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And scouring work, in nurses, bells, and babies, That force me to this wild course, at more lei.
Only for charity, for mere I thank you,
A little troubles me: the least touch for it, I shall reveal unto you.
Had but my breeches got it, it had contented me. Fred. Come, be hearty ;
Whose e'er it is, sure it had a wealthy mother, He must strike through my life that takes you
For 'tis well cloth'd, and if I be not cozen'd,

from me.

(Exeunt. Well lin'd within. To leave it here were barbarous,

Enter PETRUCHIO, ANTONIO, and two Gentle. And ten to one would kill it; a worse sin Than his that got it. Well, I will dispose on't, Petr. He will sure come: are ye all well arm'd ! And keep it as they keep death's heads in rings, Ant. Never fear us : To cry memento to me-no more peeping. Here's that will make 'em dance without a fiddle. Now all the danger's to qualify

Petr. We are to look for no weak foes, my The good old gentlewoman at whose house we

friends, live;

Nor unadvised ones. For she will fall upon me with a catechism Ant. Best gamesters make the best play ; Of four hours long : I must endure all ;

We shall fight close and home then. Por I will know this mother. Come, good won- i Gent. Antonio, der,

You are thought too bloody. Let you and I be jogging; your starved treble Ant. Why? All physicians, Will waken the rude watch else. All that be And penny almanacks, allow the opening Curious night-walkers, may they find my fee ! Of veins this month. Why do you talk of bloody?

(Exit. What come we for? to fall to cuffs for apples?

What, would you make the cause a cudgelEnter Don FREDERICK.

quarrel ? Fred. Sure he's gone home:

Petr. Speak softly, gentle cousin. I have beaten all the purlieus,

Ant. I will speak truly. But cannot bolt him: If he be a bobbing, What should men do, allied to these disgraces, 'Tis not my care can cure him: to-morrow Lick o'er his enemy, sit down and dance him?morning

2 Gent. You are as far o'th' bow-hand nou. I shall have further knowledge from a surgeon,

Ant. And cry, Where he lies moor'd to mend his leaks.

That's my fine boy, thou wilt do so no more, child?

Petr. Here are no such cold pities.

Ant. By St Jaques,
Con. I am ready:

They shall not find me one! Here's old tough And through a world of dangers am flown to ye.

Andrew, Be full of haste and care, we are undone else. A special friend of mine, and he but hold, Where are your people? Which way must we I'll strike them such a hornpipe ! Knocks I come travel ?

for, For heaven's sake stay not here, sir.

And the best blood I light on: I profess it, Fred. What may this prove?

Not to scare costermongers. If I lose my own, Con. Alas ! I am mistaken, lost, undone, My audit's lost, and farewell five-and-fifty. For ever perished ! Sir, for Heaven's sake, tell Petr. Let's talk no longer. Place yourselves me,

with silence Are ye a gentleman ?

As I directed ye; and when time calls us, Fred. I am.

As ye are friends, so shew yourselves. Con. Of this place?

Ant. So be it.

(Exeunt. Fred. No, born in Spain.

Enter Don Join and his Landlady.
Con. As ever you lov'd honour,
As cver your desires may gain their end,

Land. Nay, son, if this be your regard
Do a poor wretched woman but this benefit, John. Good mother-
For I'm forc'd to trust ye.

Land. Good me no goods-Your cousin and Fred. Y' have charm'd me,

yourself Humanity and honour bids me help ye:

Are welcome to me, whilst you bear yourselves And if I fail your trust

Like honest and true gentlemen. Bring hither Con. The time's too dangerous

To my house, that have ever been reputed To stay your protestations: I believe ye. A gentlewoman of a decent and a fair carriage, Alas ! I must believe ye. From this place,

And so behaved myselfGood, noble sir, remove me instantly.

