All.God give you joy!
EnterViolaandGeorge.
Geo.Come mistress, we are in Bedlam now; mass and see, we come in pudding-time, for here’s the duke.
Vio.My husband, good my lord.
Duke.Have I thy husband?
Cast.It’s Candido, my lord, he’s here among the lunatics: Father Anselmo, pray fetch him forth. [ExitAnselmo.] This mad woman is his wife, and though she were not with child, yet did she long most spitefully to have her husband mad: and because she would be sure he should turn Jew, she placed him here in Bethlem. Yonder he comes.
EnterAnselmowithCandido.
Duke.Come hither, signor; are you mad?
Cand.You are not mad.
Duke.Why, I know that.
Cand.Then may you know I am not mad, that knowYou are not mad, and that you are the duke:None is mad here but one.—How do you, wife?What do you long for now?—Pardon, my lord:She had lost her child’s nose else: I did cut outPennyworths of lawn, the lawn was yet mine own:A carpet was my gown, yet ’twas mine own:I wore my man’s coat, yet the cloth mine own:Had a cracked crown, the crown was yet mine own.She says for this I’m mad: were her words true,I should be mad indeed: O foolish skill![230]Is patience madness? I’ll be a madman still.
Vio.Forgive me, and I’ll vex your spirit no more.[Kneels.
Duke.Come, come, we’ll have you friends; join hearts, join hands.
Cand.See, my lord, we are even,—Nay rise, for ill deeds kneel unto none but Heaven.
Duke.Signor, methinks patience has laid on youSuch heavy weight, that you should loathe it——
Cand.Loathe it!
Duke.For he whose breast is tender, blood so cool,That no wrongs heat it, is a patient fool:What comfort do you find in being so calm?
Cand.That which green wounds receive from sovereign balm,Patience, my lord! why, ’tis the soul of peace;Of all the virtues, ’tis nearest kin to Heaven.It makes men look like gods. The best of menThat e’er wore earth about him, was a sufferer,A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit,The first true gentleman that ever breathed.The stock of patience then cannot be poor;All it desires, it has; what monarch more?It is the greatest enemy to lawThat can be; for it doth embrace all wrongs,And so chains up lawyers and women’s tongues.’Tis the perpetual prisoner’s liberty,His walks and orchards: ’tis the bond slave’s freedom,And makes him seem proud of each iron chain,As though he wore it more for state than pain:It is the beggars’ music, and thus sings,Although their bodies beg, their souls are kings.O my dread liege! It is the sap of blissRears us aloft, makes men and angels kiss.And last of all, to end a household strife,It is the honey ’gainst a waspish wife.
Duke.Thou giv’st it lively colours: who dare sayHe’s mad, whose words march in so good array?’Twere sin all women should such husbands have,For every man must then be his wife’s slave.Come, therefore, you shall teach our court to shine,So calm a spirit is worth a golden mine,Wives with meek husbands that to vex them long,In Bedlam must they dwell, else dwell they wrong.[Exeunt omnes.
THE HONEST WHORE. Part the Second.
Gasparo Trebazzi, Duke of Milan.Hippolito, a Count, Husband ofInfelice.Orlando Friscobaldo, Father ofBellafront.Matheo, Husband ofBellafront.Candido, a Linen Draper.Lodovico Sforza.Beraldo.Carolo.Fontinell.Astolfo.Antonio Georgio, a poor Scholar.Bryan, an Irish Footman.Bots, a Pander.Masters of Bridewell, Prentices, Servants, &c.Infelice, Wife ofHippolito.Bellafront, Wife ofMatheo.Candido’sBride.MistressHorseleech, a Bawd.Dorothea Target,}Harlots.Penelope Whorehound,Catharina Bountinall,SCENE—Milan.
