Enter Lactantio
Song, music [within]
To be chaste is woman’s glory,
’Tis her fame and honour’s story.
Here sits she, in funeral weeds,
Only bright in virtuous deeds.
Come and read her life and praise,
That singing weeps, and sighing plays.
Enter Aurelia and servant
LACTANTIO
[to Aurelia]
Welcome, soul’s music! I have been listening here
To melancholy strains from the Duchess’ lodgings —
That strange great widow that has vowed so stiffly
Never to know love’s heat in a second husband;
And she has kept the fort most valiantly,
To th’ wonder of her sex, this seven years’ day,
And that’s no sorry trial. A month’s constancy
Is held a virtue in a city widow;
And are they excelled by so much more i’th’ court?
My faith, a rare example for our wives!
Heaven’s blessing of her heart for’t, poor soul!
She’d need have somewhat to comfort her.
What wouldst thou do, faith now,
If I were dead, suppose I were thy husband? —
As shortly I will be, and that’s as good.
Speak freely an thou lov’st me.
AURELIA
Alas, sir,
I should not have the leisure to make vows,
For, dying presently, I should be dead
Before you were laid out.
LACTANTIO
Now fie upon thee for a hasty dier,
Wouldst thou not see me buried?
AURELIA
Talk not on’t, sir,
These many years, unless you take delight
To see me swoon or make a ghost of me.
LACTANTIO
Alas, poor soul! I’ll kiss thee into colour.
Canst thou paint pale so quickly? I perceive then
Thou’dst go beyond the Duchess in her vow:
Thou’dst die indeed. What’s he?
AURELIA
Be settled, sir.
Spend neither doubt nor fear upon that fellow.
Health cannot be more trusty to man’s life
Than he to my necessities in love.
LACTANTIO
I take him of thy word, and praise his face.
Though he look scurvily, I will think hereafter
That honesty may walk with fire in’s nose
As well as brave desert in broken clothes.
But for thy further safety I’ve provided
A shape that at first sight will start thy modesty
And make thee blush perhaps; but ‘twill away
After a qualm or two. Virginity
Has been put often to those shifts before thee
Upon extremities. A little boldness
Cannot be called immodesty, especially
When there’s no means without it for our safeties.
Thou knowest my uncle the Lord Cardinal
Wears so severe an eye, so strict and holy,
It not endures the sight of womankind
About his lodgings.
Hardly a matron of fourscore’s admitted.
Though she be worn to gums, she comes not there
To mumble matins. All his admiration
Is placed upon the Duchess. He likes her
Because she keeps her vow and likes not any.
So does he love that man, above his book,
That loves no woman. For my fortune’s sake then —
For I am like to be his only heir —
I must dissemble, and appear as fair
To his opinion as the brow of piety,
As void of all impureness as an altar.
Thine ear.
[He whispers]
That, and we are safe.
AURELIA
You make me blush, sir.
LACTANTIO
’Tis but a star shot from a beauteous cheek.
It blazes beauty’s bounty, and hurts nothing.
AURELIA
The power of love commands me.
LACTANTIO
I shall wither in comforts till I see thee.
Exeunt [Lactantio at one door:
Aurelia and servant at another
Enter two or three Lords, and [they discover] the Lord Cardinal in his closet, [seated with his books]
LORD CARDINAL
My lords, I have work for you. When you have hours
Free from the cares of state, bestow your eyes
Upon those abstracts of the Duchess’ virtues,
My study’s ornaments. I make her constancy
The holy mistress of my contemplation.
Whole volumes have I writ in zealous praise
Of her eternal vow. I have no power
To suffer virtue to go thinly clad,
I that have ever been in youth an old man
To pleasures and to women,
And could never love but pity ‘em
And all their momentary frantic follies.
[Rising] Here I stand up in admiration,
And bow to the chaste health of our great Duchess,
Kissing her constant name. O my fair lords,
When we find grace confirmed, especially
In a creature that’s so doubtful as a woman,
We’re spirit-ravished; men of our probation
Feel the spheres’ music playing in their souls.
So long, unto the eternizing of her sex,
She’s kept her vow, so strictly, and as chaste
As everlasting life is kept for virtue
E’en from the sight of men; to make her oath
As uncorrupt as th’honour of a virgin,
That must be strict in thought, or else that title,
Like one of frailty’s ruins, shrinks to dust;
No longer she’s a virgin than she’s just.
