Act 2, Scene II

Scene: A Hall in La Castre's House.

Enter PINAC and a Servant.

Art thou her servant, say'st thou ?
Her poor creature;
But servant to her horse, sir.
Canst thou show me
The way to her chamber, or where I may conveniently
See her, or come to talk to her?
That I can, sir;
But the question is, whether I will or no.
Why, I'll content thee.
Why, I'll content thee then; now you come to me.
There's for your diligence.
[Gives money.
There's her chamber, sir,
And this way she comes out; stand you but here, sir,
You have her at your prospect, or your pleasure.
Is she not very angry?
You'll find that quickly:
May be she'll call you saucy, scurvy fellow,
Or some such familiar name; may be she knows you,
And will fling a piss-pot at you, or a pantofle,
According as you are in acquaintance: If she like you,
May be she'll look upon you; may be no;
And two months hence call for you.
This is fine.
She is monstrous proud then?
She is a little haughty;
Of a small body, she has a mind well mounted.
Can you speak Greek?
No, certain.
Get you gone then!—
And talk of stars, and firmaments, and fire-drakes?
Do you remember who was Adam's schoolmaster,
And who taught Eve to spin? She knows all these,
And will run you over the beginning o' th' world
As familiar as a fiddler.
Can you sit seven hours together, and say nothing?
Which she will do, and, when she speaks, speak oracles,
Speak things that no man understands, nor herself neither.
Thou mak'st me wonder!
Can you smile?
Yes, willingly;
For naturally I bear a mirth about me.
She'll ne'er endure you then; she's never merry;
If she see one laugh, she'll swoon past aquæ vitæ.
Never come near her, sir; if you chance to venture,
And talk not like a doctor, you are damn'd too.
I have told you enough for your crown, and so good speed you!
I have a pretty task if she be thus curious,
As, sure, it seems she is! If I fall off now,
I shall be laugh'd at fearfully; if I go forward,
I can but be abused, and that I look for;
And yet I may hit right, but 'tis unlikely.
Stay! in what mood and figure shall I attempt her?
A careless way? No, no, that will not waken her;
Besides, her gravity will give me line still,
And let me lose myself; yet this way often
Has hit, and handsomely. A wanton method?
Ay, if she give it leave to slink into her consideration:
But there's the doubt: If it but stir her blood once,
And creep into the crannies of her fancy,
Set her a-gog——But if she chance to slight it,
And by the power of her modesty fling it back,
I shall appear the arrant'st rascal to her,
The most licentious knave—for I shall talk lewdly.
To bear myself austerely? rate my words?
And fling a general gravity about me,
As if I meant to give laws? But this I cannot do,
This is a way above my understanding:
Or, if I could, 'tis odds she'll think I mock her;
For serious and sad things are ever still
Suspicious. Well, I'll say something:
But learning I have none, and less good manners,
Especially for ladies. Well; I'll set my best face.
I hear some coming. This is the first woman
I ever fear'd yet, the first face that shakes me.
[Stands apart.


Give me my hat, Petella; take this veil off,
This sullen cloud; it darkens my delights.
Come, wench, be free, and let the music warble;
Play me some lusty measure.
This is she, sure,
The very same I saw, the very woman,
The gravity I wonder'd at. Stay, stay;
Let me be sure. Ne'er trust me, but she danceth!
Summer is in her face now, and she skippeth.
I'll go a little nearer.
Quicker time, fellows!
I cannot find my legs yet. Now, Petella!


I am amazed! I am founder'd in my fancy!
Ha! say you so? Is this your gravity?
This the austerity you put upon you?
I'll see more o' this sport.
[Stands apart.
A song now!
Call in for a merry, and a light song;
And sing it with a liberal spirit.

Enter a Singing Boy.

