Audition Piece 3: Corvino, Celia

Enter CORVINO, sword in hand, dragging in CELIA.

CORVINO: Death of mine honour, with the city's fool!
A juggling, tooth-drawing, prating mountebank!
And at a public window! And you smile
Most graciously, and fan your favours forth,
To give your hot spectators satisfaction!
Or were you enamour'd on his copper rings,
His saffron jewel, with the toad-stone in't,
Or his embroider'd suit, with the cope-stitch,
Made of a herse-cloth? or his old tilt-feather?
Or his starch'd beard? Well; you shall have him, yes!
He shall come home, and minister unto you
The fricace for the mother. Or, let me see,
I think you'd rather mount; would you not mount?
Why, if you'll mount, you may; yes truly, you may:
And so you may be seen, down to the foot.
Get you a cittern, lady Vanity,
And be a dealer with the virtuous man;
Make one: I'll but protest myself a cuckold,
And save your dowry.

CELIA: Good sir, have patience.

CORVINO: What couldst thou propose
Less to thyself, than in this heat of wrath
And stung with my dishonour, I should strike
This steel into thee, [taking his sword] with as many stabs,
As thou wert gaz'd upon with goatish eyes?

CELIA: Alas, sir, be appeas'd! I could not think
My being at the window should more now
Move your impatience, than at other times.

CORVINO: No! not to seek and entertain a parley
With a known knave, before a multitude!
You were an actor with your handkerchief;
Which he most sweetly kist in the receipt,
And might, no doubt, return it with a letter,
And point the place where you might meet: your sister's,
Your mother's, or your aunt's might serve the turn.

CELIA: Why, dear sir, when do I make these excuses,
Or ever stir abroad, but to the church?
And that so seldom —

CORVINO: Well, it shall be less;
And thy restraint before was liberty,
To what I now decree: and therefore mark me.
First, I will have this bawdy light damm'd up;
And till't be done, some two or three yards off,
I'll chalk a line: o'er which if thou but chance
To set thy desperate foot; more hell, more horror
More wild remorseless rage shall seize on thee,
Than on a conjurer, that had heedless left
His circle's safety ere his devil was laid.
Then here's a lock which I will hang upon thee;
And, now I think on't, I will keep thee backwards;
Thy lodging shall be backwards; thy walks backwards;
Thy prospect, all be backwards; and no pleasure,
That thou shalt know but backwards: nay, since you force
My honest nature, know, it is your own,
Being too open, makes me use you thus:
Since you will not contain your subtle nostrils
In a sweet room, but they must snuff the air
Of rank and sweaty passengers — [Knocking within.] One knocks.
Away, and be not seen, pain of thy life;
Nor look toward the window: if thou dost —
Nay, stay, hear this —let me not prosper, whore,
But I will make thee an anatomy,
Dissect thee mine own self, and read a lecture
Upon thee to the city, and in public.
Away! [Exit CELIA]