Act 4, Scene I

Scene: Before the Palace.

Enter CRATES, Uncle, Tutor, and ONOS.

Thinks he to carry her, and live?
It seems so.
And she will carry him, the story says.
Well; hum!
Have I for this, thou fair, but falsest fair,
Stretch'd this same simple leg over the sea?
What though my bashfulness, and tender years,
Durst ne'er reveal my affection to thy teeth?
Deep Love ne'er tattles, and, say they, Love's bit
The deeper dipp'd, the sweeter still is it.
Oh, see the power of love! he speaks in rhyme.
Oh, love will make a dog howl in rhyme.
Of all the lovers yet I have heard or read,
This is the strangest: But his guardian,
And you, his tutor, should inform him better;
Thinks he that love is answer'd by instinct?
He should make means;
For certain, sir, his bashfulness undoes him,
For from his cradle, he had a shameful face.
Thus walks he night and day, eats not a bit,
Nor sleeps one jot, but's grown so humorous,
Drinks ale, and takes tobacco as you see,
Wears a stiletto at his codpiece close,
Stabs on the least occasion; strokes his beard,
Which now he puts i' th' posture of a T,
The Roman T; your T beard is the fashion,
And twifold doth express the enamour'd courtier,
As full as your fork-caiving traveller.
Black clouds of discontent, invelop me;
Garters, fly off; go, hatband, bind the brows
Of some dull citizen that fears to ake;
And, leg, appear now in simplicity,
Without the trappings of a courtier;
Burst, buttons, burst, your bachelor is worm'd!
A worm-eaten bachelor thou art indeed.
And, devil Melancholy, possess me now!
Cross him not in this fit, I advise you, sir.
Die, crimson rose, that didst adorn these cheeks,
For itch of love is now broke forth on me!
Poor boy, 'tis true; his wrists and hands are scabby.
Burn, eyes, out in your sockets, sink and stink;
Teeth, I will pick you to the very bones;
Hang, hair, like hemp, or like the Iceland curs,
For never powder, nor the crisping-iron,
Shall touch these dangling locks; oh, ruby lips,
Love hath to you been like wine vinegar,
Now you look wan and pale, lips, ghosts ye are,
And my disgrace sharper than mustard seed!
How like a chandler he does vent his passions!
Risum teneatis?
Well sung the poet,
Love is a golden bubo, full of dreams;
That ripen'd breaks, and fills us with extremes.
A golden bubble, pupil; oh, gross solecism
To chaster ears that understand the Latin.
I will not be corrected now;
I am in love! Revenge is now the cud
That I do chew: I'll challenge him.
Ay, marry, sir.
Your honour bids you, nephew; on and prosper.
-Onos. But none will bear it from me; times are dangerous.
Carry it yourself, man.
Tutor, your counsel.—I'll do nothing, sir,
Without him.
This may rid thee, valiant coz,
Whom I have kept this forty year my ward:
Fain would I have his state, and now of late
He did enquire at Ephesus for his age,
But the church-book being burnt with Dian's temple,
He lost his aim. I have tried to famish him,
Marry he'll live o' stones; and then for poisons,
He is an antidote 'gainst all of 'em;
He sprung from Mithridates; he's so dry and hot.
He will eat spiders faster than a monkey;
His maw, unhurt, keep's quicksilver like a bladder;
The largest dose of camphire, opium,
Harms not his brain; I think his scull's as empty
As a suck'd egg; vitriol and oil of tartar
He will eat toasts of; henbane, I am sure,
And hemlock, I have made his pot-herbs often.—
If he refuse you, yours is then the honour
If he accept, he being so great, you may
Crave both to chuse the weapon, time, and place,
Which may be ten years hence, and Calicut,
Or underneath the Line, to avoid advantage.
I am resolved.
By your favour, pupil,
Whence shall this challenge rise? for you must ground it
On some such fundamental base, or matter,
As now the gentry set their lives upon.
Did you e'er cheat him at some ordinary,
And durst be say so, and be angry? if thus,
Then you must challenge him. Hath he call'd your whore
Whore? though she be, beside yours, twenty men's,
Your honour, reputation, is touch'd then,
And you must challenge him. Has he denied
On thirty damme's to accommodate money?
Though you have broke threescore before to him,
Here you must challenge him. Durst he ever shun
To drink two pots of ale wi' ye? or to wench,
Though weighty business otherwise importuned!
He is a proud lord,
And you may challenge him. Has he familiarly
Disliked your yellow starch, or said your doublet
Was not exactly frenchified? or that, that report
In fair terms was untrue? or drawn your sword,
Cried 'twas ill mounted? has he given the lie
In circle, or oblique, or semi-circle,
Or direct parallel? you must challenge him.
He never gave my direct apparel the lie in's life.
But, for the crown of all, has he refused
To pledge your mistress' health? though he were sick,
And craved your pardon, you must challenge him,
There's no avoiding; one or both must drop.
Exquisite Tutor!

