How now, porter, will she come?

If I may trust a woman, sir, she will come.

[Giving money] Thereʼs for thy pains. God-a-mercy, if I ever stand in 166need of a wench that will come with a wet finger, thou 167shalt earn my money before any clarissimo in Milan. Yet, so 168God saʼ me, sheʼs mine own sister, body and soul, as I am a 169Christian gentleman. Farewell. Iʼll ponder till she come. Thou 170hast been no bawd in fetching this woman, I assure thee.

No matter if I had, sir; better men than porters are 172bawds.

O God, sir, many that have borne offices. But, porter, 174art sure thou wentst into a true house?

I think so, for I met with no thieves.

Nay, but art sure it was my sister Viola?

I am sure by all superscriptions it was the party you ciphered.

Not very tall.

Not very low; a middling woman.

ʼTwas she, faith, ʼtwas she. A pretty plump cheek like mine?

At a blush, a little; very much like you.

Godso, I would not for a ducat she had kicked up her 183heels, for I haʼ spent an abomination this voyage; marry, I 184did it amongst sailors and gentlemen. [Giving more money] Thereʼs a little modicum 185more, porter, for making thee stay. Farewell, honest porter.

I am in your debt, sir. God preserve you.

Not so neither, good porter.

1.2.16Godʼs lid, yonder she comes. – 189Sister Viola, I am glad to see you stirring. Itʼs news to have me 190here, isʼt not, sister?

Yes, trust me. I wondered who should be so bold to 192send for me. You are welcome to Milan, brother.

Troth, sister, I heard you were married to a very rich 194chuff, and I was very sorry for it that I had no better clothes, 195and that made me send; for you know we Millaners love to 196strut upon Spanish leather. Ant how does all our friends?

Very well. You haʼ travelled enough now, I trow, to 198sow your wild oats.

A pox on ʼem! Wild oats? I haʼ not an oat to throw 200at a horse. Troth, sister, I haʼ sowed my oats, and reaped two hundred 201ducats if I had ʼem here. Marry, I must entreat you to lend me 202some thirty or forty till the ship come. By this hand, Iʼll discharge at my day, by this hand.

These are your old oaths.

Why, sister, do you think Iʼll forswear my hand?

Well, well, you shall have them. Put yourself into 207better fashion, because I must employ you in a serious matter.

Iʼll sweat like a horse if I like the matter.

You haʼ cast off all your old swaggering humours?

I had not sailed a league in that great fishpond, the 211sea, but I cast up my very gall.

I am the more sorry, for I must employ a true 213swaggerer.

Nay, by this iron [Indicating his sword], sister, they shall find I am powder 215and touch-box, if they put fire once into me.

Then lend me your ears.

Mine ears are yours, dear sister.

I am married to a man that has wealth enough, and 219wit enough.

A linen-draper, I was told, sister.

Very true, a grave citizen. I want nothing that a 222wife can wish from a husband. But hereʼs the spite: he has 223not all things belonging to a man.

Godʼs my life, heʼs a very mandrake, or else, God bless 225us, one oʼthese whiblins, and thatʼs worse, and then all the 226children that he gets lawfully of your body, sister, are bastards by 227a statute.

O, you run over me too fast, brother! I have heard it 229often said that he who cannot be angry is no man. I am sure 230my husband is a man in print for all things else save only in 231this: no tempest can move him.

ʼSlid, would he had been at sea with us. He should haʼ 233been moved and moved again, for Iʼll be sworn, la, our 234drunken ship reeled like a Dutchman.

No loss of goods can increase him a wrinkle, no 236crabbed language make his countenance sour, the 237stubbornness of no servant shake him. He has no more gall in him than a 238dove, no more sting than an ant. Musician will he never be, 239yet I find much music in him; but he loves no frets, and is 240so free from anger that many times I am ready to bite off my 241tongue, because it wants that virtue which all womenʼs tongues 242have, to anger their husbands. Brother, mine can by no 243thunder turn him into a sharpness.

Belike his blood, sister, is well brewed, then.

I protest to thee, Fustigo, I love him most 246affectionately, but I know not – I haʼ such a tickling 247within me, such a strange longing; nay, verily, I do 248long.

Then youʼre with child, sister, by all signs and 250tokens; nay, I am partly a physician, and partly something 251else. I haʼ read Albertus Magnus, and Aristotleʼs 252Emblems.

Youʼre wide oʼthʼ bow-hand still, brother. My longings 254are not wanton, but wayward: I long to have my patient 255husband eat up a whole porcupine to the intent the bristling 256quills may stick about his lips like a Flemish mustachio and be 257shot at me. I shall be leaner than the new moon unless I 258can make him horn-mad.

ʼSfoot, half a quarter of an hour does that: make him 260a cuckold.

Pooh! He would count such a cut no unkindness.

The honester citizen he. Then make him drunk, and 263cut off his beard.

Fie, fie, idle, idle! Heʼs no Frenchman, to fret at the 265loss of a little scald hair. No, brother, thus it shall be – you must 266be secret.

As your midwife, I protest, sister, or a barber-surgeon.

Repair to the Tortoise here in Saint Christopherʼs Street. 269I will send you money; turn yourself into a brave man. Instead 270of the arms of your mistress, let your sword and your military 271scarf hang about your neck.

I must have a great horsemanʼs French feather too, 273sister.

O, by any means, to show your light head; else your 275hat will sit like a coxcomb. To be brief, you must be in all 276points a most terrible, wide-mouthed swaggerer.

Nay, for swaggering points let me alone.

Resort then to our shop, and, in my husbandʼs presence, 279kiss me, snatch rings, jewels, or anything, so you give it back 280again, brother, in secret.

By this hand, sister.

Swear as if you came but new from 283knighting.

Nay, Iʼll swear after four hundred a year.

Swagger worse than a lieutenant among fresh-water 286soldiers; call me your love, your ingle, your cousin, or so – but 287‘sisterʼ at no hand.

No, no, it shall be ‘cousinʼ, or rather ‘cozʼ – thatʼs the 289gulling word between the citizensʼ wives and their madcaps 290that man ʼem to the garden. To call you one oʼmy naunts, sister, 291were as good as call you arrant whore. No, no, let me alone to 292‘cousinʼ you rarely.

Hʼas heard I have a brother, but never saw him; 294therefore put on a good face.

The best in Milan, I warrant.

Take up wares, but pay nothing. Rifle my bosom, my 297pocket, my purse, the boxes for money to dice withal. But, 298brother, you must give all back again, in secret.

By this welkin that here roars, I will, or else 300let me never know what a secret is. Why, sister, do you think 301Iʼll cony-catch you, when you are my cousin? Godʼs my life, 302then I were a stark ass. If I fret not his guts, beg me for a 303fool.

Be circumspect and do so, then. Farewell.

The Tortoise, sister? Iʼll stay there. – Forty ducats.

Thither Iʼll send.

Thither Iʼll send. This law can none deny:

1.2.64307Women must have their longings, or they die.