Enter Page, [carrying music-books,] Celia, and
Crotchet
CELIA
[to Crotchet]
Sir, I’m of that opinion. Being kept hard to’t,
In troth I think he’ll take his prick-song well.
CROTCHET
G sol-re-ut! You guess not right, i’faith.
Mistress, you’ll find you’re in an error straight. —
Come on, sir, lay the books down. [To Celia] You shall see now.
[Crotchet and Celia talk apart]
PAGE
[aside]
Would I’d an honest caudle next my heart!
Let whos’ would ‘sol fa’; I’d give them my part.
In troth, methinks I have a great longing in me
To bite a piece of the musician’s nose off.
But I’ll rather lose my longing
Than spoil the poor man’s singing.
The very tip will serve my turn, methinks.
If I could get it, that he might well spare;
His nose is of the longest. [Laying down the books] O, my back!
CROTCHET
[to Celia]
You shall hear that. — Rehearse your gamut, boy.
PAGE
[aside]
Who’d be thus toiled for love, and want the joy?
CROTCHET
Why, when? Begin, sir. I must stay your leisure?
PAGE
[singing]
Gam ut, A re, B mi, C fa, D sol —
CROTCHET
E la: aloft, above the clouds, my boy.
PAGE
It must be a better note than ‘E la’, sir,
That brings musicians thither; they’re too hasty,
The most part of ‘em, to take such a journey,
And must needs fall by th’ way.
CROTCHET
How many clefs be there?
PAGE
One clef, sir.
CROTCHET
O intolerable heretic
To voice and music! Do you know but one clef?
PAGE
No more, indeed, one, sir; [aside] and at this time
I know too much of that.
CROTCHET
How many notes be there?
PAGE
Eight, sir. [Aside] I fear me I shall find nine shortly,
To my great shame and sorrow. O, my stomach!
CROTCHET
Will you repeat your notes, then? I must sol-fa you.
Why, when, sir?
PAGE
A large, a long, a breve, a semibreve, a minim, a crotchet, a quaver, a semiquaver.
CROTCHET
O, have you found the way?
PAGE
Never trust me
If I have not lost my wind with naming of ‘em.
CROTCHET
Come, boy, your mind’s upon some other thing now.
Set to your song.
PAGE
[aside] Was ever wench so punished?
CROTCHET
Ut. Come, begin.
PAGE
[singing] Ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la.
Here the Page and Crotchet sing prick-song
CROTCHET
Keep time, you foolish boy!
[They sing again]
How like you this, madonna?
CELIA
Pretty.
He will do well in time, being kept under.
CROTCHET
I’ll make his ears sore and his knuckles ache else.
CELIA
And that’s the way to bring a boy to goodness, sir.
CROTCHET
There’s many now waxed proper gentlemen
Whom I have nipped i’th’ ear, wench, that’s my comfort. —
Come, sing me over the last song I taught you.
You’re perfect in that, sure. Look you keep time well,
[He offers to beat the Page]
Or here I’ll notch your faults up. Sol, sol, begin, boy.
Music. Song [sung by the Page]
CELIA
[to Crotchet] So, you’ve done well, sir.
Enter Cinquepace the dancer
Here comes the dancing-master now; you’re discharged.
CINQUEPACE
O, Signor Crotchet, O!
CROTCHET
A minim rest,
Two clefs, and a semibreve! In the name
Of Alamire, what’s the matter, sir?
CINQUEPACE
The horriblest disaster that ever disgraced
The lofty cunning of a dancer.
CROTCHET
B fa, B mi!
Heaven forbid, man!
CINQUEPACE
O, oo, the most cruel fortune!
CROTCHET
That semiquaver is no friend to you,
That I must tell you. ’Tis not for a dancer
To put his voice so hard to’t; every workman
Must use his own tools, sir. D la-sol, man, dilate
The matter to me.
CINQUEPACE
Faith, riding upon my foot-cloth, as I use to do, coming through a crowd, by chance I let fall my fiddle.
CROTCHET
D sol-re! Your fiddle, sir?
CINQUEPACE
O, that such an instrument should be made to betray a poor gentleman! Nay, which is more lamentable, whose luck should it be to take up this unfortunate yellow, poor soul; my own flesh knows I wrong her not.
Come, Metereza, once more shake your great hips and your little heels, since you begin to fall in of yourself, and dance over the end of the coranto I taught you last night.
CELIA
The tune’s clear out of my head, sir.