Gasparo Trebazzi, Duke of Milan.Hippolito, a Count, Husband ofInfelice.Orlando Friscobaldo, Father ofBellafront.Matheo, Husband ofBellafront.Candido, a Linen Draper.Lodovico Sforza.Beraldo.Carolo.Fontinell.Astolfo.Antonio Georgio, a poor Scholar.Bryan, an Irish Footman.Bots, a Pander.Masters of Bridewell, Prentices, Servants, &c.Infelice, Wife ofHippolito.Bellafront, Wife ofMatheo.Candido’sBride.MistressHorseleech, a Bawd.Dorothea Target,}Harlots.Penelope Whorehound,Catharina Bountinall,SCENE—Milan.
Gasparo Trebazzi, Duke of Milan.Hippolito, a Count, Husband ofInfelice.Orlando Friscobaldo, Father ofBellafront.Matheo, Husband ofBellafront.Candido, a Linen Draper.Lodovico Sforza.Beraldo.Carolo.Fontinell.Astolfo.Antonio Georgio, a poor Scholar.Bryan, an Irish Footman.Bots, a Pander.Masters of Bridewell, Prentices, Servants, &c.
Infelice, Wife ofHippolito.Bellafront, Wife ofMatheo.Candido’sBride.MistressHorseleech, a Bawd.Dorothea Target,}Harlots.Penelope Whorehound,Catharina Bountinall,
SCENE—Milan.
THE HONEST WHORE.Part the Second.
On one side enterBeraldo,Carolo,Fontinell,andAstolfo,withServing-men, orPages, attending on them; on the other side enterLodovico.
Lod.Good day, gallants.
All.Good morrow, sweet Lodovico.
Lod.How dost thou, Carolo?
Car.Faith, as the physicians do in a plague, see the world sick, and am well myself.
Fon.Here’s a sweet morning, gentlemen.
Lod.Oh, a morning to tempt Jove from his ningle,[231]Ganymede; which is but to give dairy-wenches green gowns as they are going a-milking. What, is thy lord stirring yet?
Ast.Yes, he will not be horsed this hour, sure.
Ber.My lady swears he shall, for she longs to be at court.
Car.Oh, we shall ride switch and spur; would we were there once.
EnterBryan.
Lod.How now, is thy lord ready?
Bry.No, so crees sa’ me, my lady will have some little ting in her pelly first.
Car.Oh, then they’ll to breakfast.
Lod.Footman, does my lord ride i’th’ coach with my lady, or on horseback?
Bry.No, foot, la, my lady will have me lord sheet wid her, my lord will sheet in de one side, and my lady sheet in de toder side.[Exit.
Lod.My lady sheet in de toder side! Did you ever hear a rascal talk so like a pagan? Is’t not strange that a fellow of his star, should be seen here so long in Italy, yet speak so from a Christian?
EnterAntonio,with a book.
Ast.An Irishman in Italy! that so strange! why, the nation have running heads.[They walk up and down.
Lod.Nay, Carolo, this is more strange, I ha’ been in France, there’s few of them. Marry, England they count a warm chimney corner, and there they swarm like crickets to the crevice of a brew-house; but sir, in England I have noted one thing.
Ast.,Ber.,&c.What’s that, what’s that of England?
Lod.Marry this, sir,—what’s he yonder?
Ber.A poor fellow would speak with my lord.
Lod.In England, sir,—troth, I ever laugh when I think on’t: to see a whole nation should be marked i’th’ forehead, as a man may say, with one iron: why, sir, there all costermongers are Irishmen.
Car.Oh, that’s to show their antiquity, as coming from Eve, who was an apple-wife, and they take after the mother.
Ast.,Ber.,&c.Good, good! ha, ha!
Lod.Why, then, should all your chimney-sweepers likewise be Irishmen? answer that now; come, your wit.
Car.Faith, that’s soon answered, for St. Patrick, you know, keeps purgatory; he makes the fire, and his countrymen could do nothing, if they cannot sweep the chimneys.
Ast.,Ber.,&c.Good again.
