SCAENA 1.

SCAENA. 2.

So, so, yet more perfume, y' are sweet Servingmen, make everie corner of the house smoke, bestir your selves, everie man know his Province, and be officious to please my Lady, according to his talent; have you furnisht out the banquet?

Most Methodicallie.

'Tis well, here should have been a fresh suit of Arras, but no matter, these bear the age well, let'em hang.

And there were a Mask to entertain his Highness?

Hang Masks, let everie conceit shew his own face, my Ladie would not disguise her entertainment, and now I talk of disguising, where's the Butler?

Here Sir.

Where Sir? 'tis my Ladies pleasure that you be drunk to day, you will deal her Wine abroad the more liberallie among the Dukes servants, you are two tall Fellows, make good the credit of the Butterie, and when you are drunk, I will send others to relieve [Page] you: Go to your stations, if his Grace come hither a Sutor to my Ladie, as we have some cause to suspect, and after marrie her, I may be a great man, and ride upon a Reverend Moyle by patent, there is no end of my preferment; I did once teach my Ladie to dance, she must then teach me to rise: for indeed it is just, that only those, who get their living by their legs, should ride up­on a Foot-cloth.

Here's a young Gentleman desires to speak with my Ladie.

More young Gentlemen? tell him I am busie.

With my Ladie—

Busie with my Ladie Sir?

Would speak with my Ladie Sir?

I ha not done with my Ladie my self yet, he shall stay, 'tis for my Ladies State, no time to interrupt my Ladie; but now? I'le know his business, and taste it for my Ladie; if I like it, she shall hear more, but bid him come to me, methinks I talk like a peremptorie Statesman alreadie, I shall quicklie learn to forget my self when I am in great office; I will oppress the Subject, flatter the Prince, take bribes a both sides, do right to neitber, serve heaven as far as my profit will give me leave, and tremble onlie at the summons of a Parliament.

Hum, a Page, a verie Page, one that would wriggle and prefer himself to be a Wag, 'tis so, have you anie letter of commenda­tions?

A forward Youth, I like him, he is not modest, I will as­sist his preferment, to engage him to my faction, a special Court­policie, see my Ladie.

So, I were best keep my self warm with my own [Page] office, while I may, the tyde is turn'd I see within two minutes, here was nothing but look to the Gallerie, perfume the Cham­bers, what Musick for the Duke, a Banquet for the Duke, now, be less officious, We'll have no Riot for his Highness, 'tis this Urchin h'as undone all our preferment.

She is sick; mend, let her mend, she'll spend her time worse, yet she knows my mind, and might do me the courtesie to die once; I'de take it more kindly, than to be at charge of a Physician.

You wo'd not poison her?

I think I must be driven to't; what shall a man do with a Woman that wo'not be ruled. I ha'given cause enough to break any reasonable womans heart in Savoy, and yet you see how I am troubled with her: but leave her to the Destinies. Where is my Brother all this while? I came to meet him; what, is't a match already? when shall we dance and triumph in the Tilt­yard, for honour of the high and mightie Nuptials? where is he?

My Lord, he is gone.

How?

Distempered.

Not with Wine?

Departed sick.

She jeers him: By this lip Ile love thee, and thou wot abuse him; I knew he would but shame himself, and therefore durst not come with him for my own credit; I warrant he came fierce upon thee with some parcel of Poetry, which he had conn'd by heart out of Tasso, Guarrini, or some other of the same melt­ing [Page] Tribe, and thought to have brought thy Maiden Town to his obedience, at the first noise of his furious Artillery.

No, no, Truth is a vertuous thing, and we cannot have too much on't. D'ye hear, if I may counsel you, be wise, and stay for me; you may be my Wife within this month, and the Dutchesse too.

What a ridiculous question do you make: If death wo'not take a fair course with her, are there not reasons enough in State think you, to behead her; or if that seem cruel, because I do not affect blood, but for very good ends, I can be divorc'd from her, and leave her rich in the title of Lady Dowager.

Have not I known a Lady, whose husband is an Eunuch upon Record, mother to three or four children, and no free con­science but commends her?

Is not my Brother in the way? sick already, and per­haps as fit for heaven as another; I know he cannot live long, he's so well given, they never thrive, and then d'ye think Ile keep such a religious Court; in this corner lodge a Covy of Capou­chins, who shall zealously pray for me without Stockins, in that a nest of Carthusians, things which in fine turn to Otters, appear flesh, but really are fish: No, no, give me a Court of flou­rishing pleasure, where delight in all her shapes, and studied varie­ties every minute courts the soul to act her chief felicity.

