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THE WORKS
OF
THOMAS MIDDLETON.
--------------
VOL. II.
CONTAINING
A TRICK TO CATCH THE OLD ONE.
THE FAMILY OF LOVE.
YOUR FIVE GALLANTS.
A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS.
THE ROARING GIRL.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY ROBSON, LEVEY, AND FRANKLYN,
46 St. Martin’s Lane.
THE WORKS
OF
THOMAS MIDDLETON,
=Now first collected,=
WITH
SOME ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR,
AND
NOTES,
BY
THE REVEREND ALEXANDER DYCE.
_IN FIVE VOLUMES._
VOL. II.
--------------
LONDON:
EDWARD LUMLEY, CHANCERY LANE.
---
1840.
--------------
A TRICK
TO CATCH THE OLD ONE.
_A Tricke to Catch the Old-one. As it hath beene often in Action, both
at Paules, and the Black-Fryers. Presented before his Maiestie on
New-yeares night last. Composde by T. M. At London Printed by G: E. and
are to be sold by Henry Rockytt, at the long shop in the Poultrie vnder
the Dyall._ 1608. 4to. Second ed., 1616. 4to.
This drama (which Langbaine not undeservedly calls “excellent”) is
reprinted in the 5th vol. of _A Continuation of Dodsley’s Old Plays_,
1816.
_A Trick to catch the Old One_ was licensed by Sir George Bucke, 7th
Oct. 1607: see Chalmers’s _Suppl. Apol._ p. 201.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
WITGOOD.
LUCRE, _his uncle_.
HOARD.
ONESIPHORUS HOARD, _his brother_.
LIMBER, }
KIX,[1] }
LAMPREY, } _friends of_ HOARD.
SPICHCOCK, }
DAMPIT.
GULF.
FREEDOM, _son to_ MISTRESS LUCRE.
MONEYLOVE.
_Host._
SIR LAUNCELOT.
_Creditors._
_Gentlemen._
GEORGE.
_Drawer._
_Boy._
_Scrivener._
_Servants, &c._
_Courtesan._
MISTRESS LUCRE.
JOYCE, _niece to_ HOARD.
LADY FOXSTONE.
AUDREY, _servant to_ DAMPIT.
SCENE (except during the first two scenes of act i.),
LONDON.
A TRICK
TO CATCH THE OLD ONE.
--------------
ACT I. SCENE I.
_A Street in a Country Town._
_Enter_ WITGOOD.
WIT. All’s gone! still thou’rt a gentleman, that’s all;
but a poor one, that’s nothing. What milk bring[2] thy
meadows forth now? where are thy goodly uplands, and thy
down lands? all sunk into that little pit, lechery.
Why should a gallant pay but two shillings for his
ordinary[3] that nourishes him, and twenty times two
for his brothel[4] that consumes him? But where’s
Long-acre?[5] in my uncle’s conscience, which is
three years’ voyage about: he that sets out upon his
conscience ne’er finds the way home again; he is either
swallowed in the quicksands of law-quillets, or
splits upon the piles of a _præmunire_; yet these old
fox-brained and ox-browed uncles have still defences for
their avarice, and apologies for their practices, and
will thus greet our follies:
_He that doth his youth expose
To brothel, drink, and danger,
Let him that is his nearest kin
Cheat him before a stranger:_
and that’s his uncle; ’tis a principle in usury. I dare
not visit the city: there I should be too soon visited
by that horrible plague, my debts; and by that means I
lose a virgin’s love, her portion, and her virtues.
Well, how should a man live now that has no living?
hum,—why, are there not a million of men in the world
that only sojourn upon their brain, and make their wits
their mercers; and am I but one amongst that million,
and cannot thrive upon’t? Any trick out of the compass
of law[6] now would come happily to me.
_Enter Courtesan._
COUR. My love!
WIT. My loathing! hast thou been the secret consumption
of my purse, and now comest to undo my last means, my
wits? wilt leave no virtue in me, and yet thou ne’er the
better?
Hence, courtesan, round-webb’d tarantula,
That dry’st the roses in the cheeks of youth!
COUR. I’ve[7] been true unto your pleasure; and all
your lands
Thrice rack’d, were[8] never worth the jewel which
I prodigally gave you, my virginity:
Lands mortgag’d may return, and more esteem’d,
But honesty once pawn’d, is ne’er redeem’d.
WIT. Forgive: I do thee wrong
To make thee sin, and then to chide thee for’t.
COUR. I know I am your loathing now; farewell.
WIT. Stay, best invention, stay.
COUR. I that _have been the secret consumption of your
purse_, shall I stay now _to undo your last means, your
wits? hence, courtesan, away!_
WIT. I prithee, make me not mad at my own weapon: stay
(a thing few women can do, I know that, and therefore
they had need wear stays), be not contrary: dost love
me? Fate[9] has so cast it that all my means I must
derive from thee.
COUR. From me? be happy then;
What lies within the power of my performance
Shall be commanded of thee.
WIT. Spoke like
An honest drab, i’faith: it may prove something;
What trick is not an embryon at first,
Until a perfect shape come over it?
COUR. Come,[10] I must help you: whereabouts left you?
I’ll proceed:
Though you beget, ’tis I must help to breed.
Speak, what is’t? I’d fain conceive it.
WIT. So, so, so: thou shalt presently take the name and
form upon thee of a rich country widow, four hundred
a-year valiant,[11] in woods, in bullocks, in barns, and
in rye-stacks; we’ll to London, and to my covetous
uncle.
COUR. I begin to applaud thee; our states being both
desperate, they are soon resolute: but how for horses?
WIT. Mass, that’s true; the jest will be of some
continuance. Let me see; horses now, a bots on ’em!
Stay, I have acquaintance with a mad host, never yet
bawd to thee; I have rinsed the whoreson’s gums in
mull-sack many a time and often: put but a good tale
into his ear now, so it come off cleanly, and there’s
horse and man for us, I dare warrant thee.
COUR. Arm your wits then
Speedily; there shall want nothing in me,
Either in behaviour, discourse, or fashion,
That shall discredit your intended purpose.
I will so artfully disguise my wants,
And set so good a courage on my state,
That I will be believ’d.
WIT. Why, then, all’s furnished.[12] I shall go nigh to
catch that old fox mine uncle: though he make but some
amends for my undoing, yet there’s some comfort in’t, he
cannot otherwise choose (though it be but in hope to
cozen me again) but supply any hasty want that I bring
to town with me. The device well and cunningly carried,
the name of a rich widow, and four hundred a-year in
good earth, will so conjure up a kind of usurer’s love
in him to me, that he will not only desire my presence,—
which at first shall scarce be granted him, I’ll keep
off a’ purpose,—but I shall find him so officious to
deserve, so ready to supply! I know the state of an old
man’s affection so well: if his nephew be poor indeed,
why, he lets God alone with him; but if he be once rich,
then he’ll be the first man that helps him.
COUR. ’Tis right the world; for, in these days, an old
man’s love to his kindred is like his kindness to his
wife, ’tis always done before he comes at it.
WIT. I owe thee for that jest. Begone: here’s all my
wealth; prepare thyself, away. I’ll to mine host with
all possible haste; and with the best art, and most
profitable form, pour the sweet circumstance into his
ear, which shall have the gift to turn all the wax to
honey. [_Exit Courtesan._]—How no[w]? O, the right
worshipful seniors of our country!
_Enter_ ONESIPHORUS HOARD, LIMBER, _and_ KIX.[13]
ONES. H. Who’s that?
LIM. O, the common rioter; take no note of him.
WIT. You will not see me now; the comfort is,
Ere it be long you will scarce see yourselves.
[_Aside; and exit._
ONES. H. I wonder how he breathes; has consum’d all
Upon that courtesan.
LIM. We have heard so much.
ONES. H. You’ve[14] heard all truth. His uncle and my
brother
Have been these three years mortal adversaries:
Two old tough spirits, they seldom meet but fight,
Or quarrel when ’tis calmest:
I think their anger be the very fire
That keeps their age alive.
LIM. What was the quarrel, sir?
ONES. H. Faith, about a purchase, fetching over a young
heir. Master Hoard, my brother, having wasted much time
in beating the bargain, what did me old Lucre, but as
his conscience moved him, knowing the poor gentleman,
stept in between ’em, and cozened him himself.
LIM. And was this all, sir?
ONES. H. This was e’en it, sir; yet, for all this, I
know no reason but the match might go forward betwixt
his wife’s son and my niece: what though there be a
dissension between the two old men, I see no reason it
should put a difference between the two younger; ’tis as
natural for old folks to fall out, as for young to fall
in. A scholar comes a-wooing to my niece; well, he’s
wise, but he’s poor: her son comes a-wooing to my niece;
well, he’s a fool, but he’s rich.
LIM. Ay, marry, sir.
ONES. H. Pray, now, is not a rich fool better than a
poor philosopher?
LIM. One would think so, i’faith.
ONES. H. She now remains at London with my brother, her
second uncle, to learn fashions, practise music; the
voice between her lips, and the viol[15] between her
legs, she’ll be fit for a consort very speedily: a
thousand good pound is her portion; if she marry, we’ll
ride up and be merry.
KIX. A match, if it be a match. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Another Street in the same Town._
_Enter_ WITGOOD, _meeting Host_.
WIT. Mine host!
HOST. Young master Witgood!
WIT. I have been laying[16] all the town for thee.
HOST. Why, what’s the news, bully Had-land?
WIT. What geldings are in the house, of thine own?
answer me to that first.
HOST. Why, man, why?
WIT. Mark me what I say: I’ll tell thee such a tale in
thine ear, that thou shalt trust me spite of thy teeth,
furnish me with some money wille nille, and ride up with
me thyself _contra voluntatem et professionem_.
HOST. How? let me see this trick, and I’ll say thou hast
more art than a conjurer.
WIT. Dost thou joy in my advancement?
HOST. Do I love sack and ginger?
WIT. Comes my prosperity desiredly to thee?
HOST. Come forfeitures to a usurer, fees to an officer,
punks to an host, and pigs to a parson desiredly? why,
then, la.
WIT. Will the report of a widow of four hundred a-year,
boy, make thee leap, and sing, and dance, and come to
thy place again?
HOST. Wilt thou command me now? I am thy spirit; conjure
me into any shape.
WIT. I ha’ brought her from her friends, turned back
the horses by a slight;[17] not so much as one among
her six men, goodly large yeomanly fellows, will she
trust with this her purpose: by this light, all
unmanned, regardless of her state, neglectful of
vain-glorious ceremony, all for my love. O, ’tis a
fine little voluble tongue, mine host, that wins a
widow!
HOST. No, ’tis a tongue with a great T, my boy, that
wins a widow.
WIT. Now, sir, the case stands thus: good mine host, if
thou lovest my happiness, assist me.
HOST. Command all my beasts i’ th’ house.
WIT. Nay, that’s not all neither: prithee, take truce
with thy joy, and listen to me. Thou knowest I have a
wealthy uncle i’ th’ city, somewhat the wealthier by my
follies: the report of this fortune, well and cunningly
carried, might be a means to draw some goodness from the
usuring rascal; for I have put her in hope already of
some estate that I have either in land or money: now, if
I be found true in neither, what may I expect but a
sudden breach of our love, utter dissolution of the
match, and confusion of my fortunes for ever?
HOST. Wilt thou but trust the managing of thy business
with me?
WIT. With thee? why, will I desire to thrive in my
purpose? will I hug four hundred a-year, I that know the
misery of nothing? Will that man wish a rich widow, that
has ne’er a hole to put his head in? With thee, mine
host? why, believe it, sooner with thee than with a
covey of counsellors.
HOST. Thank you for your good report, i’faith, sir; and
if I stand you not in stead, why then let an host come
off _hic et hæc hostis_, a deadly enemy to dice, drink,
and venery. Come, where’s this widow?
WIT. Hard at Park-end.
HOST. I’ll be her serving-man for once.
WIT. Why, there we let off together: keep full time; my
thoughts were striking then just the same number.
HOST. I knew’t: shall we then see our merry days again?
WIT. Our merry nights—which ne’er shall be more seen.
[_Aside._]
[_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_A Street._[18]
_Enter_[19] LUCRE _and_ HOARD _quarrelling_; LAMPREY,
SPICHCOCK, FREEDOM, _and_ MONEYLOVE, _coming
between to pacify them_.
LAM. Nay, good master Lucre, and you, master Hoard,
anger is the wind which you’re both too much troubled
withal.
HOA. Shall my adversary thus daily affront[20] me,
ripping up the old wound of our malice, which three
summers could not close up? into which wound the very
sight of him drops scalding lead instead of balsamum.
LUC. Why, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard! may I not
pass in the state of quietness to mine own house? answer
me to that, before witness, and why? I’ll refer the
cause to honest, even-minded gentlemen, or require the
mere indifferences of the law to decide this matter. I
got the purchase, true: was’t not any man’s case? yes:
will a wise man stand as a bawd, whilst another wipes
his nose[21] of the bargain? no; I answer no in that
case.
LAM. Nay, sweet master Lucre.
HOA. Was it the part of a friend—no, rather of a Jew;—
mark what I say—when I had beaten the bush to the last
bird, or, as I may term it, the price to a pound, then,
like a cunning usurer, to come in the evening of the
bargain, and glean all my hopes in a minute? to enter,
as it were, at the back door of the purchase? for thou
ne’er camest the right way by it.
LUC. Hast thou the conscience to tell me so without any
impeachment to thyself?
HOA. Thou that canst defeat thy own nephew, Lucre,
lap his lands into bonds, and take the extremity of
thy kindred’s forfeitures, because he’s a rioter, a
wastethrift, a brothel-master,[22] and so forth;
what may a stranger expect from thee but _vulnera
dilacerata_, as the poet says, dilacerate dealing?
LUC. Upbraidest thou me with nephew? is all imputation
laid upon me? what acquaintance have I with his follies?
if he riot, ’tis he must want it; if he surfeit, ’tis he
must feel it; if he drab it, ’tis he must lie by’t:
what’s this to me?
HOA. What’s all to thee? nothing, nothing; such is the
gulf of thy desire and the wolf of thy conscience: but
be assured, old Pecunius[23] Lucre, if ever fortune so
bless me, that I may be at leisure to vex thee, or any
means so favour me, that I may have opportunity to mad
thee, I will pursue it with that flame of hate, that
spirit of malice, unrepressed wrath, that I will blast
thy comforts.
LUC. Ha, ha, ha!
LAM. Nay, master Hoard, you’re a wise gentleman——
HOA. I will so cross thee——
LUC. And I thee.
HOA. So without mercy fret thee——
LUC. So monstrously oppose thee——
HOA. Dost scoff at my just anger? O, that I had as much
power as usury has over thee!
LUC. Then thou wouldst have as much power as the devil
has over thee.
HOA. Toad!
LUC. Aspic!
HOA. Serpent!
LUC. Viper!
SPI. Nay, gentlemen, then we must divide you perforce.
LAM. When the fire grows too unreasonable hot, there’s
no better way than to take off the wood.
[_Exeunt_ LAMPREY _and_ SPICHCOCK, _drawing off_ LUCRE
_and_ HOARD _different ways: manent_[24] FREEDOM
_and_ MONEYLOVE.
FREE. A word, good signior.
MON. How now, what’s the news?
FREE. ’Tis given me to understand that you are a rival
of mine in the love of mistress Joyce, master Hoard’s
niece: say me ay, say me no?
MON. Yes, ’tis so.
FREE. Then look to yourself, you cannot live long: I’m
practising every morning; a month hence I’ll challenge
you.
MON. Give me your hand upon’t; there’s my pledge I’ll
meet you. [_Strikes him, and exit._
FREE. O, O! what reason had you for that, sir, to strike
before the month? you knew I was not ready for you, and
that made you so crank:[25] I am not such a coward to
strike again, I warrant you. My ear has the law of her
side, for it burns horribly. I will teach him to strike
a naked face, the longest day of his life: ’slid, it
shall cost me some money but I’ll bring this box into
the chancery. [_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_Another Street._
_Enter_ WITGOOD _and Host_.
HOST. Fear you nothing, sir; I have lodged her in a
house of credit, I warrant you.
WIT. Hast thou the writings?
HOST. Firm, sir.
WIT. Prithee, stay, and behold two the most prodigious
rascals that ever slipt into the shape of men; Dampit,
sirrah, and young Gulf his fellow-caterpillar.
HOST. Dampit? sure I have heard of that Dampit?
WIT. Heard of him? why, man, he that has lost both his
ears may hear of him; a famous infamous trampler of
time; his own phrase. Note him well: that Dampit,
sirrah, he in the uneven beard and the serge cloak, is
the most notorious, usuring, blasphemous, atheistical,
brothel-vomiting rascal, that we have in these latter
times now extant; whose first beginning was the stealing
of a masty[26] dog from a farmer’s house.
HOST. He looked as if he would obey the commandment[s]
well, when he began first with stealing.
WIT. True: the next town he came at, he set the dogs
together by th’ ears.
HOST. A sign he should follow the law, by my faith.
WIT. So it followed, indeed; and being destitute of all
fortunes, staked his masty against a noble,[27] and by
great fortune his dog had the day: how he made it up ten
shillings, I know not; but his own boast is, that he
came to town but with ten shillings in his purse, and
now is credibly worth ten thousand pound.
HOST. How the devil came he by it?
_Enter_ DAMPIT _and_ GULF.
WIT. How the devil came he not by it? If you put in the
devil once, riches come with a vengeance: has been a
trampler of the law,[28] sir; and the devil has a care
of his footmen. The rogue has spied me now; he nibbled
me finely once, too:—a pox search you! [_Aside._]—O,
master Dampit!—the very loins of thee! [_Aside._]—Cry
you mercy, master Gulf; you walk so low, I promise you I
saw you not, sir.
GULF. He that walks low walks safe, the poets tell us.
WIT. And nigher hell by a foot and a half than the
rest of his fellows.— [_Aside._
But, my old Harry!
DAM. My sweet Theodorus!
WIT. ’Twas a merry world when thou camest to town with
ten shillings in thy purse.
DAM. And now worth ten thousand pound, my boy. Report
it; Harry Dampit, a trampler of time, say, he would be
up in a morning, and be here with his serge gown, dashed
up to the hams in a cause; have his feet stink about
Westminster Hall, and come home again; see the galleons,
the galleasses,[29] the great armadas of the law; then
there be hoys and petty vessels, oars and scullers of
the time; there be picklocks of the time too; then would
I be here; I would trample up and down like a mule: now
to the judges, _May it please your reverend honourable
fatherhoods_; then to my counsellor, _May it please your
worshipful patience_; then to the examiner’s office,
_May it please your mastership’s gentleness_; then to
one of the clerks, _May it please your worshipful
lousiness_,—for I find him scrubbing in his cod-piece;
then to the hall again, then to the chamber again——
WIT. And when to the cellar again?
DAM. E’en when thou wilt again: tramplers of time,
motions of Fleet Street, and visions of Holborn;[30]
here I have fees of one, there I have fees of another;
my clients come about me, the fooliaminy and coxcombry
of the country: I still trashed[31] and trotted for
other men’s causes; thus was poor Harry Dampit made rich
by others’ laziness, who, though they would not follow
their own suits, I made ’em follow me with their purses.
WIT. Didst thou so, old Harry?
DAM. Ay, and I soused ’em with bills of charges,
i’faith; twenty pound a-year have I brought in for
boat-hire, and I ne’er stept into boat in my life.
WIT. Tramplers of time!
DAM. Ay, tramplers of time, rascals of time,
bull-beggars![32]
WIT. Ah, thou’rt a mad old Harry!—Kind master Gulf, I am
bold to renew my acquaintance.
GULF. I embrace it, sir. [_Exeunt._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ LUCRE’S _House_.
_Enter_ LUCRE.
LUC. My adversary evermore twits me with my nephew,
forsooth, my nephew: why may not a virtuous uncle have a
dissolute nephew? What though he be a brotheller, a
wastethrift, a common surfeiter, and, to conclude, a
beggar, must sin in him call up shame in me? Since we
have no part in their follies, why should we have part
in their infamies? For my strict hand toward his
mortgage, that I deny not: I confess I had an uncle’s
pen’worth; let me see, half in half, true: I saw neither
hope of his reclaiming, nor comfort in his being; and
was it not then better bestowed upon his uncle than upon
one of his aunts?—I need not say bawd, for every one
knows what aunt stands for in the last translation.
_Enter Servant._
Now, sir?
SER. There’s a country serving-man, sir, attends to
speak with your worship.
LUC. I’m at best leisure now; send him in to me.
[_Exit Servant._
_Enter Host disguised as a serving-man._
HOST. Bless your venerable worship.
LUC. Welcome, good fellow.
HOST. He calls me thief[33] at first sight, yet he
little thinks I am an host. [_Aside._
LUC. What’s thy business with me?
HOST. Faith, sir, I am sent from my mistress, to any
sufficient gentleman indeed, to ask advice upon a
doubtful point: ’tis indifferent, sir, to whom I come,
for I know none, nor did my mistress direct me to any
particular man, for she’s as mere a stranger here as
myself; only I found your worship within, and ’tis a
thing I ever loved, sir, to be despatched as soon as I
can.
LUC. A good, blunt honesty; I like him well. [_Aside._]—
What is thy mistress?
HOST. Faith, a country gentlewoman, and a widow, sir.
Yesterday was the first flight of us; but now she
intends to stay till a little term business be ended.
LUC. Her name, I prithee?
HOST. It runs there in the writings, sir, among her
lands; widow Medler.
LUC. Medler? mass, have I ne’er heard of that widow?
HOST. Yes, I warrant you, have you, sir: not the rich
widow in Staffordshire?
LUC. Cuds me, there ’tis indeed; thou hast put me into
memory: there’s a widow indeed! ah, that I were a
bachelor again!
HOST. No doubt your worship might do much then; but
she’s fairly promised to a bachelor already.
LUC. Ah, what is he, I prithee?
HOST. A country gentleman too; one whom your worship
knows not, I’m sure; has spent some few follies in his
youth, but marriage, by my faith, begins to call him
home: my mistress loves him, sir, and love covers
faults, you know: one master Witgood, if ever you have
heard of the gentleman.
LUC. Ha! Witgood, sayst thou?
HOST. That’s his name indeed, sir; my mistress is like
to bring him to a goodly seat yonder; four hundred
a-year, by my faith.
LUC. But, I pray, take me with you.[34]
HOST. Ay, sir.
LUC. What countryman might this young Witgood be?
HOST. A Leicestershire gentleman, sir.
LUC. My nephew, by th’ mass, my nephew! I’ll fetch out
more of this, i’faith: a simple country fellow, I’ll
work’t out of him. [_Aside._]—And is that gentleman,
sayst thou, presently to marry her?
HOST. Faith, he brought her up to town, sir; has the
best card in all the bunch for’t, her heart; and I know
my mistress will be married ere she go down; nay, I’ll
swear that, for she’s none of those widows that will go
down first, and be married after; she hates that, I can
tell you, sir.
LUC. By my faith, sir, she is like to have a proper
gentleman, and a comely; I’ll give her that gift.
HOST. Why, does your worship know him, sir?
LUC. I know him? does not all the world know him? can a
man of such exquisite qualities be hid under a bushel?
HOST. Then your worship may save me a labour, for I had
charge given me to inquire after him.
LUC. Inquire of him? If I might counsel thee, thou
shouldst ne’er trouble thyself further; inquire of him
of no more but of me; I’ll fit thee. I grant he has been
youthful; but is he not now reclaimed? mark you that,
sir: has not your mistress, think you, been wanton in
her youth? if men be wags, are there not women wagtails?
HOST. No doubt, sir.
LUC. Does not he return wisest that comes home whipt
with his own follies?
HOST. Why, very true, sir.
LUC. The worst report you can hear of him, I can tell
you, is that he has been a kind gentleman, a liberal,
and a worthy: who but lusty Witgood, thrice-noble
Witgood!
HOST. Since your worship has so much knowledge in him,
can you resolve[35] me, sir, what his living might be?
my duty binds me, sir, to have a care of my mistress’
estate; she has been ever a good mistress to me, though
I say it: many wealthy suitors has she nonsuited for his
sake; yet though her love be so fixed, a man cannot tell
whether his non-performance may help to remove it, sir:
he makes us believe he has lands and living.
LUC. Who, young master Witgood? why, believe it, he has
as goodly a fine living out yonder,—what do you call the
place?
HOST. Nay, I know not, i’faith.
LUC. Hum—see, like a beast, if I have not forgot the
name—pooh! and out yonder again, goodly grown woods and
fair meadows: pax[36] on’t, I can ne’er hit of that
place neither: he? why, he’s Witgood of Witgood Hall;
he, an unknown thing!
HOST. Is he so, sir? To see how rumour will alter! trust
me, sir, we heard once he had no lands, but all lay
mortgaged to an uncle he has in town here.
LUC. Push,[37] ’tis a tale, ’tis a tale.
HOST. I can assure you, sir, ’twas credibly reported to
my mistress.
LUC. Why, do you think, i’faith, he was ever so simple
to mortgage his lands to his uncle? or his uncle so
unnatural to take the extremity of such a mortgage?
HOST. That was my saying still, sir.
LUC. Pooh, ne’er think it.
HOST. Yet that report goes current.
LUC. Nay, then you urge me: Cannot I tell that best that
am his uncle?
HOST. How, sir? what have I done!
LUC. Why, how now! in a swoon, man?
HOST. Is your worship his uncle, sir?
LUC. Can that be any harm to you, sir?
HOST. I do beseech you, sir, do me the favour to conceal
it: what a beast was I to utter so much! pray, sir, do
me the kindness to keep it in; I shall have my coat
pulled o’er my ears, an’t should be known; for the truth
is, an’t please your worship, to prevent much rumour and
many suitors, they intend to be married very suddenly
and privately.
LUC. And dost thou think it stands with my judgment to
do them injury? must I needs say the knowledge of this
marriage comes from thee? am I a fool at fifty-four? do
I lack subtlety now, that have got all my wealth by it?
There’s a leash of angels[38] for thee: come, let me woo
thee speak where lie they?
HOST. So I might have no anger, sir——
LUC. Passion of me, not a jot: prithee, come.
HOST. I would not have it known, sir,[39] it came by my
means.
LUC. Why, am I a man of wisdom?
HOST. I dare trust your worship, sir; but I’m a stranger
to your house; and to avoid all intelligencers, I desire
your worship’s ear.
LUC. This fellow’s worth a matter of trust. [_Aside._]—
Come, sir. [_Host whispers to him._] Why, now thou’rt an
honest lad.—Ah, sirrah, nephew!
HOST. Please you, sir, now I have begun with your
worship, when shall I attend for your advice upon that
doubtful point? I must come warily now.
LUC. Tut, fear thou nothing; To-morrow’s evening shall
resolve the doubt.
HOST. The time shall cause my attendance.
LUC. Fare thee well. [_Exit Host._]—There’s more true
honesty in such a country serving-man than in a hundred
of our cloak companions:[40] I may well call ’em
companions, for since blue coats have been turned into
cloaks,[41] we can scarce know the man from the master.—
George!
_Enter_ GEORGE.
GEO. Anon, sir.
LUC. List hither: [_whispers_] keep the place secret:
commend me to my nephew; I know no cause, tell him, but
he might see his uncle.
GEO. I will, sir.
LUC. And, do you hear, sir? Take heed you use him with
respect and duty.
GEO. Here’s a strange alteration; one day he must be
turned out like a beggar, and now he must be called in
like a knight. [_Aside, and exit._
LUC. Ah, sirrah, that rich widow!—four hundred a-year!
beside, I hear she lays claim to a title of a hundred
more. This falls unhappily that he should bear a grudge
to me now, being likely to prove so rich: what is’t,
trow,[42] that he makes me a stranger for? Hum,—I hope
he has not so much wit to apprehend that I cozened him:
he deceives me then. Good heaven, who would have thought
it would ever have come to this pass! yet he’s a proper
gentleman, i’faith, give him his due, marry, that’s his
mortgage; but that I ne’er mean to give him: I’ll make
him rich enough in words, if that be good; and if it
come to a piece of money, I will not greatly stick
for’t; there may be hope some of the widow’s lands, too,
may one day fall upon me, if things be carried wisely.
_Re-enter_ GEORGE.
Now, sir, where is he?
GEO. He desires your worship to hold him excused; he has
such weighty business, it commands him wholly from all
men.
LUC. Were those my nephew’s words?
GEO. Yes, indeed, sir.
LUC. When men grow rich, they grow proud too, I perceive
that; he would not have sent me such an answer once
within this twelvemonth: see what ’tis when a man’s come
to his lands! [_Aside._]—Return to him again, sir; tell
him his uncle desires his company for an hour; I’ll
trouble him but an hour, say; ’tis for his own good,
tell him: and, do you hear, sir? put _worship_ upon him:
go to, do as I bid you; he’s like to be a gentleman of
worship very shortly.
GEO. This is good sport, i’faith. [_Aside, and exit._
LUC. Troth, he uses his uncle discourteously now: can he
tell what I may do for him? goodness may come from me in
a minute, that comes not in seven year again: he knows
my humour; I am not so usually good; ’tis no small thing
that draws kindness from me, he may know that and[43] he
will. The chief cause that invites me to do him most
good, is the sudden astonishing of old Hoard, my
adversary: how pale his malice will look at my nephew’s
advancement! with what a dejected spirit he will behold
his fortunes, whom but last day he proclaimed rioter,
penurious makeshift, despised brothel-master![44] Ha,
ha! ’twill do me more secret joy than my last purchase,
more precious comfort than all these widow’s revenues.
_Re-enter_ GEORGE, _shewing in_ WITGOOD.
Now, sir?
GEO. With much entreaty he’s at length come, sir.
[_Exit._
LUC. O, nephew, let me salute you, sir! you’re welcome,
nephew.
WIT. Uncle, I thank you.
LUC. You’ve a fault, nephew; you’re a stranger here:
Well, heaven give you joy!
WIT. Of what, sir?
LUC. Hah, we can hear!
You might have known your uncle’s house, i’faith,
You and your widow: go to, you were to blame;
If I may tell you so without offence.
WIT. How could you hear of that, sir?
LUC. O, pardon me!
’Twas[45] your will to have kept it[46] from me, I
perceive now.
WIT. Not for any defect of love, I protest, uncle.
LUC. O, ’twas unkindness, nephew! fie, fie, fie.
