night too,

Under another's name, to make the matter
Carry more weight about it? Well, Don John,
You will be wiser one day, when ye've purchased
A bevy of those butter prints together,
With searching out concealed iniquities,
Without commission. Why it would never grieve

me,

If I had got this gingerbread; never stirred me.
So I had had a stroke for it; 't had been justice
Then to have kept it: but to raise a dairy,
For other men's adultery, consume myself in

caudles,

And scouring work, in nurses, bells, and babies,
Only for charity,.for mere I thank you,
A little troubles me: the least touch for it,
Had but my breeches got it, it had contented me.
Whose e'er it is, sure it had a wealthy mother,
For 'tis well clothed, and if I be not cozen'd,
Well lined within. To leave it here were bar-
barous,

And ten to one would kill it; a worse sin
Than his that got it. Well, I will dispose on't,
And keep it, as they keep death's heads in rings,
To cry memento to me-no more peeping.
Now all the danger is to qualify
[live;
The good old gentlewoman at whose house we
For she will fall upon me with a catechism
Of four hours long: I must endure all;
For I will know this mother. Come, good wonder,
Let you and I be jogging; your starved treble
Will waken the rude watch else. All that be
Curious night-walkers, may they find my fee.

Enter DON FREDERICK.

Fred. Sure he's gone home:

I have beaten all the purlieus,

But cannot bolt him. If he be a-bobbing,

[Exit.

"Tis not my care can cure him: to-morrow morning I shall have further knowledge from a surgeon, Where he lies moor'd to mend his leaks.

For Heaven's sake stay not here, Sir.
Fred. What may this prove?

Con. Alas! I am mistaken, lost, undone,
For ever perished! Sir, for Heaven's sake, tell
Are ye a gentleman ?

Fred. I am.

Con. Of this place?

Fred. No, born in Spain.

Con. As ever you loved honour,

As ever your desires may gain their end,
Do a poor wretched woman but this benefit,
For I'm forced to trust ye.

Fred. Y' have charmed me.
Humanity and honour bids me help ye;
And if I fail your trust-

Con. The time 's too dangerous To stay your protestations: I believe ye. Alas! I must believe ye. From this place, Good, noble Sir, remove me instantly. And for a time, where nothing but yourself, And honest conversation may come near me, In some secure place settle me. What I am,

[me,

Into a stranger's hand, the fears and dangers That force me to this wild course, at more leisure I shall reveal unto you.

Fred. Come, be hearty,

He must strike through my life that takes you from me. [Exeunt.

Enter PETRUCHIO, ANTONIO, and two GENTLE

MEN.

Petr. He will sure come: are ye all well armed? Ant. Never fear us:

Here's that will make 'em dance without a fiddle.

Nor unadvised ones. Petr. We are to look for no weak foes, my [friends, Ant. Best gamesters make the best play; We shall fight close and home them. 1st Gent. Antonio,

You are thought too bloody.

And penny almanacs allow the opening
Ant. Why? All physicians

Of veins this month. Why do you talk of bloody?
What come we for? to fall to cuffs for apples?
What, would you make the cause a cudgel-quar-

rel?

Petr. Speak softly, gentle cousin.

What should men do, allied to these disgraces,
Ant. I will speak truly.
Lick o'er his enemy, sit down and dance him?
2d Gent. You are as far o' th' bow-hand now.
Ant. And cry,
[child?
That's my fine boy; thou wilt do so no more,
Petr. Here are no such cold pities.

Ant. By St. Jaques,
[Andrew,
They shall not find me one! Here's old tough
A special friend of mine, and he but hold,
I'll strike them such a hornpipe! Knocks I

come for,

And the best blood I light on: I profess it,
My audit's lost, and farewell five-and-fifty.
Not to scare costermongers. If I lose my own,

Petr. Let's talk no longer. Place yourselves with silence

As I directed ye; and when time calls us,
As ye are friends, to show yourselves.
Ant. So be it.

[Exeunt.

