Yet sure i’th end he’ll delude all my hopes,And show me a French trick danced on the ropes.[Exit.
Enter at one sideLodovicoandCarolo;at anotherBots,andMistressHorseleech.
Lod.Hist, hist, Lieutenant Bots, how dost, man?
Car.Whither are you ambling, Madam Horseleech?
Mis. H.About worldly profit, sir: how do your worships?
Bots.We want tools, gentlemen, to furnish the trade: they wear out day and night, they wear out till no metal be left in their back. We hear of two or three new wenches are come up with a carrier, and your old goshawk here is flying at them.
Lod.And, faith, what flesh have you at home?
Mis. H.Ordinary dishes; by my troth, sweet men,there’s few good i’ th’ city; I am as well furnished as any, and, though I say it, as well customed.
Bots.We have meats of all sorts of dressing; we have stewed meat for your Frenchman, pretty light picking meat for your Italian, and that which is rotten roasted for Don Spaniardo.
Lod.A pox on’t.
Bots.We have poulterer’s ware for your sweet bloods, as dove, chicken, duck, teal, woodcock, and so forth; and butcher’s meat for the citizen: yet muttons[272]fall very bad this year.
Lod.Stay, is not that my patient linen-draper yonder, and my fine young smug mistress, his wife?
Car.Sirrah,[273]grannam, I’ll give thee for thy fee twenty crowns, if thou canst but procure me the wearing of yon velvet cap.
Mis. H.You’d wear another thing besides the cap. You’re a wag.
Bots.Twenty crowns? we’ll share, and I’ll be your pully to draw her on.
Lod.Do’t presently; we’ll ha’ some sport.
Mis. H.Wheel you about, sweet men: do you see? I’ll cheapen wares of the man, whilst Bots is doing with his wife.
Lod.To’t: if we come into the shop to do you grace, we’ll call you madam.
Bots.Pox a’ your old face, give it the badge of all scurvy faces, a mask.
[Mistress Horseleechputs on a mask.
Cand.What is’t you lack, gentlewoman? Cambric or lawns, or fine hollands? Pray draw near, I can sell you a pennyworth.
Bots.Some cambric for my old lady.
Cand.Cambric? you shall, the purest thread in Milan.
Car.Save you, Signor Candido.
Lod.How does my noble master? how my fair mistress?
Cand.My worshipful good servant.—View it well, for ’tis both fine and even.[Shows cambric.
Car.Cry you mercy, madam; though masked, I thought it should be you by your man.—Pray, signor, show her the best, for she commonly deals for good ware.
Cand.Then this shall fit her.—This is for your ladyship.
Bots.A word, I pray; there is a waiting gentlewoman of my lady’s: her name is Ruyna, says she’s your kinswoman, and that you should be one of her aunts.
Bride.One of her aunts? troth, sir, I know her not.
Bots.If it please you to bestow the poor labour of your legs at any time, I will be your convoy thither?
Bride.I am a snail, sir, seldom leave my house. If’t please her to visit me, she shall be welcome.
Bots.Do you hear? the naked truth is; my lady hath a young knight, her son, who loves you, you’re made, if you lay hold upon’t; this jewel he sends you.[Offers jewel.
Bride.Sir, I return his love and jewel with scorn; let go my hand, or I shall call my husband. You are an arrant knave.[Exit.
Lod.What will she do?
Bots.Do? They shall all do if Bots sets upon them once: she was as if she had professed the trade, squeamish at first; at last I showed her this jewel, said a knight sent it her.
Lod.Is’t gold, and right stones?
Bots.Copper, copper, I go a fishing with these baits. She nibbled, but would not swallow the hook, because the conger-head, her husband, was by; but she bids the gentleman name any afternoon, and she’ll meet him at her garden house,[274]which I know.
Lod.Is this no lie now?
Bots.Damme, if—
Lod.Oh, prithee stay there.
Bots.The twenty crowns, sir.
Lod.Before he has his work done? but on my knightly word he shall pay’t thee.
EnterAstolfo,Beraldo,Fontinell,andBryan.