Lod.Then, sir, have you many of them, like this fellow, especially those of his hair, footmen to noblemen and others,[232]and the knaves are very faithful where they love. By my faith, very proper men many of them, and as active as the clouds,—whirr, hah!
Ast.,Ber.,&c.Are they so?
Lod.And stout! exceeding stout; why, I warrant, this precious wild villain, if he were put to’t, would fight more desperately than sixteen Dunkirks.[233]
Ast.The women, they say, are very fair.
Lod.No, no, our countrybuona-robas,[234]oh! are the sugarest, delicious rogues!
Ast.Oh, look, he has a feeling of them!
Lod.Not I, I protest. There’s a saying when they commend nations. It goes, the Irishman for his hand, the Welshman for a leg, the Englishman for a face, the Dutchman for a beard.
Fon.I’faith, they may make swabbers of them.
Lod.The Spaniard,—let me see,—for a little foot, I take it; the Frenchman,—what a pox hath he? and so of the rest. Are they at breakfast yet? come walk.
Ast.This Lodovico is a notable tongued fellow.
Fon.Discourses well.
Ber.And a very honest gentleman.
Ast.Oh! he’s well valued by my lord.
EnterBellafront,with a petition.
Fon.How now, how now, what’s she?
Ber.Let’s make towards her.
Bell.Will it be long, sir, ere my lord come forth?
Ast.Would you speak with my lord?
Lod.How now, what’s this, a nurse’s bill? hath any here got thee with child and now will not keep it?
Bell.No, sir, my business is unto my lord.
Lod.He’s about his own wife’s now, he’ll hardly dispatch two causes in a morning.
Ast.No matter what he says, fair lady; he’s a knight, there’s no hold to be taken at his words.
Fon.My lord will pass this way presently.
Ber.A pretty, plump rogue.
Ast.A good lusty, bouncing baggage.
Ber.Do you know her?
Lod.A pox on her, I was sure her name was in my table-book once; I know not of what cut her die is now, but she has been more common than tobacco: this is she that had the name of the Honest Whore.
Ast.,Ber.,&c.Is this she?
Lod.This is the blackamoor that by washing was turned white: this is the birding-piece new scoured: this is she that, if any of her religion can be saved, was saved by my lord Hippolito.
Ast.She has been a goodly creature.
Lod.She has been! that’s the epitaph of all whores. I’m well acquainted with the poor gentleman her husband. Lord! what fortunes that man has overreached! She knows not me, yet I have been in her company; I scarce know her, for the beauty of her cheek hath, like the moon, suffered strange eclipses since I beheld it: but women are like medlars,—no sooner ripe but rotten:
A woman last was made, but is spent first.Yet man is oft proved in performance worst.
Ast.,Ber.,&c.My lord is come.
EnterHippolito,Infelice,and twoWaiting-women.
Hip.We ha’ wasted half this morning. Morrow, Lodovico.
Lod.Morrow, madam.
Hip.Let’s away to horse.
Lod.,Ast.,&c.Ay, ay, to horse, to horse.
Bell.I do beseech your lordship, let your eye read o’er this wretched paper.
Hip.I’m in haste, pray thee, good woman, take some apter time.
Inf.Good woman, do.
Bell.Oh ’las! it does concern a poor man’s life.
Hip.Life! sweetheart?—Seat yourself, I’ll but read this and come.
Lod.What stockings have you put on this morning, madam? if they be not yellow,[235]change them; that paper is a letter from some wench to your husband.
Inf.Oh sir, that cannot make me jealous.
[Exeunt all exceptHippolito,Bellafront,andAntonio.
Hip.Your business, sir? to me?
Ant.Yes, my good lord.
Hip.Presently, sir.—Are you Matheo’s wife?
Bell.That most unfortunate woman.
Hip.I’m sorry these storms are fallen on him; I love Matheo,And any good shall do him; he and IHave sealed two bonds of friendship, which are strongIn me, however fortune does him wrong.He speaks here he’s condemned. Is’t so?