Enter DON JOHN and his LANDLADY. Land. Nay, son, if this be your regardJohn. Good mother

Land. Good me no goods-Your cousin and yourself

Are welcome to me, whilst you bear yourselves
Like honest and true gentlemen. Bring hither
To my house, that have ever been reputed
A gentlewoman of a decent and a fair carriage,
And so behaved myself-

John. I know you have.

Land. Bring hither, as I say, to make my name Stink in my neighbour's nostrils, your devices, Your brats got out of alligant and broken oaths, Your linsey-woolsey work, your hasty puddings! I foster up your filch'd iniquities! You're deceived in me, Sir, I am none Of those receivers.

John. Have I no sworn unto you, 'Tis none of mine, and show'd you how I foun.l it? Land. Ye found an easy fool that let you get it John. Will you hear me?

Land. Oaths! what care you for oaths to gain your ends;

When ye are high and pamper'd? What saint

know ye?

Or what religion, but your purposed lewdness,
Is to be look'd for of ye? Nay, I will tell ye-
You will then swear like accused cut-purses,
As far off truth too; and lie beyond all falconers:
I'm sick to see this dealing.

John. Heaven forbid, mother.
Land. Nay, I am very sick.
John. Who waits there?
Pet. [Within.] Sir!

John. Bring down the bottle of Canary wine.
Land. Exceeding sick, Heaven help me!
John. Haste ye, sirrah.

I must e'en make her drunk. [Aside.] Nay, gentle mother

Land. Now fy upon ye! was it for this purpose You fetch'd your evening walks for your devotions?

For this pretended holiness? No weather,
Not before day, could hold you from the matins.
Were these your bo-peep prayers? Y'ave pray'd
well,

And with a learned zeal have watch'd well too; your saint,

It seems, was pleased as well. Still sicker, sicker! Enter PETER with a bottle of wine.

John. There is no talking to her till I have drench'd her.

Give me.

Here, mother, take a good round draught.

It will purge spleen from your spirits: deeper, mother.

Land. Ay, ay, son; you imagine this will
John. All, i faith, mother.

Land. I confess the wine

mend [all.

Your own eyes, signior; and the nether lip
As like ye, as ye had spit it.
John. I am glad on't.

Land. Bless me! what things are these?
John. I thought my labour

Was not all lost: 'tis gold, and these are jewels Both rich and right, I hope.

Land. Well, well, son John,

I see y'ere a woodman, and can choose Your deer, though it be i' th' dark; all your discretion

Is not yet lost; this was well clapp'd aboard; Here I am with ye now, when, as they say, Your pleasure comes with profit; when you must needs do,

Do where you may be done to; 'tis a wisdom
Becomes a young man well: be sure of one thing,
Lose not your labour and your time together;
It seasons of a fool, son; time is precious,
Work wary whilst you have it. Since you must
traffic
[nior;
Sometimes this slippery way, take sure hold, sig-
Trade with no broken merchants; make your
lading

As you would make your rest, adventurously,
But with advantage ever.

[nurses.

John. All this time, mother, The child wants looking to, wants meat and Land. Now blessing o' thy heart, it shall have And instantly I'll seek a nurse myself, son. [all; 'Tis a sweet child-Ah, my young Spaniard! Take you no farther care, Sir.

John. Yes, of these jewels,

[yours, I must by your good leave, mother; these are To make your care the stronger; for the rest, I'll find a master; the gold for bringing up on't, I freely render to your charge.

Land. No more words,

Nor no more children, good son, as you love me. This may do well.

John. I shall observe your morals.
But where 's Don Frederick, mother?
Land. Ten to one,

About the like adventure; he told me,
He was to find you out.

[not,

John. Why should he stay us? There may be some ill chance in it: sleep I will Before I have found him. Now this woman's pleased,

I'll seek my friend out, and my care is eased.

[Exeunt.

Enter DUKE and three GENTLEMEN. 1st Gent. Believe, Sir, 'tis as possible to do it, As to move the city: the main faction

fort, signior!

John. I looked for this.

Land. I did not think you would have used

me thus;

augurs

Able to ruin states, no safety left us,
Nor means to die like men, if instantly
You draw not back again.

Duke. May he be drawn,

And quarter'd too, that turns now; were I surer Of death than thou art o' thy fears, and with death More than those fears are too

1st Gent. Sir, I fear not.