FIRST LORD
Chaste, sir? The truth and justice of her vow
To her deceased lord’s able to make poor
Man’s treasury of praises. But, methinks,
She that has no temptation set before her,
Her virtue has no conquest. Then would her constancy
Shine in the brightest goodness of her glory
If she would give admittance, see and be seen,
And yet resist and conquer. There were argument
For angels; ’twould outreach the life of praise
Set in mortality’s shortness. [Aside] I speak this
Not for religion, but for love of her
Whom I wish less religious and more loving;
But I fear she’s too constant, that’s her fault.
But ’tis so rare few of her sex are took with’t,
And that makes some amends.
LORD CARDINAL
You have put my zeal into a way, my lord,
I shall not be at peace till I make perfect.
I’ll make her victory harder. ’Tis my crown
When I bring grace to great’st perfection;
And I dare trust that daughter with a world,
None but her vow and she. I know she wears
A constancy will not deceive my praises,
A faith so noble. She that once knows heaven
Need put in no security for her truth.
I dare believe her face, use all the art,
Temptation, witcheries, sleights, and subtleties
You temporal lords and all your means can practise.
SECOND LORD
My lord, not any, we.
LORD CARDINAL
Her resolute goodness
Shall as a rock stand firm, and send the sins
That beat against it
Into the bosom of the owners, weeping.
THIRD LORD
We wish her virtues so.
LORD CARDINAL
O, give me pardon,
I have lost myself in her upon my friends.
Your charitable censures I beseech.
So dear her white fame is to my soul’s love,
’Tis an affliction but to hear it questioned.
She’s my religious triumph.
If you desire a belief rightly to her,
Think she can never waver, then you’re sure.
She has a fixed heart, it cannot err.
He kills my hopes of woman that doubts her.
FIRST LORD
No more, my lord, ’tis fixed.
LORD CARDINAL
Believe my judgement.
I never praise in vain, nor ever spent
Opinion idly, or lost hopes of any
Where I once placed it. Welcome as my joys
Now you all part believers of her virtue.
ALL LORDS
We are the same most firmly.
LORD CARDINAL
Good opinion
In others reward you, and all your actions.
[Exeunt Lords]
Who’s near us?
Enter a Servant
SERVANT
My lord.
LORD CARDINAL
Call our nephew. [Exit Servant]
There’s a work too
That for blood’s sake I labour to make perfect,
And it comes on with joy. He’s but a youth,
To speak of years, yet I dare venture him
To old men’s goodnesses and gravities
For his strict manners, and win glory by him;
And for the chasteness of his continence,
Which is a rare grace in the spring of man,
He does excel the youth of all our time;
Which gift of his, more than affinity,
Draws my affection in great plenty to him.
The company of a woman is as fearful to him
As death to guilty men. I’ve seen him blush
When but a maid was named. I’m proud of him,
Heaven be not angry for’t. He’s near of kin
In disposition to me. I shall do much for him
In lifetime, but in death I shall do all.
There he will find my love. He’s yet too young
In years to rise in state, but his good parts
Will bring him in the sooner.
Enter Lactantio with a book
Here he comes. —
What, at thy meditation? Half in heaven?
LACTANTIO
The better half, my lord. My mind’s there still;
And when the heart’s above, the body walks here
But like an idle serving-man below,
Gaping and waiting for his master’s coming.
LORD CARDINAL
What man in age could bring forth graver thoughts?
LACTANTIO
He that lives fourscore years is but like one
That stays here for a friend. When death comes, then
Away he goes, and is ne’er seen again.
I wonder at the young men of our days,
That they can dote on pleasure, or what ’tis
They give that title to, unless in mockage.
There’s nothing I can find upon the earth
Worthy the name of pleasure, unless’t be
To laugh at folly, which indeed good charity
Should rather pity. But of all the frenzies
That follow flesh and blood, O reverend uncle,
The most ridiculous is to fawn on women.
There’s no excuse for that. ’Tis such a madness
There is no cure set down for’t. No physician
Ever spent hour about it, for they guessed
’Twas all in vain when they first loved themselves,
And never since durst practise. Cry ‘Hei mihi’,
That’s all the help they have for’t. I had rather meet
A witch far north than a fine fool in love;
The sight would less afflict me. But for modesty,
And your grave presence that learns men respect,
I should fall foul in words upon fond man
That can forget his excellence and honour —
His serious meditations being the end
Of his creation, to learn well to die —
And live a prisoner to a woman’s eye.