WIT. I am sorry you take it in that sense, sir.
LUC. Pooh, you cannot colour it, i’faith, nephew.
WIT. Will you but hear what I can say in my just excuse,
sir?
LUC. Yes, faith, will I, and welcome.
WIT. You that know my danger i’ th’ city, sir, so well,
how great my debts are, and how extreme my creditors,
could not out of your pure judgment, sir, have wished us
hither.
LUC. Mass, a firm reason indeed.
WIT. Else, my uncle’s house! why, ’t had been the only
make-match.
LUC. Nay, and thy credit.
WIT. My credit? nay, my countenance: push,[47] nay, I
know, uncle, you would have wrought it so by your wit,
you would have made her believe in time the whole house
had been mine.
LUC. Ay, and most of the goods too.
WIT. La, you there! well, let ’em all prate what they
will, there’s nothing like the bringing of a widow to
one’s uncle’s house.
LUC. Nay, let nephews be ruled as they list, they shall
find their uncle’s house the most natural place when
all’s done.
WIT. There they may be bold.
LUC. Life, they may do any thing there, man, and fear
neither beadle nor somner:[48] an uncle’s house! a very
Cole-Harbour.[49] Sirrah, I’ll touch thee near now: hast
thou so much interest in thy widow, that by a token thou
couldst presently send for her?
WIT. Troth, I think I can, uncle.
LUC. Go to, let me see that.
WIT. Pray, command one of your men hither, uncle.
LUC. George!
_Re-enter_ GEORGE.
GEO. Here, sir.
LUC. Attend my nephew. [WITGOOD _whispers to_ GEORGE,
_who then goes out_.]—I love a’ life[50] to prattle with
a rich widow; ’tis pretty, methinks, when our tongues go
together: and then to promise much and perform little; I
love that sport a’ life, i’faith: yet I am in the mood
now to do my nephew some good, if he take me handsomely.
[_Aside._]—What, have you despatched?
WIT. I ha’ sent, sir.
LUC. Yet I must condemn you of unkindness, nephew.
WIT. Heaven forbid, uncle!
LUC. Yes, faith, must I. Say your debts be many, your
creditors importunate, yet the kindness of a thing is
all, nephew: you might have sent me close word on’t,
without the least danger or prejudice to your fortunes.
WIT. Troth, I confess it, uncle; I was to blame there;
but, indeed, my intent was to have clapped it up
suddenly, and so have broke forth like a joy to my
friends, and a wonder to the world: beside, there’s a
trifle of a forty pound matter toward the setting of me
forth; my friends should ne’er have known on’t; I meant
to make shift for that myself.
LUC. How, nephew? let me not hear such a word again, I
beseech you: shall I be beholding[51] to you?
WIT. To me? Alas, what do you mean, uncle?
LUC. I charge you, upon my love, you trouble nobody but
myself.
WIT. You’ve no reason for that, uncle.
LUC. Troth, I’ll ne’er be friends with you while you
live, and[52] you do.
WIT. Nay, and you say so, uncle, here’s my hand; I will
not do’t.
LUC. Why, well said! there’s some hope in thee when thou
wilt be ruled; I’ll make it up fifty, faith, because I
see thee so reclaimed. Peace; here comes my wife with
Sam, her t’other husband’s son.
_Enter_ MISTRESS LUCRE _and_ FREEDOM.
WIT. Good aunt.
FREE. Cousin Witgood, I rejoice in my salute; you’re
most welcome to this noble city, governed with the sword
in the scabbard.
WIT. And the wit in the pommel. [_Aside._]—Good master
Sam Freedom, I return the salute.
LUC. By the mass, she’s coming, wife; let me see now how
thou wilt entertain her.
MIS. L. I hope I am not to learn, sir, to entertain a
widow; ’tis not so long ago since I was one myself.
_Enter Courtesan._
WIT. Uncle——
LUC. She’s come indeed.
WIT. My uncle was desirous to see you, widow, and I
presumed to invite you.
COURT. The presumption was nothing, master Witgood: is
this your uncle, sir?
LUC. Marry am I, sweet widow; and his good uncle he
shall find me; ay, by this smack that I give thee
[_kisses her_], thou’rt welcome.—Wife, bid the widow
welcome the same way again,
FREE. I am a gentleman now too by my father’s
occupation, and I see no reason but I may kiss a widow
by my father’s copy: truly, I think the charter is not
against it; surely these are the words, _The son once a
gentleman may revel it, though his father were a
dauber_; ’tis about the fifteenth page: I’ll to her.
[_Aside, then offers to kiss the Courtesan, who repulses him._
LUC. You’re not very busy now; a word with thee, sweet
widow.
FREE. Coads-nigs! I was never so disgraced since the
hour my mother whipt me.
LUC. Beside, I have no child of mine own to care for;
she’s my second wife, old, past bearing: clap sure to
him, widow; he’s like to be my heir, I can tell you.
COURT. Is he so, sir?
LUC. He knows it already, and the knave’s proud on’t:
jolly rich widows have been offered him here i’ th’
city, great merchants’ wives; and do you think he would
once look upon ’em? forsooth, he’ll none: you are
beholding[53] to him i’ th’ country, then, ere we could
be: nay, I’ll hold a wager, widow, if he were once known
to be in town, he would be presently sought after; nay,
and happy were they that could catch him first.
COURT. I think so.
LUC. O, there would be such running to and fro, widow!
he should not pass the streets for ’em: he’d be took up
in one great house or other presently: faugh! they know
he has it, and must have it. You see this house here,
widow; this house and all comes to him; goodly rooms,
ready furnished, ceiled with plaster of Paris, and all
hung about[54] with cloth of arras.—Nephew.
WIT. Sir.
LUC. Shew the widow your house; carry her into all the
rooms, and bid her welcome.—You shall see, widow.—
Nephew, strike all sure above and[55] thou beest a good
boy,—ah! [_Aside to_ WITGOOD.
WIT. Alas, sir, I know not how she would take it!
LUC. The right way, I warrant t’ye: a pox, art an ass?
would I were in thy stead! get you up, I am ashamed of
you. [_Exeunt_ WITGOOD _and Courtesan_]. So: let ’em
agree as they will now: many a match has been struck up
in my house a’ this fashion: let ’em try all manner of
ways, still there’s nothing like an uncle’s house to
strike the stroke in. I’ll hold my wife in talk a
little.—Now, Jenny, your son there goes a-wooing to a
poor gentlewoman but of a thousand [pound] portion: see
my nephew, a lad of less hope, strikes at four hundred
a-year in good rubbish.
MIS. L. Well, we must do as we may, sir.
LUC. I’ll have his money ready told for him again[56] he
come down: let me see, too;—by th’ mass, I must present
the widow with some jewel, a good piece of[57] plate, or
such a device; ’twill hearten her on well: I have a very
fair standing cup; and a good high standing cup will
please a widow above all other pieces. [_Exit._
MIS. L. Do you mock us with your nephew?—I have a plot
in my head, son;—i’faith, husband, to cross you.
FREE. Is it a tragedy plot, or a comedy plot, good
mother?
MIS. L. ’Tis a plot shall vex him. I charge you, of my
blessing, son Sam, that you presently withdraw the
action of your love from master Hoard’s niece.
FREE. How, mother?
MIS. L. Nay, I have a plot in my head, i’faith. Here,
take this chain of gold, and this fair diamond: dog
me the widow home to her lodging, and at thy best
opportunity fasten ’em both upon her. Nay, I have a
reach: I can tell you thou art known what thou art, son,
among the right worshipful, all the twelve companies.
FREE. Truly, I thank ’em for it.
MIS. L. He? he’s a scab to thee: and so certify her thou
hast two hundred a-year of thyself, beside thy good
parts—a proper person and a lovely. If I were a widow, I
could find in my heart to have thee myself, son; ay,
from ’em all.
FREE. Thank you for your good will, mother; but, indeed,
I had rather have a stranger: and if I woo her not in
that violent fashion, that I will make her be glad to
take these gifts ere I leave her, let me never be called
the heir of your body.
MIS. L. Nay, I know there’s enough in you, son, if you
once come to put it forth.
FREE. I’ll quickly make a bolt or a shaft on’t.[58]
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Street._
_Enter_ HOARD _and_ MONEYLOVE.
MON. Faith, master Hoard, I have bestowed many months in
the suit of your niece, such was the dear love I ever
bore to her virtues: but since she hath so extremely
denied me, I am to lay out for my fortunes elsewhere.
HOA. Heaven forbid but you should, sir! I ever told you
my niece stood otherwise affected.
MON. I must confess you did, sir; yet, in regard of my
great loss of time, and the zeal with which I sought
your niece, shall I desire one favour of your worship?
HOA. In regard of those two, ’tis hard but you shall,
sir.
MON. I shall rest grateful: ’tis not full three hours,
sir, since the happy rumour of a rich country widow came
to my hearing.
HOA. How? a rich country widow?
MON. Four hundred a-year landed.
HOA. Yea?
MON. Most firm, sir; and I have learnt her lodging: here
my suit begins, sir; if I might but entreat your worship
to be a countenance for me, and speak a good word (for
your words will pass), I nothing doubt but I might set
fair for the widow; nor shall your labour, sir, end
altogether in thanks; two hundred angels[59]——
HOA. So, so: what suitors has she?
MON. There lies the comfort, sir; the report of her is
yet but a whisper; and only solicited by young riotous
Witgood, nephew to your mortal adversary.
HOA. Ha! art certain he’s her suitor?
MON. Most certain, sir; and his uncle very industrious
to beguile the widow, and make up the match.
HOA. So: very good.
MON. Now, sir, you know this young Witgood is a
spendthrift, dissolute fellow.
HOA. A very rascal.
MON. A midnight surfeiter.
HOA. The spume of a brothel-house.
MON. True, sir: which being well told in your worship’s
phrase, may both heave him out of her mind, and drive a
fair way for me to the widow’s affections.
HOA. Attend me about five.
MON. With my best care, sir. [_Exit._
HOA. Fool, thou hast left thy treasure with a thief,
To trust a widower with a suit in love!
Happy revenge, I hug thee! I have not only the means
laid before me, extremely to cross my adversary, and
confound the last hopes of his nephew, but thereby to
enrich my state, augment my revenues, and build mine own
fortunes greater: ha, ha!
I’ll mar your phrase, o’erturn your flatteries,
Undo your windings, policies, and plots,
Fall like a secret and despatchful plague
On your secured comforts. Why, I am able
To buy three of Lucre; thrice outbid him,
Let my out-monies be reckoned and all.
_Enter Three of_ WITGOOD’S _Creditors_.
FIRST C. I am glad of this news.
SEC. C. So are we, by my faith.
THIRD C. Young Witgood will be a gallant again now.
HOA. Peace. [_Listening._
FIRST C. I promise you, master Cockpit, she’s a mighty
rich widow.
SEC. C. Why, have you ever heard of her?
FIRST C. Who? widow Medler? she lies open to much
rumour.
THIRD C. Four hundred a-year, they say, in very good
land.
FIRST C. Nay, take’t of my word, if you believe that,
you believe the least.
SEC. C. And to see how close he keeps it!
FIRST C. O, sir, there’s policy in that, to prevent
better suitors.
THIRD C. He owes me a hundred pound, and I protest I
ne’er looked for a penny.
FIRST C. He little dreams of our coming; he’ll wonder to
see his creditors upon him. [_Exeunt Creditors._
HOA. Good, his creditors: I’ll follow. This makes for
me:
All know the widow’s wealth; and ’tis well known
I can estate her fairly, ay, and will.
In this one chance shines a twice happy fate;
I both deject my foe and raise my state. [_Exit._
ACT III. SCENE I.
WITGOOD’S _Lodging_.
_Enter_ WITGOOD _and Three Creditors_.
WIT. Why, alas, my creditors, could you find no other
time to undo me but now? rather your malice appears in
this than the justness of the debt.
FIRST C. Master Witgood, I have forborne my money long.
WIT. I pray, speak low, sir: what do you mean?
SEC. C. We hear you are to be married suddenly to a rich
country widow.
WIT. What can be kept so close but you creditors hear
on’t! well, ’tis a lamentable state, that our chiefest
afflictors should first hear of our fortunes. Why, this
is no good course, i’faith, sirs: if ever you have hope
to be satisfied, why do you seek to confound the means
that should work it? there’s neither piety, no, nor
policy in that. Shine favourably now: why, I may rise
and spread again, to your great comforts.
FIRST C. He says true, i’faith.
WIT. Remove me[60] now, and I consume for ever.
SEC. C. Sweet gentleman!
WIT. How can it thrive which from the sun you sever?
THIRD. C. It cannot, indeed.
WIT. O, then, shew patience! I shall have enough
To satisfy you all.
FIRST C. Ay, if we could
Be content, a shame take us!
WIT. For, look you;
I am but newly sure yet to[61] the widow,
And what a rend might this discredit make!
Within these three days will I bind you lands
For your securities.
FIRST C. No, good master Witgood:
Would ’twere as much as we dare trust you with!
WIT. I know you have been kind; however, now,
Either by wrong report, or false incitement,
Your gentleness is injured: in such
A state as this a man cannot want foes.
If on the sudden he begin to rise,
No man that lives can count his enemies.
You had some intelligence, I warrant ye,
From an ill-willer.
SEC. C. Faith, we heard you brought up a rich widow,
sir, and were suddenly to marry her.
WIT. Ay, why there it was: I knew ’twas so: but since
you are so well resolved[62] of my faith toward you, let
me be so much favoured of you, I beseech you all——
ALL. O, it shall not need, i’faith, sir!——
WIT. As to lie still awhile, and bury my debts in
silence, till I be fully possessed of the widow; for the
truth is—I may tell you as my friends—
ALL. O, O, O!——
WIT. I am to raise a little money in the city, toward
the setting forth of myself, for mine own credit and
your comfort; now, if my former debts should be
divulged, all hope of my proceedings were quite
extinguished.
FIRST C. Do you hear, sir? I may deserve your custom
hereafter; pray, let my money be accepted before a
stranger’s: here’s forty pound I received as I came to
you; if that may stand you in any stead, make use on’t.
[_Offers him money, which he at first declines._] Nay,
pray, sir; ’tis at your service. [_Aside to_ WITGOOD.
WIT. You do so ravish me with kindness, that I am[63]
constrain’d to play the maid, and take it.
FIRST C. Let none of them see it, I beseech you.
WIT. Faugh!
FIRST C. I hope I shall be first in your remembrance
After the marriage rites.
WIT. Believe it firmly.
FIRST C. So.—What, do you walk, sirs?
SEC. C. I go.—Take no care, sir, for money to furnish
you; within this hour I’ll send you sufficient. [_Aside
to_ WITGOOD.]—Come, master Cockpit, we both stay for
you.
THIRD C. I ha’ lost a ring, i’faith; I’ll follow you
presently: [_exeunt First and Second Creditors_]—but you
shall find it, sir; I know your youth and expenses have
disfurnished you of all jewels: there’s a ruby of twenty
pound price, sir; bestow it upon your widow. [_Offers
him the ring, which he at first declines._]—What, man!
’twill call up her blood to you; beside, if I might so
much work with you, I would not have you beholding[64]
to those bloodsuckers for any money.
WIT. Not I, believe it.
THIRD C. They’re a brace of cut-throats.
WIT. I know ’em.
THIRD C. Send a note of all your wants to my shop, and
I’ll supply you instantly.
WIT. Say you so? why, here’s my hand then, no man living
shall do’t but thyself.
THIRD C. Shall I carry it away from ’em both, then?
WIT. I’faith, shalt thou.
THIRD C. Troth, then, I thank you, sir.
WIT. Welcome, good master Cockpit. [_Exit Third
Creditor._]—Ha, ha, ha! why, is not this better now than
lying a-bed? I perceive there’s nothing conjures up wit
sooner than poverty, and nothing lays it down sooner
than wealth and lechery: this has some savour yet. O
that I had the mortgage from mine uncle as sure in
possession as these trifles! I would forswear brothel at
noonday, and muscadine and eggs at midnight.
COURT. [_within_] Master Witgood, where are you?
WIT. Holla!
_Enter Courtesan._
COURT. Rich news!
WIT. Would ’twere all in plate!
COURT. There’s some in chains and jewels: I am so
haunted with suitors, master Witgood, I know not which
to despatch first.
WIT. You have the better term,[65] by my faith.
COURT. Among the number
One master Hoard, an ancient gentleman.
WIT. Upon my life, my uncle’s adversary.
COURT. It may well hold so, for he rails on you,
Speaks shamefully of him.
WIT. As I could wish it.
COURT. I first denied him, but so cunningly,
It rather promis’d him assured hopes,
Than any loss of labour.
WIT. Excellent!
COURT. I expect him every hour with gentlemen,
With whom he labours to make good his words,
To approve you riotous, your state consum’d,
Your uncle——
WIT. Wench, make up thy own fortunes now; do thyself a
good turn once in thy days: he’s rich in money,
movables, and lands; marry him: he’s an old doating
fool, and that’s worth all; marry him: ’twould be a
great comfort to me to see thee do well, i’faith; marry
him: ’twould ease my conscience well to see thee well
bestowed; I have a care of thee, i’faith.
COURT. Thanks, sweet master Witgood.
WIT. I reach at farther happiness: first, I am sure it
can be no harm to thee, and there may happen goodness to
me by it: prosecute it well; let’s send up for our wits,
now we require their best and most pregnant assistance.
COURT. Step in, I think I hear ’em. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ HOARD _and Gentlemen, with the Host as Servant_.
HOA. Art thou the widow’s man? by my faith, sh’as a
company of proper men then.
HOST. I am the worst of six, sir; good enough for blue
coats.[66]
HOA. Hark hither: I hear say thou art in most credit
with her.
HOST. Not so, sir.
HOA. Come, come, thou’rt modest: there’s a brace of
royals;[67] prithee, help me to th’ speech of her.
[_Gives him money._
HOST. I’ll do what I may, sir, always saving myself
harmless.
HOA. Go to, do’t, I say; thou shalt hear better from me.
HOST. Is not this a better place than five mark a-year
standing wages? Say a man had but three such clients in
a day, methinks he might make a poor living on’t;
beside, I was never brought up with so little honesty to
refuse any man’s money; never: what gulls there are a’
this side the world! now know I the widow’s mind; none
but my young master comes in her clutches: ha, ha, ha!
[_Aside, and exit._
HOA. Now, my dear gentlemen, stand firmly to me;
You know his follies and my worth.
FIRST G. We do, sir.
SEC. G. But, master Hoard, are you sure he is not i’ th’
house now?
HOA. Upon my honesty, I chose this time
A’ purpose, fit: the spendthrift is abroad:
Assist me; here she comes.
_Enter Courtesan._
Now, my sweet widow.
COURT. You’re welcome, master Hoard.
HOA. Despatch, sweet gentlemen, despatch.—
I am come, widow, to prove those my words
Neither of envy sprung nor of false tongues,
But such as their[68] deserts and actions
Do merit and bring forth; all which these gentlemen,
Well known, and better reputed, will confess.
COURT. I cannot tell
How my affections may dispose of me;
But surely if they find him so desertless,
They’ll have that reason to withdraw themselves:
And therefore, gentlemen, I do entreat you,
As you are fair in reputation
And in appearing form, so shine in truth:
I am a widow, and, alas, you know,
Soon overthrown! ’tis a very small thing
That we withstand, our weakness is so great:
Be partial unto neither, but deliver,
Without affection, your opinion.
HOA. And that will drive it home.
COURT. Nay, I beseech your silence, master Hoard;
You are a party.
HOA. Widow, not a word.
FIRST G. The better first to work you to belief,
Know neither of us owe him flattery,
Nor t’other malice; but unbribed censure,[69]
So help us our best fortunes![70]
COURT. It suffices.
FIRST G. That Witgood is a riotous, undone man,
Imperfect both in fame and in estate,
His debts wealthier than he, and executions
In wait for his due body, we’ll maintain
With our best credit and our dearest blood.
COURT. Nor land nor living, say you? Pray, take heed
You do not wrong the gentleman.
FIRST G. What we speak
Our lives and means are ready to make good.
COURT. Alas, how soon are we poor souls beguil’d!
[_Aside to Gent._
SEC. G. And for his uncle——
HOA. Let that come to me.
His uncle[’s] a severe extortioner;
A tyrant at a forfeiture; greedy of others’
Miseries; one that would undo his brother,
Nay, swallow up his father, if he can,
Within the fathoms of his conscience.
FIRST G. Nay, believe it, widow,
You had not only match’d yourself to wants,
But in an evil and unnatural stock.
HOA. Follow hard, gentlemen, follow hard.
COURT. Is my love so deceiv’d? Before you all
I do renounce him; on my knees I vow [_Kneeling._
He ne’er shall marry me.
WIT. [_looking in_] Heaven knows he never meant it!
[_Aside._
HOA. There, take her at the bound. [_Aside to Gent._
FIRST G. Then, with a new and pure affection
Behold yon gentleman; grave, kind, and rich,
A match worthy yourself: esteeming him,
You do regard your state.
HOA. I’ll make her a jointure, say. [_Aside to
Gent._
FIRST G. He can join land to land, and will possess
you
Of what you can desire.
SEC. G. Come, widow, come.
COURT. The world is so deceitful!
FIRST G. There ’tis deceitful,
Where flattery, want, and imperfection lie;[71]
But none of these in him: push![72]
COURT. Pray, sir——
FIRST G. Come, you widows are ever most backward when
you should do yourselves most good; but were it to marry
a chin not worth a hair now, then you would be forward
enough. Come, clap hands, a match.
HOA. With all my heart, widow. [HOARD _and Courtesan
shake hands_.]—Thanks, gentlemen:
I will deserve your labour, and [_to Courtesan_] thy
love.
COURT. Alas, you love not widows but for wealth!
I promise you I ha’ nothing, sir.
HOA. Well said, widow,
Well said; thy love is all I seek, before
These gentlemen.
COURT. Now I must hope the best.
HOA. My joys are such they want to be express’d.
COURT. But, master Hoard, one thing I must remember you
of, before these gentlemen, your friends: how shall I
suddenly avoid the loathed soliciting of that perjured
Witgood, and his tedious, dissembling uncle? who this
very day hath appointed a meeting for the same purpose
too; where, had not truth come forth, I had been undone,
utterly undone!
HOA. What think you of that, gentlemen?
FIRST G. ’Twas well devised.
HOA. Hark thee, widow: train out young Witgood single;
hasten him thither with thee, somewhat before the
hour; where, at the place appointed, these gentlemen
and myself will wait the opportunity, when, by some
slight[73] removing him from thee, we’ll suddenly
enter and surprise thee, carry thee away by boat to
Cole-Harbour,[74] have a priest ready, and there clap
it up instantly. How likest it, widow?
COURT. In that it pleaseth you, it likes[75] me well.
HOA. I’ll kiss thee for those words. [_Kisses her._]—
Come, gentlemen,
Still must I live a suitor to your favours,
Still to your aid beholding.[76]
FIRST G. We’re engag’d, sir;
’Tis for our credits now to see’t well ended.
HOA. ’Tis for your honours, gentlemen; nay, look to’t.
Not only in joy, but I in wealth excel:
No more sweet widow, but, sweet wife, farewell.
COURT. Farewell, sir.
[_Exeunt_ HOARD _and Gentlemen_.
_Re-enter_ WITGOOD.
WIT. O for more scope! I could laugh eternally! Give you
joy, mistress Hoard, I promise your fortune was good,
forsooth; you’ve fell upon wealth enough, and there’s
young gentlemen enow can help you to the rest. Now it
requires our wits: carry thyself but heedfully now, and
we are both——
_Re-enter Host._
HOST. Master Witgood, your uncle.
WIT. Cuds me! remove thyself awhile; I’ll serve for him.
[_Exeunt Courtesan and Host._
_Enter_ LUCRE.
LUC. Nephew, good morrow, nephew.
WIT. The same to you, kind uncle.
LUC. How fares the widow? does the meeting hold?
WIT. O, no question of that, sir.
LUC. I’ll strike the stroke, then, for thee; no more
days.[77]
WIT. The sooner the better, uncle. O, she’s mightily
followed!
LUC. And yet so little rumoured!
WIT. Mightily: here comes one old gentleman, and he’ll
make her a jointure of three hundred a-year, forsooth;
another wealthy suitor will estate his son in his
lifetime, and make him weigh down the widow; here a
merchant’s son will possess her with no less than three
goodly lordships at once, which were all pawns to his
father.
LUC. Peace, nephew, let me hear no more of ’em; it mads
me. Thou shalt prevent[78] ’em all. No words to the
widow of my coming hither. Let me see—’tis now upon
nine: before twelve, nephew, we will have the bargain
struck, we will, faith, boy.
WIT. O, my precious uncle! [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Room in_ HOARD’S _House_.
_Enter_ HOARD _and_ JOYCE.
HOA. Niece, sweet niece, prithee, have a care to my
house; I leave all to thy discretion. Be content to
dream awhile; I’ll have a husband for thee shortly: put
that care upon me, wench, for in choosing wives and
husbands I am only fortunate; I have that gift given me.
[_Exit._
JOY. But ’tis not likely you should choose for me,
Since nephew to your chiefest enemy
Is he whom I affect: but, O, forgetful!
Why dost thou flatter thy affections so,
With name of him that for a widow’s bed
Neglects thy purer love? Can it be so,
Or does report dissemble?
_Enter_ GEORGE.
How now, sir?
GEO. A letter, with which came a private charge.
JOY. Therein I thank your care. [_Exit_ GEORGE.]—I
know this hand—
[_Reads_] _Dearer than sight, what the world reports of
me, yet believe not; rumour will alter shortly: be thou
constant; I am still the same that I was in love, and I
hope to be the same in fortunes._
THEODORUS WITGOOD.
I am resolv’d:[79] no more shall fear or doubt
Raise their pale powers to keep affection out.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_A Tavern._
_Enter_ HOARD, _Gentlemen,[80] and Drawer_.
DRA. You’re very welcome, gentlemen.—Dick, shew those
gentlemen the Pomegranate there.
HOA. Hist!
DRA. Up those stairs, gentlemen.
HOA. Hist, drawer!
DRA. Anon, sir.
HOA. Prithee, ask at the bar if a gentlewoman came not
in lately.
DRA. William, at the bar, did you see any gentlewoman
come in lately? Speak you ay, speak you no.
[_Within._] No, none came in yet but mistress Florence.
DRA. He says none came in yet, sir, but one mistress
Florence.
HOA. What is that Florence? a widow?
DRA. Yes, a Dutch widow.[81] HOA. How?
DRA. That’s an English drab, sir: give your worship good
morrow. [_Exit._
HOA. A merry knave, i’faith! I shall remember a Dutch
widow the longest day of my life.
FIRST G. Did not I use most art to win the widow?
SEC. G. You shall pardon me for that, sir; master Hoard
knows I took her at best ’vantage.
HOA. What’s that, sweet gentlemen, what’s that?
SEC. G. He will needs bear me down, that his art only
wrought with the widow most.
HOA. O, you did both well, gentlemen, you did both well,
I thank you.
FIRST G. I was the first that moved her.
HOA. You were, i’faith.
SEC. G. But it was I that took her at the bound.
HOA. Ay, that was you: faith, gentlemen, ’tis right.
THIRD G. I boasted least, but ’twas I join’d their
hands.
HOA. By th’ mass, I think he did: you did all well,
Gentlemen, you did all well; contend no more.
FIRST G. Come, yon room’s fittest.
HOA. True, ’tis next the door. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ WITGOOD, _Courtesan, Host, and Drawer_.
DRA. You’re very welcome: please you to walk up stairs;
cloth’s laid, sir.
COURT. Up stairs? troth, I am very[82] weary, master
Witgood.
WIT. Rest yourself here awhile, widow; we’ll have a cup
of muscadine in this little room.
DRA. A cup of muscadine? You shall have the best, sir.
WIT. But, do you hear, sirrah?
DRA. Do you call? anon, sir.
WIT. What is there provided for dinner?
DRA. I cannot readily tell you, sir: if you please you
may go into the kitchen and see yourself, sir; many
gentlemen of worship do use to do it, I assure you, sir.
[_Exit._
HOST. A pretty familiar, prigging[83] rascal; he has his
part without book.
WIT. Against you are ready to drink to me, widow, I’ll
be present to pledge you.
COURT. Nay, I commend your care, ’tis done well of you.
[_Exit_ WITGOOD.]—’Las,[84] what have I forgot!
HOST. What, mistress?
COURT. I slipt my wedding-ring off when I washed, and
left it at my lodging: prithee, run; I shall be sad
without it. [_Exit Host._]—So, he’s gone. Boy.
_Enter Boy._
BOY. Anon, forsooth.
COURT. Come hither, sirrah; learn secretly if one master
Hoard, an ancient gentleman, be about house.
BOY. I heard such a one named.
COURT. Commend me to him.
_Re-enter_ HOARD _and Gentlemen_.
HOA. Ay, boy,[85] do thy commendations.
COURT. O, you come well: away, to boat, begone.
HOA. Thus wise men are reveng’d, give two for one.
[_Exeunt._
_Re-enter_ WITGOOD _and_ VINTNER.
WIT. I must request
You, sir, to shew extraordinary care:
My uncle comes with gentlemen, his friends,
And ’tis upon a making.[86]
VIN. Is it so?
I’ll give a special charge, good master Witgood.
May I be bold to see her?
WIT. Who? [t]he widow?
With all my heart, i’faith, I’ll bring you to her.
VIN. If she be a Staffordshire gentlewoman, ’tis much if
I know her not.
WIT. How now? boy! drawer!
VIN. Hie!
_Re-enter Boy._
BOY. Do you call, sir?
WIT. Went the gentlewoman up that was here?
BOY. Up, sir? she went out, sir.
WIT. Out, sir?
BOY. Out, sir: one master Hoard, with a guard of
gentlemen, carried her out at back door, a pretty while
since, sir.
WIT. Hoard? death and darkness! Hoard?
_Re-enter Host._
HOST. The devil of ring I can find.
WIT. How now? what news? where’s the widow?
HOST. My mistress? is she not here, sir?
WIT. More madness yet!
HOST. She sent me for a ring.
WIT. A plot, a plot!—To boat! she’s stole away.
HOST. What?
_Enter_ LUCRE _and Gentlemen_.
WIT. Follow! inquire old Hoard, my uncle’s adversary.
