SCUD. Can you read anything, then, in this face?
BEL. O basilisk! remove thee from my sight, Or thy heart's blood shall pay thy rash attempt!
Ho! who attends us there?
SCUD. Stir not a foot, And stop your clamorous acclamations, Or, by the bitterness of my fresh wrongs, I'll send your ladyship to the devil quick!
I know the hazard I do undergo, And whatsoe'er after becomes of me, I'll make you sure first. I am come to speak-- And speak I will freely--and to bring back Your letters and such things you sent; and then I'll ne'er see those deceiving eyes again.
BEL. O, I am sick of my corruption!
For God's sake, do not speak a word more to me.
SCUD. Not speak? yes, woman, I will roar aloud: Call thee the falsest fair that ever breath'd; Tell thee, that in this marriage thou hast drown'd All virtue left to credit thy weak sex, Which being (as 'twere) committed to thy trust, Thou traitorously hast betray'd it thus!
Did I entice, or ever send thee gifts, To allure thee to reflect a beam on me?
Nay, didst not thou thyself send and invent, Past human wit, our means of intercourse?
Why dost thou then prove base unto thyself, Perjur'd and impious? know, the good thou hast lost In my opinion, doth outvalue far The airy honours thou art married to.
BEL. O, peace! for you speak sharpness to my soul, More torturous than hell's plagues to the damn'd.
For love's sake, hear me speak!
SCUD. For love's sake? no: Love is my surfeit, and is turn'd in me To a disease.
BEL. Tyrant! my knees shall beg, Till they get liberty for my tongue to speak, Drown'd, almost, in the rivers of mine eyes.
SCUD. What canst thou say? art thou not married?
BEL. Alas! I was enforc'd; first by the threats Of a severe father, that in his hand Did gripe my fortunes: next to that, the fame Of your neglect and liberal-talking tongue, Which bred my honour an eternal wrong.
SCUD. Pish! these are painted causes. Till this morn He liv'd not in this land, that durst accuse My integrity of such an ignorance.
But take your letters here, your paper vows, Your picture and your bracelets; and if ever I build again upon a woman's faith, May sense forsake me! I will sooner trust Dice or a reconciled enemy: O God!
What an internal joy my heart has felt, Sitting at one of these same idle plays, When I have seen a maid's inconstancy Presented to the life! how my glad eyes Have stole about me, fearing lest my looks Should tell the company convented there The mistress that I had free of such faults.
BEL. O, still retain her so! dear Scudmore, hear me.
SCUD. Retain thee so? it is impossible!
Art thou not married? 'tis impossible!
O no! I do despise thee, and will fly As far on earth as to the Antipodes, And by some learn'd magician, whose deep art Can know thy residence on this hemisphere, There I'll be plac'd, my feet just against thine, To express the opposite nature, which our hearts Must henceforth hold.
BEL. O, rather shoot me, friend, Than let me hear thee speak such bitterness!
O, pity me! redeem me from the hell, That in this marriage I am like to feel!
I'll rather fly to barren wildernesses, And suffer all wants with thee, Scudmore, than Live with all plenty in this husband's arms.
Thou shalt perceive I am not such a woman, That is transported with vain dignities.
O, thy dear words have knock'd at my heart's gates, And enter'd. They have pluck'd the devil's vizard (That did deform this face, and blind my soul) Off, and thy Bellafront presents herself, Lav'd in a bath of contrite virginal tears: Cloth'd in the original beauty that was thine!
Now, for thy love to God, count this not done: Let time go back, and be as when before it, Or from thy memory rase it for ever!
SCUD. Ha, ha! heart! was there ever such strange creatures fram'd?
Why dost thou speak such foolish, senseless things?
Can thy forsaking him redeem thy fault?
No, I will never mend an ill with worse.
Why, thy example will make women false, When they shall hear it, that before were true; For after ill examples we do fly, But must be vow'd to deeds of piety.
O woman, woman, woman, woman, woman!
The cause of future and original sin, How happy (had you not) should we have been!
False, where you kiss, but murdering in your ire; Love all can woo, know all men you desire: Ungrateful, yet most impudent to crave, Torturous as hell, insatiate as the grave: Lustful as monkeys, grinning in your ease, Whom if we make not idols, we ne'er please: More vainly proud than fools, as ignorant; Baser than parasites: witches that enchant And make us senseless, to think death or life Is yours to give, when only our belief Doth make you able to deceive us so: Begot by drunkards to breed sin and woe; As many foul diseases hide your veins, As there are mischiefs coin'd in your quick brains: Not quick in wit, fit to perform least good, But to subvert whole states, shed seas of blood: Twice as deceitful as are crocodiles, For you betray both ways, with tears and smiles.
Yet questionless there are as good, as bad.
Hence! let me go.
BEL. Hear me, and thou shalt go.
I do confess I do deserve all this, Have wounded all the faith my sex doth owe, But will recover it, or pay my life.
Strive not to go, for you shall hear me first.
I charge thee, Scudmore, thou hard-hearted man, Upon my knees-- [_Kneels._]
Thou most implacable man, since penitence And satisfaction too gets not thy pardon, I charge thee use some means to set me free, [_Rises again._]
Before the revels of this night have end.
Prevent my entering to this marriage-bed; Or by the memory of Lucretia's knife, Ere morn I'll die a virgin, though a wife. [_Exit._
SCUD. Pish! do: the world will have one mischief less.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_Enter_ SIR ABRAHAM NINNY, _throwing down his bowl_.
ABRA. Bowl they that list, for I will bowl no more.
Cupid, that little bowler, in my breast Rubs at my heart, and will not let me rest.
[_Within: Rub, rub, fly, fly._[35]
Ay, ay, you may cry _Rub, fly_, to your bowls, For you are free: love troubles not your jowls, But from my head to heel, from heel to heart: Behind, before, and roundabout I smart.
Then in this arbour, sitting all alone, In doleful ditty let me howl my moan.
O boy![36] leave pricking, for I vail my bonnet:[37]
Give me but breath, while I do write a sonnet.
_Enter_ PENDANT.
PEN. I have lost my money, and Sir Abraham too. Yonder he sits at his muse, by heaven, drowned in the ocean of his love. Lord! how he labours, like a hard-bound poet whose brains had a frost in 'em. Now it comes.
ABRA. _I die, I sigh_.
PEN. What, after you are dead? very good.
ABRA. _I die, I sigh, thou precious stony jewel_.
PEN. Good; because she is hard-hearted.
ABRA. _I die_. [_Write._
PEN. He has died three times, and come again.
ABRA. ----_I sigh, thou precious stony jewel.
Wearing of silk, why art thou still so cruel_. [_Write._
PEN. O Newington conceit!
And quieting eke.[38]