Love Tricks, or, The School Of Complement - Act IV
ACT IV. SCENE I.
A Room in Rufaldo's House .
Enter ANTONIO , drest in Selina's apparel, with HILARIA .
Ant. Have I not done my part, wench, with confidence to proceed thus far with thy father? Either I am infinitely like my sister, or they are all mad with credulity: but our good fathers are blinded with their passions, and that helps me much. Well, I do but think upon the night's work; there lies my masterpiece; I have it, it is for thy sake, Hilaria, I have assumed this habit, the end will speak it.
Hil. But what will you do? Antonio is lost now.
Ant. Well enough; [he] is supposed to go after Selina, and is not returned yet; out of my brotherly love, they will imagine I have but taken a journey in quest of a sister: time enough to return again; and he goes far, that never does, wench, by story. —
Enter BUBULCUS , whetting his sword .
Here's Bubulcus.
Bub . Antonio is gone; no news of him: I am glad of that; I hope he will come no more.
Ant . How now? what means this? what! sword drawn?
Hil . And he is whetting it.
Ant . For heaven's sake, what's the matter?
Bub . Nay, nothing, nothing, I do but — a —
Hil . By my virginity you make me afraid:
What's the matter?
Ant . He means to fight with somebody, on my life.
Hil . Heaven defend it! Good sir, tell me.
Bub . be not afraid, gentlewomen, for I do but — you see —
Hil . But what?
Bub . Whet my long knife; somebody shall smart for it; but —
Ant . He does mean to challenge somebody.
Hil . I charge you, if you love [me,] tell me who's your enemy.
Bub . Nay, nobody; I do not mean to fight. If I live — —
Ant . What?
Bub . Nay, nothing, sweet ladies, be not troubled, I do but sharpen my sword.
Hil . Tell me the truth, why?
Bub . I was eating oysters the other day, and I had never a knife, and so —
Ant . Come, come, there is some other matter in it; pray tell me.
Bub . Well, you are my friends; if you chance to hear of any man's death shortly, then say Bubulcus — —
Hil . I hope you do not mean to kill any man in the field; you make me tremble, I'll assure you.
Bub . No, no, sweet-heart, do not tremble; I will but — — [ he makes a thrust .] — Lose my honour! I'll be carved first.
Ant . What a capon's this? [ aside .] — Pray let me persuade you.
Hil . And me.
Bub . No, no, it is but in vain to persuade me; I am resolved: if you love me, do not use any arguments:
The Cupidinean fires burn in my breast,
And like the oven Etna, I am full
Of squibs and crackers . — I had almost forgot —
Hil . The oven Etna! I shall be baked then. What a fury are you in? He looks like the God of War.
Bub . The God of War! I think I have reason. Hilaria, I must, and I will, and all the world shall not hold me.
Hil . But you shall not go away thus, till you be calmer.
Bub . O that I were a flea upon his lip ,
There would I suck for ever and not skip. —
I'll carbonado him; — his face doth far
Excel all other like a blazing star
We mortals wonder at. — Vouchsafe to cast
Off the sparkling diamond eyes thou hast: —
O, let me go on, — me thy vow'd creature ,
That is confounded with thy form and feature.
Ant . Is the fool mad?
Hil . He has something in his head, an it were out. But here come our fathers.
Enter CORNELIO , and RUFALDO .
Cor . Antonio not heard of yet?
Ruf . This morning we wanted a bride too, but she was found; marry, I cried for her first. Father, come; my brother Antonio is but gone to look his sister. — Ha, my sweet wench, when shall we to bed?
Cor . I hope it is so, and yet he stays too long. —
Enter Gorgon , dressed as at first .
Here's Gorgon. — Sirrah, where have you been all this day?
Gorg . Indeed, sir, I have made inquisition; both my tongue and my feet have walked; but my mistress is not to be found, or heard of, I assure you.
Ruf . Gorgon, hast lost thy senses? here's Selina.
Gorg . Mistress! then we are all made.
Cor . But, sirrah, your master Antonio is gone.
Gorg . Gone in wine, sir, for joy of his sister's finding again?
Cor . Go your ways, sirrah, and either bring me news of him, or look me in the face no more; you'll find we jest not.
Gorg . Pray, sir, let me take my journey in the morning; the wedding night is fatal: I hope your worship does but jest; I may be drunk to-night, and wake early enough to be gone afore day too: I beseech you, sir.
Ant . Pray, sir, let him stay to-night.
Gorg . By this hand, there he is! — where? — did not I hear his voice?
Cor . Away, sirrah.
Gorg . I have been mad all this while, and now am like to be my own man again; since there is no remedy, — — Gentles all, good night;
Gorgon begins to be a wandering knight.
Cor . I cannot be heartily merry: well, let us leave these two without any more ceremonies; it is late: all joys be multiplied on my son and daughter; good night! I do comfort myself with hope of Antonio's return, and yet [my] fears are great.
Ruf . Lights there! So, so, welcome, thou much expected night, I do salute thy black brows. Come, my Selina, shalt find I have young blood: Hilaria, do service to your mother; make her unready.
Ant . It is time enough.
Ruf . And why should we lose any? I pray thee let her come. I know it is your virgin modesty, loth to part with a maidenhead; but it must off: come, prithee be not idle: — why, thou knowest I married thee, Selina; as thou lovest me.
Ant . Sir, by that love I must entreat you one thing.
Ruf . Any thing, sweet heart.
Ant . To ratify an ancient vow I made.
Ruf . Any vows; what is it?
Ant . I vowed when ever I married, my husband should not lie with me the first night.
Ruf . Should any body else?
Ant . Not any man.
Ruf . Come, it was a foolish vow, and must be broke. Not lie with me the first night! it were a sin beyond incontinency. I had rather lose half my estate than miss thee but an hour out of my arms this night.
Ant . It is but one night.
Ruf . Oh, it is an age, a world of time to me: why, I have fed on oyster-pies, and rumps of sparrows, a whole month, in expectation of the first night; and leave it for a vow!
Ant . Indeed you must.
Ruf . How! must? Come, I know you do but jest, this is but your device to whet me on, and heighten me, as if old age at once had soaked up all my marrow. Hark you, how old do ye think I am?
Ant . Some threescore and seventeen.
Ruf . Out upon thy judgment! why, by all computation, I am not above six or seven and thirty. I was restored, renewed, when first I loved thee; by this hand, I was.
Ant . I see then you would tire me; by this beard, you must not lie with me to-night.
