So. This is Monday morning, and now must I to my 1705huswifery. Would I had been created a shoemaker, for all the 1706gentle craft are gentlemen every Monday by their copy, 1707and scorn then to work one true stitch. My master means 1708sure to turn me into a student, for hereʼs my book, here 1709my desk, here my light, this my close chamber, and here 1710my punk. So that this dull, drowsy first day of the week 1711makes me half a priest, half a chandler, half a painter, 1712half a sexton, ay, and half a bawd; for all this day my office 1713is to do nothing but keep the door. To prove it, look you, 1714this good face and yonder gentleman, so soon as ever my 1715backʼs turned, will be naught together.

Are all the windows shut?

Close, sir, as the fist 1717of a courtier that hath stood in three reigns.

Thou art a faithful servant, and observʼst

4.1.51719The calendar both of my solemn vows

4.1.61720And ceremonious sorrow. Get thee gone;

4.1.71721I charge thee, on thy life, let not the sound

4.1.81722Of any womanʼs voice pierce through that door.

If they do, my lord, Iʼll pierce some of them. 1724What will your lordship have to breakfast?

Sighs.

What to dinner?

Tears.

The one of them, my lord, will fill you too full of 1727wind, the other wet you too much. What to supper?

That which now thou canst not get me, the 1729constancy of a woman.

Indeed, thatʼs harder to come by than ever was 1731Ostend.

Prithee, away.

Iʼll make away myself presently, which few 1734servants will do for their lords, but rather help to make 1735them away. [Aside] Now to my door-keeping; I hope to pick 1736something out of it.

[Taking the picture] My Infeliceʼs face: her brow, her eye,

4.1.191738The dimple on her cheek; and such sweet skill

4.1.201739Hath from the cunning workmanʼs pencil flown,

4.1.211740These lips look fresh and lively as her own,

4.1.221741Seeming to move and speak. ʼLas, now I see

4.1.231742The reason why fond women love to buy

4.1.241743Adulterate complexion. Here ʼtis read:

4.1.251744False colours last after the true be dead.

4.1.261745Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks,

4.1.271746Of all the graces dancing in her eyes,

4.1.281747Of all the music set upon her tongue,

4.1.291748Of all that was past womanʼs excellence

4.1.301749In her white bosom – look, a painted board

4.1.311750Circumscribes all. Earth can no bliss afford,

4.1.321751Nothing of her, but this. This cannot speak;

4.1.331752It has no lap for me to rest upon,

4.1.341753No lip worth tasting. Here the worms will feed

4.1.351754As in her coffin. Hence then, idle art!

4.1.361755True loveʼs best pictured in a true-loveʼs heart.

4.1.371756Here art thou drawn, sweet maid, till this be dead,

4.1.381757So that thou livʼst twice, twice art burièd.

4.1.391758Thou, figure of my friend, lie there.

Thou, figure of my friend, lie there. [Taking the skull] Whatʼs here?

4.1.401759Perhaps this shrewd pate was mine enemyʼs.

4.1.411760ʼLas, say it were; I need not fear him now!

4.1.421761For all his braves, his contumelious breath,

4.1.431762His frowns (though dagger-pointed), all his plots

4.1.441763(Though neʼer so mischievous), his Italian pills,

4.1.451764His quarrels, and that common fence, his law –

4.1.461765See, see, theyʼre all eaten out; hereʼs not left one.

4.1.471766How clean theyʼre picked away, to the bare bone!

4.1.481767How mad are mortals, then, to rear great names

4.1.491768On tops of swelling houses! Or to wear out

4.1.501769Their fingersʼ ends in dirt, to scrape up gold!

4.1.511770Not caring – so that sumpter-horse, the back,

4.1.521771Be hung with gaudy trappings – with what coarse,

4.1.531772Yea, rags most beggarly, they clothe the soul;

4.1.541773Yet, after all, their gayness looks thus foul.

4.1.551774What fools are men to build a garish tomb,

4.1.561775Only to save the carcass whilst it rots,

4.1.571776To maintainʼt long in stinking, make good carrion,

4.1.581777But leave no good deeds to preserve them sound!

4.1.591778For good deeds keep men sweet long above ground.

4.1.601779And must all come to this? Fools, wise, all hither?

4.1.611780Must all heads thus at last be laid together?

4.1.621781Draw me my picture then, thou grave, neat workman,

4.1.631782After this fashion – not like this [Indicating the picture]; these colours

4.1.641783In time, kissing but air, will be kissed off.

4.1.651784But hereʼs a fellow; that which he lays on

4.1.661785Till doomsday alters not complexion.

4.1.671786Deathʼs the best painter, then. They that draw shapes

4.1.681787And live by wicked faces are but Godʼs apes;

4.1.691788They come but near the life, and there they stay.

4.1.701789This fellow draws life too. His art is fuller;

4.1.711790The pictures which he makes are without colour.

Hereʼs a person would speak with you, sir.

Ha?

A parson, sir, would speak with you.

Vicar?

Vicar? No, sir, hʼas too good a face to be a vicar yet; a 1797youth, a very youth.

What youth? Of man or woman? Lock the doors.

If it be a woman, marrowbones and potato-pies keep 1800me froʼ meddling with her, for the thing has got the breeches. 1801ʼTis a male varlet, sure, my lord, for a womanʼs tailor neʼer 1802measured him.

Let him give thee his message and be gone.

He says heʼs Signor Mattheoʼs man, but I know he 1805lies.

How dost thou know it?

ʼCause hʼas neʼer a beard. ʼTis his boy, I think, sir, 1808whosoeʼer paid for his nursing.

Send him, and keep the door.

