Lus. Hippolito—be absent, leave us!
Hip. My lord, after long search, wary inquiries,
And politic siftings, I made choice of yon fellow,
Whom I guess rare for many deep employments:
This our age swims within him; and if Time
Had so much hair, I should take him for Time,
He is so near kin to this present minute.
Lus. 'Tis enough;
We thank thee: yet words are but great men's blanks;[189]
Gold, though it be dumb, does utter the best thanks.
[Gives him money.
Hip. Your plenteous honour! an excellent fellow, my lord.
Lus. So, give us leave. [Exit Hippolito.] Welcome, be not far off; we must be better acquainted: pish, be bold with us—thy hand.
Ven. With all my heart, i' faith: how dost, sweet musk-cat?
When shall we lie together?
Lus. Wondrous knave,
Gather him into boldness! 'sfoot, the slave's
Already as familiar as an ague,
And shakes me at his pleasure. Friend, I can
Forget myself in private; but elsewhere
I pray do you remember me.
Ven. O, very well, sir—I conster myself saucy.
Lus. What hast been?
Of what profession?
Ven. A bone-setter.
Lus. A bone-setter!
Ven. A bawd, my lord—
One that sets bones together.
Lus. Notable bluntness!
Fit, fit for me; e'en trained up to my hand:
Thou hast been scrivener to much knavery, then?
Ven. 'Sfoot, to abundance, sir: I have been witness
To the surrenders of a thousand virgins:
And not so little;
I have seen patrimonies washed a-pieces,
Fruit-fields turned into bastards,
And in a world of acres
Not so much dust due to the heir 'twas left to
As would well gravel[190] a petition.
Lus. Fine villain! troth, I like him wondrously:
He's e'en shaped for my purpose. [Aside.] Then thou know'st
I' th' world strange lust?
Ven. O Dutch lust! fulsome lust!
Drunken procreation! which begets so many drunkards
Some fathers dread not (gone to bed in wine) to slide from the mother,
And cling[191] the daughter-in-law;
Some uncles are adulterous with their nieces:
Brothers with brothers' wives. O hour of incest!
Any kin now, next to the rim o' th' sister,
Is men's meat in these days; and in the morning,
When they are up and dressed, and their mask on,
Who can perceive this, save that eternal eye,
That sees through flesh and all? Well, if anything be damned,
It will be twelve o'clock at night; that twelve
Will never 'scape;
It is the Judas of the hours, wherein
Honest salvation is betrayed to sin.
Lus. In troth, it is true; but let this talk glide.
It is our blood to err, though hell gape wide.
Ladies know Lucifer fell, yet still are proud.
Now, sir, wert thou as secret as thou'rt subtle,
And deeply fathomed into all estates,
I would embrace thee for a near employment;
And thou shouldst swell in money, and be able
To make lame beggars crouch to thee.
Ven. My lord,
Secret! I ne'er had that disease o' the mother,
I praise my father: why are men made close,
But to keep thoughts in best? I grant you this,
Tell but some women a secret over night,
Your doctor may find it in the urinal i' the morning.
But, my lord—
Lus. So thou'rt confirmed in me,
And thus I enter thee. [Gives him money.
Ven. This Indian devil
Will quickly enter any man but a usurer;
He prevents that by entering the devil first.
Lus. Attend me. I am past my depth in lust,
And I must swim or drown. All my desires
Are levelled at a virgin not far from court,
To whom I have conveyed by messenger
Many waxed lines, full of my neatest spirit,
And jewels that were able to ravish her
Without the help of man; all which and more
She (foolish chaste) sent back, the messengers
Receiving frowns for answers.
Ven. Possible!
'Tis a rare Phœnix, whoe'er she be.
If your desires be such, she so repugnant,
In troth, my lord, I'd be revenged and marry her.
Lus. Pish! the dowry of her blood and of her fortunes
Are both too mean—good enough to be bad withal.
I'm one of that number can defend
Marriage is good; yet rather keep a friend.
Give me my bed by stealth—there's true delight;
What breeds a loathing in't, but night by night!
Ven. A very fine religion!
Lus. Therefore thus
I'll trust thee in the business of my heart;
Because I see thee well-experienced
In this luxurious day wherein we breathe.
Go thou, and with a smooth enchanting tongue
Bewitch her ears, and cosen her of all grace:
Enter upon the portion[192] of her soul—
Her honour, which she calls her chastity,
And bring it into expense; for honesty
Is like a stock of money laid to sleep
Which, ne'er so little broke, does never keep.
Ven. You have gi'en't the tang,[193] i' faith, my lord:
Make known the lady to me, and my brain
Shall swell with strange invention: I will move it,
Till I expire with speaking, and drop down
Without a word to save me—but I'll work—
Lus. We thank thee, and will raise thee.—
Receive her name; it is the only daughter to Madam
Gratiana, the late widow.
Ven. O my sister, my sister! [Aside.
Lus. Why dost walk aside?
Ven. My lord, I was thinking how I might begin:
As thus, O lady—or twenty hundred devices—
Her very bodkin will put a man in.
Lus. Ay, or the wagging of her hair.
Ven. No, that shall put you in, my lord.
Lus. Shall't? why, content. Dost know the daughter then?
Ven. O, excellent well by sight.
Lus. That was her brother,
That did prefer thee to us.
Ven. My lord, I think so;
I knew I had seen him somewhere—
Lus. And therefore, prythee, let thy heart to him
Be as a virgin close.
Ven. O my good lord.
Lus. We may laugh at that simple age within him.
Ven. Ha, ha, ha!
Lus. Himself being made the subtle instrument,
To wind up a good fellow.[194]
Ven. That's I, my lord.
Lus. That's thou,
To entice and work his sister.
Ven. A pure novice!
Lus. 'Twas finely managed.
Ven. Gallantly carried!
A pretty perfumed villain!
Lus. I've bethought me,
If she prove chaste still and immovable,
Venture upon the mother; and with gifts,
As I will furnish thee, begin with her.
Ven. O, fie, fie! that's the wrong end my lord. 'Tis mere impossible that a mother, by any gifts, should become a bawd to her own daughter!
Lus. Nay, then, I see thou'rt but a puisne[195]
In the subtle mystery of a woman.
Why, 'tis held now no dainty dish: the name
Is so in league with the age, that nowadays
It does eclipse three quarters of a mother.
Ven. Does it so, my lord?
Let me alone, then, to eclipse the fourth.
Lus. Why, well-said—come, I'll furnish thee, but first
Swear to be true in all.
Ven. True!
Lus. Nay, but swear.
Ven. Swear?—I hope your honour little doubts my faith.