Ast.I thought thou hadst been gone into thine own country.
Bry.No, faat, la, I cannot go dis four or tree days.
Ber.Look thee, yonder’s the shop, and that’s the man himself.
Fon.Thou shalt but cheapen, and do as we told thee, to put a jest upon him, to abuse his patience.
Bry.I’faat, I doubt my pate shall be knocked: but, sa crees sa’ me, for your shakes, I will run to any linen-draper in hell: come predee.
Ast.,Ber.,Fon.Save you, gallants.
Lod.,Car.Oh, well met!
Cand.You’ll give no more, you say? I cannot take it.
Mis. H.Truly I’ll give no more.
Cand.It must not fetch it.What would you have, sweet gentlemen.
Ast.Nay, here’s the customer.
[ExeuntBotsandMistressHorseleech.
Lod.The garden-house, you say? we’ll bolt[275]out your roguery.
Cand.I will but lay these parcels by—my menAre all at the custom house unloading wares,If cambric you would deal in, there’s the best,All Milan cannot sample it.
Lod.Do your hear it? one, two, three,—’Sfoot, there came in four gallants! Sure your wife is slipt up, and the fourth man, I hold my life, is grafting your warden tree.[276]
Cand.Ha, ha, ha! you gentlemen are full of jest.If she be up, she’s gone some wares to show;I have above as good wares as below.
Lod.Have you so? nay, then—
Cand.Now, gentlemen, is’t cambrics?
Bry.I predee now let me have de best waures.
Cand.What’s that he says, pray, gentlemen?
Lod.Marry, he says we are like to have the best wars.
Cand.The best wars? all are bad, yet wars do good,And, like to surgeons, let sick kingdom’s blood.
Bry.Faat a devil pratest tow so? a pox on dee! I preddee, let me see some hollen, to make linen shirts, for fear my body be lousy.
Cand.Indeed, I understand no word he speaks.
Car.Marry, he says that at the siege in HollandThere was much bawdry used among the soldiers,Though they were lousy.
Cand.It may be so, that likely; true, indeed,In every garden, sir, does grow that weed.
Bry.Pox on de gardens, and de weeds, and de fool’s cap dere, and de clouts! hear? dost make a hobby-horse of me?[Tearing the cambric.
All.Oh, fie! he has torn the cambric.
Cand.’Tis no matter.
Ast.It frets me to the soul.
Cand.So does’t not me.My customers do oft for remnants call,These are two remnants, now, no loss at all.But let me tell you, were my servants here,It would ha’ cost more.—Thank you, gentlemen,I use you well, pray know my shop again.
All.Ha, ha, ha! come, come, let’s go, let’s go.[Exeunt.
EnterMatheobrave,[277]andBellafront.
Mat.How am I suited, Front? am I not gallant, ha?
Bell.Yes, sir, you are suited well.
Mat.Exceeding passing well, and to the time.
Bell.The tailor has played his part with you.
Mat.And I have played a gentleman’s part with my tailor, for I owe him for the making of it.
Bell.And why did you so, sir?
Mat.To keep the fashion; it’s your only fashion now, of your best rank of gallants, to make their tailors wait for their money; neither were it wisdom indeed to pay them upon the first edition of a new suit; for commonly the suit is owing for, when the linings are worn out, and there’s no reason, then, that the tailor should be paid before the mercer.
Bell.Is this the suit the knight bestowed upon you?
Mat.This is the suit, and I need not shame to wear it, for better men than I would be glad to have suits bestowed on them. It’s a generous fellow,—but—pox on him—we whose pericranions are the very limbecks and stillatories of good wit and fly high, must drive liquorout of stale gaping oysters—shallow knight, poor squire Tinacheo: I’ll make a wild Cataian[278]of forty such: hang him, he’s an ass, he’s always sober.
Bell.This is your fault to wound your friends still.
Mat.No, faith, Front, Lodovico is a noble Slavonian: it’s more rare to see him in a woman’s company, than for a Spaniard to go into England, and to challenge the English fencers there.—[Knocking within.] One knocks,—see.—[ExitBellafront.]—La, fa, fol, la, fa, la, [Sings] rustle in silks and satins! there’s music in this, and a taffeta petticoat, it makes both fly high.Catso.