Duke. I would not break my vow, start from my honour,

Because I may find danger; wound my soul
To keep my body safe.

1st Gent. I speak not, Sir, Out of a baseness to ye. Duke. No, nor do not

Out of a baseness leave me. What is danger
More than the weakness of our apprehensions?
A poor cold part o' th' blood. Who takes it hold
Cowards and wicked livers; valiant minds [of?
Were made masters of it: and as hearty seamen
In desperate storms stem with a little rudder
The tumbling ruins of the ocean;

So with their cause and swords do they do dangers.
Say we were sure to die all in this venture,
As I am confident against it; is there any
Amongst us of so fat a sense, so pamper'd,
Would choose luxuriously to lie a-bed,
And purge away his spirits; send his soul out
In sugar-sops and sirups? Give me dying
As dying ought to be, upon mine enemy;
Parting with mankind, by a man that's manly?
Let them be all the world, and bring along
Cain's envy with them, I will on.

2d Gent. You may, Sir,

But with what safety?

1st Gent. Since 'tis come to dying,

Fred. Trust me,

The abstract of all beauty, soul of sweetness! Defend me, honest thoughts, I shall grow wild else What eyes are there! rather what little heavens, To stir men's contemplation! What a Paradise Runs through each part she has! Good blood, be temperate!

I must look off: too excellent an object Confounds the sense that sees it. Noble lady, If there be any further service to cast on me, Let it be worth my life, so much I honour ye, Or the engagements of whole families.

Con. Your service is too liberal, worthy Sir. Thus far I shall entreat

Fred. Command me, lady:

You may make your power too poor.
Con. That presently,

With all convenient haste, you will retire
Unto the street you found me in.

Fred. 'Tis done.

Con. There if you find a gentleman oppress'd

And draw your sword to rescue him.

Fred. He's safe,

Be what he will, and let his foes be devils,
Arm'd with your beauty I shall conjure them,
Retire, this key will guide ye: all things necessary
Are there before ve.

Con. All my prayers go with ye. [Erit. Fred. Ye clap on proof upon me. Men say, gold Does all, engages all, works through all dangers. Now I say, beauty can do more The king's exchequer,

Nor all his wealthy Indies, could not draw me Through half those miseries this piece of pleasure Might make me leap into: we are all like seacharts,

All our endeavours and our motions

As they do to the north) still point at beauty Still at the fairest; for a handsome woman, (Setting my soul aside) it should go hard But I will strain my body; yet to her, Unless it be her own free gratitude. Hopes, ye shall die, and thou, tongue, rot within

Only a little stagger'd.

Duke's fact. Let's pursue them.

good coat,

Fred. The pox,

may be.

put home,

With a good mind too, I'm sure on't.

John. Are you safe then?

Duke. My thanks to you, brave Sir, whose timely valour

And manly courtesy came to my rescue.

John. Ye had foul play offer'd ye, and shame befal him

That can pass by oppression.

Duke. May I crave, Sir,

By this much honour more, to know your name, And him I am so bound to?

John. For the bond, Sir,

'Tis every good man's tie: to know me further, Will little profit you; I am a stranger,

An arrant coxcomb whilst I live.

Fred. What is't?

Thou hast lost nothing?

John. No, I have got, I tell thee.
Fred. What hast thou got?

John. One of the infantry, a child.
Fred. How!

John. A chopping child, man.

Fred. Give you joy, Sir.

John. A lump of lewdness, Frederick; that's the truth on't.

This town's abominable.

Fred. I still told ye, John,

Your whoring must come home; I counsell'd ye:
But where no grace is

John. 'Tis none of mine, man.
Fred. Answer the parish so.
John. Cheated in troth

tleman

That came abroad to travel.

Duke. I have heard, Sir,

Much worthy mention of ye, yet I find

Fame short of what ye are.

John. You are pleased, Sir,

To express your courtesy: may I demand

As freely what you are, and what mischance Cast you into this danger?

Duke. For this present

I must desire your pardon: you shall know me
Ere it be long, Sir, and nobler thanks,
Than now my will can render.

