Ven. True, for most there are as proud as he for his heart, i' faith.
[Aside.
Who'd sit at home in a neglected room,
Dealing her short-lived beauty to the pictures,
That are as useless as old men, when those
Poorer in face and fortune than herself
Walk with a hundred acres on their backs,[205]
Fair meadows cut into green foreparts? O,
It was the greatest blessing ever happened to woman
When farmers' sons agreed and met again,
To wash their hands, and come up gentlemen!
The commonwealth has flourished ever since:
Lands that were mete[206] by the rod, that labour's spared:
Tailors ride down, and measure 'em by the yard.
Fair trees, those comely foretops of the field,
Are cut to maintain head-tires—much untold.
All thrives but chastity; she lies a-cold.
Nay, shall I come nearer to you? mark but this:
Why are there so few honest women, but because 'tis the poorer profession? that's accounted best that's best followed; least in trade, least in fashion; and that's not honesty, believe it; and do but note the love and dejected price of it—
Lose but a pearl, we search, and cannot brook it:
But that[207] once gone, who is so mad to look it?
Gra. Troth, he says true.
Cas. False! I defy you both:
I have endured you with an ear of fire;
Your tongues have struck hot irons on my face.
Mother, come from that poisonous woman there.
Gra. Where?
Cas. Do you not see her? she's too inward, then!
Slave, perish in thy office! you Heavens, please
Henceforth to make the mother a disease,
Which first begins with me: yet I've outgone you.
[Exit.
Ven. O angels, clap your wings upon the skies,
And give this virgin crystal plaudites! [Aside.
Gra. Peevish, coy, foolish!—but return this answer,
My lord shall be most welcome, when his pleasure
Conducts him this way. I will sway mine own.
Women with women can work best alone. [Exit.
Ven. Indeed, I'll tell him so.
O, more uncivil, more unnatural,
Than those base-titled creatures that look downward;
Why does not Heaven turn black, or with a frown
Undo the world? Why does not earth start up,
And strike the sins that tread upon't? O,
Were't not for gold and women, there would be no damnation.
Hell would look like a lord's great kitchen without fire in't.
But 'twas decreed, before the world began,
That they should be the hooks to catch at man.
[Exit.
SCENE II.—An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Lussurioso, with Hippolito.
Lus. I much applaud
Thy judgment; thou art well-read in a fellow;
And 'tis the deepest art to study man.
I know this, which I never learnt in schools,
The world's divided into knaves and fools.
Hip. Knave in your face, my lord—behind your back—[Aside.
Lus. And I much thank thee, that thou hast preferred
A fellow of discourse, well-mingled,
And whose brain time hath seasoned.
Hip. True, my lord,
We shall find season once, I hope. O villain!
To make such an unnatural slave of me—but—
[Aside.
Lus. Mass, here he comes.
Hip. And now shall I have free leave to depart.
[Aside.
Lus. Your absence, leave us.
Hip. Are not my thoughts true? [Aside.
I must remove; but, brother, you may stay.
Heart! we are both made bawds a new-found way!
[Exit.
Enter Vendice, disguised.
Lus. Now we're an even number, a third man's dangerous,
Especially her brother;—say; be free,
Have I a pleasure toward—
Ven. O my lord!
Lus. Ravish me in thine answer; art thou rare?
Hast thou beguiled her of salvation,
And rubbed hell o'er with honey? Is she a woman?
Ven. In all but in desire.
Lus. Then she's in nothing—I bate[208] in courage now.
Ven. The words I brought
Might well have made indifferent honest naught.
A right good woman in these days is changed
Into white money with less labour far;
Many a maid has turned to Mahomet
With easier working: I durst undertake,
Upon the pawn and forfeit of my life,
With half those words to flat a Puritan's wife.
But she is close and good; yet 'tis a doubt
By this time.—O, the mother, the mother!
Lus. I never thought their sex had been a wonder,
Until this minute. What fruit from the mother?
Ven. How must I blister my soul, be forsworn,
Or shame the woman that received me first!
I will be true: thou liv'st not to proclaim.
Spoke to a dying man, shame has no shame. [Aside.
My lord.
Lus. Who's that?
Ven. Here's none but I, my lord.
Lus. What would thy haste utter?
Ven. Comfort.
Lus. Welcome.
Ven. The maid being dull, having no mind to travel
Into unknown lands, what did I straight,
But set spurs to the mother? golden spurs
Will put her to a false gallop in a trice.
Lus. Is't possible that in this
The mother should be damned before the daughter?
Ven. O, that's good manners, my lord; the mother for her age must go foremost, you know.
Lus. Thou'st spoke that true! but where comes in this comfort?
Ven. In a fine place, my lord,—the unnatural mother
Did with her tongue so hard beset her honour,
That the poor fool was struck to silent wonder;
Yet still the maid, like an unlighted taper,
Was cold and chaste, save that her mother's breath
Did blow fire on her cheeks. The girl departed;
But the good ancient madam, half mad, threw me
These promising words, which I took deeply note of:
"My lord shall be most welcome"—
Lus. Faith, I thank her.
Ven. "When his pleasure conducts him this way"—
Lus. That shall be soon, i' faith.
Ven. "I will sway mine own"—
Lus. She does the wiser: I commend her for't.
Ven. "Women with women can work best alone."