Enter ALPHONSO, CURIO, and SEBERTO.

Seb. Come to the altar; let us do our duties.
Alph. I have almost forgot a church.
Curio. Kneel reverently.

Alph. For my lost wits (let me see)

First I pray; and secondly,

To be at home again, and free;
And if I travel more, hang me!
For the king, and for the queen,
That they may be wise, and seen
Never in the madman's inn,
For my daughter I would pray;
But she has made a holiday,

And needs not my devotion now :
Let her take her own course, Heaven,
Whether it be odd or even,

And if that please not, take her you!
[Music.

Seb. A short and sweet meditation !-What are these here?

Jul. Hear her, hear her! if there be

A spotless sweetness, this is she. [Music. Pedro. Now, Roderigo, stand.

Rod. He that divides ye
Divides my life too.

Gov. Pedro! noble Pedro !
Do not you know your friend?
Pedro. I know, and honour you.

Gov. Lady, this leave I'll crave, (pray be not angry,)

I will not long divide you. How happy, Pedro, Would all the court be now, might they behold thee, Might they but see you thus, and thus embrace you! The king will be a joyful man, believe it,

Most joyful, Pedro.

Pedro. I am his humble servant.

Nay, good sir, speak your will; I see you wonder; One easy word from you

Alph. I dare say nothing;

My tongue's a new tongue, sir, and knows his tether:

Let her do what she please, I dare do nothing;
I have been damn'd for doing. Will the king

know him,

A drum at midnight; ran, tan, tan, tan, tan, sir!
Do you take me for Juletta? I am a page, sir,
That brought a letter from the duke of Medina
To have one signior Alphonso, (just such another
As your old worship,) worm'd for running mad, sir.
Alas, you are mistaken.

Alph. Thou art the devil,
And so thou hast used me.

Jul. I am anything;

An old woman, that tells fortunes-
Rod. Ha!

Jul. And frights good people,

And sends them to Segovia for their fortunes;

I am strange airs and excellent sweet voices;
I am anything, to do her good, believe me.
She now recover'd, and her wishes crown'd,
I am Juletta again; Pray, sir, forgive me!
Alph. I dare not

Do otherwise, for fear thou shouldst still follow me:
Pr'ythee be forgiven, and I pr'ythee forgive me too.
And if any of you will marry her—

Jul. No, I beseech you, sir; my mistress is my husband;

With her I'll dwell still; And when you play
Any more pranks, you know where to have me.
Pedro. You know him, sir?

Gov. Know him, and much lament him;
The king's incensed much, much, sir, I can assure
Pedro. Noble governor-
[you.

Gov. But since he is your friend, and now appears,

In honour of this day. and love to you, sir,

To please you with this play, we fear, will be
(So does the author too) a mystery
Somewhat above our art; for all men's eyes,
Ears, faiths, and judgments, are not of one size.
For, to say truth, and not to flatter ye,
This is nor comedy, nor tragedy,
Nor history, nor anything that may
(Yet in a week) be made a perfect play :

Yet those that love to laugh, and those that think
Twelve-pence goes further this way than in drink,

Or damsels, if they mark the matter through,
May stumble on a foolish toy, or two,
Will make 'em shew their teeth. Pray, for my sake,
(That likely am your first man) do not take
A distaste before you feel it; for ye may,
When this is hiss'd to ashes, have a play,
And here, to out-hiss this: Be patient then.
My honour done, you're welcome, gentlemen!

SCENE I.-The Street.

Enter LODOVICO and PISO.

For I believe those mad that seek vexations:
A wife, though she be honest, is a trouble.
Had I a wife as fair as Helen was,
That drew so many cuckolds to her cause,
These eyes
should see another in my saddle
Ere I believe my beast would carry double.
Piso. So should not I, by'r lady! and I think
My patience (by your leave) as good as yours.
Report would stir me mainly, I am sure on't.

Lod. Report? you are unwise; report is no-
For if there were a truth in what men talk, [thing;
(I mean of this kind) this part of the world
I am sure would be no more call'd Christendom.
Piso. What then?

Lod. Why, Cuckoldom; for we should lose Our old faiths clean, and hold their new opinions : If talk would make me sweat, before I would marry, I'd tie a surer knot, and hang myself.

I tell thee, there was never woman yet,
(Nor never hope there shall be) though a saint,
But she has been a subject to men's tongues,
And in the worst sense: And that desperate hus-

band,

[sands,

As I would bless myself from plagues and surfeits,
From men-of-war at sea, from storms, and quick-
From hearing treason and concealing it,
From daring of a madman, or a drunkard,
From heresy, ill wine, and stumbling post-horse,
So would I pray each morning, and each night,
(And if I said each hour, I should not lie)
To be deliver'd of all these in one,

The woman thou hast named.

Piso. Thou hast set her in a pretty litany.

Enter JULIO, ANGELO, and Father.

Ang. Pray take my counsel.

Jul. When I am myself,

I'll hear you any way; love me though thus,

As thou art honest, which I dare not be,
Lest I despise myself. Farewell!

[Exit.

Fred. Why then, let's dine together. Lod. With all my heart.

Piso. [To the Father.] Do you hear, my friend? Sir! are you not a setter

For the fair widow here, of famous memory? Father. [Apart.] Ha! am I taken for a bawd? Oh, God!

To mine own child too? Misery, I thank thee, That keep'st me from their knowledge.-Sir, beI understand you not.

Lod. You love plain-dealing:

[lieve me,

Are you not parcel bawd? Confess your function; It may be, we would use it.

Father. Were she worse,

(As I fear strangely she is ill enough)

I would not hear this tamely.

Piso. Here's a shilling,

To strike good luck withal.

Father. Here is a sword, sir,

To strike a knave withal: Thou liest, and basely, Be what thou wilt!

