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A Comedie written in

the Italian tongue by Ario-

sto, Englished by George Gas-

coygne of Grayes Inne


and there presented.


The names of the Actors.

BAlia, the Nurse.
Polynesta, the yong woman.
Cleander, the Doctor, suter to Polynesta.
Pasyphilo, the Parasite.
Carion, the Doctors man.
Dulypo, fayned servant and lover of Polynesta.
Erostrato, fayned master and suter to Polynesta.
Dalio & Crapyno } servantes to fayned Erostrato.
Scenæse, a gentleman stranger.
Paquetto & Petrucio } his servantes.
Damon, father to Polinesta.
Nevola, and two other his servants.
Psyteria, an old[e] hag in his house.
Phylogano, a Scycilian gentleman, father to Erostrato.
Lytio, his servant.
Ferrarese, an Inkeeper of Ferrara.

The Comedie presented as it were
in Ferrara.


The Prologue or argument.

I Suppose you are assembled here, supposing to reape the fruite of my travayles: and to be playne, I meane presently to presente you with a Comedie called Supposes: the verye name wherof may perad[v]enture drive into every of your heades a sundry Suppose, to suppose, the meaning of our supposes. Some percase will suppose we meane to occupie your eares with sophisticall handling of subtill Suppositions. Some other wil suppose we go about to discipher unto you some queint conceiptes, which hitherto have bene onely supposed as it were in shadowes: and some I see smyling as though they supposed we would trouble you with the vaine suppose of some wanton Suppose. But understand, this our Suppose is nothing else but a mystaking or imagination of one thing for an other. For you shall see the master supposed for the servant, the servant for the master: the freeman for a slave, and the bondslave for a freeman: the stranger for a well knowen friend, and the familiar for a stranger. But what? I suppose that even already you suppose me very fonde, that have so simply disclosed unto you the subtilties of these our Supposes: where otherwise in deede I suppose you shoulde have hearde almoste the laste of our Supposes, before you coulde have supposed anye of them arighte. Let this then suffise.


Actus primus. Scena

BALIA, the Nurse. POLYNESTA, the yong woman.

HEre is no body, come foorth Polynesta, let us looke about, to be sure least any man heare our talke: for I thinke within the house the tables, the plankes, the beds, the portals, yea and the cupbords them selves have eares.

Pol. You might as well have sayde, the windowes and the doores: do you not see howe they harken?

Ba. Well you jest faire, but I would advise you take heede, I have bidden you a thousande times beware: you will be spied one day talking with Dulippo.

Po. And why should I not talke with Dulippo, as well as with any other, I pray you?

Ba. I have given you a wherfore for this why many times: but go too, followe your owne advise till you overwhelme us all with soden mishappe.

Po. A great mishappe I promise you: marie Gods blessing on their heart that sette suche a brouche on my cappe.

Ba. Well, looke well about you: a man would thinke it were inough for you secretly to rejoyce, that by my helpe you have passed so many pleasant nightes togither: and yet by my trouth I do it more than halfe agaynst my will, for I would rather you had setled your fansie in some noble familie yea and it is no small griefe unto me, that (rejecting the suites of so many nobles and gentlemen) you have chosen for your darling a poore servaunt of your fathers, by whome shame and infamie is the best dower you can looke for to attayne.

Po. And I pray you whome may I thanke but gentle nourse? that continually praysing him, what for his personage, his curtesie, and above all, the extreme passions of his minde, in fine you would never cease till I accepted him, delighted in him, and at length desired him with no lesse affection, than he earst desired me.

Ba. I can not denie, but at the beginning I did recommende him unto you (as in deede I may say that for my selfe I have a pitiful heart) seeing the depth of his unbridled affection,


and that continually he never ceassed to fill mine eares with lamentable complaynts.

Po. Nay rather that he filled your pursse with bribes and rewards, Nourse.

Ba. Well you may judge of Nourse as you liste. In deede I have thought it alwayes a deede of charitie to helpe the miserable yong men, whose tender youth consumeth with the furious flames of love. But be you sure if I had thought you would have passed to the termes you nowe stand in, pitie nor pencion, peny nor peter noster shoulde ever have made Nurse once to open hir mouth in the cause.

Po. No of honestie, I pray you, who first brought him into my chamber? who first taught him the way to my bed but you? fie Nourse fie, never speake of it for shame, you will make me tell a wise tale anone.

Ba. And have I these thanks for my good wil? why then I see wel I shall be counted the cause of all mishappe.

Po. Nay rather the author of my good happe (gentle Nourse) for I would thou knewest I love not Dulipo, nor any of so meane estate, but have bestowed my love more worthily than thou deemest: but I will say no more at this time.

Ba. Then I am glad you have changed your minde yet.

Po. Nay I neither have changed, nor will change it.

Ba. Then I understande you not, how sayde you?

Po. Mary I say that I love not Dulipo, nor any suche as he, and yet I neither have changed nor wil change my minde.

Ba. I can not tell, you love to lye with Dulipo very well: this geare is Greeke to me: either it hangs not well togither, or I am very dull of understanding: speake plaine I pray you.

Po. I can speake no plainer, I have sworne to ye contrary.

Ba. Howe? make you so deintie to tell it Nourse, least she shoulde reveale it? you have trusted me as farre as may be, (I may shewe to you) in things that touche your honor if they were knowne: and make you strange to tell me this? I am sure it is but a trifle in comparison of those things wherof heretofore you have made me privie.

Po. Well, it is of greater importance than you thinke Nourse: yet would I tell it you under condition and promise that you shall not tell it agayne, nor give any signe or token to be suspected that you know it.


Ba. I promise you of my honestie, say on.

Po. Well heare you me then: this yong man whome you have alwayes taken for Dulipo, is a noble borne Sicilian, his right name Erostrato, sonne to Philogano, one of the worthiest men in that countrey.

Ba. How Erostrato? is it not our neighbour, whiche?

Po. Holde thy talking nourse, and harken to me, that I may explane the whole case unto thee. The man whome to this day you have supposed to be Dulipo, is (as I say) Erostrato, a gentleman that came from Sicilia to studie in this Citie, &
The first suppose & grownd of all the suposes.
even at his first arrivall met me in the street, fel enamored of me, & of suche vehement force were the passions he suffred, that immediatly he cast aside both long gowne and bookes, & determined on me only to apply his study. And to the end he might the more commodiously bothe see me and talke with me, he exchanged both name, habite, clothes and credite with his servant Dulipo (whom only he brought with him out of Sicilia) and so with the turning of a hand, of Erostrato a gentleman, he became Dulipo a serving man, and soone after sought service of my father, and obteyned it.

Ba. Are you sure of this?

Po. Yea out of doubt: on the other side Dulippo tooke uppon him the name of Erostrato his maister, the habite, the credite, bookes, and all things needefull to a studente, and in shorte space profited very muche, and is nowe esteemed as you see.

Ba. Are there no other Sicylians heere: nor none that passe this way, which may discover them?

Po. Very fewe that passe this way, and fewe or none that tarrie heere any time.

Ba. This hath been a straunge adventure: but I pray you howe hang these thinges togither? that the studente whome you say to be the servant, and not the maister, is become an earnest suter to you, and requireth you of your father in mariage?

Po. That is a pollicie devised betweene them, to put Doctor Dotipole out of conceite: the olde dotarde, he that so instantly dothe lye upon my father for me. But looke where he comes, as God helpe me it is he, out upon him, what a luskie yonker is this? yet I had rather be a Noonne a thousande times, than be combred with suche a Coystrell.


Ba. Daughter you have reason, but let us go in before he come any neerer.

Polynesta goeth in, and Balya stayeth a little whyle
after, speaking a worde or two to the doctor, and
then departeth.

Scena. 2.

CLEANDER, Doctor. PASIPHILO, Parasite. BALYA, Nourse.

WEre these dames heere, or did mine eyes dazil?

Pa. Nay syr heere were Polynesta and hir no[u]rse.

Cle. Was my Polynesta heere? alas I knewe hir not.

Ba. He muste have better eyesight that shoulde marry your Polynesta, or else he may chaunce to oversee the best poynt in his tables sometimes.

Pa. Syr it is no marvell, the ayre is very mistie too day: I my selfe knew hir better by hir apparell than by hir face.

Cle. In good fayth and I thanke God I have mine eye sighte good and perfit, little worse than when I was but twentie yeres olde.

Pa. How can it be otherwise? you are but yong.

Cle. I am fiftie yeres olde.

Pa. He telles ten lesse than he is.

Cle. What sayst thou of ten lesse?

Pa. I say I woulde have thoughte you tenne lesse, you looke like one of six and thirtie, or seven and thirtie at the moste.

Cle. I am no lesse than I tell.

Pa. You are like inough too live fiftie more: shewe me your hande.

Cle. Why is Pasiphilo a Chiromancer?

Pa. What is not Pasiphilo? I pray you shewe mee it a little.

Cle. Here it is.

Pa. O how straight and infracte is this line of life? you will live to the yeeres of Melchisedech.

Cle. Thou wouldest say, Methusalem.


Pa. Why is it not all one?

Cle. I perceive you are no very good Bibler Pasiphilo.

Pa. Yes sir an excellent good Bibbeler, specially in a bottle: Oh what a mounte of Venus here is? but this lighte serveth not very well, I will beholde it an other day, when the ayre is clearer, and tell you somewhat, peradventure to your contentation.

Cle. You shal do me great pleasure: but tell me, I pray thee Pasiphilo, whome doste thou thinke Polynesta liketh better, Erostrato or me?

Pa. Why? you out of doubt: She is a gentlewoman of a noble minde, and maketh greater accompte of the reputation she shall have in marrying your worship, than that poore scholer, whose birthe and parentage God knoweth, and very fewe else.

Cle. Yet he taketh it upon him bravely in this countrey.

Pa. Yea, where no man knoweth the contrarie: but let him brave it, bost his birth, and do what he can, the vertue and knowledge that is within this body of yours, is worth more than all the countrey he came from.

Cle. It becommeth not a man to praise him selfe: but in deede I may say, (and say truely,) that my knowledge hath stoode me in better steade at a pinche, than coulde all the goodes in the worlde. I came out of Otranto when the Turkes wonne it, and first I came to Padua, after hither, where by reading, counsailing, and pleading, within twentie yeares I have gathered and gayned as good as ten thousande Ducats.

Pa. Yea mary, this is the righte knowledge: Philosophie Poetrie, Logike, a[n]d all the rest, are but pickling sciences in comparison to this.

Cle. But pyckling in deede, whereof we have a verse:

The trade of Lawe doth fill the boystrous bagges,
They swimme in silke, when others royst in ragges.

Pa. O excellent verse, who made it? Virgil?

Cle. Virgil? tushe it is written in one of our gloses.

Pa. Sure who soever wrote it, the morall is excellent, and worthy to be written in letters of golde. But too the purpose I thinke you shall never recover the wealth that you loste at Otranto.

G. N


An other supose.
Cle. I thinke I have dubled it, or rather made it foure times as muche: but in deed,
I lost mine only sonne there, a childe of five yeres olde.

Pa. O great pitie.

Cle. Yea, I had rather have lost al the goods in ye world.

Pa. Alas, alas: by God and grafts of suche a stocke are very gayson in these dayes.

Cle. I know not whether he were slayne, or the Turks toke him and kept him as a bond slave.

Pa. Alas, I could weepe for compassion, but there is no remedy but patience, you shall get many by this yong damsell with the grace of God.

Cle. Yea, if I get hir.

Pa. Get her? why doubt you of that?

