Grim. Soranzo! what, mine enemy? is it he? Rich. Is he your enemy?

Grim. The man I hate

Worse than confusion; I will tell him straight.— Rich. Nay, then take my advice,

Even for his grace's sake the cardinal ;

I'll find a time when he and she do meet,

Of which I'll give you notice; and, to be sure
He shall not scape you, I'll provide a poison
To dip your rapier's point in; if he had
As many heads as Hydra had, he dies.
Grim. But shall I trust thee, doctor?
Rich. As yourself;

Doubt not in aught.-[Exit GRIM.]-Thus shall the fates decree,

By me Soranzo falls, that ruin'd me."

SCENE IV.

Another Part of the Street.

[Exeunt.

Enter DONADO, "it a Letter, BERGETTO, and POGGIO.

Don. Well, sir, I must be content to be both your secretary and your messenger myself. I cannot tell what this letter may work; but, as

6 Grim. Soranzo! what, mine enemy? It is strange that this should appear a new discovery to Grimaldi, when he had been fully apprized of it in the rencontre with Vasques in the first act. It is not often, however, that Ford thus wholly forgets himself. In the next line there is apparently some slight error: "I'll tell him straight," should probably be, "I'll to him straight." that ruin'd me.] The old copy

7

"that

reads-"

sure as I am alive, if thou come once to talk with her, I fear thou wilt mar whatsoever I make.

Ber. You make, uncle! why am not I big enough to carry mine own letter, I pray?

Don. Ay, ay, carry a fool's head of thy own! why, thou dunce, would'st thou write a letter, and carry it thyself?

Ber. Yes, that I would, and read it to her with mine own mouth; for you must think, if she will not believe me myself when she hears me speak, she will not believe another's hand-writing. Oh, you think I am a blockhead, uncle. No, sir, Poggio knows I have indited a letter myself; so I have.

Pog. Yes truly, sir, I have it in my pocket.

Don. A sweet one, no doubt; pray let's see it. Ber. I cannot read my own hand very well, Poggio; read it, Poggio.

Don. Begin.

Pog. [reads] Most dainty and honey-sweet mistress, I could call you fair, and lie as fast as any that loves you; but my uncle being the elder man, I leave it to him, as more fit for his age, and the colour of his beard. I am wise enough to tell you I can bourd where I see occasion; or if you like my

min'd me." What a detestable set of characters has Ford here sharked up for the exercise of his fine talents! With the exception of poor Bergetto and his uncle, most of the rest seem contending which of them shall prove worthiest of the wheel and the gibbet.

8 I can bourd where I see occasion,] i. e. jest; see Jonson, vol. iv. p. 222. In the old spelling, this word is frequently confounded with board, which, as Sir Toby truly says, meant to accost. The

uncle's wit better than mine, you shall marry me; if you like mine better than his, I will marry you, in spite of your teeth. So commending my best parts to

you, I rest

Yours,

upwards and downwards, or you may choose.

Ber. Ah, ha! here's stuff, uncle!

BERGETTO.

Don. Here's stuff indeed-to shame us all. Pray whose advice did you take in this learned letter? Pog. None, upon my word, but mine own.

Ber. And mine, uncle, believe it, nobody's else; 'twas mine own brain, I thank a good wit for't. Don. Get you home, sir, and look you keep within doors till I return.

Ber. How? that were a jest indeed! I scorn it, i'faith.

Don. What! you do not?

Ber. Judge me, but I do now.

Pog. Indeed, sir, 'tis very unhealthy.

Don. Well, sir, if I hear any of your apish running to motions' and fopperies, till I come back, you were as good not; look to't.

[Exit.

Ber. Poggio, shall's steal to see this horse with the head in's tail?

Pog. Ay, but you must take heed of whipping. Ber. Dost take me for a child, Poggio? Come, honest Poggio.

[Exeunt.

words in the text are borrowed from Nic. Bottom, confessedly a very facetious personage.

9 If I hear of your running to motions.] i. e. to puppet-shews; see Jonson, vol. ii. p. 7.

SCENE V.

FRIAR BONAVENTURA'S Cell.

Enter FRIAR and GIOVANNI.

Friar. Peace! thou hast told a tale, whose every word

Threatens eternal slaughter to the soul;

I'm

sorry I have heard it: would mine ears Had been one minute deaf, before the hour

That thou cam'st to me! O young man, cast

away,

By the religious number of mine order,'
I day and night have wak'd my aged eyes
Above my strength, to weep on thy behalf:
But Heaven is angry, and be thou resolv'd,
Thou art a man remark'd to taste a mischief."
Look for't; though it come late, it will come sure.
Gio. Father, in this you are uncharitable;
What I have done, I'll prove both fit and good.
It is a principle which you have taught,
When I was yet your scholar, that the frame
And composition of the mind doth follow
The frame and composition of [the] body:
So, where the body's furniture is beauty,
The mind's must needs be virtue; which allow'd,

By the religious number of mine order.] A misprint, probably, for founder; but I have changed nothing.

Thou art a man remark'd to taste a mischief.] i. e. marked out to experience some fearful evil: in this sense the word mischief is sometimes used by our old writers.

Virtue itself is reason but refined,

And love the quintessence of that: this proves
My sister's beauty, being rarely fair,

Is rarely virtuous; chiefly in her love,
And chiefly, in that love, her love to me:
If her's to me, then so is mine to her;
Since in like causes are effects alike.

Friar. O ignorance in knowledge! long ago,
How often have I warn'd thee this before?
Indeed, if we were sure there were no Deity,
Nor heaven nor hell; then to be led alone
By nature's light (as were philosophers
Of elder times) might instance some defence.
But 'tis not so: then, madman, thou wilt find,
That nature is in Heaven's positions blind.

Gio. Your age o'errules you; had you youth like mine,

You'd make her love your heaven, and her divine. Friar. Nay, then I see thou'rt too far sold to hell:

It lies not in the compass of my prayers

To call thee back, yet let me counsel thee;
Persuade thy sister to some marriage.

Gio. Marriage? why that's to damn her; that's

to prove

Her greedy of variety of lust.

Friar. O fearful! if thou wilt not, give me leave

To shrive her, lest she should die unabsolv'd. Gio. At your best leisure, father: then she'll tell you,