be perpetually hauntedwith some church-yard hobgoblin in seculo seculorum.MUS. Amen, Amen.[EXEUNT.]
SCENE I.ENTER THORELLO, AND PISO.PIS. He will expect you, sir, within this half hour.THO. Why, what's a clock?PIS. New stricken ten.THO. Hath he the money ready, can you tell?PIS. Yes, sir, Baptista brought it yesternight.THO. Oh, that's well: fetch me my cloak.[EXIT PISO.]Stay, let me see; an hour to go and come,Ay, that will be the least: and then 'twill beAn hour before I can dispatch with him;Or very near: well, I will say two hours;Two hours? ha! things never dreamt of yetMay be contrived, ay, and effected too,In two hours' absence: well, I will not go.Two hours; no, fleering opportunity,I will not give your treachery that scope.Who will not judge him worthy to be robb'd,That sets his doors wide open to a thief,And shews the felon where his treasure lies?Again, what earthy spirit but will attemptTo taste the fruit of beauty's golden tree,When leaden sleep seals up the dragon's eyes?Oh, beauty is a project of some power,Chiefly when opportunity attends her:She will infuse true motion in a stone,Put glowing fire in an icy soul,Stuff peasants' bosoms with proud Caesar's spleen,Pour rich device into an empty brain:Bring youth to folly's gate: there train him in,And after all, extenuate his sin.Well, I will not go, I am resolved for that.Go, carry it again: yet stay: yet do too,I will defer it till some other time.[ENTER PISO.]PIS. Sir, Signior Platano will meet you there withthe bond.THO. That's true: by Jesu, I had clean forgot it.I must go, what's a clock?PIS. Past ten, sir.THO. 'Heart, then will Prospero presently be here too,With one or other of his loose consorts.I am a Jew if I know what to say,What course to take, or which way to resolve.My brain (methinks) is like an hour-glass,And my imaginations like the sandsRun dribbling forth to fill the mouth of time,Still changed with turning in the ventricle.What were I best to do? it shall be so.Nay, I dare build upon his secrecy. Piso.PIS. Sir.THO. Yet now I have bethought me too, I will not.Is Cob within?PIS. I think he be, sir.THO. But he'll prate too, there's no talk of him.No, there were no course upon the earth to this,If I durst trust him; tut, I were secure,But there's the question now, if he should prove,Rimarum plenus, then, 'sblood, I were rook'd.The state that he hath stood in till this presentDoth promise no such change: what should I fear then?Well, come what will, I'll tempt my fortune once.Piso, thou mayest deceive me, but I think thou lovestme, Piso.PIS. Sir, if a servant's zeal and humble duty maybe term'd love, you are possest of it.THO. I have a matter to impart to thee, but thou mustbe secret, Piso.PIS. Sir, for that —THO. Nay, hear me, man; think I esteem thee well,To let thee in thus to my private thoughts;Piso, it is a thing sits nearer to my crest,Than thou art 'ware of; if thou should'st reveal it —PIS. Reveal it, sir?THO. Nay, I do not think thou would'st, but if thoushould'st —PIS. Sir, then I were a villain:Disclaim in me for ever if I do.THO. He will not swear: he has some meaning, sure,Else (being urged so much) how should he choose,But lend an oath to all this protestation?He is no puritan, that I am certain of.What should I think of it? urge him again,And in some other form: I will do so.Well, Piso, thou has sworn not to disclose; ay, youdid swear?PIS. Not yet, sir, but I will, so please you.THO. Nay, I dare take thy word.But if thou wilt swear, do as you think good,I am resolved without such circumstance.PIS. By my soul's safety, sir, I here protest,My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of a wordDeliver'd me in compass of your trust.THO. Enough, enough, these ceremonies need not,I know thy faith to be as firm as brass.Piso, come hither: nay, we must be closeIn managing these actions: So it is,(Now he has sworn I dare the safelier speak;)I have of late by divers observations —But, whether his oath be lawful, yea, or no? ha!I will ask counsel ere I do proceed:Piso, it will be now too long to stay,We'll spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow.PIS. At your pleasure, sir.THO. I pray you search the books 'gainst I returnFor the receipts 'twixt me and Platano.PIS. I will, sir.THO. And hear you: if my brother ProsperoChance to bring hither any gentlemenEre I come back, let one straight bring me word.PIS. Very well, sir.THO. Forget it not, nor be not