Men. To be a villain is no such rude matter. Cam. No, if he be a neat one, and a perfect; Art makes all excellent. What is it, gentlemen, In a good cause to kill a dozen coxcombs, That blunt rude fellows call good patriots ? Nothing, nor ne'er look'd after.

Men. 'Tis e'en as much,

As easy too, as honest, and as clear,

To ravish matrons, and deflower coy wenches : But here they are so willing, 'tis a compliment. Cle. To pull down churches with pretension To build 'em fairer, may be done with honour; And all this time believe no God.

Cam. I think so;

'Tis faith enough if they name him in their angers,
Or on their rotten tombs engrave an angel.
Well, brave Alphonso, how happy had we been,
If thou hadst reign'd!

Men. 'Would I had his disease,

Tied, like a leprosy, to my posterity,

So he were right again.

Cle. What is his malady?

Cam. Nothing but sad and silent melancholy, Laden with griefs and thoughts, no man knows

why neither.

The good Brandino, father to the princes,
Used all the art and industry that might be,
To free Alphonso from this dull calamity,
And seat him in his rule; he was his eldest,
And noblest too, had not fair Nature stopt in him,
For which cause this was chosen to inherit,
Frederick the younger.

Cle. Does he use his brother
With that respect and honour that befits him?

Cam. He is kept privately, as they pretend,
To give more ease and comfort to his sickness;
But he has honest servants, the grave Rugio,
And friar Marco, that wait upon his person,
And in a monastery he lives.

Men. 'Tis full of sadness,

To see him when he comes to his father's tomb,
(As once a day that is his pilgrimage,
Whilst in devotion the choir sings an anthem,)
How piously he kneels, and, like a virgin,
That some cross fate had cozen'd of her love,
Weeps till the stubborn marble sweats with pity,
And to his groans the whole choir bears a chorus !

Enter FREDERICK, SORANO with the Cabinet, and PODRAMO. Cam. So do I too. The king, with his contrivers! This is no place for us.

[Exeunt CLEANTHES, CAMILLO, and MENALLO. Fred. This is a jewel!

Lay it aside. What paper's that?

Pod. A letter;

But 'tis a woman's, sir, I know by the hand,
And the false orthography; they write old Saxon.
Fred. May be her ghostly mother's that instructs

her.

Sor. No, 'tis a cousin's, and came up with a Fred. What's that?

[great cake. Sor. A pair of gloves the duchess gave her; For so the outside says.

Fred. That other paper?

Sor. A charm for the tooth-ach; here's nothing but saints and crosses.

Fred. Look in that box; methinks that should hold secrets.

Pod. 'Tis paint, and curis of hair; she begins to exercise.

A glass of water too; I would fain taste it.
But I am wickedly afraid 'twill silence me;
Never a conduit-pipe to convey this water?

Sor. These are all rings, deaths' heads. and such memento's,

Her grandmother and worm-eaten aunts ieft to her,
To tell her what her beauty must arrive at.
Fred. That, that.

Pod. They are written songs, sir, to provoke

young ladies.

Lord, here's a prayer-book! how these agree! Here's a strange union!

Sor. Ever by a surfeit

You have a julep set, to cool the patient.
Fred. Those, those?

Sor. They are verses: "To the blest Evanthe."
Fred. Those may discover. Read them out,
Sorano.
[SORANO reads.

"To the blest EVANTHE.

Let those complain that feel Love's cruelty,
And in sad legends write their woes;

With roses gently he has corrected me,

My war is without rage or blows:

My mistress' eyes shine fair on my desires,

And hope springs up inflamed with her new fires.

No more an exile will 1 dwell,

With folded arms, and sighs all day, Reck'ning the torments of my hell, And flinging my sweet joys away:

I am call'd home again to quiet pesce,

My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows cease.

Yet what is living in her eye,

Or being blest with her sweet tongue,

If these no other joys imply?

A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong:

To be your own but one poor month, I'd give
My youth, my fortune, and then leave to live!""

Fred. This is my rival; that I knew the hand now!

