Patient Grissel – Act 2, Scene 1

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 Enter FARNEZE, URCENZE, and RICE meeting them running.

 FARNEZE
Rice, how now, man?  Wither art thou galloping?

RICE
Faith, even to find a full maunger; my teeth water till I be mounching.  I have been at the cutlers to bid him bring away Sir Owen’s rapier, and I am ambling home thus fast, for fear I am driven to fast.

URCENZE
But Sirrah Rice, when’s the day?  Will not thy master Sir Owen and Signior Emulo fight?

RICE
No, for Signior Emulo has warn’d my master to the court of conscience, and there’s an order set down that the coward shall pay my master good words weekly, till the debt of his choler be run out.

FARNEZE
Excellent, but did not Emulo write a challenge to Sir Owen?

RICE
No, he sent a terrible one, he gave a sexton of a church a groat to write it, and he set his mark to it, for the gull can neither write nor read.

URCENZE
Ha, ha! not write and read?  Why I have seen him pull out a bundle of sonnets written, and read them to ladies.

FARNEZE
He got them by heart, Urcenze, and so deceiv’d the poor souls, as a gallant whom I know cozens others; for my brisk spangled baby will come into a stationers shop, call for a stool and a cushion, and then asking for some Greek poet, to him he falls, and there he grumbles God knows what; but I’ll be sworn he knows not so much as one character of the tongue

RICE
Why then, it’s Greek to him.

FARNEZE
Ha, ha! Emulo not write and read?

RICE
Not a letter and you would hang him.

URCENZE
Then he’ll never be saved by his book.

RICE
No, nor by his good works, for he’ll do none.  Signiors both, I commend you to the skies, I commit you to God.  Adieu.

FARNEZE
Nay, sweet Rice, a little more.

RICE
A little more will make a great deal less; house keeping, you know, is out of fashion.  Unless I ride post, I kiss the post.  In a word I’ll tell you all, challenge was sent answered no fight, no kill, all friends, all fools, Emulo coward, Sir Owen brave man, farewell, dinner, hungry, little cheer, great, great stomach, meat, meat, meat, mouth, mouth, mouth, adieu, adieu, adieu.                                                          [Exit.

URCENZE
Ha, ha!  Adieu, Rice.  Sir Owen, belike, keeps a lean kitchen.

FARNEZE
What else, man?  That’s one of the miserable vows he makes when he’s dubb’d; yet he doth but as many of this brother knights do; keep an ordinary table for him and his long coat follower.

URCENZE
That long coat makes the master a little king, for wheresoever his piece of a follower comes hopping after him, he’s sure of a double guard.

FARNEZE
I’ll set some of the pages upon thy skirts for this.

URCENZE
I shall feel them no more then so many fleas, therefore I care not; but Farneze, you’ll prove a most accomplished coxcomb.

FARNEZE
Oh, old touch, lad.  This younker is right Trinidado pure leaf tobacco, for indeed, he’s nothing but puff, reek, and would be tried, not by God and his country, but by fire, the very soul of his substance and needs would convert into smoke.

URCENZE
He’s steel to the back, you see, for he writes challenges.

FARNEZE
True, and iron to the head.  Oh, there’s a rich leaden mineral amongst his brains.  If his skull were well dig’d, Sirrah Urcenze, this is one of those changeable silk gallants who, in a very scurvy pride, scorn all scholars, and read no books but a looking glass, and speak no language but “sweet lady,” and “sweet signior,” and chew between the teeth terrible words, as though they would conjure, as compliment and projects, and fastidious, and capricious, and misprision, and the sintheresis of the soul, and such like raise velvet terms.

URCENZE
What be the accoutrements now of these gallants?

FARNEZE
Indeed, that’s one of their fustian outlandish phrases too; marry, sir, their accoutrements are all the fantastic fashions, that can be taken up, either upon trust or at second hand.

URCENZE
What’s their qualities?

FARNEZE

None good.  These are the best: to make good faces; to take tobacco well; to spit withal; to laugh like a waiting-gentlewoman; to lie well; to blush for nothing; to look big upon little fellows, to scoff with a grace, though they have a very filthy grace in scoffing, and for a need to ride pretty and well.

URCENZE
They cannot choose but ride well, because every good wit rides them.

FARNEZE
Here’s the difference: that they ride upon horses, and when they are ridden they are spur’d for asses, so they can cry “wighee” and “hollo kicking jade,” they care not if they have no more learning then a jade.

 Enter EMULO and SIR OWEN talking, RICE after them eating secretly.