Enter NEANTHES and Page.

Crates, I have sought you long; what make you here
Fooling with these three-farthings, while the town
Is all in uproar, and the prince our master,
Seized by Leonidas and Agenor, carried
And prisoner kept i' th' castle flanks
The west part of the city, where they vow
To hold him till your brother, lord Euphanes,
Be render'd to 'em, with his life to satisfy
The rape, by him suspected to Merione?
The queen refuses to deliver him,
Pawning her knowledge for his innocency,
And dares 'em do their worst on prince Theanor;
The whole state's in combustion.
Fatal ring!
What will become of us?
And she hath given commission to Euphanes
And Conon, who have levied men already,
With violence to surprise the tower, and take 'em.
What will you do?
Along wi' ye, and prevent
A further mischiel Gentlemen, our intents
We must defer; you are the prince's followers.
Will ye walk with us?
You shall pardon us.
We are his followers afar off, you know,
And are contented to continue so.
Sir boy!
[Offers a letter.
Sir fool! a challenge to my lord?
How dar'st thou, or thy ambs-ace here, think of him?
Ye crow-pick'd heads, which your thin shoulders bear
As do the poles on Corinth bridge the traitors';
Why, you three nine-pins, you talk of my lord,
And challenges? you shall not need: Come, draw!
His page is able to swinge three such whelps.
Uncle, why stand ye off? Long-man, advance.
'Slight, what have we done, Tutor?
He is a boy,
And we may run away with honour.
That ye shall not;
And, being a boy, I am fitter to encounter
A child in law as you are, under twenty.
Thou sot, thou three-score sot! and that's a child
Again, I grant you.
Nephew, here's an age!
Boys are turn'd men, and men are children.
Away, ye peasants, with your bought gentry!
Are not you he, when your fellow passengers,
Your last transportment, being assail'd by a galley,
Hid yourself i' the cabin; and, the fight done,
Peep'd above hatches, and cried, “Have we taken,
Or are we ta'en?” Come, I do want a slipper,
But this shall serve: Swear all as I would have you,
Or I will call some dozen brother pages,
(They are not far off, I am sure) and we will blanket you
Until you piss again.
Nay, we will swear, sir.
'Tis your best course.
First, you shall swear never to name my lord,
Or hear him named hereafter, but bare-headed;
Next, to begin his health in every place,
And never to refuse to pledge it, though
You surfeit to the death; lastly, to hold
The poorest, littlest page in reverence,
To think him valianter, and a better gentleman,
Than you three stamped together, and to give him
Wine and tobacco whet-esoe'er you meet,
And the best meat, if he can stay.
We swear it loyally.
Then I dismiss you,
True liegemen to the pantofle;
I had more articles, but I have business
And cannot stay now: So adieu, dear monsieur,
Tres noble et tres puissant!
Adieu, monsieur!
A vostre service et commandement.
I told you, pupil, you'd repent thls foolery.
Who? I repent? you are mistaken, Tutor,
I ne'er repented anything yet in my life,
And scorn to begin now. Come, let's be melancholy.