Can there be greater thraldom, greater folly?
LORD CARDINAL
[aside]
In making him my heir, I make good works,
And they give wealth a blessing; where, on the contrary,
What curses does he heap upon his soul
That leaves his riches to a riotous young man,
To be consumed on surfeits, pride, and harlots!
Peace be upon that spirit whose life provides
A quiet rest for mine.
Enter Page, with a letter
LACTANTIO
How now, the news?
PAGE
A letter, sir, brought by a gentleman
That lately came from Rome.
LACTANTIO
[aside] That’s she, she’s come.
I fear not to admit her in his presence;
There is the like already. I’m writ chaste
In my grave uncle’s thoughts, and honest meanings
Think all men’s like their own. [Aside to the Page]
Thou look’st so pale.
What ail’st thou here o’late?
PAGE
I doubt I have cause, sir.
LACTANTIO
Why, what’s the news?
PAGE
I fear, sir, I’m with child.
LACTANTIO
With child? Peace, peace, speak low!
PAGE
‘Twill prove, I fear, so.
LACTANTIO
Beshrew my heart for that! [Aloud to the Page] Desire the gentleman
To walk a turn or two.
LORD CARDINAL
What gentleman?
LACTANTIO
One lately come from Rome, my lord, in credit
With Lord Vincentio; so the letter speaks him.
LORD CARDINAL
Admit him, my kind boy. [Exit Page]
The prettiest servant
That ever man was blest with. ’Tis so meek,
So good and gentle, ’twas the best alms-deed
That e’er you did to keep him. I have oft took him
Weeping alone, poor boy, at the remembrance
Of his lost friends, which, as he says, the sea
Swallowed with all their substance.
LACTANTIO
’Tis a truth, sir,
Has cost the poor boy many a feeling tear,
And me some too, for company. In such pity
I always spend my part.
Enter Aurelia, like a gentleman
Here comes the gentleman.
LORD CARDINAL
Welcome to Milan, sir. How is the health
Of Lord Vincentio?
AURELIA
May it please your grace,
I left it well and happy, and I hope
The same blest fortune keeps it.
LORD CARDINAL
I hear you’re near him.
AURELIA
One of his chamber, my lord.
LACTANTIO
[aside]
I’d ne’er wish one of her condition nearer
Than to be one of mine.
LORD CARDINAL
Your news is pleasing.
Whilst you remain in Milan, I request you
To know the welcome of no house but ours.
AURELIA
Thanks to your Grace.
LORD CARDINAL
I’ll leave you to confer.
I’ll to the Duchess, and labour her perfection. Exit
LACTANTIO
Then thus begins our conference: I arrest thee
In Cupid’s name. Deliver up your weapon.
It is not for your wearing, Venus knows it.
Here’s a fit thing indeed, nay, hangers and all!
Away with ‘em, out upon ‘em, things of trouble,
And out of use with you. Now you’re my prisoner,
And till you swear you love me, all and only,
You part not from mine arms.
AURELIA
I swear it willingly.
LACTANTIO
And that you do renounce the General’s love
That heretofore laid claim to you.
AURELIA
My heart bids me,
You need not teach me that. My eye ne’er knew
A perfect choice till it stood blest with you.
There’s yet a rival whom you little dream of.
Tax me with him, and I’ll swear too I hate him.
I’ll thrust ‘em both together in one oath,
And send ‘em to some pair of waiting-women
To solder up their credits.
LACTANTIO
Prithee, what’s he?
Another yet? For laughter’ sake, discover him.
AURELIA
The Governor of the Fort.
LACTANTIO
That old dried neat’s-tongue?
AURELIA
A gentleman after my father’s relish.
Enter [Aurelia’s] Father and Governor [of the Fort]
FATHER
By your kind favours, gentlemen.
AURELIA
[aside to Lactantio] O, my father!
We are both betrayed.
LACTANTIO
Peace, you may prove too fearful. —
To whom your business, sir?
FATHER
To the Lord Cardinal,
If it would please yourself or that young gentleman
To grace me with admittance.
LACTANTIO
I will see, sir.
The gentleman’s a stranger, new come o’er.
He understands you not.
[To Aurelia] Lofftro veen, tant umbro, hoff tufftee, locumber shaw.