Ruf . How! nay then, I see you will try my strength: thus I could force you. — [ He takes hold of Antonio, who throws him down .] — She has thrown me down; I know not how to take it, nor well how to bear it; my bones ache: a pox on Gasparo! on my conscience I am an old fool: ha? I will see more, and set a good face on it. — [ aside, and rising on his knees .] You know who I am?
Ant . Yes, old Rufaldo.
Ruf . Ha! old? it is so; my spirits faint again. — [ aside ] — What did you marry [me] for?
Ant . To make an ass of you.
Ruf . How?
Ant . Thou credulous fool,
Didst thou imagine I should ever love thee,
Or lie with thee, but when I have a child,
Would shame the father? Oh the power of dotage,
That, like an inundation, doth overcome
The little world of man, drown all his reason,
And leave him spoil'd, even of his common sense!
Didst think I was a piece of stone sawn out
By carver's art; so cold, so dull of soul,
So empty of all fire to warm my blood,
I'd lie with thee, worse than the frigid zone,
Or isicles that hang o' th' beard of winter?
Have I with wearied patience look'd to see,
When thou'dst lay violent hands upon thyself;
For being so mad, so impudent, to love me,
And wouldst thou bed me too? Didst thou not tremble
To dare the holy rites and nuptial tapers?
Oh impious sacrilege! hence, go, [go] waste
Thyself with sorrow; pine that half-starved body
Until thy bones break [through] thy skin, and fall
To dust before thy face. — Nay, you shall endure me
For since you 've tied me to you, I will be
Thy constant fury, worse than hags or night-mare
If thou doest talk of love, or seek to be
At reconcilement.
Ruf . Selina, sweet Selina, hear me.
Ant . Sweet! oh villainous presumption!
Ruf . What will you do?
Ant . Save a disease a labour, make an end of you. —
Come, sirrah, swear to observe what I shall impose upon you.
Ruf . Oh, any thing, bitter Selina.
Ant . First, you shall never solicit me to lie with you.
Ruf . Never, by this hand, and thank you too.
Ant . Stand bare in my presence.
Ruf . Stark-naked.
Ant . Run of my errands.
Ruf . To the world's end.
Ant . And keep a whore under my nose; nay, I will allow it.
Ruf . If you will have it so, I am content.
Ant . Swear, sirrah.
Ruf . Flesh and blood! I do swear.
Ant . So, rise. In hope of your conformity, I forbear to let the punishment be equal with your deserts.
Ruf . Oh, I have married a devil! I shall be utterly disgraced, if this be known: [ aside .] Pray, sweet wife, let me beg one request of you, that you would not discredit me; I will be content to endure your pleasure; do not forsake my house: I beseech you that you would lie with my daughter.
Ant . Shall you appoint my lodging?
Ruf . Oh no, I do but humbly entreat you will be pleased to lie with my daughter.
Ant . Well, since you submit so respectively, I will tender your credit in that point, upon your good behaviour: are you not well?
Ruf . I am the worse for you by forty marks. One thing more, virtuous wife, — that you would not tell your father, nor any body else, how you have beaten me. — Good night, sweet, virtuous wife.
Ant . Ha, ha! — — Hilaria, my way to thee is free, I have beat my passage, and I come to thee.
SCENE II
A Part of the Country.
Enter FELICE habited like a Shepherdess , SELINA , and Shepherds.
Sel . I had thought the woods, and such wild groves as these,
Had been the house of rapine, and could not
Afford humanity: beasts, and men like them,
Are wont to make such places desolate:
Did nature make you thus at first, and are
We, that have cities, houses, civil laws,
More rude than you? or hath all virtue chose
You as diviner earth to dwell upon?
[Fair] shepherdess, indeed I am in love
With your wild kingdom here, and would not be
A king abroad, if I might be a subject
With such fair nymphs as you.
1 Shep . Oh, son, you would say so,
When our pleasures all you know:
We are not opprest with care,
With which you in cities are.
A shepherd is a king, whose throne
Is a mossy mountain, on
Whose top we sit, our crook in hand,
Like a sceptre of command,
Our subjects, sheep grazing below,
Wanton, frisking to and fro.
Fel . We nothing fear, awake nor 'sleep.
But the wolf, god'ild our sheep!
On a country quill each plays
Madrigals, and pretty lays
Of passions, and the force of love,
And with ditties heaven [does] move.
Birds will listen to our song,
And to leafy arbours throng,
To learn our notes, and mistress' name,
Valleys echoing with the same.
2 Shep . When we hunt, as there is store
Of deer, the trembling hare, and boar,
You would think that you had seen
Gods in shepherds weeds agen.
A hundred pretty nymphs apace
Tripping o'er the lands and chase,
As many lads, the gentle air
Playing with their dangling hair.
Fel . Sometimes we dance a fairy round,
Hand in hand, upon the ground,
Shepherds piping, garlands crowning,
With our harmless bosoms * * *
1 Shep . * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * drowning.
2 Shep . Walk unto the silver brook,
You shall need no other hook,
To catch the dancing fish withal,
But a song or madrigal.
Fel . When the clouds let fall their show'rs,
We have at hand a hundred bow'rs,
Where, under sweet-brier, safe are we,
And honey-dropping wood-bind tree;
Here, in spite of storms, we tell
Stories of love, of Philomel,
Of Paris and the golden ball,
Of Echo, and Narcissus' fall.
3 Shep . Here no false love brings despair,
Jealousy, suspicion, care;
Always happy, most of all
On Sylvanus' festival.
Sel . No more, good shepherds; you undo a boy
With the opinion of his happiness:
If a few jewels I have brought with me
May find acceptance here, I shall bestow them
As freely as your loves have fallen on me.
Nay then, I'll force them on you; I have left
To purchase a flock with you.
1 Shep . We thank you, gentle boy. Gooden!
We must to our flocks agen.
Sel . But, shepherdess, or sister if thou wilt,
Oh would thou wert! I prithee call me brother —
Hath love a part among you? tell me, pray,
What punishment inflict you on false love?
But sure you are exempt from such a misery:
What then is her reward, that out of peevishness,
Contemns the honest passion of her lover,
Insults upon his virtue, and doth place
Unworthily her affection?
Fel . Though such a woman need no curse,
Being one herself, or worse,
Yet we shepherds use to say,
May she love another day,
And not be lov'd! die in despair,
And have no other tomb but air!
Enter INFORTUNIO distracted .
Infor . A prey, a prey! Where did you get that face?
That goddess face? it was Selina's once:
How came you by it? did she on her death-bed
Bequeath her beauty as a legacy,
Not willing it should die, but live and be
A lasting death to Infortunio?
