Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HUMOUR OUT OF BREATH, by                    
First Line: Sons, hopeful buds of fruitful italy
Last Line: With plautus' phrase: si placet, plaudite. [exeunt.


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

OCTAVIO, Duke of Venice, usurping Duke of Mantua.
HIPPOLITO, his Son.
FRANCISCO, his Son.
ANTONIO, banished Duke of Mantua.
ASPERO, his Son.
HORTENSIO, Deputy to OCTAVIO, and Guardian of FLORIMEL.
JULIO, Regent of Mantua for OCTAVIO.
FLAMINEO, Attendant on the Duke of Venice.
ASSISTANCE, Servant to HORTENSIO.
Page to HIPPOLITO and FRANCISCO.
Page to FLORIMEL.
Boy, Page to ASPERO.
Lords.
Messengers.

FLORIMEL, Daughter of the Duke of Venice.
HERMIA, Daughter of the banished Duke of Mantua.
LUCIDA, Daughter of the banished Duke of Mantua.


SCENE—VENICE and MANTUA and the intervening country.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.—Venice. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.

Enter OCTAVIO, HIPPOLITO, FRANCISCO, FLORIMEL, and Attendants.

OCT. Sons, hopeful buds of fruitful Italy,
Having banished war, which like a prodigal
Kept wasteful revels with our subjects' blood;
Since proud Antonio our arch-enemy
Is in his journey towards the underworld,
Or hovers in the shade of banishment;
Let us in peace smile at our victory,
And every breast pass his opinion
What pastime best becomes a conqueror.
Fran. What sport but conquest for a conqueror?
Then with our wounds undressed, our steeds still armed,
Branded with steel, ere we wipe off the blood
Of conquered foes, let's with our shriller bugles
Summon the surly landlord of the forest,
The kingly lion, to a bloodly parle;
Combat the hart, the leopard, or the boar,
In single or adventurous hardiment:
The spirit of mirth in manly action rests,
Having quelled men, let's now go conquer beasts.
Oct. Manly resolved; Hippolito's advice?
Hip. Rather like soldiers, and Octavio's sons,
Let's throw a general challenge through the world
For a proud tourney, at the which ourselves,
Consorted with a hundred of our knights,
Accoutred like so many gods of war,
Will keep the lists 'gainst all adventurers;
Which like the sun's light figured in a star
Should be a brief epitome of war.
Oct. Noble and royal; your opinion, daughter?
Flo. Faith, I shall anger soldiers: I would pour
Spirit of life, aurum potabile,
Into the jaws of chap-fallen scholarship,
That have, since amorous Ovid was exiled,
Lain in a swoon. You've many holds for war,
I would once view a garrison for wit:
'Twere heavenly sport to see a train of scholars
Like old trained soldiers skirmish in the schools,
Traverse their Ergos and discharge their jests
Like peals of small-shot; were this motion granted
My self would be free woman of their hall,
And sit as sister at their festival.
Oct. Have we not Padua?
Flo. Yes, but the commanders
Deal with our graduates, as the general
Doth with his soldier—gives him place for favour,
Not for deserving; look into't yourself:
You have courts for tennis, and methinks 'twere meet
Learning should not stand bawling in the street
For want of houseroom: oh, 'tis much unfit
Courtiers should be all pleasure and small wit.
Oct. All that you speak is but what we command.
Flo. But officers, father, cannot understand
Their lords at first: were't not a gallant sight
To see wit's army royal come from fight,
Some crowned with gold, others with wreath of bays?
And whilst they hold their solemn holidays,
Music should like a lover court the skies,
And from the world wrest wringing plaudities.
Hip. My sister would make a rare beggar.
Fran. True, she's parcel poet, parcel fiddler already; and they
commonly sing three parts in one.
Oct. Wrong neither art nor music, they are twins
Born and begot in heat: your thought of both?
Flo. I think, my lord, that music is divine,
Whose sacred strains have power to combine
The soul and body; and it reason bears,
For it is said that the celestial spheres
Dance to Apollo's lyre, whose sprightly fires
Have tamed rude beasts, and charmed men's wild desires.
The author was immortal, the first strings
Made by a king, therefore an art for kings:
The world's a body, every liberal art
A needful member, music the soul and heart.
Oct. Well for her sex hath Florimel discoursed
Of heavenly music, and since all conclude
It is an art divine, we were too rude
Should we reject it; music! I take great pride
To hear soft music and thy shrill voice chide.
Flo. To please your grace, though I want voice and skill,
I'll show myself obedient to your will. [Sings.
Fran. This would have done rare at a scholar's window.
How do you like it, father?
Oct. Highly, my boys; I relish all delight,
For when the fiery spirit of hot youth
Kept house within me, I was all delight.
Then could I take my love, no love more fair,
By the smooth hand, and gazing in love's air
Tell her her beauty beautified the sky,
And that the sun stole lustre from her eye.
Fran. I do admire to hear my princely father
Thus merrily discourse of trifling love.
Oct. Nay more, my boys, when I was at your years,
I went a pilgrimage through Italy,
To find the shrine of some love-hallowed saint;
Devote to beauty, I would pray for love,
Desiring beauty, I would sue for love,
Admiring beauty, I would serve for love;
Pray, sue and serve, till beauty granted love.
If she denied me, I would swear she granted;
If she did swear that she could never love me,
Then would I swear she could not choose but love me:
Let her swear ne'er so much, still have I sworn,
Till she had said I should not be forsworn.
Flo. Ay, marry, brothers, here was cunning love!
Learn like good scholars, he'll make you wise in love:
He was a man in love; were you such men,
Then were you men indeed, but boys till then.
Fran. To please my father, I'll in quest of beauty,
And never make return till I have found
A love so fair, so rich, so honourable,
As fits the honour of Octavio's sons.
Hip. The like (you pleased) vows young Hippolito.
Oct. Do boys, and I will teach you how to choose them.
Elect not 'mongst whole troops of courtly dames,
For amongst many, some must needs be ill:
The seld-seen Phœnix ever sits alone,
Jove courted Danaë when she was alone:
Alone, my boys, that is the only way,
Ladies yield that alone, they else say nay.
Flo. An expert soldier; how shall they choose them, father?
Oct. If her bright eye dim not the diamond,
Say, it is bright, but brighter gems delight you;
If that her breath do not perfume the air,
Say, it is sweet, but sweeter sweets content you;
If that her cheek, comparèd to the lily,
Make not the lily black with whiter whiteness,
Say, it is lily white, but black to white,
When your choice white must have such high exceeds.
Flo. Father, you do exceed things possible;
Faith, say how many ladies have you seen
Much fairer than myself, in all your travel?
Oct. Should the crow teach me, then no lady fairer;
If judgment tell me, then a many fairer:
Thou art mine own, I must think well of thee,
Yet Florimella, many do excel thee.
Flo. Should the crow teach, I am not all crow black;
Should judgment, I not all perfection lack;
Though you have seen ladies that dim the day,
Yet will I think myself as fair as they.
Oct. Do, Florimella, and I'll one day get
A husband for thee, that shall think thee fair.
Flo. And time, 'i faith; that pretty sport would be;
Wive it for them, you shall not husband me.
Oct. Yet you will take my counsel in your choice?
Flo. Yes, if I had not years enough to choose.
Would you direct me as you do your sons?
With "Daughter, take a man with such a nose,
With such an eye, with such a colour beard,
Thus, big, thus tall, with all his teeth afore;
Thus lipped, thus legged, thus handsome, thus apparelled."
Were not this pitiful? O pitiful!
Now by the soul of soul-commanding love,
I will not stoop to such obedience:
I must be bid to blush when I am kissed,
Bid my love welcome, and "I thank you, sir!"
With "no, indeed, I know not what love is,
I never heard so much of love before,
I pray take heed, nay, fie you go too far!"
With such a rabble of prescriptions
As never maid of a conceiving spirit
Will follow them; yet, brothers, go you on,
Take you good counsel, Florimel will none. [Exit.
Oct. Ay, daughter, are you so experienced?
An elder woman might have spoken less.
Yet by your leave, minion, I'll watch you so,
Your "Ay" shall still be governed by my "No."
But come, my sons, take pattern of great Jove,
Early i' the morning suit yourselves for love. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The Country between Mantua and Venice.

Enter ANTONIO with a net, HERMIA and LUCIDA with angles.

Ant. Go, daughters, with your angles to the brook,
And see if any silver-coated fish
Will nibble at your worm-embowelled hooks:
Deceive the watery subjects, yet the name
Of foul deceit, methinks, should fray them from you.
Alack, alack, I cannot blame the world,
That in the world there is so much deceit,
When this poor simple trade must use deceit.
But with what conscience can I make this net,
Within whose meshes all are caught that come?
They cozen one at once, this cozens many;
I will undo't, it shall not cozen any.
But, daughters, go, practise that little sin;
I'll mend this great fault ere the fault begin.
O, cozening fortune, how hast thou deceived me,
Turning me out of doors to banishment,
And made another lord to Mantua,
I that was lord now slave to misery.
Her. Take comfort yet, dear father.
Ant. Comfort? no.
My breast's turned prison, my proud jailor, woe,
Locks out all comfort: where's your valiant brother?
Her. All discontent, like to a wounded lion
He forages the woods, daring proud fortune
At her best weapon; he accounts this smart
As a slight hurt, but far off from the heart.
Ant. How holds his humour?
Luc. The same fashion still:
But somewhat sadder-coloured: death may end
But never change him; see, our words have raised him.

Enter ASPERO with Boy.

