The Alchemist · Act IV · Scene I (2/2) (2/2)

| Subtle | Stab me; I shall never hold, man. He looks in that deep ruff like a head in a platter, Served in by a short cloak upon two trestles. | | Face | Or, what do you say to a collar of brawn, cut down Beneath the souse, and wriggled with a knife? | | Subtle | ’Slud, he does look too fat to be a Spaniard. | | Face | Perhaps some Fleming or some Hollander got him In d’Alva’s time; Count Egmont’s bastard. | | Subtle | Don, Your scurvy, yellow, Madrid face is welcome. | | Pertinax Surly | Gratia. | | Subtle | He speaks out of a fortification. Pray God he have no squibs in those deep sets. | | Pertinax Surly | Por dios, señores, muy linda casa! | | Subtle | What says he? | | Face | Praises the house, I think; I know no more but’s action. | | Subtle | Yes, the casa, My precious Diego, will prove fair enough To cozen you in. Do you mark? You shall Be cozened, Diego. | | Face | Cozened, do you see, My worthy Donzel, cozened. | | Pertinax Surly | Entiendo. | | Subtle | Do you intend it? So do we, dear Don. Have you brought pistolets, or portagues, My solemn Don?⁠—Dost thou feel any? | | Face | Feels his pockets. Full. | | Subtle | You shall be emptied, Don, pumped and drawn Dry, as they say. | | Face | Milked, in troth, sweet Don. | | Subtle | See all the monsters; the great lion of all, Don. | | Pertinax Surly | Con licencia, se puede ver a esta señora? | | Subtle | What talks he now? | | Face | Of the Señora. | | Subtle | O, Don, This is the lioness, which you shall see Also, my Don. | | Face | ’Slid, Subtle, how shall we do? | | Subtle | For what? | | Face | Why Dol’s employed, you know. | | Subtle | That’s true. ’Fore heaven, I know not: he must stay, that’s all. | | Face | Stay! That he must not by no means. | | Subtle | No! Why? | | Face | Unless you’ll mar all. ’Slight, he will suspect it: And then he will not pay, not half so well. This is a travelled punk-master, and does know All the delays; a notable hot rascal, And looks already rampant. | | Subtle | ’Sdeath, and Mammon Must not be troubled. | | Face | Mammon! In no case. | | Subtle | What shall we do then? | | Face | Think: you must be sudden. | | Pertinax Surly | Entiendo que la señora es tan hermosa, que codicio tan verla, como la bien aventuranza de mi vida. | | Face | Mi vida! ’Slid, Subtle, he puts me in mind of the widow. What dost thou say to draw her to it, ha! And tell her ’tis her fortune? All our venture Now lies upon’t. It is but one man more, Which of us chance to have her: and beside, There is no maidenhead to be feared or lost. What dost thou think on’t, Subtle? | | Subtle | Who? I? Why⁠— | | Face | The credit of our house too is engaged. | | Subtle | You made me an offer for my share erewhile. What wilt thou give me, i’faith? | | Face | O, by that light I’ll not buy now: You know your doom to me. E’en take your lot, obey your chance, sir; win her, And wear her out, for me. | | Subtle | ’Slight, I’ll not work her then. | | Face | It is the common cause; therefore bethink you. Dol else must know it, as you said. | | Subtle | I care not. | | Pertinax Surly | Señores, porque se tarda tanto? | | Subtle | Faith, I am not fit, I am old. | | Face | That’s now no reason, sir. | | Pertinax Surly | Puede ser de hazer burla de mi amor? | | Face | You hear the Don too? By this air, I call, And loose the hinges: Dol! | | Subtle | A plague of hell⁠— | | Face | Will you then do? | | Subtle | You are a terrible rogue! I’ll think of this: will you, sir, call the widow? | | Face | Yes, and I’ll take her too with all her faults, Now I do think on’t better. | | Subtle | With all my heart, sir; Am I discharged o’ the lot? | | Face | As you please. | | Subtle | Hands. | | | They take hands. | | Face | Remember now, that upon any change, You never claim her. | | Subtle | Much good joy, and health to you, sir, Marry a whore! Fate, let me wed a witch first. | | Pertinax Surly | Por estas honradas barbas⁠— | | Subtle | He swears by his beard. Dispatch, and call the brother too. | | | Exit Face. | | Pertinax Surly | Tengo duda, señores, que no me hagan alguna traycion. | | Subtle | How, issue on? Yes, praesto, sennor. Please you Enthratha the chambrata, worthy Don: Where if you please the fates, in your bathada, You shall be soaked, and stroked, and tubbed and rubbed, And scrubbed, and fubbed, dear Don, before you go. You shall in faith, my scurvy baboon Don, Be curried, clawed, and flawed, and tawed, indeed. I will the heartlier go about it now, And make the widow a punk so much the sooner, To be revenged on this impetuous Face: The quickly doing of it is the grace. | | | Exeunt Subtle and Surly. |