CINQUEPACE
A pox of my little usher! How long he stays, too, with the second part of the former fiddle! Come, I’ll sol-fa it i’th’ mean time. Fa-la-la-la (etc.)
[Celia dances]
Perfectly excellent. I will make you fit to dance with the best Christian gentleman in Europe, and keep time with him for his heart, ere I give you over.
CELIA
Nay, I know I shall do well, sir, and I am somewhat proud on’t; but ’twas my mother’s fault when she danced with the Duke of Florence.
CINQUEPACE
Why, you’ll never dance well, while you live, if you be not proud. I know that by myself. I may teach my heart out if you have not the grace to follow me.
CELIA
I warrant you for that, sir.
CINQUEPACE
Gentlewomen that are good scholars will come
As near their masters as they can. I have known some
Lie with ‘em for their better understanding.
I speak not this to draw you on, forsooth.
Use your pleasure. If you come you’re welcome;
You shall see a fine lodging, a dish of comfits,
Music, and sweet linen.
CELIA
And trust me, sir, no woman can wish more in this world,
Unless it be ten pound i’th’ chamber window,
Laid ready in good gold against she rises.
CINQUEPACE
Those things are got in a morning, wench, with me.
CELIA
Indeed, I hold the morning the best time of getting.
So says my sister; she’s a lawyer’s wife, sir, fiddle but a barber’s prentice, who cried out presently, according to his nature, ‘You trim gentleman on horseback, you’ve lost your fiddle, your worship’s fiddle!’
Seeing me upon my foot-cloth, the mannerly coxcomb could say no less. But away rid I, sir, put my horse to a coranto pace, and left my fiddle behind me.
CROTCHET
D la-sol-re!
CINQUEPACE
Ay; was’t not a strange fortune? An excellent treble viol, by my troth, ’twas my master’s when I was but a pumper — that is, a puller-on of gentlemen’s pumps.
CROTCHET
C, C sol-fa. I knew you then, sir.
CINQUEPACE
But I make no question but I shall hear on’t shortly at one broker’s or another, for I know the barber will scorse it away for some old cithern.
CROTCHET
E la-mi, my life for yours on that, sir. I must to my other scholars, my hour calls me away. I leave you to your practise. Fa-sol-la. Fare you well, sir.
CINQUEPACE
The lavoltas of a merry heart be with you, sir; and a merry heart makes a good singing man.
Exit [Crotchet with his books]
A man may love to hear himself talk when he carries pith in’s mouth. — Metereza Celia!
CELIA
Signor Cinquepace, the welcom’st gentleman alive of a dancer!
This is the youth. He can do little yet;
His prick-song very poorly. He is one
Must have it put into him; somewhat dull, sir.
CINQUEPACE
As you are all at first. You know ’twas long
Ere you could learn your doubles.
CELIA
Ay, that’s true, sir,
But I can tickle’t now. [Dancing] Fa-la-la (etc.)
Lo you, how like you me now, sir?
CINQUEPACE
Marry, pray for the founder; here he stands.
Long may he live to receive quartr’ages, go brave, and pay his mercer wondrous duly — ay, and his jealous laundress, that for the love she bears him starches
And should know what belongs to cases best.
A fitter time for this; I must not talk
Too long of women’s matters before boys.
He’s very raw. You must take pains with him;
It is the Duchess’ mind it should be so.
She loves him well, I tell you. Exit
CINQUEPACE
How, love him?
He’s too little for any woman’s love i’th’ town, by three handfuls. I wonder of a great woman she’s no more wit, i’faith. One of my pitch were somewhat tolerable.
Enter Usher, [with a viol]
O, are you come? Who would be thus plagued with a dandiprat usher? How many kicks do you deserve, in conscience?
USHER
Your horse is safe, sir.
CINQUEPACE
Now I talked of kicking,
’Twas well remembered. Is not the footcloth stol’n yet?
USHER
More by good hap than any cunning, sir.
Would any gentleman but you get a tailor’s son to walk his horse, in this dear time of black velvet?
CINQUEPACE
Troth, thou say’st true. Thy care has got thy pardon.
I’ll venture so no more. [To the Page] Come, my young scholar,
I am ready for you now.
PAGE
[aside] Alas, ‘twill kill me!
I’m even as full of qualms as heart can bear.
How shall I do to hold up? — Alas, sir,
I can dance nothing but, ill-favouredly,
A strain or two of passemeasures galliard.
CINQUEPACE
Marry, you’re forwarder than I conceived you.