Ant. Fitly applied, for a walks like a ghost.
Why, how now, son?
Asp. Peace.
Her. Brother,—
Asp. Good now, peace,
Wake me not, as you love me.
Luc. What, asleep?
Asp. Ay, in a most sweet sleep, blisters o' your tongues for waking
me.
Ant. Thou forgettest thyself.
Asp. I should not be a courtier else; methought I was at a strange
wedding.
Ant. Prithee, what wedding?
Asp. Of a young lawyer and old Madam Conscience.
Ant. I scarce believe that.
Asp. Nor I neither, because it was a dream: but methought the young ma
n
doted on the old woman exceedingly.
Ant. That was miraculous! Did they live together.
Asp. In the country they did, and agreed passing well all the long
vacation; and but for two things, he would have carried her up to the term
with
him.
Ant. What things were those?
Asp. One was, because her gown was of the old fashion; the other was,
'cause he would not have her by when he took fees.
Ant. His reason for that?
Asp. For fear if a bribe had been offered, she being by, he should
have
had the bad conscience to take it.
Ant. His wife and he lived together?
Asp. Conscience and the lawyer, as lovingly as men and their wives do,

but neither meddle nor make one with another.
Ant. Man and wife part, that's strange!
Asp. O Lord, sir, profit can part the soul and the body, and why not
man and wife? now you have had my dream, father, let me understand yours.
Ant. How can he dream that never sleeps, my son?
Asp. O best of all: why, your whole world doth nothing but dream:
your
Machiavel he dreams of state, deposing kings, grounding new monarchies; the
lover he dreams of kisses, amorous embraces: the new-married wife dreams that
rid of her young husband she hugs her old love, and likes her dream well
enough
too; the country gentlewoman dreams that when her first husband's dead, she
marries a knight, and the name of lady sticks so in her mind that she's
never at
heart's ease till she get her husband dubbed; the captain he dreams of
oppressing the soldiers, devising strategies to keep his dream; and that dream
wakes in the pate of Octavio your archenemy, who is not content to hurl us
into
the whirlpool of banishment, but binds weights at our heels, leaden
poverty, to
sink us to the very depth that we should never rise again.
Her. Then since all dream, let us dream of revenge.
Asp. Ay, marry, sister, that were a dream worth dreaming, and I'll
sleep out my brains but I'll compass it.
Ant. Pretty content; we kill our foes in dreams.
Asp. 'Uds foot, I'll do it waking then.
Ant. Aspero!
Asp. At council table—
Ant. Hear me.
Asp. In his duchess' arms! 'twere base to go disguised;
No, my revenge shall wear an open brow;
I will not play the coward, kill him first
And send my challenge after; I'll make known
My name, and cause of coming; if I thought
Grief like a painter had so spoiled my visage
He could not know me, on my breast I'd write
"Howe'er I am disfigurèd through woe,
I am the thing was made for Aspero."
Speak not, I am as constant as the centre;
Some fortune, good or bad, doth beckon me,
And I will run; bitter revenge tastes sweet:
If ne'er on earth, farewell, in heaven we'll meet.
Attendance, sirrah; your low comedy
Craves but few actors, we'll break company.
[Exit with Boy
Ant. As many blessings as the sea hath sands,
Attend thee in thine honourable journey.
Come pretty maids, we have not wrought to-day,
Or fish or fast, our need must needs obey. [Exeunt

SCENE III.—Venice. The Duke's Palace.

Enter HIPPOLITO, FRANCISCO, FLORIMEL, and Page meeting them.

Fran. Now, sirrah, what have you been about?
Page. About my living, sir.
Hip. What's that? feeding?
Page. No, sir, looking into the under-officers about the court.
Hip. Canst get any living out of them?
Page. Ay, sir, my betters get good livings out of officers, and why
not
I? but to be plain, I have been seeking your good lordship.
Fran. But your boyship hath so sought us, that we have found you.
Page. Will you sell your findings, my lord?
Hip. They are scarce worth giving.
Fio. Yes, a box to keep them in, for fear you lose them again.
Page. An I were a man as I am no woman, l'd pepper your box for that
jest.
Flo. You jest.
Page. In earnest law I would, madam.
Fran. Well, sir, no more, here comes our royal father.

Enter OCTAVIO, HORTENSIO, FLAMINEO, with Attendants.

Oct. How now, my boys? provided for your journey?
Beauty conduct you: what, attired like shepherds?
I thought to have seen you mounted on your steeds,
Whose fiery stomachs from their nostrils breathe
The smoke of courage, and whose wanton mouths
Do proudly play upon their iron bits;
And you, instead of these poor weeds, in robes
Richer than that which Ariadne wrought,
Or Cytherea's airy-moving vestment.
Thus should you seem like lovers; suited thus
You'd draw fair ladies' hearts into their eyes,
And strike the world dead with astonishment.
Fran. Father, such cost doth pass your sons' revenues.
We take example from immortal Jove,
Who like a shepherd would repair to love.
Oct. And gentle love conduct you both, my sons;
Daughter, go bring them onward in their way.
Were we not called back by important business,
We would not leave you thus.—[Aside] Hortensio,
Is my disguise prepared? for I unknown
Will see how they behave themselves in love.
Hort. 'Tis done, my lord.
Oct. Once more, my boys, adieu.
[Aside.] He sends you forth that means to follow you.
[Exit.
Flo. Now, brothers, you must amongst these wenches;
faith, for a wager, which shall get the fairest?
Fran. I'll gagea hundred crowns mine proves the fairest.
Hip. A match, I'll venture twice so much of mine.
Flo. And I'll lay 'gainst you both, that both your loves,
get them when you can, where you can, or how you can,
shall not be able to compare with me in beauty.
Fran. That wager I'll take, for 'tis surely won.
Hip. 'Las, thou art but a star to beauty's sun.
Flo. Star me no stars, go you and stare for love;
I'll stay at home, and with my homely beauty
Purchase a love, shall think my looks as fair
As those fair loves that you shall fetch so far;
But take your course, fate send you both fair luck.
Fran. How if 't be foul?
Flo. Nay, if't be forked, you must bear it off with head and
shoulders.
Fran. O stale, that jest runs o'the lees.
Flo. You must consider 'tis drawn out of the bottom of my wit.
Fran. O shallow wit, at the bottom so soon.
Flo. Deep enough to lay you in the mire.
Page. Or else 'tis shallow indeed, for they are foundered
already; but
I must play dun, and draw them all out o' the mire.—What's
o'clock my lord?
Flo. Which of them dost ask? thou seest they are two.
Page. What two are are they, madam?
Flo. Why, two fools
Fran. Is it not past two? doth it not come somewhat
near three, sister?
Page. Show perryall and tak't; but come, my lord, you have stood
fooling long enough, will you about your business in good earnest?
Fran. Indeed we will.
Flo. And they are deeds you must trust too, for
woman will respect your
words but slightly without deeds.
Page. Why are women called angels, but because they delight in good
deeds? and love Heaven, but that it will not be won without them?
Fran. They shall have deeds.
Flo. Brother, and good deeds too:
They are tongues that men must speak with when they woo.
Hip. That tongue we'll practise; sister, to love we leave you.
[Exeunt HIPPOLITO and FRANCISCO.
Flo. Lovers, take heed lest cunning love deceive you.
[Exit with Page.

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.—The Country near Venice.

Enter OCTAVIO disguised, HORTENSIO, and FLAMINEO.

OCT. No more; thus suited I'll attend my sons.
Impute it not to any ruffian vein,
But to a father's wakeful providence.
Lovers like bees are privileged to taste
All buds of beauty; should they chance to light
Upon some worthless weed I'll hinder it:
The eyes of youth will now and then dwell there
Whereas they should not glance; this doubt I fear.
Fla. And well advised, my liege; should they incline
To love not fitting their estates and births,
You with your present counsel may prevent them.
Oct. That's my intent; and further, in my absence
I leave my land and daughter to thy charge.
The girl is wanton; if she gad abroad
Restrain her, bound her in her chamber door;
My word's thy warrant, let her know so much.
Farewell, at home I leave my fear with thee,
And follow doubt abroad.
Hort. I'll careful be.
[Exeunt HORTENSIO and FLAMINEO.
Oct. Now to my business; I have a strange habit, and must cut out a
humour suitable to it, and humours are picked so near the bone, a man can
scarce
get humour enough to give a flea his breakfast: but I am a stale ruffian, my
habit is brave, and so shall my humour be, and here comes one to give me
earnest
of it.

Enter ASPERO and Boy.

Asp. Send him a letter that I come to kill him.
Boy. 'Twere great valour, but little policy, my lord.
Asp. How long have you been a Machiavellian, boy?
Boy. Ever since I practised to play the knave, my lord;
Asp. Then policy and knavery are somewhat akin?
Boy. As near as penury and gentry; a degree and a half removed, no
more.
Asp. How came in the kin 'twixt gentry and penury?
Oct. Shall I tell you, sir?
Asp. First, tell me what thou art?
Oct. Lime and hair; plaster of Paris kneaded together with rye-dough
and goats' milk; I am of a hot constitution, wonnot freeze.
Asp. Thy profession?
Oct. A fool or a knave, choose you which.
Boy. Then thou art fit for any gentleman's company.
Oct. True, boy, for your sweet fool and your fine knave are
like a pair
of upright shoes, that gentlemen wear so long, now of one foot, then of another
,
till they leave them never a good sole.
Asp. That makes your fool and your knave have such bad souls; but
what
dost thou seek?
Oct. Mine own undoing, sir,—service.
Asp. Indeed service is like the common law, it undoes any one that
follows it long. Canst describe service?
Oct. Yes, 'tis a vacant place, filled up with a complete knave, a
miserable pander, or an absolute beggar.
Asp. Your opinion, boy?
Boy. I say a serving-man is an antecedent.
Oct. Because he fits like a cloak-bag?
Boy. He is likewise a nominative case, and goes before his mistress.
Oct. That's when the verb he goes before, his mistress, and he can
agree together.
Boy. If not, he turns accusative and follows his master.
Asp. Woo't follow me, fellow?
Oct. To a tavern, an thou woo't pay for my ordinary.
Asp. My business is more serious, thou dost not know me.
Oct. Nor myself neither, so long as I have maintenance.
Asp. Didst never hear of the wars betwixt Venice and Mantua?
Oct. I cut some few of the Mantuans' throats.
Asp. And wert not a knave for't?
Oct. No, I was a Venetian commander, a great man. The reason of this
question?
Asp. Dost know the Duke of Venice?
Oct. I am his right hand.
Asp. Woo't do me a message to him?
Oct. What is't?
Asp. Tell him I hate him; my name's Aspero; he has banished my
father,
usurps his dukedom, and I come to be revenged.
Oct. Antonio's son? 'udsfoot, hast any gold?
Asp. Thy reason?
Oct. 'Shalt be revenged. Give me money, I'll be thy snail and
score out
a silver path to his confusion.
Asp. No, my revenge shall be like my father's wrongs, in aperto;
lend me any honest aid.
Oct. Pox of honesty, it goes a-begging upon crutches; and can get
relief out of few but scholars. I shall not kill him?
Asp. I'd be thy death first.
Oct. Yet you say you hate him.
Asp. Equal with my shame.
Oct. Make him chew a bullet then.
Asp. No, though my state with poverty be tainted, Mine acts
and honour
shall live still acquainted.
Oct. [Aside] True moulded honour: I admire the temper
Of thy mild patience; that not all the wrongs
I laid upon thee can enforce thy spleen
To foul requital: had thy coming ta'en
Any base level, it had cost thy life;
But being free, and full of honour, live;
Thy virtues teach me honour; freely go:
A secret friend's worse than an open foe.—
You are too honest for my attendance; farewell, sir.
[Exit.
Asp. And thou too knavish for my employment.
But here comes more company.