[Strikes him.

Fred. Go then. Farewell, good Angelo. Commend me to your friend.

Ang. I will.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Room in FREDERICK'S House. Enter FRANK and CLORA,

Clora. Do not dissemble, Frank; mine eyes are quicker

Than such observers, that do ground their faith
Upon one smile or tear: You are much alter'd,
And are as empty of those excellencies

That were companions to you, (I mean mirth,
And free disposure of your blood and spirit)
As you were born a mourner.

Frank. How, I pr'ythee?

For I perceive no such change in myself.

[vident,

Clora. Come, come, this is not wise, nor pro-
To halt before a cripple. If you love,
Be liberal to your friend, and let her know it:
I see the way you run, and know how tedious
"Twill prove without a true companion.

Frank. Sure thou wouldst have me love.
Clora. Yes, marry would I ;

I should not please you else.

Frank. And who, for God's sake?
For I assure myself, I know not yet:
And pr'ythee, Clora, since thou'lt have it so
That I must love, and do I know not what,
Let him be held a pretty handsome fellow,
And young; and if he be a little valiant,
"Twill be the better; and a little wise,
And, 'faith, a little honest.

Clora. Well, I will sound you yet, for all your (Asite.

craft.

Frank. Heigh-ho! I'll love no more.

Clora. 'Faith, some pretty fellow,
With a clean strength, that cracks a cudgel well,
And dances at a wake, and plays at nine-holes.
Frank. Oh, God!

What pretty commendations thou hast given him!
'Faith, if I were in love (as, I thank God,
I do not think I am) this short epistle
Before my love, would make me burn the legend.
Clora. You are too wild: I mean, some gentleman.
Frank. So do not I, till I can know 'em wiser.
Some gentleman? No, Clora, till some gentleman
Keep some land, and fewer whores, believe me,
I'll keep no love for him: I do not long
To go a-foot yet, and solicit causes.

Clora. What think you then of an adventurer? I mean some wealthy merchant.

Frank. Let him venture

In some decay'd crare of his own: He shall not
Rig me out, that's the short on't. Out upon't!
What young thing of my years would endure
To have her husband in another country,
Within a month after she is married,
Chopping for rotten raisins, and lie pining
At home, under the mercy of his foreman? No;
Though they be wealthy, and indifferent wise,
I do not see that I am bound to love 'em.

Clora. I see you are hard to please: yet I will please you.

Frank. 'Faith, not so hard neither, if consider'd What woman may deserve as she is worthy. But why do we bestow our time so idly? Pr'ythee, let's entertain some other talk; This is as sickly to me as faint weather.

Clora. Now I believe I shall content you, Frank: What think you of a courtier ?

Frank. Faith, so ill,

That if I should be full, and speak but truth,
'Twould shew as if I wanted charity.
Pr'ythee, good wench, let me not rail upon 'em ;
Yet I have an excellent stomach, and must do it:
I have no mercy of these infidels,

Since I am put in mind on't; good, bear with me.
Clora. Can no man fit you? I will find him out.
Frank. This summer-fruit, that you call courtier,
While you continue cold and frosty to him,

Hangs fast, and may be sound; but when you fling
Too full a heat of your affections

Upon this root, and make him ripe too soon,
You'll find him rotten in the handling:
His oaths and his affections are all one
With his apparel, things to set him off;
He has as many mistresses as faiths,
And all apocrypha; his true belief
Is only in a private surgeon:

And, for my single self, I'd sooner venture
A new conversion of the Indies,

Than to make courtiers able men, or honest.
Cloru. I do believe you love no courtier ;
And, by my troth, to guess you into love
With any I can think of, is beyond
Either your will, or my imagination:

And yet I am sure you're caught, and I will know him.

There's none left now worthy the thinking of, Unless it be a soldier; and, I am sure,

I would ever bless myself from such a fellow. Frank. Why, pr'ythee?

Clora. Out upon 'em, firelocks!

They are nothing in the world but buff and scarlet,
Tough unhewn pieces, to hack swords upon;
I had as lieve be courted by a cannon,
As one of those.

Frank. Thou art too malicious;
Upon my faith, methinks they're worthy men.
Clora. Say you so? I'll pull you on a little fur-
ther.
[Aside.
What worth can be in those men, whose profession
Is nothing in the world but drink and damn me?
Out of whose violence they are possess'd
With legions of unwholesome whores and quarrels ?
I am of that opinion, and will die in't,
There is no understanding, nor can be,
In a soused soldier.

Frank. Now 'tis ignorance,

I easily perceive, that thus provokes thee,
And not the love of truth. I'll lay my life,

If God had made thee man, thou hadst been a coward.
Clora. If to be valiant, be to be a soldier,
I'll tell you true, I had rather be a coward;
I am sure with less sin.

Frank. This heresy

Must be look'd to in time; for if it spread,
'Twill grow too pestilent. Were I a scholar,
I would so hamper thee for thy opinion,
That, ere I left, I would write thee out of credit
With all the world, and make thee not believed
Even in indifferent things; that I would leave thee
A reprobate, out of the state of honour.
By all good things, thou hast flung aspersions
So like a fool (for I am angry with thee)
Upon a sort of men, that, let me tell thee,
Thy mother's mother would have been a saint
Had she conceived a soldier! They are people
(I may commend 'em, while I speak but truth)
Of all the old world, only left to keep

Man as he was, valiant and virtuous.

They are the model of those men, whose honours We heave our hands at when we hear recited. Clora. They are,

And I have all I sought for: 'Tis a soldier [self! You love (hide it no longer); you have betray'd yourCome, I have found your way of commendations, And what I said was but to pull it from you.

Frank. 'Twas pretty! Are you grown so cun

ning, Clora?