Cle. Why? hir father holds me off with delayes, so that I must needes doubt.

Pa. Content your selfe sir, he is a wise man, and desirous to place his Daughter well: he will not be too rashe in hys determination, he will thinke well of the matter: and lette him thinke, for the longer he thinketh, the more good of you shall he thinke: whose welth? whose vertue? whose skill? or whose estimation can he compare to yours in this Citie?

Cle. And hast thou not tolde him that I would make his Daughter a dower of two thousand Ducates?

Pa. Why, even now, I came but from thence since.

Cle. What said he?

Pa. Nothing, but that Erostrato had profered the like.

Cle. Erostrato? how can he make any dower, and his father yet alive?

Pa. Thinke you I did not tell him so? yes I warrant you, I forgot nothing that may furder your cause: & doubte you not, Erostrato shal never have hir unlesse it be in a dreame.

Cle. Well gentle Pasiphilo, go thy wayes and tell Damon I require nothing but his daughter: I wil none of his goods: I shal enrich hir of mine owne: & if this dower of two thousand Ducates seem not sufficient, I wil make it five hundreth more, yea a thousand, or what so ever he wil demaund rather then faile: go to Pasiphilo, shew thy selfe frendly in working this feate for me: spare for no cost, since I have gone thus farre, I wilbe loth to be out bidden. Go.


Pa. Where shall I come to you againe?

Cle. At my house.

Pa. When?

Cle. When thou wilte.

Pa. Shall I come at dinner time?

Cle. I would byd thee to dinner, but it is a Saincts even which I have ever fasted.

Pa. Faste till thou famishe.

Cle. Harke.

Pa. He speaketh of a dead mans faste.

Cle. Thou hearest me not.

Pa. Nor thou understandest me not.

Cle. I dare say thou art angrie I byd the not to dinner: but come if thou wilte, thou shalt take such as thou fndest.

Pa. What? think you I know not where to dine?

Cle. Yes Pasiphilo thou art not to seeke.

Pa. No be you sure, there are enowe will pray me.

Cle. That I knowe well enough Pasiphilo, but thou canst not be better welcome in any place than to me, I will tarrie for thee.

Pa. Well, since you will needes, I will come.

Cle. Dispatche then, and bring no newes but good.

Pa. Better than my rewarde by the rood.

Cleander exit, Pasiphilo restat.

Scena. iii.


O Miserable covetous wretche, he findeth an excuse by S. Nicolas fast, bicause I should not dine with him, as though I should dine at his owne dishe: he maketh goodly feasts I promise you, it is no wonder though hee thinke me bounde unto him for my fare: for over and besides that his provision is as skant as may be, yet there is great difference betweene his diet and mine. I never so much as sippe of the wine that he tasteth, I feede at the bordes ende with browne bread: Marie I reach always to his owne dishe, for there are no more but that only on the table. Yet he thinks that for

N 2


one such dinner I am bound to do him al the service that I can, and thinks me sufficiently rewarded for all my travell, with one suche festivall promotion. And yet peradventure some men thinke I have great gaines under him: but I may say and sweare, that this dosen yeere I have not gayned so muche in value as the points at my hose (whiche are but three with codpeece poynt and al): he thinkes that I may feede upon his favour and faire wordes: but if I could not otherwise provide for one, Pasiphilo were in a wyse case. Pasiphilo hath mo pastures to passe in than one, I warrant you: I am of housholde with this scholer Erostrato, (his rivale) as well as with Domine Cleander: nowe with the one, and then with the other, according as I see their Caters provide good cheere at the market: and I finde the meanes so to handle the matter, that I am welcome too bothe. If the one see me talke with the other, I make him beleeve it is to harken newes in the furtherance of his cause: and thus I become a broker on bothe sides. Well, lette them bothe apply the matter as well as they can, for in deede I will travell for none of them bothe: yet will I seeme to worke wonders on eche hande. But is not this one of Damons servants that commeth foorth? it is: of him I shall understand where his master is. Whither goeth this joyly gallant?

Du. I come to seeke some body that may accompany my Master at dinner, he is alone, and woulde fayne have good company.

Pa. Seeke no further, you coulde never have found one better than me.

Du. I have no commission to bring so many.

Pa. How many? I will come alone.

Du. How canst thou come alone, that hast continually a legion of ravening wolves within thee?

Pa. Thou doest (as servants commonly doe) hate al that love to visite their maisters.

Du. And why?

Pa. Bicause they have too many teeth as you thinke.

Du. Nay bicause they have to many tongues.

Pa. Tongues? I pray you what did my tongue ever hurt you?

Du. I speake but merily with you Pasiphilo, goe in, my maister is ready to dine.


Pa. What? dineth he so earely?

Du. He that riseth early, dineth early.

Pa. I would I were his man, maister doctor never dineth till noone, and how dilicately then God knoweth. I wil be bolde to goe in, for I count my selfe bidden.

Du. You were best so.

Pasiphilo intrat. Dul. restat.

Hard hap had I when I first began this unfortunate enterprise: for I supposed the readiest medicine to my miserable affects had bene to change name, clothes, & credite with my servant, & to place my selfe in Damons service: thinking that as shevering colde by glowing fire, thurst by drinke, hunger by pleasant repasts, and a thousande suche like passions finde remedie by their contraries, so my restlesse desire might have founde quiet by continuall contemplation. But alas, I find that only love is unsaciable: for as the flie playeth with the flame till at last she is cause of hir owne decay, so the lover that thinketh with kissing and colling to content his unbrideled apetite, is commonly seene the only cause of his owne consumption. Two yeeres are nowe past since (under the colour of Damons service) I have bene a sworne servant to Cupid: of whom I have received as much favour & grace as ever man founde in his service. I have free libertie at al times to behold my desired, to talke with hir, to embrace hir, yea (be it spoken in secrete) to lie with hir. I reape the fruites of my desire: yet as my joyes abounde, even so my paines encrease. I fare like the covetous man, that having all the world at will, is never yet content: the more I have, the more I desire. Alas what wretched estate have I brought my selfe unto, if in the ende of all my farre fetches, she be given by hir father to this olde doting doctor, this buzard, this bribing villaine, that by so many meanes seeketh to obtain hir at hir fathers hands? I know she loveth me best of all others, but what may that prevaile when perforce she shalbe constrained to marie another? Alas the pleasant test of my sugred joyes doth yet remaine so perfect in my remembrance, that the least soppe of sorow seemeth more soure than gal in my mouth. If I had never knowen delight, with better contentation might I have passed these dreadful dolours. And if this olde Mumpsimus (whom the pockes consume) should win hir, then may I say, farewell the pleasant talke, the kind embracings, yea farewel the sight of my Polynesta:


for he like a jelouse wretch will pen hir up, that I thinke the birdes of the aire shall not winne the sighte of hir. I hoped to have caste a blocke in his waie, by the meanes that my servaunt (who is supposed to be Erostrato, and with my habite and credite is wel esteemed) should proffer himself a suter, at the least to countervaile the doctors proffers. But my maister knowing the wealth of the one, and doubting the state of the other, is determined to be fed no longer with faire wordes, but to accept the doctor, (whom he right well knoweth) for his sonne in law. Wel, my servant promised me yesterday to devise yet againe some newe conspiracie to drive maister doctor out of conceite, and to laye a snare that the foxe himselfe might be caughte in: what it is, I knowe not, nor I saw him not since he went about it: I will goe see if he be within, that at least if he helpe me not, he maye yet prolong my life for this once. But here commeth his lackie: ho Jack pack, where is Erostrato?

Here must Crapine be comming in with a basket and a
sticke in his hand.

Scena. iiii.


ERostrato? mary he is in his skinne.

Du. Ah hooreson boy, I say, howe shall I finde Erostrato?

Cra. Finde him? howe meane you, by the weeke or by the yeere?

Du. You cracke halter, if I catche you by the eares, I shall make you answere me directly.

Cra. In deede?

Du. Tarry me a little.

Cra. In faith sir I have no leisure.

Du. Shall we trie who can runne fastest?

Cra. Your legges be longer than mine, you should have given me the advauntage.

Du. Go to, tell me where is Erostrato?


Cra. I left him in the streete, where he gave me this Casket, (this basket I would have sayde) and bad me beare it to Dalio, and returne to him at the Dukes Palace.

Du. If thou see him, tell him I must needes speake with him immediatly: or abide awhyle, I will go seeke him my selfe, rather than be suspected by going to his house.

Crapino departeth, and Dulipo also: after Dulipo
commeth in agayne seeking Erostrato.

Finis Actus I.

Actus. ii. Scena. i.


I Thinke if I had as many eyes as Argus, I coulde not have sought a man more narrowly in every streete and every by lane, there are not many Gentlemen, scholers, nor Marchauntes in the Citie of Ferara, but I have mette with them, excepte him: peradventure hee is come home an other way: but looke where he commeth at the last.

Ero. In good time have I spied my good maister.

Du. For the love of God call me Dulipo (not master,) maintayne the credite that thou haste hitherto kepte, and let me alone.

Ero. Yet sir let me sometimes do my duetie unto you, especially where no body heareth.

Du. Yea, but so long the Parat useth to crie knappe in sporte, that at the last she calleth hir maister knave in earnest: so long you will use to call me master, that at the last we shall be heard. What newes?

Ero. Good.

Du. In deede?

Ero. Yea excellent, we have as good as won the wager.

Du. Oh, how happie were I if this were true?

Ero. Heare you me, yesternight in the evening I walked out, and founde Pasiphilo, and with small entreating I had him home to supper, where by suche meanes as I used, he became my great friend, and tolde me the whole order of our adver-


saries determination: yea and what Damon doth intende to do also, and hath promised me that from time to time, what he can espie he will bring me word of it.

Du. I can not tel whether you know him or no, he is not to trust unto, a very flattering and a lying knave.

Ero. I know him very well, he can not deceive me: and this that he hath told me I know must needes be true.

Du. And what was it in effect?

Another supose.
Ero. That Damon had purposed to give his daughter in mariage to this doctor, upon
the dower that he hath profered.

Du. Are these your good newes? your excellent newes?

Ero. Stay a whyle, you will understande me before you heare me.

Du. Well, say on.

Ero. I answered to that, I was ready to make hir the lyke dower.

Du. Well sayde.

Ero. Abide, you heare not the worst yet.

Du. O God, is there any worsse behinde?

Ero. Worsse? why what assurance coulde you suppose that I might make without some speciall consent from Philogano my father?

Du. Nay you can tell, you are better scholer than I.

Ero. In deede you have lost your time: for the books that you tosse now a dayes, treate of smal science.

Du. Leave thy jesting, and proceede.

Ero. I sayd further, that I receyved letters lately from my father, whereby I understoode that he woulde be heere very shortly to performe all that I had profered: therefore I required him to request Damon on my behalf, that he would stay his promise to the doctor for a fourtnight or more.

Du. This is somewhat yet, for by this meanes I shal be sure to linger and live in hope one fourtnight longer: but, at the fourthnights ende when Philogano commeth not, how shall I then do? yea and though he came, howe may I any way hope of his consent, when he shall see, that to follow this amorous enterprise, I have set aside all studie, all remembraunce of my duetie, and all dread of shame. Alas, alas, I may go hang my selfe.

Ero. Comforte your selfe man, and trust in me: there is


a salve for every sore, and doubt you not, to this mischeefe we shall finde a remedie.

Du. O friend revive me, that hitherto since I first attempted this matter have bene continually dying.