Do you never think of hell?

Faith I do, but it alwaies makes me melancholy, and therefore as seldome as I can my contemplation shall point thi­ther; I am now in the spring of my life, winter will come on fast enough; when I am old, I will be as methodical an hypo­crite, as any pair of Lawn Sleeves in Savoy.

I dare not hear him longer: Madam, release me.

At heart: Ile ne'r believe without inspection. Am I unkind? go to, there's not a friend in the whole world can wish you better: Would you were canoniz'd a Saint, 'tis more than I wish my self yet; I do not trouble thee much on earth, and thou wert in heaven I would not pray to thee, for fear of disturbing thy Seraphical devotion.

Unchaste; By this hand I do not know an honest woman in the Dukedome.

How, my Lord: what do ye think of me?

I know not whether you be a woman or no, yet.

Fie, my Lord.

What would you have me do? I have not seen her this six months.

No, kill your self, more good will come on't: how now? nay then w'are like to have a precious time on't.

The Duke, my Lord, enquired for you.

I, I, I knew he would do well enough: Now sir?

Some moral exhortations; they are fruitlesse: I shall never eat Garlick with Diogenes in a Tub, and speculate the Stars without a Shirt: Prithee enjoy thy Religion, and live at last most Philosophical lousie.

My design is of another nature.

So this Lady will be temperate, and use me but like a Stranger, without pressing me to inconveniences of kissing her, and other superstitious Courtship of a husband.

I will engage she'll not offend you.

And yet it goes against my conscience to tarrie so long in honest companie; but my comfort is, I do not use it. Come away Piero, you have had a fine time on't.

My Lord.

My Lord, you weave a causeless trouble to your self.

Oh jealousie. I am asham'd—

SCAENA 1.

I smell a Match agen: the Duke will fetch her about; here was another Ambassadour at dinner, and his Highnesse is again expected: in confidence of my place that shall be, I will continue my state posture, use my Tooth-pick with discretion, and cough distinctly: what can hinder my rising? I am no Schol­lar, that exception is taken away; for most our States-men do hold it a saucy thing, for any of their Servants to be wiser than themselves.

Worthy Sir—

I will enrich my Ladies understanding; Ile say nothing else, but that you are here, shall I? That's enough if you have another Letter.

What then?

I would wish you deliver it to her own hand: but under your favour, the Contents of the last Chapter had like to undone us all, and Cupid had not bin more merciful.

Fear nothing, the news I bring will make you merrie.

I'de laugh at that; howsoever you are heartilie wel­come, and ever shall be: You do hear no harm of the Duke?

No harm?

You shall hear more shortly: I say no more, but heaven bless my Ladie and his Highnesse together, for my part, though I speak a proud word—I'le tell my Ladie that you attend her.

Is't e'ne so?

My friend what make you here? who sent for you? begon dee hear, begon I say the word too; there is a Porters lodge else, where you may have due chastisement, youle begon.

So am not I;

Let me see some body is dead, if I knew who, no matter 'tis one that my Lady lov'd, and I am glad to hear it for mine own sake; now Venus speed the Dukes plough, and turn me loose to a privy Councellor.

Signior Jacomo, where's your Lady?

She is within my good Lord, wilt please you walk this way?

Prethee make haste, the Duke is coming.

I smell him hitherto.

So so, I will take this opportunitie to present my self to his High­ness, that he may take particular notice of my bulk and personage, he may chance speak to me, I have common places to answer any ordinarie question, and for other, he shall find by my impudence, I come not short of a perfect Courtier. Here he comes, I will dissemble some contemplation, and with my Hat on, give him cause to observe me the better.

VVhat fellow's that?

A servant of Cleona's.

Signior?

Your Highness humble creature, you have blest my lips, and I will wear them thred-bare with my prayers for your Gra­ces immortal prosperitie.

Soranzo is return'd: How fares Cleona?

My Lord, not well, I found her full of sadness, which is encreast, she cannot, as becomes her dutie, observe your Highness.

One word with your Grace in private; she is as well, as either you or I.

Saist thou so?

There came indeed certain news before you, that a noble Gentleman, I know not who, and therefore he shall be nameless, but some dear friend of hers is dead, and that's all, and that hath put her into a melanchollie mood; with your gracious pardon, if I were worthie to be one of your Counsellors.—

VVhat then?

I would advise you, as others do, to take your own course; your Grace knows best what is to be done.

So sir: Didst thou not see the prettie boy I told thee of?

No my good Lord.

We are resolv'd to comfort her; set forward▪

You had simple grace.

