The Honest Whore, Part 2 (Quarto 1, 1630)
Act 1, scene 2
Hip. Your busines, sir, to me?
Ant. Yes my good Lord.
140Hip. Presently sir; are you Mathaeos wife.
Bela. That most vnfortunate woman.
Hip. I'm sorry these stormes are fallē on him, I loue Mathaeo.
And any good shall doe him, hee and I.
Haue sealed two bonds of friendship, which are strong
145In me, how euer Fortune does him wrong;
He speakes here hee's condemned. Is't so?
Bel. Too true.
Hip. What was he whom he killed? Oh, his name's here;
old Iacomo, sonne to the Florentine Iacomo, a dog, that to
150meet profit, would to the very eyelids wade in blood of his
owne children. Tell Mathaeo, the Duke my father hardly
shall deny his signed pardon, 'twas faire fight, yes if rumors
tongue goe true, so writes he here.
To morrow morning I returne from Court,
155Pray be you here then. Ile haue done sir straight:
But in troth say, are you Mathaeos wife?
You haue forgot me.
Bel. No, my Lord.
Hip. Your Turner,
160That made you smooth to run an euen byas,
You know I loued you when your very soule
Was full of discord: art not a good wench still?
Bel. Vmph, whē I had lost my way to heauen, you shewed it:
I was new borne that day. Enter Lodouico.
165Lod. S'foot, my Lord, your Lady askes if you haue not left
your
The Honest Whore.
your Wench yet? When you get in once, you neuer haue
done: come, come, come, pay your old score, and send her
packing, come.
Hip. Ride softly on before, Ile oretake you.
170Lod. Your Lady sweares she'll haue no riding on before,
without ye.
Hip. Prethee good Lodonico.
Lod. My Lord pray hasten.
Hip. I come: to morrow let me see you, fare you well:
175commend me to Mathaeo: pray one word more: Does not
your father liue about the Court?
Bel. I thinke he does, but such rude spots of shame
Stick on my cheeke, that he scarce knowes my name.
Hip. Orlando Friscabaldo, Is't not?
180Bel. Yes my Lord.
Hip. What does he for you?
Bel. All he should: when Children
From duty start, Parents from loue may swarue.
He nothing does: for nothing I deserue.
185Hip. Shall I ioyne him vnto you, and restore you
to wonted grace?
Bel. It is impossible. Exit Bellaf.
Hip. It shall be put to tryall: fare you well:
The face I would not looke on I sure then 'twas rare,
190When in despight of griefe, 'tis still thus faire.
Now, sir, your businesse with me.
Ant. I am bold to expresse my loue and duty to your
Lordship in these few leaues.
Hip. A Booke!
195Ant. Yes my good Lord.
Hip. Are you a Scholler?
Ant. Yes, my Lord, a poore one.
Hip. Sir, you honor me.
Kings may be Schollers Patrons, but faith tell me,
200To how many hands besides hath this bird flowne,
How many partners share with me?
An. Not one in troth, not one: your name I held more deare,
I'm
The Honest Whore.
I'm not (my Lord) of that low Character.
Hip. Your name I pray?
205Ant. Antonio Georgio.
Hip. Of Millan?
Ant. Yes my Lord.
Hip. Ile borrow leaue
To read you o're, and then we'll talke: till then
210Drinke vp this gold, good wits should loue good wine,
This of your loues, the earnest that of mine.
How now, sir, where's your Lady, not gone yet?
Enter Bryan.
Bryan. I fart di Lady is runne away from dee, a mighty
215deale of ground, she sent me backe for dine owne sweet
face, I pray dee come my Lord away, wut tow goe now?
Hip. Is the Coach gone?
Saddle my Horse the sorrell.
Bryan. A pox a de Horses nose, he is a lowsy rascally
220fellow, when I came to gird his belly, his scuruy guts rum-
bled, di Horse farted in my face, and dow knowest, an Irish-
man cannot abide a fart, but I haue saddled de Hobby-horse,
di fine Hobby is ready, I pray dee my good sweet Lord, wit
tow goe now, and I will runne to de Deuill before dee?