Ero. Well harken a while then: this morning I tooke my horse and rode into the fieldes to solace my self, and as I passed the foorde beyonde S. Anthonies gate, I met at the foote of the hill a gentleman riding with two or three men: and as me thought by his habite and his lookes, he should be none of the wisest. He saluted me, and I him: I asked him from whence he came, and whither he would? he answered that he had come from Venice, then from Padua, nowe was going to Ferrara, and so to his countrey, whiche is Scienna: As soone as I knewe him to be a Scenese, sodenly lifting up mine eyes, (as it were with an admiration) I sayd unto him, are you a Scenese, and come to Farrara? why not, sayde he: quoth I, (halfe and more with a trembling voyce) know you the daunger that should ensue if you be knowne in Ferrara to be a Scenese? he more than halfe amased, desired me earnestly to tell him what I ment.

Du. I understande not wherto this tendeth.

Ero. I beleeve you: but harken to me.

Du. Go too then.

Ero. I answered him in this sorte: Gentleman, bycause I have heretofore founde very curteous entertaynement in your countrey, (beeing a student there,) I accompt my self as it were bounde to a Scenese: and therefore if I knewe of any mishappe towards any of that countrey, God forbid but I should disclose it: and I marvell that you knewe not of the injurie that your countreymen offered this other day to the Embassadours of Counte Hercules.

Du. What tales he telleth me: what appertayne these to me?

Ero. If you will harken a whyle, you shall finde them no tales, but that they appertayne to you more than you thinke for.

Du. Foorth.

Ero. I tolde him further, these Ambassadoures of Counte Hercules had dyvers Mules, Waggons, and Charettes, laden with divers costly jewels, gorgeous furniture, & other things


which they caried as presents, (passing that way) to the king of Naples: the which were not only stayd in Sciene by the officers whom you cal Customers, but serched, ransacked, tossed & turned, & in the end exacted for tribute, as if they had bene the goods of a meane marchaunt.

Du. Whither the divell wil he? is it possible that this geare appertaine any thing to my cause? I finde neither head nor foote in it.

Ero. O how impacient you are: I pray you stay a while.

Du. Go to yet a while then.

Ero. I proceeded, that upon these causes the Duke sent his Chauncelor to declare the case unto the Senate there, of whome he had the moste uncurteous answere that ever was heard: wherupon he was so enraged with all of that countrey, that for revenge he had sworne to spoyle as many of them as ever should come to Ferara, and to sende them home in their dublet and their hose.

Du. And I pray thee how couldest thou upon the sudden devise or imagine suche a lye? and to what purpose?

Ero. You shall heare by and by a thing as fitte for our purpose, as any could have happened.

Du. I would fayne heare you conclude.

Ero. You would fayne leape over the stile, before you come at the hedge: I woulde you had heard me, and seene the gestures that I enforced to make him beleeve this.

Du. I beleeve you, for I knowe you can counterfet well.

Ero. Further I sayde, the duke had charged upon great penalties, that the Inholders and vitlers shoulde bring worde dayly of as many Sceneses as came to their houses. The gentle man beeing (as I gessed at the first) a man of smal sapientia, when he heard these newes, would have turned his horse an other way.

Du. By likelyhoode he was not very wise when hee would beleeve that of his countrey, which if it had bene true every man must needes have knowen it.

Ero. Why not? when he had not beene in his countrey for a moneth paste, and I tolde him this had hapned within these seven dayes.

Du. Belike he was of small experience.

Ero. I thinke, of as litle as may be: but beste of all for


our purpose, and good adventure it was, that I mette with such an one. Now harken I pray you.

Du. Make an ende I pray thee.

Ero. He, as I say, when he hard these words, would have turned the bridle: and I fayning a countenance as though I were somewhat pensive and carefull for him, paused a while, & after with a great sighe saide to him: Gentleman, for the curtesie that (as I said) I have found in your countrey, & bicause your affaires shall be the better dispatched, I will finde the meanes to lodge you in my house, and you shal say to every man, that you are a Sicilian of Cathanea, your name Philogano, father to me that am in deede of that countrey and citie, called here Erostrato. And I (to pleasure you) will (during your abode here) do you reverence as you were my father.

Du. Out upon me, what a grosse headed foole am I? now I perceive whereto this tale tendeth.

Ero. Well, and how like you of it?

Du. Indifferently, but one thing I doubt.

Ero. What is that?

Du. Marie, that when he hath bene here twoo or three dayes, he shal heare of every man that there is no such thing betwene the Duke and the Towne of Sciene.

Ero. As for that let me alone, I doe entertaine and will entertaine him so well, that within these two or three daies I will disclose unto him all the whole matter, and doubte not but to bring him in for performance of as muche as I have promised to Damon: for what hurte can it be to him, when he shall binde a strange name and not his owne?

Du. What, thinke you he will be entreated to stande bounde for a dower of two thousand Ducates by the yeere?

Ero. Yea why not, (if it were ten thousande) as long as he is not in deede the man that is bound?

Du. Well, if it be so, what shall we be the neerer to our purpose?

Ero. Why? when we have done as muche as we can, how can we doe any more?

Du. And where have you left him?

Ero. At the Inne, bicause of his horses: he and his men shall lie in my house.


Du. Why brought you him not with you?

Ero. I thought better to use your advise first.

Du. Well, goe take him home, make him all the cheere you can, spare for no cost, I will alowe it.

Ero. Content, looke where he commeth.

Du. Is this he? goe meete him, by my trouthe he lookes even lyke a good soule, he that fisheth for him, mighte bee sure to catche a cods heade: I will rest here a while to discipher him.

Erostrato espieth the Scenese and goeth towards him: Dulipo standeth aside.

Scena. ii.


HE that travaileth in this worlde passeth by many perilles.
An other supose.

Pa. You saye true sir, if the boate had bene a little more laden this morning at the ferrie, wee had bene all drowned, for I thinke, there are none of us that could have swomme.

Sc. I speake not of that.

Pa. O you meane the foule waye that we had since wee came from this Padua, I promise you, I was afraide twice or thrice, that your mule would have lien fast in the mire.

Sc. Jesu, what a blockehead thou art, I speake of the perill we are in presently since we came into this citie.

Pa. A great peril I promise you, that we were no sooner arived, but you founde a frende that brought you from the Inne, and lodged you m his owne house.

A doltish supose.
Sc. Yea marie, God rewarde the gentle yong man that we mette, for else we had bene in a wise case by this time. But have done with these tales, and take you heede, & you also sirra, take heede that none of you saie we be Sceneses, and remember that you call me Philogano of Cathanea.

Pa. Sure I shal never remember these outlandish words, I could well remember Haccanea.


Sc. I say, Cathanea, and not Haccanea, with a vengeance.

Pa. Let another name it then when neede is, for I shall never remember it.

Sc. Then horde thy peace, and take heede thou name not Scene.

Pa. Howe say you, if I faine my selfe dum as I did once in the house of Crisobolus?

Sc. Doe as thou thinkest best: but looke where commeth the gentleman whom we are so much bounde unto.

Ero. Welcome, my deare father Philogano.

Sc. Gramercie my good sonne Erostrato.

Ero. That is well saide, be mindefull of your toung, for these Ferareses be as craftie as the Devill of hell.

Sc. No, no, be you sure we will doe as you have bidden us.

Ero. For if you should name Scene they would spoile you immediatly, and turne you out of the towne, with more shame, than I woulde shoulde befall you for a thousande Crownes.

Sc. I warant you, I was giving them warning as I came to you, and I doubt not but they will take good heede.

Ero. Yea and trust not the servauntes of my housholde to far, for they are Ferareses all, and never knew my father, nor came never in Sicilia: this is my house, will it please you to goe in? I will follow.

They goe in.
Dulipo tarieth and espieth the Doctor comming in with his man.

Scena. iii.

DULIPO alone.

THis geare hath had no evill beginning, if it continue so and fall to happie ende. But is not this the silly Doctor with the side bonet, the doting foole, that dare presume to become a suter to such a peerlesse Paragone? O how covetousnesse doth blind the common sort of men. Damon more desirous of the dower, than mindfull of his gentle & gallant daughter, hath determined to make him his Sonne in law,


who for his age may be his father in law: and hath greater respect to the abundance of goods, than to his owne naturall childe. He beareth well in minde to fill his owne purse, but he litle remembreth that his daughters purse shalbe continually emptie, unlesse Maister Doctour fill it with double ducke egges. Alas: I jest and have no joy, I will stand here aside and laugh a litle at this lobcocke.

Dulippo espieth the Doctor and his man comming.

Scena. iiii.

CARION the doctors man. CLEANDER. DULIPO.

MAister, what the Divel meane you to goe seeke guestes at this time of the day? the Maiors officers have dined ere this time, which are alway the last in the market.

Cle. I come to seeke Pasiphilo, to the ende he may dine with meet

Ca. As though sixe mouthes and the cat for the seventh, bee not sufficient to eate an harlotrie shotterell, a pennieworth of cheese, and halfe a score spurlings: this is all the dainties you have dressed for you and your familie.

Cle. Ah greedie gut, art thou afearde thou shalt want?

Ca. I am afearde in deede, it is not the first time I have founde it so.

Du. Shall I make some sporte with this gallant? what shall I say to him?

Cle. Thou arte afearde belike that he will eate thee and the rest.

Ca. Nay, rather that he will eate your mule, both heare and hyde.

Cle. Heare and hyde? and why not flesh and all?

Ca. Bicause she hath none. If she had any flesh, I thinke you had eaten hir your selfe by this time.

Cle. She may thanke you then, for your good attendace.

Ca. Nay she may thanke you for your small allowance.

Du. In faith now let me alone.

Cle. Holde thy peace drunken knave, and espie me Pasiphilo.


Since I can doe no better, I will set such a staunce betweene him and Pasiphilo, that all this towne shall not make them friendes.

Ca. Could you not have sent to seeke him, but you must come your selfe? surely you come for some other purpose, for if you would have had Pasiphilo to dinner, I warant you he would have taried here an houre since.
An other supose.

Cle. Holde thy peace, here is one of Damons servaunts, of him I shall understand where he is: good fellow art not thou one of Damons servaunts?

Du. Yes sir, at your knamandement.

Cle. Gramercie, tell me then, hath Pasiphilo bene there this day or no?

Du. Yes sir, and I thinke he be there still, ah, ah, ah.

Cle. What laughest thou?

Du. At a thing, that every man may not laugh at.

Du. Talke, that Pasiphilo had with my master this day.

Cle. What talke I pray thee?

Du. I may not tell it.

Cle. Doth it concerne me?

Du. Nay I will say nothing.

Cle. Tell me.

Du. I can say no more.

Cle. I woulde but knowe if it concerne mee, I pray thee tell mee.

Du. I would tell you, if I were sure you would not tell it againe.

Cle. Beleve me I will kepe it close: Carion give us leave a litle, goe aside.

Du. If my maister shoulde know that it came by me, I were better die a thousand deaths.

Cle. He shall never know it, say on.

Du. Yea, but what assurance shall I have?

Cle. I lay thee my faith and honestie in paune.

Du. A pretie paune, the fulkers will not lend you a farthing on it.

Cle. Yea, but amongst honest men it is more worth than golde.

Du. Yea marie sir, but where be they? but will you needes have me tell it unto you?


Cle. Yea I pray thee if it any thing appertaine to me.

Du. Yes it is of you, and I would gladly tell it you, bicause I would not have suche a man of worship so scorned by a villaine ribaulde.

Cle. I pray thee tell me then.

Du. I will tell you so that you will sweare never to tell it to Pasiphilo, to my maister, nor to any other bodie.