Enter FLORIMEL and Page.

Flo. Boy, let your attendance wait further off; under this shade I
mean
to take a sleep.
Page. And may you, madam, like a soldier sleep.
Flo. How, boy, in alarums?
Page. No, lady, but in arms, and you had need of them too; for see the

enemy comes down. Shall I sound a parley?
Flo. Peace, wag.
Page. Peace! O coward, offer peace and but two to two of them!
Flo. Boy, dost thou know what gentleman it is?
Page. Gentle madam, no; but he is a man.
Flo. Believe me, boy, he is a proper man.
Page. Man is a proper name to a man, and so he may be a proper man.
Flo. I love him, he's a very proper man.
Page. She loves him for his properties, and indeed many women love
men
only to make properties of them.
Flo. Pray, gentleman, if no more, tell me where you were born.
Asp. Fair virgin, if so much, no where, some where, any where, where
you would have me.
Flo. Faith, I would have it.
Asp. Marry, and you shall have it, lady.
Flo. What shall I have, sir?
Asp. Why, a kiss.
Flo. Nothing else? we courtiers count them trifles, not worth taking.
Asp. Why then, bestow one of me; I'll take it most thankfully.
Flo. I will not stand with you for a trifle, sir; pray where were you
born?
Asp. In Italy, but never yet in Venice.
Flo. You may in Venice; gentle sir, adieu. [Exit.
Asp. Gentle lady, thrice as much to you.
Page. Farewell, sweet heart. [Exit.
Boy. Gad a mercy, bagpudding.
Asp. "You may in Venice; gentle sir, adieu." This begets wonder.
Boy. You're not wise then; what do you take her for?
Asp. Some great woman.
Boy. Some woman great with child. Be ruled; she's a pink. Board her.
Asp. But how? the means?
Boy. Make but a shot of flattery at her broadside, and she'll strike
sail presently.
Asp. Flattery?
Boy. Ay, flattery; women are like fiddlers; speak them fair, they'll
play of any instrument.
Asp. Ay, that they can play of.
Boy. She's a botcher that cannot play a little of all.
Asp. And too common that will play too much of any; but come, I'll
use
means to get her.
Boy. Nay, you must first have means to give her.
Asp. Why, in the course of scholarship the genitive case goes before
the dative.
Boy. The grammarians are fools that placed them so; for in rerum
natura the dative goes before the genitive; you must always give before you
can get; lovers are fools, and fools must be liberal.
Asp. Will not women respect a man for his good parts?
Boy. Yes, some few; but all for his good gifts. A gentleman with his
good gifts sits at the upper end of the table on a chair and a cushion, when a
scholar with his good parts will be glad of a joint-stool in the lobby with
the
chambermaids.
Asp. I will have good gifts and show myself liberal too, though I beg
for't,
Boy. I think that will be the end; for penury has ta'en a lease of
your
pocket to keep court in this Christmas.
Asp. Well, howsoe'er, she's fair and courteous;
And courteous fair is a fair gift in ladies:
She may be well descended; if she be,
She's fit for love, and why not then for me? [Exit.
Boy. An you be not fitted in Venice 'tis strange, for 'tis counted the
best flesh-shambles in Italy: but here's no notable coward, that having
suffered
wrong by a man, seeks to right himself of a woman. [Exit, following.

SCENE II.—The Country between Venice and Mantua.

Enter HIPPOLITO and FRANCISCO, as Shepherds, OCTAVIO in
disguise.

Oct. Look you sir, I am like an Irish beggar and an English burr, will
stick close where I find a good nap; I must and will dwell with you.
Fran. What canst do?
Oct. Still aquavitæ, stamp crabs, and make mustard; I can do as
much as all the men you keep.
Fran. Prithee, what?
Oct. Why undo you, and twenty could do no more. But business;
come, my
wits grow rusty for employment.
Fran. Canst keep counsel?
Oct. My mother was a midwife.
Hip. Hast any skill in love?
Oct. I am one of Cupid's agents; have Ovid's Ars Amandi ad
ungues;
know causam, and can apply remedium, and minister effectum to a
hair. But why do you ask? have you traversed an action in love's spiritual
court?
Fran. Not to dissemble, we have.
Oct. And without dissembling, you'll never come out of it;
but tell me
true, are you in love already? or have you but desire to be in love?
Fran. Indeed I am in love to be in love.
Hip. And I desire to live in fond desire,
And yet I doubt to touch blind fancy's fire.
Oct. 'Tis good to doubt, but 'tis not good to fear,
Yet still to doubt will at the last prove fear;
Doubt love, 'tis good, but 'tis not good to fear it,
Love hurts them most, that least of all come near it.
Fran. Then to doubt love is the next way to love.
Oct. Doubtless it is, if you misdoubt not love.
Hip. Doubt and misdoubt, what difference is there here?
Oct. Yes, much; when men misdoubt, 'tis said they fear.
Fran. But is it good in love to be in doubt?
Oct. No, not in love, doubt then is jealousy:
'Tis good to doubt before you be in love;
Doubt counsels how to shun love's misery.
Fran. Your doubtful counsel counsels us to love.
Oct. To equal love, I like experience speak.
Hip. Experienced lover, you have spoken well.
Oct. Experience-wanting lovers, truth I tell;
Young wits be wise, in love live constant still,
You need nor doubt good hap, nor misdoubt ill.

Enter LUCIDA and HERMIA with angles.

And see, your discourse has conjured up beauty in the likeness of two country-
maids, but you shall not come in the circles of their arms, if I can keep you
out.
Fran. These are too mean for love; brother, let's leave them.
Oct. What, speechless? will you make dumb virgins of them?
Hip. Oh, we are sons of a great father.
Oct. So is the sun of Heaven, yet he smiles on the bramble as well as
the lily; kisses the cheek of a beggar as lovingly as a gentlewoman, and 'tis
good to imitate him, 'tis good.
Her. Say, sister, had we not fine sport to-day?
Luc. We had, if death may be accounted play.
Her. Why, 'tis accounted pleasure to kill fish.
Luc. A pleasure nothing pleasure to the fish.
Her. Yet fishes were created to be killed.
Luc. Cruel creation then, to have lives spilled.
Her. Their bodies being food, maintain our breath.
Luc. What bodies then have we, to live by death?
Her. Come, come, you vainly argue; it is good.
Luc. What, it is good to kill? O God, O God!
Her. If it be sin, then you your self's a sinner.
Luc. I thank proud fortune for't, my woes' beginner.
Oct. 'Foot, are ye not ashamed to stand by like idle ciphers, and
such
places of account void? and if they had been rich offices, and you poor
courtiers, you would have been in them in half the time.
Fran. Though against stomach—
Oct. Nothing against stomach, an you love me.
Hip. Fair maids, if so you be, you are well met.
Her. Shepherds, or be what else you are, well met.
Fran. 'Tis well, if that well met we be to you.
Luc. If not to us, you are unto your selves.
Hip. We did not meet, you saw us come together.
Her. Whate'er we saw, you met ere you came hither.
Fran. We did, we met in kindred, we are brothers.
Luc. So shepherds, we did meet, for we are sisters.
Hip. Then, sisters, let us brothers husbands be.
Her. So, brothers, without our leaves, you well may be.
Fran. Say, we desire to husband it with you,
Luc. Know we desire no husbands such as you.
Hip. A shepherd is an honest trade of life.
Her. Yet shepherd has with honest trade some strife.
Hip. He seldom swears but by his honesty.
Her. So honest men do too as well as he.
Fran. But will you trust a shepherd when he vows?
Luc. No, never; if that his oath be that he loves.
Hip. Yet if I swear, that needs must be mine oath.
Her. Swear not, for we are misbelievers both.
Fran. Let us persuade you to believe we love you.
Luc. First, we entreat you give us time to prove you.
Hip. Take time, meantime we'll praise ye to our powers.
Her. O time, sometime shepherds have idle hours.
Fran. I'll say thy cheek no natural beauty lacks.
Luc. Good, if it had been spoke behind our backs.
Hip. I'll say this is the Heaven of heavenly graces.
Her. O Heaven, how they can flatter to our faces.
[Exeunt HERMIA and LUCIDA.
Fran. Brother, the last is fairest in my eye.
Hip. Ay, but the first, brother, is first in beauty.
Fran. First in your choice, but not in beauty sir.
Oct. [Aside] Come ye so near as choice: 'tis time for me to stop,
for fear the music runs too far out of tune.—
How now, gallants? in dumps?
Fran. No, but in love.
Oct. That's a dump, love's nothing but an Italian dump or a French
brawl.
Hip. Methinks 'tis sweeter music.
Oct. An 'twere in tune, I confess it; but you take your parts too
low,
you are treble courtiers, and will never agree with these country
minnikins; the
music's too base, never meddle in't.
Fran. Peace, dotard, peace; thy sight of love is done,
Thou canst not see the glory of love's sun:
Spent age with frosty clouds thy sight doth dim,
That thou art blind to see, and apt to sin.
Oct. Is it accounted sin to speak the truth?
Mip. And worse, when age spits poison against youth.
Oct. They do not fit your callings; let them go.
Fran. Yet they are fair: we love; thou art love's foe.
Oct. I am your friend, and wish you from this love.
Hip. Canst thou heave hills? then thou my thoughts may'st move,
But never else.
Oct. Never?
Fran. No, never.
Oct. Stay.
Hip. We are bound for love.
Oct. Hate.
Fran. Hinder not our way.
[Exeunt HIPPOLITO and FRANCISCO.
Oct. Ay, boys; will eagle's eaglets turn to bastards?
Then must I change my vein, and once more prove,
To teach you how to hate as well as love. [Exit, following.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.—The Country near Venice.