This is strange.

You know I have given you manie precepts of honestie?

And you know how I have followed em.

To mine own heart, I have made tedious discourses of heaven to ye, and the Moral Vertues, numbred up the duties of a good Prince, urg'd examples of vertues for your imitation.

To much purpose.

Seem'd to sweat with agonie and vexation, for your ob­stinate courses reprov'd you, nay, sometimes made complaints of you to the Duke.

And I ha'curst you for it, I remember.

Alas my Lord, I durst do no otherwise: was not the Duke your father an honest man? and your brother now foolish­lie takes after him, whose credulities, when I had alreadie cozen­ed, I was bound to appear Stoical, to preserve the opinion they had conceived of me.

Possible.

It speaks discretion and abilities in States-men, to ap­ply themselves to their Princes disposition, varie a thousand shapes; if he be honest, we put on a formal of gravitie; if he be vitious, we are Parasites. Indeed in a politique Common­wealth, all things are but Representation, and my Lord, howso­ever I have appear'd to you, I am at heart one of your own Sect, an Epicure; be but so subtle to seem honest, as I do, and we will laugh at the foolish world in our Cells, déclaim against intempe­rate livers, and hug our own licentiousness, while we surfet our souls in the dark with Nectar and Ambrosia.

Can this be earnest, you did talk of hell, and bug-bears?

I confess, and were you in publick, I would urge manie other emptie names to fright you, put on my holie-day counte­nance, and talk nothing but Divinitie, and golden sentences.

You were a Christian, how came you to be converted?

I think I had a name given me, and that's all I retain; I could never endure reallie their severe discipline: Marrie for my preferment, and other politique ends, I have, and can still dispense with fasting, prayer, and a thousand fond austerities, though I do penance for em in private.

Let me ask you one question, were you never drunk?

A thousand times in my studie, that's one of my Recre­ations.

How chance I could never see't in you? you know I would ha'been drunk for companie.

But I durst not trust so young a sinner; for I alwayes held it a maxim, to do wickedness with circumspection.

Wickedness?

I speak in the phrase of the foolish world, that holds voluptuousness a crime, which you and I, and everie'wise man knows to be the onlie happiness of life, and the inheritance we are born to.

But stay, how comes it to pass, that accounting me so young a sinner, you now adventure to discover your self?

To you?

To me.

Good my Lord conceive me, you were a young sinner, and in your Nonage, does that infer that you have made no growth, that y'are a Child still, dee think that I ha not wit to di­stinguish a Principiant in vice, from a Graduate, shall I be afraid to lay open my secret impieties to you, that are almost as perfect as my self in Epicurism?

Verie well, proceed.

And yet my Lord, with your Princelie licence, you may learn too, and indeed the first vertue that I would commend to your practice, should be that, by which I have attain'd to this height, and opinion, and that's hypocrisie.

Hypocrisie?

Yes, a delicate white Devil, do but fashion your self to seem holie, and studie to be worse in private, worse, you'll find your self more active in your sensualitie, and it will be another titillation, to think what an Ass you make a'the believing world, that will be readie to dote, nay, superstitiouslie adore you, for a­busing them.

This is prettie wholsom doctrine, and hark you, ha you no wenches now and then?

Wenches? would the Duke your brother had so manie for his own sake, or you either.

Hast i'faith?

Why judge by your self, how dee think a Gentleman should subsist? I'le not give a Chip to be an Emperour, and I may not curvet as often as my constitution requires. Wenches, why I have as manie—yet now I think better on't, I'le keep that to my self, store makes a good proverb.

Nay, nay, be free and open to me, you have my oath not to betray.

Well, I'le not be nice to you, you little imagine (though I be married that I am the greatest Whoremaster i'th' Dukedom.

Not the greatest?

Have a strong faith, and save my proofs; but Caute si non Caste, my Nun at home knows nothing, like a Mole in the earth, I work deep, but invisible; I have my private houses, my Granaries, my Magasines Bullie, as manie Concubines, as would, collected, furnish the Great Turks Seraglio.

How do you conceal em? I should nere keep half so manie, but 'twould be known.

You are then a Novice in the Art of Uenus, and will tell Tales out a' the School, like your weak gallants o' the first Chin, that will bragge what Ladies they have brought to their o­bedience, [Page] that think it a mightie honour, to discourse how many Forts they have beleaguer'd; how many they have taken by bat­terie; how many by composition, and how many by stratagem: a fine commendation for young whelps, is't not?

A fault, a fault; who can deny it? But what are those you practice with? A touch, come.