Ca. Surely it is some toye devised to get some money of him.

Cle. I thinke I have a booke here.

Ca. If he knew him as well as I, he woulde never goe aboute it, for he may as soone get one of his teeth from his jawes with a paire of pinchers, as a pennie out of his purse with such a conceite.

Cle. Here is a letter wil serve the turne: I sweare to thee by the contents hereof never to disclose it to any man.

Du. I will tell you, I am sorie to see how Pasiphilo doth abuse you, perswading you that alwayes he laboureth for you, where in deede, he lieth on my maister continually, as it were with tooth and naile for a straunger, a scholer, borne in Sicilia they call him Roscus or arskisse, he hathe a madde name I can never hit upon it.

Cle. And thou recknest it as madly: is it not Erostrato?

Du. That same I should never have remembred it: and the villany speaketh al the evill of you that can be devised.

Cle. To whom?

Du. To my maister, yea and to Polynesta hirselfe sometimes.

Cle. Is it possible, Ah slave, and what saith he?

Du. More evill than I can imagine: that you are the miserablest and most nigardly man that ever was.

Cle. Sayeth Pasiphilo so by me?

Du. And that as often as he commeth to your house, he is like to die for hunger, you fare so well.

Cle. That the Devill take him else.

Du. And that you are the testiest man, & moste divers to please in the whole worlde, so that he cannot please you unlesse he should even kill himselfe with continuall paine.

Cle. O devilish tong.

Du. Furthermore, that you cough continually and spit, so that a dogge cannot abide it.


I never spitte nor coughe more than thus, vho, vho, and that but since I caughte this murre, but who is free from it?

Du. You saye true sir, yet further he sayth, your arme holes stincke, your feete worse than they, and your breathe worst of all.

Cle. If I quite him not for this geare.

Du. And that you are bursten in the cods.

Cle. O villaine, he lieth, and if I were not in the streete thou shouldest see them.

Du. And he saith, that you desire this yong gentlewoman, as much for other mens pleasure as for your owne.

Cle. What meaneth he by that?

Du. Peradventure that by hir beautie, you woulde entice many yong men to your house.

Cle. Yong men? to what purpose?

Du. Nay, gesse you that.

Cle. Is it possible that Pasiphilo speaketh thus of me?

Du. Yea, and much more.

Cle. And doth Damon beleeve him?

Du. Yea, more than you would thinke: in such sort, that long ere this, he woulde have given you a flat repulse, but Pasiphilo intreated him to continue you a suter for his advantage.

Cle. How for his advantage?

Du. Marie, that during your sute he might still have some rewarde for his great paines.

Cle. He shall have a rope, and yet that is more than he deserveth: I had thought to have given him these hose when I had worne them a litle nearer, but he shall have a. &c.

Du. In good faith sir, they were but loste on him. Will you any thing else with me sir?

Cle. Nay, I have heard to much of thee already.

Du. Then I will take my leave of you.

Cle. Farewell, but tell me, may I not know thy name?

Du. Sir, they call me Foule fall you.

Cle. An ill favored name by my trouthe: arte thou this countrey man?

Du. No sir, I was borne by a castle men cal Scabbe catch you: fare you well sir.

G. 0


Cle. Farewel. O God how have I bene abused? what a spokesman? what a messanger had I provided?

Car. Why sir, will you tarie for Pasiphilo till we die for hunger?

Cle. Trouble me not, that the Devill take you both.

Car. These newes what so ever they be, like him not.

Cle. Art thou so hungrie yet? I pray to God thou be never satisfied.

Car. By the masse no more I shal as long as I am your servaunt.

Cle. Goe with mischaunce.

Car. Yea, and a mischiefe to you, and to al such covetous wretches.

Finis Actus. 2.

Actus. iii. Scena. i.

DALIO the cooke. CRAPINE the lackie. EROSTRATO, DULIPO.

BY that time we come to the house, I truste that of these xx. egges in the basket we shall find but very few whole. But it is a folly to talke to him. What the devill, wilt thou never lay that sticke out of thy hande? he fighteth with the dogges, beateth the beares, at every thing in the streate he findeth occasion to tarie: if he spie a slipstring by the waye such another as himself, a Page, a Lackie or a dwarfe, the devill of hell cannot horde him in chaynes, but he will be doing with him: I cannot goe two steppes, but I muste looke backe for my yonker: goe to halter sicke, if you breake one egge I may chance breake, &c.

Cra. What will you breake? your nose in mine &c?

Da. Ah beast.

Cra. If I be a beast, yet I am no horned beast.

Da. Is it even so? is the winde in that doore? If I were unloden I would tel you whether I be a horned beast or no.

Cra. You are alway laden either with wine or with ale.

Dal. Ah spitefull boy, shall I suffer him?


Cra. Ah cowardely beast, darest thou strike and say never a woorde?

Dal. Well, my maister shall know of this geere, either he shall redresse it, or he shall lose one of us.

Erostra & Du. ex improviso.
Cra. Tel him the worst thou canst by me.

Ero. What noise, what a rule is this?

Cra. Marie sir, he striketh mee bicause I tell him of his swearing.

Dal. The villaine lieth deadly, he reviles me bicause I bid him make hast.

Ero. Holla: no more of this. Dalio, doe you make in a readinesse those Pigeons, stock Doves, and also the breast of Veale: and let your vessell be as cleare as glasse against I returne, that I may tell you which I will have roasted, & which boyled. Crapine, lay downe that basket and followe me. Oh that I coulde tell where to finde Pasiphilo, but looke where he commeth that can tell me of him.

Dulipo is espied by Erostrato.
Dul. What have you done with Philogano your father?

Ero. I have left him within, I would faine speake with Pasiphilo, can you tell me where he is?

Du. He dined this day with my maister, but whether he went from thence I know not, what would you with him?

Ero. I woulde have him goe tell Damon that Philogano my father is come and ready to make assurance of as much as he wil require. Now shall I teach maister doctor a schole point, he travaileth to none other end but to catche Cornua and he shall have them, for as old as he is, and as many subtilties as he hath learned in the law, he can not goe beyond me one ace.

Du. O deere friend, goe thy wayes seeke Pasiphilo, finde him out, and conclude somewhat to our contentation.

Ero. But where shall I finde him?

Du. At the feasts if there be any, or else in the market with the poulters or the fishmongers.

Ero. What should he doe with them?

Du. Mary he watcheth whose Caters bie the best meat. If any bie a fat Capon, a good breast of Veale, fresh Samon or any suche good dishe, he followeth to the house, and either with some newes, or some stale jest he will be sure to make himselfe a geast.

O 2


Ero. In faith, and I will seeke there for him.

Du. Then muste you needes finde him, and when you have done I will make you laughe.

Ero. Whereat?

Du. At certaine sport I made to day with master doctor.

Ero. And why not now?

Du. No it asketh further leysure, I pray thee dispatche, and finde out Pasiphilo that honest man.

Dulipo tarieth. Erostrato goeth out.

Scena. ii.

DULIPO alone.

THis amorous cause that hangeth in controversie betwene Domine doctor & me, may be compared to them that play at primero: of whom some one peradventure shal leese a great sum of money before he win one stake, & at last halfe in anger shal set up his rest: win it: & after that another, another, & another, till at last he draw the most part of the money to his heape: ye other by litle & litle stil diminishing his rest, til at last he be come as neere the brinke, as earst ye other was: yet again peradventure fortune smiling on him, he shal as it were by peece meale, pull out the guts of his fellows bags, & bring him barer than he himselfe was tofore, & so in play continue stir, (fortune favoring now this way, now yt way) til at last the one of them is left with as many crosses as God hath brethren. O howe often have I thoughte my selfe sure of the upper hande herein? but I triumphed before the victorie. And then how ofte againe have I thoughte the fielde loste? Thus have I beene tossed nowe over, nowe under, even as fortune list to whirle the wheele, neither sure to winne nor certayne to loose the wager. And this practise that nowe my servaunte hath devised, although hitherto it hath not succeeded amisse, yet can I not count my selfe assured of it : for I feare still that one mischance or other wyll come and turne it topsie turvie. But looke where my mayster commeth.

Damon comming in, espieth Dulipo and calleth him.


Scena. iii.

DAMON. DULIPO. NEVOLA, and two mo servants.


Du. Here sir.

Da. Go in and bid Nevola and his fellowes come hither that I may tell them what they shall goe about, and go you into my studie: there upon the shelfe you shall find a roule of writings which John of the Deane made to my Father, when he solde him the Grange ferme, endorced with bothe their names: bring it hither to me.

Du. It shall be done sir.

Da. Go, I wil prepare other maner of writings for you the you are aware of. O fooles that trust any man but themselves now adaies: oh spiteful fortune, thou doest me wrong I thinke,
The servants come in.
that from the depth of Hell pitte thou haste sente mee this servaunt to be the subversion of me and all mine. Come hither sirs, and heare what I shal say unto you: go into my studie, where you shall finde Dulipo, step to him all at once, take him and (with a corde that I have laide on the table for the nonce) bind him hande and foote, carte him into the dungeon under the stayres, make faste the dore & bring me the key, it hangeth by upon a pin on the wall. Dispatche and doe this geare as privily as you can: and thou Nevola come hither to me againe with speede.

Ne. Well I shall.

Da. Alas how shall I be revenged of this extreme despite? if I punishe my servant according to his divelishe deserts; I shall heape further cares upon mine owne head: for to suche detestable offences no punishment can seeme sufficient, but onely death, and in such cases it is not lawful for a man to be his owne carver. The lawes are ordeyned, and officers appoynted to minister justice for the redresse of wrongs: and if to the potestates I complayne me, I shall publishe mine owne reproche to the worlde. Yea, what should it prevayle me to use all the puinishments that can be devised? the thing once done can not be undone. My


daughter is defloured, and I utterly dishonested: how can I then wype that blot off my browe? and on whome shall I seeke revenge? Alas, alas I my selfe have bene the cause of all these cares, and have deserved to beare the punishment of all these mishappes. Alas, I should not have committed my dearest darling in custodie to so carelesse a creature as this olde Nurse: for we see by common proofe, that these olde women be either peevishe, or pitifull: either easily enclined to evill, or quickly corrupted with bribes and rewards. O wife, my good wife (that nowe lyest colde in the grave) now may I well bewayle the wante of thee, and mourning nowe may I bemone that I misse thee: if thou hadst lived (suche was thy governement of the least things) that thou wouldest prudently have provided for the preservation of this pearle. A costly jewell may I well accompte hir, that hath been my cheefe comforte in youth, and is nowe become the corosive of mine age. O Polynesta, full evill hast thou requited the clemencie of thy carefull father: and yet to excuse thee giltlesse before God, and to condemne thee giltie before the worlde, I can count none other but my wretched selfe the caytife and causer of all my cares. For of al the dueties that are requisite in humane lyfe, onely obedience is by the parents to be required of the childe: where on ye other side the parents are bound, first to beget them, then to bring them foorth, after to nourish them, to preserve them from bodily perils in the cradle, from daunger of soule by godly education, to matche them in consort enclined to vertue, too banish them all ydle and wanton companie, to allow them sufficiente for their sustentation, to cut off excesse the open gate of sinne, seldome or never to smile on them unlesse it be to their encouragement in vertue, and finally, to provide them mariages in time convenient, lest (neglected of us) they learne to sette either to much or to litle by themselves. Five yeares are past since I might have maried hir, when by continuall excuses I have prolonged it to my owne perdition. Alas, I shoulde have considered, she is a collop of my owne flesh: what shold I think to make hir a princesse? Alas alas, a poore kingdome have I now caught to endowe hir with: It is too true, that of all sorowes this is the head source and chiefe fountaine of all furies; the goods of the world are in-


certain, the gaines to be rejoyced at, and the losse not greatly to be lamented: only the children cast away, cutteth the parents throate with the knife of inward care, which knife will kill me surely, I make none other accompte.