[_Exit Host._
LUC. Nephew, what’s that?
WIT. Thrice-miserable wretch!
LUC. Why, what’s the matter?
VIN. The widow’s borne away, sir.
LUC. Ha? passion of me!—A heavy welcome, gentlemen.
FIRST G. The widow gone?
LUC. Who durst attempt it?
WIT. Who but old Hoard, my uncle’s adversary?
LUC. How!
WIT. With his confederates.
LUC. Hoard, my deadly enemy?—Gentlemen, stand to me,
I will not bear it; ’tis in hate of me;
That villain seeks my shame, nay, thirsts my blood;
He owes me mortal malice.
I’ll spend my wealth on this despiteful plot,
Ere he shall cross me and my nephew thus.
WIT. So maliciously!
_Re-enter Host._
LUC. How now, you treacherous rascal?
HOST. That’s none of my name, sir.
WIT. Poor soul, he knew not on’t!
LUC. I’m sorry. I see then ’twas a mere plot.
HOST. I trac’d ’em nearly——
LUC.[87] Well?
HOST. And hear for certain
They have took Cole-Harbour.[88]
LUC. The devil’s sanctuary!
They shall not rest; I’ll pluck her from his arms.—
Kind and dear gentlemen,
If ever I had seat within your breasts——
FIRST G. No more, good sir; it is a wrong to us
To see you injur’d: in a cause so just
We’ll spend our lives but we will right our friends.
LUC. Honest and kind! come, we’ve[89] delay’d too
long:
Nephew, take comfort; a just cause is strong.
WIT. That’s all my comfort, uncle. [_Exeunt all
but_ WITGOOD.] Ha, ha, ha!
Now may events fall luckily and well:
He that ne’er strives, says wit, shall ne’er excel.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_A Room in_ DAMPIT’S _House_.
_Enter_ DAMPIT, _drunk_.
DAM. When did I say my prayers? In anno 88, when the
great armada was coming; and in anno 89,[90] when the
great thundering and lightning was, I prayed heartily
then, i’faith, to overthrow Poovies’ new buildings; I
kneeled by my great iron chest, I remember.
_Enter_ AUDREY.
AUD. Master Dampit, one may hear you before they see
you: you keep sweet hours, master Dampit; we were all
a-bed three hours ago.
DAM. Audrey?
AUD. O, you’re a fine gentleman!
DAM. So I am, i’faith, and a fine scholar: do you use to
go to bed so early, Audrey?
AUD. Call you this early, master Dampit?
DAM. Why, is’t not one of clock i’ th’ morning? is not
that early enough? fetch me a glass of fresh beer.
AUD. Here, I have warmed your nightcap for you, master
Dampit.
DAM. Draw it on then. I am very weak truly: I have not
eaten so much as the bulk of an egg these three days.
AUD. You have drunk the more, master Dampit.
DAM. What’s that?
AUD. You mought, and[91] you would, master Dampit.
DAM. I answer you, I cannot: hold your prating; you
prate too much, and understand too little: are you
answered? Give me a glass of beer.
AUD. May I ask you how you do, master Dampit?
DAM. How do I? i’faith, naught.
AUD. I ne’er knew you do otherwise.
DAM. I eat not one pen’north of bread these two
years.[92] Give me a glass of fresh beer. I am not sick,
nor I am not well.
AUD. Take this warm napkin about your neck, sir, whilst
I help to make you unready.[93]
DAM. How now, Audrey-prater, with your scurvy devices,
what say you now?
AUD. What say I, master Dampit? I say nothing, but that
you are very weak.
DAM. Faith, thou hast more cony-catching[94] devices
than all London.
AUD. Why, master Dampit, I never deceived you in all my
life.
DAM. Why was that? because I never did trust thee.
AUD. I care not what you say, master Dampit.
DAM. Hold thy prating: I answer thee, thou art a beggar,
a quean, and a bawd: are you answered?
AUD. Fie, master Dampit! a gentleman, and have such
words?
DAM. Why, thou base drudge of infortunity, thou
kitchen-stuff-drab of beggary, roguery, and cockscombry,
thou cavernesed quean of foolery, knavery, and
bawdreaminy, I’ll tell thee what, I will not give a
louse for thy fortunes.
AUD. No, master Dampit? and there’s a gentleman comes
a-wooing to me, and he doubts[95] nothing but that you
will get me from him.
DAM. I? If I would either have thee or lie with thee
for two thousand pound, would I might be damned! why,
thou base, impudent quean of foolery, flattery, and
coxcombry, are you answered?
AUD. Come, will you rise and go to bed, sir?
DAMP. Rise, and go to bed too, Audrey? How does mistress
Proserpine?
AUD. Fooh!
DAM. She’s as fine a philosopher of a stinkard’s wife,
as any within the liberties. Faugh, faugh, Audrey!
AUD. How now, master Dampit?
DAM. Fie upon’t, what a choice of stinks here is! what
hast thou done, Audrey? fie upon’t, here’s a choice of
stinks indeed! Give me a glass of fresh beer, and then I
will to bed.
AUD. It waits for you above, sir.
DAM. Foh! I think they burn horns in Barnard’s Inn. If
ever I smelt such an abominable stink, usury forsake me.
[_Exit._
AUD. They be the stinking nails of his trampling feet,
and he talks of burning of horns. [_Exit._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_An Apartment at Cole-Harbour._[96]
_Enter_ HOARD, _Courtesan_, LAMPREY, SPICHCOCK, _and
Gentlemen_.
FIRST G. Join hearts, join hands,
In wedlock’s bands,
Never to part
Till death cleave your heart.
[_To_ HOARD] You shall forsake all other women;
[_To Courtesan_] You lords, knights, gentlemen, and
yeomen.
What my tongue slips
Make up with your lips.
HOA. [_kisses her_] Give you joy, mistress Hoard: let
the kiss come about. [_Knocking._
Who knocks? Convey my little pig-eater[97] out.
LUC. [_within_] Hoard!
HOA. Upon my life, my adversary, gentlemen!
LUC. [_within_] Hoard, open the door, or we will force
it ope:
Give us the widow.
HOA. Gentlemen, keep ’em out.
LAM. He comes upon his death that enters here.
ᚠLUC. [_within_] My friends, assist me!
HOA. He has assistants, gentlemen.
LAM. Tut, nor him nor them we in this action fear.
LUC. [_within_] Shall I, in peace, speak one word with
the widow?
COURT. Husband, and gentlemen, hear me but a word.
HOA. Freely, sweet wife.
COURT. Let him in peaceably;
You know we’re sure from any act of his.
HOA. Most true.
COURT.[98] You may stand by and smile at his old
weakness:
Let me alone to answer him.
HOA. Content;
’Twill be good mirth, i’faith. How think you, gentlemen?
LAM. Good gullery!
HOA. Upon calm conditions let him in.
LUC. [_within_] All spite and malice!
LAM. Hear me, master Lucre:
So you will vow a peaceful entrance
With those your friends, and only exercise
Calm conference with the widow, without fury,
The passage shall receive you.
LUC. [_within_] I do vow it.
LAM. Then enter and talk freely: here she stands.
_Enter_ LUCRE, _Gentlemen_, _and Host_.
LUC. O, master Hoard, your spite has watch’d the hour!
You’re excellent at vengeance, master Hoard.
HOA. Ha, ha, ha!
LUC. I am the fool you laugh at:
You are wise, sir, and know the seasons well.—
Come hither, widow: why is it thus?
O, you have done me infinite disgrace,
And your own credit no small injury!
Suffer mine enemy so despitefully
To bear you from my nephew? O, I had
Rather half my substance had been forfeit
And begg’d by some starv’d rascal!
COURT. Why, what would you wish me do, sir?
I must not overthrow my state for love:
We have too many precedents for that;
From thousands of our wealthy undone widows
One may derive some wit. I do confess
I lov’d your nephew, nay, I did affect him
Against the mind and liking of my friends;[99]
Believ’d his promises; lay here in hope
Of flatter’d living, and the boast of lands:
Coming to touch his wealth and state, indeed,
It appears dross; I find him not the man;
Imperfect, mean, scarce furnish’d of his needs;
In words, fair lordships; in performance, hovels:
Can any woman love the thing that is not?
LUC. Broke you for this?
COURT. Was it not cause too much?
Send to inquire his state: most part of it
Lay two years mortgag’d in his uncle’s hands.
LUC. Why, say it did, you might have known my mind:
I could have soon restor’d it.
COURT. Ay, had I but seen any such thing perform’d,
Why, ’twould have tied my affection, and contain’d
Me in my first desires: do you think, i’faith,
That I could twine such a dry oak as this,
Had promise in your nephew took effect?
LUC. Why, and there’s no time past; and rather than
My adversary should thus thwart my hopes,
I would——
COURT. Tut, you’ve been ever full of golden speech:
If words were lands, your nephew would be rich.
LUC. Widow, believe’t,[100] I vow by my best bliss,
Before these gentlemen, I will give in
The mortgage to my nephew instantly,
Before I sleep or eat.
FIRST G. [_friend to_ LUCRE] We’ll pawn our credits,
Widow, what he speaks shall be perform’d
In fulness.
LUC. Nay, more; I will estate him
In farther blessings; he shall be my heir;
I have no son;[101]
I’ll bind myself to that condition.
COURT. When I shall hear this done, I shall soon yield
To reasonable terms.
LUC. In the mean season,
Will you protest, before these gentlemen,
To keep yourself as you’re[102] now at this present?
COURT. I do protest, before these gentlemen,
I will be as clear then as I am now.
LUC. I do believe you. Here’s your own honest servant,
I’ll take him along with me.
COURT. Ay, with all my heart.
LUC. He shall see all perform’d, and bring you word.
COURT. That’s all I wait for.
HOA. What, have you finished, master Lucre? ha, ha,
ha, ha!
LUC. So laugh, Hoard, laugh at your poor enemy, do;
The wind may turn, you may be laugh’d at too;
Yes, marry may you, sir.—Ha, ha, ha, [ha]!
[_Exeunt_ LUCRE, _Gentlemen_, _and Host_.
HOA. Ha, ha![103] if every man that swells in malice
Could be reveng’d as happily as I,
He would choose hate, and forswear amity.—
What did he say, wife, prithee?
COURT. Faith, spoke to ease his mind.
HOA. O, O, O!
COURT. You know now little to any purpose.
HOA. True, true, true!
COURT. He would do mountains now.
HOA. Ay, ay, ay, ay.
LAM. You’ve struck him dead, master Hoard.
SPI. And[104] his nephew desperate.
HOA. I know’t, sirs, I.
Never did man so crush his enemy. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Room in_ LUCRE’S _House_.
_Enter_ LUCRE, _Gentlemen_, _and Host_, _meeting_
FREEDOM.
LUC. My son-in-law, Sam Freedom, where’s my nephew?
FREE. _O man in lamentation_,[105] father.
LUC. How!
FREE. He thumps his breast like a gallant dicer that has
lost his doublet, and stands in’s shirt to do penance.
LUC. Alas, poor gentleman!
FREE. I warrant you may hear him sigh in a still evening
to your house at Highgate.
LUC. I prithee, send him in.
FREE. Were it to do a greater matter, I will not stick
with you, sir, in regard you married my mother.
[_Exit._
LUC. Sweet gentlemen, cheer him up; I will but fetch the
mortgage and return to you instantly.
FIRST G. We’ll do our best, sir. [_Exit Lucre._]—
See where he comes,
E’en joyless and regardless of all form.
_Enter_ WITGOOD.
SEC. G. Why, how now,[106] master Witgood? Fie! you a
firm scholar, and an understanding gentleman, and give
your best parts to passion?[107]
FIRST G. Come, fie, fie![108]
WIT. O, gentlemen——
FIRST G. Sorrow of me, what a sigh was there, sir!
Nine such widows are not worth it.
WIT. To be borne from me by that lecher Hoard!
FIRST G. That vengeance is your uncle’s; being done
More in despite to him than wrong to you:
But we bring comfort now.
WIT. I beseech you, gentlemen——
SEC. G. Cheer thyself, man; there’s hope of her,
i’faith.
WIT. Too gladsome to be true.
_Re-enter LUCRE._
LUC. Nephew, what cheer?
Alas, poor gentleman, how art thou chang’d!
Call thy fresh blood into thy cheeks again:
She comes.
WIT. Nothing afflicts me so much,
But that it is your adversary, uncle,
And merely plotted in despite of you.
LUC. Ay, that’s it mads me, spites me! I’ll spend my
wealth ere he shall carry her so, because I know ’tis
only to spite me. Ay, this is it. Here, nephew [_giving
a paper_], before these kind gentlemen, I deliver in
your mortgage, my promise to the widow; see, ’tis done:
be wise, you’re once more master of your own. The widow
shall perceive now you are not altogether such a beggar
as the world reputes you; you can make shift to bring
her to three hundred a-year, sir.
FIRST G. Byrlady,[109] and that’s no toy,[110] sir.
LUC. A word, nephew.
FIRST G. [_to Host_] Now you may certify the widow.
LUC. You must conceive it aright, nephew, now;
To do you good I am content to do this.
WIT. I know it, sir.
LUC. But your own conscience can tell I had it
Dearly enough of you.
WIT. Ay, that’s most certain.
LUC. Much money laid out, beside many a journey
To fetch the rent; I hope you’ll think on’t, nephew.
WIT. I were worse than a beast else, i’faith.
LUC. Although, to blind the widow and the world,
I out of policy do’t, yet there’s a conscience, nephew.
WIT. Heaven forbid else!
LUC. When you are full possess’d,
’Tis nothing to return it.
WIT. Alas, a thing quickly done, uncle!
LUC. Well said! you know I give it you but in trust.
WIT. Pray, let me understand you rightly, uncle:
You give it me but in trust?
LUC. No.
WIT. That is, you trust me with it?
LUC. True, true.
WIT. But if ever I trust you with it again,
Would I might be truss’d up[111] for my labour!
[_Aside._
LUC. You can all witness, gentlemen; and you, sir
yeoman?
HOST. My life for yours, sir, now, I know my mistress’s
mind so[112] well toward your nephew, let things be in
preparation, and I’ll train her hither in most excellent
fashion. _Exit._
LUC. A good old boy!—Wife! Jenny!
_Enter_ MISTRESS LUCRE.
MIS. L. What’s the news, sir?
LUC. The wedding-day’s at hand: prithee, sweet wife,
express thy housewifery; thou’rt a fine cook, I know’t;
thy first husband married thee out of an alderman’s
kitchen; go to, he raised thee for raising of paste.
What! here’s none but friends; most of our beginnings
must be winked at.—Gentlemen, I invite you all to my
nephew’s wedding against Thursday morning.
FIRST G. With all our hearts, and we shall joy to see
Your enemy so mock’d.
LUC. He laugh’d at me, gentlemen; ha, ha, ha!
[_Exeunt all but_ WITGOOD.
WIT. He has no conscience, faith, would laugh at them;
They laugh at one another;
Who then can be so cruel? troth, not I;
I rather pity now, than ought envy:[113]
I do conceive such joy in mine own happiness,
I have no leisure yet to laugh at their follies.
Thou soul of my estate, I kiss thee!
[_To the mortgage._
I miss life’s comfort when I miss thee;
O, never will we part agen,[114]
Until I leave the sight of men!
We’ll ne’er trust conscience of our kin,
Since cozenage brings that title in. [_Exit._
SCENE III.
_A Street._
_Enter Three Creditors._
FIRST C. I’ll wait these seven hours but I’ll see him
caught.
SEC. C. Faith, so will I.
THIRD C. Hang him, prodigal! he’s stript of the widow.
FIRST C. A’ my troth, she’s the wiser; she has made the
happier choice: and I wonder of what stuff those widows’
hearts are made of, that will marry unfledged boys
before comely thrum-chinned[115] gentlemen.
_Enter Boy._
BOY. News, news, news!
FIRST C. What, boy?
BOY. The rioter is caught.
FIRST C. So, so, so, so! it warms me at the heart;
I love a’ life[116] to see dogs upon men.
O, here he comes.
_Enter Sergeants, with_ WITGOOD _in custody_.
WIT. My last joy was so great, it took away the sense
of all future afflictions. What a day is here o’ercast!
how soon a black tempest rises!
FIRST C. O, we may speak with you now, sir! what’s
become of your rich widow? I think you may cast your cap
at the widow, may you not, sir?
SEC. C. He a rich widow? who, a prodigal, a daily
rioter, and a nightly vomiter? he a widow of account? he
a hole i’ th’ counter.[117]
WIT. You do well, my masters, to tyrannise over misery,
to afflict the afflicted: ’tis a custom you have here
amongst you; I would wish you never leave it, and I hope
you’ll do as I bid you.
FIRST C. Come, come, sir, what say you extempore now
to your bill of a hundred pound? a sweet debt for
froating[118] your doublets.
SEC. C. Here’s mine of forty.
THIRD C. Here’s mine of fifty.
WIT. Pray, sirs,—you’ll give me breath?
FIRST C. No, sir, we’ll keep you out of breath still;
then we shall be sure you will not run away from us.
WIT. Will you but hear me speak?
SEC. C. You shall pardon us for that, sir; we know you
have too fair a tongue of your own; you overcame us too
lately, a shame take you! we are like to lose all that
for want of witnesses: we dealt in policy then; always
when we strive to be most politic we prove most
coxcombs: _non plus ultra_ I perceive by us, we’re not
ordained to thrive by wisdom, and therefore we must be
content to be tradesmen.
WIT. Give me but reasonable time, and I protest I’ll
make you ample satisfaction.
FIRST C. Do you talk of reasonable time to us?
WIT. ’Tis true, beasts know no reasonable time.
SEC. C. We must have either money or carcass.
WIT. Alas, what good will my carcass do you?
THIRD C. O, ’tis a secret delight we have amongst us! we
that are used to keep birds in cages, have the heart to
keep men in prison, I warrant you.
WIT. I perceive I must crave a little more aid from my
wits: do but make shift for me this once, and I’ll
forswear ever to trouble you in the like fashion
hereafter; I’ll have better employment for you, and[119]
I live. [_Aside._]—You’ll give me leave, my masters, to
make trial of my friends, and raise all means I can?
FIRST C. That’s our desire,[120] sir.
_Enter Host._
HOST. Master Witgood.
WIT. O, art thou come?
HOST. May I speak one word with you in private, sir?
WIT. No, by my faith, canst thou; I am in hell here, and
the devils will not let me come to thee.
FIRST C.[121] Do you call us devils? you shall find us
puritans.—Bear him away; let ’em talk as they go; we’ll
not stand to hear ’em.—Ah, sir, am I a devil? I shall
think the better of myself as long as I live: a devil,
i’faith!
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_A Room in_ HOARD’S _House_.
_Enter_ HOARD.
HOA. What a sweet blessing hast thou, master Hoard,
above a multitude! wilt thou never be thankful? how dost
thou think to be blest another time? or dost thou count
this the full measure of thy happiness? by my troth, I
think thou dost: not only a wife large in possessions,
but spacious in content; she’s rich, she’s young, she’s
fair, she’s wise: when I wake, I think of her lands—that
revives me; when I go to bed, I dream of her beauty—and
that’s enough for me: she’s worth four hundred a-year in
her very smock, if a man knew how to use it. But the
journey will be all, in troth, into the country; to ride
to her lands in state and order following; my brother,
and other worshipful gentlemen, whose companies I ha’
sent down for already, to ride along with us in their
goodly decorum beards, their broad velvet cassocks, and
chains of gold twice or thrice double; against which
time I’ll entertain some ten men of mine own into
liveries, all of occupations or qualities; I will not
keep an idle man about me: the sight of which will so
vex my adversary Lucre—for we’ll pass by his door of
purpose, make a little stand for [the] nonce,[122] and
have our horses curvet before the window—certainly he
will never endure it, but run up and hang himself
presently.
_Enter Servant._
How now, sirrah, what news? any that offer their service
to me yet?
SER. Yes, sir, there are some i’ th’ hall that wait for
your worship’s liking, and desire to be entertained.
HOA. Are they of occupation?
SER. They are men fit for your worship, sir.
HOA. Sayest so? send ’em all in. [_Exit Servant._]—To
see ten men ride after me in watchet[123] liveries, with
orange-tawny capes,[124]—’twill cut his comb, i’faith.
_Enter Tailor, Barber, Perfumer, Falconer, and
Huntsman._
How now? of what occupation are you, sir?
TAI. A tailor, an’t please your worship.
HOA. A tailor? O, very good: you shall serve to make all
the liveries.—What are you, sir?
BAR. A barber, sir.
HOA. A barber? very needful: you shall shave all the
house, and, if need require, stand for a reaper i’ th’
summer time.—You, sir?
PER. A perfumer.
HOA. I smelt you before: perfumers, of all men, had need
carry themselves uprightly; for if they were once
knaves, they would be smelt out quickly.—To you, sir?
FAL. A falconer, an’t please your worship.
HOA. Sa ho, sa ho, sa ho!—And you, sir?
HUNT. A huntsman, sir.
HOA. There, boy, there, boy, there, boy! I am not so
old but I have pleasant days to come. I promise
you, my masters, I take such a good liking to you,
that I entertain you all; I put you already into my
countenance, and you shall be shortly in my livery; but
especially you two, my jolly falconer and my bonny
huntsman; we shall have most need of you at my wife’s
manor-houses i’ th’ country; there’s goodly parks and
champion[125] grounds for you; we shall have all our
sports within ourselves; all the gentlemen a’ th’
country shall be beholding[126] to us and our pastimes.
FAL. And we’ll make your worship admire, sir.
HOA. Sayest thou so? do but make me admire, and thou
shalt want for nothing.—My tailor.
TAI. Anon, sir.
HOA. Go presently in hand with the liveries.
TAI. I will, sir.
HOA. My barber.
BAR. Here, sir.
HOA. Make ’em all trim fellows, louse ’em well,—
especially my huntsman,—and cut all their beards of the
Polonian fashion.—My perfumer.
PER. Under your nose, sir.
HOA. Cast a better savour upon the knaves, to take
away the scent of my tailor’s feet, and my barber’s
lotium-water.
PER. It shall be carefully performed, sir.
HOA. But you, my falconer and huntsman, the welcomest
men alive, i’faith!
HUNT. And we’ll shew you that, sir, shall deserve your
worship’s favour.
HOA. I prithee, shew me that.—Go, you knaves all, and
wash your lungs i’ th’ buttery, go. [_Exeunt Tailor,
Barber, &c._]—By th’ mass, and well remembered! I’ll ask
my wife that question.—Wife, mistress Jane Hoard!
_Enter Courtesan, altered in apparel._
COURT. Sir, would you with me?
HOA. I would but know, sweet wife, which might stand
best to thy liking, to have the wedding dinner kept here
or i’ th’ country?
COURT. Hum:—faith, sir, ’twould like[127] me better
here; here you were married, here let all rites be
ended.
HOA. Could a marquesse[128] give a better answer? Hoard,
bear thy head aloft, thou’st a wife will advance it.
_Enter Host with a letter._
What haste comes here now? yea, a letter? some dreg of
my adversary’s malice. Come hither; what’s the news?
HOST. A thing that concerns my mistress, sir.
[_Giving a letter to Courtesan._
HOA. Why then it concerns me, knave.
HOST. Ay, and you, knave, too (cry your worship mercy):
you are both like to come into trouble, I promise you,
sir; a pre-contract.
HOA. How? a pre-contract, sayest thou?
HOST. I fear they have too much proof on’t, sir: old
Lucre, he runs mad up and down, and will to law as fast
as he can; young Witgood laid hold on by his creditors,
he exclaims upon you a’ t’other side, says you have
wrought his undoing by the injurious detaining of his
contract.
HOA. Body a’ me!
HOST. He will have utmost satisfaction;
The law shall give him recompense, he says.
COURT. Alas, his creditors so merciless! my state being
yet uncertain, I deem it not unconscionable to further
him. [_Aside._
HOST. True, sir.
HOA. Wife, what says that letter? let me construe it.
COURT. Curs’d be my rash and unadvised words!
[_Tears the letter and stamps on it._
I’ll set my foot upon my tongue,
And tread my inconsiderate grant to dust.
HOA. Wife——
HOST. A pretty shift, i’faith! I commend a woman when
she can make away a letter from her husband handsomely,
and this was cleanly done, by my troth. [_Aside._
COURT. I did, sir;
Some foolish words I must confess did pass,
Which now litigiously he fastens on me.
HOA. Of what force? let me examine ’em.
COURT. Too strong, I fear: would I were well freed of
him!
HOA. Shall I compound?
COURT. No, sir, I’d have it done some nobler way
Of your side; I’d have you come off with honour;
Let baseness keep with them. Why, have you not
The means, sir? the occasion’s offer’d you.
HOA. Where? how, dear wife?
COURT. He is now caught by his creditors; the slave’s
needy; his debts petty; he’ll rather bind himself to all
inconveniences than rot in prison: by this only means
you may get a release from him: ’tis not yet come to his
uncle’s hearing; send speedily for the creditors; by
this time he’s desperate; he’ll set his hand to any
thing: take order for his debts, or discharge ’em quite:
a pax[129] on him, let’s be rid of a rascal!
HOA. Excellent!
Thou dost astonish me.—Go, run, make haste;
Bring both the creditors and Witgood hither.
HOST. This will be some revenge yet.
[_Aside, and exit._
HOA. In the mean space I’ll have a release drawn.—Within
there!
_Enter Servant._
SER. Sir?
HOA. Sirrah, come take directions; go to my scrivener.
COURT. [_aside; while_ HOARD _gives directions to the
servant_] I’m yet like those whose riches lie in dreams,
If I be wak’d, they’re false; such is my fate,
Who venture[130] deeper than the desperate state.
Though I have sinn’d, yet could I become new,
For where I once vow, I am ever true.
HOA. Away, despatch, on my displeasure quickly.
[_Exit Servant._
Happy occasion! pray heaven he be in the right vein now
to set his hand to’t, that nothing alter him; grant that
all his follies may meet in him at once, to besot him
enough! I pray for him, i’faith, and here he comes.
_Enter_ WITGOOD _and Creditors_.
WIT. What would you with me now, my uncle’s spiteful
adversary?
HOA. Nay, I am friends.
WIT. Ay, when your mischief’s spent.
HOA. I heard, you were arrested.
WIT. Well, what then? you will pay none of my debts, I
am sure.
HOA. A wise man cannot tell;
There may be those conditions ’greed upon
May move me to do much.
WIT. Ay, when?—
’Tis thou, perjurèd woman! (O, no name
Is vild[131] enough to match thy treachery!)
That art the cause of my confusion.
COURT. Out, you penurious slave!
HOA. Nay, wife, you are too froward;
Let him alone; give losers leave to talk.
WIT. Shall I remember thee of another promise
Far stronger than the first?
COURT. I’d fain know that.
WIT. ’Twould call shame to thy cheeks.
COURT. Shame?
WIT. Hark in your ear.—
Will he come off, think’st thou, and pay ┐
my debts roundly? │
COURT. Doubt nothing; there’s a │
release a-drawing and all, to which you │
must set your hand. │
WIT. Excellent! │ _They_
COURT. But methinks, i’faith, │ _converse_
you might have made some shift to dis- │ _apart_
charge this yourself, having in the mort- │
gage, and never have burdened my conscience│
with it. │
WIT. A’ my troth, I could not, │
for my creditors’ cruelties extend to the │
present. │
COURT. No more. │
Why, do your worst for that, I defy you. ┘
WIT. You’re impudent; I’ll call up witnesses.
COURT. Call up thy wits, for thou hast been devoted
To follies a long time.
HOA. Wife, you’re too bitter.— Master Witgood, and you,
my masters, you shall hear a mild speech come from me
now, and this it is: ’t has been my fortune, gentlemen,
to have an extraordinary blessing poured upon me a’
late, and here she stands; I have wedded her, and bedded
her, and yet she is little the worse: some foolish words
she hath passed to you in the country, and some
peevish[132] debts you owe here in the city; set the
hare’s head to the goose-giblet,[133] release you her of
her words, and I’ll release you of your debts, sir.
WIT. Would you so? I thank you for that, sir; I cannot
blame you, i’faith.
HOA. Why, are not debts better than words, sir?
WIT. Are not words promises, and are not promises debts,
sir?
HOA. He plays at back-racket with me. [_Aside._
FIRST C. Come hither, master Witgood, come hither; be
ruled by fools once.
SEC. C. We are citizens, and know what belong[s] to’t.
FIRST C. Take hold of his offer: pax[134] on her, let
her go; if your debts were once discharged, I would help
you to a widow myself worth ten of her.
THIRD C. Mass, partner, and now you remember me on’t,
there’s master Mulligrub’s sister newly fallen a widow.
FIRST C. Cuds me, as pat as can be! there’s a widow left
for you; ten thousand in money, beside plate, jewels,
_et cetera_ : I warrant it a match; we can do all in all
with her; prithee, despatch; we’ll carry thee to her
presently.
WIT. My uncle will ne’er endure me when he shall hear I
set my hand to a release.
SEC. C. Hark, I’ll tell thee a trick for that: I have
spent five hundred pound in suits in my time, I should
be wise; thou’rt now a prisoner; make a release; take’t
of my word, whatsoever a man makes as long as he is in
durance, ’tis nothing in law, not thus much.
[_Snaps his fingers._
WIT. Say you so, sir?
THIRD C. I have paid for’t, I know’t.
WIT. Proceed then; I consent.
THIRD C. Why, well said.
HOA. How now, my masters, what have you done with him?
FIRST C. With much ado, sir, we have got him to consent.
HOA. Ah—a—a! and what come[135] his debts to now?
FIRST C. Some eight score odd pounds, sir.
HOA. Naw, naw, naw, naw, naw! tell me the second time;
give me a lighter sum; they are but desperate debts, you
know; ne’er called in but upon such an accident; a poor,
needy knave, he would starve and rot in prison: come,
come, you shall have ten shillings in the pound, and the
sum down roundly.
FIRST C. You must make it a mark,[136] sir.
HOA. Go to then, tell your money in the meantime; you
shall find little less there. [_Giving them money._]—
Come, master Witgood, you are so unwilling to do
yourself good now!
_Enter Scrivener._
Welcome, honest scrivener.—Now you shall hear the
release read.