Re-enterBellafrontwithOrlandoin his own dress, and fourServants.
Bell.Matheo! ’tis my father.
Mat.Ha! father? It’s no matter, he finds no tattered prodigals here.
Orl.Is not the door good enough to hold your blue coats?[279]away, knaves, Wear not your clothes threadbare at knees for me; beg Heaven’s blessing, not mine.—[ExeuntServants.]—Oh cry your worship mercy, sir; was somewhat bold to talk to this gentlewoman, your wife here.
Mat.A poor gentlewoman, sir.
Orl.Stand not, sir, bare to me; I ha’ read oftThat serpents who creep low, belch ranker poisonThan wingèd dragons do that fly aloft.
Mat.If it offend you, sir, ’tis for my pleasure.
Orl.Your pleasure be’t, sir. Umh, is this your palace?
Bell.Yes, and our kingdom, for ’tis our content.
Orl.It’s a very poor kingdom then; what, are all your subjects gone a sheep-shearing? not a maid? not a man? not so much as a cat? You keep a good house belike, just like one of your profession, every room with barewalls, and a half-headed bed to vault upon, as all your bawdy-houses are. Pray who are your upholsters? Oh, the spiders, I see, they bestow hangings upon you.
Mat.Bawdy-house? Zounds, sir—
Bell.Oh sweet Matheo, peace. Upon my kneesI do beseech you, sir, not to arraign meFor sins, which Heaven, I hope, long since hath pardoned!Those flames, like lightning flashes, are so spent,The heat no more remains, than where ships went,Or where birds cut the air, the print remains.
Mat.Pox on him, kneel to a dog.
Bell.She that’s a whore,Lives gallant, fares well, is not, like me, poor.I ha’ now as small acquaintance with that sin,As if I had never known’t, t’ had never been.
Orl.No acquaintance with it? what maintains thee then? how dost live then? Has thy husband any lands? any rents 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 ware to sell,Knaves are thy chapmen, and thy shop is hell.
Mat.Do you hear, sir?
Orl.So, sir, I do hear, sir, more of you than you dream I do.
Mat.You fly a little too high, sir.
Orl.Why, sir, too high?
Mat.I ha’ suffered your tongue, like a bard cater-tray,[280]to run all this while, and ha’ not stopt it.
Orl.Well, sir, you talk like a gamester.
Mat.If you come to bark at her, because she’s a poor rogue, look you, here’s a fine path, sir, and there, there’s the door.
Bell.Matheo?
Mat.Your blue coats stay for you, sir. I love a good honest roaring boy, and so—
Orl.That’s the devil.
Mat.Sir, sir, I’ll ha’ no Joves in my house to thunder avaunt: she shall live and be maintained when you, like a keg of musty sturgeon, shall stink; where? in your coffin—how? be a musty fellow, and lousy.
Orl.I know she shall be maintained, but how? she like a quean, thou like a knave; she like a whore, thou like a thief.
Mat.Thief? Zounds! Thief?
Bell.Good, dearest Mat!—Father!
Mat.Pox on you both! I’ll not be braved. New satin scorns to be put down with bare bawdy velvet. Thief?
Orl.Ay, thief, th’art a murderer, a cheater, a whoremonger, a pot-hunter, a borrower a beggar—
Bell.Dear father—
Mat.An old ass, a dog, a churl, a chuff, an usurer, a villain, a moth, a mangy mule, with an old velvet foot-cloth on his back, sir.
Bell.Oh me!
Orl.Varlet, for this I’ll hang thee.
Mat.Ha, ha, alas!
Orl.Thou keepest a man of mine here, under my nose—
Mat.Under thy beard.
Orl.As arrant a smell-smock, for an old muttonmonger[281]as thyself.
Mat.No, as yourself.
Orl.As arrant a purse-taker 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.
Mat.How’s this? how’s this? dost thou fly high? rob pedlars?—bear witness, Front—rob pedlars? my man and I a thief?
