'Heart! Stand you away, and you love me.
KIT. You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother, good faith you shall not: I will over-rule you.
DOW. Ha? Scavenger? Well, go to, I say little: but, by this good day (God forgive me I should swear) if I put it up so, say I am the rankest cow that ever pissed. 'Sdeynes, and I swallow this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet Street again, while I live; I'll sit in a barn, with Madge-howlet and catch mice first. Scavenger? 'Heart, and I'll go near to fill that huge tumbrel-slop of yours, with somewhat, and I have good luck: your Garagantua breech cannot carry it away so.
KIT. Oh, do not fret yourself thus, never think on't.
DOW. These are my brother's consorts, these! These are his Cam'rades, his walking mates! He's a gallant, a Cavaliero too, right hangman cut! Let me not live, and I could not find in my heart to swinge the whole ging of 'em, one after another, and begin with him first. I am grieved it should be said he is my brother, and take these courses. Well, as he brews, so he shall drink, 'fore George, again. Yet, he shall hear on't, and that tightly too, and I live, i' faith.
KIT.
But, brother, let your reprehension, then,
Run in an easy current, not o'er-high
Carried with rashness, or devouring choler;
But rather use the soft persuading way,
Whose powers will work more gently, and compose
The imperfect thoughts you labour to reclaim:
More winning, than enforcing the consent.
DOW.
Aye, aye, let me alone for that, I warrant you.
Bell rings
KIT.
How now? Oh, the bell rings to breakfast.
Brother, I pray you go in, and bear my wife
Company till I come; I'll but give order
For some dispatch of business, to my servants –
Exit Downright
Scene 3
Enter Cob
KIT.
What, Cob? Our maids will have you by the back,
I' faith, for coming so late this morning.
COB.
Perhaps so, sir, take heed somebody have not them by the belly, for walking so late in the evening.
He passes by with his tankard
KIT.
Well, yet my troubled spirit's somewhat eased,
Though not reposed in that security
As I could wish. But I must be content.
Howe'er I set a face on't to the world,
Would I had lost this finger, at a venture,
So Wellbred had ne'er lodged within my house.
Why't cannot be, where there is such resort
Of wanton gallants and young revellers,
That any woman should be honest long.
Is't like, that factious beauty will preserve
The public weal of chastity, unshaken,
When such strong motives muster, and make head
Against her single peace? No, no. Beware,
When mutual appetite doth meet to treat,
And spirits of one kind, and quality,
Come once to parley, in the pride of blood:
It is no slow conspiracy that follows.
Well (to be plain) if I but thought the time
Had answered their affections: all the world
Should not persuade me, but I were a cuckold.
Marry, I hope, they ha' not got that start:
For opportunity hath balked 'em yet,
And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears
To attend the impositions of my heart.
My presence shall be as an iron bar
'Twixt the conspiring motions of desire:
Yea, every look, or glance, mine eye ejects,
Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave,
When he forgets the limits of prescription.
Enter Dame Kiteley, Bridget
DAM. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the rosewater above in the closet. Exit Bridget Sweetheart, will you come in to breakfast?
KIT Aside. An' she have overheard me now?
DAM. I pray thee, good Mouse, we stay for you.
KIT Aside. By heaven I would not for a thousand angels.
DAM. What ail you, sweetheart, are you not well, speak, good Mouse.
KIT. Troth my head aches extremely, on a sudden.
DAM Putting her hand to his forehead. Oh, the lord!
KIT. How now? What?
DAM. Alas, how it burns? Mouse, keep you warm, good truth it is this new disease! There's a number are troubled withal! For love's sake, sweetheart, come in, out of the air.
KIT Aside.
How simple, and how subtle are her answers?
A new disease, and many troubled with it!
Why, true: she heard me, all the world to nothing.
DAM. I pray thee, good sweetheart, come in; the air will do you harm, in troth.
KIT Aside.
The air! She has me i' the wind! Sweetheart!
I'll come to you presently: 'twill away, I hope.
DAM. Pray heaven it do.
Exit
KIT.
A new disease? I know not, new, or old,
But it may well be called poor mortals' plague:
For, like a pestilence, it doth infect
The houses of the brain. First it begins
Solely to work upon the fantasy,
Filling her seat with such pestiferous air,
As soon corrupts the judgement; and from thence
Sends like contagion to the memory:
Still each to other giving the infection.
Which, as a subtle vapour, spreads itself
Confusedly through every sensive part,
Till not a thought, or motion, in the mind,
Be free from the black poison of suspect.
Ah, but what misery is it, to know this?
Or, knowing it, to want the mind's erection,
In such extremes? Well, I will once more strive,
(In spite of this black cloud) myself to be,
And shake the fever off, that thus shakes me.
Exit
Scene 4
Moorfields
Enter Brainworm disguised
BRA. 'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh, to see myself translated thus, from a poor creature to a creator; for now must I create an intolerable sort of lies, or my present profession loses the grace: and yet the lie to a man of my coat is as ominous a fruit as the Fico. Oh sir, it holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most dear to us. So much for my borrowed shape. Well, the truth is, my old master intends to follow my young, dry foot over Moorfields to London this morning: now I, knowing of this hunting-match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young master (for so must we that are blue waiters, and men of hope and service do, or perhaps we may wear motley at the year's end, and who wears motley, you know) have got me afore, in this disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscado, and intercept him in the midway. If I can but get his cloak, his purse, his hat, nay, anything, to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey, Veni, vidi, vici, I may say with Captain Caesar, I am made for ever, i' faith. Well, now must I practise to get the true garb of one of these lance-knights, my arm here, and my – young master! And his cousin, Master Stephen, as I am true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier!
Enter Edward Knowell, Stephen
E.
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