SCRI. [_reads_] _Be it known to all men, by these
presents, that I, Theodorus Witgood, gentleman, sole
nephew to Pecunius Lucre, having unjustly made title and
claim to one Jane Medler, late widow of Anthony Medler,
and now wife to Walkadine Hoard, in consideration of a
competent sum of money to discharge my debts, do for
ever hereafter disclaim any title, right, estate, or
interest in or to the said widow, late in the occupation
of the said Anthony Medler, and now in the occupation of
Walkadine Hoard; as also neither to lay claim by
virtue of any former contract, grant, promise, or
demise, to any of her manor[s], manor-houses, parks,
groves, meadow-grounds, arable lands, barns, stacks,
stables, dove-holes, and coney-burrows; together
with all her cattle, money, plate, jewels, borders,
chains, bracelets, furnitures, hangings, moveables or
immoveables._[137] _In witness whereof, I the said
Theodorus Witgood have interchangeably set to my hand
and seal before these presents, the day and date above
written._
WIT. What a precious fortune hast thou slipt here, like
a beast as thou art!
HOA. Come, unwilling heart, come.
WIT. Well, master Hoard, give me the pen; I see
’Tis vain to quarrel with our destiny.
[_Signs the paper._
HOA. O, as vain a thing as can be! you cannot commit a
greater absurdity, sir. So, so; give me that hand now;
before all these presents, I am friends for ever with
thee.
WIT. Troth, and it were pity of my heart now, if I
should bear you any grudge, i’faith.
HOA. Content: I’ll send for thy uncle against the
wedding dinner; we will be friends once again.
WIT. I hope to bring it to pass myself, sir.
HOA. How now? is’t right, my masters?
FIRST C. ’Tis something wanting, sir; yet it shall be
sufficient.
HOA. Why, well said; a good conscience makes a fine shew
now-a-days. Come, my masters, you shall all taste of my
wine ere you depart.
ALL THE CRED. We follow you, sir.
[_Exeunt_ HOARD _and Scrivener_.
WIT. I’ll try these fellows now. [_Aside._]—A word, sir:
what, will you carry me to that widow now?
FIRST C. Why, do you think we were in earnest, i’faith?
carry you to a rich widow? we should get much credit by
that: a noted rioter! a contemptible prodigal! ’twas a
trick we have amongst us to get in our money: fare you
well, sir. [_Exeunt Creditors._
WIT. Farewell, and be hanged, you short pig-haired,
ram-headed rascals! he that believes in you shall ne’er
be saved, I warrant him. By this new league I shall have
some access[138] unto my love.
JOYCE _appears above_.
JOYCE. Master Witgood!
WIT. My life!
JOYCE. Meet me presently; that note directs you [_throws
him a letter_]: I would not be suspected: our happiness
attends us: farewell.
WIT. A word’s enough. [_Exeunt severally._
SCENE V.
DAMPIT’S _Bed-chamber_.
DAMPIT _in bed_; AUDREY _spinning by; Boy_.
AUD. [_singing_]
_Let the usurer cram him, in interest that excel,
There’s pits enow to damn him before he comes to hell;
In Holborn some, in Fleet Street some,
Where’er he come there’s some, there’s some._
DAMP. _Trahe_ , _trahito_ , draw the curtain; give me a
sip of sack more.
_While he drinks, enter_ LAMPREY _and_ SPICHCOCK.
LAM. Look you; did not I tell you he lay like the devil
in chains, when he was bound for a thousand year?[139]
SPI. But I think[140] the devil had no steel bed-staffs;
he goes beyond him for that.
LAM. Nay, do but mark the conceit of his drinking; one
must wipe his mouth for him with a muckinder,[141] do
you see, sir?
SPI. Is this the sick trampler?[142] why, he is only
bed-rid with drinking.
LAM. True, sir. He spies us.
DAM. What, Sir Tristram? you come and see a weak man
here, a very weak man.
LAM. If you be weak in body, you should be strong in
prayer, sir.
DAM. O, I have prayed too much, poor man!
LAM. There’s a taste of his soul for you!
SPI. Faugh, loathsome!
LAM. I come to borrow a hundred pound of you, sir.
DAM. Alas, you come at an ill time! I cannot spare it,
i’faith; I ha’ but two thousand i’ th’ house.
AUD. Ha, ha, ha!
DAM. Out, you gernative quean, the mullipood of villany,
the spinner of concupiscency!
_Enter_ SIR LAUNCELOT, _and others_.
SIR L. Yea, gentlemen, are you here before us? how is
he now?
LAM. Faith, the same man still: the tavern bitch has bit
him i’ th’ head.[143]
SIR L. We shall have the better sport with him: peace.—
And how cheers master Dampit now?
DAM. O, my bosom Sir Launcelot, how cheer I! thy
presence is restorative.
SIR L. But I hear a great complaint of you, master
Dampit, among gallants.
DAM. I am glad of that, i’faith: prithee, what?
SIR L. They say you are waxed proud a’ late, and if a
friend visit you in the afternoon, you’ll scarce know
him.
DAM. Fie, fie; proud? I cannot remember any such thing:
sure I was drunk then.
SIR L. Think you so, sir?
DAM. There ’twas, i’faith; nothing but the pride of the
sack; and so certify ’em.—Fetch sack, sirrah.
BOY. A vengeance sack you once!
[_Exit, and returns presently with sack._
AUD. Why, master Dampit, if you hold on as you begin,
and lie a little longer, you need not take care how to
dispose your wealth; you’ll make the vintner your heir.
DAM. Out, you babliaminy, you unfeathered, cremitoried
quean, you cullisance of scabiosity!
AUD. Good words, master Dampit, to speak before a maid
and a virgin!
DAM. Hang thy virginity upon the pole of carnality!
AUD. Sweet terms! my mistress shall know ’em.
LAM. Note but the misery of this usuring slave: here he
lies, like a noisome dunghill, full of the poison of his
drunken blasphemies; and they to whom he bequeaths all,
grudge him the very meat that feeds him, the very pillow
that eases him. Here may a usurer behold his end: what
profits it to be a slave in this world, and a devil i’
th’ next?
DAM. Sir Launcelot, let me buss thee, Sir Launcelot;
thou art the only friend that I honour and respect.
SIR L. I thank you for that, master Dampit.
DAM. Farewell, my bosom Sir Launcelot.
SIR L. Gentlemen, and[144] you love me, let me step
behind you, and one of you fall a-talking of me to him.
LAM. Content.—Master Dampit——
DAM. So, sir.
LAM. Here came Sir Launcelot to see you e’en now.
DAM. Hang him, rascal!
LAM. Who? Sir Launcelot?
DAM. Pythagorical rascal!
LAM. Pythagorical?
DAM. Ay, he changes[145] his cloak when he meets a
sergeant.
SIR L. What a rogue’s this!
LAM. I wonder you can rail at him, sir; he comes in love
to see you.
DAM. A louse for his love! his father was a comb-maker;
I have no need of his crawling love: he comes to have
longer day,[146] the superlative rascal!
SIR L. ’Sfoot, I can no longer endure the rogue!—Master
Dampit, I come to take my leave once again, sir.
DAM. Who? my dear and kind Sir Launcelot, the only
gentleman of England? let me hug thee: farewell, and a
thousand.[147]
LAM. Compos’d of wrongs and slavish flatteries!
SIR L. Nay, gentlemen, he shall shew you more tricks
yet; I’ll give you another taste of him.
LAM. Is’t possible?
SIR L. His memory is upon departing.
DAM. Another cup of sack!
SIR L. Mass, then ’twill be quite gone! Before he drink
that, tell him there’s a country client come up, and
here attends for his learned advice.
LAM. Enough.
DAM. One cup more, and then let the bell toll: I hope I
shall be weak enough by that time.
LAM. Master Dampit——
DAM. Is the sack spouting?
LAM. ’Tis coming forward, sir. Here’s a country man, a
client of yours, waits for your deep and profound
advice, sir.
DAM. A coxcombry, where is he? let him approach: set me
up a peg higher.
LAM. [_to_ SIR LAUN.] You must draw near, sir.
DAM. Now, good man fooliaminy, what say you to me now?
SIR L. Please your good worship, I am a poor man, sir——
DAM. What make you in my chamber then?
SIR L. I would entreat your worship’s device[148] in a
just and honest cause, sir.
DAM. I meddle with no such matters; I refer ’em to
master No-man’s office.
SIR L. I had but one house left me in all the world,
sir, which was my father’s, my grandfather’s, my
great-grandfather’s, and now a villain has unjustly
wrung me out, and took possession on’t.
DAM. Has he such feats? Thy best course is to bring thy
_ejectione firmæ_ , and in seven year thou mayst shove
him out by the law.
SIR L. Alas, an’t please your worship, I have small
friends and less money!
DAM. Hoyday! this geer will fadge well:[149] hast no
money? why, then, my advice is, thou must set fire a’
th’ house, and so get him out.
LAM. That will break strife, indeed.
SIR L. I thank your worship for your hot counsel,
sir.—Altering but my voice a little, you see he knew
me not: you may observe by this, that a drunkard’s
memory holds longer in the voice than in the person.
But, gentlemen, shall I shew you a sight? Behold the
little dive-dapper[150] of damnation, Gulf the usurer,
for his time worse than t’other.
LAM. What’s he comes with him?
SIR L. Why Hoard, that married lately the widow Medler.
LAM. O, I cry you mercy, sir.
_Enter_ HOARD _and_ GULF.
HOA. Now, gentlemen visitants, how does master Dampit?
SIR L. Faith, here he lies, e’en drawing in, sir, good
canary as fast as he can, sir; a very weak creature
truly, he is almost past memory.
HOA. Fie, master Dampit! you lie lazing a-bed here, and
I come to invite you to my wedding-dinner: up, up, up!
DAM. Who’s this? master Hoard? who hast thou married, in
the name of foolery?
HOA. A rich widow.
DAM. A Dutch widow?[151]
HOA. A rich widow; one widow Medler.
DAM. Medler? she keeps open house.
HOA. She did, I can tell you, in her t’other husband’s
days; open house for all comers; horse and man was
welcome, and room enough for ’em all.
DAM. There’s too much for thee then; thou mayst let out
some to thy neighbours.
GULF. What, hung alive in chains? O spectacle!
bed-staffs of steel? _O monstrum horrendum, informe,
ingens, cui lumen ademptum!_ [152] O Dampit, Dampit,
here’s a just judgment shewn upon usury, extortion, and
trampling[153] villany!
SIR L. This [is] excellent, thief rails upon the thief!
GULF. Is this the end of cut-throat usury, brothel, and
blasphemy? now mayst thou see what race a usurer runs.
DAM. Why, thou rogue of universality, do not I know
thee? thy sound is like the cuckoo, the Welch
ambassador:[154] thou cowardly slave, that offers to
fight with a sick man when his weapon’s down! rail upon
me in my naked bed? why, thou great Lucifer’s little
vicar! I am not so weak but I know a knave at first
sight: thou inconscionable rascal! thou that goest upon
Middlesex juries, and wilt make haste to give up thy
verdict[155] because thou wilt not lose thy dinner! Are
you answered?
GULF. An’t were not for shame—— [_Draws his dagger._
DAM. Thou wouldst be hanged then.
LAM. Nay, you must exercise patience, master Gulf,
always in a sick man’s chamber.
SIR L. He’ll quarrel with none, I warrant you, but those
that are bed-rid.
DAM. Let him come, gentlemen, I am armed: reach my
close-stool hither.
SIR L. Here will be a sweet fray anon; I’ll leave you,
gentlemen.
LAM. Nay, we’ll along with you.—Master Gulf——
GULF. Hang him, usuring rascal!
SIR L. Push,[156] set your strength to his, your wit to
his!
AUD. Pray, gentlemen, depart; his hour’s come upon him.—
Sleep in my bosom, sleep.
SIR L. Nay, we have enough of him, i’faith; keep him
for the house.
Now make your best:[157]
For thrice his wealth I would not have his breast.
GULF. A little thing would make me beat him now he’s
asleep.
SIR L. Mass, then ’twill be a pitiful day when he wakes!
I would be loath to see that day: come.
GULF. You overrule me, gentlemen, i’faith. [_Exeunt._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ LUCRE’S _House_.
_Enter_ LUCRE _and_ WITGOOD.
WIT. Nay, uncle, let me prevail with you so much;
I’faith, go, now he has invited you.
LUC. I shall have great joy there when he has borne away
the widow!
WIT. Why, la, I thought where I should find you
presently: uncle, a’ my troth, ’tis nothing so.
LUC. What’s nothing so, sir? is not he married to the
widow?
WIT. No, by my troth, is he not, uncle.
LUC. How?
WIT. Will you have the truth on’t? he is married to a
whore, i’faith.
LUC. I should laugh at that.
WIT. Uncle, let me perish in your favour if you find it
not so; and that ’tis I that have married the honest
woman.
LUC. Ha! I’d walk ten mile a’ foot to see that, i’faith.
WIT. And see’t you shall, or I’ll ne’er see you again.
LUC. A quean, i’faith? ha, ha, ha! [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Room in_ HOARD’S _House_.
_Enter_ HOARD _tasting wine, Host following in a livery
cloak_.
HOA. Pup, pup, pup, pup, I like not this wine: is there
never a better tierce in the house?
HOST. Yes, sir, there are as good tierce[s] in the house
as any are in England.
HOA. Desire your mistress, you knave, to taste ’em all
over; she has better skill.
HOST. Has she so? the better for her, and the worse for
you. [_Aside, and exit._
HOA. Arthur!
_Enter_ ARTHUR.
Is the cupboard of plate set out?[158]
ARTH. All’s in order, sir. [_Exit._
HOA. I am in love with my liveries every time I think on
’em; they make a gallant shew, by my troth. Niece!
_Enter_ JOYCE.
JOYCE. Do you call, sir?
HOA. Prithee, shew a little diligence, and overlook the
knaves a little; they’ll filch and steal today, and send
whole pasties home to their wives: and[159] thou be’st a
good niece, do not see me purloined.
JOYCE. Fear it not, sir—I have cause: though the
feast be prepared for you, yet it serves fit for my
wedding-dinner too.[160] [_Aside, and exit._
_Enter_ LAMPREY _and_ SPICHCOCK.
HOA. Master Lamprey and master Spichcock, two the most
welcome gentlemen alive! your fathers and mine were all
free a’ th’ fishmongers.
LAM. They were indeed, sir. You see bold guests, sir;
soon entreated.
HOA. And that’s best, sir.
_Enter Servant._
How now, sirrah?
SER. There’s a coach come to th’ door, sir. [_Exit._
HOA. My Lady Foxtone, a’ my life!—Mistress Jane Hoard!
wife!—Mass, ’tis her ladyship indeed!
_Enter_ LADY FOXTONE.
Madam, you are welcome to an unfurnished house, dearth
of cheer, scarcity of attendance.
L. FOX. You are pleased to make the worst, sir.
HOA. Wife!
_Enter Courtesan._
L. FOX. Is this your bride?
HOA. Yes, madam.—Salute my Lady Foxtone.
COURT. Please you, madam, awhile to taste the air in the
garden?
L. FOX. ’Twill please us well.
[_Exeunt_ L. FOXTONE _and Courtesan_.
HOA. Who would not wed? the most delicious life!
No joys are like the comforts of a wife.
LAM. So we bachelors think, that are not troubled with
them.
_Re-enter Servant._
SER. Your worship’s brother, with other ancient
gentlemen,[161] are newly alighted, sir. [_Exit._
HOA. Master Onesiphorus Hoard? why, now our company
begins to come in.
_Enter_ ONESIPHORUS HOARD, LIMBER, _and_ KIX.
My dear and kind brother, welcome, i’faith.
ONES. H. You see we are men at an hour, brother.
HOA. Ay, I’ll say that for you, brother; you keep as
good an hour to come to a feast as any gentleman in the
shire.—What, old master Limber and master Kix! do we
meet, i’faith, jolly gentlemen?
LIM. We hope you lack guess,[162] sir?
HOA. O, welcome, welcome! we lack still such guess as
your worships.
ONES. H. Ah, sirrah brother, have you catched up widow
Medler?
HOA. From ’em all, brother; and I may tell you I had
mighty enemies, those that stuck sore; old Lucre is a
sore fox, I can tell you, brother.
ONES. H. Where is she? I’ll go seek her out: I long to
have a smack at her lips.
HOA. And most wishfully, brother, see where she comes.
_Re-enter Courtesan and_ LADY FOXTONE.
Give her a smack[163] now we may hear it all the house
over. [_Courtesan and_ ONES. H. _start and turn away_.
COURT. O heaven, I am betray’d! I know that face.
HOA. Ha, ha, ha! why, how now? are you both ashamed?—
Come, gentlemen, we’ll look another way.
ONES. H. Nay, brother, hark you: come, you’re disposed
to be merry.
HOA. Why do we meet else, man?
ONES. H. That’s another matter: I was ne’er so ’fraid in
my life but that you had been in earnest.
HOA. How mean you, brother?
ONES. H. You said she was your wife.
HOA. Did I so? by my troth, and so she is.
ONES. H. By your troth, brother?
HOA. What reason have I to dissemble with my friends,
brother? if marriage can make her mine, she is mine.
Why—— [ONESIPHORUS HOARD _is about to retire_. ONES.
H. Troth, I am not well of a sudden: I must crave
pardon, brother; I came to see you, but I cannot stay
dinner, i’faith.
HOA. I hope you will not serve me so, brother?
LIM. By your leave, master Hoard——
HOA. What now? what now? pray, gentlemen:—you were wont
to shew yourselves wise men.
LIM. But you have shewn your folly too much here.
HOA. How?
KIX. Fie, fie! a man of your repute and name!
You’ll feast your friends, but cloy ’em first with
shame.
HOA. This grows too deep; pray, let us reach the
sense.
LIM. In your old age doat on a courtesan!
HOA. Ha!
KIX. Marry a strumpet!
HOA. Gentlemen!
ONES. H. And Witgood’s quean!
HOA. O! nor lands nor living?
ONES. H. Living!
HOA. [_to Courtesan_] Speak.
COURT. Alas, you know, at first, sir,
I told you I had nothing!
HOA. Out, out! I am cheated; infinitely cozen’d!
LIM. Nay, master Hoard——
_Enter_ LUCRE, WITGOOD, _and_ JOYCE.
HOA. A Dutch widow![164] a Dutch widow! a Dutch widow!
LUC. Why, nephew, shall I trace thee still a liar?
Wilt make me mad? is not yon thing the widow?
WIT. Why, la, you are so hard a’ belief, uncle! by my
troth, she’s a whore.
LUC. Then thou’rt a knave.
WIT. _Negatur argumentum_, uncle.
LUC. _Probo tibi_, nephew: he that knows a woman to be a
quean must needs be a knave; thou sayst thou knowest her
to be one; _ergo_ , if she be a quean, thou’rt a knave.
WIT. _Negatur sequela majoris_, uncle; he that knows a
woman to be a quean must needs be a knave; I deny that.
HOA. Lucre and Witgood, you’re both villains; get you
out of my house!
LUC. Why, didst not invite me to thy wedding-dinner?
WIT. And are not you and I sworn perpetual friends
before witness, sir, and were both drunk upon’t?
HOA. Daintily abus’d! you’ve put a junt[165] upon me!
LUC. Ha, ha, ha!
HOA. A common strumpet!
WIT. Nay, now
You wrong her, sir; if I were she, I’d have
The law on you for that; I durst depose for her
She ne’er had common use nor common thought.
COURT. Despise me, publish me, I am your wife;
What shame can I have now but you’ll have part?
If in disgrace you share, I sought not you;
You pursu’d, nay,[166] forc’d me; had I friends would
follow it,
Less than your action has been prov’d a rape.
ONES. H. Brother!
COURT. Nor did I ever boast of lands unto you,
Money, or goods; I took a plainer course,
And told you true, I’d nothing:
If error were committed, ’twas by you;
Thank your own folly: nor has my sin been
So odious, but worse has been forgiven;
Nor am I so deform’d, but I may challenge
The utmost power of any old man’s love.
She that tastes not sin before [twenty], twenty to one
but she’ll taste it after: most of you old men are
content to marry young virgins, and take that which
follows; where,[167] marrying one of us, you both save a
sinner and are quit from a cuckold for ever:
And more, in brief, let this your best thoughts win,
She that knows sin, knows best how to hate sin.
HOA. Curs’d be all malice! black are the fruits of
spite,
And poison first their owners. O, my friends,
I must embrace shame, to be rid of shame!
Conceal’d disgrace prevents a public name.
Ah, Witgood! ah, Theodorus!
WIT. Alas, sir, I was pricked in conscience to see her
well bestowed, and where could I bestow her better than
upon your pitiful worship? Excepting but myself, I dare
swear she’s a virgin; and now, by marrying your niece, I
have banished myself for ever from her: she’s mine aunt
now, by my faith, and there’s no meddling with mine
aunt, you know: a sin against my nuncle.[168]
COURT. Lo, gentlemen, before you all [_Kneels._
In true reclaimed form I fall.
Henceforth for ever I defy[169]
The glances of a sinful eye,[170]
Waving of fans (which some suppose
Tricks of fancy),[171] treading of toes,
Wringing of fingers, biting the lip,
The wanton gait, th’ alluring trip;
All secret friends and private meetings,
Close-borne letters and bawds’ greetings;
Feigning excuse to women’s labours
When we are sent for to th’ next neighbour’s;
Taking false physic, and ne’er start
To be let blood though sign[172] be at heart;
Removing chambers, shifting beds,
To welcome friends in husbands’ steads,
Them to enjoy, and you to marry,
They first serv’d, while you must tarry,
They to spend, and you to gather,
They to get, and you to father:
These, and thousand, thousand more,
New reclaim’d, I now abhor.
LUC. [_to_ WITGOOD] Ah, here’s a lesson, rioter, for
you!
WIT. I must confess my follies; I’ll down too:
[_Kneels._
And here for ever I disclaim
The cause of youth’s undoing, game,
Chiefly dice, those true outlanders,
That shake out beggars, thieves, and panders;
Soul-wasting surfeits, sinful riots,
Queans’ evils, doctors’ diets,
’Pothecaries’ drugs, surgeons’ glisters;
Stabbing of arms[173] for a common mistress;
Riband favours, ribald speeches;
Dear perfum’d jackets, pennyless breeches;
Dutch flapdragons, healths in urine;
Drabs that keep a man too sure in:
I do defy[174] you all.
Lend me each honest hand, for here I rise
A reclaim’d man, loathing the general vice.
HOA. So, so, all friends! the wedding-dinner cools:
Who seem most crafty prove ofttimes most fools.
[_Exeunt omnes._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FAMILY OF LOVE.
_The Familie of Love. Acted by the Children
of his Maiesties Reuells._
_Lectori._
_Sydera iungamus, facito mihi Iuppiter
adsit,
Et tibi Mercurius noster dabit omnia faxo._
_At London Printed for John Helmes, and are
to be sold in Saint Dunstans Churchyard in
Fleetstreet._ 1608. 4to.
Though there is undoubtedly but one
edition of this drama, yet the copies
differ slightly in several places;
alterations having been introduced after
part of the impression had been worked
off: a circumstance which will surprise
those persons only who have not been
accustomed to collate the 4tos of old
English plays.
_The Family of Love_ was licensed by Sir
George Bucke, 12th Oct. 1607: see Chalmers’s
_Suppl. Apol._ p. 201.
Concerning the sect which gives the title
to the play, the following notices will be
perhaps more than sufficient.
In Brandt’s _Hist. of the Reform. &c. in the
Low Countries_, we are told, under the year
1555: “That Family was suspected of being
more addicted to carnal than to spiritual
love. Henry Nicholas, a Westphalian, born at
Munster, but who had lived a great while at
Amsterdam, and some time likewise at Embden,
was father of this Family. He appeared upon
the stage about the year 1540, stiled
himself the _deified man_, boasted of great
matters, and seemed to exalt himself above
the condition of a human creature. He was,
as he pretended, greater than Moses and
Christ, because Moses had taught mankind to
_hope_, Christ to _believe_, but he to
_love_; which last being of more worth than
both the former, he was consequently greater
than both those prophets.” vol. i. p. 105,
ed. 1720.
According to some writers, however, the sect
was not founded by Henry Nicholas, but by
David George, an anabaptist of Delft; and
indeed there seems reason to believe that
the Family of Love grew out of the heresies
of George, with whom Nicholas had been on
intimate terms.
“As to his [Nicholas’s] pretensions,”
observes Mosheim, “they were indeed
visionary and chimerical; for he maintained
that he had a commission from heaven to
teach men that the essence of religion
consisted in the feelings of _divine love_;
that all other theological tenets, whether
they related to objects of faith or modes of
worship, were of no sort of moment; and
consequently that it was a matter of the
most perfect indifference what opinions
Christians entertained concerning the divine
nature, provided their hearts burned with
the pure and sacred flame of piety and love.
To this, his main doctrine, Nicholas may
have probably added other odd fancies, as
always is the case with those innovators who
are endued with a warm and fruitful
imagination: to come, however, at a true
notion of the opinions of this enthusiast,
it will be much easier to consult his own
writings than to depend entirely upon the
accounts and refutations of his
adversaries.” _Eccles. Hist._ (by MACLAINE),
vol. iv. p. 484.
“Not content,” says Fuller, “to confine
his errours to his own country, over he
[Nicholas] comes into England, and in the
later end of the reign of Edward the Sixth
joyned himself to the Dutch congregation
in London, where he seduced a number of
artificers and silly women,” &c. _Church
Hist._ b. ix. p. 112, ed. 1655.
“The twelfe of June [1575], stood at
Paules Crosse fiue persons Englishmen,
of the sect termed the Familie of Loue,
who there confessed themselues vtterlie
to detest as well the author of that
sect H. N. as all his damnable errors
and heresies.” HOLINSHED’S _Chron._ vol.
iv. p. 328, ed. 1808.
Towards the end of 1580, the sect was
increasing so rapidly in England, that the
government took active measures for its
suppression. “The queenes maiestie being
informed that in sundrie places of this
realme, certeine persons secretlie taught
damnable heresies, contrarie to diuers
principall articles of our beleefe and
christian faith, who to colour their sect
named themselues the Familie of Loue, and
then as manie as were allowed by them to be
of that familie to be elect and saued, and
all others, of what church soeuer they be,
to be reiected and damned. And for that vpon
conuenting of some of them before the
bishops and ordinaries, it was found that
the ground of their sect is mainteined by
certeine lewd, hereticall, and seditious
books, first made in the Dutch toong, and
lastlie translated into English, and printed
beyond the seas, and secretlie brought ouer
into the realme, the author whereof they
name H. N. &c. And considering also it is
found, that those sectaries held opinion,
that they may before anie magistrat or
ecclesiasticall or temporall, or anie other
person, noi being professed to be of their
sect, by oth or otherwise denie anie thing
for their aduantage: so as though manie of
them are well knowne to be teachers and
spreaders abroad of these dangerous and
damnable sects; yet by their owne confession
they cannot be condemned. Therefore hir
maiestie being verie sorie to see so great
an euill, by malice of the diuell to be
brought into this hir realme, and by hir
bishops and ordinaries she vnderstandeth it
verie requisit, not onelie to haue those
dangerous heretiks and sectaries to be
seueralie punished; but that also other
meanes be vsed by hir maiesties roiall
authoritie, which is giuen hir of God to
defend Christs church, to root them out from
further infecting of hir realme: she hath
thought meet and conuenient, and so by hir
proclamation commandeth, that all hir
officers and ministers temporall shall in
all their seuerall vocations assist the
bishops of hir realme, and all other person,
to search out all persons dulie suspected to
be either teachers or professors of the
foresaid damnable sects, and by all good
meanes to proceed seuerelie against them,
being found culpable, by order of the lawes
ecclesiasticall or temporall: and that all
search be made in all places suspected, for
the books and writings mainteining the said
heresies and sects, and them to destroie and
burne, &c: as more at large may appeere by
the said proclamation, giuen at Richmond the
third of October, and proclamed at London on
the nineteenth daie of the same moneth
[1580].” HOLINSHED’S _Chron._ vol. iv. p.
432, ed. 1808. See also CAMDENI _Annales_,
p. 318, ed. 1639.
A list of Nicholas’s numerous writings may
be found in Lowndes’s _Bibliographer’s
Manual_. One of them is in verse: _An
Enterlude of Myndes: witnessing the Mans
Fall from God and Christ. Set forth by H. N.
and by him newly perused and amended.
Translated out of Base-Almayne into
English._ n. d.: see an account of, and
extracts from it, in Sir E. Brydges’s
_Restituta_, vol. iv. p. 140, sqq. Nicholas
is mentioned in the last scene of _The
Alchemist_,—B. JONSON’S _Works_, vol. iv. p.
187, ed. Giff.
“The Family of Love (or Lust rather),” says
Fuller, “at this time [1604] presented a
tedious Petition to King James, so that it
is questionable whether his majesty ever
graced it with his perusall, wherein they
endeavoured to cleare themselves from some
misrepresentations, and by fawning
expression to insinuate themselves into his
majesty’s good opinion.” _Church Hist._ b.
x. p. 29, ed. 1655. Having given the
document in question, which is too long for
insertion here, Fuller proceeds: “I finde
not what effect this their Petition
produced; whether it was slighted, and the
Petitioners looked upon as inconsiderable,
or beheld as a few frantick folk out of
their wits, which consideration alone often
melted their adversaries anger into pity
unto them. The main design driven on in the
Petition is to separate themselves from the
Puritans (as persons odious to King James),
that they might not fare the worse for their
vicinity unto them; though these Familists
could not be so desirous to leave them as
the others were glad to be left by them. For
if their opinions were so senselesse, and
the lives of these Familists so sensuall as
is reported, no _purity_ at all belonged
unto them.” p. 32. From the Petition just
mentioned, we find that “divers” of the
Familists had been lately thrown into
prison.
The sect was attacked, at different times,
by various writers: among others by John
Rogers, in _The Displaying of an horrible
Secte of grosse & wicked Heretiques, naming
themselues the Family of Loue, with the
liues of their Authours, & what doctrine
they teach in corners. Newly set foorth by
J. R. &c._ London, 1579. 12mo.
In _The Lady of Pleasure_, act i. sc. 1,
Shirley has the following passage:
“Another game you have, which consumes more
Your fame than purse: your revels in the
night,
Your meetings call’d THE BALL, to which
repair,
As to the court of pleasure, all your
gallants,
And ladies, thither bound by a subpœna
Of Venus, and small Cupid’s high
displeasure;
’Tis but the Family of Love translated
Into more costly sin! There was a PLAY on’t,
And had the poet not been brib’d to a modest
Expression of your antic gambols in’t,
Some darks had been discover’d, and the
deeds too:
In time he may repent, and make some blush,
To see the second part danc’d on the stage."