Bell.Oh, sir, no more.
Orl.Ay, knave, two pedlars; hue and cry is up; warrants are out, and I shall see thee climb a ladder.
Mat.And come down again as well as a bricklayer or a tiler. How the vengeance knows he this? If I be hanged, I’ll tell the people I married old Friscobaldo’s daughter; I’ll frisco you, and your old carcass.
Orl.Tell what you canst; if I stay here longer, I shall be hanged too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found you, I leave you—
Mat.Kneel, and get money of him.
Orl.A knave and a quean, a thief and a strumpet, a couple of beggars, a brace of baggages.
Mat.Hang upon him—Ay, ay, sir, farewell; we are—follow close—we are beggars—in satin—to him.
Bell.Is this your comfort, when so many yearsYou ha’ left me frozen to death?
Orl.Freeze still, starve still!
Bell.Yes, so I shall: I must: I must and will.If as you say I’m poor, relieve me then,Let me not sell my body to base men.You call me strumpet, Heaven knows I am none:Your cruelty may drive me to be one:Let not that sin be yours; let not the shameOf common whore live longer than my name.That cunning bawd, necessity, night and dayPlots to undo me; drive that hag away,Lest being at lowest ebb, as now I am,I sink for ever.
Orl.Lowest ebb, what ebb?
Bell.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 bread to eat.
Orl.It’s not seen by your cheeks.
Mat.I think she has read an homily to tickle the old rogue.[Aside.
Orl.Want bread! there’s satin: bake that.
Mat.’Sblood, make pasties of my clothes?
Orl.A fair new cloak, stew that; an excellent gilt rapier.
Mat.Will you eat that, sir?
Orl.I could feast ten good fellows with these hangers.[282]
Mat.The pox, you shall!
Orl.I shall not, till thou begg’st, think thou art poor;And when thou begg’st 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 whore.—My heart-strings sure would crack, were they strained more.[Aside, and exit.
Mat.This is your father, your damned—Confusion light upon all the generation of you; he can come bragging hither with four white herrings at’s tail in blue coats, without roes in their bellies, but I may starve ere he give me so much as a cob.[283]
Bell.What tell you me of this? alas!
Mat.Go, trot after your dad, do you capitulate; I’ll pawn not for you; I’ll not steal to be hanged for such an hypocritical, close, common harlot: away, you dog!—Brave i’faith! Udsfoot, give me some meat.
Bell.Yes, sir.[Exit.
Mat.Goodman slave, my man too, is galloped to the devil a’ t’other side: Pacheco, I’ll checo you. Is this your dad’s day? England, they say, is the only hell for horses, and only paradise for women: pray get you to that paradise, because you’re called an honest whore; there they live none but honest whores with a pox. Marry here in our city, all your sex are but foot-cloth nags,[284]the master no sooner lights but the man leaps into the saddle.
Re-enterBellafrontwith meat and drink.
Bell.Will you sit down I pray, sir?
Mat.[Sitting down.] I could tear, by th’ Lord, hisflesh, and eat his midriff in salt, as I eat this:—must I choke—my father Friscobaldo, I shall make a pitiful hog-louse of you, Orlando, if you fall once into my fingers—Here’s the savourest meat! I ha’ got a stomach with chafing. What rogue should tell him of those two pedlars? A plague choke him, and gnaw him to the bare bones!—Come fill.
Bell.Thou sweatest with very anger, good sweet, vex not, as ’tis no fault of mine.
Mat.Where didst buy this mutton? I never felt better ribs.
Bell.A neighbour sent it me.
Re-enterOrlandodisguised as aServing-man.
Mat.Hah, neighbour? foh, my mouth stinks,—You whore, do you beg victuals for me? Is this satin doublet to be bombasted[285]with broken meat?[Takes up the stool.
Orl.What will you do, sir?
Mat.Beat out the brains of a beggarly—
Orl.Beat out an ass’s head of your own—Away, Mistress [ExitBellafront.] Zounds, do but touch one hair of her, and I’ll so quilt your cap with old iron, that your coxcomb shall ache like a roasted rabbit, that you must have the head for the brains?
