The Honest Whore, Part 2 (Modern)

 1037.1[3.1]
 3.1.0.11038Enter Orlando [as Pacheco, with Hippolitoʼs letter, purse, and diamond ring], and Infelice.
 3.1.11039Infelice
 From whom, sayst thou?
 3.1.21040Orlando
 From a poor gentlewoman, madam, whom I serve.
 3.1.31041Infelice
 And whatʼs your business?
 3.1.41042Orlando
 This, madam: my poor mistress has a waste piece 1043of ground, which is her own by inheritance, and left to 1044her by her mother. Thereʼs a lord now that goes about, 1045not to take it clean from her, but to enclose it to himself, 1046and to join it to a piece of his lordshipʼs.
 3.1.51047Infelice
 What would she have me do in this?
 3.1.61048Orlando
 No more, madam, but what one woman should 1049do for another in such a case. My honourable lord your 1050husband would do anything in her behalf, but she had 1051rather put herself into your hands, because you, a woman, 1052may do more with the Duke your father.
 3.1.71053Infelice
 Where lies this land?
 3.1.81054Orlando
 Within a stoneʼs throw of this place. My mistress 1055would be content to let him enjoy it after her decease, if 1056that would serve his turn, so my master would yield too; 1057but she cannot abide to hear that the lord should meddle 1058with it in her lifetime.
 3.1.91059Infelice
 Is she, then, married? Why stirs not her husband 1060in it?
 3.1.101061Orlando
 Her husband stirs in it underhand. But, because 1062the other is a great rich man, my master is loath to be seen 1063in it too much.
 3.1.111064Infelice
 Let her in writing draw the cause at large,
 3.1.121065And I will move the Duke.
 3.1.131066Orlando
 [Holding up Hippolitoʼs letter] ʼTis set down, madam, here in black and white 1067already. Work it so, madam, that she may keep her own 1068without disturbance, grievance, molestation, or meddling of 1069any other, and she bestows this purse of gold on your 1070ladyship. 
 3.1.13.1[He holds up Hippolitoʼs purse.]
 3.1.141071Infelice
 Old man, Iʼll plead for her, but take no fees.
 3.1.151072Give lawyers them; I swim not in that flood.
 3.1.161073Iʼll touch no gold till I have done her good.
 3.1.171074Orlando
 I would all proctorsʼ clerks were of your mind; 1075I should law more amongst them than I do, then. Here, 1076madam, is the survey, not only of the manor itself, but of 1077the grange house, with every meadow, pasture, 1078plough-land, cony-burrow, fish-pond, hedge, ditch, and bush 1079that stands in it. 
 3.1.17.1[He gives her the letter.]
 3.1.181080Infelice
 [Reading the letter] My husbandʼs name and hand and seal at arms
 3.1.191081To a love letter? Where hadst thou this writing?
 3.1.201082Orlando
 From the foresaid party, madam, that would keep 1083the foresaid land out of the foresaid lordʼs fingers.
 3.1.211084Infelice
 My lord turned ranger now?
 3.1.221085Orlando
 Youʼre a good huntress, lady; you haʼ found your 1086game already. Your lord would fain be a ranger, but my 1087mistress requests you to let him run a course in your own 1088park. If youʼll not doʼt for love, then doʼt for money. She 1089has no white money, but thereʼs gold [Giving her the purse]; or else she prays you 1090to ring him by this token [Giving her the diamond ring], and so you shall be sure his nose 1091will not be rooting other menʼs pastures.
 3.1.231092Infelice
 This very purse was woven with mine own hands;
 3.1.241093This diamond on that very night when he
 3.1.251094Untied my virgin girdle gave I him;
 3.1.261095And must a common harlot share in mine?
 3.1.271096Old man, to quit thy pains, take thou the gold.
 3.1.281097Orlando
 Not I, madam; old servingmen want no money.
 3.1.291098Infelice
 [Reading] Cupid himself was sure his secretary!
 3.1.301099These lines are even the arrows Love lets fly;
 3.1.311100The very ink dropped out of Venusʼ eye.
 3.1.321101Orlando
 I do not think, madam, but he fetched off some 1102poet or other for those lines, for they are parlous hawks 1103to fly at wenches.
 3.1.331104Infelice
 Hereʼs honeyed poison! To me he neʼer thus writ;
 3.1.341105But lust can set a double edge on wit.
 3.1.351106Orlando
 Nay, thatʼs true, madam; a wench will whet 1107anything, if it be not too dull.