you out of the way.PIS. I will not, sir.THO. Or whether he come or no, if any other,Stranger or else: fail not to send me word.PIS. Yes, sir.THO. Have care, I pray you, and remember it.PIS. I warrant you, sir.THO. But, Piso, this is not the secret I told thee of.PIS. No, sir, I suppose so.THO. Nay, believe me, it is not.PIS. I do believe you, sir.THO. By heaven it is not, that's enough.Marry, I would not thou should'st utter it to anycreature living,Yet I care not.Well, I must hence: Piso, conceive thus much,No ordinary person could have drawnSo deep a secret from me; I mean not this,But that I have to tell thee: this is nothing, this.Piso, remember, silence, buried here:No greater hell than to be slave to fear.[EXIT THO.]PIS. Piso, remember, silence, buried here:When should this flow of passion (trow) take head? ha!Faith, I'll dream no longer of this running humour,For fear I sink, the violence of the streamAlready hath transported me so farThat I can feel no ground at all: but soft,[ENTER COB.]Oh, it's our water-bearer: somewhat has crost him now.COB. Fasting days: what tell you me of your fasting days?would they were all on a light fire for me: they say theworld shall be consumed with fire and brimstone in thelatter day: but I would we had these ember weeks and thesevillainous Fridays burnt in the mean time, and then —PIS. Why, how now, Cob! what moves thee to this choler, ha?COB. Collar, sir? 'swounds, I scorn your collar, I, sir,am no collier's horse, sir, never ride me with your collar,an you do, I'll shew you a jade's trick.PIS. Oh, you'll slip your head out of the collar: why, Cob,you mistake me.COB. Nay, I have my rheum, and I be angry as well asanother, sir.PIE. Thy rheum? thy humour, man, thou mistakest.COB. Humour? mack, I think it be so indeed: what isthis humour? it's some rare thing, I warrant.PIS. Marry, I'll tell thee what it is (as 'tis generallyreceived in these days): it is a monster bred in a man byself-love and affectation, and fed by folly.COB. How? must it be fed?PIS. Oh ay, humour is nothing if it be not fed, why,didst thou never hear of that? it's a common phrase,"Feed my humour."COB. I'll none on it: humour, avaunt, I know you not,be gone. Let who will make hungry meals for you, it shallnot be I: Feed you, quoth he? 'sblood, I have much ado tofeed myself, especially on these lean rascal days too,an't had been any other day but a fasting day: a plague onthem all for me: by this light, one might have done Godgood service and have drown'd them all in the flood two orthree hundred thousand years ago, oh, I do stomach themhugely: I have a maw now, an't were for Sir Bevis's horse.PIS. Nay, but I pray thee, Cob, what makes thee so out oflove with fasting days?COB. Marry, that that will make any man out of love withthem, I think: their bad conditions, an you will needs know:First, they are of a Flemish breed, I am sure on't, forthey raven up more butter than all the days of the weekbeside: next, they stink of fish miserably: thirdly, they'llkeep a man devoutly hungry all day, and at night send himsupperless to bed.PIS. Indeed, these are faults, Cob.COB. Nay, an this were all, 'twere something, but theyare the only known enemies to my generation. A fastingday no sooner comes, but my lineage goes to rack, poorCobs, they smoke for it, they melt in passion, and yourmaids too know this, and yet would have me turn Hannibal,and eat my own fish and blood: my princely coz,[PULLS OUT A RED HERRING.] fear nothing;I have not the heart to devour you, an I might be madeas rich as Golias: oh, that I had room for my tears, Icould weep salt water enough now to preserve the livesof ten thousand of my kin: but I may curse none butthese filthy Almanacks, for an 'twere not for them, thesedays of persecution would ne'er be known. I'll be hang'dan some fishmonger's son do not make on them, and puts inmore fasting days than he should do, because he wouldutter his father's dried stockfish.PIS. 'Soul, peace, thou'lt be beaten like a stockfishelse: here is Signior Matheo.[ENTER MATHEO, PROSPERO, LORENZO JUNIOR, BOBADILLA,STEPHANO, MUSCO.]Now must I look out for a messenger to my master.[EXEUNT COB AND PISO.]