SHIRLEY’S _Works_, vol. iv. p.
9.
I have quoted the lines only for the sake of
correcting a mistake of the last editor of
Beaumont and Fletcher. In a note on _The
Widow_, Weber remarks, that Middleton “wrote
a play entitled _The Family of Love_, but it
seems that he was reprehended for not
displaying these sectaries in their true
colours. Thus Shirley in _The Lady of
Pleasure_:
"’Tis but the Family of Love translated
Into more costly sin! There was a Play
on’t,” &c.
B. _and_ F.’s _Works_, vol. xiv. p.
145.
What stupidity! not to perceive that the
“Play on’t” was the drama called _The Ball_,
written by Shirley and Chapman!
TO THE READER.
-------
Too soon and too late this work is
published: too soon, in that it was in the
press before I had notice of it, by which
means some faults may escape in the
printing; too late, for that it was not
published when the general voice of the
people had sealed it for good, and the
newness of it made it much more desired than
at this time; for plays in this city are
like wenches new fallen to the trade, only
desired of your neatest gallants whiles
they’re fresh; when they grow stale they
must be vented by termers[175] and country
chapmen. I know not how this labour will
please: sure I am it passed the censure of
the stage with a general applause. Now,
whether _vox populi_ be _vox Dei_ or no,
that I leave to be tried by the acute
judgment of the famous six wits of the
city.—FAREWELL.
PROLOGUE.[176]
If, for opinion hath not blaz’d his fame,
Nor expectation fill’d the general round,
You deem his labours slight, you both
confound
Your graver judgment and his merits:
Impartial hearing fits judicious spirits.
Nor let the fruit of many an hour fall
By envy’s tooth or base detraction’s gall:
Both which are tokens of such abject
spirits,
Which, wanting worth themselves, hate
other[s’] merits;
Or else of such, which once made great by
fame,
Repine at those which seek t’ attain the
same.
From both we know all truer judgments free:
To them our Muse, with blushing modesty,
Patiently to her entreats their favour;
Which done, with judgment praise, or else
dislike the labour.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[177]
GLISTER, _a doctor of physic_.
PURGE, _a jealous apothecary_.
DRYFAT, _a merchant, a brother of the Family_.
GERARDINE, _a lover_ [_of_ MARIA].
LIPSALVE, } _two gallants that only_
GUDGEON, } _pursue city lechery_.
CLUB, _an apprentice_ [_to_ PURGE].
VIAL, _a servant to_ GLISTER.
SHRIMP _and_ }
PERIWINKLE, } _pages to the gallants_.
[_Apprentice and Servants_].
MISTRESS GLISTER.
MISTRESS PURGE, _an elder in the Family_.
MARIA, _niece to_ GLISTER.
THE FAMILY OF LOVE.
--------------
ACT I. SCENE I.
_A Gallery in_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ GLISTER, MISTRESS GLISTER, _and_ MARIA.
GLI. Tricks and shows! Protestations with men are like
tears with women, forgot ere the cheek be dry. Gerardine
is a gentleman; his lands be in statutes: ’a[178] is not
for thee, nor thou for him: ’a is a gallant, and young
thoughts be most unconstant.
MAR. Yet young vines yield most wine.
MIS. G. But old vines the best. Believe not these
great-breeched[179] gallants; they love for profit, not
for affection: if ’a brings thee to a fool’s paradise,
’a will forsake thee.
GLI. Which fortune God send my enemy! Love is a cold
heat,[180] a bitter sweet, a pleasure full of pain, a
huge loss, and no gain. Why shouldest thou love him
only?
MAR. Words cannot force what destiny hath seal’d.
Who can resist the influence of his stars,
Or give a reason why ’a loves or hates,
Since our affections are not rul’d by will,
But will by our affections?[181] ’Tis blasphemy
’Gainst love’s most sacred deity, to ask[182]
Why we do love, since ’tis his only power
That sways all our affections: all things which be,
Beasts, birds, men, gods, pay him their fealty.
GLI. Tut, love is an idle fantasy, bred by desire,
nursed by delight, an humour that begins his dominion in
Leo the lion, the sign of the heart; and ends in Aries
the ram, the sign of the head: his power is to stir the
blood,—pricks up the flesh, fills all the body with a
libidinous humour, and is indeed the overture[183] of
all ladies: which to prevent, I have banished Gerardine,
your dearly beloved, my house; and as for you, since I
am your guardian by my brother’s last will, I will
sequester you from all other rooms in my house save this
gallery and your upper chamber, till, in discretion, I
shall find it convenient to enlarge you.
MAR. My body you may circumscribe, confine,
And keep in bounds; but my unlimited love
Extends itself beyond all circumscription.
MIS. G. Believe me, Maria, I have known the natures of
divers of these gallants. If they possess the unlimited
love of us women in never so ample manner, without the
society of the body, I know how soon their love
vadeth:[184] young men’s love is like ivy; it must have
somewhat to cleave to, or it never prospers. Love is
like fasting-days, but the body is like flesh-days; and
’tis our English gallants’ fashion to prefer a morsel of
flesh before all the fasting-days in the whole year.
_Enter_ VIAL.
GLI. The news with you, Vial?
VIAL. And it like[185] your worship, here’s Club, master
Purge the ’pothecary’s ’prentice, come to invite you, my
mistress, and mistress Maria, to supper, and to see
master Gerardine’s will sealed.
GLI. Tell Club my wife and myself will be there, but
Maria shall not come. [_Exit_ VIAL.]—There must be your
sweetheart’s parting feast. Now ’a perceives no access
to my house, ’a will to sea; a good riddance: if ’a
returns not, you, forsooth, are his heir; that’s not
much amiss. Yet there may be tricks: I will not be
overreached. Come, to your chamber; where, till my
return, you shall be in safe custody.
[_Exit with_ MISTRESS GLISTER.
MAR. O silly men, which seek to keep in awe
Women’s affections, which can know no law!
[MARIA _ascends_.[186]
SCENE II.
_A Street: before_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ GERARDINE, LIPSALVE, _and_ GUDGEON.
LIP. Now, by the horns of Cupid’s bow, which hath been
the bane to many a tall[187] citizen, I think there be
no finer fools under heaven than we men when we are
lovers. How thou goest crying up and down, with thy arms
across, for a wife! which hadst thou, she’d cross both
arms, head, and heart. Dost not yet know the old
saying,—a wife brings but two good days, that is her
wedding-day, and death-day?
GUD. Believe him, Gerardine, ’a speaks now gospel: a man
may take more wife with one hand than he’s able to put
away with ten, Gerardine. A wife is such a cross, that
all married men would most gladly be rid of.
GER. And yet such a cross,[188] that all bachelors
would gladly be creeping to.
Profane not thus the sacred name of love,
You libertines, who never knew the joys
Nor precious thoughts of two consenting hearts!
LIP. Didst ever see the true picture of a lover? I can
give thee the hieroglyphic; and this it is: a man
standing naked, a wench tickling him on the left side
with a feather, and pricking him under the right side
with a needle. The allegory, as I take, is this: that at
the first we are so overjoyed with obtaining a wife,
that we conceit no heaven like to the first night’s
lodging; and that’s the signification of the left side,
for wives always in the night take the left-side place:
but, sir, now come to the needle on the right side,—
that’s the daytime, wherein she commands; then, sir, she
has a certain thing called tongue, ten times more sharp
than a needle, and that, at the least displeasure, a man
must have shot quite through him.
GUD. Gramercies, Lipsalve, my neat courtier!—But, sirrah
Gerardine, be thyself, sociable and free: leave not thy
native soil for a giglot,[189] a wench who in her wit is
proud——
LIP. In her smile deceitful——
GUD. In her hate revengeable——
LIP. And in nothing but her death acceptable. I’ll tell
thee, there’s no creature more desirous of an honest
name, and worse keeps it, than a woman. Dost hear?
follow this song; and if ever thou forsake thy country
for a wagtail, let me be whipt to death with ladies’
hairlaces.
GER. Let’s hear that worthy song, gentle master
Lipsalve.
LIP. Observe:
[_Sings_] _Now, if I list, will I love no more,
Nor longer wait upon a gill,_[190]
_Since every place now yields a wench;
If one will not, another will:
And, if what I have heard be true,
Then young and old and all will do._
How dost thou like this, man?
GER. No more, no more.
This is the chamber which confines my love,
This is the abstract of the spacious world:
Within it holds a gem so rich, so rare,
That art or nature never yet could set
A valued price[191] to her unvalued[192] worth.
LIP. Unvalued worth?[193] ha, ha, ha! Why, she’s but
A woman; and they are windy turning vanes;
Love light as chaff, which when our nourishing grains
Are winnow’d from them, unconstantly they fly
At the least wind of passion: a woman’s eye
Can turn itself with quick dexterity,
And in each wanton glass can comprehend
Their sundry fancy suited to each friend.[194]
Tut, their loves are all compact of levity,
Even like themselves: _nil muliere levius_ .
GUD. Tut, man, every one knows their worth when they are
at a rack-rent: in the term-time they bear as great a
price as wheat when transportations are.
[MARIA _appears above at a window_.
GER. Peace: let’s draw near the window, and listen if we
may hear her.
MAR. Debarr’d of liberty! O, that this flesh
Could, like swift-moving thoughts, transfer itself
From place to place, unseen and undissolv’d!
Then should no iron ribs or churlish flint
Divide my love and me: dear Gerardine,
Despite of chance or guardian’s tyranny,
I’d move within thy orb and thou in mine!
LIP. She’d move within thy orb and thou in hers? blood,
she talk[s] bawdy to herself.—Gudgeon, stand close.
MAR. But, [ah], in vain do I proclaim my grief,
When air and walls can yield me no relief!
GUD. The walls are the more stony-hearted then.
LIP. Peace, good Gudgeon, gape not so loud.
MAR. Come thou, my best companion! thou art sensible,
And canst my wrongs reiterate: thou and I
Will make some mirth in spite of tyranny.
The black-brow’d Night, drawn in her pitchy[195] wain,
In starry-spangled pride rides now o’er heaven:
Now is the time when stealing minutes tell
The stole delight joy’d by all faithful lovers:
Now loving souls contrive both place and means
For wished pastimes: only I am pent
Within the closure of this fatal wall,
Depriv’d of all my joys.
GER. My dear Maria, be comforted in this:
The frame of heaven shall sooner cease to move,
Bright Phœbus’ steeds leave their diurnal race,
And all that is forsake their natural being,
Ere I forget thy love.
MAR. Who’s that protests so fast?
GER. Thy ever-vowed servant, Gerardine.
MAR. O, by your vows, it seems you’d fain get up.
LIP. Ay, and ride too. [_Aside._
GER. I would, most lov’d Maria.
MAR. I knew it: he that, to get up to a fair woman, will
stick to vow and swear, may be accounted no man. But
tell me,
Why hast thou chose this hour to visit me,
Which nor the day nor night can claim, but both
Or neither? why in this twilight cam’st thou?
GER. T’ avoid suspicious eyes: I come, dear love,
To take my last farewell; fitting this hour,
Which nor bright day will claim nor pitchy night,
An hour fit to part conjoined souls.
Since that my native soil will not afford
My wish’d and best content, I will forsake it,
And prove more strange to it than it to me.
In time’s swift course all things shall find event,
Be it good or ill; and destinies do grant
That most preposterous courses often gain
What labour and direct proceedings miss.
MAR. Wo’t[196] thou forsake me then?
GER. Let first blest life forsake me! Be [thou]
constant:
My absence may procure thy more enlarge,
And then——
MAR. Desire’s conceit is quick; I apprehend thee:
Be thou as loyal as I constant prove,
And time shall knit our mutual knot of love.
Wear this, my love’s true pledge. [_Throws it down._]
I need not wish,
I know thou wo’t return, n[or] will I say
Thou may’st conceal thyself, being return’d,
Till I may make escape, and visit thee.
I prithee, love, attempt not to ascend
My chamber-window by a ladder’d rope:
Th’ entrance is too narrow, except this post,
Which may with ease,—yet that is dangerous:
I prithee, do it not. I hear some call:
Farewell![197]
My constant love let after-actions tell. [_Exit
above._
GER. O perfection of women!
LIP. A plague[198] of such perfection!
GER. How she wooes! by negatives shews——
GUD. Thee what to do, under colour of dissuasion.[199]
GER. She’s truly virtuous!
LIP. Tut, man, outward apparance[200] is no authentic
instance[201] of the inward desires: women have sharp
falcon’s eyes, and can soar aloft; but keep them, like
falcons, from flesh, and they soon stoop to a gaudy
lure.
GER. Why, then, Huguenot women are admirable angels.
GUD. But angels[202] make them admirable devils.
GER. My love’s chaste smile to all the world doth
speak
Her spotless innocence.
LIP. Women’s smiles are more of custom than of courtesy:
women are creatures; their hearts and they are full of
holes, apt to receive, but not retain affection. Thou
wilt to-morrow, thou sayest, begone: if thou wilt know
the worst of a country,[203] marry before thou goest;
for if thou canst endure a curst wife, never care what
company thou comest in.
GER. Come, merry gallants, will you associate me to my
cousin Purge’s the ’pothecary’s, and take part of my
parting feast[204] to-night?
GUD. O, his wife is of the Family of Love: I’ll thither;
perhaps I may prove of the fraternity in time: we’ll
thither, that’s flat. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_A Room in_ PURGE’S _House_.
_Enter_ MISTRESS PURGE.
MIS. P. What, Club, Club! Is Club within there?
_Enter_ CLUB.
CLUB. Mistress?
MIS. P. I pray, what said master doctor Glister? will ’a
come?
CLUB. ’A sent word ’a would, for ’a was but to carry a
diet to one of his patients—what call you her? she that
paints a day-times, and looks fair and fresh on the
outside, but in the night-time is filthier than the
inside of Bocardo,[205] and is indeed far more unsavoury
[to those] that know her, forsooth.
MIS. P. Went ’a to her?
CLUB. ’A had a receipt for the grincomes[206] in his
hand, and ’a said ’a would take that in his way.
MIS. P. ’Tis well: and what guest[s] besides him and his
wife will be here at supper?
CLUB. The first in my account is master Gerardine your
cousin, master doctor Glister and his wife, master
Dryfat the merchant, master Lipsalve the courtier,
master Gudgeon the gallant, and their pages,—these, I
take, will be your full number.
MIS. P. Then belike my room shall be stuffed with
courtiers and gallants to-night. Of all men I love not
these gallants; they’ll prate much, but do little: they
are people most uncertain; they use great words, but
little sense; great beards, but little wit; great
breeches,[207] but no money.
CLUB. That was the last thing they swore away.
MIS. P. Belike they cannot fetch it again with swearing,
for if they could, there’s not a page of theirs but
would be as rich as a monarch.
CLUB. There’s nothing, mistress, that is sworn out of
date that returns. Their first oath in times past was
_by the mass_; and that they have sworn quite away: then
came they to their faith, as, _by my faith, ’tis so_;
that in a short time was sworn away too, for no man
believes now more than ’a sees: then they swore _by
their honesties_; and that, mistress, you know, is sworn
quite away: after their honesty[208] was gone, then came
they to their gentility, and swore _as they were
gentlemen_; and their gentility they swore away so fast,
that they had almost sworn away all the ancient gentry
out of the land; which, indeed, are scarce missed, for
that yeomen and farmers’ sons, with the help of a few
Welchmen, have undertook to supply their places:
then[209] at the last they came to silver, and their
oath was _by the cross of this silver_; and swore so
fast upon that, that now they have scarce left them a
cross[210] for to swear by.
MIS. P. And what do they swear by, now their money is
gone?
CLUB. Why, by ( ),[211] and _God refuse them_.
MIS. P. And can they not as well say, men refuse them,
as God refuse them?
CLUB. No, mistress; for men, especially citizens
and rich men, have refused their[212] bonds and
protestations already.
_Enter_ PURGE.
MIS. P. ’Tis well: see how supper goes forward, and
that my shoes be very well blacked against I go to the
Family. [_Exit_ CLUB.]—Now, sweet chick, where hast thou
been? In troth, la, I am not well: I had thought to have
spent the morning at the Family, but now I am resolved
to take pills, and therefore, I pray thee, desire doctor
Glister that ’a would minister to me in the morning.
PUR. Thy will is known; and this for answer say,
’Tis fit that wise men should their wives obey.
And now, sweet duck, know I have been for my cousin
Gerardine’s will, and have it: ’a has given thee a
legacy, but the total is Maria’s.
_Enter_ GLISTER, MISTRESS GLISTER, _and_ DRYFAT.
Master doctor, your wife, and master Dryfat, are most
welcome: now, were my cousin Gerardine and master
Lipsalve here, our number were complete.
GLI. Is this frantic will done? will master Gerardine to
sea? Let me tell you, I am no whit sorry; let such as
will be headstrong bite on the bridle.
PUR. ’Tis here, master doctor; all his worth is Maria’s,
and locked in a trunk, which by to-morrow[’s] sun shall
be delivered to your custody.
DRY. Methinks ’twere a reasonable match to bestow your
niece on master Gerardine: ’a is a most hopeful
gentleman, and his revenue such, that having your
niece’s portion to clear it of all incumbrances, ’twill
maintain them both in a very worthy degree.
GLI. Tut, you are master Dryfat the merchant; your skill
is greater in cony-skins[213] and woolpacks than in
gentlemen. His lands be in statutes: you merchants were
wont to be merchant staplers; but now gentlemen have
gotten up the trade, for there is not one gentleman
amongst twenty but his land[s] be engaged in twenty
statutes staple.[214]
_Enter_ LIPSALVE, GERARDINE, _and_ GUDGEON.
LIP. [_singing_] _Let every man his humour have,
I do at none repine;
I never regard whose wench I kiss,
Nor who doth the like by mine:
Th’ indifferent mind’s I hold still best,
Whatever does befall;
For she that will do with me and thee
Will be a wench for all._
And how go the squares?[215]
PUR. Your stay, gentlemen, does wrong to a great many of
good stomachs: your suppers expect you.
GUD. And we our suppers.
GLI. And from what good exercise come you three?
GER. From a play, where we saw most excellent
Sampson[216] excel the whole world in gate-carrying.
DRY. Was it performed by the youths?[217]
LIP. By youths? Why, I tell thee we saw Sampson, and I
hope ’tis not for youths to play Sampson. Believe it, we
saw Sampson bear the town-gates on his neck from the
lower to the upper stage,[218] with that life and
admirable accord, that it shall never be equalled,
unless the whole new livery of porters set [to] their
shoulders.
MIS. P. Fie, fie, ’tis pity young gentlemen can bestow
their time no better: this playing is not lawful, for I
cannot find that either plays or players were allowed in
the prime church of Ephesus by the elders.
DRY. Aha, I think she tickled you there!
PUR. Cousin Gerardine, shall the will be read before
supper?
GER. Before supper, I beseech you.
LIP. Ay, ay, before supper,—for when these women’s
bellies be full, their tongues[219] will be soon at
rest. [_Aside._
DRY. Well, master doctor, pity the state of a poor
gentleman: it is in you to stay his journey, and make
him and yourself happy in his choice.
GLI. Hold you content.—Shall this will be read?
PUR. It shall.—Read you, good master Lipsalve.
LIP. Command silence then.
GUD. Silence!
LIP. [_reads_] _In the name of God, amen. Know all men
by these presents,[220] that I Gerardine, being strong
of body, and perfect in sense_——
DRY. That’s false; there’s no lover in his perfect
sense.
GUD. Peace, Dryfat.
LIP. [_reads_] _Do give and grant to Maria Glister,
daughter of John Glister, and niece to doctor Glister,
physician, all my leases, lands, chattels, goods, and
moveables whatsoever._ This is stark naught: you cannot
give away your moveables, for mistress doctor and
mistress Purge claim both shares in your moveables by
reason of their legacies.
DRY. That’s true, for their legacies must go out of your
moveables.
LIP. I[’ll] put it in—_all my moveables, these following
legacies being paid_.
GER. Do so, good master Lipsalve.
LIP. [_after writing_] ’Tis done.
MIS. P. I pray, read only the legacies, for supper
stays.
LIP. Well, the legacies: [_reads_] _First, I give to my
cousin, mistress Purge, a fair large standing_—what’s
this?—O, _cup,—a fair large standing cup, with a close
stool_.
DRY. ’Tis not so, ’tis not so.
LIP. I cry you mercy; _a close cover_ ’tis. [_Reads_]
_To mistress doctor I give a fair bodkin of gold, with
two orient pearls attending the same: all which are in
my trunk to be delivered to the keeping of Maria. In
witness, &c._—Is this your will?
GER. ’Tis.
LIP. To it with your hand and seal.
[GERARDINE _signs and seals the will_.
MIS. P. How is it, chick? I must have the standing cup,
and mistress Glister the bodkin?
PUR. Right, sweet duck.
GER. I pray, gentlemen, put to your hands.
DRY. Come, your fists, gentlemen, your fists.
GER. [_while the witnesses sign the will._] Mistress
Glister, I have found you always more flexible to
understand the estate of a poor gentleman than your
husband was willing: therefore I have thought it a point
of charity to reveal the wrongs you sustain[221] by your
husband’s looseness. Let me tell you in private that the
doctor cuckolds Purge oftener than he visits one of his
patients: what ’a spares from you ’a spends lavishly on
her. These ’pothecaries are a kind of panders: look to
it: if ’a keep Maria long close, it is for some
lascivious end of his own.
MIS. G. She is his niece.
GER. Tut, these doctors have tricks. Your niceness is
such that you can endure no polluted shoes[222] in your
house: take heed lest ’a make you a bawd before your
time; look to it.
LIP. Come, our hands are testimonies to thy follies.
Shall’s now to supper? We’ll have a health go round to
thy voyage.
GUD. Ay, and to all that forswear marriage, and can be
content with other men’s wives.
GER. Of which consort[223] you two are grounds;
one touches the bass, and the other tickles the
minikin.[224]
But to our cheer: come, gentles, let’s away;
The roast meat’s in consumption by our stay.
[_Exeunt._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ PURGE’S _House_.
_Enter_ PURGE.
PUR. The grey-eyed morning braves me to my face, and
calls me sluggard: ’tis time for tradesmen to be in
their shops; for he that tends well his shop, and hath
an alluring wife with a graceful _what d’ye lack_?[225]
shall be sure to have good doings, and good doings is
that that crowns so many citizens with the horns of
abundance. My wife, by ordinary course, should this
morning have been at the Family, but now her soft pillow
hath given her counsel to keep her bed: master doctor
should indeed minister to her; to whose pills she is so
much accustomed, that now her body looks for them as
duly as the moon shakes off the old and borrows new
horns. I smile to myself to hear our knights and
gallants say how they gull us citizens, when, indeed, we
gull them, or rather they gull themselves. Here they
come in term-time, hire chambers, and perhaps kiss our
wives: well, what lose I by that? God’s blessing on’s
heart, I say still, that makes much of my wife! for they
were very hard-favoured that none could find in’s heart
to love but ourselves: drugs would be dog-cheap, but for
my private well-practised doctor and such customers.
Tut, jealousy is a hell; and they that will thrive must
utter their wares as they can, and wink at small faults.
[_Exit._
SCENE II.
_A Street._
_Enter_ GLISTER.
GLI. The tedious night is past, and the jocund morn
looks more lively and fresh than an old gentlewoman’s
glazed face in a new periwig. By this time my humorous
lover is at Gravesend; and I go with more joy to fetch
his trunk than ever the valiant Trojans did to draw in
the Grecian jade: his goods shall into the walls of my
Troy, and be offered to a face more lovely[226] than
ever was that thrice-ravished Helen[’s]; yet with such
caution that no danger shall happen to me. [_Exit._
SCENE III.
_Another Street._
_Enter_ LIPSALVE _and_ SHRIMP, _meeting_ GUDGEON _and_
PERIWINKLE.
GUD. Master Lipsalve, welcome within ken: we two are so
nearly linked, that if thou beest absent but one two
hours, thy acquaintance grows almost mouldy in my
memory.
LIP. And thine[227] fly-blown in mine: how dost thou do?
SHR. Fellow page, I think our acquaintance runs low
too; but if it run not o’ the lees, let’s set it
a-tilt, and give ’em some dregs to their mouldy,
fly-blown compliments.
PER. No, rather let’s pierce the rundlets of our running
heads, and give ’em a neat cup of wagship to put down
their courtship.
SHR. Courtship? cartship! for the tongues of
complimenters run on wheels: but mark ’em; they ha’ not
done yet.
GUD. And, i’faith, how is’t? methinks thou hast been a
long vagrant.
LIP. The rogation[228] hath been long indeed: therefore
we may salute as ceremoniously as lawyers when they meet
after a long vacation, who, to renew the discontinued
state tale, they stretch it out with such length, that
whilst they greet before, their clients kiss them
behind.
SHR. If his nose were put i’ the remainder of that state
tale, he would say ’twere an unsavoury one.
PER. I wonder why many men gird[229] so at the law.
GUD. But what news now? how stands the state of things
at Brussels?
LIP. Faith, weak and limber, weak and limber: nothing
but pride and double-dealing: virtue is vice’s lackey;
beggars suck like horse-leeches at the heart of bounty,
and leave him[230] so tired and spur-galled that he can
be no longer ridden with honesty.
SHR. I’ll tell thee, because they themselves have
neither law nor conscience.
GUD. Well fare the city yet! there virtue rides a
cockhorse, cherished and kept warm in good sables and
fox-fur, and with the breath of his nostrils drives
pride and covetousness before him, like’s own shadow:
beggars have whipping cheer: bounty obliges[231] men
to’t; and liberality gives money for scrips and scrolls,
sealed with strong arms and heraldry to outlive
mortality: love there will see the last man born, never
give over while there’s an arrow i’ th’ quiver.
LIP. Now we talk of love, I do know, not far hence, so
good a subject for that humour, that if she would wear
but the standing collar and her things in fashion, our
ladies in the court were but brown sugar-candy, as gross
as grocery to her.
GUD. She is not so sweet as a ’pothecary’s shop, is she?
LIP. A plague on you! ha’ you so good a scent?—For my
life, he’s my rival. [_Aside._
GUD. Her name begins with mistress Purge, does it not?
LIP. True, the only comet of the city.
GUD. Ay, if she would let her ruffs stream out a little
wider: but I am sure she is ominous to me; she makes
civil wars and insurrections in the state of my stomach:
I had thought to have bound myself from love, but her
purging comfits make[232] me loose-bodied still.
LIP. What, has she ministered to thee then?
GUD. Faith, some lectuary[233] or so.
LIP. Ay, I fear she takes too much of that lectuary to
stoop to love; it keeps her body soluble from sin: she
is not troubled with carnal crudities nor the binding of
the flesh.
GUD. Thou hast sounded her then, belike.
LIP. Not I, I am too shallow to sound her; she’s out of
my element: if I shew passion and discourse of love to
her, she tells me I am wide from the right scope; she
says she has another object, and aims at a better love
than mine.
GUD. O, that’s her husband.
LIP. No, no; she speaks pure devotion: she’s
impenetrable; no gold or oratory, no virtue in herbs nor
no physic will make her love.
GUD. More is the pity, I say, that fair women should
prove saints before age had made them crooked.—’Tis my
luck to be crossed still, but I must not give over the
chase. [_Aside._
LIP. Come hither, boy, while I think on’t.
[LIPSALVE _talks apart to_ SHRIMP.
GUD. Faith, friend Lipsalve, I perceive you would fain
play with my love. A pure creature ’tis, for whom I
have sought every angle[234] of my brain; but either
she scorns courtiers, as most of them do, because they
are given to boast of their doings, or else she’s
exceeding strait-laced: therefore to prevent[235] this
smell-smock, I’ll to my friend doctor Glister, a man
exquisite in th’ art magic, who hath told me of many
rare experiments available in this case. [_Aside._]—
Farewell, friend Lipsalve.
LIP. Adieu, honest Gregory: frequent my lodging; I have
a viol de gambo and good tobacco. [_Exeunt_ GUDGEON
_and_ PERIWINKLE.]—Thou wilt do this feat, boy?
SHR. Else knock my head and my pate together.
LIP. Away then: bid him bring his measure with him.
[_Exit_ SHRIMP.]— Gerardine is travelled, and I must
needs be cast into his mould. My flesh grows proud; and
Maria’s a sweet wench, &c.[236] But yet I must not let
fall my suit with mistress Purge, lest, _sede vacante_,
my friend Gudgeon join issue:
I’ll rather to my learned doctor for a spell,
For I have a fire in my liver[237] burns like hell.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_A Room in_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GLISTER _and_ MARIA.
MIS. G. I pray,[238] let’s have no polluted feet nor
rheumatic chaps enter the house; I shall have my floor
look more greasy shortly than one of your inn-of-court
dining-tables.—And now to you, good niece, I bend my
speech. Let me tell you plainly, you are a fool to be
love-sick for any man longer than he is in your company:
are you so ignorant in the rules of courtship, to think
any one man to bear all the prick and praise?[239] I
tell thee, be he never so proper, there is another to
second him.
MAR. Let rules of courtship be authentic still
To such as do pursue variety;
But unto those whose modest thoughts do tend
To hoour’d nuptials and a regular life,
As far from shew of niceness[240] as from that
Of impure thoughts, all other objects seem
Of no proportion,[241] balanc’d with esteem
Of what their souls affect.
MIS. G. No marvel[242] sure you should regard these men
with such reverend opinion: there’s few good faces and
fewer graces in any of them: if one among a multitude
have a good pair of legs, he never leaves riding the
ring till he has quite marred the proportion: nay, some,
as I have heard, wanting lineaments to their liking and
calf to support themselves, are fain to use art, and
supply themselves with quilted calves, which oftentimes,
in revelling, fall about their ankles; and for their
behaviour, wit, and discourse, except some few that are
travelled, it is as imperfectious and silly as your
scholars new come from the university. By this light, I
think we lose part of our happiness, when we make these
weathercocks our equals.
