ANDRISCA. What's your business here, harlot?
PORNA. What is that to you, vicious belly? What is it to you? Are you recommending this tavern as if it's your own?
ANDRISCA. Shut up, sewer and prostitute of priests. Go home. Wait there for the little priest you are so desperately destroying.
PORNA. Why are you so worried about my affairs; plague on you, you worst possible expeller of a husband, spendthrift of your goods.
ANDRISCA. Shut your wanton mouth, you old bag, ploughed a thousand times. If I eat or drink or waste my inheritance in feasting, that's not your business; shut up and go home and take this box on your ears to your sweet lover.
PORNA. Do you think you're going to hit me and get away with it?
ANDRISCA. Be beaten, you wicked one, be beaten.
PORNA. By Aphrodite, I'll rip out your belly if you touch me again.
ANDRISCA. By father Bacchus, I'm going to sacrifice you to Venus with this fist unless you go away. Take your veil and be off.
PORNA. This scandal will give your belly and your throat either to feed the ravens or to the noose, you witch.
ANDRISCA. I have routed her out.
PORNA. I shall remember. Now I will drive my husband from the house. But he has come out excitedly just at the right time. If he looks round, I shall soon drive him forth by quarreling, so that my lover needn't stay outside any longer.
BYRSOCOPUS. You're here at last, are you?
PORNA. Indeed, I had thought that he would not have turned his eyes this way.
BYRSOCOPUS. What's the reason, wife, that you return so late?
PORNA. Who's calling me now? Darling, why are you going out so quickly? I had planned to have lunch with you.
BYRSOCOPUS. You would have lunch with me, would you? What would you eat? You see me wet, dirty, tired and also wasting away with hunger, yet there is no fire nor is a chair ready, and scarcely anyone to serve the bread, which is hard and mouldy.
PORNA. No one to serve you? Paedisca is there, to whom I had given orders about you.
BYRSOCOPUS. While it pleases you to gossip and wanton, you forget me completely. If you act thus, wife, I certainly could not possibly eat anything. Besides, there is a smell of sweet wine in my house; I do not know for sure who has drunk it or who has bought it. Surely it is the duty of an honest woman not to set about anything behind her husband's back.
PORNA. Don't believe your nose, my dear; for wine sweet or sharp has never entered into this house without your orders. You are smelling some apples eaten by the children. Go now; take this inconvenience with a good spirit; wait for a somewhat larger meal tonight.
BYRSOCOPUS. I'll go. Take care not to deceive me from now on.
PORNA. I'll be careful. If a husband can be deluded with charming words, what need is there for a quarrel? Where now is my drinking companion, where is my lover? Where is the lad I hid with the sheet? I will wait for him until he comes.
HIERONYMUS. My little Pornakins. With what great fear your husband's arrival struck me.
PORNA. How cunningly you stole away by means of the sheet. Paedisca, see that these things are brought in. My mind must be exercised. Let us go inside.
HIERONYMUS. First, my love, tell me, did your husband suspect nothing in this business?
PORNA. Nothing. But inside his shrewd nose smelt the wine that we had drunk.
HIERONYMUS. What do I hear?
PORNA. The facts. But when he asked I took away his suspicion very smartly.
HIERONYMUS. How could you disprove it?
PORNA. Let's go inside. I'll tell you there as we drink.
HIERONYMUS. You go first. Leave the door open a minute. I'll soon follow you. I wanted to urinate but the innkeeper's door is rattling. I shall be safer inside.
INNKEEPER. What's that you were saying in the dining room, Andrisca, dear? Your husband threatened you?
ANDRISCA. By god, yes, terribly, if ever I should come here and he catches me.
INNKEEPER. Why, then, are you not at all afraid to come under my roof? And as if nothing had been changed, you eat, drink, exchange jests and toss your gibes at everyone.
ANDRISCA. Do you think he would dare touch me? He is cowardly and a completely sweet man. It's seven months since we were married, but to this day he hasn't even spoken a harsh word to me, although I have wantoned openly in the same way as usual.
INNKEEPER. See that this gentleness doesn't pass at last into a violent rage, Andrisca. Doves also have their moments of anger.
ANDRISCA. Something amuses you?
INNKEEPER. Ha ha he. Indeed, there will have to be a contest for the breeches.
ANDRISCA. Now banish trifles and let us give our minds to the drinks.