A toward stripling. Enter him, Nicholao,
For the fool’s bashful, as they are all at first
Till they be once well entered.
USHER
Passemeasures, sir?
CINQUEPACE
Ay, sir, I hope you hear me. Mark him now, boy.
[The Usher plays the viol, entering the Page into a] dance
Ha, well done, exc’llent boys! Dainty fine springals,
The glory of Dancers’ Hall — if they had any.
And of all professions they had most need of one,
For room to practise in; yet they have none.
O times! O manners! you have very little.
Why should the leaden-heeled plumber have his hall,
And the light-footed dancer none at all?
But fortune de la guerre, things must be.
We’re born to teach in back-houses and nooks,
Garrets sometimes, where’t rains upon our books. —
Come on, sir, are you ready? First your honour.
PAGE
[aside]
I’ll wish no foe a greater cross upon her.
[The Page curtsies]
CINQUEPACE
Curtsy, heyday! Run to him, Nicholao! By this light, he will shame me; he makes curtsy like a chamber-maid.
USHER
Why, what do you mean, page? Are you mad? Did you ever see a boy begin a dance and make curtsy like a wench before?
PAGE
Troth, I was thinking of another thing,
And quite forgot myself. I pray forgive me, sir.
CINQUEPACE
Come, make amends then now with a good leg, and dance it sprightly.
[The Page makes a leg]
What a beastly leg has he made there now. ’Twould vex one’s heart out. Now begin, boy.
[He plays a cinquepace on the viol, and the Page dances with close knees]
O, O, O, O! (etc.) Open thy knees, wider, wider, wider, wider! Did you ever see a boy dance clenched up? He needs a pick-lock. Out upon thee for an arrant ass, an arrant ass! I shall lose my credit by thee, a pest’lence on thee! [To the Usher] Here, boy, hold the viol; let me come to him. I shall get more disgrace by this little monkey now than by all the ladies that ever I taught.
[The Usher plays the viol]
[To the Page] Come on, sir, now; cast thy leg out from thee, lift it up aloft, boy. A pox, his knees are soldered together, they’re sewed together. Canst not stride? O,
I could eat thee up, I could eat thee up, and begin upon thy hinder quarter, thy hinder quarter. I shall never teach this boy without a screw; his knees must be opened with a vice, or there’s no good to be done upon him. — Who taught you to dance, boy?
PAGE
It is but little, sir, that I can do.
CINQUEPACE
No; I’ll be sworn for you.
PAGE
And that Signor Lactantio taught me, sir.
CINQUEPACE
Signor Lactantio was an arrant coxcomb,
And fit to teach none but white-baker’s children
To knead their knees together. You can turn above ground, boy?
PAGE
Not I, sir. [Aside] My turn’s rather underground.
CINQUEPACE
We’ll see what you can do. I love to try
What’s in my scholars, the first hour I teach them.
Show him a close trick now, Nicholao.
[The Usher makes a leaping turn]
Ha, dainty stripling! Come, boy.
PAGE
‘Las, not I, sir.
I am not for lofty tricks, indeed I am not, sir.
CINQUEPACE
How! Such another word, down goes your hose, boy.
PAGE
[aside]
Alas, ’tis time for me to do anything then.
[The Page offers to leap, and falls]
CINQUEPACE
Heyday, he’s down! Is this your lofty trick, boy?
USHER
O master, the boy swoons. He’s dead, I fear me.
CINQUEPACE
Dead! I ne’er knew one die with a lofty trick before. —
Up, sirrah, up.
PAGE
A midwife, run for a midwife!
CINQUEPACE
A midwife? By this light, the boy’s with child!
A miracle! Some woman is the father.
The world’s turned upside down. Sure if men breed
Women must get; one never could do both yet.
No marv’l you danced close-knee’d the cinquepace.
Put up my fiddle; here’s a stranger case.
Exit Cinquepace, [supporting the] Page
USHER
That ’tis, I’ll swear; ‘twill make the Duchess wonder.
I fear me ‘twill bring dancing out of request,
And hinder our profession for a time.
Your women that are closely got with child
Will put themselves clean out of exercise,
And will not venture now for fear of meeting
Their shames in a coranto, specially
If they be near their time. Well, in my knowledge,
If that should happen we are sure to lose
Many a good waiting-woman that’s now over-shoes.
Alas the while! Exit
Enter the Duchess and Celia
DUCHESS
Thou tell’st me things are enemies to reason.
I cannot get my faith to entertain ‘em,
And I hope ne’er shall.
