Mer. I cannot sleep for thinking of this Asses Wife, I'll be gon presently, there's no staying here, with this Devil about [me;] hoe, this is the house of sleep, hoe! again there, 'sfoot, the darkness, and this love together, will make me lunatick; ho!
Enter a Servingman above unready.
Ser. Who calls there?
Mer. Pray take the pains to rise and light a candle.
Ser. Presently.
Mer. Was ever man but I in such a stocks? well, this shall be a warning to me, and a fair one too, how I betray my self to such a Dunce, by way of benefit.
Enter Servingman.
Ser. Did you call?
Mer. Yes, pray do me the kindness, Sir, to let me out, and not [to] enquire why, for I must needs be gone.
Ser. Not to night, I hope, Sir,
Mer. Good Sir to night, I would not have troubled you else, pray let it be so.
Ser. Alas, Sir, my Master will be offended.
Mer. That I have business? no I warrant ye.
Ser. Good Sir take your rest.
Mer. Pray my good friend let me appoint my own rest.
Ser. Yes, Sir.
Mer. Then shew me the way out, I'll consider you.
Ser. Good Lord, Sir.
Mer. If I had not an excellent temper'd patience, now should I break this fellows head, and make him understand 'twere necessary; the onely plague of this house is the unhandsome love of servants, that ne'er do their duty in the right place, but when they muster before dinner, and sweep the Table with a wodden dagger, and then they are troublesome too, to all mens shoulders, the Woodcocks flesht agen, now I shall have a new stir.
Enter Antonio.
Ant. Why how now friend? What do you up so late? are you well? Do you want any thing? pray speak.
Mer. Onely the cause I rise for.
Ant. What knaves are these? What do you want? why Sirrah?
Mer. Nothing i'th' World, but the keyes to let me out of dores; I must be gon, be not against it, for you cannot stay me.
Ant. Be gon at this time? that were a merry jest.
Mer. If there be any mirth in't, make you use on't, but I must go.
Ant. Why for loves sake?
Mer. 'Twill benefit your understanding nothing to know the cause, pray go to bed, I'll trouble your Man only.
Ant. Nay, Sir, you have rais'd more, that has reason to curse you, and you knew all, my Wifes up, and coming down too.
Mer. Alas, it will be a trouble, pray go up to her, and let me disturbe no more, 'tis unmannerly.
Enter Wife as out of her [b]ed].
Ant. Shee's here already; sweet heart: How say you by this Gentleman? he would away at midnight.
Wife. That I am sure he will not.
Mer. Indeed I must.
Mar. Good Sir let not your homely entertainment press you to leave your bed at midnight; if you want, what my house or [our town] may afford you, make it your own fault if you call not for it; pray go to bed again; let me compel you, I am sure you have no power to deny a Woman; the ayr is piercing, and to a body beaten with long travel, 'twill prove an ill Physitian.
Mer. If she speak longer I shall be a knave, as rank as ever sweat for't; Sir, if you will send your Wife up presently, I will either stay with you, d'ye mark me, or deliver you, so just a cause, that you your self, shall thrust me out of dores, both suddenly, and willingly.
Ant. I would fain hear that 'faith, pray thee go up sweet heart, I have half perswaded him, besides, he hath some private business with me.
Mar. Good night, Sir, and what content you would have, I wish with you. [Exit.
Mer. Could any man that had a back ask more! O me! O me!
Ant. Now deal directly with me: Why should you go?
Mer. If you be wise do not enquire the cause, 'twill trouble you:
Ant. Why? prithee why?
Mer. 'Faith I would not have you know it, let me go, 'twill be far better for you.
Ant. Who's that, that knocks there? i'st not at the street door?
Ser. Yes, Sir.
Ant. Who's there, cannot you speak?
Within Vio. A poor distressed Maid, for gods sake let me in.
Mer. Let her in and me out together, 'tis but one labor, 'tis pity she should stand i'th' street, it seems she knows you.
Ant. There she shall stand for me, you are ignorant; this is a common custome of the Rogues that lie about the loose parts of the City.
Mer. As how?
Ant. To knock at doors in dead time of night, and use some feigned voice to raise compassion, and when the doors are open, in they rush, and cut the throats of all, and take the booty, we cannot be too careful.
Within Vi. As ever you had pity let me in, I am undone else.
Ant. Who are you?
Vio. My name is Viola, a Gentlewoman, that ill chance hath distressed, you know my Father.
Mer. Alas of god we'll let her in, 'tis one of the Gentlewomen were here i'th' evening, I know her by her name, (poor soul) shee's cold I warrant her, let her have my warme Bed, and I'll take her fortune; come, pray come.