INNKEEPER. Hem. Seriously, I will wait for your husband and will speak to him courteously and will also fish out of him his thoughts on a contest, which I will report back to you. Now follow me inside to the drinks.
ANDRISCA. Now, mine host, I love you.
CHORUS OF BACCHANALS. Iacchus Bacchus ohe ohe, etc. [as above]
ANOTHER CHORUS OF BOYS. In the whole world there is nothing more wicked than an adulterous woman, who takes no account of what is honourable, right, good or even expedient. Adultery in a husband is disgraceful but it is far more disgraceful in a woman, in whom nature has placed beauty and chastity. How unworthy a thing it is that she who ought to be yoked in love to her own husband wickedly prostitutes herself to another, and does not understand her shame. How unworthy a thing it is that, of her own accord, she forgets all others, forgets her public honour and is revealed as an example by her lust. She affects by her shameful disgrace not only herself but also her children, her husband and others related to her by birth. I will say more, for by her criminal lust she exposes to dishonour and transfers to hell her sons, her daughters and all the rest of her family. If you corrupt your offspring with wicked morals, what is it other than offering Moloch one of your children? A boy hears obscene words and hears suggestive songs, sees kissing and, what is fouler, seductive actions. Enticed by these very disgraceful examples as a boy, how can he be strong enough as a young man to be on guard against what he has drunk in from his tenderest years? I say nothing of the appetites, murders, and fraud that happen because of this crime and steal away domestic bliss, which is lost to a family and a husband.
Take care, therefore, any woman who wishes to seem honest to all: do not admit into your house another man for talk or for drinking. Then refrain from tipsiness and stinking gluttony. For in woman there is not much difference between the appetite for man and the appetite for food. The laws put up with harlots; the laws put up with the seducers of young girls; a husband must not put up with a drunken and adulterous wife.
INNKEEPER. This din of the Bacchanals is so great that a man could not hear or even see if he wanted to. But now the tumult is dying down a little, I will follow up what I promised Andrisca earlier, and at just the right time for this I have come out. For George, whom I wish to meet, is returning.
GEORGE. My wife will think that I shall not return before nightfall; I will see by coming here unexpectedly if she is obeying my orders. Indeed, unless she is senseless, she will not try her tricks again. But what is the innkeeper, the most wicked inciter to evil, waiting for out of doors? I know he is either waiting for her to entice her, or more likely watching for me (if she is inside) so that I may not come up unseen in any way and catch her there. Nothing is more sure, for he is coming this way; I don't know what he is muttering to himself.
INNKEEPER. By God, Andrisca did not think her husband would come back so soon from the fields. Unless I am mistaken, he will give her the boot, not in sport, and there will be the worst brawl ever. But I will speak to the fellow. Good day, my fellow townsman. How goes it? How is the grain sprouting?
GEORGE. Less, indeed, than I'd wish.
INNKEEPER. Farmers always complain of that.
GEORGE. Goodbye.
INNKEEPER. Hey, why are you so rude?
GEORGE. How so?
INNKEEPER. Because you've come late for the feast.
GEORGE. I don't understand what you want.
INNKEEPER. You will also fish with a net afterwards?
GEORGE. I don't yet know what you are saying.
INNKEEPER. Surely you will see it done.
GEORGE. What shall I see done? You yourself will see it done; afterwards you will also fish with a net. For you are tricky but you will hunt nothing from me.
INNKEEPER. Don't be angry, since I shall speak to your advantage. Now I tell you the hour of dinner has passed, the food is cold or put away or is all gone. If it please you to turn aside into my house very freely, I shall put food plentifully before you.
GEORGE. Innkeeper, your things would suffice for you and mine abundantly for me, if the hidden stratagems and craftiness of certain greedy persons allowed it.
INNKEEPER. Who could commit such a crime?
GEORGE. Some are intimates, some strangers. If you also, greedy innkeeper, did not eagerly gape at my earnings, if you did not carefully entice my wife to these drinking sessions of yours, I should not indeed betray my poverty to you or to anyone.
INNKEEPER. George, my house is open to everyone--villagers and those from outside and also to good women, and there is no reason why you should be angry with me about this matter. Indeed, I have not enticed your wife here ever and I have not wished to rob you of your property by fraud. So if you are wise, banish from your mind doubts of this kind about me and my family. By God, I'd prefer to die rather than that such malicious slander or such tale-bearing should be spread about my position.