ACT III. SCENE II.PROS. Beshrew me, but it was an absolute good jest, andexceedingly well carried.LOR. JU. Ay, and our ignorance maintain'd it as well,did it not?PROS. Yes, faith, but was't possible thou should'st notknow him?LOR. JU. 'Fore God, not I, an I might have been join'dpatten with one of the nine worthies for knowing him.'Sblood, man, he had so writhen himself into the habit ofone of your poor Disparview's here, your decayed, ruinous,worm-eaten gentlemen of the round: such as have vowed tosit on the skirts of the city, let your Provost and hishalf dozen of halberdiers do what they can; and havetranslated begging out of the old hackney pace, to a fineeasy amble, and made it run as smooth off the tongue as ashove-groat shilling, into the likeness of one of theselean Pirgo's, had he moulded himself so perfectly, observingevery trick of their action, as varying the accent: swearingwith an emphasis. Indeed, all with so special and exquisitea grace, that (hadst thou seen him) thou would'st have swornhe might have been the Tamberlane, or the Agamemnon on therout.PROS. Why, Musco, who would have thought thou hadst beensuch a gallant?LOR. JU. I cannot tell, but (unless a man had juggledbegging all his life time, and been a weaver of phrasesfrom his infancy, for the apparelling of it) I thinkthe world cannot produce his rival.PROS. Where got'st thou this coat, I marle?MUS. Faith, sir, I had it of one of the devil's nearkinsmen, a broker.PROS. That cannot be, if the proverb hold, a craftyknave needs no broker.MUS. True, sir, but I need a broker, ergo, no craftyknave.PROS. Well put off, well put off.LOR. JU. Tut, he has more of these shifts.MUS. And yet where I have one, the broker has ten, sir.[ENTER PIS.]PIS. Francisco, Martino, ne'er a one to be found now:what a spite's this?PROS. How now, Piso? is my brother within?PIS. No, sir, my master went forth e'en now, but SigniorGiuliano is within. Cob, what, Cob! Is he gone too?PROS. Whither went thy master? Piso, canst thou tell?PIS. I know not, to Doctor Clement's, I think, sir. Cob.[EXIT PIS.]LOR. JU. Doctor Clement, what's he? I have heard muchspeech of him.PROS. Why, dost thou not know him? he is the Gonfaloniereof the state here, an excellent rare civilian, and a greatscholar, but the only mad merry old fellow in Europe: Ishewed him you the other day.LOR. JU. Oh, I remember him now; Good faith, and he hatha very strange presence, methinks, it shews as if he stoodout of the rank from other men. I have heard many of hisjests in Padua; they say he will commit a man for takingthe wall of his horse.PROS. Ay, or wearing his cloak on one shoulder, or anything indeed, if it come in the way of his humour.PIS. Gaspar, Martino, Cob: 'Sheart, where should they be,trow?[ENTER PISO.]BOB. Signior Thorello's man, I pray thee vouchsafeus the lighting of this match.PIS. A pox on your match, no time but now to vouchsafe?Francisco, Cob.[EXIT.]BOB. Body of me: here's the remainder of seven pound,since yesterday was sevennight. It's your right Trinidado:did you never take any, signior?STEP. No, truly, sir; but I'll learn to take it now, sinceyou commend it so.BOB. Signior, believe me (upon my relation) for what Itell you, the world shall not improve. I have been in theIndies, (where this herb grows) where neither myself nor adozen gentlemen more (of my knowledge) have received thetaste of any other nutriment in the world, for the spaceof one and twenty weeks, but tobacco only. Therefore itcannot be but 'tis most divine. Further, take it in thenature, in the true kind, so, it makes an antidote, that hadyou taken the most deadly poisonous simple in all Florence itshould expel it, and clarify you with as much ease as I speak.And for your green wound, your Balsamum, and your — are allmere gulleries, and trash to it, especially your Trinidado:your Nicotian is good too: I could say what I know of thevirtue of it, for the exposing of rheums, raw humours,crudities, obstructions, with a thousand of this kind; but Iprofess myself no quack-salver. Only thus much; by Hercules,I do hold it, and will affirm it (before any Prince inEurope) to be the most sovereign and precious herb that everthe earth tendered to the use of man.LOR. JU. Oh, this speech would have done rare in anapothecary's mouth.[ENTER PISO AND COB.]PIS. Ay; close by Saint Anthony's: Doctor Clement's.COB. Oh, oh.BOB. Where's the match I gave thee?PIS. 'Sblood, would his match, and he, and pipe, andall, were at Sancto Domingo.