John. Your will 's your own, Sir.

Duke. What is't you look for, Sir? Have you lost any thing!

John. Only my hat i' th' scuffle; sure these fellows

Nor where to find the place again; no, Frederick, 'Tis no poor one,

That's my best comfort, for 't has brought about it Enough to make it man.

Fred. Where is't?

John. At home.

Fred. A saving voyage; but what will you

say, Signior,

To him that searching out your serious worship, Has met a strange fortune?

John. How, good Frederick?

A militant girl to this boy would hit it.
Fred. No, mine's a nobler venture: what do
you think, Sir,

Of a distressed lady, one whose beauty
Would oversell all Italy?

John. Where is she?

Fred. A woman of that rare behaviour, So qualified, as admiration

Dwells round about her; of that perfect spiritJohn. Ay, marry, Sir.

Fred. That admirable carriage,

That sweetness in discourse; young as the mornHer blushes staining his.

John. But where's this creature?

Show me but that.

Fred. That's all one; she 's forthcoming.

I have her sure, boy.

[ing,

John. A gentleman I found engaged amongst
It seems of noble breeding, I'm sure brave metal;
As I returned to look you, I set into him,
And without hurt, I thank Heaven, rescued him.
Fred. My work 's done then;

And now to satisfy you, there is a woman-
Oh, John, there is a woman-

John. Oh, where is she?

Fred. And one of no less worth than I told; And which is more, fallen under my protection. John. I am glad of that; forward, sweet Frederick.

Fred. And which is more than that, by this night's wandering;

And which is most of all, she is at home, too, Sir. John. Come, let's begone then.

Fred. Yes, but 'tis most certain You cannot see her, John.

John. Why?

Fred. She has sworn me,

That none else shall come near her; not my mo'Till some doubts are cleared.

[ther,

John. Not look upon her? What chamber is she in?

[thony

I do conceive; but where they are, good AnAnt. Ay, there it goes: my master's bo-peep with me,

With his sly popping in and out again,
Argued a cause-Hark!

Pet. What?

Ant. Dost not hear a lute?

Again!

Pet. Where is't?

[Lute sounds.

Ant. Above, in my master's chamber. Pet. There's no creature: he hath the key [himself,

Man.

Ant. This is his lute, let him have it.

[Sings within a little.

Pet. I grant ye; but who strikes it?
Ant. An admirable voice too, hark ye.
Pet. Anthony,

Art sure we are at home?

Ant. Without all doubt, Peter.

Pet. Then this must be the devil.
Ant. Let it be.

Good devil, sing again: O dainty devil,
Peter, believe it, a most delicate devil,
The sweetest devil-

Enter FREDERICK and DON JOHN
Fred. If you would leave peeping.
John. I cannot by no means.

Fred. Then come in softly;

And as you love your faith, presume no further Than ye have promised.

John. Basco.

Fred. What makes you up so early, Sir?
John. You, Sir, in your contemplations?
Pet. O pray ye peace, Sir!
Fred. Why peace, Sir?

Pet. Do you hear?

John. 'Tis your lute: she's playing on't. For this we have heard this half hour. Ant. The house is haunted, Sir:

Fred. Ye saw nothing.

Ant. Not I.

Pet. Nor I, Sir.

Fred. Get your breakfast then,

And make no words on't: we'll undertake this If it be one.

Ant. This is no devil, Peter! Mum! there be bats abroad.

[spirit,

[Exeunt ambo

Fred. Stay, now she sings. John. An angel's voice, I'll swear. Fred. Why dost thou shrug so? Either allay this heat, or, as I live, I will not trust ye.

John. Pass, I warrant ye.

Enter 1st CONSTANTIA.

[Exeunt.

Con. To curse those stars that men say go

vern us,

To rail at fortune, to fall out with my fate,
And tax the general world, will help me nothing:
Alas! I am the same still: neither are they
Subject to helps or hurts; our own desires
Are our own fates, and our own stars all our for
tune;

Which, as we sway 'em, so abuse or bless us.

Enter FREDERICK, and DON JOHN peeping

Fred. Peace to your meditations.

John. Pox upon ye,

Stand out of the light.