GEORGE. How rightly you have acted, your conscience knows. Goodbye, innkeeper, I'm going home quickly.
INNKEEPER. You may go home but you'll sing for your supper, as they say. The man is very angry, by God, and intends to beat his wife. She scorns him and thinks that he would not dare to beat her, or if he did dare that she could resist him. As a man I would not dare fight with him. She has a keen mind and also strong arms; but the fists of a countryman are also very tough. I'll tell his wife about this privately.
GEORGE. I accused the innkeeper of impudence quite sharply. I will see if he pays any heed. Aha. I'm not pleased that my Andrisca has bolted the door. Open the door. Ho, there, wife, get a move on here. What are you doing? Come here. No one is opening the door. What am I to think? Has she returned to the inn by the back road? Nonsense. When I threatened her so fiercely? I will unlock the door and will inspect all the innermost parts of the house carefully, because perhaps (as is the nature of women) she is sitting in some hidden place, overwhelmed by my threats, meditating on the crimes charged to her. But if she is not there, who could doubt that she returned from this house to the inn? That's what I'm going to see and find out now.
PORNA. What was that argument in front of the house? I wonder why my neighbour George and the innkeeper have been quarreling with each other. But each has now hidden himself in his own house.
HIERONYMUS. Is the street safe, my Pornakins?
PORNA. Safe it is. Come out. Our weary limbs must be brought outside while it is permissible and while the breezes call us forth. You also, Paedisca, come out here. It has soon happened that I need to speak to both of you.
PAEDISCA. Now explain. Paedisca's here.
HIERONYMUS. Why do we need words?
PORNA. Why do we need deeds?
HIERONYMUS. Come, tell us, what is it?
PORNA. A secret.
HIERONYMUS. Let it be revealed.
PORNA. If my husband shall come to the door a second time, arriving home unexpectedly close to nightfall, Paedisca will immediately hand me a pail, and I shall push it at my husband and send him off to draw water. Understand?
PAEDISCA. Yes.
PORNA. See that you make no delay.
PAEDISCA. No delay shall come from me. Proceed to speak.
PORNA. Having experienced the mildness of my husband, I know he will obey quickly however cold and wet and dirty he is.
HIERONYMUS. Right.
PORNA. In the interval, Hieronymus, you must steal away.
HIERONYMUS. Hem. Now you're talking. No one shall detain Hieronymus.
PORNA. As for the other things, I will improvise for them at the time. Now let's go inside. Also, we mustn't allow the rest of the day to pass without enjoying delightfully our love while we may.
PAEDISCA. The door of the house next door creaked. Go inside.
GEORGE. I've walked up and down over the whole house and cannot find my wife nor the food we were to eat tonight. For she has taken everything with her: the young hare, sausages and the fat goose. I shall go straight to the inn and, if I find my wife there, I shall scarcely be able to keep my hands off that villain's flesh. Conveniently, there he is.
INNKEEPER. Look at the farmer. Whee. How excited he has become now he's found his wife is missing. I'm afraid for my life and that of his wife if he knew she were here.
GEORGE. Ho there. Innkeeper, innkeeper. Come here. Come here. Come outside.
INNKEEPER. It's not healthy to come out. What do you want to be served?
GEORGE. Villain, you ask me that? Where is the wife?
INNKEEPER. My wife is at home. Why do you ask?
GEORGE. May God destroy you and black Hell swallow you down, you wicked villain. Do you think I'm asking for your wife? I'm demanding mine. Give her back to me or come outside and render an account of why you claim her for yourself.
INNKEEPER. Keep your shirt on. Your wife is not here.
GEORGE. Let me make a trial search of your house.
INNKEEPER. I'm not allowing that, because you are too worked up in your mind. I'm afraid you would upset my whole household. Go home. Keep quiet for a while, until you've cooled off. Your wife will return to you in her own good time.
GEORGE. Oh dear. Tell me then, where is she?
INNKEEPER. What concern is that of mine? Keep your own wife yourself. Be off home.
GEORGE. By God, although this fellow is one of the biggest crooks, yet he is much calmer and more prudent than I am. It is better for me to be without my wife for an hour than to lose my mind and my temper at the same time. I will go home and with a calmer mind I will wait for my lost Andrisca. There I will prepare two cudgels of equal weight, and we two, as she wished, can settle this quarrel. As I have come to my senses, I now realize at last that this is best. But I seem to see my neighbour. He indeed is far more unlucky than I am.