Bell.Too true.
Hip.What was he whom he killed? Oh, his name’s here;Old Giacomo, son to the Florentine;Giacomo, a dog, that to meet profit,Would to the very eyelids wade in bloodOf his own children. Tell Matheo,The duke, my father, hardly shall denyHis signèd pardon; ’twas fair fight, yes,If rumour’s tongue go true; so writes he here.—To-morrow morning I return from court,Pray be you here then.—I’ll have done, sir, straight:—[ToAntonio.But in troth say, are you Matheo’s wife?You have forgot me.
Bell.No, my lord.
Hip.Your turner,That made you smooth to run an even bias,You know I loved you when your very soulWas full of discord: art not a good wench still?
Bell.Umph, when I had lost my way to Heaven, you showed it:I was new born that day.
Re-enterLodovico.
Lod.’Sfoot, my lord, your lady asks if you have not left your wench yet? When you get in once, you never have done. Come, come, come, pay your old score, and send her packing; come.
Hip.Ride softly on before, I’ll o’ertake you.
Lod.Your lady swears she’ll have no riding on before, without ye.
Hip.Prithee, good Lodovico.
Lod. My lord, pray hasten.
Hip.I come.[ExitLodovico.To-morrow let me see you, fare you well;Commend me to Matheo. Pray one word more:Does not your father live about the court?
Bell.I think he does, but such rude spots of shameStick on my cheek, that he scarce knows my name.
Hip.Orlando Friscobaldo, is’t not?
Bell.Yes, my lord.
Hip.What does he for you?
Bell.All he should: when childrenFrom duty start, parents from love may swerve;He nothing does: for nothing I deserve.
Hip.Shall I join him unto you, and restore you to wonted grace?
Bell.It is impossible.
Hip.It shall be put to trial: fare you well.[ExitBellafront.The face I would not look on! Sure then ’twas rare,When in despite of grief, ’tis still thus fair.Now, sir, your business with me.
Ant.I am boldT’express my love and duty to your lordshipIn these few leaves.
Hip.A book!
Ant.Yes, my good lord.
Hip.Are you a scholar?
Ant.Yes, my lord, a poor one.
Hip.Sir, you honour me.Kings may be scholars’ patrons, but, faith, tell me,To how many hands besides hath this bird flown,How many partners share with me?
Ant.Not one,In troth, not one: your name I held more dear;I’m not, my lord, of that low character.
Hip.Your name I pray?
Ant.Antonio Georgio.
Hip.Of Milan?
Ant.Yes, my lord.
Hip.I’ll borrow leaveTo read you o’er, and then we’ll talk: till thenDrink up this gold; good wits should love good wine;This of your loves, the earnest that of mine.—[Gives money.
Re-enterBryan.
How now, sir, where’s your lady? not gone yet?
Bry.I fart di lady is run away from dee, a mighty deal of ground, she sent me back for dine own sweet face, I pray dee come, my lord, away, wu’t tow go now?
Hip.Is the coach gone? Saddle my horse, the sorrel.
Bry.A pox a’ de horse’s nose, he is a lousy rascally fellow, when I came to gird his belly, his scurvy guts rumbled; di horse farted in my face, and dow knowest, an Irishman cannot abide a fart. But I have saddled de hobby-horse, di fine hobby is ready, I pray dee my good sweet lord, wi’t tow go now, and I will run to de devil before dee?
Hip.Well, sir,—I pray let’s see you, master scholar.
Bry.Come, I pray dee, wu’t come, sweet face? Go.[Exeunt.
EnterLodovico,Carolo,Astolfo,andBeraldo.
Lod.Godso’, gentlemen, what do we forget?
Car.,Ast.,Ber.What?
Lod.Are not we all enjoined as this day.—Thursday is’t not? Ay, as this day to be at the linen-draper’s house at dinner?
Car.Signor Candido, the patient man.
Ast.Afore Jove, true, upon this day he’s married.