Enter FLORIMEL and Page.

PAGE. Sweet honey candy madam, if it be no forfeit to tell tales
out of Cupid's
free school, tell what proficient your lover Aspero proves?
Flo. Now, so love help me, la, a passing weak one and very unready.
Page. The better, for women would have their lovers unready to choose.
Flo. How ready you are to play the knave! But to Aspero.
Page. I do not think but there's good music in him; your tongue harps
so much upon his name.
Flo. I shall never forget him.
Page. I'faith, lady, then I know what I know.
Flo. What do you know, I pray?
Page. Marry, that if you never forget him, you shall ever remember
him.
Was he never in your chamber?
Flo. Yes, but he showed himself the strangest fool. And by my troth,
la, I am sorry for't too. I had as good an appetite to maintain
discourse—but here a comes. [Enter ASPERO.]—If ever I choose
a man
by the fulness of his calf, or a cock by the crowing—Look, an the bashful
fool do not blush already.
Page. You may do well to kiss him, and make him bold, madam.
Flo. Boy, go know what strange gentleman that is?
Asp. 'Slid, what a strange lady's this? Madam, though I seem a
stranger
to you, I lay with one last night that's well acquainted with you.
Flo. Acquainted with me?
Asp. And knows you, and loves you, and you love him, and have
bestowed
kind favours of him too.
Flo. I bestow favours! what favours?
Asp. Though 'twere but a trifle, he took it as kindly as some would
have done; a kiss.
Flo. Lord, what a while this jest has been a brooding! and it proves
but addle, too, now it is hatched.
Asp. 'Tis a pig of your own sow, madam; and I hope your wit
will bestow
the nursing of it.
Flo. So it had need, I think; 'tis like to have but a dry nurse of
yours.
Page. O, dry jest! all the wit in your head will scarce make sippets
in't. What! aground, and such a fair landing place? get ashore, or be ranked
among fools for ever.
Flo. And faith, is't not a pity such a proper man should keep company
with a fool?
Asp. I keep company with none but you, lady.
Flo. You keep mine against my will.
Asp. So do I the fools, I protest; but take away yours, I'll soon
shift
away the fools.
Page. I have not seen a fool so handsomely shifted in Venice.
Asp. But come, shall the fool and you be friends?
Flo. The fool and I? you're too familiar.
Asp. Why, I hope a fool may be a lady's familiar at all times.
Flo. Come, you're too saucy.
Asp. Indeed, 'tis a fool's part of Joan to be in the sauce afore my
lady; otherwise, I am neither fool nor saucy.
Flo. Not, proud sir?
Asp. Not, coy lady; come, why should your tongue make so many false
fires that never come from your heart? you love me, I know you love me; your
spirit, your look, your countenance bewrays it.
Flo. You jest.
Asp. In earnest you do, and you shall know't in earnest too: lend me
this jewel.
Flo. Jewel? away, you sharking companion.
Asp. How?
Flo. Wandering stravagant, that like a drone flies humming from one
land to another!
Page. 'Slight, an thou hast any wit, now show her thy sting.
Flo. And lightest upon every dairy-maid and kitchen-wench.
Asp. And now and then on a lady's lip, as—
Flo. You did of mine, you would say; and I am heart-sorry you can say
it; and when by your buzzing flattery you have sucked the smallest favour from
them, you presently make wing for another.
Asp. Marry, buzz.
Flo. Double the zard, and take the whole meaning for your labour.
Page. The buzzard's wit's not so bald yet, I trow.
Asp. A word in your ear, madam; the buzzard will anger you.
Flo. With staying, you do.
Asp. With going, I shall.
Flo. Away.
Asp. Ay, away; never entreat, 'tis too late: if you send after me, I
will not come back; if you write to me, I will not answer; drown your eyes in
tears, I will not wipe them; break your heart with sighs, I will not pity you:
never look, signs cannot move me; if you speak, 'tis too late; if you entreat,
'tis bootless; if you hang upon me, 'tis needless: I offered love, and you
scorned it; my absence will be your death, and I am proud on't.
[Exit.
Flo. Is he gone, boy?
Page. Yes, faith, madam.
Flo. Clean out of sight?
Page. And out of mind too, or else you have not the mind of a true
woman.
Flo. Thou read'st a false comment, boy; call him again; yet do not,
my
heart shall break ere it bend.
Page. Or else it holds not the true temper of womanhood; but faith,
tell me, madam, do you love him?
Flo. As a Welshman doth toasted cheese; I cannot dine without him;
he's
my pillow, I cannot sleep quietly without him; my rest, I cannot live without
him.
Page. O that he knew it, lady,
Flo. He does; he would never have left me else. He does.
Page. You called him fool, but methinks he proves a physician, has
found the disease of your liver by the complexion of your looks; but see, he
returns.

Re-enter ASPERO, as meditating.

Flo. And now, methinks, I loathe him more than I loved him; go run for
Hortensio my guardian, bid him come armed; there's intent of treason, tell
him.
Page. My lady cannot choose but dance well, she's so full of pretty
changes. [Exit.
Flo. I wonder you dare come in my sight, considering the wrong you did
me.
Asp. I came I confess, but with no intent to see you I protest, and
that shall be manifested by the shortness of my stay.
Flo. 'Tis too long, an 'twere shorter than 'tis:—[Aside] will

he not court me? not? nor speak to me neither? — Nay, never ask pardon,
'tis too late, we shall ha' you come to my window one o' these mornings with
music; but do not, my patience is too much out of tune; out of my sight, I
hate
thee worse than I loathe painting; I hate thee, out of my sight.
Asp. Enough; will you be a quiet woman yet? will you speak before my
resolve takes strength? will you? do but say you are sorry, I ask no mends but
a
kiss, kindly, come: shall I ha't?
Flo. I'll kiss a toad first.
Asp. You will remember this another time; a toad! you will: I know
thou
lov'st me, and I see the pride of thy humour; I do, and thou shalt know I do;
half an hour hence we shall have you weeping on your knees with "O my Aspero,
would I had died when I rejected thee!" but do, weep till I pity thee; a toad!
I'll make thee creep on thy knees for a kiss.
Flo. You will?
Asp. Thy bare knees; I will,—and go without it too.
Flo. Out-humoured? O, I would sell my part of immortality.
Asp. But to touch my hand, thou would'st, I know thou would'st.
Flo. O, how spleen swells me! Help, Hortensio! Creep a my knees?
Hortensio!

Enter HORTENSIO and ASSISTANCE.

Hort. How fares my beauteous charge? weeping, lady?
The law shall fetch red water from his veins
That hath drawn blood of your eyes; is this the traitor?
Asp. Traitor! in thy disloyal throat thou liest.
Page. O monstrous, a wishes you choked, my lord.
Hort. How? choked?
Page. Ay, choked; for a wishes the traitor in your throat; and he's a
very small traitor that is not able to choke a wiser man than your lordship.
Hort. Down with him.
Page. Ay, down with him, if he stick in your throat, and spare not.
Flo. Do not kill him; though he deserves death, yet do not kill him,
only disweapon him; so.
Hort. But, madam—
Flo. I will not hear him; keep him; but keep him safe on your lives;
if
he get away or miscarry in prison, as I am heir of Venice, I'll have your
heads
for't.
[HORTENSIO and ASSISTANCE bind ASPERO.
Hort. I warrant you, madam, if irons will hold him.
Flo. Fie, fie, with a cord? Here, bind him with my scarf, that will
hold; and yet stand away, I'll do't myself; I cannot trust him with you, lest
you should let him sometime 'scape free; besides, you cannot use him according
to the quality of his offence, and, because I'll glory in his bondage, my
chamber shall be his prison; let him have neither light, meat nor drink, but
what I provide him myself.
Hort. Your will's a law; we obey it, madam.
Asp. She knows me sure; well, though my joys be thrall,
My comfort's this, a speedy death ends all.
[Exeunt ASPERO, HORTENSIO, and ASSISTANCE.
Flo. O, you are not gone, then.
Page. Here's a new kind of courting, never seen before, I think.
Flo. He would anger me.
Page. Nay, you would take a course to anger him first, I think.
Flo. Should I have let him go (as I could no other way detain him in
modesty), and he had set his love on some other, 'twould have fretted my
heart-
strings asunder.
Page. Why did you set him so light then?
Flo. Not for any hate, but in pride of my humour.
Page. Why did you command him close prisoner to your chamber?
Flo. That I may feed mine eye with the sight of him, and be sure no
other beauty can rob me of his company: I will ha't all, I will not lose an inc
h
of him. And in this I but imitate our Italian dames, who cause their friends
to
clap their jealous husbands in prison, that if they have occasion to use them
within forty weeks and a day, they may surely know where to find them.
[Exit.
Page. If I had any knavery in me, as I am all honesty, I could make a
notable scene of mirth between these two amorists. [Exit, following.

SCENE II.—The Country between Venice and Mantua.

Enter ANTONIO with a net.

Ant. Early sorrow, art got up so soon?
What, ere the sun ascendeth in the East?
O what an early waker art thou grown!
But cease discourse, and close unto thy work;
Under this drooping myrtle will I sit,
And work awhile upon my corded net,
And, as I work, record my sorrows past,
Asking old Time, how long my woes shall last.
And first,—but stay, alas! what do I see?
Moist gum, like tears, drop from this mournful tree;
And see, it sticks like birdlime; 'twill not part;
Sorrow is even such birdlime at my heart.
Alas, poor tree, dost thou want company?
Thou dost, I see't, and I will weep with thee;
Thy sorrows make thee dumb, and so shall mine,
It shall be tongueless, and so seem like thine.
Thus will I rest my head unto thy bark,
Whilst my sighs tell my sorrows; hark, tree, hark.