BYRSOCOPUS. Am I not unlucky, since after very hard work I am reduced to this last misery, that I don't deserve to enjoy my food or to be cared for at my own fireside? My wife and her companions eat, drink and waste in feasting the things that are at my home and send me off, as if I'm stupid, to draw water, lest I should catch them and resist this evil. Finally, they are wiping their backsides at me.
GEORGE. Too true.
BYRSOCOPUS. What do I hear? Hem, George, good day. But what is that weapon for? GEORGE. Good day to you, friend. There is no hell so wearisome as is the distress of my life. For the whole of this day my wife has brought me to such a state of madness that I might as well hang myself.
BYRSOCOPUS. What do I hear?
GEORGE. Today I left you and, shamefully treated, went forth to the fields to see if everything was being done right and if my boy was carrying out the work as I ordered. When a satisfactory account of his time was given, then I set to work. When I saw the lad yawning from hunger and work, I returned to fetch food to feed him. How well do you think I fared?
BYRSOCOPUS. Perhaps she had cooked nothing or she scolded you quite severely.
GEORGE. Had she cooked anything? No. She was in the tavern; she returned; she gave me just stale bread for myself and the servant to eat. Then, moved with anger, I scolded, accused, warned her with threats not for any reason to go to the inn but to look after domestic matters at home.
BYRSOCOPUS. Good. If she now settles down, she will deserve your favour.
GEORGE. I have not yet told the whole story. I went out again and I returned quite soon on purpose, to see how she had behaved. Believe it or not, there was no wife at home and none of the food we were to eat tonight. She had taken it all away.
BYRSOCOPUS. To the inn perhaps.
GEORGE. Why don't you say it for certain? Soon I went to that most crafty innkeeper and asked him for my wife.
BYRSOCOPUS. With threats?
GEORGE. Yes, with such insults that I am ashamed to repeat them. He said that my wife was not there. But it's more likely than not that she had been entertained there. So I decided to return and wait for my wife at home and to fight her for the breeches.
BYRSOCOPUS. You do right, but if you knew my lot, you would think yourself lucky.
GEORGE. Oh, I know it well, and I've seen more things than you could tell me. How your wife held you back when you were wet and cunningly hid Hieronymus by means of the sheet trick and handed you the pail and sent you off to draw water.
BYRSOCOPUS. Hieronymus?
GEORGE. I saw him.
BYRSOCOPUS. You kill me. Did she hide him?
GEORGE. She hid him and, while they were arranging their cups and plates suitably (as I suspect), they provided a pail for you to fetch water.
BYRSOCOPUS. Oh, misery. I am undone, George, for there is no way in which I can cure this disease.
GEORGE. Be of a calmer mind. That I may more safely look to your ?_+ interest, come inside with me, lest perchance they hear us out here. For now the priest is at your house with your wife.
BYRSOCOPUS. Would they laugh at me so?
GEORGE. Follow me.
BYRSOCOPUS. I'll follow. Nothing can be more wicked than feminine trickery.
CHORUS OF BACCHANALS. Iacchus Bacchus ohe ohe, etc. [as before]
ANOTHER CHORUS OF BOYS. How harmoniously sacred and secular literature agree; as the sane mind judges, a man is more deserving than a woman. Man was made first by God; woman (second) from the rib of man. Man, not woman, was ordained the ruler of all things. After the fall over the forbidden tree power was given not to woman over her husband, but to man over his wife, that she should be obedient. For man did not trust the serpent that brought ruin but woman. The woman was persuaded and picked the fruit. The man was in no way persuaded. The man commands, deliberates, administers the state; man judges, man presides. Man is the teacher everywhere of nations. The first man taught that a man should cleave to his wife and the two be in one flesh; it is not repugnant to the senses. For he wishes not that a wife should obey servilely, but with love and care he wishes that frail woman should remain at home. To this end the apostles agree in wishing that a man should love his wife and that she, like Sara, should honour her husband. The husband should be therefore the head of his wife and should govern the home and should not allow his wife to dominate him. He should be firm without tyranny, gentle without cowardice. For in the whole world there is nothing more ill-natured than a woman if she be domineering.
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