 3.1.361108Infelice
 Oaths, promises, preferments, jewels, gold – 
 3.1.371109What snares should break if all these cannot hold?
 3.1.381110What creature is thy mistress?
 3.1.391111Orlando
 One of those creatures that are contrary to man – 1112a woman.
 3.1.401113Infelice
 What manner of woman?
 3.1.411114Orlando
 A little tiny woman, lower than your ladyship by 1115head and shoulders, but as mad a wench as ever unlaced a 1116petticoat. These things should I indeed have delivered to my 1117lord your husband.
 3.1.421118Infelice
 They are delivered better. Why should she
 3.1.43Send 1119back these things?
 1120Orlando
 Send back these things?  ʼWare, ʼware, thereʼs knavery!
 3.1.441121Infelice
 Strumpets, like cheating gamesters, will not win
 3.1.451122At first; these are but baits to draw him in.
 3.1.461123How might I learn his hunting hours?
 3.1.471124Orlando
 The Irish footman can tell you all his hunting 1125hours, the park he hunts in, the doe he would strike. That 1126Irish shackatory beats the bush for him, and knows all. 1127He brought that letter and that ring; he is the carrier.
 3.1.481128Infelice
 Knowst thou what other gifts have passed between 1129them?
 3.1.491130Orlando
 Little Saint Patrick knows all.
 3.1.501131Infelice
 Him Iʼll examine presently.
 3.1.511132Orlando
 Not whilst I am here, sweet madam.
 3.1.521133Infelice
 Begone then, and what lies in me command.
 3.1.52.1Exit Orlando.
 3.1.52.21134Enter Brian.
 3.1.531135Infelice
 Come hither, sirrah. How much cost those satins
 3.1.54And 1136cloth of silver which my husband sent
 3.1.55By you to a low 1137gentlewoman yonder?
 3.1.561138Brian
 Faat satins, faat silvers, faat low gentlefolks? 1139Dow pratʼst dow knowst not what, iʼfaat, la.
 3.1.571140Infelice
 She there, to whom you carried letters.
 3.1.581141Brian
 By dis hand and bod dow sayst true, if I did so, O 1142how? I know not a letter oʼde book, iʼfaat, la.
 3.1.591143Infelice
 Did your lord never send you with a ring, sir,
 3.1.60Set 1144with a diamond?
 3.1.611145Brian
 Never, sa Crees saʼ me, never! He may run at a 1146towsand rings, iʼfaat, and I never hold his stirrup till he leap 1147into de saddle. By Saint Patrick, madam, I never touch my lordʼs 1148diamond, nor ever had to, iʼfaat, la, with any of his 1149precious stones.
 3.1.61.11150Enter Hippolito.
 3.1.621151Infelice
 Are you so close, you bawd, you pandʼring slave?
 3.1.62.1[She strikes Brian.]
 3.1.631152Hippolito
 How now? Why, Infelice, whatʼs your quarrel?
 3.1.641153Infelice
 [To Brian] Out of my sight, base varlet, get thee gone!
 3.1.651154Hippolito
 Away, you rogue!
 3.1.661155Brian
 Slawne loot, fare de well, fare de well. Ah marragh 1156frofat boddah breen. 
 3.1.66.1Exit.
 3.1.671157Hippolito
 What, grown a fighter? Prithee, whatʼs the matter?
 3.1.681158Infelice
 If youʼll needs know, it was about the clock.
 3.1.69How 1159works the day, my lord, pray, by your watch?
 3.1.701160Hippolito
 Lest you cuff me, Iʼll tell you presently.
 3.1.71[Consulting his watch] I am 1161near two.
 1162Infelice
 [Consulting his watch] I am near two.  [Consulting her watch] How, two? I am scarce at one.
 3.1.721163Hippolito
 One of us then goes false.
 1164Infelice
 One of us then goes false.  Then sure ʼtis you;
 3.1.731165Mine goes by heavenʼs dial, the sun, and it goes true.
 3.1.741166Hippolito
 I think indeed mine runs somewhat too fast.
 3.1.751167Infelice
 Set it to mine, at one, then.
 1168Hippolito
 Set it to mine, at one, then.  One? ʼTis past;
 3.1.761169ʼTis past one, by the sun.
 1170Infelice
 ʼTis past one, by the sun.  Faith, then, belike
 3.1.771171Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike;
 3.1.781172And since it is uncertain which goes true,
 3.1.791173Better be false at one than false at two.