Oh, she was cruel, not to bury 't with her!
But I'm a fool, 'tis Venus and her son —
Where be your bow and arrows, little Cupid?
Didst thou maliciously spend all thy quiver
Upon my heart, and not reserve one shaft
To make Selina love me? Tell me, Venus,
Why did you use me so? You shall no more
Be queen of love. Stay, stay, Cupid was blind,
How comes he now to see? Yes, he did see,
He never could have wounded me so right else.
Why, then let Fortune have her eyes again,
And all things see how wretched I am made.
Sel . Oh, is there not within the power of art,
How to restore this gentleman?
Fel . There is, and out of that experience we
Have in these woods, of simples, I doubt not
But to apply a remedy.
Sel . He will be worthy of your care herein,
And should he be, which I cannot imagine,
Ingrateful to your skill, I would reward it,
And call you mother, or my sister, for it.
Fel . It seems you have some relation to him.
Sel . Indeed he is the dearest friend I had:
And if my blood were powerful to restore him,
I'd spend it like a prodigal; I know Selina.
Infor . Ha! do you know Selina? She is married to
Rufaldo, the old usurer, that went
To bed afore to his money, and begat
Forty in the hundred: now he beds Selina,
And lays his rude hand o'er her sacred breast,
Embraceth her fair body; now he dares
Kiss her, and suck ambrosia from her lip.
Those eyes that grace the day, now shine on him,
He her Endymion, she his silver Moon.
The tongue that's able to rock Heaven asleep,
And make the music of the spheres stand still,
To listen to the happier airs it makes,
And mend their tunes by it; that voice is now
Devoted to his ears, those cheeks, those hands,
Would make gods proud to touch, are by his touch
Profaned every hour: oh, this makes me mad!
But I will fit them for it, for I'll die;
It may be then she'll weep, and let fall tears
Upon my grave-stone, which shall be of marble,
And hard like her, that if she pour out floods,
No drops shall sink through it, to soften me.
I will be wrapt in lead to keep out prayers,
For then, I know, she'll beg I would be friends:
But then I will be just, and hate her love,
As she did mine, and laugh to see her grieve.
Sel. Come, I will fetch Selina to you, if you will sleep.
Infor. Will you?
Then I will live, and you shall be my best boy:
I scorn to weep, or shed another tear.
Sit down, I'll have a garland for my boy,
Of Phaenix' feathers: flowers are too mean
To sit upon thy temples; in thy face
Are many gardens, spring had never such.
The roses and the lilies of thy cheeks
Are slips of Paradise, not to be gather'd
But wonder'd at
Sel. But you said you would sleep:
When slept you last?
Infor. I remember, before I lov'd, but that [was]
I know not when, [my best boy,] I slept soundly,
And dreamt of gathering nosegays: 'tis unlucky
To dream of herbs and flowers.
Fel. For Selina's sake I'll try my best skill on him. Get him to sleep; your presence, I see, is powerful; yonder is a pleasant arbour, procure him thither, While I prepare the herbs, whose precious juice
May, with heaven's blessing, make him well again.
Sel. A thousand blessings, on you. — Come, sir, go with me, and when you have slept,
I'll fetch Selina to you.
Infor. Prithee do,
I am very drowsy. — Come, I'll dream of something;
My eyes are going to bed, and leaden sleep
Doth draw the curtains o'er them.
Sel. Will you go with me?
Infor. Yes, and we will pick a dish of strawberries.
SCENE III.
A Forest.
Enter JENKIN .
Jen. Has almost lost herself in these woods and wildernesses; was very weary of these journies and travels in foot-backs: have not since her comings beheld any reasonable creatures. Bless us awl! Jocarello is lost too, cannot tell where, in these mazes and labyrinths. Jocarello! So ho!
Echo. So ho!
Jen. Ha! there is somebodies yet. Hark you tere, here is a sentilman of Wales, look you, desires very much to have speeches and confabulations with you: where is her?
Echo. Here is her.
Jen. Here is her? knaw not which ways to come to her: pray you tell Jenkin where you be?
Echo. Booby.
Jen. Poobies? was her call her poobies? 'tis very saucy travels: her will teach her better manners and moralities, if her get her in reaches and circumferences of her Welsh blades, truly.
Echo. You lie.
Jen. How, lies and poobies too? hark you, Jenkin was give you mawls and knocks, for your poobies and lies, and indignities, look for your pates now.
SCENE IV.
Another part of the same.
Enter JENKIN .
Jen. Here is no bodies but bushes and briers, look you, awl is very quiet: So ho!
Echo. Ho.
Jen. Her am very much deceived; now comes into our minds, if these voices be not Echoes. — Echo!
Echo. Echo.
Jen. 'Tis very true; but her marvel much; have her Echoes in these countries, pray you?
Echo. Yes, pray you.
Jen. Warrant her 'tis a Welsh Echo, was follow Jenkin in loves out of Wales.
Echo. Out of Wales.
Jen. 'Tis very true; bless us awl; now her call to remembrances and memories, her had communications and talkings with this very Echoes in Glamorganshire, in de vallies and talles there, look you; her am very glad her hath met with Echoes, was born in her own countries: Hark you, Jenkin was travel hither out of loves and affections to Selina.
Echo. Nay.
Jen. Nay? yes, very true, pray you tell her, be Selina in these woods, or no?
Echo. No.
Jen. No? Where is her, den? have her taken awl these labours and ambulations in vanities? say you, shall Jenkin then go back as he came?
Echo. Ass he came.
Jen. Gone? It is not possible; hit may be Selina was turn spirits and be invisible rather; she is not gone verily.
Echo. There you lie.
Jen. Lie! very well, you have priviledges to give lies and awl things in the world, but her will not leave these woods for awl dat; her will be pilgrims all tays of her lifes, ere her go without her.
Echo. Go without her,
Jen. How, not love Jenkin? then there is a devil in awl female sexes: know very well she promise loves and good wills in times, great while ago, pray you now, her will talk no longer with you. Fare you well, Echo; pray if you meet her pages, bid her make hasts and expeditions after her. Fare you well.
Echo. Fare you well.
SCENE V.
A Street.
Enter Gorgon , disguised like a maimed Soldier .
Gorg. I think Jupiter has snatched up my master Antonio, to make a Ganymede of him; he is not to be found; yet I have search'd all the taverns in the town, I am sure, and that method my nose led me to, hoping he had been a good fellow; but non est inventus . Well, my stock is spent, but with this terrible face, a buff jerkin, and a roaring basket-hilt, Gorgon will have a trick of wit to bear his own charges. — But here comes a gentleman: to my postures now.