CELIA
’Tis too true, madam.
DUCHESS
I say ’tis false. ‘Twere better thou’dst been dumb
Than spoke a truth s’unpleasing; thou shalt get
But little praise by’t. He whom we affect
To place his love upon so base a creature?
CELIA
Nay, ugliness itself — you’d say so, madam,
If you but saw her once — a strolling Gypsy.
No Christian that is born a hind could love her;
She’s the sun’s masterpiece for tawniness;
Yet have I seen Andrugio’s arms about her,
Perceived his hollow whisp’rings in her ear,
His joys at meeting her.
DUCHESS
What joy could that be?
CELIA
Such, madam, I have seldom seen it equalled.
He kissed her with that greediness of affection
As if her lips had been as red as yours.
I looked still when he would be black in mouth,
Like boys with eating hedgeberries. Nay, more, madam;
He bribed one of his keepers with ten ducats
To find her out amongst a flight of Gypsies.
DUCHESS
I’ll have that keeper hanged — and you, for malice.
She cannot be so bad as you report
Whom he so firmly loves. You’re false in much,
And I will have you tried. Go fetch her to us.
Exit Celia
He cannot be himself and appear guilty
Of such gross folly; has an eye of judgement,
And that will overlook him. This wench fails
In understanding service. She must home,
Live at her house i’th’ country; she decays
In beauty and discretion.
Enter Celia, and Aurelia, [like a Gypsy]
Who hast brought there?
CELIA
This is she, madam.
DUCHESS
Youth and whiteness bless me!
It is not possible. He talked sensibly
Within this hour; this cannot be. How does he?
I fear me my restraint has made him mad.
CELIA
His health is perfect, madam.
DUCHESS
You are perfect
In falsehood still; he’s certainly distracted.
Though I’d be loath to foul my words upon her,
She looks so beastly, yet I’ll ask the question.
Are you beloved, sweet face, of Andrugio?
AURELIA
Yes, showrly, mistress, he done love me
‘Bove all the girls that shine above me.
Full often has he sweetly kissed me,
And wept as often when he missed me;
Swore he was to marry none
But me alone.
DUCHESS
Out on thee, marry thee? — Away with her.
Clear mine eyes of her. —
A curate that has got his place by simony,
Is not half black enough to marry thee. Exit Aurelia
Surely the man’s far spent, howe’er he carries it.
He’s without question mad; but I ne’er knew
Man bear it better before company.
The love of woman wears so thick a blindness
It sees no fault but only man’s unkindness;
And that’s so gross it may be felt. Here, Celia,
[She gives Celia a token of her warrant]
Take this; with speed command Andrugio to us,
And his guard from him.
CELIA
It shall straight be done, madam.
Exit
DUCHESS
I’ll look into his carriage more judiciously
When I next get him. A wrong done to beauty
Is greater than an injury done to love,
And we’ll less pardon it; for had it been
A creature whose perfection had outshined me,
It had been honourable judgement in him,
And to my peace a noble satisfaction;
But as it is, ’tis monstrous above folly!
Look he be mad indeed, and throughly gone,
Or he pays dearly for’t. ’Tis not
The ordinary madness of a gentleman
That shall excuse him here. He’d better lose
His wits eternally than lose my grace.
So strange is the condition of his fall,
He’s safe in nothing but in loss of all.
Enter Andrugio [and Celia]
He comes. Now by the fruits of all my hopes,
A man that has his wits cannot look better.
It likes me well enough. There’s life in’s eye,
And civil health in’s cheek; he stands with judgement,
And bears his body well. What ails this man?
Sure I durst venture him ‘mongst a thousand ladies,
Let ‘em shoot all their scoffs — which makes none laugh
But their own waiting-women, and they dare do no otherwise.
Come nearer, sir. I pray keep further off,
Now I remember you.
ANDRUGIO
What new trick’s in this now?
DUCHESS
How long have you been mad, sir?
ANDRUGIO
Mad? A great time, lady:
Since I first knew I should not sin, yet sinned;
That’s now some thirty years, by’r Lady, upwards.
DUCHESS
[aside]
This man speaks reason wondrous feelingly,
Enough to teach the rudest soul good manners. —
You cannot be excused with lightness now,
Or frantic fits; you’re able to instruct, sir,
And be a light to men. If you have errors
They be not ignorant in you, but wilful,
And in that state I seize on ‘em. Did I
Bring thee acquainted lately with my heart?
