Enter DUKE, GUZMAN, PEDRO, and PEREZ. Duke. Where are the horses? Pedro. Where they were appointed. Duke. Be private all, and whatsoever fortune Offer itself, let us stand sure. Perez. Fear not; Ere you shall be endanger'd, or deluded, We'll make a black night on't. Duke. No more, I know it; You know your quarters. Gu. Will you go alone, sir? Ha! you little sugar-sop! 'tis a sweet baby; For heaven's sake, stay not here, sir! Don F. What may this prove? 1 Con. Alas! I am mistaken, lost, undone, For ever perish'd! Sir, for heaven's sake tell me, Are you a gentleman ? Don F. I am. 1 Con. Of this place? Don F. No; born in Spain. 1 Con. As ever you lov'd honour, As ever your desires may gain their ends, Don F. You have charm'd me; Duke. Ye shall not be far from me; the least noise And if I fail your trust Shall bring you to my rescue. [Ereunt. Enter DON JOHN, with a Child, crying. Into men's houses, where I had no business, What have I got by this now? A piece of pap and caudle-work-a child: What a figure do I make now! good white bread, And am I now bumfiddled with a bastard? You'll be wiser one day, when you have paid dearly Myself in caudles, nurses, coral, bells, and babies, Should I be caught here dandling this pap-spoon, [me! For the next curious coxcomb. How it smiles upon 1 Con. The time's too dangerous Don F. Come, be hearty; He must strike through my life that takes you from me. You are a thought too bloody. And penny almanacks allow the opening Anto. Why, ali physicians f veins this month. Why do you talk of bloody? hat come we for, to fall to cuffs for apples? hat, would you make the cause a cudgel-quarrel? n what terms stands this man? Is not his honour pen'd t' his hand, and pick'd out like an oyster ? is credit like a quart-pot knock'd together, ble to hold no liquor? Clear out this point. Petr. Speak soft, gentle cousin. Anto. I'll speak truly. What should man do, allied to these disgraces, Petr. Here are no such cold pities. [Andrew, They shall not find me one! Here's old tough special.friend of mine, and he but hold, [for, 'll strike them such a hornpipe! Knocks I come And the best blood I'll light on: I profess it Not to scare costermongers. If I lose my own, ly audit's cast, and farewell five-and-fifty. Petr. Let's talk no longer, place yourself with silence, As I direct you; and when time calls us, Oh Anto. So be it. how my fingers tingle to be at them! SCENE IV.-A Chamber. Enter Don JOHN and his Landlady. Land. Nay, son, if this be your regard [Exeunt. Don J. Good mother[yourself Land. Good me no goods. Your cousin and 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 fair carriage, And so behav'd myself Don J. I know you have. Land. Bring hither, as I say, to make my name Stink in my neighbours' nostrils, your devices, Your brats, got out of allicant and broken oaths; Your linsey-wolsey work, your fileh'd iniquities! You're deceived in me, sir, I am none Of those receivers. Don J. Have I not sworn unto you, Tis none of mine, and shew'd you how I found it? Land. You found an easy fool that let you get it. Don J. Will you hear me? [your ends, Land. Oaths! what care you for oaths to gain When you are high and pamper'd? What saint knows you? Or what religion, but your wicked passions? Don J. Heaven forbid, mother! Land. Nay, I am very sick. Don J. Who waits there? Peter. [Within.] Sir? Don J. Bring a bottle of canary wine. Land. Exceeding sick, heaven help me! I must e'en make her drunk. [Aside.] Nay, gentle mother Land. Now fie upon you! 