225Hip. Well, sir, I pray lets see you Master Scholler.
Bry. Come I pray dee, wut come sweet face? Goe. Exeunt.
Enter Lodouico, Carolo, Astolpho, Bercaldo.
Lod. Gods so, Gentlemen, what doe we forget?
Omnes. What?
230Lod. Are not we all enioyned as this day, Thursday is't
not? I as that day to be at the Linnen-drapers house at din-
ner?
Car. Signior Candido, the patient man.
Asto. Afore Ioue, true, vpon this day hee's married.
235Berc. I wonder, that being so stung with a Waspe be-
fore, he dares venture againe to come about the eaues a-
mongst Bees.
Lod. Oh 'tis rare sucking a sweet Hony-combe; pray
Heauen his old wife be buried deepe enough, that she rise
B not
The Honest Whore.
240not vp to call for her daunce, the poore Fidlers Instruments
would cracke for it, shee'd tickle them: at any hand lets try
what mettle is in his new Bride, if there be none, we'll put
in some; troth it's a very noble Citizen, I pitty he should
marry againe, Ile walke along, for it is a good old fellow.
245Caro. I warrant, the Wiues of Millan would giue any
fellow twenty thousand Duckets, that could but haue the
face to beg of the Duke, that all the Citizens in Millan
might be bound to the peace of patience, as the Linnen-
draper is.
250Lod. Oh fy vpon't, 'twould vndoe all vs that are Courti-
ers, we should haue no whoe with the wenches then.
Enter Hipollito.
Omnes. My Lord's come.
Hip. How now, what newes?
255Omnes. None.
Lod. Your Lady is with the Duke her Father.
Hip. And we'll to them both presently, whoe's that?
Enter Orlaudo Friscobaldo.
Omnes. Signior Friscabaldo.
260Hip. Friscabaldo, oh! pray call him, and leaue me, wee
two haue businesse.
Car. Ho Signior! Signior Friscabaldo.
The Lord Hipollito. Exeunt.
Orla. My Noble Lord: my Lord Hipollito! the Dukes
265Sonne! his braue Daughters braue Husband! how does
your honord Lordship! does your Nobility remember so
poore a Gentleman as Signior Orlando Friscabaldo! old mad
Orlando!
Hip. Oh sir, our friēds! they ought to be vnto vs as our Iew-
270els, as dearely valued, being locked vp, & vnseene, as when
we weare them in our hands. I see, Friscabaldo, age hath not command of your blood, for all Times sickle has gone ouer
you, you are Orlando still.
Orl, Why my Lord, are not the fields mowen and cut
downe,
The Honest Whore.
275downe, and stript bare, and yet weare they not pide coates
againe? tho my head be like a Leeke, white: may not my
heart be like the blade, greene?
Hip. Scarce can I read the Stories on your brow,
Which age hath writ there, you looke youthfull still.
280Orla. I eate Snakes, my Lord, I eate Snakes.
My heart shall neuer haue a wrinkle in it, so long as I can cry
Hem with a cleare voice.
Hip. You are the happier man, sir.
Orla. Happy man! Ile giue you (my Lord) the true picture
285of a happy man; I was turning leaues ouer this morning,
and found it, an excellent Italian Painter drew it, If I haue
it in the right colours, Ile bestow it on your Lordship.
Hip. I stay for it.
Orla. He that makes gold his wife, but not his whore,
290He that at noone-day walkes by a prison doore,
He that 'ith Sunne is neither beame nor moate,
He that's not mad after a Petticoate,
He for whom poore mens curses dig no graue,
He that is neither Lords nor Lawyers slaue,
295He that makes This his Sea, and That his Shore,
He that in's Coffin is richer then before,
He that counts Youth his Sword, and Age his Staffe,
He whose right hand carues his owne Epitaph,
He that vpon his death-bead is a Swan,
300And Dead, no Crow, he is a happy man.