Sor. I know it, I have seen it; 'tis Valerio's, That hopeful gentleman's that was brought up With you, and, by your charge, nourish'd and fed At the same table, with the same allowance.

Fred. And all this courtesy to ruin me? Cross my desires? He had better have fed humblier, And stood at greater distance from my fury! Go for him quickly, find him instantly,

Perpetual hunger, and no teeth to satisfy it,
Wait on thee still, nor sleep be found to ease it!
Those hands that gave the casket, may the palsy
For ever make unuseful, even to feed thee!
Long winters, that thy bones may turn to icicles,
No hell can thaw again, inhabit by thee!
Is thy care like thy body, all one crookedness ?
How scurvily thou criest now! like a drunkard!
I'll have as pure tears from a dirty spout.
Do, swear thou didst this ignorantly, swear it,
Swear and be damn'd, thou half witch!

Cas. These are fine words!

Well, madam, madam!

Evan. 'Tis not well, thou mummy! 'Tis impudently, basely done, thou dirty

Fred. Has your young sanctity done railing, madam,

Against your innocent 'squire ?

sonnet,

Do you see this

There's neither heresy nor treason in it.

Fred. A prince may beg at the door, whilst these feast with ye;

A favour or a grace, from such as I am,
Coarse common things-

Enter VALERIO and PODRAMO.

You are welcome! Pray come near, sir:
Do you know this paper?

Val. [Aside.] I am betray'd!—I do, sir;
'Tis mine, my hand and heart. If I die for her,
I am thy martyr, Love, and time shall honour me.
Cas. You saucy sir, that came in my lady's name

Brought up to fetch and carry, like your worship, That have been hang'd for less; whipt there are daily;

And if the law will do me right

Pod. What then, old maggot?

Cas. Thy mother was carted younger.—I'll have thy hide,

Thy mangy hide, embroider'd with a dog-whip,
As it is now with potent pox, and thicker.

Fred. Peace, good antiquity! I'll have your bones else

Ground into gunpowder to shoot at cats with.
One word more, and I'll blanch thee like an almond:
There's no such cure for the she-falling sickness
As the powder of a dried bawd's skin. Be silent!—
You are very prodigal of your service here, sir;
Of your life more, it seems.

Val. I repent neither;

And marry her that sanctity would dote on,

I have done amiss; if it be a treason

To graft my soul to virtue, and to grow there,
To love the tree that bears such happiness,
(Conceive me, sir; this fruit was ne'er forbidden)
Nay, to desire to taste too, I am traitor.
Had you but plants enough of this blest tree, sir,
Set round about your court, to beautify it,
Deaths twice so many, to dismay the approachers,
The ground would scarce yield graves to noble
lovers.

Fred. 'Tis well maintain'd. You wish and pray to Fortune,

Here in your sonnet, (and she has heard your prayers)

So much you dote upon your own undoing,
But one Month to enjoy her as your Wife,
Though at the expiring of that time you die for't.
Val. I could wish many, many ages, sir;

To grow as old as Time in her embraces,
If Heaven would grant it, and you smile upon it:
But if my choice were two hours, and then perish,
I would not pull my heart back.
Fred. You have your wish:

To-morrow I will see you nobly married;
Your Month take out in all content and pleasure:
The first day of the following Month you die for't.
Kneel not! not all your prayers can divert me.-
Now mark your sentence; mark it, scornful lady!
If, when Valerio's dead, within twelve hours,
(For that's your latest time) you find not out
Another husband, on the same condition
To marry you again, you die yourself too!
Evan. Now you are merciful! I thank your

You die both instantly!-Will you love me now, lady?

My tale will now be heard ; but now I scorn you! [Exeunt all but VALERIO and EVANTHE.

Evan. Is our fair love, our honest, our entire, Come to this hazard?