Enter HIPPOLITO and FRANCISCO, still as Shepherds.

Fran. Fie, fie, how heavy is light love in me!
Hip. How slow runs swift desire!
Fran. This leaden air,
This ponderous feather, merry melancholy.
Hip. This passion which but in passion
Hath not his perfect shape.
Fran. And sleepless love
Hath in his watch of love o'erslept himself.
Hip. Then, sleepy wakers, leave this grove; let's wander,
And wait the ascension of beauty's wonder.
But stay, a man striving 'twixt life and death!
Fran. Nay, then 'tis so, my heavenly love's gone by, And struck him
dead with her love-darting eye.
Hip. If speech-bereaving love will let thee speak,
Then, speechless man, speak with the tongue of love,
And tell me, if thou saw'st not Cynthia
Seeking Endymion in these flowery dales.
Ant. Dales for Endymion and fair Cynthia fit,
But never heavenly goddess blest this grove;
These woods are consecrate to grief, not love.
Fran. Out, atheist, thou profan'st love's deity;
For, false-reporter, I in them have seen
A love that makes a negro of Love's queen;
One that, whenas the sun keeps holiday,
Her beauty clads him in his best array.
Ant. Now truly, shepherd, none such sojourn here;
Please you survey the cell, go in and see;
I'm hearsed, and none but sorrow lies with me.

Enter LUCIDA.

Fran. Call you this sorrow's cave?

Enter OCTAVIO and whispers with ANTONIO.

Hip. Rather a cell,
Where pleasure grows, and none but angels dwell.
Fran, To what compare shall I compare thee to? Incomparable beauty's
paragon!
Hip. I will compare her beauty to the sun,
For her bright lustre gives the morning light.
Fran. I'll say she is like Cynthia when day's done, Or lady to the
mistress of the night.
Hip. O speak but to me, and I shall be blest.
Fran. One smile would lay my jarring thoughts at rest.

Enter HERMIA.

Her. How now, fair sister? you are hard beset.
Hip. Nymph!
Fran. Goddess!
Hip. Saint! once more, you're both well met.
Fran. O she is fair.
Hip. She fairer.
Fran. Both more fair
Than rocks of pearl, or the chaste evening air.
Hip. Say, sweet, intend you not to fish to-day?
Her. No, shepherds, now fish do not bite but play.
Fran. What time, sweet love, keep fishes when they bite?
Luc. Early i' the morning, or else late at night.
Hip. Come, will you talk with me till time of fishing?
Her. My father, sir, will chide if I be missing.
Oct. The match is made, they're even upon going.
Ant. What should we do?
Oct. Why, as poor parents and dutiful servants should do, run amongst
the bushes and catch flies.
Ant. Stay, forward daughters, whither are ye going?
Her. Father, I think these shepherds come a-wooing.
Ant. A-wooing, daughters? ne'er imagine so.
What man so mad to marry grief and woe? [joy.
Fran. Why, where lives sad grief? here's all speaking
Hip. O, I would live and die with such annoy.
Ant. But they are poor, and poverty is despised.
Hip. No, they are fair, beauty is highly prized.
Oct. 'Twill be a match, they are beating the price already.
Ant. They once were fair, sorrow from that hath changed them;
They once knew wealth, but chance hath much estranged them.
Fran. Have they been fair? what, fairer than they are?
Why, 'tis not possible, this heavenly fair
Hath only in itself beauties' exceed,
O then rich, fair, and only selves' exceed!
Ant. Come, daughters, and come, shepherds, if you please,
I'll lead you to the lodge of little ease,
Where I shall feast you with what cheer I may,
Grief shall turn mirth, and keep high holiday.
[Exeunt ANTONIO with HERMIA and LUCIDA. On HIPPOLITO
and FRANCISCO following, OCTAVIO stays them.
Oct. A word with you; you mean to marry these wenches?
Hip. and Fran. We do.
Oct. And are going to contract yourselves?
Hip. and Fran. We are.
Hip. And what say you to this?
Oct. God speed you; I would have you marry on Saint Luke's day.
Fran. Why?
Oct. Because I would offer at your wedding.
Fran. Come, thou'rt all envy, feed upon thy hate,
This day our quest of love shall terminate.
[Exeunt HIPPOLITO and FRANCISCO.
Oct. Not if I live; this malady of love
Is grown so strong it will not be driven out.
To see the folly of a doating father!
What toil I had to fashion them to love,
And how 'tis doubled to misfashion them!
They shall not wed, yet how shall I prevent it?
Fearing the event, I have forethought a means.
And here it lies; swaggering becomes not age;
Now like the fox, I'll go a pilgrimage.
Frolic, my boys, I come to mar your sport;
Your country music must not play at court.
But first I'll write back to Hortensio
For apprehension of young Aspero.
They have not yet dined, I'll bid myself their guest:
Religion beg? a fashion in request. [Exit.

SCENE III.—Venice. A Chamber in the Duke's Palace.

Enter ASPERO and Boy.

Asp. Art sure she hates me, boy?
Boy. More than her death. I have been in her bosom, sir; and this day
she intends your execution.
Asp. My execution! the reason of her hate?
Boy. Her humour; nothing but a kind of strange cross humour in that
you
rejected her love.
Asp. That's not capital.
Boy. Not to cross a great one's humour? no treason more: great
personages' humours are puritans; they'll as lief endure the devil as soon
as a
cross; and can away with him better.
Asp. I will submit, ask pardon on my knee.
Boy. Is your proud humour come down, i' faith, your high humour that
would not stoop an inch of the knees? I'll help't up again, an't be but to
uphold the jest. I must bring her as low ere I have done. O base, I would
rather
lay my neck under the axe of her hate, than my sport under the feet of her
humour; but be counselled, I'll teach you to prevent both; and perchance, make
her upstart humour stoop gallant, too.
Asp. I'll hold thee my best jewel, an thou dost.
Boy. And pawn me as poor lords do their jewels, too, will you not?
receive me, you shall counterfeit yourself dead.
Asp. The life of that jest?
Boy It may be, she dissembles all this while; loves you, and puts on
this show of hate of purpose to humble you: she may, and I believe—
Asp. What?
Boy. That most intelligencers are knaves, and some women dissemblers;
being thought dead (as let me alone to buzz that into the credulous ear of the
court) if she have any sparks of love, they'll kindle and flame bright through
the cinders of her heart.
Asp. If not?
Boy. If not, 'twill be a means for your escape: I'll say you
requested,
at your death, to be buried at your native city; and what courtier, if a
Christian, can deny that?
Asp. I am all thine, my humour's thy patient.
Boy. And if I do not kill it, I am not worthy to be your physician.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—The same.

Enter FLORIMEL and Page.

Page. Ay, marry, Lady; why, now you credit your sex! a woman's honour
or humour should be like a ship under sail; split her keel ere she vail.

Enter Boy.

Flo. I'll split my heart, ere my humour strike sail. Here comes his
page. How now, boy? how doth your master?
Boy. Well, madam, he.
Flo. Well?
Boy. Very well.
Flo. Where is he?
Boy. Where none of your proud sex will ever come, I think: in heaven.
Flo. Is he dead?
Boy. See, madam; and seeing blush; and blushing shame, that your
ungentle humour should be the death of so good and generous a spirit.
[Discovers ASPERO lying on a table, and seemingly dead.
Flo. My Aspero dead!
Boy. See, madam, what a mutation.
Flo. I see too much; and curse my proud humour that was the cause of
it. Aspero, kind soul; proud sullen Florimel; disdainful humour, that in one
minute hast eternally undone me: I would not kiss the living substance, that
being dead, dote on thy picture. O, I loved thee ever with my soul! O let me
kiss this shroud of beauty! I would not accept thee living, that being dead,
on
my knees adore thee; could kisses recover thee, I would dwell on thy lips,
kneel
till my knees grew to the ground, dear, gentle Aspero.
She that procured thy death, will die with thee;
And crave no heaven, but still to lie with thee.
[ASPERO starts up.
Asp. I take you at your word, lady. Nay, never recant, I have witness
on't now; is your proud humour come down? could you not have said so at first,
and saved me a labour of dying?
Flo. Lives Aspero?
Asp. Live, quotha? 'sfoot, what man would be so mad to lie in his
cold
grave alone, and may lie in a warm bed with such a beautiful wife as this will
be? have I ta'en your humour napping, i'faith?
Flo. Am I o'erreached?
Asp. In your humour, madam, nothing else; and I am as proud on't.
Flo. Do not flout me; an you do, I shall grow into my humour again.
Asp. In jest?
Flo. In earnest I shall, and then I know what I know.
Asp. You may; but an you do, I shall die again.
Flo. In jest?
Asp. Nay, in earnest, madam, and then—
Flo. No more; thou hast driven me clean out of conceit with my
humour.
I love thee, I confess it: 'shalt be my husband, I'll live with thee; thou art
my life, and I'll die with thee.
What more I mean is coated in my look:
If thou accept'st it, swear.
Asp. I kiss the book.
Flo. Boy, run to the master of my gondola, and will him attend me
after
supper at the garden stairs; I mean to take the evening air, tell him.
Page. It shall be done, madam. [Exit.
Flo. Nay, if I say the word, it shall be done, Aspero.
Boy. Look to yourself, my lord; I lay my life my lady means to steal
you away to night.
Asp. Away? I'll call Hortensio, I'll not be accessory to your felony,
madam.

Enter HORTENSIO with a letter, and ASSISTANCE.