Damons servants come to him againe.

Scena. iiii.


SIr, we have done as you badde us, and here is the key.

Da. Well, go then Nevola and seeke master Casteling the jayler, he dwelleth by S. Antonies gate, desire him too lend me a paire of the fetters he useth for his prisoners, and come againe quickly.

Ne. Well sir.

Da. Heare you, if he aske what I would do with them, say you can not tell, and tell neither him nor any other, what is become of Dulipo.

Damon goeth out.

[Ne.] I warant you sir. Fye upon the Devill, it is a thing almost unpossible for a man nowe
An other suppose.
a dayes to handle money, but the mettal will sticke on his fingers: I marvelled alway at this fellowe of mine Dulipo, that of the wages he received, he could maintaine himselfe so bravely apparelled, but nowe I perceive the cause, he had the disbursing and receit of all my masters affaires, the keys of the granair, Dulippo here, Dulippo there, [in] favoure with my maister, in favoure with his daughter, what woulde you more, he was Magister factotum: he was as fine as the Crusadoe, and wee silly wretches as course as canvas: wel, behold what it is come to in the ende, he had bin better to have done lesse.
Pasi. subitò & improviso venit.

Pa. Thou saist true Nevola, he hath done to much in deed.

Ne. From whence commest thou in the devils name?

Pa. Out of the same house thou camest from, but not out of the same dore.

Ne. We had thought thou hadst bene gone long since.

Pa. When I arose from the table, I felte a rumbling in my belly, whiche made me runne to the stable, and there I fell


on sleepe uppon the strawe, and have line there ever since: And thou whether goest thou?

Ne. My master hath sent me on an errand in great hast.

Pa. Whether I pray thee?

Ne. Nay I may not tell: Farewell.

Pa. As though I neede any further instructions: O God what newes I heard even now, as I
An other suppose.
lay in the stable: O good Erostrato and pore Cleander, that have so earnestly stroven for this damsel, happie is he that can get hir I promise you, he shall be sure of mo than one at a clap that catcheth hir, eyther Adam or Eve within hir belie. Oh God, how men may be deceived in a woman? who wold have beleeved the contrary but that she had bin a virgin? aske the neighbours and you shall heare very good report of hir: marke hir behaviors & you would have judged hir very maydenly: seldome seene abroade but in place of prayer, and there very devout, and no gaser at outwarde sightes, no blaser of hir beautie above in the windowes, no stale at the dore for the bypassers: you would have thought hir a holy yong woman. But muche good doe it Domine Doctor, hee shall be sure to lacke no CORNE in a deare yere, whatsoever he have with hir else: I beshrewe me if I let the mariage any way. But is not this the old scabbed queane that I heard disclosing all this geere to hir master, as I stoode in the stable ere nowe? it is shee. Whither goeth Psiteria?

Pasiphilo espieth Psiteria comming.

Scena. v.


TO a Gossip of myne heereby.

Pa. What? to tattle of the goodly stirre that thou keptst concerning Polynesta.

Ps. No no: but how knew you of that geere?

Pa. You tolde me.

Ps. I? when did I tell you?

Pa. Even now when you tolde it to Damon, I both sawe you and heard you, though you saw not me: a good parte I


promise you, to accuse the poore wenche, kill the olde man with care, over and besides the daunger you have brought Dulipo and the Nursse unto, and many moe, fie, fie.

Ps. In deed I was to blame, but not so much as you think.

Pa. And how not so muche? did I not heare you tell?

Ps. Yes, But I will tell you how it came to passe: I have knowen for a great while, that this Dulipo and Polynesta have lyen togither, and all by the meanes of the nurse: yet I held my peace, and never tolde it. Now this other day the Nursse fell on scolding with me, and twyce or thryce called me drunken olde whore, and suche names that it was too badde: and I called hir baude, and tolde hir that I knew well enoughe howe often she had brought Dulipo to Polynestas bed: yet all this while I thought not that anye body had heard me, but it befell cleane contrarye: for my maister was on the other side of the wall, and heard all our talke, whereupon he sent for me, and forced me to confesse all that you heard.

Pas. And why wouldest thou tell him? I woulde not for. &c.

Ps. Well, if I had thought my maister would have taken it so, he should rather have killed me.

Pas. Why? how could he take it?

Ps. Alas, it pitieth me to see the poore yong woman how she weepes, wailes, and teares hir heare: not esteming hir owne life halfe so deare as she doth poore Dulipos: and hir father, he weepes on the other side, that it would pearce an hart of stone with pitie: but I must be gone.

Pas. Go that the gunne pouder consume thee olde trotte.

Finis Actus. 3.

Actus. iiii. Scena. i.


WHat shall I doe? Alas what remedie shall I finde for my ruefull estate? what escape, or what excuse may I now devise to shifte over our subtile supposes? for though


to this day I have usurped the name of my maister, and that without checke or controll of any man, now shal I be openly discyphred, and that in the sight of every man: now shal it openly be knowen, whether I be Erostrato the gentleman, or Dulipo the servaunt. We have hitherto played our parts in abusing others: but nowe commeth the man that wil not be abused, the right Philogano the right father of the right Erostrato: going to seke Pasiphilo, and hearing that he was at the water gate, beholde I espied my fellowe Litio, and by and by my olde maister Philogano setting forth his first step on land: I to fuge and away hither as fast as I could to bring word to the right Erostrato, of his right father Philogano, that to so sodaine a mishap some subtile shift might be upon the sodaine devised. But what can be imagined to serve the turne, although we had [a] monethes respite to beate oure braines about it, since we are commonly knowen, at the least supposed in this towne, he for Dulipo, a slave & servant to Damon, & I for Erostrato a gentleman & a student? But beholde, runne Crapine to yonder olde woman before she get within the doores, & desire hir to call out Dulipo: but heare you? if she aske who would speake with him, saye thy selfe and none other.

Erostrato espieth Psiteria comming, and sendeth his lackey to hir.

Scena. ii.


HOnest woman, you gossip, thou rotten whore, hearest thou not olde witche?

Ps. A rope stretche your yong bones, either you muste live to be as old as I, or be hanged while you are yong.

Cra. I pray thee loke if Dulipo be within.

Ps. Yes that he is I warrant him.

Cra. Desire him then to come hither and speake a word with me, he shall not tarie.

Ps. Content your selfe, he is otherwise occupied.

Cra. Yet tell him so gentle girle.


I tell you he is busie.

Cra. Why is it such a matter to tell him so, thou crooked Crone?

Ps. A rope stretche you marie.

Cra. A pockes eate you marie.

Ps. Thou wilt be hanged I warant thee, if thou live to it.

Cra. And thou wilt be burnt I warant thee, if the canker consume thee not.

Ps. If I come neere you hempstring, I will teache you to sing sol fa.

Cra. Come on, and if I get a stone I will scare crowes with you.

Ps. Goe with a mischiefe, I thinke thou be some devill that woulde tempte me.

Ero. Crapine: heare you? come away, let hir goe with a vengeance, why come you not? Alas loke where my maister Philogano commeth: what shall I doe? where shall I hide me? he shall not see me in these clothes, nor before I have spoken with the right Erostrato.

Erostrato espyeth Phylogano co[mm]ing, and runneth about to hide him.

Scena. iii.

PHILOGANO. FERRARESE the Inne keper. LITIO a servant.

HOnest man it is even so: be you sure there is no love to be compared like the love of the parents towards their children. It is not long since I thought that a very waightie matter shoulde not have made me come out of Sicilia, and yet now I have taken this tedious toyle and travaile upon me, only to see my sonne, and to have him home with me.

Fer. By my faith sir, it hath ben a great travaile in dede, and to much for one of your age.

Phi. Yea be you sure: I came in companie with certaine gentlemen of my countrey, who had affaires to dispatche as far as to An[c]ona, from thence by water too Ravenna, and from Ravenna hither, continually against the tide.


Fer. Yea & I think yt you had but homly lodging by ye way.

Phi. The worst yt ever man had: but that was nothing to the stirre that ye serchers kept with me when I came aborde ye ship: Jesus how often they untrussed my male, & ransaked a litle capcase that I had, tossed & turned al that was within it, serched my bosome, yea my breeches, yt I assure you I thought they would have flayed me to searche betwene the fell and the fleshe for fardings.

Fer. Sure I have heard no lesse, and that the merchants bobbe them somtimes, but they play the knaves still.

Phi. Yea be you well assured, suche an office is the inheritance of a knave, and an honest man will not meddle with it.

Fer. Wel, this passage shal seme pleasant unto you when you shall finde your childe in health and well: but I praye you sir why did you not rather send for him into Sicilia, than to come your selfe, specially since you had none other businesse? peradventure you had rather endanger your selfe by this noysome journey, than hazard to drawe him from his studie.

Phi. Nay, that was not the matter, for I had rather have him give over his studie altogither and come home.

Fer. Why? if you minded not to make him learned, to what ende did you send him hither at the first?

Phi. I will tell you: when he was at home he did as most yong men doe, he played many mad prankes and did many things that liked me not very well: and I thinking, that by that time he had sene the worlde, he would learne to know himselfe better, exhorted him to studie, and put in his election what place he would go to. At the last he came hither, and I thinke he was scarce here so sone as I felt the want of him, in suche sorte, as from that day to this I have passed fewe nightes without teares. I have written to him very often that he shoulde come home, but contillually he refused stil, beseching me to continue his studie, wherein he doubted not (as he said) but to profite greatly.

Fer. In dede he is very much commended of al men, and specially of the best reputed studentes.

Phi. I am glad he hath not lost his time, but I care not


greatly for so muche knowledge. I would not be without the sighte of hym againe so long, for all the learning in the worlde. I am olde nowe, and if God shoulde call mee in his absence, I promise you I thinke it woulde drive me into disperation.

Fer. It is commendable in a man to love his children, but to be so tender over them is more womanlike?

Phi. Well, I confesse it is my faulte: and yet I will tell you another cause of my comming hither, more waightie than this. Divers of my countrey have bene here since hee came hither, by whome I have sente unto him, and some of the have bene thrice, some foure or five times at his house, and yet could never speake with him. I feare he applies his studie so, that he will not leese the minute of an houre from his booke. What, alas, he might yet talke with his countrymen for a while: he is a yong man, tenderly brought up, and if he fare thus continually night & day at his booke, it may be enough to drive him into a frenesie.

Fer. In dede, enough were as good as a feast. Loe you sir here is your sonne Erostratoes house, I will knocke.

Phi. Yea, I pray you knocke.

Fer. They heare not.

Phi. Knocke againe.

Fer. I thinke they be on slepe.

Ly. If this gate were your Grandefathers soule, you coulde not knocke more softly, let me come: ho, ho, is there any body within?

Dalio commeth to the wyndowe, and there maketh them answere.

Scena. iiii.

DALIO the cooke. FERARESE the inholder. PHILOGANO. LITI0 his man.

WHat devill of hell is there? I thinke hee will breake the gates in peeces.

Li. Marie sir, we had thoughte you had beene on sleepe within, and therefore we thought best to wake you: what doth Erostrato?


Da. He is not within.

Phi. Open the dore good fellow I pray thee.

Da. If you thinke to lodge here, you are deceived I tell you, for here are guestes enowe already.