 URCENZE
No more of those jadish tricks; here comes the hobby horse.

FARNEZE
Oh, he would dance a morris rarely if he were hung with bells.

URCENZE
He would jangle villainously.

FARNEZE
Peace, let’s encounter them.

SIR OWEN
By Cod, Sir Emuloes, Sir Owen is clad out a cry because is friends with her, for Sir Owen swear, did her not swear, Rice?

RICE
Yes, forsooth.

SIR OWEN
By Cod is swear terrible to knog her pade, and fling her spingle legs at plum trees, when her come to fall to her tagger and fencing trigs, yes faith, and to breag her shins, did her not, Rice?

RICE
Yes, by my troth, sir.

SIR OWEN
By Cod’s udge me is all true, and to give her a great teal of bloody nose, because, Sir Emuloes, you shallenge the prittish knight.  Rice, you know Sir Owen shentleman first, and secondly knight, what a pox ail you, Rice, is shoke now?

RICE
No, sir, I have my five senses and am as well as any man.

SIR OWEN
Well, here is hand, now is mighty friends.

EMULO
Sir Owen—

FARNEZE
Now the gallimaufry of language comes in.

EMULO
I protest to you, the magnitude of my condolement hath been elevated the higher to see you and myself, two gentlemen–

SIR OWEN
Nay, ‘tis well known Sir Owen is good shentleman, is not Rice?

RICE
He that shall deny it, Sir, I’ll make him eat his words.

EMULO
Good friend, I am not in the negative.  Be not so capricious.  You misprise me, my collocation tendeth to Sir Owen’s dignifying.

FARNEZE
Let’s step in.  God save you, Signior Emulo!

URCENZE
Well encounter’d, Sir Owen.

SIR OWEN
Owe, how do you?  Sir Emuloes is friends out a cry now but Emuloes take heed you match no more love trigs to widow Gwenthyans, by Cod udge me, that do so must knog her, see you now?

EMULO
Not so tempestuous, sweet knight, though to my disconsolation, I will oblivionize my love to the Welsh widow and do here proclaim my dilinquishment.  But, sweet Signior, be not too diogenical to me.

SIR OWEN
Ha, ha! is know not what genicals mean, but Sir Owen will genical her, and tag her genicalling Gwenthyan.

FARNEZE
Nay faith, we’ll have you sound friends indeed, otherwise, you know, Signior Emulo, if you should bear all the wrongs, you would be out Atlassed.

EMULO
Most true.

SIR OWEN
By god, is out a cry, friends, but harg Farneze, Urcenze, tawg a great tale to Emuloes, for fear Sir Owen knog her shins, is tell, that Sir Owen by tozen shentlemen her poots is put about with lathes, ha, ha! serge her, serge her.

FARNEZE

No more.  Tell Urcenze of it.  Why should you two fall out for the love of a woman, considering what store we have of them?  Sir Emulo, I gratulate your peace; your company, you know, is precious to us, and we’ll be merry and ride abroad.  Before God now, I talk of riding.  Sir Owen, methinks, has an excellent boot.

URCENZE
His leg graces the boot.

SIR OWEN
By God, is fine leg and fine poot too.  But Emulo’s leg is petter and finer and shenglier skin to wear.

EMULO
I bought them of a penurious cordwainer, and they are the most incongruent that ere I wear.

SIR OWEN
Congruent?  ‘Sblood, what leather is congruent?  Spanish leather?

EMULO
Ha, ha!  Well, gentlemen, I have other projects beckon for me.  I must digress from this bias and leave you.  Accept I beseech you of this vulgar and domestic compliment.

[Whilst they are saluting, SIR OWEN gets to EMULO’s leg and pulls down his boot.

 SIR OWEN
Pray Emuloes, let her see her congruent leather! Ha, ha! Owe, what a pox is here!  Ha, ha!  Is mag a wall to her shins for keeb her warm?

FARNEZE
What’s here lathes?  Where’s the lime and hair, Emulo?

RICE
Oh rare!  Is this to save his shins?

SIR OWEN
Ha, ha! Rice, go call Gwenthyan.

RICE
I will, master.  Dahoma, Gwenthyan, dahoma? [“come hither”]

SIR OWEN
A pogs on her!  Go fedge her and call her within.

RICE
I am gone, sir.                                                                                                       [Exit.

FARNEZE
Nay, Sir Owen, what mean you?

SIR OWEN
By Cod, is mean ta let Gwenthyan see what boby fool love her, a pogs on you!