Val. "Tis a noble one,

And I am much in love with Malice for it;
Envy could not have studied me a way,
Nor Fortune pointed out a path to Honour,
Straighter and nobler, if she had her eyes.
When I have once enjoy'd my sweet Evanthe,
And blest my youth with her most dear embraces,
I have done my journey here, my day is out:
All that the world has else is foolery,

Labour, and loss of time. What should I live for?
Think but man's life a Month, and we are happy.
I would not have my joys grow old for any thing:
A Paradise, as thou art, my Evanthe,

Is only made to wonder at a little,

Enough for human eyes, and then to wander from.
Come, do not weep, sweet; you dishonour me!
Your tears and griefs but question my ability,
Whether I dare die. Do you love entirely?
Evan. You know I do.

Val. Then grudge not my felicity.
Evan. I'll to the queen.

Val. Do anything that's honest;

But, if you sue to him, in death I hate you!

[Exeunt.

SCENE I-A Street.

Enter CAMILLO, CLEANTHES, and MENALLO. Cam. Was there ever heard of such a marriage? Men. Marriage and hanging go by destiny; 'Tis the old proverb; now they come together. Cle. But a Month married, then to lose his life for't? [soldiers.

I would have a long Month sure, that pays the Cam. Or get all the almanacks burnt, (that were And have no Month remember'd. [a rare trick)

Enter TONY, with an Urinal.

How now, Tony?

Whose water are you casting?
Tony. A sick gentleman's,

Is very sick, much troubled with the stone;
He should not live above a Month, by his urine:
About St. David's Day it will go hard with him;
He will then be troubled with a pain in his neck too.
Men. A pestilent fool!-When wilt thou marry,
Tony?

Tony. When I mean to be hang'd; and 'tis the

surer contract.

Cle. What think you of this marriage of Valerio's ?

Tony. They have given him a hot custard, And mean to burn his mouth with't. Had I known He had been given to die honourably,

I would have help'd him to a wench, a rare one, Should have kill'd him in three weeks, and saved the sentence.

Cam. There be them would have spared ten days of that too.

Tony. It may be so; you have women of all virtues :

There be some guns that I could bring him to, Some mortar-pieces that are placed i' th' suburbs, Would tear him into quarters in two hours; There be also of the race of the old cockatrices, That would dispatch him with once looking on him. Men. What Month wouldst thou chuse, Tony, If thou hadst the like fortune?

Tony. I would chuse

A mull'd sack Month, to comfort my belly; for sure My back would ache for't; and, at the Month's end,

[gallows. I would be most dismally drunk, and scorn the Men. I would chuse March, for I would come in like a lion.

Tony. But you'd go out like a lamb, when you went to hanging.

Cam. I would take April, take the sweet o' th' year,

And kiss my wench upon the tender flowrets,
Embrace, and melt away my soul in pleasure.
Tumble on every green, and, as the birds sung,

Tony. You would go a-maying gaily to the
Cle. Pr'ythee tell us some news. (gallows.
Tony. I'll tell ye all I know:
You may be honest, and poor fools, as I am,
And blow your fingers' ends.

Cam. That's no news, fool.

Tony. You may be knaves then when you please,

stark knaves,

And build fair houses; but your heirs shall have Men. These are undoubted.

[none of 'em. Tony. Truth's not worth the hearing! I'll tell you news then: There was a drunken sailor, That got a mermaid with child as she went a-milking,

And now she sues him in the bawdy-court for it; The infant monster is brought up in Fish-street. Cam. Ay, this is something!

Tony. I'll tell you more; there was a fish taken, A monstrous fish, with a sword by his side, a long sword,

A pike in's neck, and a gun in's nose, a huge gun,
And letters of mart in's mouth, from the duke of
Cle. This is a monstrous lie!
[Florence.
Tony. I do confess it:

Do you think I'd tell you truths, that dare not hear 'em?

You are honest things, we courtiers scorn to converse with. [Exit.

Cam. A plaguy fool! But let's consider, gen

tlemen,

Why the queen strives not to oppose this sentence; The kingdom's honour suffers in this cruelty.