AURELIA
Quisquimken, sapadlaman, fool-urchin, old astrata.
FATHER
Nay, an that be the language we can speak’t too:
strumpetikin, bold harlotum, queaninisma, whoremongeria.
Shame to thy sex, and sorrow to thy father.
Is this a shape for reputation
And modesty to mask in? Thou too cunning
For credulous goodness!
Did not a reverent respect and honour
That’s due unto the sanctimonious peace
Of this lord’s house restrain my voice and anger
And teach it soft humility, I would lift
Both your disgraces to the height of grief
That you have raised in me; but, to shame you,
I will not cast a blemish upon virtue.
Call that your happiness, and the dearest, too,
That such a bold attempt could ever boast of.
We’ll see if a strong fort can hold you now. —
Take her, sir, to you.
GOVERNOR
[to Aurelia] How have I deserved
The strangeness of this hour?
FATHER
Talk not so tamely.
[To Lactantio] For you, sir, thank the reverence of this place,
Or your hypocrisy I had put out of grace,
I had, i’faith. If ever I can fit you,
Expect to hear from me.
Exeunt [Father, Governor, and Aurelia]
LACTANTIO
I thank you, sir;
The cough o’th’ lungs requite you. I could curse him
Into diseases by whole dozens now;
But one’s enough to beggar him, if he light
Upon a wise physician. ’Tis a labour
To keep those little wits I have about me.
Still did I dream that villain would betray her;
I’ll never trust slave with a parboiled nose again.
I must devise some trick to excuse her absence
Now to my uncle too. There is no mischief
But brings one villainy or other still
E’en close at heels on’t. I’m pained at heart.
If ever there were hope of me to die
For love, ’tis now; I never felt such gripings.
If I can scape this climacterical year,
Women, ne’er trust me, though you hear me swear.
Kept with him in the fort! Why, there’s no hope
Of ever meeting now; my way’s not thither.
Love bless us with some means to get together,
And I’ll pay all the old reck’nings. Exit
Enter Duchess, above, and Celia
DUCHESS
What a contented rest rewards my mind
For faithfulness! I give it constancy,
And it returns me peace. How happily
Might woman live, methinks, confined within
The knowledge of one husband!
What comes of more rather proclaims desire
Prince of affections than religious love,
Brings frailty and our weakness into question
‘Mongst our male enemies, makes widows’ tears
Rather the cup of laughter than of pity.
What credit can our sorrows have with men,
When in some month’s space they turn light again,
Feast, dance, and go in colours? If my vow
Were yet to make, I would not sleep without it,
Or make a faith as perfect to myself
In resolution as a vow would come to,
And do as much right so to constancy
As strictness could require; for ’tis our goodness
And not our strength that does it. I am armed now
‘Gainst all deserts in man, be’t valour, wisdom,
Courtesy, comeliness, nay, truth itself,
Which seldom keeps him company. I commend
The virtues highly, as I do an instrument
When the case hangs by th’ wall; but man himself
Never comes near my heart.
Enter Lord Cardinal, [above]
LORD CARDINAL
The blessing of perfection to your thoughts, lady,
For I’m resolved they are good ones.
DUCHESS
Honour of greatness,
Friend to my vow, and father to my fame,
Welcome, as peace to temples.
LORD CARDINAL
I bring war.
DUCHESS
How, sir?
LORD CARDINAL
A harder fight. If now you conquer,
You crown my praises double.
DUCHESS
What’s your aim, sir?
LORD CARDINAL
To astonish sin and all her tempting evils,
And make your goodness shine more glorious.
When your fair noble vow showed you the way
To excellence in virtue, to keep back
The fears that might discourage you at first,
Pitying your strength, it showed you not the worst.
’Tis not enough for tapers to burn bright;
But to be seen, so to lend others light,
Yet not impair themselves, their flame as pure
As when it shined in secret. So t’abide
Temptations is the soul’s flame truly tried.
I have an ambition, but a virtuous one:
I would have nothing want to your perfection.
DUCHESS
Is there a doubt found yet? Is it so hard
For woman to recover, with all diligence
And a true fasting faith from sensual pleasure,
What many of her sex has so long lost?
Can you believe that any sight of man,
Held he the worth of millions in one spirit,
Had power to alter me?
LORD CARDINAL No; there’s my hope,
My credit, and my triumph.