Phi. A good fellow, and much for thy maister honesty by our Ladie: and what guestes I pray thee?

Another suppose.
Da. Here is Philogano my maisters father, lately come out of Sicilia.

Phi. Thou speakest truer than thou arte aware of, he will be, by that time thou hast opened the dore: open I pray thee hartily.

Da. It is a small matter for me to open the dore, but here is no lodging for you, I tell you plaine, the house is full.

Phi. Of whome?

Da. I tolde you: here is Philogano my maisters father come from Cathanea.

Phi. And when came he?

Da. He came three houres since, or more, he alighted at the Aungell, and left his horses there: afterwarde my maister brought him hither.

Phi. Good fellow, I thinke thou hast good sport to mocke mee.

Da. Nay, I thinke you have good spor[te] to make me tary here, as though I have nothing else to doe: I am matched with an unrulye mate in the kitchin. I will goe looke to him another while.

Phi. I thinke he be drunken.

Fer. Sure he semes so: see you not how redde he is about the gilles?

Phi. Abide fellow, what Philogano is it whome thou talkest of?

Da. An honest gentleman, father to Erostrato my maister.

Phi. And where is he?

Da. Here within.

Phi. May we see him?

Da. I thinke you may if you be not blind.

Phi. Go to, go tel him here is one wold speake with him.

Da. Mary that I will willingly doe.

Phi. I can not tell what I shoulde say to this geere, Litio, what thinkest thou of it?


Another suppose.
Li. I cannot tell you what I shoulde say sir, the worlde is large and long, there maye be moe Philoganos and moe Erostratos than one, yea and moe Ferraras, moe Sicilias, and moe Cathaneas: peradventure this is not that Ferrara whiche you sent your sonne unto.

Phi. Peradventure thou arte a foole, and he was another that answered us even now. But be you sure honest man, that you mistake not the house?

Fer. Nay, then god helpe, thinke you I knowe not Erostratos house? yes, and himselfe also: I sawe him here no longer since the yesterday. But here commes one that wil tell us tydings of him, I like his countenaunce better than the others that answered at the windowe erewhile.

Dalio draweth his hed in at the wyndowe, the Scenese commeth out.

Scena. v.


WOuld you speake with me sir?

Phi. Yea sir, I would faine knowe whence you are.

Sce. Sir I am a Sicilian, at your commaundement.

Phi. What part of Sicilia?

Sce. Of Cathanea.

Phi. What shall I call your name?

Sce. My name is Philogano.

Phi. What trade doe you occupie?

Sce. Marchandise.

Phi. What merchandise brought you hither?

Sce. None, I came onely to see a sonne that I have here whom I sawe not these two yeares.

Phi. What call they your sonne?

Sce. Erostrato.

Phi. Is Erostrato your sonne?

Sce. Yea verily.

Phi. And are you Philogano?

Sce. The same.


Phi. And a merchant of Cathanea?

Sce. What neede I tell you so often? I will not tell you a lye.

Phi. Yes, you have told me a false lie, and thou arte a vilaine and no better.

Sce. Sir, you offer me great wrong with these injurious wordes.

Phi. Nay, I will doe more than I have yet proffered to doe, for I will prove thee a lyer, and a knave to take upon thee that thou art not.

A stoute suppose.
Sce. Sir I am Philogano of Cathanea, out of all doubte, if I were not I would be loth to tell you so.

Phi. Oh, see the boldnesse of this brute beast, what a brasen face he setteth on it?

Sce. Well, you may beleve me if you liste: what wonder you?

Phi. I wonder at thy impudencie, for thou, nor nature that framed thee, can ever counterfaite thee to be me, ribauld villaine, and lying wretch that thou arte.

A pleasant suppose.
Da. Shall I suffer a knave to abuse my maisters father suppose thus? hence villaine, hence, or I will sheath this good fawchion in your paunch: if my maister Erostrato find you prating here on this fashion to his father, I wold not be in your coate for mo conney skins than I gat these twelve monethes: come you in againe sir, and let this Curre barke here till he burst.

Dalio pulleth the Scenese in at the dores.

Scena. vi.


LItio, how likest thou this geere?

Li. Sir, I like it as evill as may be: but have you not often heard tell of the falsehood of Ferara, and now may you see, it falleth out accordingly.

Fer. Friend, you do not well to slaunder the Citie, these men are no Ferrareses you may know by their tong.

Li. Well, there is never a barrell better herring, beetwene


you both: but in deed your officers are most to blame, that suffer such faultes to escape unpunished.

Fer. What knowe the officers of this? thinke you they know of every fault?

Li. Nay, I thinke they will knowe as little as may bee, specially when they have no gaines, by it, but they ought to have their eares as open to heare of such offences, as the Ingates be to receive guests.

Phi. Holde thy peace foole.

Li. By the masse I am afearde that we shall be proved fooles both two.

Phi. Well, what shall we doe?

Li. I would thinke best we should go seeke Erostrato him selfe.

Fer. I will waite upon you willingly, and either at the schooles, or at the convocations, we shall find him.

Phi. By our Lady I am wery, I will run no longer about to seke him, I am sure hither he will come at the last.

A true suppose.
Li. Sure, my mind gives me that we shall find a new Erostrato ere it be long.

Fe. Looke where he is, whether runnes he? stay you awhile, I will goe tell him that you are here: Erostrato, Erostra[t]o, ho Erostrato, I would speake with you.

Erostrato is espied uppon the stage running about.

Scena. vii.


NOwe can I hide me no longer. Alas what shall I doe? I will set a good face on, to beare out the matter.

Fera. O Erostrato, Philogano your father is come out of Sicilia.

Ero. Tell me that I knowe not, I have bene with him and seene him alredy.

Fera. Is it possible? and it seemeth by him that you know not of his comming.

G. P


Ero. Why, have you spoken with him? when saw you him I pray you?

Fera. Loke you where he standes, why go you not too him? Looke you Philogano, beholde your deare son Erostrato.

Phi. Erostrato? this is not Erostrato: thys seemeth rather to be Dulipo, and it is Dulipo in deede.

Li. Why, doubte you of that?

Ero. What saith this honest man?

Phi. Mary sir, in deede you are so honorably cladde, it is no marvell if you loke bigge.

Ero. To whome speaketh he?

Phi. What, God helpe, do you not know me?

Ero. As farre as I remember Sir, I never sawe you before.

Phi. Harke Litio, here is good geere, this honest man will not know me.
A shamelesse suppose.

Ero. Gentleman, you take your markes amisse.

Li. Did I not tell you of the falsehood of Ferrara master? Dulipo hath learned to play the knave indifferently well since he came hither.

Phi. Peace I say.

Ero. Friend, my name is not Dulipo, aske you thorough out this towne of great and small, they know me: aske this honest man that is with you, if you wyll not beleeve me.

Ferra. In deede, I never knewe him otherwise called than Erostrato: and so they call him, as many as knowe him.
A needelesse suppose.

Li. Master, nowe you may see the falsehood of these fellowes: this honest man your hoste, is of counsaile with him, and would face us down that it is Erostrato: beware of these mates.

Fera. Friende, thou doest me wrong to suspect me, for sure I never hearde hym otherwise called than Erostrato.

Ero. What name could you heare me called by, but by my right name? But I am wise enough to stand prating here with this old man, I thinke he be mad.

Phi. Ah runnagate, ah villaine traitour, doest thou use thy master thus? what hast thou done with my son villain?

Da. Doth this dogge barke here still? and will you suffer him master thus to revile you?

Ero. Come in, come in, what wilt thou do with thys pestil?


Da. I will rap the olde cackabed on the costerd.

Ero. Away with it, & you sirra, lay downe these stones: come in at dore every one of you, beare with him for his age, I passe not of his evill wordes.

Erostrato taketh all his servantes in at the dores.

Scena. viii.


ALas, who shall relieve my miserable estate? to whome shall I complaine? since he
An other suppose.
whome I brought up of a childe, yea and cherished him as if he had bene mine owne, doth nowe utterly denie to knowe me: and you whome I toke for an honest man, and he that should have broughte me to the sighte of my sonne, are compacte with this false wretch, and woulde face me downe that he is Erostrato. Alas, you might have some compassion of mine age, to the miserie I am now in, and that I am a stranger desolate of all comforte in this countrey: or at the least, you shoulde have feared the vengeaunce of God the supreme judge (whiche knoweth the secrets of all harts) in bearing this false witnesse with him, whome heaven and earth doe knowe to be Dulipo and not Erostrato.

Li. If there be many such witnesses in this countrey, men may go about to prove what they wil in controversies here.

Fer. Well sir, you may judge of me as it pleaseth you: & how the matter commeth to passe I know not, but truly ever since he came first hither, I have knowen him by the name of Erostrato the sonne of Philogano a Cathanese: nowe whether he be so in deede, or whether he be Dulipo, (as you alledge) let that be proved by them that knewe him before he came hether. But I protest before God, that whiche I have said, is neither a matter compact with him, nor any other, but even as I have hard him called & reputed of al men.
A shrewde suppose.

Phi. Out and alas, he whom I sent hither with my son to be his servaunt, and to give attendance on him, hath eyther cut his throate, or by some evill meanes made him away:

P 2


and hath not onely taken his garmentes, his bookes, his money, and that whiche he brought out of Sicilia with him, but usurpeth his name also, and turneth to his owne commoditie the bills of exchaunge that I have alwayes allowed for my sonnes expences. Oh miserable Philogano, oh unhappie old man: oh eternall God, is there no judge? no officer? no higher powers whom I may complaine unto for redresse of these wrongs?

Fer. Yes sir, we have potestates, we have Judges, and above al, we have a most juste prince: doubt you not, but you shall have justice if your cause be just.

Phi. Bring me then to the Judges, to the potestates, or to whome you thinke best: for I will disclose a packe of the greatest knaverie, a fardell of the fowlest falsehoode that ever was heard of.

Li. Sir, he that wil goe to the lawe, must be sure of foure things: first, a right and a just cause: then a righteous advocate to pleade: nexte, favour coram Iudice: and above all, a good purse to procure it.

Fer. I have not heard, that the law hath any respect to favour: what you meane by it I cannot tell.

Phi. Have you no regard to his wordes, he is but a foole.

Fer. I pray you sir, let him tell me what is favour.

Li. Favour cal I, to have a friend neere about the judge, who may so sollicite thy cause, as if it be right, speedie sentence may ensue without any delayes: if it be not good, then to prolong it, till at the last, thine adversarie being wearie, shal be glad to compound with thee.

Fer. Of thus much (although I never heard thus muche in this countrey before) doubt you not Philogano, I will bring you to an advocate that shall speede you accordingly.

Phi. Then shall I give my selfe, as it were a pray to the Lawyers, whose insatiable jawes I am not able to feede, although I had here all the goods and landes which I possesse in mine own countrey: much lesse being a straunger in this miserie. I know their cautels of old: at the first time I come they wil so extoll my cause, as though it were already won: but within a sevennight or ten daies, if I do not continually feede them as the crow doth hir brattes, twentie times in an houre, they will begin to waxe colde, and to finde cavils in


my cause, saying, that at the firste I did not well instructe them, till at the last, they will not onely drawe the stuffing out of my purse, but the marrow out of my bones.

Fer. Yea sir, but this man that I tell you of, is halfe a Saincte.

Li. And the other halfe a Devill, I hold a pennie.

Phi. Well sayd Litio, in deede I have but smal confidence in their smothe lookes.

