of us mad fellows to think of. Because they are familiar with Heaven in their prayers, they think they may be bold with it in any thing: now we that are not so well acquainted, bear greater re[Music plays above. What's here, music and women? Wou'd I had one of 'em! verence. [One of 'em looks out at the window. That's a whore; I know it by her smile. O' my conscience, take a woman masked and hooded, nay cover'd all o'er, so that you cannot see one bit of her, and at twelvescore yards distance, if she be a whore, as ten to one she is, I shall know it certainly; I have an instinct within me. ne'er fails. [Another looks out. Ah, rogue! she's right too, I'm sure on't. Moth. above. Come, come, let's dance in t'other room, 'tis a great deal better. John. Say you so! what now if I should go up and dance too? It is a tavern; pox o' this business: I'll in, I am resolv'd, and try my own fortune; 'tis hard luck if I don't get one of 'em. As he goes to the door, 2d CONSTANTIA enters. See here's one bolted already. Fair lady, whither so fast? 2d Con. I don't know, sir. John. May I have the honour to wait upon you? 2d Con. I tell you I don't know. John. She's very quick. Would I might be so happy as to know you, lady. 2d Con. I dare not let you see my face, sir. John. Why? 2d. Con. For fear you should not like it, and then leave me; for, to tell ye true, I have at this present very great need of you. John. If thou hast half so much need of me as I have of thee, lady, I'll be content to be hang'd though. 2d Con. It's a proper handsome fellow this; if he'd but love me now, I would never seek out further. Sir, I am young, and unexperienced in the world. John. Nay, if thou art young, it's no great matter what thy face is. 2d Con. Perhaps this freedom in me may seem strange; but, sir, in short, I'm forc'd to fly from one I hate; if I should meet him, will you here promise he shall not take me from you. John. Yes, that I will before I see your face, your shape has charmed me enough for that already; if any one takes ye from me, lady, I'll give him leave to take from me too-(I was going to name 'em) certain things of mine, that I would not lose, now I have you in my power, for all the gems in Christendom. 2d Con. For heaven's sake, then conduct me to some place, where I may be secured awhile from the sight of any one whatsoever. John. By all the hopes I have to find thy face as lovely as thy shape, I will. 2d Con. Well, sir, I believe ye; for you have an honest look. John. 'Slid! I am afraid Don Frederick has been giving her a character of me too. Come, pray unmask. 2d Con. Then turn away your face; for I'm resolv'd shall not see a bit of mine till I have you set it in order; and then if John. What? 2d Con. I'll strike you dead. John. A mettled whore, I warrant her: come, she be now young, and have but a nose on her face, she'll be as good as her word. I'm e'en panting for breath already. 2d Con. Now stand your ground if you dare. John. By this light a rare creature! ten thousand times handsomer than her we seek for! This can be sure no common one: pray Heaven she be a whore. 2d Con. Well, sir, what say you now? John. Nothing; I'm so amazed I am not able to speak. I'd best fall to presently, though it be in the street, for fear of losing time. Pr'ythee, my dear sweet creature, go with me into that corner, that thou and I may talk a little in private. 2d Con. No, sir, no private dealing, I beseech you. John. 'Sheart, what shall I do? I'm out of my wits for her. Hark ye, my dear soul, cans tho love me? 2d Con. If I could, what then? John. Why you know what then, and then should I be the happiest man alive. 2d Con. Ay, so you all say, till you have your desires, and then you leave us. John. But, my dear heart, I am not made like other men: I never can love heartily till I have 2d Con. Got their maidenheads; but suppose now I should be no maid? John. Pr'ythee suppose me nothing, but let me try. 2d Con. Nay, good sir, hold. John. No maid! Why, so much the better, thou art then the more experienced; for my part, I hate a bungler at any thing. 