Flo. The fool comes without calling.
Ass. [To HORT.] You shall know him by these signs.
Hort. Good figure, very good figure; for as the house is found out by
the sign, so must this traitor be scented out by the token; up with the first
sign, good Assistance.
Ass. A proper man without a beard.
Hort. How, a proper man without a beard? we shall scarce find that
sign
in all Venice: for the properness of a man lives altogether in the fashion of
his beard; good Assistance, the next.
Ass. Fair-spoken and well-conditioned.
Hort. More strange: you shall have many proper men fair-spoken,
but not
one amongst twenty well-conditioned: but soft; this should be the house, by the

sign; I must pick it out of him by wit.
Flo. As good say steal, my lord: what marrow-bone of wit is your
judgment going to pick now?
Hort. I must, like a wise justice of peace, pick treason out of this
fellow.
Flo. Treason?
Hort. Ay, treason, madam know you this hand?
Flo. My royal father's.
Hort. Then, whilst you and your father's letters talk together, let
me
examine this fellow: are you a proper man without a beard?
Asp. My properness, sir, contents me; for my beard, indeed that was
bitten the last great frost, and so were a number of justices of the peace
besides.
Hort. 'Tis rumoured about the court that your name is Aspero.
Asp. I am called Aspero.
Hort. Son to the Duke of Mantua that was?
Asp. The Duke of Mantua's son that is.
Hort. Then the Duke of Mantua has a traitor to his son; lay hands of
him, and to close prison with him.
Flo. Can he be closer than in my custody?
Hort. I do not think so, madam; but your father has imposed the trust
upon me.
Flo. And dare not you trust me?
Hort. With my head, if you were my wife; but not with my profit, if
you
were my mother: will you along, sir?
Asp. With all my heart, sir. See what your humour's come to now! I
go,
my lord, as willingly as a slave from the galleys: for as I shall have a
stronger prison, so I shall be sure of a kinder and a wiser jailor.
Flo. Do you observe how he flouts you, my lord? That I had been his
keeper but one night longer! But keep him close: if he escape (though against
thy will) as I am a maid—
Hort. A maid against your will.
Flo.—'shalt pay as dear for't as thou did'st for thy office.
Hort. If he 'scape, hang me.
[Exeunt HORTENSIO and ASSISTANCE with ASPERO.
Flo. I shall see thee hanged, if he do not: treason! I may thank my
peevish humour for't.

Enter Page.

Page. Madam, the gondola is ready.
Flo. Thou bring'st physic when the patient's dead, boy; our jest's
turned earnest.
Page. Is a dead in earnest?
Flo. As good, or rather worse; he's buried quick.
Page. O madam, many a good thing has been buried quick and survived
again; I would be buried quick myself, an I might choose my grave.
Flo. He's buried in close prison, boy; he's known for the Duke of
Mantua's son, an by my father's letters attached for a traitor.
Page. Good gentleman, an I be not sorry for him: who is his keeper?
Flo. The testy ass Hortensio.
Page. 'Udsfoot, let's enlarge him.
Flo. Not possible, boy.
Page. Not possible? 'tis: we'll cozen his keeper.
Flo. We cannot.
Page. Cannot! we can: your father made a lord of him; but be ruled by
me, his daughter shall make a fool of him. You are not the first woman has
made
a fool of a wiser lord than he is.
Flo. Shall he be cozened?
Page. As palpably as at the lottery. My brains are in labour of the
stratagem already. [Exeunt.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.—The Country between Venice and Mantua.

Enter ANTONIO, FRANCISCO, HIPPOLITO, HERMIA, LUCIDA, and OCTAVIO
disguised.

ANT. Sons of Octavio, if your princely thoughts
Can stoop to such mean beauty, from this hand
Receive your wives; but should the duke your father—
Fran. Fear not, old man, he was the means that breathed
This spirit into us.
Hip. Wooed us to this course.
But should he prove apostate, deny
Love which he first enforced us to profess,
So firm are our inseparate affections,
To win our loves we'd lose the names of sons.
Oct. Your father thanks you; but, hot-sprighted youths,
Take counsel from experience, ere ye tie
The Gordian knot which none but Heaven can loose.
Crave his consent: when an imperial hand
Shakes a weak shed, the building cannot stand.
Fran. Not stand? it shall: not Jove himself can ruin
The ground-works of our love.
Oct. Not Jove?
Hip. Not Jove,
Should a speak thunder; then go boldly on,
Our love admits no separation.
Oct. Then to mine office: in the sight of Heaven Your love is chaste.
Fran. and Hip. As innocence' white soul.
Oct. And yours.
Her. and Luc. And ours.
Oct. Then lend me all your hands.
Whilst thus a father's tongue forbids the banns.
[Discovers himself.
Forgetful boys! but most audacious traitor,
That durst in thought consent to wrong thy prince,
Out of my sight; no land that calls me lord
Shall bear a weight so hateful as thyself:
Live ever banished. If (three days expired)
Thou or these lustful strumpets—
Hip. Father!
Oct. Boys,
If you be mine, show't in obedience:
—If (three days past) you live within my dukedom,
Thee as a slave I'll doom unto the galleys,
And these thy brats as common prostitutes
Shall dry their lustful veins in the burdello.
Come, boys, to court; he that first gave you lives,
Will to your births provide you equal wives.
Fran. They have our loves.
Hip. Our oaths.
Fran. Our hearts and hands.
Oct. Tut, lovers' oaths, like toys writ down in sands,
Are soon blown o'er; contracts are common wiles
To entangle fools; Jove himself sits and smiles
At lovers' perjuries. Bawds, strumpets, hence!
My bosom's charged, give way to violence:
Come, do not mind them.
[Exeunt ANTONIO, HERMIA, and LUCIDA.
Fran. How? not mind them, father?
When in your court you courted us to love
You read another lecture: women then
Were angels.
Oct. True, but that was before angels
Had power to make them devils; they were then
Fiends to themselves, and angels unto men.
When upon Po thou find'st a coal-black swan,
Thou'st found a woman constant to a man.
Fran. And not afore?
Oct. Never afore.
Hip. Your tongue
Unspeaks your former speech.
Oct. It doth; new themes
Must have new change of rhetoric; all streams
Flow not one way; when I spake like a lover,
It was to break you from your soldier's humour;
Having made you lovers, I, like envy, speak
To make you hate love; Art still strives to break
Bad to make better.
Hip. and Fran. You have your wish.
Oct. Then onward to the court,
Make use of love as school-boys do of sport. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—Outside ASPERO's Prison.

Enter FLORIMEL and Page.

Flo. Call out the jailor, boy—yet do not; hast got a beard like
Hortensio?
Page. Yes, madam, I have got his hair; if I could come as easily by
his
wit!
Flo. Would'st rob him of his wit?
Page. If I should, he could not hang me for't: 'tis not worth
thirteen-
pence halfpenny. But what shall I with it?
Flo. Put it on, boy.
Page. That shall I, madam. O forward age, I am a man already: how do
you like me, lady?
Flo. Very ill, and my plot worse.
Page. Then leave 't off. If you be grounded in the plot, you will but
mar the comedy.
Flo. I purposed thou, in the habit of Hortensio, should'st under
pretence of removing Aspero to a new prison, have freed him out of the old
one.
Page. Tut, I can tell you a trick worth two of that; madam, your ear:
take some care in the managing, and let me alone to prepare it. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—ASPERO'S Prison.

Enter ASPERO and Boy.

Boy. 'Udsfoot, break prison, my lord, 'tis but swimming the river.
Asp. Break prison? 'twere both dishonour to my name, and treason to my
love; what benefit were 't for me to free my body, and leave my heart in
bondage? I'll die, ere I'll harbour a disloyal thought.
Boy. It bears no relish of disloyalty: being in prison, you live as
far
from love as liberty: being abroad you may by letters, or a thousand means
purchase her company, and compass your content.
Asp. 'Shalt be my lawyer, boy, and counsel me.
Boy. I'll look for my fee, then.
Asp. If thy counsel prospers.
Boy. That's an exception lawyers never respect; but come, my lord,
leap; as we have risen together, we'll fall together.

Enter HORTENSIO, FLORIMEL, and Page.

Asp. Blame me not, love.
Boy. 'Udsfoot, your jailor, my lord.
Asp. Am I prevented?
Boy. Yes faith, there had been a counsellor's fee cast away now.
Hort. You have heard his usage, lady, seen his lodging, and if it
please you, you both may and shall confer with him.
Flo. Prithee call him.
Boy. My lord, your keeper hath brought a lady or two to see you.
Asp. To see me? why, am I turned monster? doth he take money to show
me? what doth a take a-piece, trow?
Flo. Why, how now, gallant, not gone yet?
Asp. Not, I thank you, lady, and yet I was near 't.
Hort. How do you, man?
Asp. Musty for want of airing.
Flo. We'll have you hanged out i' the fresh air one of these
mornings.
Asp. You'd be glad to take me in, then.
Flo. Yes, when you had hanged abroad a little: but my Lord Hortensio
(for I think I must be your lady when all's done) what sport? I would be merry
a-purpose to make him mad: the room's private and fit for any exercise.
Page. 'Udsfoot, to her; can a woman offer fairer for't?
Hort. Why, shall we go to span-counter, madam?
Page. To span-counter! best ask her an she'll go to quoits.
Flo. No, I love some stirring exercise; my body's conditioned like
the
sun, it would never be out of motion.
Hort. I have't, i'faith; when I was student in Padua, we used a most
ingenious pastime.
Flo. The name, my lord?
Hort. I cannot give it a name equal to the merit. 'Tis vulgarly
called
blindman's-buff.
Page. Blindman's-buff? ha, ha, ha!
Hort. Do you laugh at it?
Flo. At the happiness of your wit, my lord, that you should hit upon
that sport, which of all other I delight in.
Hort. Will you hear an apology I made in the commendation of it?
Flo. We'll have the thing itself, first; and as we like that, we'll
hear your apology after. Who shall be hood-winked first?
Page. Who but the author?
Hort. I, I, none shall be blind but I; help off with my gown, boy.
Page. What shall we have to blind him?
Flo. My scarf: take my scarf, my lord.
Page. There's a simple favour for you.
Hort. And most fit, for indeed nothing blinds lovers sooner than
ladies' favours. But who shall blind me?
Flo. Marry, that will I, my lord; let me alone to blind you.
Hort. Good again; for who should blind men but beauteous women? Come,
sweet madam.
Flo. But how if you take me? as I know that will be your aim.
[Binds
her scarf over his eyes.
Hort. If I take you prisoner, madam, you must either be hood-winked
yourself, or give your conqueror a kiss for your ransom.
Flo. An easy ransom; I'll not be prisoner long, if a kiss
will enlarge
me. [They play at blindman's-buff.
Page. Lord, what scambling shift has he made for a kiss, and cannot get
it neither; a little higher, so, so, so; are you blind, my lord?
Hort. As a purblind poet: have amongst you, blind harpers.
Flo. Methinks he looks for all the world like god Cupid.
Page. Take heed of his dart, madam, he comes upon you.
Flo. He cannot come too fast. O I am taken prisoner.
Hort. Your ransom's but a kiss.
Flo. Is that your law of arms?
Hort. Yes, madam; but I'll take it on your lips.
Flo. My lips, like faithful treasurers, shall see it discharged.
Hort. And here are my honest receivers to take it.
[The Page puts his slipper to HORTENSIO'S lips; he kisses it.
Flo. Am I freed now?
Hort. As if you had served seven years for't; sweet kiss, rare lip!
Page. Has she not a sweet breath, my lord?
Hort. As perfume.
Page. And a soft lip?
Hort. And smooth as velvet; I could scarce discern it from velvet:
I'd
pawn my office for the fellow on't, madam.
Page. Here.
Flo. [Aside.] Here, Aspero, on with this beard and gown: I
think he
follows me by the scent. His hat, so.—
A narrow miss, i'faith, my lord!
Hort. Gone, madam.
Flo. Even upon going. [Aside.] One of you counterfeit my
voice.—There, I deceived you, my lord.
Hort. Have you deceived me, madam?
Flo. Not yet, but I will an you look not the better to't.
[Aside.]
Busy him till you think we are out of the court, and then follow us: you shall
find us at the south port.—Now or never, my lord.
[Exeunt FLORIMEL and ASPERO.
Hort. Why then 'twill never be, lady.
Boy. Here.
Hort. Where?
Boy. Here.
Hort. 'Scaped again?
Page. [Aside.] She's 'scaped indeed, my lord; you may cast your
cap
after her, for I see you can do no good upon her.
Hort. What, have I catched you?
Page. Kiss her and let her go.
Hort. King's truce till I breathe a little.
Page. [Aside.] And you had need so, for I think you are almost
out
of breath; if you be not, you shall be, and that's as good; but breathe and
spare not.

