Scene IV

Lady, you see into what hands you are fallen;
’Mongst what a nest of villains! And how near
Your honour was t’ have catched a certain clap,
Through your credulity, had I but been
So punctually forward, as place, time,
And other circumstances would have made a man;
For you’re a handsome woman: would you were wise too!
I am a gentleman come here disguised,
Only to find the knaveries of this citadel;
And where I might have wronged your honour, and have not,
I claim some interest in your love. You are,
They say, a widow, rich: and I’m a bachelor,
Worth nought: your fortunes may make me a man,
As mine have preserved you a woman. Think upon it,
And whether I have deserved you or no.

I will, sir.

And for these household-rogues, let me alone
To treat with them.

How doth my noble Diego,
And my dear madam Countess? Hath the Count
Been courteous, lady? Liberal, and open?
Donzel, methinks you look melancholic,
After your coitum, and scurvy: truly,
I do not like the dullness of your eye;
It hath a heavy cast, ’tis upsee Dutch,
And says you are a lumpish whoremaster.
Be lighter, and I will make your pockets so.
Attempts to pick them.

Throws open his cloak. Will you, don bawd and pickpurse?
Strikes him down.
How now! Reel you?
Stand up, sir, you shall find, since I am so heavy,
I’ll give you equal weight.

Help! Murder!

No, sir,
There’s no such thing intended: a good cart,
And a clean whip shall ease you of that fear.
I am the Spanish Don “that should be cozened,
Do you see, cozened?” Where’s your Captain Face,
That parcel broker, and whole-bawd, all rascal!

How, Surly!

O, make your approach, good Captain.
I have found from whence your copper rings and spoons
Come, now, wherewith you cheat abroad in taverns.
’Twas here you learned t’ anoint your boot with brimstone,
Then rub men’s gold on’t for a kind of touch,
And say ’twas naught, when you had changed the colour,
That you might have’t for nothing. And this Doctor,
Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeer, he
Will close you so much gold, in a bolt’s head,
And, on a turn, convey in the stead another
With sublimed mercury, that shall burst in the heat,
And fly out all in fumo! Then weeps Mammon;
Then swoons his worship.

Or, he is the Faustus,
That casteth figures and can conjure, cures
Plagues, piles, and pox, by the ephemerides,
And holds intelligence with all the bawds
And midwives of three shires: while you send in⁠—
Captain!⁠—what! Is he gone?⁠—damsels with child,
Wives that are barren, or the waiting-maid
With the green sickness.
Seizes Subtle as he is retiring.
—Nay, sir, you must tarry,
Though he be ’scaped; and answer by the ears, sir.

Why, now’s the time, if ever you will quarrel
Well, as they say, and be a true-born child:
The Doctor and your sister both are abused.

Where is he? Which is he? He is a slave,
Whate’er he is, and the son of a whore.⁠—Are you
The man, sir, I would know?

I should be loath, sir,
To confess so much.

Then you lie in your throat.

How!

To Kastril. A very errant rogue, sir, and a cheater,
Employed here by another conjurer
That does not love the Doctor, and would cross him,
If he knew how.

Sir, you are abused.

You lie:
And ’tis no matter.

Well said, sir! He is
The impudent’st rascal⁠—

You are indeed: Will you hear me, sir?

By no means: bid him be gone.

Begone, sir, quickly.

This ’s strange!⁠—Lady, do you inform your brother.

There is not such a foist in all the town,
The Doctor had him presently; and finds yet,
The Spanish Count will come here.
Aside.
—Bear up, Subtle.

Yes, sir, he must appear within this hour.

And yet this rogue would come in a disguise,
By the temptation of another spirit,
To trouble our art, though he could not hurt it!

Ay,
I know⁠—
To his sister.
Away, you talk like a foolish mauther.

Sir, all is truth she says.

Do not believe him, sir.
He is the lying’st swabber! Come your ways, sir.

You are valiant out of company!

Yes, how then, sir?

Nay, here’s an honest fellow, too, that knows him,
And all his tricks. Make good what I say, Abel,
Aside to Drugger.
This cheater would have cozened thee o’ the widow.⁠—
He owes this honest Drugger here, seven pound,
He has had on him, in twopenny ’orths of tobacco.

Yes, sir. And he has damned himself three terms to pay me.

And what does he owe for lotium?

Thirty shillings, sir;
And for six syringes.

Hydra of villainy!

Nay, sir, you must quarrel him out o’ the house.

I will:
—Sir, if you get not out of doors, you lie;
And you are a pimp.

Why, this is madness, sir,
Not valour in you; I must laugh at this.

It is my humour: you are a pimp and a trig,
And an Amadis de Gaul, or a Don Quixote.