Enter GASPARO .
Gasp. I am resolved.
Gorg. Good your worship, bestow a small piece of silver upon a poor soldier, new come out of the Low Countries, that have been in many hot services, against the Spaniard, the French, and Great Turk. I have been shot seven times through the body, my eyes blown up with gun-powder, half my scull sear'd off with a cannon, and had my throat cut twice in the open field. — Good your worship, take compassion upon the caterwaling fortunes of a forlorn gentleman, that have lost the use of my veins; good your generous nature, take compassion upon me: I have but four fingers and a thumb upon one hand; can work and will not: one small piece of grateful silver, to pay for my lodging, I beseech you, venerable sir.
Gasp. Canst not see?
Gorg. Only a little glimmering, sir; the beams of your gentility have radiated, and infused light into my poor lanterns, sir.
Gasp. Can you feel then?
Gorg. Oh, sir, that faculty alone, fortune and nature have left inviolated.
Gasp. Here is somewhat for thee. [ He kicks him, and Gorgon opens his eyes .] What! can you see now?
Gorg. Gasparo, is it you? Pox on your benevolence!
Gasp. Whence came this project of wit?
Gorg. From the old predicament: faith, necessity, that has no law, put me into this habit; my master is turned coward, and run away from me.
Gasp. And thou art turned soldier, to fight with him when you meet again! then thou wantest a master? Hark, sirrah, what sayst thou to another project?
Gorg. Oh, I could caper for it.
Gasp. I am now leaving the world, and going into the country, wilt turn gypsy, or shepherd? I am for the woods; canst [repeat thy] madrigals yet?
Gorg. [sings.] Phillis fair, do not disdain
The love of Corydon, thy swain .
Gasp. Excellent! We'll turn shepherds presently; thou shalt be Phillis and I'll be Corydon; let me alone to provide russets, crook, and tar-box: they say there is good hospitality in the woods, and songs and pastimes upon Sylvanus' day.
Gorg. But that were pretty! shall I be a woman?
Gasp. By any means; thou hast a good face already, a little simpering will do it. I'll accommodate thee early; keep thy own counsel, and I'll warrant thee for a Maid-Marian.
Gorg. 'Sfoot! shall I run into my coats again? Go to, put me into what shape you will, I'll play my part: methinks I do feel an hundred rural animals taking up my petticoat already.
SCENE VI.
A Room in Rufaldo's House .
Enter ANTONIO disguised as before , BUBULCUS , and HILARIA .
Ant. Pray, forward with your relation.
Bub. As I was saying, having challenged Antonio for the affront he did me before Hilaria, here, by heaven, — you must say nothing.
Hil. Not a syllable.
Bub. He did accept the challenge; the weapons were soon agreed upon, and we met — but not a word of fighting, if you love me.
Ant. You are not come to fighting yet yourself: but, by the way, what were your weapons?
Bub. A — long sword.
Ant. 'Twas long ere you could remember it, methinks.
Bub. Soon as we came into the place appointed, we looked about, and saw all clear.
Hil. As clear as day, on your side.
Bub. We drew — but not a word of fighting, by this hand.
Ant. Not by that hand.
Bub. We threw our doublets off, to shew we had no coat of mail, or privy shirt upon us, against the laws of duelling: in fine, I bid him say his prayers.
Ant. 'Twas well thought upon; and what did you?
Bub. I let them alone, for I knew I should kill him, and have time enough to say them afterwards at my leisure.
Hil. When he had prayed, what then?
Bub. When he had said his prayers, he thought upon it, and let fall words tending to reconcilement: On my conscience he would have asked me forgiveness, but I stood upon my honour, and would fight with him, and so we stood upon our guard — but not a word of fighting, if you love me.
Ant. Oh, by no means: but when did you fight?
Bub. I'll tell you; Antonio, when he saw no remedy, but that I would needs fight with him, and so consequently kill him, made a desperate blow at my head, which I warded with my dagger, better than he looked for, and in return, I cut off his left hand; whereat amazed, and fainting, I nimbly seconded it, as you know I am very nimble, and run my rapier into his right thigh, two yards.
Hil. Then you were on both sides of him?
Ant. Your rapier? did you not say your weapons were long swords?
Bub. But mine was both a sword and rapier, there 'tis — but not a word of fighting, as you love me. Well, not to weary you with the narration of the innumerable wounds I gave him, I cut off every joint from his toe upwards, to his middle; by these hilts, now, you may believe me; there ended Antonio, my rival. Judge, judge now, whether Bubulcus be valiant or not — but not a word of fighting, as you love me; let it die.
Ant. 'Twas very valiantly done.
Hil. Hark you, sweetheart, do you not remember who this is, that you have discovered this business to? This is Selina, his own sister.
Bub. What a rogue was I not to remember that!
Hil. Do not you know that she is my mother-in-law? Nay, nay, pluck up a good heart; what will you do? There is no running away.
Bub. Have you never an empty chest?
Hil. What, to hide yourself? That, I know, you would not do for your credit. Draw your sword, and stand upon your guard; we know you are valiant, that could kill Antonio so bravely.
Bub. Hilaria, if ever you loved me — Oh! I have made a fair piece of work; could you not tell me it was his sister? Oh, here they come.
Re-enter ANTONIO , with RUFALDO and Officers .
Ant. He hath confest it, sir; your daughter heard it, sir. I charge you, lay hands upon that murderer; he hath slain my brother Antonio.
Ruf. Did you hear him confess it?
Bub. Here's right confess and be hang'd now.
Hil. I must confess I did.
Ruf. Bubulcus kill Antonio?
Bub. By this hand I do not know how to deny it, for my credit.
Ruf. Nay then, lay hands on him.
Bub. Yes, father Rufaldo. — Selina! — oh, a plague of all coxcombs! what a rogue was I!
Ant. I will have justice; away with him.
Bub. I am a lying rascal, by this hand.
Ant. We must require Antonio from you, sir, or your blood answer his. Away with him, Hilaria
Bub. I shall be hanged then, father! — Hilaria! will you see me hanged?
Ruf. There is no remedy: would thou hadst kill'd his sister; I am plagued with her, and dare not speak it for shame. I'll do what I can to get a reprieve for you. [ aside .] — Nay, an you kill folks, you must e'en take your fortune.
Bub. A curse of all ill fortune! I killed no body.
Ant. Away, I say; out, villian! hence! for I
Do hear my brother's blood for justice cry.