An other suppose.
Fer. Well sir, I thinke this whom I meane, is no suche manner of man: but if he were, there is such hatred and evil wil betwene him & this gentleman (whether he be Erostrato or Dulipo, what so ever he be) that I warrant you, he will doe whatsoever he can do for you, were it but to spite him.

Phi. Why? what hatred is betwixt them?

Fer. They are both in love and suters to one gentlewoman, the daughter of a welthie man in this citie.

Phi. Why? is the villeine become of such estimation that he dare presume to be a suter to any gentlewoman of a good familie?

Fer. Yea sir out of all doubt.

Phi. How call you his adversarie?

Fer. Cleander, one of the excellentest doctors in our citie.

Phi. For Gods love let us goe to him.

Fer. Goe we then.

Finis Actus. 4.

Actus. v. Scena.


WHat a mishappe was this? that before I could meete with Erostrato, I have light even ful in the lap of Philogano: where I was constrained to denie my name, to denie my master, & to faine that I knew him not, to contend with him, & to revile him, in such sort, that hap what hap can, I can never hap well in favour with him againe. Therefore if I could come to speake with ye right Erostrato, I will


renounce unto him both habite and credite, and away as fast as I can trudge into
Another suppose.
some strange countrey, where I may never see Philogano againe. Alas, he that of a litle childe hath brought me up unto this day, and nourished me as if I had bene his owne: & indeede (to confesse the trouth) I have no father to trust unto but him. But looke where Pasiphilo commeth, the fittest man in the world to goe on m[y] message to Erostrato.

Erostrato espieth Pasiphilo comming towards him.

Scena. ii.


TWo good newes have I heard to day alreadie: one that Erostrato prepared a great feast this night: the other, that he seeketh for me. And I to ease him of his travaile, least he shoulde runne up and downe seeking me, and bicause no man loveth better than I to have an erand where good cheere is, come in post hast even home to his owne house: and loke where he is.

Ero. Pasiphilo, thou muste doe one thing for me if thou love me.

Pas. If I love you not, who loves you? commaunde me.

Ero. Go then a litle there, to Damons house, aske for Dulipo, and tell him.

Pas. Wot you what? I cannot speake with him, he is in prison.

Ero. In prison? how commeth that to passe? where is he in prison?

Pas. In a vile dungeon there within his masters house.

Ero. Canst thou tell wherefore?

Pas. Be you content to know he is in prison, I have told you to muche.

Ero. If ever you will doe any thing for me, tell me.

Pas. I pray you desire me not, what were you the better if you knew?

Ero. More than thou thinkest Pasiphilo by God.


Pas. Well, and yet it standes me upon more than you thinke, to keepe it secrete.

Ero. Why Pasiphilo, is this the trust I have had in you? are these the faire promises you have a[l]wayes made me?

Pas. By the masse I would I had fasted this night with maister doctor, rather than have come hither.

Ero. Wel Pasiphilo, eyther tel me, or at few woordes never thinke to be welcome to this house from hence forthe.

Pas. Nay, yet I had rather leese all the Gentlemen in this towne. But if I tell you any thing that displease you, blame no body but your selfe now.

Ero. There is nothing can greve me more than Dulipoes mishappe, no not mine owne: and therfore I am sure thou canst tell me no worsse tidings.
Another plain an homely suppose.

Pa. Well, since you would needes have it, I wil tell you: he was taken a bed with your beloved Polynesta.

Ero. Alas, and doth Damon knowe it?

Pa. An olde trotte in the house disclosed it to him, wherupon he tooke bothe Dulipo and the Nurse which hath bene the broker of all this bargayne, and clapte them bothe in a cage, where I thinke they shall have so[wr]e soppes too their sweete meates.

Ero. Pasiphilo, go thy wayes into the kitchin, commaund the cooke to boyle and roast what liketh thee best, I make thee supra visour of this supper.

Pa. By the masse if you should have studied this sevennight, you could not have appointed me an office to please me better. You shall see what dishes I will devise.

Pasiphilo goeth in, Erostrato tarieth.

Scena. iii.

Fayned EROSTRATO alone.

I Was glad to rid him out of the way, least he shoulde see me burst out of these swelling teares, which hitherto with great payee I have prisoned in my brest, & least he shoulde heare the Eccho of my doubled sighes, whiche bounce from the botome of my hevy heart. O cursed I, O cruell fortune,


that so many dispersed griefes as were sufficient to subvert a legion of Lovers, hast sodenly assembled within my carefull carkase to freat this fearfull heart in sunder with desperation. Thou that hast kepte my master all his youthe within the realme of Sicilia, reserving the wind and waves in a temperate calme (as it were at his commaunde) nowe to convey his aged limmes hither, neither sooner nor later: but even in the worst time that may be. If at any time before thou haddest conducted him, this enterprise had bene cut off without care in the beginning: and if never so little longer thou hadst lingred his jorney, this happie day might then have fully finished our drifts & devises. But alas, thou hast brought him even in the very worst time, to plunge us al in the pit of perdition. Neither art thou content to entangle me alone in thy ruinous ropes, but thou must also catch the right Erostrato in thy crooked clawes, to reward us both with open shame & rebuke. Two yeeres hast thou kept secrete our subtill Supposes, even this day to discipher them with a sorowfull successe. What shall I do? Alas what shift shall I make? it is too late now to imagine any further deceite, for every minute seemeth an houre til I find some succour for the miserable captive Erostrato. Wel, since there is no other remedie, I wil go to my master Philogano, & to him will I tell the whole truth of the matter, that at the least he may provide in time, before his sonne feele the smart of some sharpe revenge and punishment. This is the best, and thus wil I do. Yet I know, that for mine owne parte I shal do bitter penance for my faults forepassed: but suche is the good will and duetie that I beare to Erostrato, as even with the losse of my life I must not sticke to adventure any thing which may turne to his commoditie. But what shall I do? shal I go seeke my master about the towne, or shall I tarrie his returne hither? If I meete him in the streetes, he wil crie out upon me, neither will he harken to any thing that I shall say, till he have gathered all the people wondring about me, as it were at an Owle. Therefore I were better to abide here, and yet if he tarrie long I will goe seeke him, rather than prolong the time to Erostratos perill.

Pasiphilo returneth to Erostrato.


Scena. iiii.


YEa dresse them, but lay them not to the fire, till they will be ready to sit downe. This geere goeth in order: but if I had not gone in, there had fallen a foule faulte.

Ero. And what fault I pray thee?

Pa. Marie, Dalio would have layd the shoulder of mutton and the Capon bothe to the fire at once like a foole: he did not consider, that the one woulde have more roasting than the other.

Ero. Alas, I would this were the greatest fault.

Pa. Why? and either the one should have bene burned before the other had bene roasted, or else he muste have drawne them off the spitte: and they would have bene served to the boorde either colde or rawe.

Ero. Thou hast reason Pasiphilo.

Pa. Now sir, if it please you I will goe into the towne and buye oranges, olives, and caphers, for without suche sauce the supper were more than halfe lost.
Erostrato exit.

Ero. There are within already, doubt you not, there shal lacke nothing that is necessarie.

A knavishe suppose.
Pa. Since I told him these newes of Dulipo, he is cleane beside himself: he hath so many hammers in his head, that his braynes are ready to burst: and let them breake, so I may suppe with him to night, what care I? But is not this Dominus noster Cleandrus that commeth before? well sayde, by my truth we will teache maister Doctor to weare a cornerd cappe of a new fashion. By God Polynesta shal be his, he shall have hir out of doubt, for I have tolde Erostrato such newes of hir, that he will none of hir.

Cleander and Philogano come in, talking of the matter in controversie.


Scena. v.


YEa, but howe will ye prove that he is not Erostrato, having such presumptions to the coterie? or how shall it be thought that you are Philogano, when an other taketh upon him this same name, and for proofe bringeth him for a witnesse, which hath bene ever reputed here for Erostrato?

Phi. I will tel you sir, let me be kept here fast in prison, & at my charges let there be some man sent into Sicilia, that may bring hither with him two or three of the honestest men in Cathanea, and by them let it be proved if I or this other be Philogano, and whether he be Erostrato or Dulipo my servant: & if you finde me contrarie, let me suffer death for it.

Pa. I will go salute master Doctour.

Cle. It will aske great labour & great expences to prove it this way, but it is the best remedie that I can see.

Pa. God save you sir.

Cle. And reward you as you have deserved.

Pa. Then shall he give me your favour continually.

Cle. He shall give you a halter, knave and villein that thou arte.

Pa. I knowe I am a knave, but no villein. I am your servaunt.

Cle. I neither take thee for my servant, nor for my friend.

Pa. Why? wherein have I offended you sir?

Cle. Hence to the gallowes knave.

Pa. What softe and faire sir, I pray you, I præsequar, you are mine elder.

Cle. I will be even with you, be you sure, honest man.

Pa. Why sir? I never offended you.

Cle. Well, I will teach you: out of my sight knave.

Pa. What? I am no dogge, I would you wist.

Cle. Pratest thou yet villein? I will make thee.

Pa. What will you make me? I see wel the more a man doth suffer you, the worsse you are.


Cle. Ah villein, if it were not for this gentleman, I wold tell you what I.

Pa. Villein? nay I am as honest a man as you.

Cle. Thou liest in thy throate knave.

Phi. O sir, stay your wisedome.

Pas. What will you fight? marie come on.

Cle. Well knave, I will meete with you another time, goe your way.

Pas. Even when you list sir, I will be your man.

Cle. And if I be not even with thee, call me cut.

Pas. Nay by the Masse, all is one, I care not, for I have nothing: if I had either landes or goods, peradventure you would pull me into the lawe.

Phi. Sir, I perceive your pacience is moved.

Cle. This villaine: but let him goe, I will see him punished as he hath deserved. Now to the matter, how said you?
Lawyers are never weary to get money.

Phi. This fellow hath disquieted you sir, peradventure you would be loth to be troubled any further.

Cle. Not a whit, say on, & let him go with a vengeance.

Phi. I say, let them send at my charge to Cathanea.

Cle. Yea I remember that wel, & it is the surest way as this case requireth: but tel me, how is he your servant? and how come you by him? enforme me fully in the matter.

Phi. I will tell you sir: when the Turkes won Otranto.

Cle. Oh, you put me in remembrance of my mishappes.

Phi. How sir?

Cle. For I was driven among the rest out of the towne (it is my native countrey) and there I lost more than ever I shall recover againe while I live.

Phi. Alas, a pitifull case by S. Anne.

Cle. Well, proceede.

Phi. At that time (as I saide) there were certaine of our countrey that scoured those costes upon the seas, with a good barke, well appointed for the purpose, and had espiall of a Turkey vessell that came laden from thence with great aboundance of riches.
A gentle suppose.

Cle. And peradventure most of mine.

Phi. So they boarded them, & in the end over came them, & brought the goods to Palermo, from whence they came, and amongst other things that they had, was this villeine my


servaunt, a boy at that time, I thinke not past five yeeres olde.

Cle. Alas, I lost one of that same age there.

Phi. And I beyng there, and liking the Childes favour well, proffered them foure and twentie ducates for him, and had him.

Cle. What? was the childe a Turke? or had the Turkes brought him from Otranto?

Phi. They saide he was a Childe of Otranto, but what is that to the matter? once .xxiiii. Ducattes he cost me, that I wot well.

Cle. Alas, I speake it not for that sir, I woulde it were he whome I meane.

Phi. Why, whom meane you sir?
A crafty suppose.

Liti. Beware sir, be not to lavish.

Cle. Was his name Dulipo then? or had he not another name?

Liti. Beware what you say sir.