Mat.Ha, ha! go out of my doors, you rogue, away, four marks; trudge.
Orl.Four marks? no, sir, my twenty pound that you ha’ made fly high, and I am gone.
Mat.Must I be fed with chippings? you’re best get a clapdish,[286]and say you’re proctor to some spittle-house.[287]Where hast thou been, Pacheco? Come hither my little turkey-cock.
Orl.I cannot abide, sir, to see a woman wronged, not I.
Mat.Sirrah, here was my father-in-law to day.
Orl.Pish, then you’re full of crowns.
Mat.Hang him! he would ha’ thrust crowns upon me, to have fallen in again, but I scorn cast clothes, or any man’s gold.
Orl.But mine; [Aside.]—How did he brook that, sir?
Mat.Oh, swore like a dozen of drunken tinkers; at last growing foul in words, he and four of his men drew upon me, sir.
Orl.In your house? would I had been by!
Mat.I made no more ado, but fell to my old lock, and so thrashed my blue-coats and old crab-tree-face my father-in-law, and then walked like a lion in my grate.
Orl.O noble master!
Mat.Sirrah, he could tell me of the robbing the two pedlars, and that warrants are out for us both.
Orl.Good sir, I like not those crackers.
Mat.Crackhalter, wou’t set thy foot to mine?
Orl.How, sir? at drinking.
Mat.We’ll pull that old crow my father: rob thy master. I know the house, thou the servants: the purchase[288]is rich, the plot to get it is easy, the dog will not part from a bone.
Orl.Pluck’t out of his throat, then: I’ll snarl for one, if this[289]can bite.
Mat.Say no more, say no more, old coal, meet me anon at the sign of the Shipwreck.
Orl.Yes, sir.
Mat.And dost hear, man?—the Shipwreck.[Exit.
Orl.Th’art at the shipwreck now, and like a swimmer,Bold, but inexpert, with those waves dost play,Whose dalliance, whorelike, is to cast thee away.
EnterHippolitoandBellafront.
And here’s another vessel, better fraught,But as ill-manned her sinking will be wrought,If rescue come not: like a man of warI’ll therefore bravely out; somewhat I’ll do,And either save them both, or perish too.[Exit.
Hip.’Tis my fate to be bewitched by those eyes.
Bell.Fate? your folly.Why should my face thus mad you? ’Las, those coloursAre wound up long ago, which beauty spread;The flowers that once grew here, are witherèd.You turned my black soul white, made it look new,And should I sin, it ne’er should be with you.
Hip.Your hand, I’ll offer you fair play: When firstWe met i’th ’lists together, you rememberYou were a common rebel; with one parleyI won you to come in.
Bell.You did.
Hip.I’ll tryIf now I can beat down this chastityWith the same ordnance; will you yield this fort,If the power of argument now, as then,I get of you the conquest: as beforeI turned you honest, now to turn you whore,By force of strong persuasion?
Bell.If you can,I yield.
Hip.The alarum’s struck up; I’m your man.
Bell.A woman gives defiance.
Hip.Sit.[They seat themselves.
Bell.Begin:’Tis a brave battle to encounter sin.
Hip.You men that are to fight in the same warTo which I’m prest, and plead at the same bar,To win a woman, if you’d have me speed,Send all your wishes!
Bell.No doubt you’re heard; proceed.
Hip.To be a harlot, that you stand upon,The very name’s a charm to make you one.Harlotta was a dame of so divineAnd ravishing touch, that she was concubineTo an English king;[290]her sweet bewitching eyeDid the king’s heart-strings in such love-knots tie,That even the coyest was proud when she could hearMen say, “behold, another harlot there!”And after her all women that were fairWere harlots called as to this day some are:Besides, her dalliance she so well does mix,That she’s in Latin called theMeretrix.Thus for the name; for the profession, this,Who lives in bondage, lives laced; the chief blissThis 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 man’s slave; men are her slaves; her eyeMoves not on wheels screwed up with jealousy.She, horsed or coached, does merry journeys make,Free as the sun in his gilt 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 prizesMore rich being when she’s down, than when she rises.In brief, gentlemen hunt them, soldiers fight for them,Few men but know them, few or none abhor them:Thus for sport’s 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.