A Room in Rufaldo's House .
Enter ANTONIO , drest in Selina's apparel, with HILARIA .
Ant. Have I not done my part, wench, with confidence to proceed thus far with thy father? Either I am infinitely like my sister, or they are all mad with credulity: but our good fathers are blinded with their passions, and that helps me much. Well, I do but think upon the night's work; there lies my masterpiece; I have it, it is for thy sake, Hilaria, I have assumed this habit, the end will speak it.
Hil. But what will you do? Antonio is lost now.
Ant. Well enough; [he] is supposed to go after Selina, and is not returned yet; out of my brotherly love, they will imagine I have but taken a journey in quest of a sister: time enough to return again; and he goes far, that never does, wench, by story. —
Enter BUBULCUS , whetting his sword .
Here's Bubulcus.
Bub . Antonio is gone; no news of him: I am glad of that; I hope he will come no more.
Ant . How now? what means this? what! sword drawn?
Hil . And he is whetting it.
Ant . For heaven's sake, what's the matter?
Bub . Nay, nothing, nothing, I do but — a —
Hil . By my virginity you make me afraid:
What's the matter?
Ant . He means to fight with somebody, on my life.
Hil . Heaven defend it! Good sir, tell me.
Bub . be not afraid, gentlewomen, for I do but — you see —
Hil . But what?
Bub . Whet my long knife; somebody shall smart for it; but —
Ant . He does mean to challenge somebody.
Hil . I charge you, if you love [me,] tell me who's your enemy.
Bub . Nay, nobody; I do not mean to fight. If I live — —
Ant . What?
Bub . Nay, nothing, sweet ladies, be not troubled, I do but sharpen my sword.
Hil . Tell me the truth, why?
Bub . I was eating oysters the other day, and I had never a knife, and so —
Ant . Come, come, there is some other matter in it; pray tell me.
Bub . Well, you are my friends; if you chance to hear of any man's death shortly, then say Bubulcus — —
Hil . I hope you do not mean to kill any man in the field; you make me tremble, I'll assure you.
Bub . No, no, sweet-heart, do not tremble; I will but — — [ he makes a thrust .] — Lose my honour! I'll be carved first.
Ant . What a capon's this? [ aside .] — Pray let me persuade you.
Hil . And me.
Bub . No, no, it is but in vain to persuade me; I am resolved: if you love me, do not use any arguments:
The Cupidinean fires burn in my breast,
And like the oven Etna, I am full
Of squibs and crackers . — I had almost forgot —
Hil . The oven Etna! I shall be baked then. What a fury are you in? He looks like the God of War.
Bub . The God of War! I think I have reason. Hilaria, I must, and I will, and all the world shall not hold me.
Hil . But you shall not go away thus, till you be calmer.
Bub . O that I were a flea upon his lip ,
There would I suck for ever and not skip. —
I'll carbonado him; — his face doth far
Excel all other like a blazing star
We mortals wonder at. — Vouchsafe to cast
Off the sparkling diamond eyes thou hast: —
O, let me go on, — me thy vow'd creature ,
That is confounded with thy form and feature.
Ant . Is the fool mad?
Hil . He has something in his head, an it were out. But here come our fathers.
Enter CORNELIO , and RUFALDO .
Cor . Antonio not heard of yet?
Ruf . This morning we wanted a bride too, but she was found; marry, I cried for her first. Father, come; my brother Antonio is but gone to look his sister. — Ha, my sweet wench, when shall we to bed?
Cor . I hope it is so, and yet he stays too long. —
Enter Gorgon , dressed as at first .
Here's Gorgon. — Sirrah, where have you been all this day?
Gorg . Indeed, sir, I have made inquisition; both my tongue and my feet have walked; but my mistress is not to be found, or heard of, I assure you.
Ruf . Gorgon, hast lost thy senses? here's Selina.
Gorg . Mistress! then we are all made.
Cor . But, sirrah, your master Antonio is gone.
Gorg . Gone in wine, sir, for joy of his sister's finding again?
Cor . Go your ways, sirrah, and either bring me news of him, or look me in the face no more; you'll find we jest not.
Gorg . Pray, sir, let me take my journey in the morning; the wedding night is fatal: I hope your worship does but jest; I may be drunk to-night, and wake early enough to be gone afore day too: I beseech you, sir.
Ant . Pray, sir, let him stay to-night.
Gorg . By this hand, there he is! — where? — did not I hear his voice?
Cor . Away, sirrah.
Gorg . I have been mad all this while, and now am like to be my own man again; since there is no remedy, — — Gentles all, good night;
Gorgon begins to be a wandering knight.
Cor . I cannot be heartily merry: well, let us leave these two without any more ceremonies; it is late: all joys be multiplied on my son and daughter; good night! I do comfort myself with hope of Antonio's return, and yet [my] fears are great.
Ruf . Lights there! So, so, welcome, thou much expected night, I do salute thy black brows. Come, my Selina, shalt find I have young blood: Hilaria, do service to your mother; make her unready.
Ant . It is time enough.
Ruf . And why should we lose any? I pray thee let her come. I know it is your virgin modesty, loth to part with a maidenhead; but it must off: come, prithee be not idle: — why, thou knowest I married thee, Selina; as thou lovest me.
Ant . Sir, by that love I must entreat you one thing.
Ruf . Any thing, sweet heart.
Ant . To ratify an ancient vow I made.
Ruf . Any vows; what is it?
Ant . I vowed when ever I married, my husband should not lie with me the first night.
Ruf . Should any body else?
Ant . Not any man.
Ruf . Come, it was a foolish vow, and must be broke. Not lie with me the first night! it were a sin beyond incontinency. I had rather lose half my estate than miss thee but an hour out of my arms this night.
Ant . It is but one night.
Ruf . Oh, it is an age, a world of time to me: why, I have fed on oyster-pies, and rumps of sparrows, a whole month, in expectation of the first night; and leave it for a vow!
Ant . Indeed you must.
Ruf . How! must? Come, I know you do but jest, this is but your device to whet me on, and heighten me, as if old age at once had soaked up all my marrow. Hark you, how old do ye think I am?
Ant . Some threescore and seventeen.
Ruf . Out upon thy judgment! why, by all computation, I am not above six or seven and thirty. I was restored, renewed, when first I loved thee; by this hand, I was.
Ant . I see then you would tire me; by this beard, you must not lie with me to-night.