Hip. It's very well, I thanke you for this Picture.
Orla. After this Picture (my Lord) doe I striue to haue
my face drawne:
For I am not couetous,
305Am not in debt,
Sit neither at the Dukes side,
Nor lie at his feete.
Wenching and I haue done, no man I wrong,
No man I feare, no man I fee;
310I take heed how farre I walke, because I know yonders my
home.
B 2
The Honest Whore.
I would not die like a rich man, to carry nothing away saue
a winding sheete:
But like a good man, to leaue Orlando behind me.
315I sowed leaues in my Youth, and I reape now Bookes in
my Age.
I fill this hand, and empty this, and when the bell shall toll
for me, if I proue a Swan & go singing to my nest, why so?
If a Crow! throw me out for carrion, & pick out mine eyes,
320May not old Friscabaldo (my Lord) be merry now! ha?
Hip. You may, would I were partner in your mirth.
Orla. I haue a little,
Haue all things;
I haue nothing; I haue no wife, I haue no child, haue no
325 chick, and why should not I be in my Iocundare?
Hip. Is your wife then departed?
Orla. She's an old dweller in those high Countries,
Yet not from me,
Here, she's here: but before me, when a Knaue and a Queane
330are married, they commonly walke like Serieants together:
but a good couple are seldome parted.
Hip. You had a Daughter too sir, had you not?
Orla. Oh my Lord! this old Tree had one Branch, (and
but one Branch growing out of it) It was young, it was
335faire, it was straight; I prumde it daily, drest it carefully,
kept it from the winde, help'd it to the Sunne, yet for all
my skill in planting, it grew crooked, it bore Crabs; I
hewed it downe,
What's become of it, I neither know, nor care.
340Hip. Then can I tell you whats become of it;
That Branch is witherd.
Orl. So 'twas long agoe.
Hip. Her name I thinke was Bellafront, she's dead.
Orlando. Ha? dead?
345Hip. Yes, what of her was left, not worth the keeping,
Euen in my sight was throwne into a Graue.
Orl. Dead! my last and best peace goe with her, I see
deaths a good trencherman, he can eat course homely meat,
as
The Honest Whore.
as well as the daintiest.
350Hip. Why, Friscabaldo, was she homely?
Orla. O my Lord! a Strumpet is one of the Deuils Vines;
all the sinnes like so many Poles are stucke vpright out of
hell, to be her props, that she may spread vpon them. And
when she's ripe, euery Slaue has a pull at her, then must she
355be prest. The yong beautifull Grape sets the teeth of Lust
on edge, yet to taste that lickrish Wine, is to drinke a mans
owne damnation. Is she dead?
Hip. Shee's turned to earth.
Orla. Wod she were turn'd to heauen; Vmh, is she dead!
360I am glad the world has lost one of his Idols; no Whore-
monger will at midnight beat at the doores; In her graue
sleepe all my shame, and her owne; and all my sorrowes,
and all her sinnes.
Hip. I'm glad you are wax, not marble; you are made
365Of mans best temper, there are now good hopes
That all these heapes of
Ice about your heart,
By which a fathers loue was frozen vp,
Are thawed in these sweet showres fetcht from your eyes,
370We are ne'r like Angels till our passion dyes,
She is not dead, but liues vnder worse fate,
I thinke she's poore, and more to clip her wings,
Her Husband at this houre lies in the Iayle,
For killing of a man, to saue his blood,
375Ioyne all your force with mine: mine shall be showne,
The getting of his life preserues your owne.
Orla. In my daughter you will say! does she liue then?
I am sorry I wasted teares vpon a Harlot, but the best is I
haue a handkercher to drinke them vp, sope can wash them
380all out agen.
Is she poore?
Hip. Trust me, I thinke she is.
Orla. Then she's a right Strumpet; I ne'r knew any of
their trade rich two yeeres together; Siues can hold no
B 3 water,
The Honest Whore.