Ber.I wonder, that being so stung with a wasp before, he dares venture again to come about the eaves amongst bees.
Lod.Oh ’tis rare sucking a sweet honey comb! prayHeaven his old wife be buried deep enough, that she rise not up to call for her dance! The poor fiddlers’ instruments would crack for it, she’d tickle them. At any hand let’s try what mettle is in his new bride; if there be none, we’ll put in some. Troth, it’s a very noble citizen, I pity he should marry again; I’ll walk along, for it is a good old fellow.
Car.I warrant the wives of Milan would give any fellow twenty thousand ducats, that could but have the face to beg of the duke, that all the citizens in Milan might be bound to the peace of patience, as the linen-draper is.
Lod.Oh, fie upon’t! ’twould undo all us that are courtiers, we should have no whoop! with the wenches then.
EnterHippolito.
Car.,Ast.,Ber.My lord’s come.
Hip.How now, what news?
Car.,Ast.,Ber.None.
Lod.Your lady is with the duke, her father.
Hip.And we’ll to them both presently—
EnterOrlando Friscobaldo.
Who’s that!
Car.,Ast.,Ber.Signor Friscobaldo.
Hip.Friscobaldo, oh! pray call him, and leave me, we two have business.
Car.Ho Signor! Signor Friscobaldo! The Lord Hippolito.[Exeunt all butHippolitoandFriscobaldo.
Orl.My noble lord: my Lord Hippolito! the duke’s son! his brave daughter’s brave husband! how does your honoured lordship! does your nobility remember so poor a gentleman as Signor Orlando Friscobaldo! old mad Orlando!
Hip.Oh, sir, our friends! they ought to be unto us as our jewels, as dearly valued, being locked up, and unseen, as when we wear them in our hands. I see,Friscobaldo, age hath not command of your blood, for all Time’s sickle has gone over you, you are Orlando still.
Orl.Why, my lord, are not the fields mown and cut down, and stripped bare, and yet wear they not pied coats again? Though my head be like a leek, white, may not my heart be like the blade, green?
Hip.Scarce can I read the stories on your brow,Which age hath writ there; you look youthful still.
Orl.I eat snakes,[236]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.
Hip.You are the happier man, sir.
Orl.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; an excellent Italian painter drew it; if I have it in the right colours, I’ll bestow it on your lordship.
Hip.I stay for it.
Orl.He that makes gold his wife, but not his whore,He that at noon-day walks by a prison door,He that i’th’ sun is neither beam nor mote,He that’s not mad after a petticoat,He for whom poor men’s curses dig no grave,He that is neither lord’s nor lawyer’s slave,He that makes this his sea, and that his shore,He that in’s coffin is richer than before,He that counts youth his sword, and age his staff,He whose right hand carves his own epitaph,He that upon his deathbed is a swan,And dead, no crow—he is a happy man.
Hip.It’s very well; I thank you for this picture.
Orl.After this picture, my lord, do I strive to have my face drawn: for I am not covetous, am not in debt; sit neither at the duke’s 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 knowyonder’s 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, and go singing to my nest, why so! If a crow! throw me out for carrion, and pick out mine eyes. May not old Friscobaldo, my lord, be merry now! ha?
Hip.You may; would I were partner in your mirth.
Orl.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 jocundare?
Hip.Is your wife then departed?
Orl.She’s an 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 serjeants together: but a good couple are seldom parted.
Hip.You had a daughter too, sir, had you not?
Orl.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 pruned 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 bore crabs; I hewed it down; what’s become of it, I neither know, nor care.
Hip.Then I can tell you what’s become of it;That branch is withered.
Orl.So ’twas long ago.
Hip.Her name I think was Bellafront, she’s dead.
Orl.Ha? dead?
Hip.Yes; what of her was left, not worth the keeping,Even in my sight was thrown into a grave.
Orl.Dead! my last and best peace go with her! I see Death’s a good trencherman, he can eat coarse homely meat, as well as the daintiest.