Re-enter ASPERO in HORTENSIO'S Gown, disguised, with FLORIMEL
and ASSISTANCE on the upper stage.

Asp. Did you ever converse with a more stranger dissolute, madam?
Flo. Peremptory Jack! Jailor, as you respect your office, lay special
watch that none of what degree soever have access to him.
Asp. Without me?
Ass. Or your signet.
Asp. Signet me no signets; your goldsmith's shop is like your swan's
nest, has a whole brood of signets, and all of a feather; and amongst many one
may be like another. Let none enter upon the stage where Aspero plays the
madman, without Hortensio.
Ass. Is he mad, my lord?
Asp. As the lord that gave all to his followers, and begged more for
himself.
Flo. If he call for me, tell him I scorn him.
Asp. If he counterfeit my voice—as mad fellows will counterfeit
great men's hands, and their tongues too—rate him for't, threaten him
with
the whip.
Flo. But come not at him.
Asp. If he call for meat, promise him fair.
Flo. But give him none.
Ass. If for light?
Flo. He may fire the house, let him have none.
Asp. If he chafe, laugh.
Flo. If he rail, sing.
Asp. If he speak fair, flout him.
Flo. Do anything to vex him.
Asp. But nothing to content him; you hear my charge, as you respect
your office, regard it.
Ass. I warrant you, my lord, let me alone, an we knew not how to
abuse
a prisoner, we were not worthy to be a jailor. [Exeunt.
[Blindman's-buff is renewed on the lower stage.
Page. Are you in breath, my lord?
Hort. As a brewer's horse, and as long-winded; look to yourself, madam
,
I come upon you.
Boy. I am ready for you, sir. O for a bulrush to run a tilt at' s
nose!
Page. A fair miss, i' faith.
Hort. I'll mend it next course, you shall see.
Page. In the corner of the left hand; 'udsfoot, 'ware shins, my lord.
Hort. Madam?
Boy. Here.
Hort. Where? [Boy throws him down.
Help me up, madam.
Boy. O strange! cannot you get up without help? here's my glove, but
come no nearer, as you love me.
Hort. I do love you, madam.
Boy. O blind love!
Hort. True, madam; your beauty has made me blind.
Page. Indeed, love's sons like spaniels are all born blind.
Hort. But they will see.
Boy. Not till they be nine days old, my lord.
Hort. But will you give me the fingers that hold this glove, madam?
Boy. And the whole body to pleasure you, my lord; but let me go a
little.
Hort. I will not loose you yet, lady.
Boy. But you shall, my lord; hist, then keep me still.
[He fastens the glove to a post.
Page. Faith, let go, my lord, for she grows sullen, and you had as good
talk to a post, and as good answer 'twould make you. [Exeunt Page and
Boy.
Hort. [Before the post]. Nay but, dear madam, do but answer me
may
I presume, upon my knees I beg it, but to take a favour from your sweet lips,
shall I? 'las, I am not the first man that love has blinded. May I presume? I
would be loth to offend your mild patience so much as with an unreverend
touch:
speak: if I shall reap the harvest of my honest desires, make me blest in
proposing the time when; what, not a word? are you displeased? or shall I take
your silence for a consent? shall I? speak; or if modesty lock in your
syllables, seal my assurance with a kiss: not? neither? shall I have neither
your word nor your bond? nay, then I must make bold with modesty: by this
kiss,
madam. [Removes the scarf from his eyes.] O my hard fortune, have I made
suit to a post all this while? what block but I would have been so
senseless? my
excuse is, 'twas but to make my lady sport: and, madam! how? lady, madam, boy!
madam, Aspero! But whist, I have the conceit, 'twas excellent in my lady, and
I
applaud it; suppose my lady and her prisoner had an intent of private business
in the next room, was it not
better in her to blind me, than I should, as gentlemen ushers (cases so
standing), have blinded myself? again, I applaud her, and adore my stars that
made me rather a blind than a seeing door-keeper: shall I interrupt them? no:
madam! they have not done yet, sure they have not. What have we here, a bass
viol? though I cannot tickle the minnikin within, I'll (though it be somewhat
base) give them a song without, and the name of the ditty shall be "The
Gentleman Usher's Voluntary."
[Sings] Peace, peace, peace, make no noise,
Pleasure and fear lie sleeping.
End, end, end your idle toys,
Jealous eyes will be peeping.
Kiss, kiss, and part, though not for hate, for pity;
Ha' done ha' done, ha' done, for I ha' done my ditty. And if you have not
done now, too, let me be as base as my fiddle, if I rouse you not: madam, for
shame, what do you mean to make of me? How? 'sfoot? what have you made of me
already? all gone? Jailor?

Re-enter ASSISTANCE above.

Ass. How now, who calls?
Hort. Why, saucy knave, 'tis I.
Ass. You! what you?
Hort. A single U; I came in double, but I thank them, they are gone
out, and left me here a single—
Ass. Fool, and so I leave you.
Hort. Knave, I am Hortensio; I charge thee let me out.
Ass. Fool, you lie; you are Aspero, and I have charge to keep you in.
Hort. From whom?
Ass. From my Lord Hortensio.
Hort. 'Sfoot, knave, I tell thee I am he; an thou wilt not believe
me,
trust thine eyes, come in and see.
Ass. 'Twill not serve your turn. I like a whole skin
better than a pinked one: content yourself to-night, and in the morning I'll
tell you more.
Hort. Where's my lady? send her hither.
Ass. She's busy with my Lord Hortensio; but if you have any use for a
woman, I'll send you one of the laundresses: fare you well, sir, be content,
you
shall want nothing of anything you have.
Hort. Hortensio gone out! and my lady busy with Hortensio? I am
gulled,
palpably gulled: whilst I like a block stood courting the post, Aspero
is in my
apparel escaped. Villains! traitors! open the door, the duke's abused, his
daughter's fled: I proclaim ye all traitors that hinder me in the pursuit.
Ass. O for a reasonable audience to applaud this scene of merriment:
I'll go call my lady and my Lord Hortensio. [Exit.
Hort. Blindman's buff? I have buffed it fairly, and mine own gullery
grieves me not half so much as the duke's displeasure. Jailor! not a word?
Jailor, there's no way to please a knave but fair words and gold: honest kind
jailor, here's gold for thee: do but take pity upon me, a miserable coney-
catched courtier. Not? neither fair nor foul? thou art a degree worse than a
woman; what shall I do? I can compare my fortune, and my unfortunate self, to
nothing so fitly as my bass here; we suffer every fool to play upon us for
their
pleasure; and indeed 'twas the intent of our Creator that made fiddles and
servitors to nothing but to be played upon, and played upon we shall be, till
our heart-strings crack, and then they either cast us aside or hang us up, as
worthy no other employment. Well, if I can work my means of escape, so: if not,

I must lie by it. [Exit.

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.—Venice. The DUKE'S Palace.

Enter OCTAVIO, FRANCISCO, HIPPOLITO, FLAMINEO, and Attendants.

OCT. My daughter fled! and with Hortensio?
It bears no formal shape of likelihood;
Her eagle spirit soared too proud a pitch
To seize so base a prey; let privy search
Look through the city's bosom till they find her:
For gone she is not.
Fran. Has not Antonio's son
Sent them by some base practice to their death?
Oct. His breast's too full of honour.

Enter JULIO.

Trusty Julio!
What weighty business draws thee from thy charge?
Jul. Came not the cause afore me? the proud Mantuans
Basely revolt, deposed me from the seat
And chair of regentship, sending in quest
Of proud Antonio their late-banished duke;
Him if they find or Aspero his son,
They'll reinstal him in the regiment.

Enter ASSISTANCE.

Oct. Him let them seek in the vast shades of death. As for his
son—
Ass. He's sure enough, my lord; he was a mad knave when he came in,
but
I think I have made a tame fool of him by this time: for a has neither had
bread
nor water these four and forty hours.
Oct. More villain thou.
Ass. My lord, Hortensio was the villain; he left such command
with me;
he's the wheel that turns about, and I, a country Jack, must strike when I am
commanded.
Oct. Although my foe, he's honourably tempered, Yet armed against my
life: go call him forth,
[Exit ASSISTANCE.
Guard in my safety with a ring of steel,
And mark how proudly he'll demean revenge.

Re-enter ASSISTANCE accompanied by HORTENSIO, bareheaded, with
his crowd.

