Enter Moroso, Sophocles, and Tranio, with Rosemary, as from a wedding.
Mo. God give 'em joy.
Tra. Amen.
Soph. Amen, say I too:
The pudding's now i'th' proof, alas poor wench.
Through what a mine of patience must thou work,
E'r thou know'st good hour more!
Tra. 'Tis too true: Certain,
Methinks her father has dealt harshly with her,
Exceeding harshly, and not like a Father,
To match her to this Dragon; I protest
I pity the poor Gentlewoman.
Mor. Methinks now,
He's not so terrible as people think him.
Soph. This old thief flatters, out of meer devotion,
To please the Father for his second daughter.
Tra. But shall he have her?
Soph. Yes, when I have Rome.
And yet the father's for him.
Mor. I'll assure ye,
I hold him a good man.
Soph. Yes sure a wealthy,
But whether a good womans man, is doubtful.
Tra. Would 'twere no worse.
[M[o]r.] What though his other wife,
Out of her most abundant soberness,
Out of her daily hue and cries upon him,
(For sure she was a rebel) turn'd his temper,
And forc'd him blow as high as she? dos't follow
He must retain that long since buried Tempest,
To this soft Maid?
Soph. I fear it.
Tra. So do I too:
And so far, that if God had made me woman,
And his wife that must be—
Mor. What would you do, Sir?
Tra. I would learn to eat coals with an angry Cat,
And spit fire at him: I would (to prevent him)
Do all the ramping, roaring tricks, a whore
Being drunk, and tumbling ripe, would tremble at:
There is no safety else, nor moral wisdom.
To be a wife, and his.
Soph. So I should think too.
Tra. For yet the bare remembrance of his first wife
(I tell ye on my knowledge, and a truth too)
Will make him start in's sleep, and very often
Cry out for Cudgels, Colestaves, any thing;
Hiding his [breeches, out of fear] her Ghost
Should walk, and wear 'em yet. Since his first marriage,
He is no more the still Petruchio,
Than I am Babylon.
Soph. He's a good fellow,
And on my word I love him: but to think
A fit match for this tender soul—
Tra. His very frown, if she but say her prayers
Louder than men talk treason, makes him tinder;
The motion of a Dial, when he's testy,
Is the same trouble to him as a Water-work;
She must do nothing of her self; not eat,
Drink, say Sir, how do ye? make her ready, unready,
Unless he bid her.
Soph. He will bury her,
Ten pound to twenty shillings, within these three weeks.
Tra. I'll be your half.
Enter Jaques with a pot of Wine.
Mor. He loves her most extreamly,
And so long 'twill be Honey-moon. Now Jaques.
You are a busie man I am sure.
Jaq. Yes certain,
This old sport must have eggs.
Sop. Not yet this ten daies.
Jaq. Sweet Gentlemen with Muskadel.
Tra. That's right, Sir.
Mor. This fellow broods his Master: speed ye Jaques.
Soph. We shall be for you presently.
Jaq. Your worships
Shall have it rich and neat: and o' my conscience
As welcome as our Lady-day: Oh my old Sir,
When shall we see your worship run at Ring?
That hour, a standing were worth money.
Mor. So Sir.
Jaq. Upon my little honesty, your Mistriss,
If I have any speculation, must think
This single thrumming of a Fiddle,
Without a Bow, but even poor sport.
Mor. Y'are merry.
Ja. Would I were wise too: so God bless your worship.
Tra. The fellow tells you true. [Exit Jaq.
Soph. When is the day man?
Come, come, you'll steal a marriage.
Mor. Nay, believe me:
But when her Father pleases, I am ready,
And all my friends shall know it.
Tra. Why not now?
One charge had serv'd for both.
Mor. There's reason in't.
Soph. Call'd Rowland—
Mor. Will ye walk?
They'll think we are lost: Come Gentlemen.
Tra. You have wip'd him now.
Soph. So will he never the wench, I hope.
Tra. I wish it. [Exeunt.
Scæna Secunda.
Enter Rowland and Livia.
Row. Now Livia, if you'll go away to night,
If your affections be not made of words.
Liv. I love you, and you know how dearly Rowland,
Is there none near us? my affections ever
Have been your servants; with what superstition
I have ever Sainted you—
Row. Why then take this way.
Liv. 'Twill be a childish, and a less prosperous course,
Than his that knows not care: why should we do,
Our honest and our hearty love such wrong,
To over-run our fortunes?
Row. Then you flatter.
Liv. Alas, you know I cannot.