[EXIT.]COB. By God's deins, I marle what pleasure or felicitythey have in taking this roguish tobacco; it's good fornothing but to choke a man, and fill him full of smokeand embers: there were four died out of one house lastweek with taking of it, and two more the bell went foryesternight, one of them (they say) will ne'er escape it,he voided a bushel of soot yesterday, upward and downward.By the stocks, an there were no wiser men than I, I'dhave it present death, man or woman, that should but dealwith a tobacco pipe; why, it will stifle them all in theend as many as use it; it's little better than rat's-bane.[EXIT PISO.]ALL. Oh, good Signior; hold, hold.BOB. You base cullion, you.PIS. Sir, here's your match; come, thou must needs betalking too.COB. Nay, he will not meddle with his match, I warrantyou; well, it shall be a dear beating, an I live.BOB. Do you prate?LOR. JU. Nay, good Signior, will you regard the humourof a fool? Away, knave.PROS. Piso, get him away.[EXIT PISO AND COB.]BOB. A whoreson filthy slave, a turd, an excrement.Body of Caesar, but that I scorn to let forth so mean aspirit, I'd have stabb'd him to the earth.PROS. Marry, God forbid, sir.BOB. By this fair heaven, I would have done it.STEP. Oh, he swears admirably; (by this fair heaven!)Body of Caesar: I shall never do it, sure (upon my salvation).No, I have not the right grace.MAT. Signior, will you any? By this air, the most divinetobacco as ever I drunk.LOR. JU. I thank you, sir.STEP. Oh, this gentleman doth it rarely too, but nothinglike the other. By this air, as I am a gentleman: By Phoebus.[EXIT BOB. AND MAT.]MUS. Master, glance, glance: Signior Prospero.STEP. As I have a soul to be saved, I do protest —PROS. That you are a fool.LOR. JU. Cousin, will you any tobacco?STEP. Ay, sir: upon my salvation.LOR. JU. How now, cousin?STEP. I protest, as I am a gentleman, but no soldier indeed.PROS. No, Signior, as I remember, you served on a great horse,last general muster.STEP. Ay, sir, that's true, cousin, may I swear as I am asoldier, by that?LOR. JU. Oh yes, that you may.STEP. Then as I am a gentleman, and a soldier, it is divinetobacco.PROS. But soft, where's Signior Matheo? gone?MUS. No, sir, they went in here.PROS. Oh, let's follow them: Signior Matheo is gone tosalute his mistress, sirrah, now thou shalt hear some ofhis verses, for he never comes hither without some shredsof poetry: Come, Signior Stephano. Musco.STEP. Musco? where? Is this Musco?LOR. JU. Ay; but peace, cousin, no words of it at any hand.STEP. Not I, by this fair heaven, as I have a soul to besaved, by Phoebus.PROS. Oh rare! your cousin's discourse is simply suited,all in oaths.LOR. JU. Ay, he lacks nothing but a little light stuff,to draw them out withal, and he were rarely fitted to thetime.[EXEUNT.]
ACT III. SCENE III.ENTER THORELLO WITH COB.THO. Ha, how many are there, sayest thou?COB. Marry, sir, your brother, Signior Prospero.THO. Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man?COB. Strangers? let me see, one, two; mass, I know not well,there's so many.THO. How? so many?COB. Ay, there's some five or six of them at the most.THO. A swarm, a swarm?Spite of the devil, how they sting my heart!How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob?COB. But a little while, sir.THO. Didst thou come running?COB. No, sir.THO. Tut, then I am familiar with thy haste.Ban to my fortunes: what meant I to marry?I that before was rank'd in such content,My mind attired in smooth silken peace,Being free master of mine own free thoughts,And now become a slave? what, never sigh,Be of good cheer, man: for thou art a cuckold,'Tis done, 'tis done: nay, when such flowing store,Plenty itself falls in my wife's lap,The Cornucopiae will be mine, I know. But, Cob,What entertainment had they? I am sureMy sister and my wife would bid them welcome, ha?COB. Like enough: yet I heard not a word of welcome.THO. No, their lips were seal'd with kisses, and the voiceDrown'd in a flood of joy at their arrival,Had lost her motion, state, and faculty.Cob, which of them was't that first kiss'd my wife?(My sister, I should say,) my wife, alas,I fear not her: ha? who was it, say'st thou?COB. By my troth, sir, will you have the truth of it?THO. Oh ay, good Cob: I pray thee.COB. God's my judge, I saw nobody to be kiss'd, unlessthey would have kiss'd the post in the middle of thewarehouse; for there I left them all, at their tobacco,with a pox.THO. How? were they not gone in then ere thou cam'st?COB. Oh no, sir.THO. Spite of the devil, what do I stay here then?Cob, follow me.