Or a knight o’ the curious coxcomb, do you see?

Peace to the household!

I’ll keep peace for no man.

Casting of dollars is concluded lawful.

Is he the constable?

Peace, Ananias.

No, sir.

Then you are an otter, and a shad, a whit,
A very tim.

You’ll hear me, sir?

I will not.

What is the motive?

Zeal in the young gentleman,
Against his Spanish slops.

They are profane,
Lewd, superstitious, and idolatrous breeches.

New rascals!

Will you begone, sir?

Avoid, Satan!
Thou art not of the light: That ruff of pride
About thy neck, betrays thee; and is the same
With that which the unclean birds, in seventy-seven,
Were seen to prank it with on divers coasts:
Thou look’st like Antichrist, in that lewd hat.

I must give way.

Be gone, sir.

But I’ll take
A course with you⁠—

Depart, proud Spanish fiend!

Captain and Doctor.

Child of perdition!

Hence, sir!⁠—

Did I not quarrel bravely?

Yes, indeed, sir.

Nay, an I give my mind to’t, I shall do’t.

O, you must follow, sir, and threaten him tame:
He’ll turn again else.

I’ll return him then.

Drugger, this rogue prevented us for thee:
We had determined that thou should’st have come
In a Spanish suit, and have carried her so; and he,
A brokerly slave! Goes, puts it on himself.
Hast brought the damask?

Yes, sir.

Thou must borrow
A Spanish suit. Hast thou no credit with the players?

Yes, sir; did you never see me play the Fool?

I know not, Nab: Aside.⁠—Thou shalt, if I can help it.⁠—
Hieronimo’s old cloak, ruff, and hat will serve;
I’ll tell thee more when thou bring’st ’em.

Sir, I know
The Spaniard hates the Brethren, and hath spies
Upon their actions: and that this was one
I make no scruple.⁠—But the holy Synod
Have been in prayer and meditation for it;
And ’tis revealed no less to them than me,
That casting of money is most lawful.

True.
But here I cannot do it: if the house
Should chance to be suspected, all would out,
And we be locked up in the Tower forever,
To make gold there for the state, never come out;
And then are you defeated.

I will tell
This to the Elders and the weaker Brethren,
That the whole company of the separation
May join in humble prayer again.

And fasting.

Yea, for some fitter place. The peace of mind
Rest with these walls!

Thanks, courteous Ananias.

What did he come for?

About casting dollars,
Presently out of hand. And so I told him,
A Spanish minister came here to spy,
Against the faithful⁠—

I conceive. Come, Subtle,
Thou art so down upon the least disaster!
How wouldst thou ha’ done, if I had not help’t thee out?

I thank thee, Face, for the angry boy, i’faith.

Who would have looked it should have been that rascal,
Surly? He had dyed his beard and all. Well, sir.
Here’s damask come to make you a suit.

Where’s Drugger?

He is gone to borrow me a Spanish habit;
I’ll be the count, now.

But where’s the widow?

Within, with my lord’s sister; Madam Dol
Is entertaining her.

By your favour, Face,
Now she is honest, I will stand again.

You will not offer it.

Why?

Stand to your word,
Or⁠—here comes Dol, she knows⁠—

You are tyrannous still.

Strict for my right.⁠—How now, Dol!
Hast [thou] told her,
The Spanish count will come?

Yes; but another is come,
You little looked for!

Who’s that?

Your master;
The master of the house.

How, Dol!

She lies,
This is some trick. Come, leave your quiblins, Dorothy.

Look out, and see.

Art thou in earnest?

’Slight,
Forty of the neighbours are about him, talking.

’Tis he, by this good day.

’Twill prove ill day
For some on us.

We are undone, and taken.

Lost, I’m afraid.

You said he would not come,
While there died one a week within the liberties.

No: ’twas within the walls.

Was’t so! Cry you mercy.
I thought the liberties. What shall we do now, Face?

Be silent: not a word, if he call or knock.
I’ll into mine old shape again and meet him,
Of Jeremy, the butler. In the meantime,
Do you two pack up all the goods and purchase,
That we can carry in the two trunks. I’ll keep him
Off for today, if I cannot longer: and then
At night, I’ll ship you both away to Ratcliff,
Where we will meet tomorrow, and there we’ll share.
Let Mammon’s brass and pewter keep the cellar;
We’ll have another time for that. But, Dol,
Prithee go heat a little water quickly;
Subtle must shave me: all my Captain’s beard
Must off, to make me appear smooth Jeremy.
You’ll do it?

Yes, I’ll shave you, as well as I can.

And not cut my throat, but trim me?

You shall see, sir.