And when thou thought’st a storm of anger took thee,
It in a moment cleared up all to love,
To the abusing of thy spiteful enemy
That sought to fix his malice upon thee;
And couldst thou so requite me?
ANDRUGIO
How, good madam?
DUCHESS
To wrong all worth in man, to deal so basely
Upon contempt itself, disdain, and loathsomeness —
A thing whose face through ugliness frights children,
A straggling Gypsy!
ANDRUGIO
See how you may err, madam,
Through wrongful information. By my hopes
Of truth and mercy, there is no such love
Bestowed upon a creature so unworthy.
DUCHESS
No? Then you cannot fly me. — Fetch her back;
[Exit Celia]
And though the sight of her displease mine eye
Worse than th’offensiv’st object earth and nature
Can present to us, yet, for truth’s probation,
We will endure’t contentfully.
Enter Celia, and Aurelia, [like herself]
What now,
Art thou returned without her?
ANDRUGIO
No, madam. This is she my peace dwells in.
If here be either baseness of descent,
Rudeness of manners, or deformity
In face or fashion, I have lost, I’ll yield it.
Tax me severely, madam.
DUCHESS
[to Celia] How thou stand’st,
As dumb as the salt-pillar! Where’s this Gypsy?
[Celia brings Aurelia forward, and shows the
Gypsy clothes Aurelia was wearing]
What, no! I cannot blame thee then for silence.
Now I’m confounded too, and take part with thee.
AURELIA
[kneeling]
Your pardon and your pity, virtuous madam.
Cruel restraint, joined with the power of love,
Taught me that art; in that disguise I scaped
The hardness of my fortunes. You that see
What love’s force is, good madam, pity me.
ANDRUGIO
[kneeling]
Your grace has ever been the friend of truth;
And here ’tis set before you.
DUCHESS
I confess
I have no wrong at all; she’s younger, fairer.
He has not now dishonoured me in choice.
I much commend his noble care and judgement.
’Twas a just cross, led in by a temptation,
For offering but to part from my dear vow,
And I’ll embrace it cheerfully. — Rise both.
The joys of faithful marriage bless your souls.
I will not part you.
ANDRUGIO
[rising] Virtue’s crown be yours, madam.
Enter Lactantio
AURELIA
[aside]
O, there appears the life of all my wishes. —
Is your grace pleased, out of your bounteous goodness
To a poor virgin’s comforts, I shall freely
Enjoy whom my heart loves?
DUCHESS
Our word is past,
Enjoy without disturbance.
AURELIA
[rising] There, Lactantio.
Spread thy arms open wide, to welcome her
That has wrought all this means to rest in thee.
ANDRUGIO
Death of my joys! How’s this?
LACTANTIO
Prithee away, fond fool. Hast no shame in thee?
Thou’rt bold and ignorant, whate’er thou art.
AURELIA
Whate’er I am? Do not you know me then?
LACTANTIO
Yes, for some waiting-vessel; but the times
Are changed with me, if you’d the grace to know ‘em.
I looked for more respect; I am not spoke withal
After this rate, I tell you. Learn hereafter
To know what belongs to me. You shall see
All the court teach you shortly. Farewell, Manners.
DUCHESS
[aside]
I’ll mark the event of this.
[She whispers to Celia. Exit Celia]
AURELIA
[aside] I’ve undone myself
Two ways at once: lost a great deal of time,
And now I am like to lose more. O my fortune!
I was nineteen yesterday, and partly vowed
To have a child by twenty, if not twain.
To see how maids are crossed! But I’m plagued justly;
And she that makes a fool of her first love,
Let her ne’er look to prosper. [To Andrugio] Sir.
ANDRUGIO
O falsehood!
AURELIA
Have you forgiveness in you? There’s more hope of me
Than of a maid that never yet offended.
ANDRUGIO
Make me your property?
AURELIA
I’ll promise you
I’ll never make you worse; and, sir, you know
There are worse things for women to make men.
But by my hope of children, and all lawful,
I’ll be as true for ever to your bed
As she in thought or deed that never erred.
ANDRUGIO
I’ll once believe a woman, be it but to strengthen
Weak faith in other men. I have a love
That covers all thy faults.
Enter Lord Cardinal and the Lords
LORD CARDINAL [aside to Lactantio]
Nephew, prepare thyself
With meekness and thanksgiving to receive
Thy reverend fortune. Amongst all the lords,
Her close affection now makes choice of thee.
LACTANTIO
[aside]
Alas, I’m not to learn to know that now.