[EXIT THO.]COB. Nay, soft and fair, I have eggs on the spit; I cannotgo yet sir: now am I for some divers reasons hammering,hammering revenge: oh, for three or four gallons of vinegar,to sharpen my wits: Revenge, vinegar revenge, russet revenge;nay, an he had not lien in my house, 'twould never havegrieved me; but being my guest, one that I'll be sworn mywife has lent him her smock off her back, while his own shirthas been at washing: pawned her neckerchers for clean bandsfor him: sold almost all my platters to buy him tobacco;and yet to see an ingratitude wretch strike his host;well, I hope to raise up an host of furies for't: herecomes M. Doctor.[ENTER DOCTOR CLEMENT, LORENZO SENIOR, PETO.]CLEM. What's Signior Thorello gone?PET. Ay, sir.CLEM. Heart of me, what made him leave us so abruptly?How now, sirrah; what make you here? what would youhave, ha?COB. An't please your worship, I am a poor neighbour ofyour worship's.CLEM. A neighbour of mine, knave?COB. Ay, sir, at the sign of the Water-tankard, hard bythe Green Lattice: I have paid scot and lot there anytime this eighteen years.CLEM. What, at the Green Lattice?COB. No sir: to the parish: marry, I have seldom scapedscot-free at the Lattice.CLEM. So: but what business hath my neighbour?COB. An't like your worship, I am come to crave thepeace of your worship.CLEM. Of me, knave? peace of me, knave? did I e'erhurt thee? did I ever threaten thee? or wrong thee? ha?COB. No, God's my comfort, I mean your worship's warrant,for one that hath wrong'd me, sir: his arms are at too muchliberty, I would fain have them bound to a treaty of peace,an I could by any means compass it.LOR. Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him?COB. No, sir; but I go in danger of my death every hour byhis means; an I die within a twelve-month and a day, I mayswear, by the laws of the land, that he kill'd me.CLEM. How? how, knave? swear he kill'd thee? what pretext?what colour hast thou for that?COB. Marry, sir, both black and blue, colour enough, Iwarrant you, I have it here to shew your worship.CLEM. What is he that gave you this, sirrah?COB. A gentleman in the city, sir.CLEM. A gentleman? what call you him?COB. Signior Bobadilla.CLEM. Good: But wherefore did he beat you, sirrah?how began the quarrel 'twixt you? ha: speak truly,knave, I advise you.COB. Marry, sir, because I spake against their vagranttobacco, as I came by them: for nothing else.CLEM. Ha, you speak against tobacco? Peto, his name.PET. What's your name, sirrah?COB. Oliver Cob, sir, set Oliver Cob, sir.CLEM. Tell Oliver Cob he shall go to the jail.PET. Oliver Cob, master Doctor says you shall go to the jail.COB. Oh, I beseech your worship, for God's love, dear masterDoctor.CLEM. Nay, God's precious! an such drunken knaves as you arecome to dispute of tobacco once, I have done: away with him.COB. Oh, good master Doctor, sweet gentleman.LOR. SE. Sweet Oliver, would I could do thee any good; masterDoctor, let me intreat, sir.CLEM. What? a tankard-bearer, a thread-bare rascal, a beggar,a slave that never drunk out of better than piss-pot metal inhis life, and he to deprave and abuse the virtue of an herb sogenerally received in the courts of princes, the chambers ofnobles, the bowers of sweet ladies, the cabins of soldiers:Peto, away with him, by God's passion, I say, go to.COB. Dear master Doctor.LOR. SE. Alas, poor Oliver.CLEM. Peto: ay: and make him a warrant, he shall not go,I but fear the knave.COB. O divine Doctor, thanks, noble Doctor, most daintyDoctor, delicious Doctor.[EXEUNT PETO WITH COB.]CLEM. Signior Lorenzo: God's pity, man,Be merry, be merry, leave these dumps.LOR. SE. Troth, would I could, sir: but enforced mirth(In my weak judgment) has no happy birth.The mind, being once a prisoner unto cares,The more it dreams on joy, the worse it fares.A smiling look is to a heavy soulAs a gilt bias to a leaden bowl,Which (in itself) appears most vile, being spentTo no true use; but only for ostent.CLEM. Nay, but, good Signior, hear me a word, hear me a word,your cares are nothing; they are like my cap, soon put on,and as soon put off. What? your son is old enough to governhimself; let him run his course, it's the only way to makehim a staid man: if he were an unthrift, a ruffian, adrunkard, or a licentious liver, then you had reason: you hadreason to take care: but being none of these, God's passion,an I had twice so many cares as you have, I'd drown them allin a cup of sack: come, come, I muse your parcel of a soldierreturns not all this while.[EXEUNT.]