EMULO
Sir Owen and Signiors both, do not expatiate my obloquy.  My love shall be so fast conglutinated to you.

SIR OWEN
Cod’s plood!  You call her gluttons!  Gwenthyan!  So ho, Gwenthyan!

EMULO
I’ll not digest this pill.  Signiors, adieu.
You are fastidious and I’ll banish you.                                                              [Exit.

 Enter GWENTHYAN.

 FARNEZE
Gods so, here comes the widow.  But in faith, Sir Owen, say nothing of this.

SIR OWEN
No, go to them, by Cod, Sir Owen bear as prave mind as emperor!

GWENTHYAN
Who calls Gwenthyan so great teal of time?

URCENZE
Sweet widow, even your countryman here.

SIR OWEN
Belly the ruddo whe.  Wrage witho.  Manda gen y mon du ac wheeloch en wea awh. [“Where were you, widow woman?; I’m glad, by God, to see you indeed”]

GWENTHYAN
Sir Owen, gramercy whe.  Gwenthyan manda gen y, ac welloch en thlawen en ryn mogh. [“Sir Owen, may thanks to you.  Gwenthyan, I’m glad to see you content in the same way”]

FARNEZE
Mandage Thlawan, oh my good widow, gabble, that we may understand you, and have at you.

SIR OWEN
Have at her.  Nay, by Cod, is no have at her too.  Is tawge in her Prittish tongue, for ‘tis fine delicates tongue, I can tell her.  Welsh tongue is finer as Greek tongue.

FARNEZE
A bak’d neat’s tongue is finer than both.

SIR OWEN
But what says Gwenthyan now?  Will have Sir Owen?  Sir Owen is known for a wisely man, as any since Adam and Eve’s time, and that is by, Gods udge me, a great teal ago.

URCENZE

I think Solomon was wiser then Sir Owen.

SIR OWEN
Solomon had pretty wit.  But what say you to King Tavy?  King Tavy is well known was as good musicians as the pest fiddler in all Italy, and King Tavy was Sir Owen’s countryman; yes truly a Prettish shentleman born, and did twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, out a crie upon Welsh-harp, and ‘tis known Tavy love Mistress Persabe, as Sir Owen loves Gwenthyan.  Will her have Sir Owen now?

FARNEZE
Faith, widow, take him.  Sir Owen is a tall man, I can tell you.

SIR OWEN
Tall man, as God udge me.  Her think the Prittish shentleman is faliant as Mars that is the fine knaves; the poets say the God of pribbles and prabbles.  I hope, widow, you see little more in Sir Owen then in Sir Emuloes.  Say, shall her have her now? ‘Tis valiant as can desire, I warrant her.

GWENTHYAN
Sir Owen, Sir Owen ‘tis not for faliant Gwenthyan care so much, but for honest and fertuous and loving and pundall to led her have her will.

SIR OWEN
God udge me, tag her away to her husband and is led her have her will owed a cry, yet, by God, is priddle her well enough.

GWENTHYAN
Well, Sir Owen, Gwenthyan is going to her cousin Gwalter the Duke, for you know is her near cousin by marriage, by tother husband that pring her from Wales.

SIR OWEN
By Cod, Wales is better country than Italies, a great teal so better.

GWENTHYAN
Now, if her cousin Gwalter say Gwenthyan tag this Prittish knight, shall love her diggon, but must have her good will.  Marg you thad, Sir Owen.

SIR OWEN
Ow, what’s else?  Sir Owen marg yt farewell, yet shall tag her down quigly enough.  Come, widow, will wag to the coward, now to her cousin, and bid her cousin tell her mind of Sir Owen.

GWENTHYAN
You’ll man Gwenthyan, Sir Owen?

SIR OWEN
Yes, by Cod, and pravely too.  Come shentlemen, you’ll tag pains to go with her?

FARNEZE
We’ll follow you presently, Sir Owen

SIR OWEN
Come, widow. Un loddis Glan e Gwenthyan mondu. [“My fair lass Gwenthyan, by God!”]

GWENTHYAN
Gramercy wheeh, am a mock honnoh. [“Many thanks you to for pleasing me!”]

 [Exeunt SIR OWEN and GWENTHYAN.

 FARNEZE
So this will be rare; Sirrah Urcenze, at the marriage night of these two, instead of “Jo Hyman!” we shall hear “Hey ho Hyman.”  Their love will be like a great fire made of bay leaves, that yields nothing but cracking noise, noise!

URCENZE
If she miss his crown, ‘tis no matter for cracking.

FARNEZE
So she solder it again, it will pass currant.