Men. No doubt the queen, though she be vir

tuous,

Winks at the marriage; for by that only means The king's flame lessens to the youthful lady, If not goes out; within this Month, I doubt not, She hopes to rock asleep his anger also. Shall we go see the preparation? 'Tis time, for strangers come to view the wonder. Cam. Come, let's away. Send my friends happier weddings! [Exeunt

Mar. Your fears are poor and foolish. Though he be hasty, and his anger death, His will like torrents not to be resisted, Yet law and justice go along to guide him; And what law, or what justice, can he find To justify his will? what act or statute, By human or divine establishment, Left to direct us, that makes marriage death? Honest fair wedlock? 'Twas given for increase, For preservation of mankind, I take it;

He must be more than man then that dare break it. Come, dress you handsomely; you shall have my jewels,

And put a face on that contemns base fortune; 'Twill make him more insult to see you fearful : Outlook his anger.

Evan. Oh, my Valerio!

Be witness, my pure mind, 'tis thee I grieve for!
Mar. But shew it not. I would so crucify him
With an innocent neglect of what he can do,
A brave strong pious scorn, that I would shake him!
Put all the wanton Cupids in thine eyes,
And all the graces on that nature gave thee;
Make up thy beauty to that height of excellence,
(I'll help thee, and forgive thee) as if Venus
Were now again to catch the God of War,
In his most rugged anger. When thou hast him
(As 'tis impossible he should resist thee)
And kneeling at thy conquering feet for mercy,
Then shew thy virtue, then again despise him,
And all his power; then with a look of honour
Mingled with noble chastity, strike him dead!
Evan. Good madam, dress me;
You arm me bravely.

Mar. Make him know his cruelty
Begins with him first; he must suffer for it;
And that thy sentence is so welcome to thee,
And to thy noble lord, you long to meet it.
Stamp such a deep impression of thy beauty
Into his soul, and of thy worthiness,
That when Valerio and Evanthe sleep

In one rich earth, hung round about with blessings,
He may run mad, and curse his act.
Be lusty;

I'll teach thee how to die too, if thou fear'st it.
Evan. I thank your grace! you have prepared
And my weak mind-
[me strongly;

Mar. Death is unwelcome never,
Unless it be to tortured minds and sick souls,
That make their own hells; 'tis such a benefit
When it comes crown'd with honour, shews so
sweet too!

Though they paint it ugly, that's but to restrain us,
For every living thing would love it else,
Fly boldly to their peace ere Nature call'd 'em ;
The rest we have from labour and from trouble
Is some incitement; every thing alike,
The poor slave that lies private has his liberty,
As amply as his master, in that tomb
The earth as light upon him, and the flowers
That grow about him smell as sweet, and flourish;
But when we love with honour to our ends,
When memory and virtues are our mourners,

You mould things handsomely, and then neglect 'em :

A powerful prince should be constant to his power still,

And hold up what he builds; then people fear him.
When he lets loose his hand, it shews a weakness,
And men examine or contemn his greatness :
A scorn of this high kind should have call'd up
A revenge equal, not a pity in you.

Fred. She is thy sister.

Sor. An she were my mother,

Whilst I conceive 'tis you she has wrong'd, I hate
And shake her nearness off. I study, sir,

To satisfy your angers that are just,
Before your pleasures.

Fred. I have done that already,

[her,

I fear, has pull'd too many curses on me! Sor. Curses, or envies, on Valerio's head (Would you take my counsel, sir) they should all

light,

And with the weight not only crack his scull,
But his fair credit. The exquisite vexation
I have devised, (so please you give way in't,
And let it work) shall more afflict his soul,
And trench upon that honour that he brags of,
Than fear of death in all the frights he carries.
If you sit down here, they will both abuse you,
Laugh at your poor relenting power, and scorn you.
What satisfaction can their deaths bring to you,
That are prepared, and proud to die, and willingly,
And at their ends will thank you for that honour?
How are you nearer the desire you aim at?

Or if it be revenge your anger covets,
How can their single deaths give you content, sir?
Petty revenges end in blood, slight angers;
A prince's rage should find out new diseases
Death were a pleasure to, to pay proud fools with.
Fred. What should I do?