Ass. Goblins, spirits, furies, fairies! the prison is haunted!
Oct. With a knave, is't not?
Ass. Yes, and an old fool, my lord, in the likeness or Hortensio.
Oct. Villain, where's Aspero?
Ass. I know not, my lord: I let him in and my lady to laugh at him;
and, it seems, he consented to treason, and let him out in his apparel.
Hort. They consented together to cozen me: for taking delight (as my
betters may do) in a foolish pastime called blindman's-buff, they stole away
my
gown, escaped the prison, and left me in fools' paradise, where what song I
have
played my viol can witness. They made me a little better than a bawd, my lord.
Fran. In act?
Hort. Not merely in act: sed cogitatione, et id satis est, ut
inquit
Suetonius.
Oct. Is he escaped, and Florimel with him? Hortensio, thy head shall
answer it.
Hort. I pray let my tongue be my head's attorney, and plead my
excuse.
Oct. Urge no excuse: away with him to prison.
Ass. It shall be done, my lord.
Oct. Nay, you, sir, too, shall taste of the same sauce; away
with both.
Come, my sons,
Let's levy present arms 'gainst Mantua.
Being scarce come home, we must abroad again;
The common good's a careful prince's pain. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—Mantua. The DUKE'S Palace.

Enter ANTONIO, LUCIDA, HERMIA, and Lords.

Ant. You that in all my banished pilgrimage
Would never alienate your natural loves,
But in desire to see me reinstalled
Have thrust out proud Octavio's substitute
And seated me in ancient dignity,
I am yours, and ready at your best dispose.
1st Lord. Your own, my liege; we, like inferior lights,
Take life from your reflection, for like stars
Unto the sun, are counsellors to kings:
He feeds their orbs with fire, and their shine
Contend to make his glory more divine;
And such are we to great Antonio.
Ant. The veins and arteries of Antonio
Through which the blood of greatness flows in us;
Our life, and cause efficient of our state
And these our pretty partners in exile.
2nd Lord. We ha' yet performed but the least part of duty,
Your reinstalment: it rests, that with our blood
We keep out innovasive violence.
Ant. You new create me, and breathe second life
Into my dying bosom; knew my son
Of this unlooked for fortune! but ill fate
Has played the traitor, and given up his life
To coward treason [A shout within.

Enter ASPERO and FLORIMEL with Page.

Asp. 'Udsfoot, what offence have I committed against
the state, that these iron-handed plebeians so applaud me for?
Flo. 'Tis a sign they love you.
Asp. I had rather they should hate me; it makes me suspect my bosom;
for they love none but the masters of factions, treasons, and innovations.
Flo. Then you do not love the commons.
Asp. Yes, as wise men do their flattering wives, only for show: the
popular voice is like a cry of bawling hounds; an they get the foot of a
fantastic and popular-affecting statesman, they never leave him, till they
have
chased him into disgrace, and then, like hounds, are at a loss, and with their
loss—See, I have found my father. Safety attend you!
Ant. Welcome, thou hope of Mantua and of us.
We now are honour's new-beginners, boy,
And may we better thrive than heretofore.
Asp. Never doubt it, father; I have attractive stuff that will draw
customers.
Ant. What lady's that?
Flo. One that has played the part of a constable,—brought you
home
a runaway.
Asp. A friend of mine, father, but daughter to your arch-enemy.
Ant. Octavio's daughter?
Asp. Yes, faith; you are out with the father, and I'll see if I can
fall in with the daughter.
Flo. And am I not a good child to leave my father's love at six and
seven, and hazard my honour upon your son's naked promise, and your hopeful
acceptance?
Asp. She has followed me through much danger.
Ant. The better welcome; I love her for't.
Asp. Like her an you please, I'd have nobody love her but myself.
Ant. And, lady, though your father be our foe,
The virtuous love betwixt our son and you
May ne'ertheless retain his sympathy.
Flo. Shall ne'ertheless retain his sympathy!
Antonio, know I am love's resolute,
Confirmed and grounded in affection:
I loved your son, not for he was a prince,
But one no better than his present fortunes;
I'll love him still, since I first loved him so,
Let father, friends, and all the world say no.
Asp. There's mettle, father; how can we choose but get cocking
children, when father and mother too are both of the game?

Enter Messenger.

Mes. To arms, my lord: Octavio comes in arms,
To give a proud assault unto the city.
Asp. Proud his assault, as proud be our resist;
Vie shot for shot, and stake down life for life;
Our breast's as bold as theirs, our blood as deep:
All that we'll lose, or this our gettings keep.
Her. Come, brother, talk not of devouring war:
Say messenger, come not Octavio's sons?
Mes. They do, as proudly as the morning sun
Beating the azured pavement of the heavens.
Her. Then fear not, father, my sister and myself
Will be your champions, and defend the city.
Flo. Why, ladies, have you such large interest in our brothers?
Her. Princess, we have. Within there: reach our shields;
When beauty fights, the God of battles yields. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—Mantua.

Enter, on the walls, ANTONIO, ASPERO, FLORIMEL, Page, Boy, and
Attendants;
below, FRANCISCO, HIPPOLITO, FLAMINEO, and JULIO.

Flo. They offer parley, let me answer them.
Brothers, how now? who made you soldiers?
Faith, e'en my father, as he made you lovers?
What, hath he changed your shepherds' hooks to swords,
Of Amorados made you armèd knights?
O seld-seen metamorphosis! I have known
Soldiers turn lovers, but for amorous lovers
To re-assume their valour, 'tis a change
Like winter thunder, and a thing as strange.
Fran. Our sister prisoner?
Hip. Tell me, Florimel,
Dost thou live here enforced, or of free will?
Flo. Free will, brothers, mine own free will; all free in Mantua;
here's free will, i'faith, speak, am I not a free woman?
Page. As if you had served for't; any man may set up under her copy
without a protection.
Fran. Ay, wag, are you there too?
Page. Yes, faith, my lord; my lady has had my attendance to a hair.
Flo. You lie, boy.
Page. If not mine, some bodies' else: there's one has done—
Asp. What have I done sirrah?
Page. Nay, nothing, but what my lady was very well content with.
Fran. Why, sister, shame you not to set your love On one that is our
father's enemy?
Flo. Shame? not a whit. But come, your wenches, brothers,—
I make no question, I have won my wager,—
Are they as fair as I?
Hip. Leave that to trial.
Aspero, make surrender of our sister.
Asp. And have her in quiet possession? what do you think me?
Fran. We think thee a proud villain, and our foe.
Flo. By Heaven, they're villains all that think him so.
Hip. Why, do you love him?
Flo. I should curse myself
If I should hate him.
Fran. Bring the ladders forth;
Bravely assault to separate their lives.
[As they are scaling the walls, HERMIA and LUCIDA come
forward.
Her. Stand, proud Francisco,
Page. Stand! O excellent word in a woman,
Luc. Hold, Hippolito.
Page. Hold! up with that word, and 'tis as good as the other.
Fran. What nymph or goddess in my Hermia's shape Stands to debar my
entrance to the town?
Page. Madam, I wonder they enter not.
Flo. Why, boy, it seems they dare not.
Page. O cowards, and have two such fair breaches already.
Fran. Immortal Pallas, that art more divine
In my love's beauty than thou cloth'st thee in,
Withdraw thyself, and give our fury limits.
Her. I will; but first, Francisco, take my shield.
Luc. And mine, as challenge to a single combat.
Her. Read the conditions, and return your answers.
Flo. Well done, i'faith, wenches. O that the old graybeard, my
father,
were here! I'd have a bout with him, as I am honourable.
Fran. What's that?
A shepherd wooing of a country maid,
As she sits angling by a river's side;
By them an aged man making a net?
The motto: Sic! This emblem's moral is
The former love I had with Lucida,
And this, hope tells me, is fair Lucida.
Hip. Brother, my shield the like presents to me,
But holds far more familiar reference;
Here doth the amorous shepherd kiss the nymph,
Which she with a chaste blush consents unto;
And see, a gloomy man, clad like a pilgrim,
Comes in, and separates their sweet delights:
The motto: Sic! Ay, so my father came,
And banished me from beauteous Hermia;
And this, hope tells me, is fair Hermia.
Fran. The more I look, the more methinks 'tis she.
Hip. The more I think, the more I find 'tis she.
Fran. What should I think, to prove it is not she?
Flo. Look, think, find, prove, do what you can,
These are the wenches that you courted then:
Then, honey bees, lay by your smarting stings,
And buzz sweet love into your ladies' ears;
Tell them of kisses, and such pretty things;
These drumming dubadubs love's pleasure fears.
Fran. O Heaven, O fortune, and most happy stars!
Do I find love, where I expected wars?
Hip. I that but now was all for war and death,
Am made all love; war's humour's out of breath.

Enter, below, OCTAVIO, JULIO, and others.

Oct. How, my sons love the daughters of my foe?
It cannot be.
Jul. Then question them yourself.
Oct. Why, how now, sons? is this your worth in arms?
Fran. Why, are we not in arms, father?
Hip. Yes, and in such arms as no coward but would venture life to marc
h
in.
Oct. Then, boys, you love the daughters of Antonio?
Fran. We liked them first.
Hip. We keep that liking still.
Oct. And you will love them?
Flo. Father, in faith they will.
Oct. Ay, runaway, are you there? whom has your ladyship got to your
husband?
Flo. One that I stumbled on at blindman's-buff; a proper man, a man
every inch of him: and you would say so an you knew but as much as I—mean
to know ere I have done with him.
Oct. Is he not son unto Antonio?
Asp. Great duke, I am, and prostrate on my knee
I beg a peace, which if your spleen deny,
I proudly stand, where erst I mildly kneeled,
And cast down bold defiance from these walls.
Oct. No more; your loves make my proud heart ashamed;
Your consort's sweet, and I'll not be a mean
To make it jar: what my sons like shall stand,
By my consent allowed and perfected;
All hate is banished, and revenge lies dead.
Asp. Then, 'stead of spears, let Hymen's torches flame
With hallowed incense; and the God of spright
Swell up your veins with amorous delight:
And so shut up our single comedy,
With Plautus' phrase: Si placet, plaudite. [Exeunt.






Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net