Not sale-ware, Mercenary stuff; but rich, fair, high­fed, glorious, Ladies of blood; whose eys will make a souldier melt, and he were compos'd of marble; whose very smile hath a magnetick force to draw souls; whose voice will charm a Satyr, and turn a mans prayer into ambition.

I have heard you; and now I think fit to discover my self to you: You are a Rascal.

Sir, I think I am one.

Let not your Wisdome think, I can be so easilie gull'd.

How Sir?

You think you have talked very methodicallie, and cunninglie all this while, and that I am, as they say, a credulous Coxcomb, and cannot perceive, that by your politique jeers upon my pleasures, you labour to discredit, not onlie my recreations, but my self to my own face: D'ye hear? the time may come you will not dare these things, and yet you shall see, I will not now so much as seem angrie: preserve your humour, 'twill appear fresh o'th'Stage, my learned Gymnoso­phist; verie well, excellent well.

Why does not your Lordship believe me then?

Do'st thou think throughout the year, I will lose one minute of my pastime, for this your toothlesse Satyr? I'le to a Wench presentlie.

I came to carrie you to one.

How, thou?

Do not deceive your self; come, you shall believe, and thank me: go with me, and I will demonstrate.

Whither?

I'le carrie you to a Ladie; be not afraid, she is honest; such a charming brow, speaking eie, springing cheek, tempting lip, swelling bosome.

Will you lead me to such a creature?

Yes.

And shall I?

And think your self richer, than to be Lord of both the Indies; here's my hand, cut it off, if I do not this feat for you when you please; and when you are satisfied with her, I'le help you to fortie more: but we are interrupted.

There he is with Grimundo.

His late Governour, he is giving him good counsell.

Pray heaven he have the grace to follow it.

SCAENA 1.

Do't and thou lov'st me.

What d'ye mean, my Lord?

Nay, we must have such a deal of circumstance; I say, do it.

What, that?

That: is that such a piece of matter, does it appear so horrid in your imagination, that you should look as if you were frighted now?

My Lord, it is—

A thing your heat will prompt you to, but that you af­fect ceremonie, and love to be entreated.

With your Ladie?

Yet again: you have not been observ'd so dull in a businesse of this supple nature.

But think on'c agen; I pray you think a little better: I ha no great ambition to ha my throat cut.

By whom?

By you; you cannot chuse but kill me for't when I have done. Your Ladie?

Is your mountanous promise come to this? Remem­ber; if I do not turn honest—

My Lord, do but consider—well, I will do what I can, and there be no remedie—but

Never fear it, for if thou canst but corrupt her, I'le sue a Divorce presentlie.

And bring me in for a witness?

She's here; fear nothing, I'le be thy protection; it were not amisse to cast away some kindness upon her: nay, I was coming to take my leave.

I know you never meant it.

Thus my best intents are rewarded still, the more sin upon your conscience; y'have a hard heart, but heaven forgive us all: Astella farewell; Piero expect my return here—pray entertain this Gentleman courteouslie in my absence, you know not how kindlie I may take it.

'Tis in the will of women to do much; do not despair; the proudest heart is but flesh, think a that.

Of what?

Of flesh; and so I leave you.

If it be grief 'tis welcome.

A Gentleman: admit him.

You are Noble.

Wait without.

Have you forgot this face?

Foscari's shadow.

The substance, Sir, and once more at your feet.

How?

From Cleona?

Princes cannot stain it: D'ye love her;

Do I love her? Strange.

About my love? I prithee be more particular.

I left her so.

Ha?

I hope she hath no faith in dreams.

Do ye mock me?

You threaten us.

Staie miracle of honour, and of love.

Well, I will still love her, and solicite.

And not open that I am living.

Not a sillable.

Ha, 'tis the same.

Father Valentio?

Dear Leonora?

Sir, the same.

The circumstance confirms it.

And heaven hath heard my praier.

Why my charge?

Did you consent?

'Tis full of curiositie.

You see that Grove.

I do.

How now? what's this, some Furie asleep? Ile take another path; another? into what wilderness has this Fire-drake brought me? I dare not crie out for fear of waking 'em: would Grimun­do were come back.

Some Mask; a device to entertain me, ha? And yet I see not how they should prepare so much ceremony, unlesse they had expected me. A curse upon their ill faces; they shook me at first: how now?

Have ye no tongues? yes I will venture my self in your com­pany, and you were my destinies; wo'd there were no worse in hell, must I walk like a bride too, fortune set on afore then, and thou dost not guide into a hansome place, wo'd thy eyes were out, and so thou maist be taken for the blind goddess indeed; forward to Venus Temple.