[Ro[w].] What hope's left else
But flying to enjoy ye?
Liv. None so far,
For let it be admitted, we have time,
And all things now in other expectation,
My father's bent against us; what but ruine,
Can such a by-way bring us? if your fears
Would let you look with my eyes, I would shew you,
And certain, how our staying here would win us
A course, though somewhat longer, yet far surer.
Row. And then Moroso h'as ye.
Liv. No such matter
For hold this certain, begging, stealing, whoring,
Selling (which is a sin unpardonable)
Of counterfeit Cods, or musty English Croacus;
Switches, or Stones for th' tooth-ache sooner finds me,
Than that drawn [Fox Moroso].
Row. But his money,
If wealth may win you—
Liv. If a Hog may be
High Priest among the Jews? his money Rowland?
Oh Love forgive me, what faith hast thou?
Why, can his money kiss me?
Row. Yes.
Liv. Behind,
Laid out upon a Petticoat: or graspe me
While I cry, Oh good thank you? o'my troth
Thou mak'st me merry with thy fear: or lie with me.
As you may do? alas, what fools you men are?
His mouldy money? half a dozen Riders,
That cannot sit, but stampt fast to their Saddles?
No Rowland, no man shall make use of me;
My beauty was born free, and free I'll give it
To him that loves, not buys me. You yet doubt me.
Row. I cannot say I doubt ye.
Liv. Goe thy ways,
Thou art the prettiest puling piece of passion:
Y'faith I will not fail thee.
Row. I had rather—
Liv. Prethee believe me, if I do not carry it,
For both our goods—
Row. But—
Liv. What but?
Row. I would tell you.
Liv. I know all you can tell me; all's but this,
You would have me, and lie with me; is't not so?
Row. Yes.
Liv. Why you shall; will that content you? Goe.
Row. I am very loth to goe.
Enter Byancha and Maria.
Liv. Now o' my conscience
Thou art an honest fellow: here's my Sister;
Go, prethee go; this kiss, and credit me,
E'r I am three nights older, I am for thee:
You shall hear what I do.
Farewel.
Row. Farewel. [Exit Rowland.
Liv. Alas poor fool, how it looks!
It would ev'n hang it self, should I but cross it.
For pure love to the matter I must hatch it.
Bya. Nay, never look for merry hour, Maria,
If now you make it not; let not your blushes,
Your modesty, and tenderness of spirit,
Make you continual Anvile to his anger:
Believe me, since his first wife set him going,
Nothing can bind his rage: Take your own council,
You shall not say that I perswaded you.
But if you suffer him—
Mar. Stay, shall I do it?
Bya. Have you a stomach to't?
Mar. I never shew'd it.
Bya. 'Twill shew the rarer and the stronger in you.
But do not say I urg'd you.
Mar. I am perfect,
Like Curtius, to redeem my Countrey, [I have]
Leap'd into this gulph of marriage, and I'll do it.
Farewel all poorer thoughts, but spight and anger,
Till I have wrought a miracle. Now cosin,
I am no more the gentle, tame Maria;
Mistake me not; I have a new soul in me
Made of a North wind, nothing but tempest;
And like a tempest shall it make all ruin,
Till I have run my Will out.
Bya. This is brave now,
If you continue it; but your own Will lead you.
Mar. Adieu all tenderness, I dare continue;
Maids that are made of fears, and modest blushes,
View me, and love example.
Bya. Here is your Sister.
Mar. Here is the brave old mans love.
Bya. That loves the young man.
Mar. I and hold thee there wench: what a grief of heart is't?
When Paphos Revels should [rowze up] old night,
To sweat against a Cork; to lie and tell
The clock [o'th lungs], to rise sport starv'd?
Liv. Dear Sister,
Where have you been, you talk thus?
Mar. Why at Church, wench;
Where I am ti'd to talke thus: I am a wife now.
Liv. It seems so, and a modest.
Mar. You are an ass;
When thou art married once, thy modesty
Will never buy thee pins.
Liv. 'Bless me.
Mar. From what?
Bya. From such a tame fool as our cosin Livia?
Liv. You are not mad.
Mar. Yes wench, and so must you be,
Or none of our acquaintance: mark me Livia;
Or indeed fit for our sex: 'Tis bed time.
Pardon me yellow Hymen, that I mean
Thine offerings to protract, or to keep fasting
My valiant Bridegroom.
Liv. Whither will this woman?
Bya. You may perceive her end.
Liv. Or rather fear it.
Mar. Dare you be partner in't?