John. I know you have. And for a time, where nothing but yourself, Land. Bring híther, as I say, to make my name And honest conversation, may come near me,

Stink in my neighbour's nostrils, your devices, In some secure place settle me. What I am, Your brats got out of alligant and broken oaths, And why thus boldly I commit my credit Your linsey-woolsey work, your hasty puddings ! Into a stranger's hand, the fear and dangers I foster up your filch'd iniquities !


your ends;

You're deceiv'd in me, sir, I am none

Lodged in my house! Now Heaven's my comOf those receivers.

fort, signior! John. Have I not sworn unto you,

John. I look'd for this. 'Tis none of mine, and shew'd you how I found it? Land. I did not think you would have us'd me

Land. Ye found an easy fool that let you get it.
John. Will you hear me?

A woman of my credit, one, Heaven knows,
Land. Oaths ! what care you for oaths to gain That loves you but too tenderly.

John. Dear mother, When ye are high and pamper’d? What saint I ever found your kindness, and acknowledge it. know ye?

Land. No, no, I am a fool to counsel ye. Or what religion, but your purpos'd lewdness,

Where's the infant?
Is to be look”d for of ye? Nay, I will tell ye- Come, let's see your workmanship.
You will then swear like accus'd cut-purses, John. None of mine, mother:
As far off truth too; and lie beyond all falconers: But there, 'tis, and a lusty one.
I'm sick to see this dealing.

Land. Heaven bless thee,
John. Heaven forbid, mother.

Thou hadst a hasty making; but the best is,
Land. Nay, I am very sick.

'Tis many a good man's fortune. As I live, John. Who waits there?

Your own eyes, signior ; and the nether lip

Pet. (Within.) Sir!

As like ye, as ye had spit it.
John. Bring down the bottle of Canary wine. John. I am glad on't.
Land. Exceeding sick, Heaven help me! Land. Bless me! what things are these?
John. Haste ye, sirrah.

John. I thought my labour I must e'en make her drunk. [Aside.] Nay, gentle was not all lost : 'tis gold, and these are jewels, mother

Both rich and right, I hope.
Land. Now fy upon ye! was it for this


Land. Well, well, son John, You fetch'd your evening walks for your devo- I see ye're a woodman, and can choose tions ?

Your deer, though it be i' th’ dark; all your disFor this, pretended holiness ? No weather,

cretion Not before day, could hold you from the matins. Is not yet lost; this was well clapp'd aboard ; Were these your bo-peep prayers? Ye've pray'd Here I am with ye now, when, as they say, well,

Your pleasure comes with profit; when you must And with a learned zeal have watch'd well too;

needs do,

Do where you may be done to; 'tis a wisdom It seems was pleas'd as well. Still sicker, sicker! Becomes a young man well : be sure of one thing,

Lose not your labour and your time together; Enter PETER with a Bottle of Wine.

It seasons of a fool, son ; time is precious, John. There is no talking to her till I have work wary whilst you have it. Since you must drench'd her.

traffic Give me. Here, mother, take a good round Sometimes this slippery way, take sure hold, draught.

signior; It will purge spleen from your spirits ; deeper, Trade with no broken merchants; make your mother.

lading Land. Aye, aye, son; you imagine this will As you would make your rest, adventurously, mend all.

But with advantage ever. John. All, i'faith, mother,

John. All this time, mother, Land. I confess the wine

The child wants looking to wants meat and nurses. Will do his part.

Land. Now blessing o'thy heart, it shall have all; John. I'll pledge ye.

And instantly I'll seek a nurse myself, son. Land. But, son John

'Tis a sweet child—Ah, my young Spaniard ! John. I know your meaning, mother, touch it Take you no further care, sir.

John. Yes, of these jewels Alas! you look not well, take a round draught, I must, by your good leave, mother; these are It warms the blood well, and restores the colour,

yours, And then we'll talk at large.

To make your care the stronger; for the rest, Land. A civil gentleman !

I'll find a master; the gold for bringing up on't, A stranger ! one the town holds a good regard of! I freely render to your charge. John. Nay, I will silence thee there.

Land. No more words, Land. One that should weigh his fair name!-- Nor no more children, good son, as you love me; Oh, a stitch !

