Act V, Scene 2

A HALL IN SIR POLITICK'S HOUSE.

ENTER PEREGRINE DISGUISED, AND THREE MERCHANTS.

PER: Am I enough disguised?

1 MER: I warrant you.

PER: All my ambition is to fright him only.

2 MER: If you could ship him away, 'twere excellent.

3 MER: To Zant, or to Aleppo?

PER: Yes, and have his
Adventures put i' the Book of Voyages.
And his gull'd story register'd for truth.
Well, gentlemen, when I am in a while,
And that you think us warm in our discourse,
Know your approaches.

1 MER: Trust it to our care.

[EXEUNT MERCHANTS.]

[ENTER WAITING-WOMAN.]

PER: Save you, fair lady! Is sir Pol within?

WOM: I do not know, sir.

PER: Pray you say unto him,
Here is a merchant, upon earnest business,
Desires to speak with him.

WOM: I will see, sir.
[EXIT.]

PER: Pray you.--
I see the family is all female here.

[RE-ENTER WAITING-WOMAN.]

WOM: He says, sir, he has weighty affairs of state,
That now require him whole; some other time
You may possess him.

PER: Pray you say again,
If those require him whole, these will exact him,
Whereof I bring him tidings.
[EXIT WOMAN.]
--What might be
His grave affair of state now! how to make
Bolognian sausages here in Venice, sparing
One o' the ingredients?

[RE-ENTER WAITING-WOMAN.]

WOM: Sir, he says, he knows
By your word "tidings," that you are no statesman,
And therefore wills you stay.

PER: Sweet, pray you return him;
I have not read so many proclamations,
And studied them for words, as he has done--
But--here he deigns to come.

[EXIT WOMAN.]

[ENTER SIR POLITICK.]

SIR P: Sir, I must crave
Your courteous pardon. There hath chanced to-day,
Unkind disaster 'twixt my lady and me;
And I was penning my apology,
To give her satisfaction, as you came now.

PER: Sir, I am grieved I bring you worse disaster:
The gentleman you met at the port to-day,
That told you, he was newly arrived--

SIR P: Ay, was
A fugitive punk?

PER: No, sir, a spy set on you;
And he has made relation to the senate,
That you profest to him to have a plot
To sell the State of Venice to the Turk.

SIR P: O me!

PER: For which, warrants are sign'd by this time,
To apprehend you, and to search your study
For papers--

SIR P: Alas, sir, I have none, but notes
Drawn out of play-books--

PER: All the better, sir.

SIR P: And some essays. What shall I do?

PER: Sir, best
Convey yourself into a sugar-chest;
Or, if you could lie round, a frail were rare:
And I could send you aboard.

SIR P: Sir, I but talk'd so,
For discourse sake merely.

[KNOCKING WITHIN.]

PER: Hark! they are there.

SIR P: I am a wretch, a wretch!

PER: What will you do, sir?
Have you ne'er a currant-butt to leap into?
They'll put you to the rack, you must be sudden.

SIR P: Sir, I have an ingine--

3 MER [WITHIN.]: Sir Politick Would-be?

2 MER [WITHIN.]: Where is he?

SIR P: That I have thought upon before time.

PER: What is it?

SIR P: I shall ne'er endure the torture.
Marry, it is, sir, of a tortoise-shell,
Fitted for these extremities: pray you, sir, help me.
Here I've a place, sir, to put back my legs,
Please you to lay it on, sir,
[LIES DOWN WHILE PEREGRINE PLACES THE SHELL UPON HIM.]
--with this cap,
And my black gloves. I'll lie, sir, like a tortoise,
'Till they are gone.

PER: And call you this an ingine?

SIR P: Mine own device--Good sir, bid my wife's women
To burn my papers.

[EXIT PEREGRINE.]

[THE THREE MERCHANTS RUSH IN.]

1 MER: Where is he hid?

3 MER: We must,
And will sure find him.

2 MER: Which is his study?

[RE-ENTER PEREGRINE.]

1 MER: What
Are you, sir?

PER: I am a merchant, that came here
To look upon this tortoise.

3 MER: How!

1 MER: St. Mark!
What beast is this!

PER: It is a fish.

2 MER: Come out here!

PER: Nay, you may strike him, sir, and tread upon him;
He'll bear a cart.

1 MER: What, to run over him?

PER: Yes, sir.

3 MER: Let's jump upon him.

2 MER: Can he not go?

PER: He creeps, sir.

1 MER: Let's see him creep.

PER: No, good sir, you will hurt him.

2 MER: Heart, I will see him creep, or prick his guts.

3 MER: Come out here!

PER: Pray you, sir!
[ASIDE TO SIR POLITICK.]
--Creep a little.

1 MER: Forth.

2 MER: Yet farther.

PER: Good sir!--Creep.

2 MER: We'll see his legs.
[THEY PULL OFF THE SHELL AND DISCOVER HIM.]

3 MER: Ods so, he has garters!

1 MER: Ay, and gloves!

2 MER: Is this
Your fearful tortoise?

PER [DISCOVERING HIMSELF.]: Now, sir Pol, we are even;
For your next project I shall be prepared:
I am sorry for the funeral of your notes, sir.

1 MER: 'Twere a rare motion to be seen in Fleet-street.

2 MER: Ay, in the Term.

1 MER: Or Smithfield, in the fair.

3 MER: Methinks 'tis but a melancholy sight.

PER: Farewell, most politic tortoise!

[EXEUNT PER. AND MERCHANTS.]

[RE-ENTER WAITING-WOMAN.]

SIR P: Where's my lady?
Knows she of this?

WOM: I know not, sir.

SIR P: Enquire.--
O, I shall be the fable of all feasts,
The freight of the gazetti; ship-boy's tale;
And, which is worst, even talk for ordinaries.

WOM: My lady's come most melancholy home,
And says, sir, she will straight to sea, for physic.

SIR P: And I to shun this place and clime for ever;
Creeping with house on back: and think it well,
To shrink my poor head in my politic shell.

[EXEUNT.]