MAR. Disgrace not that for which our sect[243] was
made,
Society[244] in nuptials: ’bove those joys
Which lovers taste when their conjoined lips
Suck forth each other’s souls, the earth, the air,
Yea, gods themselves, know none. Elysium’s sweet,
Ay, all that bliss which poets’ pens describe,
Are only known when soft and amorous folds
Entwine the corps of two united lovers,
Where what they wish they have, yet still desire,
And sweets are known without satiety.[245]
_Enter_ VIAL.
VIAL.[246] Here’s Club, forsooth, and his fellow
’prentice have brought master Gerardine’s trunk.
MIS. G. Let them come in if their feet be clean. [_Exit_
VIAL.]—So, then, your best-beloved is gone; fair
weather after him! all thy passions[247], go with him!
recomfort thyself, wench, in a better choice: his love
to thee would have been of no longer continuance than
the untrussing of his hose;[248] then why shouldst thou
pine for such a one?
MAR. She’s foolish sure: with what imperfect phrase
And shallow wit she answers me! [_Aside._
_Enter_ CLUB _and another Apprentice, with a trunk_.
MIS. G. Honest Club, welcome: is this master
Gerardine’s trunk? he is gone then?
CLUB. Ay, indeed, mistress Glister, he is departed this
transitory city, but his whole substance is here
enclosed; which, by command, we here deliver to your
custody, to the use of mistress Maria, according to the
tenour of the premises.
MIS. G. Place it here, my honest Club: well done: and
how does thy mistress? was she at the Family to-day?
[CLUB _spits_.] Spit not, good Club, I cannot abide it.
CLUB. Not to-day, forsooth; she hath overcharged herself
and her memory: she means to use a moderation, and take
no more than she can make use of.
MIS. G. And, I prithee, Club, what kind of creatures are
these Familists? thou art conversant with them.
CLUB. What are they? with reverence be it spoken, they
are the most accomplished creatures under heaven; in
them is all perfection.
MIS. G. As how, good Club?
CLUB. Omitting their outward graces, I’ll shew you only
one instance, which includes all other; they love their
neighbours better than themselves.
MIS. G. Not than themselves, Club.
CLUB. Yes, better than themselves; for they love them
better than their husbands, and husband and wife are all
one; therefore, better than themselves.
MIS. G. This is logic: but tell me, doth she not
endeavour to bring my doctor of her side and fraternity?
CLUB. Let him resolve[249] that himself, for here he
comes.
_Enter_ GLISTER.
GLI. O, hast thou brought the trunk, honest Club?
I commend thy honest care: here’s for thy pains.
[_Giving money._
CLUB. I thank you, master doctor; you are free and
liberal still: you’ll command me nothing back?
GLI. Nothing but commendations: farewell. [_Exeunt_ CLUB
_and Apprentice_.]—Your sweetheart Gerardine is by this
time cold of his hope to enjoy thee: he’s gone; and a
more equal and able husband shall my care ere long
provide thee.—What clients have been here in my absence,
wife?
MIS. G. Faith, mouse,[250] none that I know more than an
old woman that had lost her cat, and came to you for a
spell in the recovery.
GLI. I think egregious ignorance will go near to
save this age; their blindness takes me for a
conjuror: yesterday a justice of peace salutes me
with proffer of a brace of angels[251] to help him
to his footcloth,[252] some three days before
stolen, and was fain to use his man’s cloak instead
on’t.
_Re-enter_ VIAL.
VIAL. Here’s a gentleman craves speech with you, sir.
GLI. Go in, sweet wife, and give my niece good counsel.
[_Exeunt_ MISTRESS GLISTER _and_ MARIA.
—His name?
VIAL. He will not tell it me.
GLI. His countenance?
VIAL. I can see nothing but his eyes: the rest of him is
so wrapt in cloak that it suffers no view.
GLI. Admit him. [_Exit_ VIAL.]—What should he be for a
man?[253]
_Enter_ LIPSALVE.
What, master Lipsalve, is’t you? why thus obscured? what
discontent overshadows you?
LIP. A discontent indeed, master doctor, which to shake
off I must have you extend your art to the utmost
bounds. You physicians are as good as false doors behind
hangings to ladies’ necessary uses: you know the very
hour in which they have neither will to deny nor wit to
mistrust: faith now, by the way, when are women most
apt?
GLI. Shall I unbutton myself unto you? after the receipt
of a purgation, for then are their pores most open: but
what creature of a courtier is it hath drawn your head
into the woodcock’s noose?
LIP. A courtier? nay, by this flesh, I am clean fallen
out with them; they have nothing proportionable.
GLI. O, I perceive, then, ’tis some city star that
attracts your aspect.
LIP. He knows by his art. [_Aside._]—In plain terms, a
certain ’pothecary’s wife.
GLI. Upon my life, mistress[254] Purge: I smell you,
sir.
LIP. You may smell a man after a purgation: indeed, sir,
’tis she. Now, for that fame hath bruited[255] you to be
a man expert in necromancy, I would endear[256] myself
to you for ever, would you vouchsafe to let one of your
spirits bring mistress Purge into some convenient place,
where I might enjoy her: I have heard of the like: can
you perform this?
GLI. With much facility, I assure you: but you must
understand that the apparition of a spirit is dreadful,
and withal covetous, and with no small sum of gold hired
to such feats.
_Re-enter_ VIAL.
VIAL. Sir, here’s another gentleman, muffled too, that
desires present conference with you.
GLI. Walk you into that room: I will bethink myself for
your good, and instantly resolve[257] you. [_Exit_
LIPSALVE.]—Let the gentleman come in. [_Exit_ VIAL.]—
Lipsalve in love with my vessel of ease? come to me to
help him to a morsel most affected by mine own palate?
No more but so: I have shaped it; the conceit tickles
me.
_Enter_ GUDGEON.
Sir, as a stranger I welcome you—what, master Gudgeon,
have I caught you? I thought it was a gallant that
walked muffled: come, let me behold you at full; here
are no sergeants, man.
GUD. Master doctor, this my obscure coming requires an
action more obscure; and, in brief, this ’tis. Sir, you
are held a man far seen in nature’s secrets; I know you
can effect many things almost impossible: know, then, I
love mistress Purge, and opportunity favours me not, nor
indeed is she so tractable as I expected: if either by
medicine or your art magical you can work her to my
will, I have a poor gallant’s reward, sir.
GLI. That’s just nothing. [_Aside._]—But how, sir, would
you have me to procure you access to mistress Purge? you
never knew a physician a bawd.
GUD. Why, by conjuration, I tell you, wherein you are
said to be as well practised as in physic: here’s the
best part of my present store to effect it.
[_Giving money._
GLI. Not a penny for myself; but my spirits, indeed,
they must be feed.[258] Walk you by here, while I think
upon a spell. [GUDGEON _retires_.]—What mystery should
this be? Lipsalve and Gudgeon both in love with mistress
Purge, and come to me to help ’em by art magic? ’Tis
some gullery sure; yet, if my invention hold, I’ll fit
them.—Who’s within there?
_Enter Servant._[259]
Fetch me, in all haste, two good whips; I think you may
have them not far hence. [_Exit Servant._]—It shall be
so. [_Aside._]—Now, tell me, master Gudgeon, does no man
know of your love to mistress Purge?
GUD. Not a man, by my gentry.
GLI. Then, sir, know I’ll effect it; but understand
withal the apparition will be most horrid if it appear
in his proper form, and will so amaze and dull your
senses, that your appetite will be lost and weak, though
mistress Purge should attend it naked. Now, sir, could
you name a friend with whom you are most conversant, in
his likeness should the spirit appear.
GUD. Of all men living my conversation is most frequent
with Lipsalve the courtier.
GLI. ’Tis enough: I’ll to my spirit. [GUDGEON _retires,
and_ GLISTER _writes a few words_.]—Are these whips come
there?
_Re-enter Servant with whips._
SER. Ready here, sir. [_Exit._
GLI. So, lie thou[260] there. My noble gallants, I’ll so
firk you! [_Aside._]—Sir, my spirit agrees in Lipsalve’s
shape: to-morrow, ’twixt the hours of four and five,
shall mistress Purge be rapt with a whirlwind into
Lipsalve’s chamber: that’s the fittest place, for, by
the break of day, Lipsalve shall be mounted and forsake
the city for three days; so my spirit resolves[261] me.
Now, sir, by my art, at that very hour shall his
chamber-door fly open; into which boldly enter in this
sort accoutred; put me on a pure clean shirt, leave off
your doublet (for spirits endure nothing polluted), take
me this whip in your hand, and, being entered, you shall
see the spirit in Lipsalve’s shape, in the self-same
form that you appear; speak these words here ready
written [_giving a paper_], take three bold steps
forward, then whip him soundly, who straight vanisheth,
and leaves mistress Purge to your will.
GUD. Ay, but shall your spirit come armed with a whip
too?
GLI. He shall, but have no power to strike.
GUD. Is this infallible? have you seen the proof?
GLI. _Probatum_, upon my word; I have seen the
experience: if it fail, say I am a fool, and no
magician.
GUD. Master doctor, I would you had some suit at court;
by the faith of a courtier, I would beg it for you. Fare
you well, sir: I shall report of you as I find your
charm.
GLI. And no otherwise, sir: let me understand how you
thrive. [_Exit_ GUDGEON.]—Ha, ha, ha! Now to my friend
Lipsalve: I must possess him with the same circumstance;
wherein I am assured to get perpetual laughter in their
follies and my revenge. [_Exit._
_Re-enter_ MARIA.[262]
MAR. O, which way shall I turn, or shift, or go,
To lose one thought of care? no soothing hope
Gives intermission, or beguiles one hour
Of tedious time, which never will have end,
Whilst love pursues in vain my absent friend.
Thou continent of wealth, whose want of store,
For that it could not peize[263] th’ unequal scale
Of avarice, giv’st matter to my moan!
O dross, the level of insatiate eyes,
The devil’s engine, and the soul’s corrupter,
Thou play’st th’ attorney ’gainst the lawful force
Of true affection, dost interpose a bar
’Twixt hearts conjoin’d! curs’d be thy seed of strife,
Whose progress chokes the natural course of life!
[GERARDINE _rises out of the trunk, while_
MARIA _retreats in alarm_.
MAR. O, help, help, help!
GER. Stay, sweet Maria! I bring thee ample joy
To check that sudden fear: let thy sweet heart,
That constant seat of thy affection,
Repay that blood exhausted from thy veins.
Fear not, sweet wench: I am no apparition,
But the firm substance of thy truest friend:
Know’st thou me now?
MAR. Gerardine, my love?
[O] what unheard-of accident presents
Thy unexpected self, and gives my heart
Matter of joy, mix’d with astonishment?
I thought thou had’st been cabin’d in thy ship,
Not trunk’d within my cruel guardian’s house.
GER. That cruelty gives fuel to desire;
For love suppress’d fares like a raging fire,
Which burns all obstacles that stop his course,
And mounts aloft. The ocean in his source
May easier hide himself and be confin’d,
Than love can be obscur’d; for in the mind
She holds her seat, and through that heavenly essence
Is near when far remote; her virtual presence
Fills, like the air, all places, gives delight,
Hope in despair, and heart ’gainst fell despite.
That worst of men, thy cruel guardian, may
Keep down awhile, but cannot dissipate
What heaven hath join’d; for fate and providence
Gave me this stratagem, to let him know
That love will creep where ’tis restrain’d to go.
MAR. I apprehend the rest: O rare conceit!
I see thy travel happily was feign’d
To win access, which with small ease thou’st[264]
gain’d.
This trunk, which he so greedily supposes
Contains thy substance (as it doth indeed),
Upon thy fair pretence in lieu of love
Bequeath’d to me, if death should stop the course,—
This trunk, I say, he hugs; sink thou or swim,
So he may feed his wolf, that root of sin,
His avarice: but heaven, that mocks man’s might,
Gives this close means t’ insist upon our right.
GER. Ingenious spirit, true oracle of love!
Thou hast prevented[265] me: this was my plot,
Whose end and scope I long to imitate
With accents free, and uncontroll’d with fear.
Does opportunity stand fair?
MAR. Not now:
Danger stands sentinel.
GER. Then I’ll retire:
We must be cautelous.[266]
[_He goes again into the trunk._
MAR. So, so: and time
Shall not oft turn his hour-glass ere I’ll find
Place[267] and occasion fitting to thy mind. [_Exit._
ACT III. SCENE I.
MARIA’S _Apartment_.
_Enter_ GERARDINE _and_ MARIA.
GER. The coast is clear, and Argus’ wakeful eyes
Securely sleep: time turns to us his front.
Come, sweet Maria, of th’ auspicious hours
Let’s take advantage.
MAR. With all my heart;
I do embrace the motion with thyself:
Welcome, sweet friend, to liberty of air,
Which now, methinks, doth promp[t] our breaths to move
Sweet accents of delight, the joys of love.
How dost thou brook thy little-ease,[268] thy trunk?
GER. That trunk confines this chest; this chest
contains
Th’ unbounded speculation of our love,
Incomprehensible grief, joy, hope, and fears;
Th’ affections of my mind are like the spheres,
Which in their jarring motions do agree,
Through th’ influence of love’s sweet harmony.
MAR. Are not inferior bodies here on earth
Produc’d and govern’d by those heavenly ones?
GER. They are.
MAR. They jar, you say; yet in that strife maintain
Perpetual league: why should their influence
In rational souls be check’d by erring sense?
Or why should mutual love, confirm’d by heaven,
B’ infring’d by men? methinks ’tis most uneven.[269]
GER. Thou argu’st well, Maria; and this withal,
That brutes nor animals do prove a thrall
To such servility: souls that are wards
To gold, opinion, or th’ undue regards
Of broking men, wolves that in sheep-skin bands
Prey on the hearts to join th’ unwilling hands,
Ruin fair stocks, when generous houses die,
Or propagate their name with bastardy.
MAR. Sterility and barrenness ensue
Such forced love; nor shall erroneous men
Pervert my settled thoughts, or turn mine eye
From thy fair object, which I will pursue,
Rich in thy love, proud of this interview.
GER. I’ll suck these accents: let our breaths engender
A generation of such pleasing sounds,
To interchange delights. O, my blood’s on fire!
Sweet, let me give more scope to true desire.
MAR. What wouldst thou more than our minds’ firm
contract?
GER. Tut, words are wind; thought unreduct[270] to
act[271]
Is but an embryon in the truest sense.
MAR. I am beleague[r]’d; I had need of sense:
You make me blush: play fair yet above board.
GER. Hear me exemplify love’s Latin word
Together with thyself:
As thus:—hearts join’d, _Amore_: take _A_ from thence,
Then _more_ is the perfect moral sense,
Plural in manners, which in thee do shine
Saint-like, immortal, spotless, and divine:
Take _M_ away, _ore_ in beauty’s name
Craves an eternal trophy to thy fame:
Lastly, take _O_, in _re_ stands all my rest,
Which I, in Chaucer-style, do term a jest.
MAR. You break all modest bounds; away, away!
GER. So when men come behind do women say.
MAR. Come, come, I say—
GER. Ay, that’s the word indeed:
Men that come bold before are like to speed.
But who comes here?[272] _Monstrum horrendum!_ my
nostrils have the rank scent of knavery. Maria, let’s
remove ourselves to the window, and observe this piece
of man’s flesh. [_Scene closes._
SCENE II.
_A Street: before_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ LIPSALVE _disguised as_ GERARDINE, _and_ SHRIMP.
LIP. Now, mistress Maria, ward yourself: if my strong
hope fail not, I shall be with you to bring——
SHR. To bring what, sir? some more o’ your kind?
LIP. Faith, boy, that’s mine aim.
SHR. I’ll be sworn, sir, you have a good loose;[273] you
let fly at ’em a-pace.
LIP. I have shot fair and far off; but now I hope to hit
the mark indeed.
SHR. God save it!
LIP. But where’s the sign?
SHR. Why, there.
LIP. That’s a special thing to be observed.
SHR. I have heard talk of the Gemini: methinks, that
should be a star favourable to your proceeding.
LIP. The Gemini? O, I apprehend thee: that’s because I
am so like Gerardine; ha, is’t not so, boy?
SHR. As if you were spit out on’s mouth, sir; you must
needs be like him, for you are both cut out of a piece.
But, lord, sir, how you hunt this chase of love! are you
not weary?
LIP. Indefatigable, boy, indefatigable.
SHR. Fatigable, quoth you? you may call it leanable well
enough, for I am sure it is able to make a man lean.
LIP. ’Tis my vocation, boy; we must never be weary
of well-doing: love’s as proper to a courtier as
preciseness to a puritan.
[MARIA _appears above_; GERARDINE _concealing
himself behind her_.[274]
SHR. Love, _subaudi_ lust; a punk in this place
_subintelligitur_. [_Aside._
LIP. Boy, I have spied my saint.
SHR. Then down on your knees.
LIP. Fly off, lest she take thee for my familiar.—
Save thee, sweet Maria!
Nay, wonder not (for thou thyself art wonder,)
To see this unexpected gratulation.
MAR. Whom do I see? O, how my senses wander!
Am not I Hero? art not thou Leander?
GER. Thou’rt in the right, sweet wench; more of that
vein.
LIP. Her passion o’ercomes[275] her; ’tis the kindest
soul!
O excellent device! it works, it works, boy.
SHR. It does indeed, sir, like the suds of an ale-fat
or a washing-bowl.
LIP. Joy not too much; extremes are perilous.
MAR. O weather-beaten love!—Cisley, go make a fire;
Go, fetch my ladder of ropes, Leander’s come.
LIP. Mark, how prettily in her rapture she harps upon
Gerardine’s travel.—
Let th’ ecstasy have end, for I am Gerardine.
GER. The devil you are! [_Aside._
MAR. Ha? let me see: my love so soon return’d?
LIP. I never travell’d farther than thine eyes;
My bruited[276] journey was a happy project
To cast a mist before thy jealous guardian,
Who now, suspectless, gives some hope t’ attain
My wish’d delight, before pursu’d in vain.
GER. Ask if he strain’d not hard for that same
project.
MAR. Has not that project overrack’d thy brain,
And spent more wit than thou hast left behind?
SHR. By this light, she flouts him. [_Aside._
LIP. No, wit is infinite: I spent some brain;
Thy love did stretch my wit upon the tenters.
GER. Then is’t like to shrink in the wetting.
[_Aside._
MAR. It cottens well;[277] it cannot choose but bear
A pretty nap: I tender thy capacity;
A comfortable caudle cherish it:
But where’s my favour that I bid thee wear
As pledge of love?
GER. Now dost thou put him to’t;
More tenters for his wit; he’s _non plus_ quite.
LIP. I wear it, sweet Maria, but on high days,
Preserve it from the tainting of the air—
What should I say? [_Aside._]—’Tis in my t’other
hose.[278]
MAR. How? in your t’other hose? he that I love
Shall wear my favour in those hose he has on.
LIP. Fiends and furies! block that I am! [_Aside._
SHR. In your t’other hose?—She talked of a ladder of
ropes: if she would let it down, for my life, he would
hang himself in’t. [_Aside._]—In your t’other hose? why,
those hose are in lavender:[279] besides, they have
never a codpiece; but, indeed, there needs no ivy where
the wine is good: in your t’other hose?
MAR. I said you were too prodigal of wit.
LIP. Expostulate no more; grant me access,
Or else I’ll travel to the wilderness.
MAR. Your only way: go, travel till you tire;
Be rid, and let a gull discharge the hire.
SHR. Master, the doctor, the doctor!
LIP. Where? which way?
SHR. This way, that way, some way I heard him coming.
LIP. O boy, I am abused, gulled, disgraced! my credit’s
cracked.
SHR. You know that’s nothing new for a[280] courtier.
LIP. O, I shall run beside myself!
SHR. No, sir, that’s my office; I’ll run by your side.
LIP. My brain is out of temper! what shall I do?
SHR. Take her counsel, sir; get a cullis[281] to
your capacity, a restorative to your reason, and a
warming-pan to your wit: he comes, he comes!
LIP. Follow close, boy; let him not see us.
[_Exeunt_ LIPSALVE _and_ SHRIMP.
_Enter_ GLISTER.
GLI. What, more flutterers[282] about my carrion? more
battery to my walls? shall I never be rid of these
petronel-flashes?[283] As for my friend Gerardine, the
wind of my rage has blown him to discover countries; and
let the sea purge his love away and him together,—I care
not. Young wenches now are all o’ the hoigh: we that are
guardians must respect more besides titles, gold lace,
person, or parts; we must have lordships and manors
elsewhere as well as in the man: wealth commands all;
and wealth I’ll have, or else my minion shall lead apes
in hell. I must after this gallant too: I’ll know his
rendezvous, and what company he keeps. [_Exit._
MAR. Now must we be abrupt:[284] retire, sweet friend,
To thy small-ease:[285] what more remains to do,
We’ll consummate at our next interview.
GER. So shall I bear my prisonment with pleasure:
Look thou but big, our[286] cruel foe will yield,
And give to Hymen th’ honour of the field.
[_Exeunt above._
SCENE III.
_A Street: before the Meeting-house of the Family of
Love._
_Enter_ MISTRESS PURGE, CLUB _carrying a link before
her_.
MIS. P. Fie, fie, Club, go a’ t’other side the way,
thou collowest[287] me and my ruff; thou wilt make me an
unclean member i’ the congregation.
CLUB. If you be unclean, mistress, you may pure
yourself; you have my master’s ware at your commandment:
but what am I then, that does all the drudgery in your
house?
MIS. P. Thou’rt born to’t: why, boy, I can shew thy
indentures; thou givest no other milk: we know how to
use all i’ their kind.
CLUB. You’re my better in bark and rine,[288] but in
pith and substance I may compare with you: you’re above
me in flesh, mistress, and there’s your boast; but in my
t’other part we are all one before God.
_Enter_ DRYFAT.
MIS. P. All one with me? dost thou swear too? why then,
up and ride!
DRY. Whither away, mistress Purge?
MIS. P. To the Family, master Dryfat, to our
exercise.[289]
DRY. What, by night?
MIS. P. O Lord, ay, sir, with the candles out too: we
fructify best i’ th’ dark: the glance of the eye is a
great matter; it leads us to other objects besides the
right.
DRY. Indeed I think we perform those functions best when
we are not thrall to the fetters of the body.
MIS. P. The fetters of the body? what call you them?
DRY. The organs of the body, as some term them.
MIS. P. Organs? fie, fie, they have a most abominable
squeaking sound in mine ears; they edify not a whit; I
detest ’em: I hope my body has no organs.[290]
DRY. To speak more familiarly, mistress Purge, they are
the senses, the sight, hearing, smelling, taste, and
feeling.
MIS. P. Ay, marry—marry, said I? Lord, what a word’s
that in my mouth!—you speak now, master Dryfat; but yet
let me tell you where you err too: this feeling I will
prove to be neither organ nor fetter; it is a thing—a
sense did you call it?
DRY. Ay, a sense.
MIS. P. Why, then, a sense let it be,—I say it is that
we cannot be without; for, as I take it, it is a part
belonging to understanding: understanding, you know,
lifteth up the mind from earth: if the mind be lift up,
you know, the body goes with it: also it descends into
the conscience, and there tickles us with our works and
doings: so that we make singular use of feeling.
DRY. And not of the rest?
MIS. P. Not at that time; therefore we hold it not amiss
to put out the candles, for the soul sees best i’ th’
dark.
DRY. You come to me now, mistress Purge.
_Enter_ PURGE _behind_.
MIS. P. Nay, I will come to you else, master Dryfat:
these senses, as you term them, are of much efficacy in
carnal mixtures; that is, when we crowd and thrust a man
and a woman together.
PUR. What, so close at it? I thought this was one end of
your exercise:[291] byrlady,[292] I think there is small
profit in this. I’ll wink no more; for I am now tickled
with a conceit that it is a scurvy thing to be a
cuckold. [_Aside._
DRY. I commend this zeal in you, mistress Purge; I
desire much to be of your society.
MIS. P. Do you indeed? blessing on your heart! are you
upright in your dealings?
DRY. Yes, I do love to stand to any thing I do, though I
lose by it: in truth, I deal but too truly for this
world. You shall hear how far I am entered in the right
way already. First, I live in charity, and give small
alms to such as be not of the right sect; I take under
twenty i’ th’ hundred, nor no forfeiture of bonds unless
the law tell my conscience I may do’t; I set no pot on
a’ Sundays, but feed on cold meat drest a’ Saturdays; I
keep no holydays nor fasts, but eat most flesh o’
Fridays of all days i’ the week; I do use to say
inspired graces, able to starve a wicked man with
length; I have Aminadabs and Abrahams to my godsons, and
I chide them when they ask me blessing; and I do hate
the red letter[293] more than I follow the written
verity.
PUR. Here’s clergy![294] [_Aside._
MIS. P. These are the rudiments indeed, master Dryfat.
DRY. Nay, I can tell you I am, or will be, of the right
stamp.
PUR. A pox o’ your stamp! [_Aside._
MIS. P. Then learn the word for your admittance, and you
will be much made on by the congregation.
DRY. Ay, the word, good mistress Purge?
MIS. P. A Brother in the Family.
DRY. Enough, I have my lesson.
PUR. So have I mine. A Brother in the Family! I must be
a Familist to-day: I’ll follow this gear[295] while ’tis
on foot, i’faith. [_Aside._
MIS. P. Then shore up your eyes, and lead the way to the
goodliest people that ever turned up the white o’ th’
eye.—Give me my book, Club, put out thy link, and come
behind us.
[DRYFAT _knocks at the door of the Meeting-house_.
[_Within_]. Who’s there?
DRY. Two Brothers and a Sister in the Family.[296]
[MISTRESS PURGE, DRYFAT, _and_ CLUB, _enter the
House: then_ PURGE _knocks at the door_.
[_Within_]. Who’s there?
PUR. A Familiar Brother.
[_Within_]. Here’s no room for you nor your
familiarity.
PUR. How? no room for me nor my familiarity? why,
what’s the difference between a Familiar Brother and a
Brother in the Family? O, I know! I made ellipsis of
_in_ in this place, where it should have been
expressed, so that the want of _in_ put me clean out;
or, let me see,—may it not be some mystery drawn from
arithmetic? for my life, these Familists love no
substraction, take nothing away, but put in and add as
much as you will; and after addition follows
multiplication of a most Pharasit-hypocritical crew.
Well, for my part I like not this Family, nor, indeed,
some kind of private lecturing that women use. Look
too’t, you that have such gadders to your wives!
self-willed they are as children, and, i’faith,
capable of not much more than they, peevish[297] by
custom, naturally fools. I remember a pretty wooden
sentence in a preamble to an exercise,[298] where the
reader prayed that men of his coat might grow up like
cedars to make good wainscot in the House of
Sincerity: would not this wainscot phrase be writ in
brass, to publish him that spake it for an animal?
Why, such wooden pellets out of earthen trunks[299] do
strike these females into admiration, hit[300] ’em
home; sometimes, perhaps, in at one ear and out at
t’other, and then they depart, in opinion wiser than
their neighbours, fraught with matter able to take
down and mortify their husbands. Well, I’ll home now,
and bring the true word next time. I shall expect my
wife anon, red-hot with zeal, and big with melting
tears; and this night do I expect, as her manner is,
she will weep me a whole chamber-pot full. _Loquor
lapides?_ do I cast pills abroad? ’Tis no matter what
I say; I talk like a ’pothecary, as I am: I have only
purged myself of a little choler and passion, and am
now armed with a patient resolution. But how? to put
my horns in my pocket? no:
What wise men bear, is not for me to scorn;
’Tis a[n] honourable thing to wear the horn.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
LIPSALVE’S _Chamber_.
_Enter_ LIPSALVE _without his doublet, a whip in his
hand_.
LIP. Fortune, devil’s turd i’ thy teeth! I’ll turn no
more o’ thy wheel: art is above thy might. What though
my project with mistress Maria failed? more ways to the
wood than one; there’s variety in love. It is believed I
am out of town; my door is open: the hour is at hand;
all things squared by the doctor’s rule; and now I look
for the spirit to bring me warm comfort to clothe my
nakedness, and that is mistress Purge, the cordial of a
Familist; and come quickly, good spirit, or else my
teeth will chatter for thee. [_Scene shuts._
SCENE V.[301]
_Before_ LIPSALVE’S _Chamber-door_.
_Enter_ GUDGEON _without his doublet, a whip in his
hand_.
ᚨGUD. O the naked pastimes of love, the scourge of
dulness, the purifier of uncleanness, and the hot-house
of humanity! I have taken physic of master Purge any
time this twelvemonths to purge my humour upon’s
wife, and I have ever found her so fugitive, from
exercise[302] to exercise, and from Family to Family,
that I could never yet open the close-stool of my mind
to her; so that I may well say with Ovid, _Hei
mihi,[303] quod nullis amor est medicabilis herbis!_ Now
am I driven to prove the violent virtue of conjuration:
if it hit, and that I yerk my Familist out of the
spirit, I’ll hang up my scourge-stick for a trophy, and
emparadize my thoughts: though the doctor go to the
devil, ’tis no matter. Ha, let me see: Lipsalve’s door
open, and himself out of town? Excellent doctor,
soothsaying doctor, oraculous doctor!
[_Enters the chamber._
SCENE VI.
LIPSALVE’S _Chamber_.
LIPSALVE _discovered, as before_: GLISTER _watching
above_.
GLI. I have taken up this standing to see my gallants
play at barriers[304] with scourge-sticks, for the
honour of my punk:
_Enter_ GUDGEON.
and in good time I see my brave spirits shining in
bright armour, nakedly burning in the hell-fire of
lechery, and ready for the hot encounter: sound
trumpets, the combatants are mounted! [_Aside._
GUD. The apparition! mistress Purge peers through him; I
see her.
LIP. The spirit appears! but he might have come sooner:
I am numbed with cold, a shivering ague hath taken away
my courage.
GLI. They are afraid one of another: look, how they
tremble! the flesh and the devil strengthen ’em! ha, ha,
ha! [_Aside._
GUD. Has ’a no cloven feet? what a laxative fever shakes
me!
LIP. Will ’a not carry me with him to hell? well, I must
venture.—_Clogmathos._
GUD. My cue.—_Clogmathathos._
LIP. My cue.—_Garrazin._
GUD. _Garragas._
LIP. _Garrazinos._
GUD. _Ton tetuphon._
LIP. _Tes tetuphes._
BOTH. _With a whirly twinos._
[_They lash one another._
LIP. Hold,[305] hold, hold!
GUD. Gogs nowns, gogs blood!