This may do well.
John. There's nothing better for a stitch, good John. I shall observe your morals.

But where's Don Frederick, mother?
Make no spare of it as you love your health ; Land. Ten to one,
Mince not the matter.

About the like adventure; he told me,
Land. As I said, a gentleman

He was to find you out.

your saint


once more.


John. Why should he stay us?

Enter FREDERICK and ANTHONY with a Candle. There may be some ill chance in't: sleep I will not,

Fred. Give me the candle ; so, go you out that Before I have found him. Now this woman's

way. pleas'd,

Ant. What have we now to do? I'll seek my friend out, and my care is eas'd. Fred. And on your life, sirrah,

(Exeunt. Let none come near the door without my know

ledge: Enter Duke and three Gentlemen.

No, not my landlady, nor my friend. i Gent. Believe, sir, 'tis as possible to do it, Ant. 'Tis done, sir. As to move the city: the main faction

Fred. Nor any serious business that concerns Swarm through the streets like hornets, and with augurs

Ant. Is the wind there again? Able to ruin states, no safety left us,

Fred. Be gone. Nor means to die like men, if instantly

Ant. I am, sir.

[Erit. You draw not back again.

Fred. Now enter without fearDuke. May he be drawn,

Enter 1st CONSTANTIA with a Jewel. And quarter'd too, that turns now; were I surer Of death than thou art of thy fears, and with And, noble lady, death

That safety and civility ye wish for More than those fears are too

Shall truly here attend you: no rude tongue i Gent. Sir, I fear not.

Nor rough behaviour knows this place; no Duke. I would not break my vow, start from

wishes, my honour,

Beyond the moderation of a man, Because I may find danger; wound my soul Dare enter here. Your own desires and innoTo keep my body safe!

cence, i Gent. I speak not, sir,

Join'd to my vow'd obedience, shall protect ye. Out of a baseness to ye.

Con. Ye are truly noble, Duke. No, nor do not

And worth a woman's trust: let it become me, Out of a baseness leave me. What is danger (I do beseech you, sir,) for all your kindness, More than the weakness of our apprehensions ? To render with my thanks this worthless trifleA poor cold part o'th' blood. Who takes it I may be longer troublesome. hold of?

Fred. Fair offices Cowards and wicked livers : valiant minds Are still their own rewards: heavens bless me, Were made masters of it: and as hearty seamen

lady, In desperate storms stem with a little rudder From selling civil courtesies. May it please yc, The tumbling ruins of the ocean;

If ye will force a favour to oblige me,
So with their cause and swords do they do dangers. Draw but that cloud aside, to satisfy me,
Say we were sure to die all in this venture, For what good angel I am engag'd.
As I am confident against it; is there any

Con. It shall be ;
Amongst us of so fat a sense, so pamper'd, For I am truly confident ye are honest.
Would choose luxuriously to lie a-bed,

The piece is scarce worth looking on.
And purge away his spirits ; send his soul out Fred. Trust me,
In sugar-sops and syrups ? Give me dying The abstract of all beauty, soul of sweetness !!
As dying ought to be, upon mine enemy ; Defend me, honest thoughts, I shall grow wild
Parting with markind, by a man that's manly.

else. Let them be all the world, and bring along What eyes are there ! rather what little heavens, Cain's envy with them, I will on.

To stir men's contemplation! What a Paradise 2 Gent. You may, sir,

Runs through each part she has ! Good blood, be But with what safety?

temperate ! i Gent. Since 'tis come to dying,

I must look off: too excellent an object You shall perceive, sir, that here be those Confounds the sense that sees it. Noble lady, amongst us,

If there be any further service to cast on me, Can die as decently as other men,

Let it be worth my life, so much I honour ye, And with as little ceremony. On, brave sir. Or the engagements of whole families. Duke. That's spoken heartily.

Con. Your service is too liberal, worthy sir. I Gent. And he that flinches,

Thus far I shall entreatMay he die lousy in a ditch.

