Gar. Sure there’s no wrong in right, true, and just?
Herc. And, indeed, since the virtue of procreation growed hopeless in your husband, to whom should you rather commit your love and honour to, than him that is most like and near your husband, his brother? But are
you assured your friend and brother rests entirely constant solely to you?
Gar. To me? O Fawn, let me sigh it with joy into thy bosom, my brother has been wooed by this and that and t’other lady, to entertain them (for I ha’ seen their letters); but his vow to me, O Fawn! is most immutable, unfeigning, peculiar, and indeed deserved. 23
Enter Puttotta and a Page. Puttotta with a letter in her hand.
Put. Never entreat me—never beseech me to have pity, forsooth, on your master, M.[222] Herod. Let him never be so daringly ambitious as to hope, with all his vows and protestations, to gain my affection! God’s my discretion! Has my sutlery, tapstry, laundry, made me be ta’en up at the court—preferr’d me to a husband; and have I advanced my husband, with the labour of mine own body, from the black-guard[223] to be one of the duke’s drummers, to make him one of the court forkers? Shall I, that purify many lords and some ladies, can tell who wears perfumes, who plasters, and for why, know who’s a gallant of a chaste shirt and[224] who not, shall I become—or dares your master think I will become—or if I would[225] become, presumes your master to hope I
would become one of his common feminines? No, let M. Herod brag of his brother’s wife. I scorn his letters and her leavings at my heel—i’faith, and so tell him. 41
Pag. Nay, softly,[226] dear Puttotta—Mistress Puttotta—Madam Puttotta! O be merciful to my languishing master! He may in time grow great and well-graced courtier, for he wears yellow already! Mix, therefore, your loves. As for Madam Garbetza, his brother’s wife, you see what he writes there.
Put. I must confess he says she is a spiny, green creature, of an unwholesome barren blood and cold embrace—a bony thing, of most unequal hips, uneven eyes, ill-rank’d teeth, and indeed one, but that she hires him, he endures not; yet, for all this does he hope to dishonest me? I am for his betters, I would he should well know it; for more by many than my husband know I am a woman of a known sound and upright carriage; and so he shall find if he deal with me; and so tell him, I pray you. What! does he hope to make me one of his gills, his punks, polecats, flirts, and feminines? 58
[Exit. As Putotta goes out, she flings away the letter. The Page puts it up, and, as he is talking, Hercules steals it out of his pocket.