4.1.881813Iʼd sail, were I to choose, not in the ocean;

4.1.891814Cedars are shaken, when shrubs do feel no bruise –

4.1.901816[To her] How? From Mattheo?

[To her] How? From Mattheo? Yes, my lord.

[To her] How? From Mattheo? Yes, my lord. Art sick?

Not all in health, my lord.

Not all in health, my lord. Keep off.

Not all in health, my lord. Keep off. I do.

4.1.921822[Aside] Hard fate, when women are compelled to woo.

This paper does speak nothing.

This paper does speak nothing. Yes, my lord,

4.1.941825Matter of life it speaks, and therefore writ

4.1.951826In hidden character. To me instruction

4.1.961827My master gives, and – ʼless you please to stay

4.1.971828Till you both meet – I can the text display.

Do so; read out.

Do so; read out. [Revealing herself] I am already out;

4.1.991831Look on my face, and read the strangest story.

[Calling out] What, villain, ho!

Call you, my lord?

Thou slave, thou hast let in the devil.

Lord bless us, where? Heʼs not cloven, my lord, that 1836I can see. Besides, the devil goes more like a gentleman 1837than a page. Good my lord, buon coraggio!

Thou hast let in a woman, in manʼs shape;

4.1.1051839And thou art damned forʼt.

Not damned, I hope, for putting in a woman to a lord.

Fetch me my rapier! – Do not: I shall kill thee.

4.1.1081842Purge this infected chamber of that plague

4.1.1091843That runs upon me thus; slave, thrust her hence.

Alas, my lord, I shall never be able to thrust her hence 1845without help. – Come, mermaid, you must to sea again.

Hear me but speak; my words shall be all music.

4.1.1121847Hear me but speak!

Hear me but speak! [To the Servant] Another beats the door.

4.1.1131849Tʼother she-devil! Look!

Tʼother she-devil! Look! Why, then hellʼs broke loose.

Hence, guard the chamber. Let no more come on;

4.1.1151852One woman serves for manʼs damnation.

4.1.1161853[To Bellafront] Beshrew thee, thou dost make me violate

4.1.1171854The chastest and most sanctimonious vow

4.1.1181855That eʼer was entered in the court of heaven.

4.1.1191856I was on meditationʼs spotless wings

4.1.1201857Upon my journey thither. Like a storm

4.1.1211858Thou beatst my ripened cogitations

4.1.1221859Flat to the ground, and like a thief dost stand

4.1.1231860To steal devotion from the holy land.

If woman were thy mother, if thy heart

4.1.1251862Be not all marble (or ifʼt marble be

4.1.1261863Let my tears soften it, to pity me),

4.1.1271864I do beseech thee, do not thus with scorn

4.1.1281865Destroy a woman.

Destroy a woman. Woman, I beseech thee,

4.1.1291867Get thee some other suit; this fits thee not.

4.1.1301868I would not grant it to a kneeling queen;

4.1.1311869I cannot love thee, nor I must not. [Indicating the picture] See

4.1.1321870The copy of that obligation

4.1.1331871Where my soulʼs bound in heavy penalties.

Sheʼs dead, you told me. Sheʼll let fall her suit.

My vows to her fled after her to heaven.

4.1.1361874Were thine eyes clear as mine, thou mightst behold her,

4.1.1371875Watching upon yon battlements of stars,

4.1.1381876How I observe them. Should I break my bond,

4.1.1391877This board would rive in twain, these wooden lips

4.1.1401878Call me most perjured villain. Let it suffice

4.1.1411879I haʼ set thee in the path; isʼt not a sign

4.1.1421880I love thee, when with one so most, most dear

4.1.1431881Iʼll have thee fellows? All are fellows there.

Be greater than a king; save not a body,

4.1.1451883But from eternal shipwreck keep a soul.

4.1.1461884If not, and that again sinʼs path I tread,

4.1.1471885The grief be mine, the guilt fall on thy head!

Stay, and take physic for it. Read this book.

4.1.1491887Ask counsel of this head whatʼs to be done;

4.1.1501888Heʼll strike it dead that ʼtis damnation

4.1.1511889If you turn Turk again. O do it not!

4.1.1521890Though heaven cannot allure you to do well,

4.1.1531891From doing ill let hell fright you. And learn this:

4.1.1541892The soul whose bosom lust did never touch

4.1.1551893Is Godʼs fair bride, and maidensʼ souls are such;

4.1.1561894The soul that, leaving chastityʼs white shore,

4.1.1571895Swims in hot sensual streams, is the devilʼs whore.

4.1.1581896[To him] How now? Who comes?

No more knaves, my lord, that wear smocks. Hereʼs 1898a letter from Doctor Benedict. I would not enter his man, though 1899he had hairs at his mouth, for fear he should be a woman, for 1900some women have beards; marry, they are half-witches. [To Bellafront] 1901ʼSlid, you are a sweet youth, to wear a codpiece and have no 1902pins to stick uponʼt.

[To the Servant] Iʼll meet the doctor, tell him. Yet tonight

4.1.1611904I cannot; but at morrow rising sun

4.1.1621905I will not fail. Go. – Woman, fare thee well.

The lowest fall can be but into hell.

4.1.1641907It does not move him. I must therefore fly

4.1.1651908From this undoing city, and with tears

4.1.1661909Wash off all anger from my fatherʼs brow.

4.1.1671910He cannot sure but joy, seeing me new born.

4.1.1681911A woman honest first and then turn whore

4.1.1691912Is, as with me, common to thousands more;

4.1.1701913But from a strumpet to turn chaste, that sound

4.1.1711914Has oft been heard, that woman hardly found.