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? Still sicker, sicker} Where's the infant? Come, let's see your workmanship. Don J. It is none of mine, mother, but I'll fetch it Here it is, and a lusty one. Land. Oh! heaven bless thee! As I live, Your own eyes, signior; and the nether lip As like you as you had spit it. Don J. I am glad on't. Land. Bless me! what things are these? Was not all lost; 'tis gold, and these are jewels, Land. Well, well, son John, Here I am with you now, when, as they say, Don J. All this time, good mother, The child wants looking to, wants meat and nurses. Don J. Yes, of these jewels, I must, by your good leave, mother; these are mine: Land. Ten to one, Don J. Why should he stay thus ? Well, my dear mother, let the child be look'd to And look you to be rewarded About it Straight, good mother. Land. No more words, nor no more children, Good son, as you love me: this may do well: This shall do well: eh! you little, sweet cherub! [Erit with the Child. Don J. Away! So, so; I thought the wine would do its daty: She'll kill the child with kindness: t'other glass, ACT II. SCENE I-A Chamber. Enter Don FREDERICK, and ANTHONY with a candle. Don F. Give me the candle; so, go you out that way. Anth. What have we now to do? [Aside. Let me come to him. Let none come near the door, without my knowNo, not my landlady, nor my friend. Anth. 'Tis done, sir. [me. My friend may be engag'd. Fie! gentlemen, [Bestrides the DLEK Anto. I'll stop your mouth, sir. Don J. Nay, then, have at thee freely. There's a plum to satisfy your longing. Petr. He's fallen; I hope I have sped him. Where's Antonio? Anto. I must have one thrust more, sir. Anto. A mischief confound your fingers! He's given me my quietus est; I felt him In my small guts; I'm sure he's feez'd me: This comes of siding with you. Petr. I hear more rescue coming. Anto. Let's turn back, then; [Trampling within My skull's uncloven yet, let me but kill somebody. Enter the DUKE's Party. Don J. Help, gentlemen! How is it? Only a little stagger'd. Duke's Party. Let's pursue them. My thanks to you, brave sir, whose timely valour That can pass by oppression. Duke. May I crave, sir, But this much honour more, to know your name, And him I am so bound to? Don J. For the bond, sir, 'Tis every good man's tie; to know me further, Duke. No, believe me, sir; pray, use mine, For 'twill be hard to find your own now. Don J. Indeed, I cannot. That's my best comfort, for't has brought about it Enough to make it, man. Don F. Where is't? Don J. At home. Don F. A saving voyage; but what will you say, signior, To him that, searching out your serious worship, Has met a stranger fortune? Don J. How, good Frederick? A little squeaking girl to this boy would hit it. Of a distress'd lady, one whose beauty Don J. Where is she? Don F. A woman of that rare behaviour, Don F. That admirable carriage, That sweetness in discourse: young as the morning, Duke. Indeed, you shall: I can command another. Her blushes staining his. I do beseech you, honour me. Don J. Well, sir, then I will; Don J. Revelations ! I'll tell thee, Frederick: but before I tell thee, Don F. 'Tis prepar'd, sir Don J. Why, then, mark what shall follow: Don J. This blind night! What dost thou think I have got? Don F. What such wanton fellows ought to get. Don J. Would 'twere no worse! you talk of revelations, I have got a revelation will reveal me An arrant coxcomb whilst I live. Don F. What is't? Thou hast lost nothing? Don J. No, I have got, I tell thee. Don J. One of the infantry-a child. Don J. A chopping child, man. Don F. 'Give you joy, sir! Don J. I'll give it you, sir, if it is joy. Frederick, This town's abominable, that's the truth on't. Don F. I still told you, John, Your wenching must come home; I counsell'd you; Don J. 'Tis none of mine, man. Peeping into a house, by whom I know not, NO. 21. Don J. But where's this creature? Shew me but that. Don F. That's all one; she's forthcoming. I have her sure, boy. Don J. Harkye! Frederick; What truck betwixt my infant ? Don F. "Tis too light, sir; Stick to your charge, good Don John; I am well. Don J. But is there such a wench? Don F. First tell me this: Did you not lately, as you walk'd along, Discover people that were arm'd, and likely To do offence? Don J. Yes, marry, and they urg'd it As far as they had spirit. Don F. Pray, go forward. [them, Don J. A gentleman I found engag'd amongst Don F. What the devil's that, John? |