Yes, madam.
And be not amazed, sirrah, but take us for your own company.
Let's walk ourselves: Come, wench. 'Would we had a man or two!
Sure she has spied me, and will abuse me dreadfully;
She has put on this for the purpose; yet I will try her.—
Madam, I would be loth my rude intrusion,
Which I must crave a pardon for——
Oh, you are welcome,
You are very welcome, sir! we want such a one.
Strike up again. I dare presume you dance well.
Quick, quick, sir, quick! the time steals on.
I would talk with you.
Talk as you dance.
[They dance.
She'll beat him off his legs first.
This is the finest masque!
Now, how do you, sir?
You have given me a shrewd heat.
I'll give you a hundred.
Come, sing now, sing; for I know you sing well;
I see you have a singing face.
A fine modesty!
If I could, she'd never give me breath.—Madam, 'would
I might sit and recover.
Sit here, and sing now;
Let's do things quickly, sir, and handsomely.—
Sit close, wench, close.—Begin, begin!
I am lesson'd.
'Tis very pretty, i' faith. Give me some wine now.
I would fain speak to you.
You shall drink first, believe me.
Here's to you a lusty health.
I thank you, lady.—
'Would I were off again! I smell my misery;
I was never put to this rack! I shall be drunk too.
If thou be'st not a right one, I have lost mine aim much:
I thank Heaven, that I have 'scaped thee! To her, Pinac;
For thou art as sure to have her, and to groan for her—
I'll see how my other youth does; this speeds trimly.
A fine grave gentlewoman, and worth much honour!
How do you like me, sir?
I like you rarely.
You see, sir, though sometimes we are grave and silent,
And put on sadder dispositions,
Yet we're compounded of free parts, and sometimes too
Our lighter, airy, and our fiery metals
Break out, and show themselves: And what think you of that, sir ?
Good lady, sit (for I am very weary)
And then I'll tell you.
Fy! a young man idle?
Up, and walk; be still in action;
The motions of the body are fair beauties:
Besides, 'tis cold. Odds-me, sir, let's walk faster!
What think you now of the lady Felicia?
And Bella-Fronte, the duke's fair daughter? ha?
Are they not handsome things? There is Duarta,
And brown Olivia——
I know none of 'em.
But brown must not be cast away, sir. If young Lelia
Had kept herself till this day from a husband,
Why, what a beauty, sir! You know Ismena,
The fair gem of Saint-Germains?
By my troth, I do not.
And then, I know, you must hear of Brisac,
How unlike a gentleman-——
As I live, I heard nothing.
Strike me another galliard!
By this light, I cannot!
In troth, I have sprain'd my leg, madam.
Now sit you down, sir,
And tell me why you came hither? why you chose me out?
What is your business? your errand? Dispatch, dispatch!
May be you are some gentleman's man (and I mistook you)
That have brought me a letter, or a haunch of venison,
Sent me from some friend of mine.
Do I look like a carrier?
You might allow me, what I am, a gentleman.
'Cry you mercy, sir! I saw you yesterday:
You are new come out of travel; I mistook vou.
And how do all our impudent friends in Italy?
Madam, I came with duty, and fair courtesy,
Service, and honour to you.
You came to jeer me!
You see I am merry, sir; I have changed my copy:
None of the sages now, and pray you proclaim it;
Fling on me what aspersion you shall please, sir,
Of wantonness, or wildness; I look for it;
And tell the world, I am an hypocrite,
Mask in a forc'd and borrow'd shape, I expect it;
But not to have you believed: For, mark you, sir,
I have won a nobler estimation,
A stronger tie by my discretion
Upon opinion (howe'er you think I forc'd it)
Than either tongue or art of yours can slubber,
And, when I please, I will be what I please, sir,
So I exceed not mean; and none shall brand it,
Either with scorn or shame, but shall be slighted.
Lady, I come to love you.
Love yourself, sir;
And when I want observers, I'll send for you.
Heigh-ho! my fit's almost off; for we do all by fits, sir.
If you be weary, sit till I come again to you.
[Exit with Petella.
This is a wench of a dainty spirit; but
Hang me if I know yet either what to think
Or make of her; she had her will of me,
And baited me abundantly, I thank her;
And, I confess, I never was so blurted,
Nor ever so abused: I must bear mine own sins.
You talk of travels; here's a curious country!
Yet I will find her out, or forswear my faculty.