Bell.So should a husband be dishonourèd.
Hip.Dishonoured? not a whit: to fall to oneBesides your husband is to fall to none,For one no number is.
Bell.Faith, should you takeOne in your bed, would you that reckoning make?’Tis time you found retreat.
Hip.Say, have I won,Is the day ours?
Bell.The battle’s but half done,None but yourself have yet sounded alarms,Let us strike too, else you dishonour arms.
Hip.If you can win the day, the glory’s yours.
Bell.To prove a woman should not be a whore,When she was made, she had one man, no more;Yet she was tied to laws then, for even than,[291]’Tis said, she was not made for men, but man.Anon, t’increase earth’s brood, the law was varied,Men should take many wives: and though they marriedAccording to that act, yet ’tis not knownBut that those wives were only tied to one.New parliaments were since: for now one womanIs shared between three hundred, nay she’s common,Common as spotted leopards, whom for sportMen hunt to get the flesh, but care not for’t.So spread they nets of gold, and tune their calls,To enchant silly women to take falls;Swearing they’re angels, which that they may winThey’ll hire the devil to come with false dice in.Oh Sirens’ subtle tunes! yourselves 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, than in heaps:Yet all feeds but confounding. Say you should taste me,I serve but for the time, and when the dayOf war is done, am cashiered out of pay:If like lame soldiers I could beg, that’s all,And there’s lust’s rendezvous, an hospital.Who then would be a man’s slave, a man’s woman?She’s half starved the first day that feeds in common.
Hip.You should not feed so, but with me alone.
Bell.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 sideTo touch you’d sell your birth-right, for one kissBe racked; she’s won, you’re sated: what follows this?Oh, then you curse that bawd that tolled you in;The night you curse your lust, you loathe the sin,You loathe her very sight, and ere the dayArise, you rise glad when you’re stol’n away.Even then when you are drunk with all her sweets,There’s no true pleasure in a strumpet’s sheets.Women whom lust so prostitutes to sale,Like dancers upon ropes, once seen, are stale.
Hip.If all the threads of harlot’s lives are spun,So coarse as you would make them, tell me whyYou so long loved the trade?
Bell.If all the threadsOf harlot’s lives be fine as you would make them,Why do not you persuade your wife turn whore,And all dames else to fall before that sin?Like an ill husband, though I knew the sameTo be my undoing, followed I that game.Oh, when the work of lust had earned my bread,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, hell’s porter, and the liquorish wineThe pander fetched, was like an easy fine,For which, methought, I leased away my soul,And oftentimes, even in my quaffing bowl,Thus said I to myself, I am a whore,And have drunk down thus much confusion more.
Hip.It is a common rule, and ’tis most true,Two of one trade ne’er love: no more do you.Why are you sharp ’gainst that you once professed?
Bell.Why dote you on that, which you did once detest?I cannot, seeing she’s woven of such bad stuff,Set colours on a harlot base enough.Nothing did make me, when I loved them best,To loathe them more than this: when in the streetA fair young modest damsel I did meet,She seemed to all a dove, when I passed by,And I to all a raven: every eyeThat followed her went with a bashful glance,At me each bold and jeering countenanceDarted forth scorn; to her as if she had beenSome tower unvanquished, would they vail,’Gainst me swoln rumour hoisted every sail.She, crowned with reverend praises, passed by them,I, though with face masked, could not ’scape the hem,For, as if Heaven had set strange marks on whores,Because they should be pointing stocks to man,Drest up in civilest shape, a courtesan—Let her walk saint-like, noteless, and unknown,Yet she’s betrayed by some trick of her own.Were harlots therefore wise, they’d be sold dear: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’ll therefore backward fall, who will launch forthIn seas so foul, for ventures no more worth?Lust’s voyage hath, if not this course, this cross,Buy ne’er so cheap, your ware comes home with loss.What, shall I sound retreat? the battle’s done:Let the world judge which of us two have won.