LIP. A pox, a plague, the devil take you!
GUD. Truce, truce, I smart, I smart.
GLI. Ha, ha, ha! O, for one of the hoops of my
Cornelius’ tub![306] I must needs be gone, I shall burst
myself with laughing else.
Magic hath no such rule: men cannot find
Lust ever better handled in his kind.
[_Aside, and exit above._
GUD. What art thou? with the name of Jove I conjure
thee!
LIP. With any name, saving the whip; I’ll no more of
that conjuration, a plague on’t!
GUD. Speak, art not a spirit in the likeness of my
friend Lipsalve, that should transform thyself to
mistress Purge?
LIP. How, a spirit? I hope spirits have no flesh and
blood; and I am sure thou hast drawn blood out of my
flesh with the spirit of thy whip.
GUD. Then shall we prove to be honest gulls, and the
doctor an arrant knave.
LIP. A plague upon him for a Glister! he has given our
loves a suppositor[307] with a _recumbentibus_. I’ll
tell thee, sirrah,——
GUD. Tell not me, let me prevent thee; the wind shall
not take the breath of our gross abuse: we feel the
gullery, therefore let us swear by our naked truths, and
by the hilts of these our blades, our flesh-tamers, to
be revenged upon that paraperopandentical doctor, that
pocky doctor.
LIP. Agreed: we’ll cuckold him, that he shall not
be able to put his head in at’s doors; and make
his precise, puritanical, and peculiar punk, his
’pothecary’s drug there, a known cockatrice[308]
to the world.
GUD. If report catch this knavery, we have lost our
reputations for ever: wherefore let’s be secret.
Ill tax we women of credulity,
When men are gull’d with such gross foppery.
LIP. Come, let us in, and cover both our shames.
This conjuration to the world’s a novelty;
Gallants turn’d spirits, and whipt for lechery.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE VII.
MARIA’S _Apartment_.
_Enter_ MARIA.
MAR. Gerardine, come forth, Maria calls!
Those ribs shall not enfold thy buxom limbs
One minute longer: the cincture of mine arms
Shall more securely keep thy soul from harms.
GER. [_coming out of the trunk_] What heavenly breath,
of Phitonessa’s power,[309]
That rais’d the dead corpse of her friend[310] to life,
Prevails no less on me! for even this urn,
The figure of my sadder requiem,
Gives up my bones, my love, my life, and all,
To her that gives me freedom in my thrall.
MAR. Be brief, sweet friend, salute and part in one;
For niggard time now threats with imminent danger
Our late joy’d scope. Thy earnest, then, of love,
Ere Sol have compass’d half the signs, I fear
Will shew a blushing fault; but ’twas thine aim,[311]
T’ enforce consent in him that bars thy claim.
GER. Love salves that fault: let time our guilt
reveal,
I’ll ne’er deny my deed, my hand, and seal.
The elements shall lose their ancient force,
Water and earth suppress the fire and air,
Nature in all use a preposterous course,
Each kind forget his likeness to repair,
Before I’ll falsify my faith to thee.
MAR. The humorous bodies’ elemental kind
Shall sooner lose th’ innated heat of love,
The soul in nature’s bounds shall be confin’d,
Heaven’s course shall retrograde and leave to move,
Ere I surcease[312] to cherish mutual fire,
With thoughts refin’d in flames of true desire.
GER. These words are odours on[313] the sacred shrine
Of love’s best deity: the marriage-god
Longs to perform those[314] ceremonious rites
Which terminate our hopes: till mine grow full,
I’ll use that intercourse amongst my friends
That erst I did; then, in the height of joy,
I’ll come to challenge interest in my boy.
Till then, farewell.
MAR. You’ll come upon your cue?
GER. Doubt not of that.
MAR. Then twenty times adieu. [_Exeunt._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_A Street: before the Meeting-house of the Family of
Love._
_Enter_ LIPSALVE, GUDGEON, SHRIMP, _and_ PERIWINKLE.
GUD. Come, boys, our clothes,[315] boys: and what is
the most current news, Periwinkle?
PER. Faith, sir, fortune hath favoured us with no news
but what the pedlar brought from Norfolk.
LIP. Is there nothing stirring at court, Shrimp?
SHR. Faith, there is, sir, but nothing new.
LIP. Good wag, faith! thou smellest somewhat of a
courtier, though thy mother was a citizen’s wife.—Off
with that filthy great band, nay, quick; on with your
robe of sanctity, nay, suddenly, man.
GUD. And why must we shift ourselves into this demure
habit, if impossible to be of the Family and keep our
own fashion?
LIP. Tut, man, the name of a gallant is more hateful to
them than the sight of a corner-cap. Hadst thou heard
the protestations the wife of a bellows-mender made but
yesternight against gallants, thou hadst for ever
abjured crimson breeches. She swore that all gallants
were persons inferior to bellows-menders, for the trade
of bellows-making was very aerial and high; and what
were men and women but bellows, for they take wind in at
one place and do evaporate at another;—evaporate was her
very phrase.
GUD. Methinks, her phrase flew with somewhat too strong
a vapour.
LIP. Nay, she proves farther, that all men receive their
being chiefly from bellows, without which the fire burns
not; without fire the pot seethes not; the pot not
seething, powdered beef is not to be eaten; of which,
she then averred our nation was a great devourer, and
without which they could neither fight for their country
abroad, nor get children at home; for, said she,
powdered beef is a great joiner of nerves together.
GUD. What answer madest thou?
LIP. Marry, that I thought a bawd was a greater joiner
of nerves together than powdered beef: with that she
protested that a bawd was an instrument of the devil,
and as she had proved that bellows-makers were of God’s
trade, so bawds were of the devil’s trade; for (and
thereupon she blew her nose) the devil and bawds did
both live by the sins of the people.
GUD. No more: mistress Purge is at hand.
LIP. Vanish, boys, away. [_Exeunt_ SHRIMP _and_
PERIWINKLE.]— Make haste: before Jove, she’ll be with
us ere we can be provided for her. [_They retire._
_Enter_ MISTRESS PURGE, CLUB _carrying a link before
her_.
MIS. P. Advance your link, Club. At what time wert thou
bound, Club? at Guttide,[316] Hollantide,[317] or
Candletide?
CLUB. I was bound, indeed, about midsummer.
MIS. P. And when hath thy ’prenticeship end? at
Michaeltide next?
CLUB. So I take it.
MIS. P. They say, Club, you fall very heavy on such you
love not: you never learnt that of me.
CLUB. Indeed, mistress, I must confess my falling is
rustic, gross, and butcher-like: marry, yours is a
pretty, foolish, light, courtlike[318] falling: yet,
believe me, my master smells somewhat too gross of the
purgation; he wants tutoring.
MIS. P. And why, I pray?
CLUB. My master being set last night in his shop, comes
master doctor Glister, as his manner is, squirting in
suddenly; and after some conference, tells my master
that, by his own knowledge, you were young with child:
to which my master replied, Why, master doctor, will you
put me to more charges yet?
MIS. P. Thou art a fool: in that my husband spake as
wisely as if the master of his company had spoke. He
knows doctors have receipts for women, which make[319]
them most apt to conceive; and he promising ’a had
ministered the same lately to me, thereupon spake it.
Lead on with your link.
LIP. Art ready?
GUD. Ready.
LIP. Then speak pitifully, look scurvily, and dissemble
cunningly, and we shall quickly prove two of the
Fraternity. [_Advancing with_ GUDGEON.]—Benediction and
sanctity, love and charity fall on mistress Purge,
sister of the Family!
MIS. P. And what, I pray, be you two?
LIP.[320] Two newly converted from the rags of
Christianity to become good members in the house of the
Family.
MIS. P. Who, I pray, converted you?
GUD. Master[321] Dryfat, the merchant.
MIS. P. And from what sins hath he converted you?
LIP. From two very notorious crimes; the first was from
eating fish on Fridays, and the second from speaking
reverently of the clergy: but ’a resolved[322] us your
talent in edifying young men went far beyond his.
_Enter_ PURGE _behind_.
MIS. P. A talent I have therein, I must confess, nor am
I very nice[323] at fit times to shew it: for your
better instructions, therefore, you must never hereafter
frequent taverns nor tap-houses, no masques nor
mummeries, no pastimes nor playhouses.
GUD. Must we have no recreation?
MIS. P. Yes, on the days which profane lips call
holydays, you may take your spaniel and spend some hours
at the ducking-pond.
LIP. What are we bound unto during the time we remain in
the Family?
MIS. P. During the light of the candle you are to be
very attentive; which being extinguished, how to behave
yourselves I will deliver in private.
[_Whispers._[324]
PUR. ’Tis now come to a whisper. What young Familists be
these? i’faith, I’ll make one; I’ll trip you, wife: I
scent your footing, wife.
For Galen[325] writes, Paracelsus can tell,
’Pothecaries have brains and noses eke[326] to smell.
[_Aside._
LIP. We shall with much diligence observe it.
PUR. I fear I shall have small cause to thank that
diligence: but do your worst;
He that hath read five[327] herbals in one year
Can find a trick which shall prevent this gear.[328]
They are going: follow, Purge, close, close and softly,
like a horsekeeper in a lady’s matted chamber at
midnight. [_Aside._
[MISTRESS PURGE _knocks at the door of the
Meeting-house_.
[_Within_]. Who knocks?
MIS. P. Brethren, and a Sister in the Family.
[_Within_]. Enter in peace.
[MISTRESS PURGE, LIPSALVE, GUDGEON, _and_ CLUB _enter
the house_.
PUR. Brethren, and a Sister! that’s the word. How
beastly was I mistaken last day! I should have said, A
Brother in the Family, and I said, A Familiar Brother;
for which I and my family were thrust out of doors: but,
as Titus Silus of Holborn Bridge most learnedly was wont
to say, qd——[329] [_Knocks._
_Within_]. Who’s there?
PUR. A Brother in the Family.
[_Within_]. Enter, and welcome.
[PURGE _enters the house_.
SCENE II.
_A Street._
_Enter_ GERARDINE, _disguised as a Porter_.[330]
GER. Thou sacred deity, Love!
Thou power predominate, more to be admir’d
Than able to be exprest, whose orb includes
All terrene joys which are! all states which be
Pay to thy sacred throne,[331] as tribute-fee,
Their thoughts and lives. Like Jove’s, so must thy acts
Endure no question: why, thy hidden facts
The gods themselves obey: heaven-synod holds
No gods but what thy awful power controls;
The Delphian archer, proud with Python’s spoil,
At Cupid’s hand was forc’d to take the foil;
Not Mars his star-like[332] adamantine targe
Could free his warlike breast at Cupid’s charge;
And Jove, whose frown all mortal lives bereaves,
His[333] marble throne and ivory sceptre leaves,
And in the likeness of a bull was seen,
As forc’d by him to bear the Tyrian queen
Through Neptune’s watery kingdom: if these submit,
My metamorphose is not held unfit.
And see, in most wished occasion, Dryfat the merchant
presents himself.
_Enter_ DRYFAT.
Sir, in the best of hours met: my thoughts had marked
you out for a man most apt to do them the fairest of
offices.
DRY. What! art thou a Welsh carrier or a northern
landlord, thou’rt so saucy?
GER. Is’t possible, sir, my disguise should so much fool
your knowledge? How? a northern landlord? can you think
I get my living by a bell and a clack-dish?[334]
DRY. By a bell and a clack-dish? how’s that?
GER. Why, by begging, sir. Know you me now?
DRY. Master Gerardine, disguised and ashore! nay, then I
smell a rat.
GER. Master Dryfat, shall I repose some trust in you?
will you lay by awhile your city’s precise humour? will
you not deceive me?
DRY. If I deceive your trust, the general plague seize
me! that is, may I die a cuckold.
GER. And I say thou shalt die a true citizen, if thou
conceal it: and thus in brief. It stands with thy
knowledge how seriously I have and do still affect
Maria: now, sir, I have so wrought it, that if thou
couldst procure me a fellow that could serve instead of
a crier, I myself would play Placket the paritor,[335]
and summon doctor Glister and Maria to appear at thy
house: and as I play[336] the paritor, so wouldst thou
but assume the shape of a proctor, I should have the
wench, thou the credit, and the whole city occasion of
discourse this nine days.
DRY. How’s this, how’s this? I should procure a fellow
to play the crier,[337] and I myself should play the
proctor? but upon what occasion should they be summoned?
GER. Upon an accusation that doctor Glister should get
Maria, his niece, with child, and have bastards in the
country, which I have a trick to make probable.
DRY. And now I recall it to memory, I heard somewhat to
that effect last night in master Beardbush the barber’s
shop: but how will this sort? who shall accuse him?
GER. Refer that to me, I say, be that my care: all shall
end in merriment, and no disgrace touch either of their
reputations.
DRY. Then take both word and hand, ’tis done: Club,
mistress Purge’s ’prentice, shall be the crier.[338]
GER. O my most precious Dryfat! may none of thy
daughters prove vessels with foul bungholes, or none of
thy sons hogsheads, but all true and honourable Dryfats
like thyself!
DRY. Well, master Gerardine, I hope to see you a
Familist before I die.
GER. That’s most likely, for I hold most of their
principles already: I never rail nor calumniate any man
but in love and charity; I never cozen any man for any
ill will I bear him, but in love and charity to myself;
I never make my neighbour a cuckold for any hate or
malice I bear him, but in love and charity to his wife.
DRY. And may those principles fructify in your weak
members! I’ll be gone, and with most quick dexterity
provide you a crier: to-morrow at my house, said you,
they should appear?
GER. Be that the time, most honoured Dryfat: but be this
known to none, most loved sir, save Club, or to some
other whom your judgment shall select as a fit person
for our project.
DRY. Thus enough: time out of sight.[339] [_Exit._
GER. Maria, thou art mine: earth’s perfection[340] and
nature’s glory, woman! of what an excellency if her
thoughts and acts were squared and levelled with the
first celsitude[341] of her creation!
T’ enjoy a creature,—whose dishevell’d locks,
Like gems against the repercussive sun,
Give[342] light and splendour; whose star-like eyes
Attract more gazer loves[343] to see them move
Than the Titanian[344] god, when Ægeon’s hill
’A mounts in triumph; a skin more pure and soft
Than is the silk-worm’s bed; teeth[345] more white
Than new-fall’n snow or shining ivory,—
Is happiness sought by the gods themselves.
Celestial Venus, born without a mother,
Be thou propitious! thee and I implore,
Not vulgar Venus, heaven’s scorn and Mars his whore.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_A Room in_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GLISTER _and_ MARIA.
MAR. Good aunt, quiet yourself: ground not upon dreams;
you know they are ever contrary.
MIS. G. Minion, minion, coin no excuses: I grant dreams
are deceitful, but a true judgment grounded upon
knowledge never fails. What? have not I observed the
rising and falling of the blood, the coming and going of
the countenance, your qualms, your unlacings, your
longings? most evident tokens; besides, a more certain
sign than all these, too; you know’t, I need not speak
it: nay, I am as skilful in that point as my husband; I
can tell you, Aristotle speaks English enough to tell me
these secrets. Body of me, so narrowly looked to, and
yet fly out! Well, I see maids will ha’t in spite of
laws or locks that restrain ’em; they will open, do men
what they can.
MAR. I see my fault appears: simplicity
Hath no evasion; ’tis bootless to deny
Where guilty blood, cited by touch of shame,
Runs through my veins, and leaves my conscience’ stain
Even in my face. Forbear, I do beseech you,
To publish my defame: what I have done
You shall not answer; I must bear mine own.
MIS. G. Bear your own? ay, marry, there it goes! What
must you bear?
MAR. My sins, forsooth.
MIS. G. Your sins, forsooth? Confess to me, and go not
about the bush: you have been doing, that’s flat; you
have caught a clap, that’s round; and answer me roundly
to the point, or else I’ll square.[346] Come, whose act
is’t? I cannot devise unless it be my husband’s, for
none else had access to thee: I am sure time has turned
his bald side to thee, and I do but wonder how thou
tookst opportunity: speak, tell me.
MAR. Now, good aunt, press me not; let time reveal
What you suspect; for never shall my tongue
Confess an act that tends unto my wrong.
_Enter_ GERARDINE, _disguised as a porter_.
MIS. G. Will you not bolt? I must ha’t out on you, and
will.
GER. By your leave, mistress——
MIS. G. Passion of my heart, what art thou?
GER. No ghost, forsooth, though I appear in white.
MIS. G. No, but a saucy knave, I perceive by your
manners.
GER. None of that livery neither: I am of the bearing
trade, forsooth; you may see by my smock,—frock, I would
say: I am, if it please you, of the spick and span
new-set-up company of porters. Here’s my breastplate;
and besides our own arms, we have the arms of the city
to help us in our burdens—_ecce signum!_ here’s the
cross and the sword of justice in good pewter, I can
tell you, which goes as current with us as better metal.
MIS. G. What’s your name, sir?
GER. Nicholas Nebulo: there’s but a straw’s-breadth
between that and the arms; ’tis in the backside of the
cross here, and well known in the city for an ancient
name and an honest, an’t like your worship.
MIS. G.[347] You are none of the twelve, are you?
GER. No, forsooth, but one of the twenty-four——
MIS. G. Orders of knaves:[348] I thought so. Sirrah,
you’re a rascal, to come thus bluntly into my house with
your dirty startups:[349] get you without doors, like a
filthy fellow as you are; a place more fit for you.
GER. O, good words, mistress! I may be warden of my
company for aught you know; and for my bluntness, we
have a clause in our charter to warrant that; for as we
bear, so likewise we may be borne with, and have free
egress and regress where our business lies.
MIS. G. And what’s your business here?
GER. I have a letter, an’t please you, to master doctor.
MIS. G. From whence? [_Taking the letter._
GER. That I cannot shew your worship; but I had it of
Curtal the carrier, whose lawful deputy I am.
MIS. G. Leave your scraping, sirrah. Fie, how rank the
knave smells of grease and taps-droppings! [GERARDINE
_coughs and spits_.] What, are you rheumatic too, with a
vengeance!
GER. Yes, indeed, mistress; though I be but a poor man,
I have a spice of the gentleman in me: master doctor
could smell it quickly, because he’s a gentleman
himself: I must to the diet, and that is tobacco at the
ale-house; I use n’other physic for it.
MIS. G. Did ever such a peasant defile my floor, or
breathe so near me!—I’faith, sirrah, you would be bummed
for your roguery, if you were well served.
GER. I am bummed well enough already, mistress; look
here else: sir-reverence[350] in your worship, master
doctor’s lips are not made of better stuff.
MIS. G. What an impudent rogue is this!—Sirrah, begone,
I say; I would be rid o’ you.
GER. Be rid o’ me? I shall gallop then: you mistake me,
forsooth; I am a foot post, I do not use to ride.
MIS. G. I think the rascal be humorous or drunk. Well, I
will read the letter, and send him packing, or else he
will spew or do worse before me: fie on him, I think he
will infect me with some filthy disease.
[_Reads the letter._
GER. Or else I lose mine aim. [_Aside._
MIS. G. What’s here? [_Reads_] _Your poor nurse,
Thomasine Tweedles!_[351] for my life now shall I find
out my husband’s knavery I have so long suspected.
GER. She begins to nibble; ’twill take, i’faith.
[_Aside._
Mistress,
I see some discontentment in your looks:
Care ill befits so delicate a spirit;
Be frolic, wench, for he that is so near thee
Has been much nearer.
MAR. That accent sounds sweet music; ’tis my love!
That tongue breathes life into my lifeless spirits:
Gerardine? O rapture! why thus disguis’d?
GER. No more, be mute; thus must I vary forms
To bring our cares to end: her jealousy
Ensues this drift, which, if it take true scope,
Love’s joy comes next: be fearless in that hope.
MIS. G. ’Tis so: rats-bane! I ha’t: it racks on, it
torments me! here ’tis: [_reads_] _Woe worth the time
that ever I gave suck to a child that came in at the
window, God knows how!_—Villanous lecher!—_yet, if you
did but see how like the pert[352] little red-headed
knave is to his father_—damnable doctor! a bastard in
the country, and another towards[353] here! I am out of
doubt this is his work.—You are an arrant strumpet!—
Incest, fornication, abomination in my own house!
intolerable! O for long nails to scratch out his eyes!
GER. Or the breeches, to fight with him.
MIS. G. Out of my sight, quean! thou shalt to
Bridewell.—O, I shall be mad with rage!
GER. Then you shall go to Bedlam.
MIS. G. Hence, you slave!
GER. I must have a penny; you must pay me for my pains.
MIS. G. The devil pay thee!
GER. O, that’s the doctor; but he wants his
horns.
MIS. G. But I’ll furnish him ere long, if I live.
GER. It works as I would wish. [_Aside._]—Farewell,
Maria;
This storm once past, fair weather ever after!
[_Exit._
MIS. G. Was ever woman so moved!—but you shall be talked
withal: and for mine old fornicator, he shall ha’t as
hot as coals, i’faith: here’s stuff indeed! Come, minx,
come: there’s law for you both: have I found your
knavery? If I wink at this, let me be stone blind, or
stoned to death: bear this, and bear all! [_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_A Street._
_Enter_ LIPSALVE, GUDGEON, SHRIMP, _and_ PERIWINKLE.
LIP. Our hopes are cross’d: sure there’s some
providence
Which countermands libidinous appetites,
For what we most intend is counter-check’d
By strange and unexpected accidents;
For by disguise procuring full access,
Nay, ready to have seiz’d[354] th’ expected prize,
The candle out, steps ’twix my hopes and me
Some peasant groom,[355] possess’d and full enjoy’d
That sweet for which our vigilant eyes have watch’d,
And in one moment frustrates all our hopes.
GUD. Upon my life, we are bewitched. The greasy rascal
that first seized mistress Purge, by the last reflection
of the light, appeared to my sight not much unlike her
husband.
LIP. The court’s gall, the city’s plague, and Europa’s
sea-form[356] be his perpetual crest, what-e’er ’a was!
To lose mistress Purge for lack of dexterity, is a
disgrace insalveable: the like opportunity will never
present itself.
GUD. ’Twas an egregious grief, I must confess, to see a
knave slip betwixt us both and take occasion by the
foretop: but since these projects have had so star-cross
events, let’s lay some plot how to revenge our late
disgrace on the doctor by making him cuckold.
_Enter_ PURGE.
LIP. Agreed: but what melancholy sir, with
acrostic[357] arms, now comes from the Family?
GUD. Purge the ’pothecary: I prithee, let’s step aside
and hear the issue of this discontent.
[_They retire with the two pages._
PUR. O the misery of married men’s estate!
LIP. ’A begins very pitifully. [_Aside._
PUR. O women, what are many of you!
LIP. Why, disease[s] to bachelors, and plagues to
married men. [_Aside._
PUR. O marriage, the rage of all our miseries! my wife
is a dissembling strumpet.
GUD. So is many a man’s besides yours; and what of that?
[_Aside._
PUR. I would have a law, that all such which pray little
should instantly be married; for then would they pray
continually, if it were but to be rid of their wives.
LIP. This is a charitable request, and surely would pass
the Lower-house. [_Aside._
PUR. Surely if affliction can bring a man to heaven, I
cannot see how any married man can be damned: I have
made myself a plain cuckold.
GUD. A pile[358] on ye, won’t you! had you not been so
manable,[359] here are some would have saved you that
labour. [_Aside._
PUR. What shall I do in this extremity? had I but
witness of the fact, I would make her answer it before
authority. This is my wedding-ring; ’tis it, I know it
by the posy: this I took from her finger in the dark,
and she was therewith very well pleased: were not this,
trow,[360] a sufficient testimony? she knows not that it
was myself got so near her: I will take counsel. Well,
little know bachelors the miseries they undergo when
they prostrate themselves to women.
LIP. [_coming forward with_ GUDGEON] O most true, master
Purge! little knows a man what elements ’a is to pass,
when ’a puts his head under a woman’s girdle. Your
passion,[361] master Purge, is overheard, and, plain
tale to tell, we were eye-witnesses of your wife’s
treachery, and if need be, will be ready to depose as
much.
PUR. What, master Lipsalve and master Gudgeon, are you
disguised testimonies?
Nay, then, revenge, look big! Elf and fairy,
Help to revenge the wronged ’pothecary!
GUD. Why, now ’a speaks like himself: get me a
paritor[362] for her straight.
LIP. Conceal the ring, my little Purge; let not thy wife
know thou hast it, until she comes to her trial.
_Enter_ DRYFAT, _and_ GERARDINE _disguised as an
apparitor_.
PUR. Your advices are very pithy; therefore in private
let me disclose my intent.
GUD. Off,[363] boys!
[PURGE, LIPSALVE, _and_ GUDGEON _retire_.
SHR. What dost thou think of thy master? is ’a not a
rare gull?
PER. I think ’a will swallow and pocket more disgraces
than large-conscienced lawyer fees in a Michaelmas term.
Thy master, my honest Shrimp,[364] comes not much short
of a fool too, but that ’a is a courtier.
SHR. Draw somewhat near, and overhear their conference.
[_Retires with_ PERIWINKLE.
GER. This shape of the crier must Club to-morrow assume.
Are you fitted for Poppin the proctor?
DRY. Excellent, and have spent some study in the
mystical cases of venery: I can describe how often a man
may lie with another man’s wife before ’a come to the
white sheet.
GER. How long is that?
DRY. Why, till ’a be taken tardy:—how long all womenkind
may, by the statute, profess and swear they are maids.
GER. And how long is that?
DRY. Why, till their bellies be so big that it cannot be
no longer concealed: but come forward towards Glister’s.
LIP. It must be so; let the sumner[365] tickle her: you
shall bring in these allegations, and let us alone to
swear them.—[_Advancing with_ PURGE _and_ GUDGEON.]
Who’s this? master Dryfat? opportunely met, sir: and
whither so fast? the news, the news?
DRY. Faith, gentlemen, I think to relate for news what I
hear of doctor Glister would come stale to your
hearings.
LIP. O, the getting of his niece with child: tut, that’s
apparently known to all the company.—But, in the name of
Jupiter, what art thou, or from whence camest thou?
GER. Why, sir, I come from compassing the corners of the
land.
GUD. Of what trade, in the name of Pluto?
GER. Of the devil’s trade; for I live, as he does, by
the sins of the people; in brief, sir, I am Placket the
paritor.[366]
LIP. As the devil would!—We have, my noble paritor,
instant employment for thee; a grey groat is to be
purchased without sneaking, my little sumner: where’s
thy _quorum nomina_, my honest Placket?
GER. Sir, according to the old ballad,
_My_ quorum nomina _ready have I,
With my pen and inkhorn hanging by_.
Her name, sir, her name?
GUD. Is’t no more but so?
PUR. I have most right to her name.—Her name, master
Placket, is my wife, mistress Purge, sir: to what place
dost thou belong?
GER. To the commissioners which sit to-morrow at master
Dryfat’s upon the crimes of doctor Glister and others.
LIP. Sits there a commission, Dryfat? now, for the love
of lechery, let’s have mistress Purge summoned thither.
GER. She makes my _quorum nomina_ reasonable full: my
grant, sir, and she shall appear there upon a crime of
concupiscence: is not that your meaning?
PUR. Yes, my honest paritor: here’s thy fee.
[_Giving money._
_Enter_ MISTRESS PURGE _and_ CLUB.
GUD. And see how happily it succeeds! mistress Purge is
new come from the Family. Let us step aside, while
Placket the paritor gives her a summons.
LIP. Content.—To her, Placket; but see, for the bribery
of twelvepence, you strike her not out of your _quorum
nomina_.
GER. Fear not, sir.
[LIPSALVE, GUDGEON, PURGE, _and_
DRYFAT _retire_.
MIS. P. Forward apace, Club.
GER. Your name I take to be mistress Purge, fair
gentlewoman?
MIS. P. I am mistress Purge, Purge’s wife the
’pothecary: what of that?
DRY. Now you shall see him tickle her with a _quorum
nomina_. [_Aside._
GER. I cite you, by virtue of my _quorum nomina_, to
make your personal appearance by eight of the clock in
the morrow morning, before certain commissioners at
master Dryfat’s house, to answer to an accusation of a
crime of concupiscence.
MIS. P. To answer a crime of concupiscence? what’s that,
I pray?
GER. Why, ’tis to answer a venereal crime, for having
carnal copulation with others besides your husband.
MIS. P. What are you, I pray?
GER. By name Placket, by trade a paritor.
MIS. P. And must I answer, say you, to a venereal crime?
I tell thee, Placket the paritor, I am able to answer
thee or any man else in any venereal crime they’ll put
me to; and so tell your commissioners.
GER. If you fail your appearance, the penalty must fall
heavy.
MIS. P. If it fall never so heavy, I am able to bear
it:—and so set forward, Club. [_Exit with_ CLUB.
LIP. [_coming forward with the others_] Excellent,
i’faith!—After your wife, Purge.—Read, Placket, thy
_quorum nomina_, my noble groat-monger.
[_Exit_ PURGE.
GER. Silence! The first that marcheth in this fair rank
is Thrum[367] the feltmaker, for getting his maid with
child, and sending his ’prentice to Bridewell for the
fact; Whip the beadle, for letting a punk escape for a
night’s lodging and bribe of ten groats; Bat the
bellman, for lying with a wench in a tailor’s stall at
midnight, when ’a should be performing his office; and
Tipple[368] the tapster, for deflowering a virgin in his
cellar; doctor Glister, his wife, Maria, mistress Purge:
these be the complete number.
LIP. Now dissolve, and each to his occasion till
to-morrow morning. [_Exeunt severally._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ GLISTER _and_ MISTRESS GLISTER.
MIS. G. This was your colour[369] to keep her close;
but what cloak ha’ you for her’s and your own shame?
What, your own niece, your brother’s daughter, besides
your bastard in the country!
GLI. Wife, range not too far, I would advise you; come
home in time: vex me not beyond sufferance; the
two-edged sword of thy tongue hath drawn blood o’ me.
Patience, I say: thou art all this while in an error.
MIS. G. No, thou hast been all this while in an urinal;
thou hast gone out of thy compass in women’s waters:
you’re a conjuror, forsooth, and can rouse your spirits
into circles. Ah, you old fornicator, that ever I saw
that red beard of thine! now could I rail against thy
complexion: I think, in my conscience, the traces and
caparison of Venus’ coach are made o’ red hairs; which
may be a true emblem that no flaxen stuff or tanned
white leather draws love like ’em: I think thou
manuredest thy chin with the droppings of eggs and
muskadine before it bristled. A shame take thee and thy
loadstone! But ’tis no matter; master Placket the
paritor[370] has cited you, and you shall answer it.