2d Con. O dear, I like this fellow strangely. Hark ye, sir, I am not worth a groat, but though you should not be so neither, if you'll but love me, I'll follow ye all the world over: I'll work for ye, beg for ye, do any thing for ye, so you'll promise to do nothing with any body else. John. O heavens, I'm in another world! this wench sure was made on purpose for me, she is so just of my humour. My dear, 'tis impossible for me to say how much I will do for thec, or with thee, thou sweet bewitching woman; but let's make haste home, or I shall ne'er be able [Exeunt. to hold out till I come thither. Enter FREDERICK and FRANCISCO. Fred. And art thou sure it was Constantia, say'st thou, that he was leading? Fran. Am I sure I live, sir? Why, I dwelt in the house with her; how can I choose but know her? Fred. But didst thou see her face? Fran. Lord, sir, I saw her face as plainly as see your's just now, not two streets off. Fred. Yes, 'tis even so I suspected it at first, but then he forswore it with that confidenceWell, Don John, if these be your practices, you shall have no more a friend of me, sir, I assure you. Perhaps though he met her by chance, and intends to carry her to her brother, and the Duke. Enter Don JOIN and 2d CONSTANTIA. A little time will shew-God-so, here he is ;I'll step behind this shop, and observe what he says. John. Here now go in, and make me for ever happy. Fred, Dear Don John! John. A pox o' your kindness! How the devil comes he here just at this time? Now will he ask me forty foolish questions, and I have such a mind to this wench, that I cannot think of one excuse for my life. Fred. Your servant, sir: pray who's that you locked in just now at the door? John. Why a friend of mine, that's gone up to read a book. Fred. A book! that's a quaint one, i'faith: pr'ythee, Don John, what library hast thou been buying this afternoon? for i' the morning, to my knowledge, thou hadst never a book there, except it were an almanack, and that was none of thy own neither. John. No, no, it's a book of his own, he brought along with him: a scholar, that's given to reading. Fred. And do scholars, Don John, wear petticoats now-a-days? John. Plague on him, he has seen her-Well, Don Frederick, thou knowest I am not good at lying; 'tis a woman, I confess it, make your best on't: what then? Fred. Why then, Don John, I desire you'll be pleased to let me see her. John. Why faith, Frederick, I should not be against the thing, but you know a man must keep his word, and she has a mind to be private. Fred. But, John, you may remember when I met a lady so before, that very self-same lady too, that I got leave for you to see her, John. John. Why, do you think then that this here is Constantia ? Fred. I cannot properly say I think it, John, because I know it; this fellow here saw her as you led her i' th' streets. John. Well, and what then? who does he say it is? Fred. Ask him, sir, and he'll tell ye. John. And how do they call her, pr'ythee? John. How! Constantia ? Fran. Yes, sir, the woman's name is Constantia, that's flat. John. Is it so, sir? and so is this too. [Strikes him. Fran. Oh, oh! [Runs out. John. Now, sirrah, you may safely say you have not borne false witness for nothing. Fred. Fie, Don John, why do you beat the poor fellow for doing his duty, and telling truth? John. Telling truth? thou talk'st as if thou hadst been hir'd to bear false witness too: you are a very fine gentleman. Fred. What a strange confidence he has! but is there no shame in thee? nor any consideration of what is just or honest, to keep a woman thus against her will, that thou knowest is in love with another man too? Dost think a judgment will not follow this? John. Good, dear Frederick, do thou keep thy sentences and thy morals for some better opportunity; this here is not a fit subject for them; I tell thec, she is no more Constantia than thou I John. Why, thy genius lies another way, thou art for flames and darts, and those fine things; now I am for the old, plain, downright way; am not so curious, Frederick, as thou art. Fred. Very well, sir; but is this worthy in you to endeavour to debauch John. But is there no shame? but is this wor thy? What a many buts are here! If I should tell thee now solemnly thou hast but one eye, and give thee reasons for it, wouldst thou believe me? Fred. I think hardly, sir, against my own knowledge. John. Then why dost thou, with that grave face, go about to persuade me against mine? You should do as you would be done by, Frede rick. Fred. And so I will, sir, in this very particular, since there's no other remedy; I shall do that for the Duke and Petruchio, which I should expect from them upon the like occasion: in short, to let you see I am as sensible of my honour, as you can be careless of yours, I must tell ye,, sir, that I am resolved to wait upon this lady