385water, nor Harlots hoord vp money; they haue many vents,
too many sluces to let it out; Tauernes, Taylors, Bawds,
Panders, Fidlers, Swaggerers, Fooles and Knaues, doe all
waite vpon a common Harlots trencher: she is the Gally-
pot to which these Drones flye: not for loue to the pot, but
390for the sweet sucket within it, her money, her money.
Hip. I almost dare pawne my word, her bosome giues
warmth to no such Snakes; when did you see her?
Orla. Not seuenteene Summers.
Hip. Is your hate so old?
395Orla. Older; it has a white head, and shall neuer dye till
she be buried,
Her wrongs shall be my bedfellow.
Hip. Worke yet his life, since in it liues her fame.
Orla. No, let him hang, and halfe her infamy departs out
400of the world: I hate him for her; he taught her first to taste poyson; I hate her for her selfe, because she refused my Physicke.
Hip. Nay but Friscabaldo.
Orl. I detest her, I defie both, she's not mine, she's.
405Hip. Heare her but speake.
Orl. I loue no Maremaides, Ile not be caught with a quaill
pipe.
Hip. Y'are now beyond all reason.
Orl. I am then a Beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not
410dishonor my creation, then be a doting father, & like Time,
be the destruction of mine owne broode.
Hip. Is't dotage to relieue your child being poore?
Orl. Is't fit for an old man to keepe a whore?
Hip. 'Tis charity too.
415Orl. 'Tis foolery; releeue her!
Were her cold limbes stretcht out vpon a Beere,
I would not sell this durt vnder my nailes
To buy her an houres breath, nor giue this haire,
Vnlesse it were to choke her.
420Hip. Fare you well, for Ile trouble you no more. Exit.
Orl. And fare you well sir, goe thy waies, we haue few
Lords
The Honest Whore.
Lords of thy making, that loue wenches for their honesty;
Las my Girle! art thou poore? pouerty dwells next doore
to despaire, there's but a wall betweene them; despaire is
425one of hells Catch-poles; and lest that Deuill arrest her, Ile
to her, yet she shall not know me; she shall drinke of my
wealth, as beggers doe of running water, freely, yet neuer
know from what Fountaines head it flowes. Shall a silly
bird picke her owne brest to nourish her yong ones, and
430can a father see his child starue? That were hard; The Peli-
can does it, and shall not I. Yes, I will victuall the Campe
for her, but it shall be by some stratagem; that knaue there
her husband will be hanged I feare, Ile keepe his necke out
of the nooze if I can, he shall not know how.
435Enter two Seruing-men.
Orl. How now knaues, whither wander you?
1. To seeke your Worship.
Orl. Stay, which of you has my purse, what money
haue you about you?
4402. Some fifteene or sixteene pounds, sir.
Orl. Giue it me, I thinke I haue some gold about me; yes,
it's well; leaue my Lodging at Court, and get you home.
Come sir, tho I neuer turned any man out of doores, yet Ile
be so bold as to pull your Coate ouer your eares.
4451. What doe you meane to doe sir?
Orl. Hold thy tongue knaue, take thou my Cloake, I hope I
play not the paltry Merchant in this bartring; bid the
Steward of my house, sleepe with open eyes in my absence,
and to looke to all things, whatsoeuer I command by Letters
450to be done by you, see it done. So, does it sit well?
2. As if it were made for your Worship.
Orl. You proud Varlets, you need not bee ashamed to
weare blue, when your Master is one of your fellowes; away,
doe not see me.
455Both. This is excellent. Exeunt.
Orl. I should put on a worse suite too; perhaps I will.
My
The Honest Whore.
My Vizard is on, now to this maske. Say I should shaue off
this Honor of an old man, or tye it vp shorter; Well, I will
spoyle a good face for once. My beard being off, how should
460I looke? euen like
A Winter Cuckoo, or vnfeatherd Owle;
Yet better lose this haire, then lose her soule. Exit.

The Honest Whore, Part 2 (Quarto 1, 1630)