Fred. Command me, lady: Duke. No more dying.

You may make your power too poor. There's no such danger in't. What's o'clock? Con. That presently, 3 Gent. Somewhat above your hour.

With all convenient haste, you will retire Duke. Away then, quickly,

Unto the street you found me in. Make no noise, and no trouble will attend us. Fred. 'Tis done.

(Exeunt. Con. There if you find a gentleman oppress'd



With force and violence, do a man's office, Nor all his wealthy Indies, could not draw me And draw your sword to rescue him.

Through half those miseries this piece of pleasure Fred. He's safe,

Might make me leap into: we are all like seaBe what he will; and let his foes be devils,

charts, Arm'd with your beauty, I shall conjure them. All our endeavours and our motions Retire, this key will guide ye: all things necessary (As they do to the north) still point at beauty, Are there before ye.

Still at the fairest; for a handsome woman, Con. All my prayers go


ye. (Exit. (Setting my soul aside) it should go hard Fred. Ye clap on proof upon me. Men say, But I will strain my body; yet to her, gold

Unless it be her own free gratitude, Does all, engages all, works through all dangers : Hopes, ye shall die, and thou, tongue, rot within Now I say, beauty can do more. The king's ex

me, chequer,

Ere I infringe my faith. Now to my rescue. (Exit.



put home

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Only a little stagger'd.

Duke's fact. Let's pursue them.

Duke. No, not a man, I charge ye. Thanks, Enter Duke, pursued by PETRUCHIO, ANTO

good coat, NIO, and that Faction.

Thou hast sav'd me a shrewd welcome: 'Twas Duke. You will not all oppress me? Ant. Kill him i'th' wanton eye:

With a good mind too, I'm sure on't. Let me come to him.

John. Are you safe then ? Duke. Then you shall buy me dearly.

Duke. My thanks to you, brave sir, whose Petr. Say you so, sir?

timely valour, Ant. I say, cut his wezand, spoil his peeping: And manly courtesy, came to my rescue. Have at your love-sick heart, sir.

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

befal him Enter Don John.

That can pass by oppression. John. Sure 'tis fighting!

Duke. May I crave, sir, My friend may be engaged. Fie, gentlemen, By this much honour more, to know your name, This is unmanly odds.

And him I am so bound to ? (Duke falls ; Don John bestrides him. John. For the bond, sir, Ant. I'll stop your mouth, sir.

'Tis every good man's tie: to know me further, John. Nay, then have at thee freely.

Will little profit you ; I am a stranger, There's a plumb, sir, to satisfy your longing. My country Spain, my name Don John, a gen

tleman Petr. Away; I hope I have sped him: here comes rescue!

That came abroad to travel.
We shall be endanger'd.-Where's Antonio? Duke. I have heard, sir,

Ant. I must have one thrust more, sir. Much worthy mention of ye, yet I find
John. Come up to me.

Fame short of what ye are.
Ant. A mischief confound your fingers !

John. You are pleas’d, sir, Petr. How is it?


express your courtesy: may I demand Ant. Well :

As freely what you are, and what mischance He's given me my quietus est ; I felt him Cast you into this danger? In my small guts; I'm sure he's feez'd me;

Duke. For this present This comes of siding with you.

I must desire your pardon: you shall know me 2 Gent. Can you go, sir?

Ere it be long, sir, and nobler thanks,
Ant. I shall go, man, and my head were off; Than now my will can render.
Never talk of going.

John. Your will's your own, sir.
Petr. Come, all shall be well then.

Duke. What is't you look for, sir ? Have you I hear more rescue coming.

lost any thing? [Trampling within.

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

fellows Enter the Duke's Faction.

Were night-snaps. Ant. Let's turn back then;

Duke. No, believe me, sir : Pray use mine, My skull's uncloven yet, let me kill.

For 'twill be hard to find your own now. Petr. Away, for heaven's sake, with him. John. No, sir.