to them. John. Are ye so, sir? Why, I must then, sweet sir, tell you again, I am resolved you sha'nt. Ne'er stare nor wonder, I have promised to preserve her from the sight of any one whatsoever, and with the hazard of my life will make it good: but that you may not think I mean an injury to Petruchio, or the Duke, know, Don Frederick, that tho' I love a wench perhaps a little better, I hate to do a thing that's base as much as you do. Once more, upon my honour, this is not Constantia; let that satisfy you. Fred. All that will not do- [Goes to the door. John. No! why then this shall. [Draws.] Come not one step nearer, for if thou dost, by Heaven, it is thy last. Fred. This is an insolence beyond the temper of a man to suffer-Thus I throw off thy friendship, and since thy folly has provoked my patience beyond its natural bounds, know it is not in thy power now to save thyself. John. That's to be tried, sir, tho' by your favour, [Looks up to the windows.] Mistress what you call-'em-pr'ythee look out now a little, and see how I'll fight for thee. Fred. Come, sir, are you ready? Enter Duke and PETRUCHIO. [Fight. Petr. What's here, fighting? Let's part 'em. How! Don Frederick against Don John! How came you to fall out, gentlemen? What's the cause? Fred. Why, sir, it is your quarrel, and not mine, that drew this on me: I saw him lock Constantia up into that house, and I desired to wait upon her to you; that's the cause. Duke. O, it may be he designed to lay the obligation upon us himself, sir. We are beholden to you for this favour beyond all possibility of John. Pray, sir, do not throw away your thanks before you know whether I have deserved them or no. Oh, is that your design? Sir, you must not go in there. [PETR. going to the door. Petr. How, sir, not go in ? John. No, sir, most certainly not go in. Petr. She's my sister, and I will speak with her. John. If she were your mother, sir, you should not, tho' it were but to ask her blessing. Petr. Since you are so positive, I'll try. John. You shall find me a man of my word, sir. [Fight. Duke. Nay, pray gentlemen, hold, let me compose this matter. Why do you make a scruple of letting us see Constantia?" John. Why, sir, 'twould turn a man's head round to hear these fellows talk so; there is not one word true of all that he has said. Duke. Then you do not know where Constantia is? John. Not I, by heavens. Fred. O monstrous impudence! Upon my life, sir, I saw him shut her up into that house, and know his temper so, that if I had not stopped him, I dare swear by this time he would have ravished her. John. Now that is two lies; for first, he did not see her; and next, the lady I let in, is not to be ravished, she is so willing. Duke. But look ye, sir, this doubt may easily be cleared; let either Petruchio or I but see her, and if she be not Constantia, we engage our honours (tho' we should know her) never to discover who she is. John. Ay, but there's the point now that I can Duke. And did you never break your word with a woman? John. Never before I lay with her; and that's the case now. Petr. Pish, I won't be kept off thus any longer: sir, either let me enter, or I'll force my way. Fred. No, pray sir, let that be my office: I will be revenged on him for having betrayed me to his friendship. [PET. and FRED. offer to fight with JOHN. Duke. Nay, ye shall not offer him foul play neither. Hold, brother, pray a word; and with you too, sir. John. Pox on't, would they would make an end of this business, that I might be with her again! Hark ye, gentlemen, I'll make ye a fair proposition; leave off this ceremony among yourselves, and those dismal threats against me; filip up cross or pile who shall begin first, and I'll do the best I can to entertain you all one after another. Enter ANTONIO. Ant. Now do my fingers itch to be about somebody's ears for the loss of my gold. Ha! what's here to do, swords drawn? I must make one, tho' it cost me the singing of ten John Dorio's more. Courage, brave boy, I'll stand by thee as long as this tool here lasts: and it was once a good one. Petr. Who's this? Antonio! O, 'sir, you are welcome, you shall be even judge between us. Ant. No, no, no, not I, sir, I thank ye; I'll make work for others to judge of, I'm resolved to fight. Petr. But we won't fight with you. Ant. Then put up your swords, or by this I'll lay about me. John. Well said, old Bilboa, i'faith. [They put up their swords. Petr. Pray hear us, tho': this gentleman saw