Ruf . How! nay then, I see you will try my strength: thus I could force you. — [ He takes hold of Antonio, who throws him down .] — She has thrown me down; I know not how to take it, nor well how to bear it; my bones ache: a pox on Gasparo! on my conscience I am an old fool: ha? I will see more, and set a good face on it. — [ aside, and rising on his knees .] You know who I am?
Ant . Yes, old Rufaldo.
Ruf . Ha! old? it is so; my spirits faint again. — [ aside ] — What did you marry [me] for?
Ant . To make an ass of you.
Ruf . How?
Ant . Thou credulous fool,
Didst thou imagine I should ever love thee,
Or lie with thee, but when I have a child,
Would shame the father? Oh the power of dotage,
That, like an inundation, doth overcome
The little world of man, drown all his reason,
And leave him spoil'd, even of his common sense!
Didst think I was a piece of stone sawn out
By carver's art; so cold, so dull of soul,
So empty of all fire to warm my blood,
I'd lie with thee, worse than the frigid zone,
Or isicles that hang o' th' beard of winter?
Have I with wearied patience look'd to see,
When thou'dst lay violent hands upon thyself;
For being so mad, so impudent, to love me,
And wouldst thou bed me too? Didst thou not tremble
To dare the holy rites and nuptial tapers?
Oh impious sacrilege! hence, go, [go] waste
Thyself with sorrow; pine that half-starved body
Until thy bones break [through] thy skin, and fall
To dust before thy face. — Nay, you shall endure me
For since you 've tied me to you, I will be
Thy constant fury, worse than hags or night-mare
If thou doest talk of love, or seek to be
At reconcilement.
Ruf . Selina, sweet Selina, hear me.
Ant . Sweet! oh villainous presumption!
Ruf . What will you do?
Ant . Save a disease a labour, make an end of you. —
Come, sirrah, swear to observe what I shall impose upon you.
Ruf . Oh, any thing, bitter Selina.
Ant . First, you shall never solicit me to lie with you.
Ruf . Never, by this hand, and thank you too.
Ant . Stand bare in my presence.
Ruf . Stark-naked.
Ant . Run of my errands.
Ruf . To the world's end.
Ant . And keep a whore under my nose; nay, I will allow it.
Ruf . If you will have it so, I am content.
Ant . Swear, sirrah.
Ruf . Flesh and blood! I do swear.
Ant . So, rise. In hope of your conformity, I forbear to let the punishment be equal with your deserts.
Ruf . Oh, I have married a devil! I shall be utterly disgraced, if this be known: [ aside .] Pray, sweet wife, let me beg one request of you, that you would not discredit me; I will be content to endure your pleasure; do not forsake my house: I beseech you that you would lie with my daughter.
Ant . Shall you appoint my lodging?
Ruf . Oh no, I do but humbly entreat you will be pleased to lie with my daughter.
Ant . Well, since you submit so respectively, I will tender your credit in that point, upon your good behaviour: are you not well?
Ruf . I am the worse for you by forty marks. One thing more, virtuous wife, — that you would not tell your father, nor any body else, how you have beaten me. — Good night, sweet, virtuous wife.
Ant . Ha, ha! — — Hilaria, my way to thee is free, I have beat my passage, and I come to thee.
SCENE II
A Part of the Country.
Enter FELICE habited like a Shepherdess , SELINA , and Shepherds.
Sel . I had thought the woods, and such wild groves as these,
Had been the house of rapine, and could not
Afford humanity: beasts, and men like them,
Are wont to make such places desolate:
Did nature make you thus at first, and are
We, that have cities, houses, civil laws,
More rude than you? or hath all virtue chose
You as diviner earth to dwell upon?
[Fair] shepherdess, indeed I am in love
With your wild kingdom here, and would not be
A king abroad, if I might be a subject
With such fair nymphs as you.
1 Shep . Oh, son, you would say so,
When our pleasures all you know:
We are not opprest with care,
With which you in cities are.
A shepherd is a king, whose throne
Is a mossy mountain, on
Whose top we sit, our crook in hand,
Like a sceptre of command,
Our subjects, sheep grazing below,
Wanton, frisking to and fro.
Fel . We nothing fear, awake nor 'sleep.
But the wolf, god'ild our sheep!
On a country quill each plays
Madrigals, and pretty lays
Of passions, and the force of love,
And with ditties heaven [does] move.
Birds will listen to our song,
And to leafy arbours throng,
To learn our notes, and mistress' name,
Valleys echoing with the same.
2 Shep . When we hunt, as there is store
Of deer, the trembling hare, and boar,
You would think that you had seen
Gods in shepherds weeds agen.
A hundred pretty nymphs apace
Tripping o'er the lands and chase,
As many lads, the gentle air
Playing with their dangling hair.
Fel . Sometimes we dance a fairy round,
Hand in hand, upon the ground,
Shepherds piping, garlands crowning,
With our harmless bosoms * * *
1 Shep . * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * drowning.
2 Shep . Walk unto the silver brook,
You shall need no other hook,
To catch the dancing fish withal,
But a song or madrigal.
Fel . When the clouds let fall their show'rs,
We have at hand a hundred bow'rs,
Where, under sweet-brier, safe are we,
And honey-dropping wood-bind tree;
Here, in spite of storms, we tell
Stories of love, of Philomel,
Of Paris and the golden ball,
Of Echo, and Narcissus' fall.
3 Shep . Here no false love brings despair,
Jealousy, suspicion, care;
Always happy, most of all
On Sylvanus' festival.
Sel . No more, good shepherds; you undo a boy
With the opinion of his happiness:
If a few jewels I have brought with me
May find acceptance here, I shall bestow them
As freely as your loves have fallen on me.
Nay then, I'll force them on you; I have left
To purchase a flock with you.
1 Shep . We thank you, gentle boy. Gooden!
We must to our flocks agen.
Sel . But, shepherdess, or sister if thou wilt,
Oh would thou wert! I prithee call me brother —
Hath love a part among you? tell me, pray,
What punishment inflict you on false love?
But sure you are exempt from such a misery:
What then is her reward, that out of peevishness,
Contemns the honest passion of her lover,
Insults upon his virtue, and doth place
Unworthily her affection?
Fel . Though such a woman need no curse,
Being one herself, or worse,
Yet we shepherds use to say,
May she love another day,
And not be lov'd! die in despair,
And have no other tomb but air!
Enter INFORTUNIO distracted .
Infor . A prey, a prey! Where did you get that face?
That goddess face? it was Selina's once:
How came you by it? did she on her death-bed
Bequeath her beauty as a legacy,
Not willing it should die, but live and be
A lasting death to Infortunio?