DUCHESS
I’ll no more
Keep strictly private, since the glory on’t
Is but a virtue questioned. I’ll come forth
And show myself to all. The world shall witness
That, like the sun, my constancy can look
On earth’s corruptions, and shine clear itself.
LORD CARDINAL
Hold conquest now, and I have all my wishes.
Cornetts and a shout within
DUCHESS
The meaning of that sudden shout, my lord?
LORD CARDINAL
Signor Andrugio, general of the field,
Successful in his fortunes, is arrived,
And met by all the gallant hopes of Milan,
Welcomed with laurel wreaths and hymns of praises.
Vouchsafe but you to give him the first grace, madam,
Of your so long hid presence, he has then
All honours that can bless victorious man.
DUCHESS
You shall prevail, grave sir. [Exit Lord Cardinal]
Enter Andrugio, attended with the nobility and state, [wreathed with bays] like a victor. [Amongst the nobility is Lactantio, in black and yellow.]
[The Duchess and Celia stand in view above].
Song, music
ALL THE NOBILITY
Laurel is a victor’s due,
I give it you,
I give it you.
Thy name with praise,
Thy brow with bays,
We circle round.
All men rejoice
With cheerful voice,
To see thee like a conqueror crowned.
A [winged] Cupid, [with a bow,] descending, sings this
CUPID
I am a little conqueror, too.
For wreaths of bays
There’s arms of cross,
And that’s my due.
I give the flaming heart,
It is my crest,
And by the mother’s side
The weeping eye,
The sighing breast.
It is not power in you, fair beauties.
If I command love, ’tis your duties.
He ascends.
During these songs, Andrugio peruses a letter delivered him by a Lord, and then [the welcome] closes with this song below
ALL THE NOBILITY
Welcome, welcome, son of fame!
Honour triumphs in thy name.
Exeunt in state [Andrugio and all the nobility except the Lord who delivered the letter]
LORD
Alas, poor gentleman! I brought him news
That like a cloud spread over all his glories.
When he missed her whom his eye greedily sought for,
His welcome seemed so poor he took no joy in’t;
But when he found her by her father forced
To the old Governor’s love, and kept so strictly,
A coldness struck his heart. There is no state
So firmly happy but feels envy’s might.
I know Lactantio, nephew to the Cardinal,
Hates him as deeply as a rich man death;
And yet his welcome showed as fair and friendly
As his that wore the truest love to him;
When in his wishes he could drink his blood,
And make his heart the sweetness of his food. Exit
CELIA
Madam, madam!
DUCHESS
Beshrew thy heart, dost thou not see me busy?
You show your manners.
CELIA
In the name of goodness,
What ails my lady?
DUCHESS
I confess I’m mortal.
There’s no defending on’t. ’Tis cruel flattery
To make a lady believe otherways.
Is not this flesh? Can you drive heat from fire?
So may you love from this. For love and death
Are brothers in this kingdom; only death
Comes by the mother’s side, and that’s the surest.
That General is wondrous fortunate:
Has won another field since, and a victory
That credits all the rest. He may more boast on’t
Than of a thousand conquests. I am lost,
Utterly lost. Where are my women now?
Alas, what help’s in them, what strength have they?
I call to a weak guard when I call them.
In rescuing me they’d be themselves o’ercome.
When I that professed war am overthrown,
What hope’s in them then that ne’er stirred from home?
My faith is gone for ever;
My reputation with the Cardinal,
My fame, my praise, my liberty, my peace
Changed for a restless passion. O hard spite
To lose my seven years’ victory at one sight! Exeunt
Enter Dondolo and the Page, with a shirt
PAGE
I prithee, Dondolo, take this shirt, and air it a little against my master rises. I’d rather do anything than do’t, i’faith.
DONDOLO
O monstrous, horrible, terrible, intolerable! Are not you big enough to air a shirt? Were it a smock now, you lickerish page, you’d be hanged ere you’d part from’t. If thou dost not prove as arrant a smell-smock as any the town affords in a term-time, I’ll lose my judgement in wenching.
PAGE
Pish! Here, Dondolo, prithee take it.