Hip.Why, Friscobaldo, was she homely?
Orl.O my lord! a strumpet is one of the devil’s vines; all the sins, like so many poles, are stuck upright out ofhell, 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 liquorish wine, is to drink a man’s own damnation. Is she dead?
Hip.She’s turned to earth.
Orl.Would she were turned to Heaven! Umph, is she dead? I am glad the world has lost one of his idols; no whoremonger will at midnight beat at the doors. In her grave sleep all my shame, and her own; and all my sorrows, and all her sins!
Hip.I’m glad you’re wax, not marble; you are madeOf man’s best temper; there are now good hopesThat all these heaps of ice about your heart,By which a father’s love was frozen up,Are thawed in these sweet showers, fetched from your eyes;We are ne’er like angels till our passion dies.She is not dead, but lives under worse fate;I think she’s poor; and more to clip her wings,Her husband at this hour lies in the jail,For killing of a man. To save his blood,Join all your force with mine: mine shall be shown:The getting of his life preserves your own.
Orl.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 handkercher to drink them up, soap can wash them all out again. Is she poor?
Hip.Trust me, I think she is.
Orl.Then she’s a right strumpet; I ne’er knew any of their trade rich two years together; sieves can hold no water, nor harlots hoard up money; they have too many vents, too many sluices to let it out; taverns, tailors, bawds, panders, fiddlers, swaggerers, fools and knaves do all wait upon a common harlot’s trencher: she is the gallipot to which these drones fly, not for love to the pot, but for the sweet sucket[237]within it, her money, her money.
Hip.I almost dare pawn my word, her bosomGives warmth to no such snakes. When did you see her?
Orl.Not seventeen summers.
Hip.Is your hate so old?
Orl.Older; it has a white head, and shall never die till she be buried: her wrongs shall be my bedfellow.
Hip.Work yet his life, since in it lives her fame.
Orl.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 herself, because she refused my physic.
Hip.Nay, but Friscobaldo!—
Orl.I detest her, I defy[238]both, she’s not mine, she’s—
Hip.Hear her but speak.
Orl.I love no mermaids, I’ll not be caught with a quail-pipe.[239]
Hip.You’re now beyond all reason.
Orl.I am then a beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not dishonour my creation, than be a doting father, and like Time, be the destruction of mine own brood.
Hip.Is’t dotage to relieve your child, being poor?
Orl.Is’t fit for an old man to keep a whore?
Hip.’Tis charity too.
Orl.’Tis foolery; relieve her!Were her cold limbs stretched out upon a bier,I would not sell this dirt under my nailsTo buy her an hour’s breath, nor give this hair,Unless it were to choke her.
Hip.Fare you well, for I’ll trouble you no more.
Orl.And fare you well, sir. [ExitHippolito.] 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 hell’scatch-poles; 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 fountain’s 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 pelican 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 noose if I can, he shall not know how.
Enter twoServing-men.
How now, knaves? whither wander you?
1st Ser.To seek your worship.
Orl.Stay, which of you has my purse? what money have you about you?
2nd Ser.Some fifteen or sixteen pounds, sir.
Orl.Give it me.—[Takes purse.]—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.
[Orlandoputs on the coat of1st Serving-man, and gives him in exchange his cloak.
1st Ser.What do you mean to do, sir?
Orl.Hold thy tongue, knave, take thou my cloak. I hope I play not the paltry merchant in this bart’ring; 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 sit well?
2nd Ser.As if it were made for your worship.
Orl.You proud varlets, you need not be ashamed to wear blue,[240]when your master is one of your fellows. Away! do not see me.
Both.This is excellent.[ExeuntServing-men.
Orl.I should put on a worse suit, too; perhaps I will. My vizard is on; now to this masque. Say I should shave off this honour of an 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 likeA winter cuckoo, or unfeathered owl;Yet better lose this hair, than lose her soul.[Exit.