(E.rit cum suis. Duke. Indeed you shall, I can command ano. John. How is it? Duke. Well, sir,

I do beseech you, honour me.

ther :

tell me


John. Well, sir, then I will,

Would over-gell all Italy? And so I'll take my leave.

John. Where is she?Dake. Within these few days

Fred. A woman of that rare behaviour,
I hope I shall be happy in your knowledge, So qualified, as admiration
Till when I love your memory. (Exit cum suis. Dwells round about her; of that perfect spirit~-

John. Ay marry, sir ?

Fred. That adinirable carriage,
John. I'm your's.

That sweetness in discourse; young as the This is some noble fellow!

morning, Fred. 'Tis his tongue sure ;

Her blushes staining his. Don John!

John. But where's this creature ? John. Don Frederick !

Shew me but that. Fred. Y' are fairly met, sir !

Fred. That's all one, she's forthcoming. I thought ye had been a bat-fowling. Prythee I have her sure, boy.

John. Hark


Frederick; What revelation hast thou had to-night, What truck betwixt my infant ? That home was never thought on ?

Fred. 'Tis too light, sir ; John. Revelations !

Stick to your charge, good Don John, I am well. PN tell thee, Frederick : but before I tell thee, John. But is there such a wench? Settle thy understanding.

Fred. First tell me this; Fred. "Tis prepar'd, sir.

Did you not lately, as you walk'd along, John. Why, then, mark what shall follow : Discover people that were arm’d, and likely This night, Frederick, this bawdy night-- To do offence ? Fred. I thought no less.

John. Yes, marry, and they urg'd it John. This blind night,

As far as they had spirit. What dost thou think I have got?

Fred. Pray go forward. Fred. The pox, it may be.

John. A gentleman I found engag'd amongst John. Would 'twere no worse: ye talk of re

'em, velations ;

It seems of noble breeding, I'm sure brave metal; I have got a revelation will reveal me

As I returned to look you, I set into him, An arrant coxcomb whilst I live.

And without hurt, I thank Heaven, rescued him. Fred. What is't?

Fred, My work's done then : Thou hast lost nothing!

And now, to satisfy you, there is a woman, John. No, I have got, I tell thee.

Oh, John! there is a womanPred. What hast thou got?

John. Oh, where is she? John. One of the infantry, a child.

Fred. And one of no less worth than I told; Fred. How !

And which is more, fall’n under my protection. John. A chopping child, man!

John. I am glad of that;-forward, sweet Frem Fred. Give you joy, sir.

derick! John. A lump of lewdness, Frederick; that's Fred. And which is more than that, by this the truth on't.

night's wand'ring; This town's abominable.

And which is most of all, she is at home too, Fred. I still told ye, John,

sir. Your whoring must come home; I counsellid ye: John. Come, let's begone then. But where no grace is

Fred. Yes, but 'uis most certain John. 'Tis none of mine, man.

You cannot see her, John. Fred. Answer the parish so.

John. Why? John. Cheated in troth

Fred. She has sworn me, (Peeping into a house) by whom I know not, That none else shall come near her; not my Nor where to find the place again; no, Fre

mother, derick,

Till some doubts are clear'd. 'Tis no poor one,

John. Not look upon her? What chamber is That's my best comfort, for't has brought about it

she in? Enough to make it man.

Fred. In ours. Fred. Where is't?

John. Let us go, I say: John. At home.

A woman's oaths are wafers, and break with Fred. A saving voyage; but what will you

making. say, signior,

They must for modesty a little : We all know it. To him that, scarching out your serious worship,

Fred. No, I'll assure ye, sir. Has met a strange fortune

John. Not see her! John. How, good Frederick ?

I smell an old dog-trick of yours.--Well, Free A militant girl to this boy would hit it.

derick, Fred. No, mine's a nobler venture: What do Ye talk'd to me of whoring; let's have fair play', you think, sir,

Square dealing, I would wish ye. Of a distressed lady, one whose beauty

Fred. When 'tis come


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