Liv. Leave it Maria,
I fear I have mark'd too much, for goodness leave it;
Divest you with obedient hands, to bed.
Mar. To bed? no Livia, there are Comets hang
Prodigious over that yet; there's a fellow
Must yet before I know that heat (ne'r start wench)
Be made a man, for yet he is a monster;
Here must his head be Livia.
Liv. Never hope it.
'Tis as easie with a Sive to scoop the Ocean, as
To tame Petruchio.
Mar. Stay: Lucina hear me,
Never unlock the treasure of my womb
For humane fruit, to make it capable;
Nor never with thy secret hand make brief
A mothers labor to me; if I do
Give way unto my married Husband's Will,
Or be a Wife in any thing but hopes,
Till I have made him easie as a child,
And tame as fear, he shall not win a smile,
Or a pleas'd look, from this austerity,
Though it would pull another Joynture from him,
And make him ev'ry day another man;
And when I kiss him, till I have my Will,
May I be barren of delights, and know
Only what pleasures are in dreams, and guesses.
Liv. A strange Exordium.
Bya. All the several wrongs
Done by Imperious Husbands to their Wives
These thousand years and upwards, strengthen thee:
Thou hast a brave cause.
Mar. And I'll do it bravely,
Or may I knit my life out ever after.
Liv. In what part of the world got she this spirit?
Yet pray Maria, look before you truly,
Besides the obedience of a wife;
Which you will find a heavy imputation,
Which yet I cannot think your own, it shews
So distant from your sweetness.
Mar. 'Tis I swear.
Liv. Weigh but the person, and the hopes you have,
To work this desperate cure.
Mar. A weaker subject
Would shame the end I aim at, disobedience.
You talk too tamely: By the faith I have
In mine own noble Will, that childish woman
That lives a prisoner to her Husbands pleasure,
Has lost her making, and becomes a beast,
Created for his use, not fellowship.
Liv. His first wife said as much.
Mar. She was a fool,
And took a scurvy course; let her be nam'd
'Mongst those that wish for things, but dare not do'em:
I have a new dance for him.
Liv. Are you of this faith?
Bya. Yes truly, and will die in't.
Liv. Why then let's all wear breeches.
Mar. Now thou com'st near the nature of a woman;
Hang these tame hearted Eyasses, that no sooner
See the Lure out, and hear their Husbands hollow,
But cry like Kites upon 'em: The free Haggard
(Which is that woman, that hath wing, and knows it,
Spirit and plume) will make an hundred checks,
To shew her freedom, sail in ev'ry air,
And look out ev'ry pleasure; not regarding
Lure, nor quarry, till her pitch command
What she desires, making her foundred keeper
Be glad to fling out trains, and golden ones,
To take her down again.
Liv. You are learned, Sister;
Yet I say still take heed.
Mar. A witty saying;
I'll tell thee Livia, had this fellow tired
As many wives as horses under him,
With spurring of their patience; had he got
A Patent, with an Office to reclaim us,
Confirm'd by Parliament; had he all the malice
And subtilty of Devils, or of us,
Or any thing that's worse than both.
Liv. Hey, hey boys, this is excellent.
Mar. Or could he
Cast his wives new again, like Bels, to make 'em
Sound to his Will; or had the fearful name
Of the first breaker of wild women: yet,
Yet would I undertake this man, thus single,
And, spight of all the freedom he has reach'd to,
Turn him and bend him as I list, and mold him
Into a babe again; that aged women,
[W[a]nting] both teeth and spleen, may Master him.
Bya. Thou wilt be chronicl'd.
Mar. That's all I aim at.
Liv. I must confess, I do with all my heart
Hate an imperious Husband, and in time
Might be so wrought upon.
Bya. To make him cuckold?
Mar. If he deserve it.
Liv. Then I'll leave ye Ladies.
Bya. Thou hast not so much noble anger in thee.
Mar. Go sleep, go sleep, what we intend to do,
Lies not for such starv'd souls, as thou hast Livia.
Liv. Good night: the Bridegroom will be with you presently.
Mar. That's more than you know.
Liv. If ye work upon him,
As you have promised, ye may give example,
Which no doubt will be followed.
Mar. So.
Bya. Good night: we'll trouble you no further.
Mar. If you intend no good, pray do no harm.
Liv. None, but pray for you. [Exit Livia.
Bya. [Cheer] wench.
Mar. Now Byancha,
Those wits we have, let's wind 'em to the height.
My rest is up wench, and I pull for that
Will make me ever famous. They that lay
Foundations, are half-builders, all men say.
Enter Jaques.