DONDOLO
It’s no more but up and ride with you then? All my generation were beadles and officers; and do you think I’m so easily entreated? You shall find a harder piece of work, boy, than you imagine, to get anything from my hands. I will not disgenerate so much from the nature of my kindred. You must bribe me one way or other if you look to have anything done, or else you may do’t yourself. ’Twas just my father’s humour when he bore office. You know my mind, page: the song, the song. I must either have the song you sung to my master last night when he went to bed, or I’ll not do a stitch of service for you from one week’s end to the other. As I am a gentleman, you shall brush cloaks, make clean spurs, pull off strait boots, although in the tugging you chance to fall and hazard the breaking of your little buttocks. I’ll take no more pity of your marrowbones than a butcher’s dog of a rump of beef.
Nay, ka me, ka thee. If you will ease the melancholy of my mind with singing, I will deliver you from the calamity of boots-haling.
PAGE
Alas, you know I cannot sing.
DONDOLO
Take heed; you may speak at such an hour that your voice may be clean taken away from you. I have known many a good gentlewoman say so much as you say now, and have presently gone to bed and lay speechless. ’Tis not good to jest, as old Chaucer was wont to say, that broad famous English poet. Cannot you sing, say you? O, that a boy should so keep cut with his mother and be given to dissembling!
PAGE
Faith, to your knowledge in’t, ill may seem well;
But as I hope in comforts, I’ve no skill.
DONDOLO
A pox of skill; give me plain simple cunning.
Why should not singing be as well got without skill as the getting of children? You shall have the arrant’st fool do as much there as the wisest coxcomb of ‘em all, let ‘em have all the help of doctors put to ‘em, both the directions of physicians and the erections of pothecaries. You shall have a plain hobnailed country fellow marrying some dairy wench tumble out two of a year, and sometimes three, by’r Lady, as the crop falls out; and your nice puling physicking gentlefolks some one in nine years, and hardly then a whole one as it should be; the wanting of some apricock or something loses a member on him, or quite spoils it. Come, will you sing, that I may warm the shirt? By this light, he shall put it on cold for me else.
PAGE
A song or two I learnt with hearing gentlewomen practise themselves.
DONDOLO
Come, you are so modest, now, ’tis pity that thou wast ever bred to be thrust through a pair of canions; thou wouldst have made a pretty, foolish waiting-woman, but for one thing. Wilt sing?
PAGE
As well as I can, Dondolo.
DONDOLO
Give me the shirt then; I’ll warm’t as well I can, too.
[He takes it]
Why, look, you whoreson coxcomb, this is a smock.
PAGE
No, ’tis my master’s shirt.
DONDOLO
Why, that’s true too;
Who knows not that? Why, ’tis the fashion, fool.
All your young gallants here of late wear smocks,
Those without beards especially.
PAGE
Why, what’s the reason, sir?
DONDOLO
Marry, very great reason in’t. A young gallant lying abed with his wench, if the constable should chance to come up and search, being both in smocks, they’d be taken for sisters, and I hope a constable dare go no further. And as for the knowing of their heads, that’s well enough too; for I know many young gentlemen wear longer hair than their mistresses.
PAGE
’Tis a hot world the whilst.
DONDOLO
Nay, that’s most certain, and a most witty age of a bald one for all languages.
You’ve many daughters so well brought up they speak
French naturally at fifteen, and they are turned to the
Spanish and Italian half a year after.
PAGE
That’s like learning the grammar first and the accidence after, they go backward so.
DONDOLO
The litter for the Italian. Thou’st no wit, boy;
Hadst had a tutor, he’d have taught thee that.
Come, come, that I may be gone, boy.
Song, music
PAGE
Cupid is Venus’ only joy,
But he’s a wanton boy,
A very, very wanton boy.
He shoots at ladies’ naked breasts;
He is the cause of most men’s crests —
I mean upon the forehead,
Invisible, but horrid.
Of the short velvet mask he was deviser,
That wives may kiss, the husbands ne’er the wiser.
’Twas he first thought upon the way
To keep a lady’s lips in play.
DONDOLO
O, rich, ravishing, rare, and enticing! Well, go thy ways for as sweet a breasted page as ever lay at his master’s feet in a truckle-bed.
PAGE
You’ll hie you in straight, Dondolo?
DONDOLO
I’ll not miss you. Exit [Page]
This smockified shirt, or shirted smock,
I will go toast. Let me see what’s o’clock.
I must to th’ castle straight to see his love,
Either by hook or crook. My master, storming,
Sent me last night, but I’ll be gone this morning.
Exit
Finis Actus Primus