Oh, she was cruel, not to bury 't with her!
But I'm a fool, 'tis Venus and her son —
Where be your bow and arrows, little Cupid?
Didst thou maliciously spend all thy quiver
Upon my heart, and not reserve one shaft
To make Selina love me? Tell me, Venus,
Why did you use me so? You shall no more
Be queen of love. Stay, stay, Cupid was blind,
How comes he now to see? Yes, he did see,
He never could have wounded me so right else.
Why, then let Fortune have her eyes again,
And all things see how wretched I am made.
Sel . Oh, is there not within the power of art,
How to restore this gentleman?
Fel . There is, and out of that experience we
Have in these woods, of simples, I doubt not
But to apply a remedy.
Sel . He will be worthy of your care herein,
And should he be, which I cannot imagine,
Ingrateful to your skill, I would reward it,
And call you mother, or my sister, for it.
Fel . It seems you have some relation to him.
Sel . Indeed he is the dearest friend I had:
And if my blood were powerful to restore him,
I'd spend it like a prodigal; I know Selina.
Infor . Ha! do you know Selina? She is married to
Rufaldo, the old usurer, that went
To bed afore to his money, and begat
Forty in the hundred: now he beds Selina,
And lays his rude hand o'er her sacred breast,
Embraceth her fair body; now he dares
Kiss her, and suck ambrosia from her lip.
Those eyes that grace the day, now shine on him,
He her Endymion, she his silver Moon.
The tongue that's able to rock Heaven asleep,
And make the music of the spheres stand still,
To listen to the happier airs it makes,
And mend their tunes by it; that voice is now
Devoted to his ears, those cheeks, those hands,
Would make gods proud to touch, are by his touch
Profaned every hour: oh, this makes me mad!
But I will fit them for it, for I'll die;
It may be then she'll weep, and let fall tears
Upon my grave-stone, which shall be of marble,
And hard like her, that if she pour out floods,
No drops shall sink through it, to soften me.
I will be wrapt in lead to keep out prayers,
For then, I know, she'll beg I would be friends:
But then I will be just, and hate her love,
As she did mine, and laugh to see her grieve.
Sel. Come, I will fetch Selina to you, if you will sleep.
Infor. Will you?
Then I will live, and you shall be my best boy:
I scorn to weep, or shed another tear.
Sit down, I'll have a garland for my boy,
Of Phaenix' feathers: flowers are too mean
To sit upon thy temples; in thy face
Are many gardens, spring had never such.
The roses and the lilies of thy cheeks
Are slips of Paradise, not to be gather'd
But wonder'd at
Sel. But you said you would sleep:
When slept you last?
Infor. I remember, before I lov'd, but that [was]
I know not when, [my best boy,] I slept soundly,
And dreamt of gathering nosegays: 'tis unlucky
To dream of herbs and flowers.
Fel. For Selina's sake I'll try my best skill on him. Get him to sleep; your presence, I see, is powerful; yonder is a pleasant arbour, procure him thither, While I prepare the herbs, whose precious juice
May, with heaven's blessing, make him well again.
Sel. A thousand blessings, on you. — Come, sir, go with me, and when you have slept,
I'll fetch Selina to you.
Infor. Prithee do,
I am very drowsy. — Come, I'll dream of something;
My eyes are going to bed, and leaden sleep
Doth draw the curtains o'er them.
Sel. Will you go with me?
Infor. Yes, and we will pick a dish of strawberries.
SCENE III.
A Forest.
Enter JENKIN .
Jen. Has almost lost herself in these woods and wildernesses; was very weary of these journies and travels in foot-backs: have not since her comings beheld any reasonable creatures. Bless us awl! Jocarello is lost too, cannot tell where, in these mazes and labyrinths. Jocarello! So ho!
Echo. So ho!
Jen. Ha! there is somebodies yet. Hark you tere, here is a sentilman of Wales, look you, desires very much to have speeches and confabulations with you: where is her?
Echo. Here is her.
Jen. Here is her? knaw not which ways to come to her: pray you tell Jenkin where you be?
Echo. Booby.
Jen. Poobies? was her call her poobies? 'tis very saucy travels: her will teach her better manners and moralities, if her get her in reaches and circumferences of her Welsh blades, truly.
Echo. You lie.
Jen. How, lies and poobies too? hark you, Jenkin was give you mawls and knocks, for your poobies and lies, and indignities, look for your pates now.
SCENE IV.
Another part of the same.
Enter JENKIN .
Jen. Here is no bodies but bushes and briers, look you, awl is very quiet: So ho!
Echo. Ho.
Jen. Her am very much deceived; now comes into our minds, if these voices be not Echoes. — Echo!
Echo. Echo.
Jen. 'Tis very true; but her marvel much; have her Echoes in these countries, pray you?
Echo. Yes, pray you.
Jen. Warrant her 'tis a Welsh Echo, was follow Jenkin in loves out of Wales.
Echo. Out of Wales.
Jen. 'Tis very true; bless us awl; now her call to remembrances and memories, her had communications and talkings with this very Echoes in Glamorganshire, in de vallies and talles there, look you; her am very glad her hath met with Echoes, was born in her own countries: Hark you, Jenkin was travel hither out of loves and affections to Selina.
Echo. Nay.
Jen. Nay? yes, very true, pray you tell her, be Selina in these woods, or no?
Echo. No.
Jen. No? Where is her, den? have her taken awl these labours and ambulations in vanities? say you, shall Jenkin then go back as he came?
Echo. Ass he came.
Jen. Gone? It is not possible; hit may be Selina was turn spirits and be invisible rather; she is not gone verily.
Echo. There you lie.
Jen. Lie! very well, you have priviledges to give lies and awl things in the world, but her will not leave these woods for awl dat; her will be pilgrims all tays of her lifes, ere her go without her.
Echo. Go without her,
Jen. How, not love Jenkin? then there is a devil in awl female sexes: know very well she promise loves and good wills in times, great while ago, pray you now, her will talk no longer with you. Fare you well, Echo; pray if you meet her pages, bid her make hasts and expeditions after her. Fare you well.
Echo. Fare you well.
SCENE V.
A Street.
Enter Gorgon , disguised like a maimed Soldier .
Gorg. I think Jupiter has snatched up my master Antonio, to make a Ganymede of him; he is not to be found; yet I have search'd all the taverns in the town, I am sure, and that method my nose led me to, hoping he had been a good fellow; but non est inventus . Well, my stock is spent, but with this terrible face, a buff jerkin, and a roaring basket-hilt, Gorgon will have a trick of wit to bear his own charges. — But here comes a gentleman: to my postures now.
