SCENE II.
Enter Pisaro and Frisco.
Pis. Are wood and coals brought up to make a fire?
Is the meat spitted, ready to lie down?
For bake-meats I'll have none, the world's too hard.
There's geese, too, now I remember me;
Bid Maudlin lay the giblets in paste.
Here's nothing thought upon, but what I do.
Stay, Frisco, see who rings: look to the door,
Let none come in, I charge, were he my father.
[Exit Frisco.
I'll keep them, whilst I have them. Frisco, who is it?
Re-enter Frisco.
Fris. She is come, in faith.
Pis. Who is come?
Fris. Mistress Sushance, Mistress Moore's daughter.
Pis. Mistress Susan, ass? O, she must come in.
Fris. Hang him, if he keep out a wench:
If the wench keep not out him, so it is.
Enter Walgrave in woman's attire.
Pis. Welcome, Mistress Susan, welcome.
I little thought you would have come to-night;
But welcome (trust me) are you to my house.
What, doth your mother mend? doth she recover?
I promise you, I am sorry for her sickness.
Wal. She's better than she was, I thank God for it.
Pis. Now, afore God, she is a sweet, smug girl!
One might do good on her; the flesh is frail,
Man hath infirmity, and such a bride
Were able to change age to hot desire.
Hark you, sweetheart:
To-morrow are my daughters to be wed,
I pray you, take the pains to go with them.
Wal. If, sir, you'll give me leave, I'll wait on them.
Pis. Yes, marry, shall you, and a thousand thanks:
Such company as you my daughters want;
Maids must grace maids when they are married.
Is't not a merry life, think'st thou, to wed,
For to embrace, and to be embrac'd abed.
Wal. I know not what you mean, sir.
Here's an old ferret, pole-cat. [Aside.
Pis. You may do, if you'll follow mine advice.
I tell thee, mouse, I knew a wench as nice.
Well, she's at rest, poor soul, I mean my wife:
That thought (alas! good heart) love was a toy,
Until—well, that time is gone and pass'd away—
But why speak I of this? Hark ye, sweeting,
There's more in wedlock than the name can show;
And now (by'r Lady) you are ripe in years.
And yet take heed, wench, there lies a pad in straw;
Wal. Old fornicator! had I my dagger,
I'd break his costard. [Aside.
Pis. Young men are slippery, fickle, wavering;
Constant abiding graceth none but age;
Then maids should now wax wise, and [should] do so,
As to choose constant men, let fickle go.
Youth's unregarded and unhonoured:
An ancient man doth make a maid a matron,
And is not that an honour, how say you?
How say you?
Wal. Yes, forsooth.
O old lust, will you never let me go. [Aside.
Pis. You say right well; and do but think thereon,
How husband's honour'd years, long car'd-for wealth,
Wise stayedness, experienc'd government,
Doth grace the maid, that thus is made a wife,
And you will wish yourself such, on my life.
Wal. I think I must turn womankind altogether, and scratch out his eyes; for as long as he can see me, he'll ne'er let me go. [Aside.
Pis. But go, sweetheart, to bed: I do thee wrong.
The lateness now makes all our talk seem long. [Exit.
Enter Anthony.
How now, Mouche, be the girls abed?
Anth. Mathea, and it like you, fain would sleep,
But only tarrieth for her bed-fellow.
Pis. Ha! say you well: come, light her to her chamber.
Good rest wish I to thee. Wish so to me;
Then Susan and Pisaro shall agree.
Think but what joy is near your bed-fellow:
Such may be yours. Take counsel of your pillow:
To-morrow we'll talk more; and so good night,
Think what is said may be, if all hit right.
Wal. What, have I pass'd the pikes? knows he not Ned?
I think I have deserved his daughter's bed.
Anth. 'Tis well, 'tis well: but this let me request,
You keep unknown, till you be laid to rest:
And then a good hand speed you.
Wal. Tut, ne'er fear me,
We two abed shall never disagree.
[Exeunt Anthony and Walgrave.
Fris. I have stood still all this while, and could not speak for laughing. Lord! what a dialogue hath there been between age and youth. You do good on her? even as much as my Dutchman will do on my young mistress. Master, follow my counsel, then; send for Master Heigham to help him, for I'll lay my cap to twopence that he will be asleep to-morrow at night, when he should go to bed to her. Marry, for the Italian, he is of another humour, for there will be no dealings with him till midnight; for he must slaver all the wenches in the house at parting, or he is nobody. He hath been but a little while at our house, yet in that small time he hath licked more grease from our Maudlin's lips than would have served London kitchenstuff this twelvemonth. Yet, for my money, well fare the Frenchman! O, he is a forward lad, for he'll no sooner come from the church but he'll fly to the chamber; why, he'll read his lesson so often in the daytime, that at night, like an apt scholar, he'll be ready to sell his old book to buy him a new. O, the generations of languages that our house will bring forth! why, every bed will have a proper speech to himself, and have the founder's name written upon it in fair capital letters, "Here lay," and so forth. [Aside.
Pis. You'll be a villain still. Look, who's at door. [Exit.
Fris. Nay, by the mass, you are Master Porter, for I'll be hanged if you lose that office, having so pretty a morsel under your keeping. Ay, go, old huddle, for the best nose at smelling out a penfold that I know. Well, take heed, you may 'haps pick up worms so long, that at length some of them get into your nose, and never out after. But what an ass am I to think so, considering all the lodgings are taken up already, and there's not a dog-kennel empty for a strange worm to breed in.
[Aside.