him lock up my sister into that house, and he refuses to let us see her. Ant. How, friend, is this true? John. Nay, good sir, let not our friendship be broken before it is well made. Look ye, gentlemen, to shew ye that you are all mistaken, and that my formal friend there is an ass Fred. I thank you, sir, John. I'll give you my consent that this gentleman here shall see her, if his information can satisfy you. Duke. Yes, yes; he knows her very well. John. Then, sir, go in here, if you please: I dare trust him with her, for he is too old to do her either good or harm.. Fred. I wonder how my gentleman will get off from all this. John. I shall be even with you, sir, another time, for all your grinning. Enter a Servant. How now? Where is he? Ser. He's run out of the back-door, sir. John. How so? Ser. Why, sir, he's run after the gentlewoman you brought in. John. Sdeath, how durst you let her out? John. No, thou ignorant rascal, and therefore I'll beat something into thee. [Beats him. Fred. What, you won't kill him? John. Nay, come not near me, for if thou dost, by heavens, I'll give thee as much; and SCENE I. would do so, however, but that I won't lose time from looking after my dear sweet-—a pox confound you all! {Goes in and shuts the door after him. Duke. What, he has shut the door! Fred. It's no matter, I'll lead you to a private back way, by that corner, where we shall meet him, [Exeunt. ACT V. Enter ANTONIO's Servant, Constable and Ser. A young woman say'st thou, and her mother? Man. Yes, just now come to the house; not an hour ago. Ser. It must be they: here, friend, here's money for you; be sure you take 'em, and I'll reward you better when you have done. Const. But, neighbour, ho-hup-shall I now -hup-know these parties? for I would-hup -execute my office-hup-like-hup-a sober person. Man. That's hard; but you may easily know the mother, for she is-hup-drunk. Const. Nay-hup-if she be drunk, lethup- hup-me alone to maul her; forhup I abhor a drunkard—hup—let it be man, woman, or— -hup-child. Man. Ay, neighbour, one may see you hate drinking, indeed." Const. Why, neighbour-hup-did you ever see me drunk? Answer me that question: did you ever- -hup- -see me drunk? Man. No, never, never; come away, here's the house. [Exeunt. Enter 1st CONSTANTIA. Con. Oh, whither shall I run to hide myself! the constable has seized the landlady, and I am afraid, the poor child too. How to return to Don Frederick's house I know not; and if I knew, I durst not, after those things the landlady has told me of him. If I get not from this drunken rabble, I expose my honour; and if I fall into my brother's hands, I lose my life. You powers above, look down and help me! I am faulty, I confess, but greater faults have often met with lighter pu nishments. Then let not heavier yet on me be laid; Enter Don JOHN. John. I'm almost dead with running, and will be so quite, but I will overtake her. Con. Hold, Don John, hold. John. Who's that? ha! is it you, my dear? Con. For heaven's sake, sir, carry me from hence, or I'm utterly undone. John. Phoo, pox, this is the other; now could I almost beat her, for but making me the proposition. Madam, there are some coming, that will do it a great deal better; but I am in such haste, that I vow to gad, madam Con. Nay, pray, sir, stay, you are concerned in this as well as I; for your woman is taken. John. Ha! my woman? [Goes back to her. I vow to gad, madam, I do so highly honour your ladyship, that I would venture my life a thousand times to do you service. But, pray, where is she? Con. Why, sir, she is taken by the constable John, Constable! which way went he? [Rashly. Con. I cannot tell, for I run out into the streets just as he had seized your landlady. John. Plague o' my landlady, I meant t'other Moth. O, kinswoman, never speak of her more; for she's an odious creature to leave me thus i' th' lurch. I that have given her all her breeding, and instructed her with my own principles of education. Kins. I protest, madam, I think she's a person that knows as much of all that as Moth. Knows, kinswoman! there's ne'er a woman in Italy, of thrice her years, knows so much the procedures of a true gallantry, and the infallible principles of an honourable friendship, as she does. Kins. And, therefore, madam, you ought to love her. Moth. No, fie upon her, nothing at all, as I am a Christian. When once a person fails in fundamentals, she's at a period with me. Besides, with all her wit, Constantia