 3.1.801174Hippolito
 Youʼre very pleasant, madam.
 1175Infelice
 Youʼre very pleasant, madam.  Yet not merry.
 3.1.811176Hippolito
 Why, Infelice, what should make you sad?
 3.1.821177Infelice
 Nothing, my lord, but my false watch. Pray tell me:
 3.1.831178You see my clock or yours is out of frame – 
 3.1.841179Must we upon the workman lay the blame,
 3.1.851180Or on ourselves, that keep them?
 1181Hippolito
 Or on ourselves, that keep them?  Faith, on both.
 3.1.861182He may by knavery spoil them, we by sloth.
 3.1.871183But why talk you all riddle thus? I read
 3.1.881184Strange comments in those margins of your looks;
 3.1.891185Your cheeks of late are, like bad-printed books,
 3.1.901186So dimly charactered I scarce can spell
 3.1.911187One line of love in them. Sure allʼs not well.
 3.1.921188Infelice
 All is not well indeed, my dearest lord;
 3.1.931189Lock up thy gates of hearing, that no sound
 3.1.941190Of what I speak may enter – 
 1191Hippolito
 Of what I speak may enter –   What means this?
 3.1.951192Infelice
 Or if my own tongue must myself betray,
 3.1.961193Count it a dream, or turn thine eyes away,
 3.1.971194And think me not thy wife. 
 3.1.97.1She kneels.
 1195Hippolito
 And think me not thy wife.   Why do you kneel?
 3.1.981196Infelice
 Earth is sinʼs cushion; when the sick soul feels
 3.1.991197Herself growing poor, then she turns beggar, cries
 3.1.100And 1198kneels for help. Hippolito – for husband
 3.1.101I dare not call 1199thee – I have stolʼn that jewel
 3.1.102Of my chaste honour which 1200was only thine,
 3.1.103And given it to a slave.
 1201Hippolito
 And given it to a slave.  Ha?
 1202Infelice
 And given it to a slave. Ha?  On thy pillow 
 3.1.104Adultery and lust have slept. Thy groom 
 3.1.1051203Hath climbed the unlawful tree, and plucked the sweets;
 3.1.1061204A villain hath usurped a husbandʼs sheets.
 3.1.1071205Hippolito
 ʼSdeath! Who? – A cuckold! – Who?
 1206Infelice
 ʼSdeath! Who? – A cuckold! – Who?  This Irish footman.
 3.1.1081207Hippolito
 Worse than damnation! A wild kern, a frog,
 3.1.109A 1208dog, whom Iʼll scarce spurn! Longed you for shamrock?
 3.1.1101209Were it my fatherʼs father, heart, Iʼll kill him,
 3.1.111Although I 1210take him on his deathbed gasping
 3.1.112ʼTwixt heaven and hell! 1211A shag-haired cur! 
 3.1.112.1[She clings to his garment.]
 ʼTwixt heaven and hell! A shag-haired cur!   Bold strumpet,
 3.1.113Why hangst thou on me? 1212Thinkst Iʼll be a bawd
 3.1.114To a whore because sheʼs noble?
 1213Infelice
 To a whore because sheʼs noble?  I beg but this:
 3.1.1151214Set not my shame out to the worldʼs broad eye,
 3.1.1161215Yet let thy vengeance, like my fault, soar high,
 3.1.1171216So it be in darkened clouds.
 1217Hippolito
 So it be in darkened clouds.  Darkened? My horns
 3.1.1181218Cannot be darkened, nor shall my revenge.
 3.1.1191219A harlot to my slave? The act is base – 
 3.1.1201220Common, but foul; so shall not thy disgrace.
 3.1.1211221Could not I feed your appetite? – O women!
 3.1.1221222You were created angels, pure and fair;
 3.1.1231223But since the first fell, tempting devils you are.
 3.1.1241224You should be menʼs bliss, but you prove their rods;
 3.1.1251225Were there no women, men might live like gods. – 
 3.1.1261226You haʼ been too much down already. Rise,
 3.1.1271227Get from my sight, and henceforth shun my bed;
 3.1.1281228Iʼll with no strumpetʼs breath be poisonèd. 
 3.1.128.1[She rises.]
 3.1.1291229As for your Irish lubrican, that spirit
 3.1.1301230Whom by prepostʼrous charms thy lust hath raised
 3.1.1311231In a wrong circle, him Iʼll damn more black
 3.1.1321232Then any tyrantʼs soul.