 Enter ONOPHRIO and JULIA walking over the stage.

 URCENZE
Peace! here comes our fair mistress.

FARNEZE
Let’s have a fling at her.

URCENZE
So you may, but the hardness is to hit her.

ONOPHRIO
Farewell.  Farneze, you attend well upon your mistress.

JULIA
Nay, nay; their wages shall be of the same colour that their service is of.

FARNEZE
Faith, mistress, would you had travelled a little sooner this way, you should have seen a rare comedy acted by Emulo.

URCENZE
Every courteous mouth will be a stage for that, rather tell her of the Welsh tragedy that’s towards

JULIA
What tragedy?

FARNEZE
Sir Owen shall marry your cousin Gwenthyan.

JULIA
Is’t possible?  Oh, they two will beget brave warriors; for if she scold, he’ll fight, and if he quarrel, she’ll take up the bucklers.  She’s fire and he’s brimstone.  Must not there be hot doings then, think you?

ONOPHRIO
They’ll prove turtles, for their hearts being so like, they cannot choose but be loving.

JULIA
Turtles!  Turkey-cocks, for God’s love, let’s entreat the duke my brother to make a law, that wheresoever Sir Owen and his lady dwell, the next neighbour may always be constable, lest the peace be broken, for they’ll do nothing but cry arm, arm, arm!

FARNEZE
I think Sir Owen would die rather than lose her love.

JULIA
So think not I.

ONOPHRIO
I should for Julia, if I were Julia’s husband.

JULIA
Therefore Julia shall not be Onophrio’s wife, for I’ll have none die for me.  I like not that colour.

FARNEZE
Yes, for your love, you would, Julia.

JULIA
No, nor yet for my hate, Farneze.

URCENZE
Would you not have men love you, sweet mistress?

JULIA
No, not I.  Fie upon it, sweet servant!

ONOPHRIO
Would you wish men to hate you?

JULIA
Yes, rather then love me, of all saints I love not to serve Mistress Venus.

FARNEZE
Then I perceive you mean to lead apes in hell.

JULIA
That spiteful proverb was proclaim’d against them that are married upon earth, for to me married is to live in a kind of hell.

FARNEZE
Ay, as they do at bailbreak.

JULIA
Your wife is your ape, and that heavy burden wedlock; your Jack an ape’s clog; therefore I’ll not be tied to’t.  Master Farneze, sweet virginity is that invisible God-head that turns us into angels, that makes us saints on earth and stars in heaven.  Here, virgins seem goodly, but there glorious.  In heaven is no wooing, yet all there are lovely.  In heaven are no weddings, yet all there are lovers.

ONOPHRIO
Let us, sweet madam, turn earth into heaven, by being all lovers here too.

JULIA
So we do.  To an earthly heaven we turn it.

ONOPHRIO
Nay, but dear Julia, tell us why so much you hate to enter into the lists of this same combat matrimony.

JULIA
You may well call that a combat, for indeed, marriage is nothing else but a terrible battle of love; a friendly fighting, a kind of favourable terrible war; but you err, Onophrio in thinking I hate it.  I deal my marriage as some Indians do the sun, adore it, and reverence it, but dare not stare on it for fear I be stark blind.  You three are bachelors and being sick of this maidenhead, count all things bitter which the physic of a single life ministers unto you.  You imagine if you could make the arms of fair ladies the spheres of your hearts, good hearts, then you were in heaven.  Oh, but bachelors take heed! you are no sooner in that heaven but you straight slip into hell.

FARNEZE
As long as I have a beautiful lady to torment me, I care not.

URCENZE
Nor I.  The sweetness of her looks shall make me relish any punishment.

ONOPHRIO
Except the punishment of the horn, Urcenze; put that in.

JULIA
Nay, he were best put that by.  Lord, lord! see what unthrifts this love makes us?  If he once but get into our mouths, he labours to turn our tongues to clappers, and to ring all in at Cupid’s church, when we were better to bite off our tongues, so we may thrust him out.  Cupid is a sworn enemy to time, and he that loseth time, I can tell you, loseth a friend.

FARNEZE
Ay, a bald friend.

JULIA
Therefore, my good servants, if you wear my livery, cast off this loose upper coat of love.  Be ashamed to wait upon a boy, a wag, a blind boy, a wanton.  My brother the duke wants out companies.  ‘Tis idleness and love makes you captives to this solitarines, and I’ll teach you how to find liberty.

ALL
We obey to follow you, but not to love you.  No, renounce that obedience. [Exeunt.

Proceed to the next scene

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