is but a fool, and calls all the mignarderies of a bonne mien, affectation. Kins. Indeed, I must confess, she's given a little too much to the careless way. Moth. Ay, there you have hit it, kinswoman; the careless way has quite undone her. Will ye believe me, kinswoman? as I am a Christian, I never could make her do this, nor carry her body thus, but just when my eye was upon her; as soon as ever my back was turned, whip, her elbows were quite out again: would not you strange now at this? Kins. Bless me, sweet goodness! But pray, madam, how came Constantia to fall out with your ladyship? Did she take any thing ill of you? Moth. As I am a christian I can't resolve you, unless it were that I led the dance first; but for that, she must excuse me. I know she dances well, but there are others who perhaps understand the right swim of it as well as she : Enter Don FREDERICK. And though I love Constantia- Moth. I know no reason why I should be debarred the privilege of shewing my own parts too, sometimes. Fred. If I am not mistaken, that other woman is she Don John and I were directed to, when we came first to town, to bring us acquainted with Constantia. I'll try to get some intelligence from her. Pray, lady, have I never seen you before? Kins. Yes, sir, I think you have, with another stranger, a friend of yours, one day as I was coming out of the church. Fred. I am right then. And, pray, who were you talking of? Moth. Why, sir, of an inconsiderate inconsiderable person, that has at once both forfeited the honour of my concern, and the concern of her own honour. Fred. Very fine indeed! and is all this intended for the beautiful Constantía? Moth. O fie upon her, sir! an odious creature, as I'm a christian, no beauty at all. Fred. Why, does not your ladyship think her handsome? Moth. Seriously, sir, I don't think she's ugly; but, as I'm a christian, my position is, that no true beauty can be lodged in that creature, who is not in some measure buoy'd up with a just sense of what is incumbent to the devoir of a person of quality. Fred. That position, madam, is a little severe; but however she has been incumbent formerly, as your ladyship is pleased to say, now, that she's married, and her husband owns the child, she is sufficiently justified for all she has done. Moth. Sir, I must blushingly beg leave to say you are there in an error. I know there has been passages of love between 'em, but with a temperament so innocent and so refined, as it did impose a negative upon the very possibility of her being with child. Fred. Sure, she is not well acquainted with her. Pray, madam, how long have you known Constantia ? Moth. Long enough, I think, sir; for I had the good fortune, or rather the ill one, to help her first to the light of the world. Fred. Now cannot I discover, by the fineness of this dialect, whether she be the mother or the midwife! I had better ask t'other woman. Moth. No, sir, I assure you, my daughter Constantia has never had a child: a child! ha, ha, ha! O goodness save us, a child! Fred. O, then, she is the mother, and, it seems, is not informed of the matter. Well, madam, I shall not dispute this with you any further; but give me leave to wait upon your daughter; for her friend, I assure you, is in great impatience to see her. Moth. Friend, sir? I know none she has. I'm sure she lothes the very sight of him. Fred. Of whom? Moth. Why, of Antonio, sir; he that you were pleased to say, had got my daughter with child, sir; ha, ha, ha! Fred. Still worse and worse. 'Slife! cannot she be content with not letting me understand her; but must also resolve obstinately not to understand me, because I speak plain? Why, madam, I cannot express myself your way, therefore be not offended at me for it. I tell you I do not know Antonio, nor never named him to you; I told you that the duke has owned Constantia for his wife, that her brother and he are friends, and are both now in search after her. Moth. Then, as I'm a christian, I suspect we have both been equally involved in the misfortune of a mistake. Sir, I am in the dernier confusion to avow, that, though my daughter Constantia has been liable to several addresses, yet she neve: has had the honour to be produced to his grace. Fred. So then you put her to bed to―― Moth. Antonio, sir; one whom my ebb of fortune forced me to enter into a negotiation with, in reference to my daughter's person; but, as I'm a christian, with that candour in the action, as |