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Brandino. What and we kill'd him now, before he

saw us?

Martino. No, then he will hardly see to read the letter.

Brandino. That's true: good counsel, marry.

Martino. Marry thus much, sir: you may kill him lawfully, all the while he's a reading on 't, as an anabaptist may lie with a brother's wife, all the while he's asleep.

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Brandino. He turns; he looks. Come on, sir, you,
Francisco;

I lov'd your father well, but you're a villain:
He lov'd me well too; but you love my wife, sir:
After whom take you that? I will not say

Your mother play'd false.

Francisco. No, sir, you were not best.

Brandino. But I will say, in spite of thee, my wife's honest.

Martino. And I, my mistress.

Francisco. You may, I'll give you leave.

Brandino. Leave, or leave not, there she defies you, sir.

Keep your adulterous sheet to wind you in,

Or cover your forbidden parts at least,
For fear you want one: many a letcher may,
That sins in cambrick now.

Martino. And in lawn too, master.

Brandino. Nay, read, and tremble, sir.

Martino. Now shall I do 't, master? I see a piece of an open seam in his shirt, shall I run him in there, for my sword has ne'er a point?

Brandino. No, let him foam a while.

Martino. If your sword be no better than mine, we shall not kill him by day-light; we had need have a lanthorn.

Brandino. Talk not of lanthorns, he's a sturdy letcher :

He would make the horns fly about my ears.

Francisco. I apprehend thee: Admirable woman! Which to love best I know not, thy wit or beauty.

Brandino. Now, sir, have tard there,

Got of your lustful brain? Francisco. I thank you, jest,

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Give you joy on 't.

sir; altho' you speak in

I must confess, I sent your wife this letter,
And often courted, tempted, and urg'd her.
Brandino. Did you so, sir?

Then first, before I kill thee, I forewarn thee my house.

Martino. And I, before I kill thee, forewarn thee my office: die to-morrow; next thou never get'st warrant of me more, for love or money.

Francisco. Remember but again from whence I came, sir,

And then I know you cannot think amiss of me.
Brandino. How's this?

Martino. Pray hear him: it may grow to a peace; For, master, though we have carried the business nobly, we are not altogether so valiant as we should

be.

Brandino. Peace, thou say'st true in that. What is 't you'd say, sir?

Francisco. Was not my father (quietness be with him)

And you sworn brothers?

Brandino. Why, right; that's it urges me. Francisco. And could you have a thought that I could wrong you, As far as the deed goes?

Brandino. You took the course, sir.

Francisco. To make you happy, if you rightly weigh'd it.

Martino. Troth I'll put up at all adventures,

master:

It comes off very fair yet.

Francisco. You in years

Married a young maid. What does the world judge, think you?

Martino. By 'r lady, master, knavishly enough, I

warrant you:

I should do so myself.

Francisco. Now to damp slander,

And all her envious and suspicious brood,
I made this friendly trial of her constancy,
Being son to him you lov'd: that now confirm'd,
I might advance my sword against the world
In her most fair defence, which joys my spirit.

Martino. Oh, master, let me weep, while you em-
brace him.

Brandino. Francisco, is thy father's soul in thee? Lives he here still? What, will he show himself In his male seed to me? Give me thy hand; Methinks it feels now like thy father's to me. Pr'ythee forgive me.

Martino. And me too, pr'ythee.

Brandino. Come to my house, thy father never

miss'd it.

Martino. Fetch now as many warrants as you please, sir,

And welcome too.

Francisco. To see how soon man's goodness

May be abused.

Brandino. But now I know thy intent,

Welcome to all that I have.

Francisco. Sir, I take it:

A gift so given, hang him that would forsake it. [Exit. Brandino. Martino, I applaud my fortune, and thy counsel.

Martino. You never have ill fortune when you follow it.

Here were things carried now in the true nature of a quiet duello;

A great strife ended, without the rough soldier, or

the

And now you may take your journey.

Brandino. Thou art my glee, Martino.

[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Enter VALERIA and a SERVANT.

Valeria. Servellio.

Servant. Mistress.

Valeria. If that fellow come again,

Answer him without me: I'll not speak with him. Servant. He in the nutmeg-colour'd band, forsooth? Valeria. Aye, that spic'd coxcomb, sir. Never may I marry again

If his right worshipful idolatrous face

Be not most fearfully painted; so hope comfort me, I might perceive it peel in many places,

And under's eye lay a betraying foulness,

As maids sweep dust o' th' house all to one corner:
It shew'd me enough there, prodigious pride,
That cannot but fall scornfully. I'm a woman,
Yet, I praise Heaven, I never had the ambition
To go about to mend a better workman:
She ever shames herself i' th' end that does it.
He that likes me not now, as Heaven made me,
I will never hazard hell to do him a pleasure;
Nor lie ev'ry night like a woodcock in paste
To please some gaudy goose i' th' morning.
A wise man likes that best, that is itself,
Not that which only seems, tho' it look fairer.
Heaven send me one that loves me, and I'm happy,
Of whom I'll make great trial ere I have him.
Though I speak all men fair, and promise sweetly,
I learn that of my suitors 'tis their own,
Therefore injustice 't were to keep it from 'em.
Enter RICARDO.,

Ricardo. And so as I said, sweet widow. Valeria. Do you begin where you left, sir? Ricardo. I always desire, when I come to a widow, to begin i' th' middle of a sentence? for I presume she has a bad memory of a woman, that cannot remember goes before.

what

Valeria. Stay, stay, sir; let me look upon you.well: Are not you painted too?

Ricardo. How, painted, widow?

Valeria. Not painted widow, I do not use it, trust me, sir.

Ricardo. That makes me love thee.

Valeria. I mean painted gentleman,

Or if you please to give him a greater stile, sir.
Blame me not, sir, it's a dangerous age

I tell you,

Poor simple-dealing women had need look about 'em. Ricardo. But is there such a fellow in the world, widow,

As you are pleas'd to talk on?

Valeria. Nay, here lately, sir.

Ricardo. Here? a pox, I think I smell him, 'tis vermillion sure: ha; oil of ben. Do but shew him me, widow, and let me never hope for comfort, if I do not immediately geld him, and grind his face upon one o' th' stones.

Valeria. Suffices you have express'd me your love and valour, and manly hate against that unmanly pride; but, sir, I'll save you that labour; he never comes within my door again.

Ricardo. I'll love your door the better while I know't, widow: a pair of such brothers were fitter for posts* without door, indeed, to make a shew at a new-chosen magistrate's gate, than to be used in a woman's chamber. No, sweet widow, having me, you've the truth of a man; all that you see of me is full of mine own, and what you see, or not see, shall be yours: I ever hated to be beholden to art, or to borrow any thing but money. [Francisco and Attilio stand unseen. Valeria. True; and that you never use to pay again.

3 oil of ben.] "Been or Behen, in pharmacy, denotes a medicinal root, celebrated, especially among the Arabs, for its aromatic, cardiac, and alexiterial virtues." Chambers's Dictionary. The same writer says, there are two kinds of Been, white and red, and that they are both brought from the Levant, and have the same virtues, being substituted for each other.

fitter for posts, &c.] See note 44 to The Honest Whore, Vol. III.

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