Sor. Add but your power unto me,
Make me but strong by your protection,
And you shall see what joy and what delight,
What infinite pleasure this poor Month shall yield
him.

I'll make him wish he were dead on his marriageday,

Or bed-rid with old age; I'll make him curse,
And cry and curse, give me but power.
Fred. You have it :

Here, take my ring; I am content he pay for't.
Sor. It shall be now revenge, as I will handle it!
He shall live after this to beg his life too:

SCENE IV.-The Gate of the Palace. Enter TONY, three Citizens, and three Wives. 1 Wife. Good master Tony, put me in. Tony. Where do you dwell?

1 Wife. Forsooth, at the sign of the Great Shoulder of Mutton.

Tony. A hungry man would hunt your house out instantly;

Keep the dogs from your door. Is this lettice ruff A fine sharp sallad to your sign. [your husband? 2 Wife. Will you put me in too?

3 Wife. And me, good master Tony? Tony. Put ye all in?

You had best come twenty more; you think 'tis
A trick of legerdemain, to put ye all in:
[easy,
'Twould pose a fellow that had twice my body,
Though it were all made into chines and fillets.
2 Wife. Put's into th' wedding, sir! we would
fain see that.

1 Wife. And the brave masque too.
Tony. You two are pretty women

Are you their husbands?

2 Cit. Yes, for want of better.

Tony. I think so too; you would not be so mad
else

To turn 'em loose to a company of young courtiers,
That swarm like bees in May, when they see young
You must not squeak.
[wenches.

3 Wife. No, sir; we are better tutored.
Tony. Nor, if a young lord offer you the cour-
2 Wife. We know what 'tis, sir.
Tony. Nor you must not grumble,

[tesy

If you be thrust up hard; we thrust most furiously. 1 Wife. We know the worst.

Tony. Get you two in then quietly.

[Suffers 1 and 2 Woman to pass in. And shift for yourselves.-We must have no old

women,

They are out of use, unless they have petitions; Besides, they cough so loud. they drown the music.

You would go in too? but there's no place for ye;
I am sorry for't; go, and forget your wives;
Or pray they may be able to suffer patiently:
You may have heirs may prove wise aldermen.
Go, or I'll call the guard.

3 Cit. We will get in ;

We'll venture broken pates else!
Tony. 'Tis impossible,

You are too securely arm'd.-[Exeunt Citizens and
3 Woman.]-How they flock hither,
And with what joy the women run by heaps
To see this marriage! They tickle to think of it;
They hope for every Month a husband too.
Still how they run, and how the wittols follow 'em,
The weak things that are worn between the legs,
That brushing, dressing, nor new naps can mend,
How they post to see their own confusion!
This is a merry world.

Enter FREDERICK.

Fred. Look to the door, sirrah;

Thou art a fool, and mayst do mischief lawfully,

ness have they?

Tony. Some come to gape, those are my fellow fools;

Some to get home their wives, those be their own fools;

Some to rejoice with thee, those be the time's fools; And some I fear to curse thee, those are poor fools, A set, people call them honest.

Enter CASSANDRA, passing over.

Look, look, king, look!

A weather-beaten lady new careen'd'
Fred. An old one.

Tony. The glasses of her eyes are new rubb'd And the worm-eaten records in her face [over, Are daub'd up neatly:

She lays her breasts out too, like two poach'd eggs That had the yolks suck'd out: They get new heads also,

New teeth, new tongues, (for the old are all worn And, as 'tis hoped, new tails. [out)

Fred. For what?

Tony. For old courtiers;

The young ones are too stirring for their travels.
Fred. Go, leave your knavery, and help to keep
I will have no such press.
[the door well;
Tony. Lay thy hand o' thy heart, king!
Fred. I'll have you whipp'd!

Tony. The Fool and thou art parted. [Exit.
Fred. Sorano, work, and free me from this

spell;

'Twixt love and scorn, there's nothing felt but hell! [Exil.