Enter GASPARO .
Gasp. I am resolved.
Gorg. Good your worship, bestow a small piece of silver upon a poor soldier, new come out of the Low Countries, that have been in many hot services, against the Spaniard, the French, and Great Turk. I have been shot seven times through the body, my eyes blown up with gun-powder, half my scull sear'd off with a cannon, and had my throat cut twice in the open field. — Good your worship, take compassion upon the caterwaling fortunes of a forlorn gentleman, that have lost the use of my veins; good your generous nature, take compassion upon me: I have but four fingers and a thumb upon one hand; can work and will not: one small piece of grateful silver, to pay for my lodging, I beseech you, venerable sir.
Gasp. Canst not see?
Gorg. Only a little glimmering, sir; the beams of your gentility have radiated, and infused light into my poor lanterns, sir.
Gasp. Can you feel then?
Gorg. Oh, sir, that faculty alone, fortune and nature have left inviolated.
Gasp. Here is somewhat for thee. [ He kicks him, and Gorgon opens his eyes .] What! can you see now?
Gorg. Gasparo, is it you? Pox on your benevolence!
Gasp. Whence came this project of wit?
Gorg. From the old predicament: faith, necessity, that has no law, put me into this habit; my master is turned coward, and run away from me.
Gasp. And thou art turned soldier, to fight with him when you meet again! then thou wantest a master? Hark, sirrah, what sayst thou to another project?
Gorg. Oh, I could caper for it.
Gasp. I am now leaving the world, and going into the country, wilt turn gypsy, or shepherd? I am for the woods; canst [repeat thy] madrigals yet?
Gorg. [sings.] Phillis fair, do not disdain
The love of Corydon, thy swain .
Gasp. Excellent! We'll turn shepherds presently; thou shalt be Phillis and I'll be Corydon; let me alone to provide russets, crook, and tar-box: they say there is good hospitality in the woods, and songs and pastimes upon Sylvanus' day.
Gorg. But that were pretty! shall I be a woman?
Gasp. By any means; thou hast a good face already, a little simpering will do it. I'll accommodate thee early; keep thy own counsel, and I'll warrant thee for a Maid-Marian.
Gorg. 'Sfoot! shall I run into my coats again? Go to, put me into what shape you will, I'll play my part: methinks I do feel an hundred rural animals taking up my petticoat already.
SCENE VI.
A Room in Rufaldo's House .
Enter ANTONIO disguised as before , BUBULCUS , and HILARIA .
Ant. Pray, forward with your relation.
Bub. As I was saying, having challenged Antonio for the affront he did me before Hilaria, here, by heaven, — you must say nothing.
Hil. Not a syllable.
Bub. He did accept the challenge; the weapons were soon agreed upon, and we met — but not a word of fighting, if you love me.
Ant. You are not come to fighting yet yourself: but, by the way, what were your weapons?
Bub. A — long sword.
Ant. 'Twas long ere you could remember it, methinks.
Bub. Soon as we came into the place appointed, we looked about, and saw all clear.
Hil. As clear as day, on your side.
Bub. We drew — but not a word of fighting, by this hand.
Ant. Not by that hand.
Bub. We threw our doublets off, to shew we had no coat of mail, or privy shirt upon us, against the laws of duelling: in fine, I bid him say his prayers.
Ant. 'Twas well thought upon; and what did you?
Bub. I let them alone, for I knew I should kill him, and have time enough to say them afterwards at my leisure.
Hil. When he had prayed, what then?
Bub. When he had said his prayers, he thought upon it, and let fall words tending to reconcilement: On my conscience he would have asked me forgiveness, but I stood upon my honour, and would fight with him, and so we stood upon our guard — but not a word of fighting, if you love me.
Ant. Oh, by no means: but when did you fight?
Bub. I'll tell you; Antonio, when he saw no remedy, but that I would needs fight with him, and so consequently kill him, made a desperate blow at my head, which I warded with my dagger, better than he looked for, and in return, I cut off his left hand; whereat amazed, and fainting, I nimbly seconded it, as you know I am very nimble, and run my rapier into his right thigh, two yards.
Hil. Then you were on both sides of him?
Ant. Your rapier? did you not say your weapons were long swords?
Bub. But mine was both a sword and rapier, there 'tis — but not a word of fighting, as you love me. Well, not to weary you with the narration of the innumerable wounds I gave him, I cut off every joint from his toe upwards, to his middle; by these hilts, now, you may believe me; there ended Antonio, my rival. Judge, judge now, whether Bubulcus be valiant or not — but not a word of fighting, as you love me; let it die.
Ant. 'Twas very valiantly done.
Hil. Hark you, sweetheart, do you not remember who this is, that you have discovered this business to? This is Selina, his own sister.
Bub. What a rogue was I not to remember that!
Hil. Do not you know that she is my mother-in-law? Nay, nay, pluck up a good heart; what will you do? There is no running away.
Bub. Have you never an empty chest?
Hil. What, to hide yourself? That, I know, you would not do for your credit. Draw your sword, and stand upon your guard; we know you are valiant, that could kill Antonio so bravely.
Bub. Hilaria, if ever you loved me — Oh! I have made a fair piece of work; could you not tell me it was his sister? Oh, here they come.
Re-enter ANTONIO , with RUFALDO and Officers .
Ant. He hath confest it, sir; your daughter heard it, sir. I charge you, lay hands upon that murderer; he hath slain my brother Antonio.
Ruf. Did you hear him confess it?
Bub. Here's right confess and be hang'd now.
Hil. I must confess I did.
Ruf. Bubulcus kill Antonio?
Bub. By this hand I do not know how to deny it, for my credit.
Ruf. Nay then, lay hands on him.
Bub. Yes, father Rufaldo. — Selina! — oh, a plague of all coxcombs! what a rogue was I!
Ant. I will have justice; away with him.
Bub. I am a lying rascal, by this hand.
Ant. We must require Antonio from you, sir, or your blood answer his. Away with him, Hilaria
Bub. I shall be hanged then, father! — Hilaria! will you see me hanged?
Ruf. There is no remedy: would thou hadst kill'd his sister; I am plagued with her, and dare not speak it for shame. I'll do what I can to get a reprieve for you. [ aside .] — Nay, an you kill folks, you must e'en take your fortune.
Bub. A curse of all ill fortune! I killed no body.
Ant. Away, I say; out, villian! hence! for I
Do hear my brother's blood for justice cry.
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