Vanished like Fayries? Ha, what musicks this? the mo­tion of the Sphears, or am I in Elisium?

Here is Grimundo, ha? what glorious creatures this commits a rape upon my sences on every side, but when I look on her, all other admirations are forgot, and lessen in her glory.

My Lord y'are welcom; most welcom.

I have kept my word Sir.

Thou hast oblieg'd my soul.

Wilt please you use that chair?

Doth it offend your ear?

'Tis ravishing, whence doth it breath?

Pray do.

I am a Princess.

How?

Believe me sit.

I'm glad a that, but of what Countrey Ladie?

How a Devil?

Shapes quotha.

Doe not tremble.

O my soul!

I could never abide such melanchollie people.

Suspect not.

One kiss shall seal consent.

Her breath smells on brimstone.

SCAENA. 1.

Heaven.

Thy breath doth scatter an infection.

More private Room said he? I smell a business, I thought this Gamester had been gone, is it e'ne so, have at your Burrough Madam, he's a shrewd Ferret I can tell you, and just in the nick here comes the Warrener.

This Devil does not follow me, nor anie of her Cubs I hope, I'm glad I came off so well, I never was so hot to engen­der with the Night-mare; could Grimundo find no other crea­ture for my coupling but a Succubus, methinks I smell the fiend still.

He talks on her alreadie.

I am verie jealous.

Not without a cause my Lord.

Ha? there she is agen.

No my Lord, she is new gone into the withdrawing chamber.

Ha? who? who is gone?

A Gentlewoman that you were late in companie with.

Saw her, yes, and him too.

Grimundo?

Spirit and familiar.

Piero my Lord.

Piero?

Done? and I'le be active too.

No, where is he?

He was here but now, and enquired how his Ladie did, and I told him you could tell the state of her bodie better than I. for—

I did but see her.

My Ladie does rise as earlie as other Ladies do that go to bed late.

And there will be a notable preferment for you.

'Tis verie likelie my Ladie understands her self.

There is a whisper abroad.

'Tis a good hearing.

What if she be married in this absence?

Verie likelie; I say notthing, but I think I know my Ladies secrets for the triumph, as pageants, or run­ning at tilt, you may hear more shortlie, there may be Reasons of State to have things carried privatelie, they will break out in Bells and Bonefires hereafter; what their Graces have intended for me I conceal.

He is wound up alreadie.

You are a Gentleman I shall take particular notice of.

But what if after all this imagination of a marriage, for­tune should forbid the banes?

How? fortune's a slut, and because she is a whore her self, would have no Ladie marrie and live honest.

Piero, where's Piero?

Ha my Lord I ha don't.

Ha, what?

I ha pleas'd thy excellence, and you had made more haste, you might a come to the fall a'th'Deer.

Th'ast not enjoy'd her?

Shoot not so much compass, be brief and answer me; hast thou enjoy'd her?

I have, shall I swear?

No, thou wilt be damn'd sufficientlie without an oath; in the mean time I do mean to reward your nimble dili­gence: draw.

What dee mean?

And you be so sharp-set I do mean to withdraw.

I do mean to cut your throat, or perish i'th attempt, you see your destinie, my birth and spirit wo'not let me kill thee in the dark; draw, and be circumspect.

Did not you engage me to it? have I done anie thing but by your directions? my Lord.

'Tis all one, my mind is altered, I will see what com­plexion your heart bears; if I hit upon the right vein, I may cure your disease a'th blood.

Hold, and there be no remedie, I will die better than I ha liv'd; you shall see sir that I dare fight with you, and if I fall by your sword, my base consent to act your will deserves it.

Ha?

Piero thou shalt wonder.

What means my Lord?

Whimsies.

I can meet with no intelligence.

They are persons of some qualitie—

The Duke does mean to grace their Ceremonie.

He was invited by the Abbot to their cloathing.

Which must be in private too, here in his lodgings.

Well we shall not long expect 'em, his Grace enters.

It helpt much that he never saw my wife.

Dost think 'twill take?

We cannot endear thee to thy merit.

How the Duke embraces him.

It pleas'd my Lord Abbot to invite me hither.

The Abbot enters.

Speak your desire.

I wonot be Religious Giotto.

Nor I, upon these terms, I pitie em.

This doth speak the other Sir.

This is a misterie, Dulcino?

Manie blessings crown this union.

Why thus kneels Lodwick?

I, my Lord?

Sure the Prince is mad.

Ha?

This is Grimundo's Wife.

'Tis so, my Lord.

I hope it.

Most willinglie.