Nay, that look you to,
I am aforehand.
O, this is no true grammar,
And as ill logic! You must render causes, child,
Your first and second intentions, know your canons
And your divisions, moods, degrees, and differences,
Your predicaments, substance, and accident,
Series, extern and intern, with their causes,
Efficient, material, formal, final,
And have your elements perfect.
Aside. What is this?
The angry tongue he talks in?
That false precept,
Of being aforehand, has deceived a number,
And made them enter quarrels, oftentimes,
Before they were aware; and afterward,
Against their wills.
How must I do then, sir?
I cry this lady mercy: she should first
Have been saluted.
Kisses her.
I do call you lady,
Because you are to be one, ere’t be long,
My soft and buxom widow.
Is she, i’faith?
Yes, or my art is an egregious liar.
How know you?
By inspection on her forehead,
And subtlety of her lip, which must be tasted
Often to make a judgment.
Kisses her again.
’Slight, she melts
Like a myrobolane:—here is yet a line,
In rivo frontis, tells me he is no knight.
What is he then, sir?
Let me see your hand.
O, your linea fortunae makes it plain;
And stella here in monte Veneris.
But, most of all, junctura annularis.
He is a soldier, or a man of art, lady,
But shall have some great honour shortly.
Brother,
He’s a rare man, believe me!
Hold your peace.
Here comes the t’other rare man.—’Save you, Captain.
Good master Kastril! Is this your sister?
Ay, sir.
Please you to kiss her, and be proud to know her.
I shall be proud to know you, lady.
Brother,
He calls me lady too.
Ay, peace: I heard it.
The count is come.
Where is he?
At the door.
Why, you must entertain him.
What will you do
With these the while?
Why, have them up, and show them
Some fustian book, or the dark glass.
’Fore God,
She is a delicate dabchick! I must have her.
Must you! Ay, if your fortune will, you must.—
Come, sir, the Captain will come to us presently:
I’ll have you to my chamber of demonstrations,
Where I will show you both the grammar and logic,
And rhetoric of quarrelling; my whole method
Drawn out in tables; and my instrument,
That hath the several scales upon’t, shall make you
Able to quarrel at a straw’s-breadth by moonlight.
And, lady, I’ll have you look in a glass,
Some half an hour, but to clear your eyesight,
Against you see your fortune; which is greater,
Than I may judge upon the sudden, trust me.
Where are you, Doctor?
Within. I’ll come to you presently.
I will have this same widow, now I have seen her,
On any composition.
What do you say?
Have you disposed of them?
I have sent them up.
Subtle, in troth, I needs must have this widow.
Is that the matter?
Nay, but hear me.
Go to.
If you rebel once, Dol shall know it all:
Therefore be quiet, and obey your chance.
Nay, thou art so violent now—Do but conceive,
Thou art old, and canst not serve—
Who cannot? I?
’Slight, I will serve her with thee, for a—
Nay,
But understand: I’ll give you composition.
I will not treat with thee; what! Sell my fortune?
’Tis better than my birthright. Do not murmur:
Win her, and carry her. If you grumble, Dol
Knows it directly.
Well, sir, I am silent.
Will you go help to fetch in Don in state?
I follow you, sir. We must keep Face in awe,
Or he will overlook us like a tyrant.
Brain of a tailor! Who comes here? Don John!
Señores, beso las manos a vuestras mercedes.
Would you had stooped a little, and kissed our anos!
Peace, Subtle.
Stab me; I shall never hold, man.
He looks in that deep ruff like a head in a platter,
Served in by a short cloak upon two trestles.
Or, what do you say to a collar of brawn, cut down
Beneath the souse, and wriggled with a knife?
’Slud, he does look too fat to be a Spaniard.
Perhaps some Fleming or some Hollander got him
In d’Alva’s time; Count Egmont’s bastard.
Don,
Your scurvy, yellow, Madrid face is welcome.
Gratia.
He speaks out of a fortification.
Pray God he have no squibs in those deep sets.
Por dios, señores, muy linda casa!
What says he?
Praises the house, I think;
I know no more but’s action.
Yes, the casa,
My precious Diego, will prove fair enough
To cozen you in. Do you mark? You shall
Be cozened, Diego.
Cozened, do you see,
My worthy Donzel, cozened.
Entiendo.
Do you intend it? So do we, dear Don.
Have you brought pistolets, or portagues,
My solemn Don?—Dost thou feel any?
Feels his pockets. Full.
You shall be emptied, Don, pumped and drawn
Dry, as they say.
Milked, in troth, sweet Don.
See all the monsters; the great lion of all, Don.
Con licencia, se puede ver a esta señora?
What talks he now?
Of the Señora.
O, Don,
This is the lioness, which you shall see
Also, my Don.
’Slid, Subtle, how shall we do?
For what?
Why Dol’s employed, you know.
That’s true.
’Fore heaven, I know not: he must stay, that’s all.
Stay! That he must not by no means.
No! Why?
Unless you’ll mar all. ’Slight, he will suspect it:
And then he will not pay, not half so well.
This is a travelled punk-master, and does know
All the delays; a notable hot rascal,
And looks already rampant.
’Sdeath, and Mammon
Must not be troubled.
Mammon! In no case.
What shall we do then?
Think: you must be sudden.
