Ped. Do. [Exeunt.
Enter Richardo and Valerio.
Rich. Sir, I did think 'twas you by all descriptions.
Val. 'Tis so,
I took her up indeed, the manner how
You have heard already, and what she had about her,
As Jewels, Gold, and other trifling things:
And what my end was, which because she slighted,
I left her there i'th' fields.
Rich. Left i'th' fields? could any but a Rogue
That had despis'd humanity and goodness,
[God,] law and credit; and had set himself
To lose his noblest part, and be a beast,
Have left so innocent unmatch'd a virtue,
To the rude mercy of a wilderness?
Val. Sir, if you come to rail, pray quit my house,
I do not use to have such language given
Within my doors to me; for your wench,
You may go seek her with more patience,
She's tame enough, I warrant you.
Rich. Pray forgive me.
I do confess my much forgetfulness;
And weigh my words no farther, I beseech you,
Then a mere madness, for such a grief has seiz'd me
So strong and deadly, as a punishment,
And a just one too,
That 'tis a greater wonder I am living,
Than any thing I utter; yet let me tell you thus much,
'Twas a fault for leaving her
So in the fields.
Val. Sir, I will think so now, and credit me,
You have so wrought me with your grief, that I
Do both forgive and pity you:
And if you'll please to take a bed this night here;
To morrow I'll bring you where I left her.
Rich. I thank you, [no,] shall I be so unworthy:
To think upon a bed, or ease, or comfort,
And have my heart stray from me, God knows where,
Cold and forsaken, destitute of friends,
And all good comforts else, unless some tree
Whose speechless charity must better ours,
With which the bitter east winds made their sport
And sung through hourly, hath invited her
To keep off half a day? shall she be thus,
And I draw in soft slumbers? God forbid.
No, night and bitter coldness, I provoke thee,
And all the dews that hang upon thy locks,
Showrs, Hails, Snows, Frosts, and two edged Winds that prime
The maiden blossoms, I provoke you all,
And dare expose this body to your sharpness,
Till I be made a Land-mark.
Val. Will you then stay and eat with me?
Rich. Y'are angry with me, I know y'are angry,
You would not bid me eat else; my poor Mistriss,
For ought I know [thou'rt] famish'd, for what else
Can the fields yield thee, and the stubborn season,
That yet holds in the fruit? good gentle Sir,
Think not ill manners in me for denying
Your offer'd meat, for sure I cannot eat
While I do think she wants; well I'm a rascal;
A villain, slave, that only was begotten,
To murder women, and of them the best.
Val. This is a strange affliction.
If you'll accept no greater courtesie, yet drink Sir.
Ric. Now I am sure you hate me, and you knew
What kind of man I am, as indeed 'tis fit,
That every man should know me to avoid me.
If you have peace within you, Sir, or goodness
Name that abhord word - Drink, no more unto me,
You had safer strike me.
I pray you do not, if you love me do not.
Val. Sir, I mean no ill by it.
Ric. It may be so,
Nor let me see
None Sir, if you love heaven;
You know not what offence it is unto me,
Nor good now do not ask me why:
And I warn you once again, let no man else speak of't,
I fear your servants will be prating to me.
Val. Why Sir, what ail you?
Rich. I hate drink, there's the end on't,
And that man that drinks with meat is damn'd
Without an age of prayers and repentance,
And there's a hazard too; good Sir, no more
If you will do me a free courtesie;
That I shall know for one: go take your horse,
And bring me to the place where you left her:
Val. Since you are so [impo[r]tunate], I will;
But I will wish Sir, you had staid to night
Upon my credit you shall see no drink.
Rich. Be gone, the hearing of it makes me giddy,
Sir, will you be intreated to forbear it,
I shall be mad else.
Val. I pray no more of that, I am quiet,
I'll but walk in, and away straight.
Rich. Now I thank you,
But what you do, do in a twinkling, Sir.
Val. As soon as may be. [[Exit.]
Enter Mother, Viola, and two Milk-maids.
Moth. Is this the wench you have brought me? some catch I warrant.
[How daringly] she looks upon the matter!
Madge. Yes forsooth, this is the maiden.
Moth. Come hither, wou'd you serve?
Vio. If it shall please you to accept my service, I hope I shall do something that [shall] like you, though it be but truth, and often praying for you.
Moth. You are very curious of your hand methinks,
You preserve it so with gloves, let me see it;
I marry, here's a hand of march-pane, wenches,
This pretty palme never knew sorrow yet;
How soft it is I warrant you, and supple:
O' my word, this is fitter for a pocket to filch withal
Than to [work], I fear me little one,
You are no better than you should be; [goe to].
Vio. My Conscience yet is but one witness to me,
And that heaven knows, is of mine innocence,
'Tis true, I must confess with shame enough,
The time that I have led, yet never taught me
What 'twas to break a sleep, or to be weary.