Ant. It is not Viola, that's certain, she went home to her Fathers, I am sure.
Via. Will not you be so good to let me in?
Ant. I'll be so good to have you whipt away if you stay a little longer: Shee's gone I warrant her, now let me know your cause, for I will hear it, and not repent the knowing.
Mer. Since you are so importunate, I'll tell you, I love your Wife extreamly.
Ant. Very well.
Mer. And so well that I dare not stay.
Ant. Why?
Mer. For wronging you, I know I am flesh and blood, and you have done me friendships infinite and often, that must require me honest, and a true Man, and I will be so, or I'll break my heart.
Ant. Why, you may stay for all this, methinks.
Mer. No, though I wood be good, I am no saint, nor is it safe to try me, I deal plainly.
Ant. Come, I dare try you, do the best you can.
Mer. You shall not, when I am right agen, I'll come and see you, till when, I'll use all Countryes, and all means, but I will lose this folly, 'tis a Divel.
Ant. Is there no way to stay you?
Mer. No, unless you will have me such a villain to you, as all men shall spit at me.
Ant. Do's she know you love her?
Mer. No, I hope not, that were recompence fit for a Rogue to render her.
Ant. If ever any had a faithful friend, I am that Man, and I may glory in't, this is he, that ipse, he that passes all Christendome for goodness, he shall not over goe me in his friendship, 'twere recreant and base, and I'll be hang'd first, I am resolv'd, go thy wayes, a Wife [shall] never part us: I have consider'd, and I find her nothing to such a friend as thou art; I'll speak a bold world, take your time and woe her, you have overcome me clearly, and do what's fitting with her, you conceive me, I am glad at heart you love her: by this light, ne're stare upon me, for I will not flye from it, if you had spoken sooner, sure you had been serv'd; Sir, you are not every Man, now to your taske, I give you free leave, and the sin is mine if there be any in it.
Mer. He will be hang'd before he makes this good, he cannot be so innocent a Coxcombe, he can tell ten sure, if I had never known you as I have done, I might be one, as others perhaps sooner, but now 'tis impossible, there's too much good between us.
Ant. Well, thou art e'en the best man—I can say no more, I am, so over-joy'd, you must stay this night, and in the morning go as early as you please, I have a toy for you.
Mer. I thought this pill would make you sick.
Ant. But where you mean to be I must have notice,
And it must be hard by too, do you mark me?
Mer. Why, What's the matter?
Ant. There is a thing in hand.
Mer. Why? What thing?
Ant. A sound one, if it take right, and you be not peevish. We two will be—you would little think it; as famous for our friendship—
Mer. How?
Ant. If [God] please, as ever Damon was, and Pytheas; or Pylades and Orestes, or any two that ever were: do you conceive me yet?
Mer. No, by my troth, Sir; he will not help me up sure.
Ant. You shall anon, and for our names, I think they shall live after us, and be remember'd while there is a story; or [I] lose my aime.
Mer. What a vengeance ailes he? How do you?
Ant. Yes faith, we two will be such friends, as the world shall ring of.
Mer. And why is all this?
Ant. You shall enjoy my wife.
Mer. Away, away.
Ant. The wonder must begin, so I have cast it, 'twill be scurvy else, you shall not stir a foot in't, pray be quiet till I have made it perfect.
Mer. What shall a Man do with this wretched fellow? there is no mercy to be used towards him, he is not capable of any pitty, he will in spight of course be a Cuckold, And who can help it? must it begin so needs Sir?—think agen.
Ant. Yes marry must it, and I my self will woe this woman for you, Do you perceive it now? ha?
Mer. Yes, now I have a little sight ith' matter; O that thy head should be so monstrous, that all thy Servants hats may hang upon't! but do you meane to do this?
Ant. Yes certain, I will woe her, and for you, strive not against it, 'tis the overthrow of the best plot that ever was then.
Mer. Nay, I'll assure you, Sir, I'll do no harm, you have too much about you of your own.
Ant. Have you thought of a place yet?
Mer. A place?
Ant. I a place where you will bide, prethee no more of this modesty, 'tis foolish, and we were not determin'd to be absolute friends indeed, 'twere tolerable.
Mer. I have thought, and you shall hear from me.
Ant. Why, this will gain me everlasting glory; I have the better of him, that's my comfort, good night. [Exit.
Mer. Good night, well go thy wayes, thou art the tydiest wittall this day I think above ground, and yet thy end for all this must be mottly. [Exit.