Phi. What the devill hast thou to doe? Dulipo? no sir his name was Carino.

Liti. Yea, well said, tell all and more to, doe.

Cle. O Lord, if it be as I thinke, how happie were I? & why did you change his name then?

Phi. We called him Dulipo, bycause when he cryed as Ch[i]ldren doe sometimes, he woulde alwayes cry on that name Dulipo.

Cle. Well, then I see well it is my owne onely Childe, whome I loste, when I loste my countrie: he was named Carino after his grandfather, and this Dulipo whome he alwayes remembred in his lamenting, was his foster father that nourished him and brought him up.

Li. Sir, have I not told you enough of ye falshood of Ferara? this gentleman will not only picke your purse, but beguile you of your servaunt also, & make you beleve he is his son.

Cle. Well goodfellow, I have not used to lie.

Liti. Sir no, but every thing hath a beginning.

Cle. Fie, Philogano have you not the least suspect that may be of me.

Liti. No marie, but it were good he had the most suspecte that may be.


Cle. Well, hold thou thy peace a litle good f[e]llow. I pray you tell me Philogano had ye child any remembrance of his fathers name, his mothers name, or ye name of his familie?

Phi. He did remember them, and could name his mother also, but sure I have forgotten the name.

Liti. I remember it well enough.

Phi. Tell it then.

Liti. Nay, that I will not marie, you have tolde him too much al ready.

Phi. Tell it I say, if thou can.

Liti. Can? yes by ye masse I can wel enough: but I wil have my tong pulled out, rather the tell it, unlesse he tell it first: doe you not perceive sir, what he goeth about?

Cle. Well, I will tell you then, my name you know alredy: my wife his mothers name was Sophronia, the house that I came of, they call Spiagia.

Liti. I never heard him speake of Spiagia but in deede I have heard him say, his mothers name was Sophronia: but what of yt? a great matter I promise you. It is like enoughe that you two have compact together to deceive my maister.

Cle. What nedeth me more evident tokens? this is my sonne out of doubt whom I lost eighteen yeares since, and a thousand thousand times have I lamented for him: he shuld have also a mould on his left shoulder.

Li. He hath a moulde there in deede: and an hole in an other place to, I would your nose were in it.

Cle. Faire wordes fellow Litio: oh I pray you let us goe talke with him, O fortune, howe much am I bounde to thee if I finde my sonne?

Phi. Yea how little am I beholden to fortune, that know not where my sonne is become, and you whome I chose to be mine advocate, will nowe (by the meanes of this Dulipo) become mine adversarie?
A right suppose.

Cle. Sir, let us first goe find mine: and I warrant you yours will be founde also ere it be long.

Phi. God graunt: goe we then[.]

Cle. Since the dore is open, I will ne[ith]er knocke nor cal, but we will be bolde to goe in.

Li. Sir, take you heede, least he leade you to some mischiefe.


Phi. Alas Litio, if my sonne be loste what care I what become of me?

Li. Well, I have tolde you my minde Sir, doe you as you please.

Exeunt: Damon and Psiteria come in.

Scena sexta.


COme hither you olde kallat, you fatling huswife, that the devill cut oute your tong: tell me, howe could Pasiphilo know of this geere but by you?

Psi. Sir, he never knewe it of me, he was the firste that tolde me of it.

Da. Thou liest old drabbe, but I would advise you tel me the truth, or I wil make those old bones rattle in your skin.

Psi. Sir, if you finde me contrarie, kill me.

Da. Why? where should he talke with thee?

Psi. He talked with me of it here in the streete.

Da. What did you here?

Psi. I was going to the weavers for a webbe of clothe you have there.

Da. And what cause coulde Pasiphilo have to talke of it, unlesse thou began the mater first?

Psi. Nay, he began with me sir, reviling me, bycause I had tolde you of it: I asked him how he knewe of it, and he said he was in the stable when you examined me ere while.

Da. Alas, alas, what shall I doe then? in at dores olde whore, I wil plucke that tong of thine out by the rootes one day. Alas it greeveth me more that Pasiphilo knoweth it, than all the rest. He that will have a thing kept secrete, let him tell it to Pasiphilo: the people shall knowe it, and as many as have eares and no mo. By this time he hath tolde it in a hundreth places. Cleander was the firste, Erostrato the seconde, and so from one to another throughout the citie. Alas, what dower, what mariage shall I nowe prepare for my daughter? O poore doloro[u]s Damon, more miserable than


miserie it selfe, would God it were true that Polynesta tolde me ere while: that he who hathe
The first suppose brought to conclusion.
deflowred hir, is of no servile estate, (as hitherto he hath bene supposed in my service) but that he is a gentleman borne of a good parentage in Sicilia. Alas, small riches shoulde content me, if he be but of an honest familie: but I feare that he hathe devised these toyes to allure my daughtres love. Well I wil goe examine hir againe, my minde giveth me that I shall perceive by hir tale whether it be true or not. But is not this Pasiphilo that cometh out of my neighbours house? what the devill ayleth him to leape and laughe so like a foole in ye high way?

Pasiphilo commeth out of the [house] laughing.

Scena septima.


O God, that I might finde Damon at home.

Da. What the divill would he with me?

Pas. That I may be the firste that shall bring him these newes.

Da. What will he tell me, in the name of God?

Pas. O Lord, how happie am I? loke where he is.

Da. What newes Pasiphilo, that thou arte so merie?

Pas. Sir I am mery to make you glad: I bring you joyfull newes.

Da. And that I have nede of Pasiphilo.

Pas. I knowe sir, that you are a sorowfull man for this mishap that hath chaunced in your house, peradventure you thoughte I had not knowen of it. But let it passe, plucke up your sprits, and rejoyce: for he that hath done you this injurie is so well borne, and hath so riche parents, that you may be glad to make him your sonne in law.

Da. How knowest thou?

Pas. His father Philogano one of the worthiest men in all Cathanea, is nowe come to the citie, and is here in your neighbours house.

Da. What, in Erostratos house?


Pas. Nay in Dulipos house: for where you have alwayes supposed this gentleman to be Erostrato, it is not so, but your servaunt whom you have emprisoned hitherto, supposed to be Dulipo, he is in dede Erostrato: and that other is Dulipo. And thus they have alwayes, even since their first arival in this citie, exchaunged names, to the ende that Erostrato the maister, under ye name of Dulipo a servant, might be entertained in your house, & so winne the love of your daughter.

Da. Wel, then I perceive it is even as Polinesta told me.

Pas. Why, did she tell you so?

Da. Yea: But I thought it but a tale.

Pas. Well, it is a true tale: and here they will be with you by and by: both Philogano this worthie man, and maister doctor Cleander.

Da. Cleander? what to doe?

Pas. Cleander? Why therby lies another tale, the moste fortunate adventure that ever you heard: wot you what? this other Dulipo, whome all this while we supposed to be Erostrato, is founde to be the sonne of Cleander, whome he lost at the losse of Otranto, and was after solde in Sicilia too this Philogano: the strangest case that ever you heard: a man might make a Comedie of it. They wil come even straight, and tell you the whole circumstance of it themselves.

Da. Nay I will first goe heare the storie of this Dulipo, be it Dulipo or Erostrato that I have here within, before I speake with Philogano.

Pas. So shall you doe well sir, I will goe tell them that they may stay a while, but loke where they come.

Damon goeth in, Scenese, Cleander and Philogano come upon the stage.

Scena. viii.


SIr, you shal not nede to excuse ye matter any further, since I have received no greater injurie than by words, let then passe like wind, I take them well in worthe: and am rather well pleased than offended: for it shall bothe be a good


warning to me another time howe to trust every man at the first sighte, yea, and I shall have good game here after to tel this pleasant story another day in mine owne countrey.

Cle. Gentleman, you have reason: and be you sure, that as many as heare it, will take great pleasure in it. And you Philogano may thinke, that god in heaven above, hath ordained your comming hither at this present to the ende I mighte recover my lost sonne, whom by no other meanes I coulde ever have founde oute.

Phi. Surely sir I thinke no lesse, for I think that not so much as a leafe falleth from the tree, without the ordinance of god. But let us goe seke Damon, for me thinketh every day a yeare, every houre a daye, and every minute to much till I see my Erostrato.

Cle. I cannot blame you, goe we then. Carino take you that gentleman home in the meane time, the fewer the better to be present at such affaires.

Pasiphilo stayeth their going in.

Scena. ix.


MAister doctor, will you not shew me this favour, to tell me the cause of your displeasure?

Cle. Gentle Pasiphilo, I muste needes confesse I have done thee wrong, and that I beleved tales of thee, whiche in deede I finde now contrary.

Pas. I am glad then that it proceede[d] rather of ignorance than of malice.

Cle. Yea beleve me Pasiphilo.

Pas. O sir, but yet you shoulde not have given me suche foule wordes.

Cle. Well, content thy selfe Pasiphilo, I am thy frende as I have alwayes bene: for proofe whereof, come suppe with me to night, & from day to day this seven night be thou my guest. But beholde, here cometh Damon out of his house.

Here they come all togither.

G. Q


Scena decima.


WE are come unto you sir, to turne you[r] sorowe into joy and gladnesse: the sorow, we meane, that of force you have sustained since this mishappe of late fallen in your house. But be you of good comforte sir, and assure your selfe, that this yong man which youthfully and not maliciously hath commited this amorous offence, is verie well able (with consent of this worthie man his father) to make you sufficient amendes: being borne in Cathanea of Sicilia, of a noble house, no way inferiour unto you, and of wealth (by ye reporte of suche as knowe it) farre exceeding that of yours.

Phi. And I here in proper person, doe presente unto you sir, not onely my assured frendship and brotherhoode, but do earnestly desire you to accepte my poore childe (though unworthy) as your sonne in lawe: and for recompence of the injurie he hath done you, I profer my whole lands in dower to your daughter: yea and more would, if more I might.

Cle. And I sir, who have hitherto so earnestly desired your daughter in mariage, doe now willingly yelde up and quite claime to this yong man, who both for his yeares and for the love he beareth hir, is most meetest to be hir husband. For wher I was desirous of a wife by whom I might have yssue, to leave that litle which god hath sent me: now have I litle neede, that (thankes be to god) have founde my deerely beloved sonne, whom I loste of a childe at ye siege of Otranto.

Da. Worthy gentleman, your friendship, your alliaunce, and the nobilitie of your birthe are suche, as I have muche more cause to desire them of you than you to request of me that which is already graunted. Therfore I gladly, and willingly receive the same, and thinke my selfe moste happie now of all my life past, that I have gotten so toward a sonne in lawe to my selfe, and so worthye a father in lawe to my daughter: yea and muche the greater is my contentation, since this


worthie gentleman maister Cleander, doth holde himselfe satisfied. And now behold your sonne.

Ero. O father.

Pas. Beholde the naturall love of the childe to the father: for inwarde joye he cannot pronounce one worde, in steade wherof he sendeth sobbes and teares to tell the effect of his inward in[t]ention. But why doe you abide here abrode? wil it please you to goe into the house sir?

Da. Pasiphilo hath saide well: will it please you to goe in sir?

Ne. Here I have brought you sir, bothe fetters & boltes.

Da. Away with them now.

Ne. Yea, but what shal I doe with them?

Da. Marie I will tell thee Nevola: to make a righte ende of our supposes, lay one of those boltes in the fire, and make thee a suppositorie as long as mine arme, God save the sample. Nobles and gentlemen, if you suppose that our supposes have given you sufficient cause of delighte, shewe some token, whereby we may suppose you are content.

Et plauserunt.


Q 2