Where could she make choice here if I were missing?
’Twould trouble the whole state, and puzzle ‘em all,
To find out such another.
LORD CARDINAL ’Tis high time, madam,
If your grace please, to make election now.
Behold, they are all assembled.
DUCHESS
What election?
You speak things strange to me, sir.
LORD CARDINAL HOW, good madam?
DUCHESS
Give me your meaning plainly, like a father.
You are too religious, sir, to deal in riddles.
LORD CARDINAL
Is there a plainer way than leads to marriage, madam,
And the man set before you?
DUCHESS
O blasphemy
To sanctimonious faith! Comes it from you, sir? —
An ill example. Know you what you speak,
Or who you are? Is not my vow in place?
How dare you be so bold, sir! Say a woman
Were tempt with a temptation, must you presently
Take all th’advantage on’t?
LORD CARDINAL Is this in earnest, madam?
DUCHESS
Heaven pardon you if you do not think so, sir;
You’ve much to answer for. But I will leave you;
Return I humbly now from whence I fell.
All you blest powers that register the vows
Of virgins and chaste matrons, look on me
With eyes of mercy; seal forgiveness to me
By signs of inward peace; and, to be surer
That I will never fail your good hopes of me,
I bind myself more strictly. All my riches
I’ll speedily commend to holy uses,
This temple unto some religious sanctuary,
Where all my time to come I will allow
For fruitful thoughts; so knit I up my vow.
LACTANTIO
This ’tis to hawk at eagles. Pox of pride;
It lays a man i’th’ mire still, like a jade
That has too many tricks and ne’er a good one.
I must gape high! I’m in a sweet case now.
I was sure of one, and now I have lost her too.
DUCHESS
[to the Lord Cardinal]
I know, my lord, all that great studious care
Is for your kinsman; he’s provided for
According to his merits.
LORD CARDINAL How’s that, good madam?
DUCHESS
Upon the firmness of my faith, it’s true, sir.
[Enter Celia, and the former Page, like herself, with an infant]
See, here’s the gentlewoman; the match was made
Near forty weeks ago. He knows the time, sir,
Better than I can tell him, and the poor gentlewoman
Better than he. But being religious, sir, and fearing you,
He durst not own her for his wife till now,
Only contracted with her in man’s apparel,
For the more modesty, because he was bashful,
And never could endure the sight of woman
For fear that you should see her. This was he
Chose for my love; this page preferred to me.
LACTANTIO
I’m paid with mine own money.
LORD CARDINAL Dare hypocrisy,
For fear of vengeance, sit so close to virtue?
Steal’st thou a holy vestment from religion,
To clothe forbidden lust with? Th’open villain
Goes before thee to mercy, and his penitency
Is blest with a more sweet and quick return.
I utterly disclaim all blood in thee.
I’ll sooner make a parricide my heir
Than such a monster. — O forgive me, madam!
Th’apprehension of the wrong to you
Has a sin’s weight at it. I forget all charity
When I but think upon him.
DUCHESS
Nay, my lord,
At our request, since we are pleased to pardon,
And send remission to all former errors
Which conscionable justice now sets right.
From you we expect patience. He’s had punishment
Enough in his false hopes; trust me he has, sir;
They have requited his dissembling largely.
And to erect your falling goodness to him,
We’ll begin first ourself. Ten thousand ducats
The gentlewoman shall bring out of our treasure
To make her dowry.
LORD CARDINAL None has the true way
Of overcoming anger with meek virtue
Like your compassionate grace.
LACTANTIO
Curse of this fortune!
This ’tis to meddle with taking stuff, whose belly cannot be confined in a waistband. [To the Page] Pray, what have you done with the breeches? We shall have need of ‘em shortly. An we get children so fast they are too good to be cast away. My son and heir need not scorn to wear what his mother has left off. I had my fortune told me by a Gypsy seven years ago; she said then I should be the spoil of many a maid, and at seven years’ end marry a quean for my labour; which falls out wicked and true.
DUCHESS
[to the Lord Cardinal]
We all have faults; look not so much on his.
Who lives i’th’ world that never did amiss? —
For you, Aurelia, I commend your choice.
You’ve one after our heart. And though your father
Be not in presence, we’ll assure his voice.
Doubt not his liking, his o’erjoying rather.
[To Lactantio] You, sir, embrace your own; ’tis your full due.
No page serves me more that once dwells with you.
O, they that search out man’s intents shall find
There’s more dissemblers than of womenkind.
Exeunt
Finis