Bew. Oh come in, I'll find a time for you too, be not loud.
Ma. Sir, you have found that time already, shame
On my soul therefore.
Bew. Why? what's the matter?
Ma. Do you not see, Sir, is your light so dim?
Bew. Do you not wait on the Lady Mount Marine?
Ma. I do Sir, but my love on you.
Bew. Poor soul! how cam'st thou by this big belly?
Ma. By your self.
Bew. By heaven I ne'er touch'd your body.
Ma. Yes, unswear that oath again, I'll tell you all;
These two years I have lov'd you, but the means
How to enjoy you, I did never know
Till Twelf-night last, when hearing of your game
To take up wenches private in the night,
I apprehended straight this course to make
My self as one of them, and wait your coming;
I did so, and enjoyed you, and now this child
That now is quick within me, hide my shame,
And marry me, or else I must be forc'd—
Long. within. Monsieur Bewford, Monsieur Bewford.
Bew. Whose that calls?
Long. Are you a bed?
Bew. No Sir, the hangings.
Enter Longaveil.
Long. Nay Monsieur, I'll forbid that, we'll have fair play,
Lend me your candle, are you taken Bewford?
A lecher of your practice, and close carriage
To be discovered thus? I am asham'd
So great a master in his art should fail,
And stagger in his grounds.
Bew. You're wide,
This woman and my self are man and wife,
And have been so this half year,
Where are you now? have I been discover'd?
You cannot break so easily on me, Sir,
I am too wary to be open'd by you.
Long. But these are but illusions, to give colour
To your most mystick leachery, but Sir,
The belly hath betraid you all, it must out.
Bew. Good Longaveil believe me on my faith,
I am her husband.
Long. On my faith I cannot, unless I saw
Your hands fast, and your hearts.
Bew. Why Longavile, when did I give that to your ears,
That was not truth? by all the world she's mine,
She is my wife, and to confirm you better
I give my self again, here take my hand
And I yours, we are once more married,
Will this content you?
Long. Yes I am believing, and God give you joy.
Bew. My loving wife, I will not wrong thee,
Since I am thine and only loved of thee
From this hour I vow my self a new man,
Be not jealous: for though I had a purpose,
To have spent an hour or two in solace otherwise,
And was provided for it, yet my love
Shall put a better temper to my blood,
Come out thou woman of unwholsome life,
Be sorry for thy sins, and learn to mend,
Nay, never hide your face, you shall be seen.
Long. Jaques, why Jaques, art thou that Jaques,
The very staffe, and right hand of our Duke?
Speak, thou bearded Venus.
Jaq. I am he, by miracle preserv'd to be that Jaques,
Within this two hours Gentlemen, poor Jaques
Was but as coarse in grave: a man of wisdom,
That of my conscience, if he had his right
Should have a pretty State, but that's all one
That Noble Gentleman did save this life,
I keep it for him, 'tis his own.
Long. Oh Bacchus! is all the world drunk? come we'll to the Duke
And give thanks for this delivery.
Actus Quintus. [Scæna Prima.]
Enter Duke and Jaques.
Duke. Not gone unto my Tenants to relate
My Grace and Honor; [and] the mightiness
Of my new name, which would have struck a terror
Through their course doublets, to their very hearts?
Jaq. Alas, great Lord and Master, I could scarce
With safety of my life return again
Unto your graces house, and but for one
That had some mercy, I had sure been hang'd.
Duke. My house?
[J[a]q.] Yes Sir, this house, your house i' th' Town.
Duke. Jaques we are displeas'd, hath it no name?
Jaq. What name?
Duke. Dull rogue; what hath the King bestow'd
So many honors, open'd all his springs,
And show'red his graces down upon my head,
And has my house no name? no title yet?
Burgundy house you ass.
Jaq. Your graces mercy,
when I was come off, and had recover'd
Burgundy house, I durst not yet be seen,
But lay all night for fear of pursevants
In Burgundy privie house.
Duke. Oh Sir, 'tis well,
Can you remember now? but Jaques know
Since thy intended journey is so crost,
I will go down my self this morning.
Jaq. Sir?
Duke. Have I not said this morning?