 1233Infelice
 Then any tyrantʼs soul.  Hippolito!
 3.1.1331234Hippolito
 Tell me, didst thou bait hooks to draw him to 1235thee,
 3.1.134Or did he bewitch thee?
 1236Infelice
 Or did he bewitch thee?  The slave did woo me.
 3.1.1351237Hippolito
 Tu-whoos in that screech-owlsʼs language?
 3.1.136O, 1238who would trust your cork-heeled sex? I think,
 3.1.137To sate 1239your lust, you would love a horse, a bear,
 3.1.138A croaking toad, 1240so your hot itching veins
 3.1.139Might have their bond. Then the 1241wild Irish dart
 3.1.140Was thrown? Come, how? The manner of 1242this fight?
 3.1.1411243Infelice
 ʼTwas thus: he gave me this battery first.
 3.1.141.1[She gives him the letter.]
 ʼTwas thus: he gave me this battery first.  O, I
 3.1.1421244Mistake – believe me, all this in beaten gold.
 3.1.142.1[She gives him the purse.]
 3.1.1431245Yet I held out, but at length by this was charmed.
 3.1.143.1[She gives him the diamond ring.]
 3.1.1441246What? Change your diamond-wench? The act is base – 
 3.1.1451247Common, but foul; so shall not your disgrace.
 3.1.1461248Could not I feed your appetite? – O men!
 3.1.1471249You were created angels, pure and fair;
 3.1.1481250But since the first fell, worse than devils you are.
 3.1.1491251You should our shields be, but you prove our rods;
 3.1.1501252Were there no men, women might live like gods. – 
 3.1.1511253Guilty, my lord?
 1254Hippolito
 Guilty, my lord?  [Laughing] Yes, guilty, my good lady.
 3.1.1521255Infelice
 Nay, you may laugh, but henceforth shun my bed;
 3.1.1531256With no whoreʼs leavings Iʼll be poisonèd. 
 3.1.153.1Exit.
 3.1.1541257Hippolito
 Oʼerreached so finely? ʼTis the very diamond
 3.1.1551258And letter which I sent. This villainy
 3.1.1561259Some spider closely weaves, whose poisoned bulk
 3.1.1571260I must let forth. [Calling out] Whoʼs there without?
 3.1.1581261Servant 
 (Within) My lord calls.
 3.1.1591262Hippolito
 Send me the footman.
 3.1.1601263Servant
 [Within] Call the footman to my lord. – Brian, Brian!
 3.1.1611265Hippolito
 It can be no man else – that Irish Judas,
 3.1.1621266Bred in a country where no venom prospers
 3.1.1631267But in the nationʼs blood, hath thus betrayed me.
 3.1.163.11264Enter Brian.
 3.1.1641268Slave, get you from your service!
 3.1.1651269Brian
 Faat meanst thou by this, now?
 3.1.1661270Hippolito
 Question me not, nor tempt my fury, villain!
 3.1.1671271Couldst thou turn all the mountains in the land
 3.1.1681272To hills of gold to give me, here thou stayst not.
 3.1.1691273Brian
 Iʼfaat, I care not.
 3.1.1701274Hippolito
 Prate not, but get thee gone; I shall send else.
 3.1.1711275Brian
 Ay, do, pridee! I had rather have thee make a scabbard 1276of my guts, and let out all de Irish puddings in my poor 1277belly, den to be a false knave to dee, iʼfaat. I will never see 1278dine own sweet face more. A mawhid deer a gra! 1279Fare dee well, fare dee well! I will go steal cows again in Ireland. 
 3.1.171.1Exit.
 3.1.1721280Hippolito
 Heʼs damned that raised this whirlwind, which 1281hath blown
 3.1.1731282Into her eyes this jealousy. Yet Iʼll on, 
 3.1.1741283Iʼll on, stood armèd devils staring in my face.
 3.1.1751284To be pursued in flight quickens the race.
 3.1.1761285Shall my bloodstreams by a wifeʼs lust be barred?
 3.1.1771286Fond woman, no. Iron grows by strokes more hard;
 3.1.1781287Lawless desires are seas scorning all bounds,
 3.1.1791288Or sulphur which, being rammed up, more confounds;
 3.1.1801289Struggling with madmen madness nothing tames;
 3.1.1811290Winds wrestling with great fires incense the flames. 
 3.1.181.1Exit.
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The Honest Whore, Part 2 (Modern)