Jaq. But consider,
That nothing is prepared yet for your journey,
Your graces teams not here to draw your cloaths;
And not a Carrier yet in town to send by.
Duke. I say once more go about it,
You're a wise man, you'd have me linger time,
Till I have worn these cloaths out: will ye go? [Ex. Jaq.
Make ye ready Wife.
Enter Wife.
Duc. I am so, mighty Duke.
Duke. Nay, for the Countrey.
Duc. How? for the Countrey?
Duke. Yes I am resolv'd to see my Tenants in this bravery,
Make them a sumptuous feast, with a slight shew,
Of Dives and Lazarus, and a squib or two,
And so return.
Duc. Why Sir? you are not mad?
Duke. How many Dukes have ye known mad? I pray speak.
Duc. You are the first, Sir, and I hope the last,
But you are stark horn-mad.
Duke. Forbear good wife.
Duc. As I have faith you're mad: your horns
Have been too heavy for you, and have broke
Your skull in pieces: If you be in earnest.
Duke. Well, you shall know my skull and wits are whole
E'r I have done, and yet I am in earnest.
Duc. Why, do you think I'll go?
Duke. I know you shall.
Duc. I shall? by what authority shall I?
Duke. I am your Husband.
Duc. True, I confess it,
And by that name, the world hath given you
A power to sway me; but Sir, you shall know
There is a greater bond that ties me here,
Allegeance to the King, has he not heapt
Those honors on you to no other end,
But to stay you here, and shall I have a hand
In the offending such a gracious Prince?
Besides, our own undoings lies upon't,
Were there no other cause, I do not see,
Why you should go: If I should say you should not.
Duke. Do you think so?
Duc. Yes faith.
Duke. Now good wife make me understand that point.
Duc. Why that you shall, did I not bring you hither?
Duke. Yes.
Duc. And were not all [these] honors wrought out of the fire by me?
Duke. By you?
Duc. By me? how strange you make it!
When you came first, did you not walk the Town,
In a long Cloak half compass? an old Hat,
Lin'd with Vellure, and on it for a band,
A skein of crimson Cruil?
Duke. I confess it.
Duc. And took base courses?
Duke. Base?
Duc. Base, by this light, extream base, and scurvie, monstrous base.
[Du[k]e.] What were these courses, wife?
Duc. Why, you shall know,
Did you not thus attir'd, trot up and down,
Plotting for vild and lowsie Offices,
And agreed with the Sergeant of the Bears,
To buy his place? deny this, if you can.
Duke. Why it is true.
Duc. And was not that monstrous base?
Duke. Be advis'd wife, a Bear's a Princely beast.
Duc. A Bear?
Duke. Yes wife, and one side venison.
Duc. You're more than one side fool, [I'm] sure of that.
Duke. But since you have vext me wife, know you shall go;
[Or you shall never] have penny from me.
Duc. Nay, I have done, and though I know 'twill be
Your overthrow, I'll not forsake you now.
Duke. Be ready then. [Exit Duke.
Duc. I will.
Enter Bewf. Long. Serv. Maria.
Long. What are you married Bewford?
Bew. I, as fast as words, and hearts, and hands, and Priest can make us.
Duc. Oh Gentlemen, we are undone.
Long. For what?
Duc. This Gentleman, the Lord of [Lor[n]e], my Husband,
Will be gone down to shew his play-fellows
Where he is gay.
Bew. What, down into [the] Countrey?
Duc. Yes faith, was ever fool but he so cross?
I would as fain be gracious to him,
As he could wish me, but he will not let me;
Speak faithfully, will he deserve my mercy?
Long. According to his merits he should wear,
A guarded coat, and a great wooden dagger.
Duc. If there be any woman that doth know,
The duties 'twixt a Husband and his wife,
Will speak but one word for him, he shall scape;
Is not that reasonable? but there's none,
Be ready therefore, to pursue the plot
We had against a pinch, for he must stay.
Long. Wait you here for him, whilst I goe
And make the King acquainted with your sport,
For fear he be incens'd for our attempting
Places of so great honor. [Exit Long.
Duc. Go, be speedy.