GLI. O the raging jealousy of a woman! Do you hear,
wife? I will shew myself a man of sense, and answer you
with silence; or like a man of wisdom, speak in brief: I
say you are a scold, and beware the cucking-stool.[371]
[_Exit._
MIS. G. I say you are a ninnihammer, and beware the
cuckoo; for as sure as I have ware, I’ll traffic with
the next merchant venturer: and in good time here
come[372] gallants of the right trade.
_Enter_ LIPSALVE _and_ GUDGEON, _and_ GLISTER _behind
watching them_.
LIP. All alone, mistress Glister? meditating who shall
be your next child’s father?
GUD. Indeed, methinks, that should be one end of her
thought, an’t be but to cry quittance with her husband,
of whose abuse the town rings.
GLI. Flax and fire, flax and fire! here are fellows come
in the nick, to light their matches at my tinder.
[_Aside._
LIP. He tells you true, mistress Glister: the doctor
hath made you ordinary in our ordinaries; satires whet
their tooths, and steep rods in piss, epigrams lie in
poetry’s pickle, and we shall have rhyme out of all
reason against you.
GUD. Ere long he will take up his station at a
stationer’s, where we shall see him do penance in a
sheet at least.
MIS. G. O, I am nettled! my patience is so provoked,
that I must doff my modesty: what shall I do? if ye be
honest gentlemen, counsel me in my revenge, teach me
what to do, make my case your own.
LIP. Why, you are in the common road of revenge: take
which hand you will, you cannot go out o’ your way; ’tis
as soon taken as time by his forepart.
GUD. Faith, since he has strook with the sword, strike
you with the scabbard; in plain terms, cuckold him: you
may as easily do’t as lie down o’ your bed.
GLI. This gear cottens,[373] i’faith. [_Aside._
MIS. G. I apprehend you, gentlemen. Lord, how much
better are two heads than one to make one large head!
LIP. You say true, mistress Glister: there’s help
required in grafting; and how happily we come to tender
our service! Let our pretence be to take physic of the
doctor; and that he may with as much ease minister to us
as we to you, we’ll take a lodging in his house.
GUD. How say you to this? is the colour[374] good?
does’t like[375] you?
MIS. G. Passing well: the colour is so good, that you
shall wear my favour out o’ the same piece.
LIP. Excellent, excellent!—Now shall we be revenged for
the whipping.—Mistress Glister, let me be your first
man.
GUD. Nay, soft, sir, I plied her as soon as you.
GLI. I should have an oar in her boat too by right.
_Aside._
LIP. How ill-advised were you to marry one with a red
beard!
MIS. G. O master Lipsalve, I am not the first that has
fallen under that ensign! there’s no complexion more
attractive in this time for women than gold and red
beards: such men are all liver.[376]
GUD. Ay, but small heart, and less honesty.
LIP. Yes, they are honest too in some kind, for they’ll
beg before they’ll steal.
GUD. That’s true; for, for one that holds up his hand at
the sessions, you shall have ten come into the bawdy
court.
GLI. Was ever beard so back-bitten? this were enough
to make red beards turn medley, and dash ’em clean
out of countenance; but I hope, like mine, they fear
no colours. And[377] you were ten courtiers, I’ll
front you: I must give you physic, with a pox! well,
if I pepper ye not, call me doctor Doddipoll.[378]
[_Aside._]—Master Lipsalve and master Gudgeon, you
are heartily welcome; I am very glad to see you
well.
LIP. O master doctor, your salutation is very
suspicious!
GLI. Why, master Lipsalve?
LIP. It can scarce be hearty, for physicians are rather
glad to see men ill than well.
GLI. Not so, sir; you must distinguish of men; though
this I know, virtue is not the end of all science,
which commonly keeps the professor poor; some study
questuary[379] and gainful arts, and every one would
thrive in’s calling: but, i’faith, gentlemen, what
wind drives you hither?
GUD. The wind-colic, master doctor, or some such
disease.
GLI. But not the stone-colic?
LIP. O no, sir, we have no obstructions in those parts;
we are loose enough there.
GLI. If you were troubled with that, my wife can tell
you of an excellent remedy.
GUD. We need it not, we need it not: but indeed, master
doctor, for some private infirmities (which our waters
shall make known to you), we desire to take some physic
of you for a few days; and to that end we would take a
lodging in your house during the time.
LIP. Shall we entreat your favour?
GLI. No entreaty, gentlemen; you shall command me to
search the very profundity of my skill for you.—Have
them in, wife, and shew them their lodging.—I will think
upon another receipt, and follow you immediately.
GUD. And, i’faith, we shall requite your pains to the
full.
[_Exeunt_ MIS. GLISTER, LIPSALVE, _and_ GUDGEON.
GLI. To the fool, you mean: I know you ha’ the horn of
plenty for me, which you would derive unto me from the
liberality of your bawdies,[380] not your minds. Here
are lords that, having learned the O P Q of courtship,
travel up and down among citizens’ wives, to shew their
learning and bringing up; as if the city were not
already a good proficient in the court horn-book: yes, I
warrant, they have heads as capable as other men; ay,
and some of them can wisely say with the philosopher,
that in knowing all, they know nothing. Well, because I
am of the livery, and pay scot and lot amongst you, do
but observe how I’ll fetch over my gallants for your
sakes. They say I am of the right hair; and, indeed,
they may stand to’t, and hold the position good, saving
with my wife.—Soft; are they not at _pro_ and _contra_
already? I know they are hot-spurs, and I must have an
eye to the main. They have been whipt already for
lechery, and yet the pride of the flesh pricks ’em.
Well, I must in: I’ve[381] given them such a pill
Shall take ’em down; for lust must have his fill.
[_Exit._
SCENE II.
_Another Room in_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ MARIA _above_.[382]
MAR. Now nature’s pencil and the hand of time
Give[383] life and limb to generation’s act,
My shame and guilt in wordless notes appear,
The argument of scorn. O now I stand
The theme and comment to each liberal[384] tongue,
Whilst hope breeds comfort, and fear threats my wrong!
O Gerardine, how oft thy lively figure,
Deeply[385] impressed in my yielding temper,
Assures me thou art mine! how fancy paints
Thy true proportion in my troubled sleep,
Because sole subject of my daily thoughts!
O, if thy vows prove feign’d and thou unjust,
I say and swear in men there is no trust!
_Enter_ GERARDINE.
GER. Thus have I past the round[386] and court of
guard,
Without the word:[387] either conceit is strong,
Or else the body where true love’s confin’d
Walks as a spirit and doth force his way
Through greatest dangers, frightful to those eyes
That wait to intercept him.—Maria?
How like to Cynthia, in her silver orb,
She seems to me, attended by love’s lamp,
Whose mutual influence and soul’s sympathy
Do[388] shew heaven’s model in mortality.
MAR. Gerardine?
Aurora, now the blushing sun approaches,[389]
Dart[s] not more comfort to this universe
Than thou to me: most acceptably come!
The art of number cannot count the hours
Thou hast been absent.
GER. Infinity of love
Holds no proportion with arithmetic.
Think not, Maria, but my heart retains
A deep impression of such thoughts as these.
I have been forging of a mirthful plot
To celebrate our wish’d conjunction,
Which now digested, come to summon thee
To be an actress in the comedy.
MAR. How, where, when? speak, mine ears are quick to
hear;
I stand on thorns already to be there.
GER. At Dryfat’s house, the merchant, there’s our
scene,
Whose sequel, if I fail not in intent,
Shall answer our desires and each content.
But when sawest thou Lipsalve and Gudgeon, our two
gallants?
MAR. They are here in the house, so handled by mine
uncle, that they are the pitifullest patients that ever
you beheld.
GER. No matter, he serves them in their kind: they were
infamous in the court, and now are grown as notorious in
the city: they may happily prove particles in our sport,
and fit subjects for laughter.
Time calls me hence: adieu; prepare to meet.
MAR. I shall outstrip the nimblest in my feet.
[_Exeunt severally._
SCENE III.
_A Room in_ DRYFAT’S _House_.
_Enter_ DRYFAT _disguised as a proctor, and_ CLUB _as a
crier_.
DRY. Come, Club, come, there’s a merry fray
towards;[390] we shall see the death of melancholy;
wherein thou and I must call a grand jury of jests
together, and pass upon them with the club law.
CLUB. Now, as I am O the crier, and yet but a young
club, I have not yet practised that law: you have a
whole dryfat on’t; I pray you, instruct me.
DRY. Why, ’tis a law enacted, by the common council of
statute-caps,[391] to qualify the rage of the time, to
follow, to call back, and sometimes to encounter
gentlemen when they run in arrearages; I tell thee,
there’s no averment against our book-cases. ’Tis the law
called make-peace: it makes them even when they are at
odds; it shews ’em a flat case as plain as a pack-staff,
that is, knocks ’em down without circumstance.
CLUB. Ay, marry, I like that law well; ’tis studied with
the turning of a hand: there’s no quiddits nor pedlar’s
French[392] in’t; there needs no book for th’ exposition
o’ th’ terms; ’tis as easily learned as the felling of
wood and getting of children; all is but laying on load
the downright blow.
DRY. Ay, and by the way of exhortation it prints this
moral sentence on their costards,[393] in capital
letters, _Agree, for the law is costly_.
CLUB. Good, good: but all this while there’s no doctor
thought on; we must have one to arbitrate.
DRY. Why, master Gerardine, man, has his name for the
purpose: he shall be called doctor Stickler: _lupus est
in fabula_, here he comes.
_Enter_ GERARDINE.
GER. How now, lads? does our conceit cotten?[394] ha’
you summoned your wits from woolgathering? are you
fraught with matter for this merriment?
DRY. Full, full: we are in labour, man, and we shall die
without midwifery.
CLUB. We are ravished with delight, like the wench that
was got with child against her stomach. O, but[395] if
we could wrest this smock-law now in hand to our
club-law, it were excellent!
DRY. Easily, easily: all shall be called the club-law.
GER. As how?
DRY. Why, thus. Club is the crier; I am Poppin[396] the
proctor; and you Stickler the doctor: he calls them to
appear; I must be of their counsel, and you must attone
them.[397] We may know their cases and be in their
elements, mark you me, but they cannot be in ours. Tut,
none knows our secrets: we can speak fustian above their
understanding, and make asses’ ears attentive. I’ll play
Ambidexter,[398] tell ’em ’tis a plain case, and put ’em
down with the club-law; so that, as Club said well e’en
now, our knavery is as near allied as felling of wood
and getting of children.
GER. Excellent, excellent! By this they are at hand:
let’s bear these things like ourselves: I’ll withdraw
and put on my habiliments, and then enter for the
doctor.
DRY. Do so: they come, they come. [_Exit_ GERARDINE.
_Enter_ GLISTER _and_ PURGE.
Welcome, master doctor Glister and master Purge: there’s
a commission to be sat upon this day, to open a passage
for imprisoned truth, concerning acts yet _in tenebris_.
GLI. True; I am brought hither by the malice of my wife.
PUR. And I have a just appeal against my wife.
GLI. Master Poppin[399]—so I think you are called—I
understand you have the law at your fingers’ ends.
DRY. I can box cases, and scold and scratch it out
amongst them.
GLI. Indeed, fame reports you to be a good trumpeter of
causes: I must retain you, sir, to sound mine.
DRY. My sackbut shall do it most pathetically: tell me,
in brief, the nature of your case.
GLI. Faith, sir, a scandalous letter devised to wrong my
reputation, about a bastard in the country which should
be mine.
DRY. About a bastard in the country which should be
yours? hum,—’tis very like you then, it should seem.
GLI. O no, sir! understand me, only fathered upon me.
DRY. Only fathered upon you _cum nemini[400] obtrudi
potest_: I understand you, and like you well too, you do
not flatter yourself in your own case, no, ’tis not
good: well, what more?
GLI. And about my niece, got with child in my own house.
DRY. Byrlady,[401] burdens of some weight, which you
make light of! you deny?
GLI. What else, sir? I have reason.
DRY. I know it well, I take you for no beast: believe
me, master doctor, denial and reason are two main
grounds; stand upon them, and you cannot err.—Your case,
master Purge?
PUR. First take your fee, master Poppin,[402] that you
may have the more feeling, and urge it home when you
come to’t. [_Gives money._] Mine is a discovery of my
wife’s iniquity at the Family of Love.
DRY. Otherwise called the House of Venery, where they
hunger and thirst for’t.
PUR. True, sir: you have heard of the Hole in the Wall,
where they assemble together in the daytime, like so
many bees under a hive?
DRY. Come home _crura thymo plena_, and lodge among
hornets, is’t not so?
PUR. I cannot tell, sir; but, for my part, I am much
noted as I go.
DRY. No doubt of that, sir; your wife can furnish you
with notes out of her cotations.[403]
CLUB. Ay, and give him a two-tagged point[404] to tie
’em together.
DRY. But how came you to detect her?
PUR. Why, thus, sir: getting the word, I dogged her to
the Family, where, closing with her, I whispered so
pleasing a tale in her ear, that I got from her her
wedding-ring; and here ’tis.
DRY. Well, out of that ring we will wring matter that
shall carry meat i’ th’ mouth. But what witness or proof
can you produce to make good your wife’s iniquity and
your own cuckoldry?
PUR. Master Lipsalve and master Gudgeon, who were her
companions at that same time.
DRY. Very good.—Are they cited in the _quorum nomina_?
CLUB. They will be here, sir.
GLI. If they be, they will bewray[405] all.
DRY. So much the better; ’twill savour well for master
Purge.
PUR. You understand my case now?
GLI. And mine too, sir?
DRY. I do, I do: they are as different as a doctor and a
dunce, a man and a beast: here’s the compendium; yours,
master doctor, stands upon the negative; and yours,
master Purge, upon the affirmative: _pauca sapienti_, I
ha’t, I ha’t.
PUR. Mine is very current, sir; I can shew you good
guilt.
DRY. Ay, marry, there spoke an angel;[406] gilt’s[407]
current, indeed: let me feel’t, let me feel’t.
PUR. I mean, my wife’s guilt.
GLI. Master Poppin, you shall have innocence to speak
for me.
DRY. Tut, innocence is a fool, I care not for’s company;
I can speak enough without him.
GLI. Then, I hope, you will be as good to us as the
five-finger at maw.[408]
DRY. No, rather as Hercules, to lip-labour ’em with the
club-law: tut, let me alone.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GLISTER, MISTRESS PURGE, _and_ MARIA.
MIS. G. O, are you here, sir? I have brought you a full
barn to glut your greedy appetite: if you have any maw,
feed here till you choke again. Now shall I see the
whole carcass of your knavery ript up: if thou hast any
grace, now will thy red beard turn white upon’t.
MIS. P. O how have I been toss’d from post to pillar
In this libidinous world! The yoke I bear
Is so uneven, as if an innocent lamb
And a mad hare-brain’d ox should draw together:
But I must have patience, there’s no remedy.
DRY. There’s some difference between these two tempers.
GLI. I would give a hundred pounds my wife had so gentle
a spirit. [_Aside._
PUR. My wife must needs be gentle, for she can bear
double. [_Aside._
_Re-enter_ GERARDINE, _disguised as a doctor_.
DRY. Here comes master doctor: now rig up your vessels,
every one to his tackling.
GER. Good day to all at once, and peace amongst you!—
Fie, how I sweat! I think Vulcan ne’er toiled so at his
anvil as I have done, and all to make maid’s water to
slake Cupid’s fire, and to turn his shafts from the
feather-bed to the bed-post, from the heart to the
heel.—
Come, master Poppin, shall we to this gear?[409]
DRY. Reverend doctor, we have stayed your coming.—Crier,
cry silence.
CLUB. Silence![410]
DRY. Master doctor, I have heard in general terms the
tales of master doctor Glister and master Purge, which
have in mutual manner jumped into the quagmire of my
mind; out of which quagmire, by your enforcement and
mine own duty, I pluck them up by the ears, and thus, in
naked apparance,[411] I present them.
GER. _Ad rem, ad rem_, master Poppin; leave your
allegories, your metaphors, and circumlocutions, and to
the point.
DRY. Then briefly thus: I have compared their tales,—how
short they will come of their wives’ I know not: and
first for mistress Purge.—Crier, call mistress Purge.
CLUB. Rebecca Purge, wife to Peter Purge, ’pothecary,
appear upon thy purgation, upon pain of excommunication.
MIS. P. Here I am,—O time’s impiety!—
Hither I come from out the harmless fold
To have my good name eaten up by wolves:
See, how they grin! Well, the weak must to the wall;
I must bear wrong, but shame shall them befall.
GER. Who is her accuser?
DRY. Her own husband, upon the late discovery of a crew
of narrow-ruffed,[412] strait-laced, yet loose-bodied
dames, with a rout[413] of omnium-gatherums, assembled
by the title of the Family of Love: which, master
doctor, if they be not punished and suppressed by our
club-law, each man’s copyhold will become freehold,
specialities will turn to generalities, and so from
unity to parity, from parity to plurality, and from
plurality to universality; their wives, the only
ornaments of their houses, and of all their wares,
goods, and chattel[s], the chief moveables, will be made
common.
PUR. Most voluble and eloquent proctor!
GER. Byrlady,[414] these enormities must and shall be
redressed, otherwise I see their charter will be
infringed, and their ancient staff of government the
club, from whence we derive our law of castigation,—this
club, I say (they seeming nothing less than men by their
fore-part), will be turned upon their own heads.—Speak,
Rebecca Purge; art thou one of this Family? hast thou
ever known the body of any man there or elsewhere
concupiscentically?
MIS. P. No, master doctor, those are but devices of the
wicked to trap the innocent; but I thank my spirit I
have fear before my eyes, which my husband sees not,
because something hangs in’s light.
PUR. That’s my horns; she flouts me to my face, and I
will not endure it: I shall carry her mark to my grave.
[_Aside._]—Master doctor, she has given me that, that
Æsculapius, were he now extant, could not heal, nor
_edax rerum_[415] take away.
GER. Produce your witness, master Purge, and blow not
your own horn.
PUR. Master Lipsalve and master Gudgeon, let them be
called.
CLUB. Lawrence Lipsalve and Gregory Gudgeon, late of
_hic et ubique_, in the county of _nusquam_, gentlemen,
come into the court and give your evidence, upon pain of
that which shall ensue.
_Enter_ LIPSALVE _and_ GUDGEON.
GLI. Here they come, in pain I warrant them.—How works
your physic, gallants? do you go well to the ground? now
cuckold the doctor!—Wife, who’s your first man now?—now
strike[416] with the scabbard! ha, ha, ha!
GUD. A villanous doctor!
LIP. Mountebank, you’re a rascal, and we will cast
about[417] to be revenged.
DRY. Cast about this way and bewray[418] what you can
concerning mistress Purge, who stands here upon her
purgation, either to prove mundified or contaminated,
according to the tenor-piece of your principal
evidence.—First give ’em the book.
CLUB. Come, lay your hands upon the book: you shall
speak and aver no more, nor wade no farther into the
cream-pots of this woman’s crime, than the naked truth
and the cart-rope of your conscience shall conduct you,
so help you the contents! Kiss the book.[419]
LIP. Alas, we are not in case to answer largely! but if
you will have our evidence in brief, I think I kissed
her at the Family some three times, once at coming, once
at going, and once in the midst; otherwise never knew
her dishonestly.
PUR. Ay, mark that middle kiss, master doctor.
GUD. And for my part, I have been more mortified by her
than ever I was provoked.
GER. How say you to this, master Purge? your witness is
weak, and, sir-reverence[420] on[’t], without sounder
proof, they may depart to the close-stool whence they
came, and you to your ’pothecary’s shop.
PUR. No, master doctor, I have another bolt to shoot
that shall strike her dead; she shall not have a word to
say.
DRY. Answer me to this, mistress Purge; where’s your
wedding-ring?
MIS. P. My wedding-ring? why, what should I do with
unnecessary things about me, when the poor begs at my
gate ready to starve? Is it not better, as I learned
last lecture, to send my substance before me, where I
may find it, than to leave it behind me, where I must
forego it? Yes, verily: wherefore, to put you out of
doubt, I have given that ring to charitable uses.
DRY. Nay, now she falters: my client can shew that ring,
got from her at the Family, when these two courtling[s]
had at the same time beleaguered her fort.
GER. This alters the case clean.—What starting-hole ha’
you now, mistress Purge?
MIS. P. E’en the sanctuary of a safe conscience: now,
truly, truly, however he came by that ring, by my
sisterhood, I gave it to the relief of the distressed
Geneva.
PUR. How? to the relief of the distressed Geneva?—
Justice, master doctor! I may now decline _victus_,
_victa_, _victum_; one word more shall overthrow her. I
myself was a Familist that day, who, more jealous than
zealous in devotion, thrust in amongst the rest (as I
had most right), on purpose to sound her, to find out
the knavery: short tale to make, I got her ring, and
here it is; let her deny it if she can: and what more I
discovered _non est nunc narrandi locus_.
MIS. P. Husband, I see you are hoodwinked in the right
use of feeling and knowledge,—as if I knew you not[421]
then as well as the child knows his own father! Look in
the posy of my ring: does it not tell you that we two
are one flesh? and hath not fellow-feeling taught us to
know one another as well by night as by day? Husband,
husband, will you do as the blind jade, break your neck
down a hill because you see it not? ha’ you no light of
nature in that flesh of yours?—Now, as true as I live,
master doctor, I had a secret operation, and I knew him
then to be my husband e’en by very instinct.
PUR. Impudence, dost not blush? art not ashamed to lie
so abominable?
MIS. P. No, husband, rather be you ashamed of your own
weakness; for, for my part, I neither fear nor shame
what man can do unto me.
GER. Master Purge, I see you have spent your pith;
therefore best make a full point at the ring, and attend
our pleasure.—Master Poppin,[422] proceed to the rest.
DRY. Crier, call doctor Glister.
CLUB. Doctor Glister, alias suppositor doctor[423] of
physic, appear upon thy purgation, upon the belly-pain
that may ensue thereon.[424]
GLI. Here, master doctor.
GER. Who is his accuser?
DRY. His clamorous wife, who seems to enforce a
separation about a bastard in the country, which should
be his, only fathered upon him.
GER. What proof of that?
MIS. G. Proof unanswerable, master doctor, the
nurse’s letter: let it be read; but first observe
his countenance; it may be his blushing will bewray
his guilt.
GER. Now, by this light, I thought it had indeed, but I
see ’tis but the reflection of his beard.—Read the
letter, master Poppin.[425]
DRY.[426] [_reads_] _After my hearty commendations
remembered unto your worshipful doctorship, trusting in
God that you are as well as I was at the making hereof,
thanks be to him therefor! the cause of my writing unto
you at this time is to let you understand that your
little son is turned a ragged colt, a very stripling;
for, being now stript of all his clothing, his backside
wants a tail-piece, commends itself to your fatherly
consideration. Woe worth the time that ever I gave suck
to a child that came in at the window, God knows how!
Yet if you did but see how like the pert, little,
red-headed knave is to his father, and how like a
cock-sparrow he mouses and touses my little Bess
already, you would take him for your own, and pay me my
hire. I write not of the want of one thing, for I want
all things; wherefore take some speedy order, or else as
naked as he came from the mother will I send him to the
father. From Pis.[427] the xxii of —— Your poor nurse_,
THOMASINE TWEEDLES.
GLI. Master doctor, truth needs not the foil of
rhetoric; I will only in _monosyllaba_ answer for myself
(as sometimes a wise man did): such and such things are
laid to my charge, which I deny; you may think of me
what you please, but I am as innocent in this as the
child new-born.
GER. Why, there’s partly a confession: the child, we
know, is innocent, and not new-born neither, for it
should seem by the letter he is able to call his dad
knave.
GLI. You take me wrong, master doctor.[428]
DRY. Under correction, thus much can I say for my
client’s justification. Indeed he hath travelled well in
the beating of pulses, and hath been much conversant in
women’s Jordans; but he had ever a care to raise
his patient being before cast down: his charitable
disposition hath been such to poor folk, that he never
took above fourpence for the casting of a water, which
good custom was so well known among all his patients,
that if sixpence were at any time offered him, they
might be bold to ask and have twopence again. He hath
been so skilful and painful withal in the cure of the
green sickness, that, of my knowledge, he hath risen at
all hours in the night to pleasure maids that have had
it: and for that foul-mouthed disease, termed by a
fine phrase—a pox on’t, what d’ye call’t? O, the
grincomes[429]—at that he hath played his doctor’s
prize, and writes _nil ultra_ to all mountebanks; so
that the wise woman in Pissing-Alley, nor she in
Do-little-Lane, are more famous for good deeds than he.
Then, master doctor, out of these presumptions, besides
his flat denial (a more infallible ground), you may
gather his innocence, and let him have his purgation.
GER. No, master Poppin,[430] it is not so to be foisted
off.
MIS. G. Nay, master doctor, what say you to his own
niece, that looks big upon him? an arrow that sticks for
the upshot against all comers; which by his restraint of
her from master Gerardine, an honest gentleman that
loved her, and upon that colour[431] from the sight and
intercourse of other men, must, by all presumptions, be
his own act.
GER. O monstrous! this is a foul blot in your
tables[432] indeed.
GLI. Wife, thou hast no shame nor womanhood in thee; thy
conscience knows me.
MIS. G. True of thy flesh, who knows not that? thy
beard speaks for thee: ay, ay, thou liest by me like a
stone, but abroad thou’rt like a stone-horse, you old
limb-lifter![433]
DRY. Cease your clamour, and attend my speech.—Most
worshipful, reverend, and judicial doctor, for the
quickening of your memory, I will give you a breviat of
all that hath been spoken. Master doctor Glister hath a
cradleful and a bellyful, you see, thrust upon him; and
master Purge a headful.—Your wife is an angry honeyless
wasp, whose sting, I hope, you need not fear,—and yours
carries honey in her mouth, but her sting makes your
forehead swell:—your wife makes you deaf with the shrill
treble of her tongue,—and yours makes you horn-mad with
the tenor of her tale.—In fine, master doctor’s refuge
is his conscience, and master Purge runs at his wife’s
ring.[434]
GER. _Summa totalis_, a good audit ha’ you made,
master Poppin.[435]—Now attend my arbitrement. For
you, gallants, though you have incurred the danger
of the law by using counterfeit keys, and putting
your hands into the wrong pocket, yet because I see
you punished and purged already, my advice is, that
you learn the A B C of better manners: go back and
tell how you have been used in the city; and being
thus scoured, keep yourselves clean, and the bed
undefiled.—For you, master Purge, because I see your
evidence insufficient, and indeed too weak, to foil
your wife’s uprightness, and seeing jealousy and
unkindness have[436] only made her a stranger in
your land of Ham, my counsel is, that you readvance
your standard, give her new press-money.
PUR. You may enjoin me, sir, but——
GER. But not at me, man: I will enjoin you, and conjoin
you, and briefly thus. You have your ring that has made
this combustion and uproar: that keep still; wear it;
and here, by my edict, be it proclaimed to all that are
jealous, to wear their wives’ ring[s] still on their
fingers, as best for their security, and the only charm
against cuckoldry.
PUR. Then, wife, at master doctor’s enjoinment,[437] so
thou wilt promise me to come no more at the Family, I
receive thee into the lists of my favour.
MIS. P. Truly, husband, my love must be free still to
God’s creatures: yea, nevertheless, preserving you still
as the head of my body, I will do as the spirit shall
enable me.
GER. Go to, thou hast a good wife, and there[’s] an
end.—Upon you, master doctor, being solicited by so
apparent proof, I can do no less than pronounce a severe
sentence; and yet, i’faith, the reverence of your
calling and profession doth somewhat check my austerity:
what if master Gerardine, by my persuasion, would yet be
induced to take your niece, and father the child? would
you launch with a thousand pound, besides her father’s
portion?
GLI. Master doctor, I would, were it but to redeem her
lost good name.
GER. Then, foreknowing what would happen, I thought
good, in master Gerardine’s name, to have this bond
ready, which if you seal to, he shall take her with all
faults.
GLI. That will I instantly. [_Seals the bond._]
So, this is done; which, together with my niece, do
I deliver by these presents to the use of master
Gerardine.
GER. He thanks you heartily, and lets you know,
[GERARDINE, DRYFAT, _and_ CLUB _discover
themselves_.
That Indian mines and Tagus’ glistering ore
To this bequest were unto me but poor.
GLI. What? Gerardine, Dryfat, and Club!
DRY. The very[438] same.
CLUB. You are welcome to our club-law.
GER. Cease admiration here: what doubt remains
I’ll satisfy at full. Now join with me
For approbation of our Family.
EPILOGUE.[439]
Gentles, whose favour[s] have o’erspread this place,
And shed the real influence of grace
On harmless mirth, we thank you; for our hope
Attracts such vigour and unmeasur’d scope
From the reflecting splendour of your eyes,
That, grace presum’d, fear in oblivion dies.
Your judgment, as it is the touch[440] and trier
Of good from bad, so from your hearts comes fire,
That gives both ardour to the wit refin’d,
And sweetness [to] th’ incense of each willing mind.
O may that fire ne’er die! nor let your favours
Depart from us: give countenance to their labours
Propos’d a sacrifice, which may no less
Their strong desires than our true zeals express.
[_Exeunt omnes._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
YOUR FIVE GALLANTS.
_Your fiue Gallants. As it hath beene often in
Action at the Black-friers. Written by T.
Middleton. Imprinted at London for Richard Bonian,
dwelling at the signe of the Spred-Eagle, right
ouer-against the great North dore of Saint Paules
Church._ n. d. 4to.
_Fyve Wittie Gallants_ was licensed by Sir George
Bucke, 22d March 1607-8: see Chalmers’s _Suppl.
Apol._, p. 202.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
FRIPPERY, _the broker-gallant_.
PRIMERO, _the bawd-gallant_.
GOLDSTONE, _the cheating-gallant_.
PURSENET, _the pocket-gallant_.
TAILBY, _the whore-gallant_.
FITSGRAVE, _a gentleman_.
BUNGLER, _cousin to_ MISTRESS NEWCUT.
PYAMONT.
ARTHUR, _servant to_ FRIPPERY.
FULK, _servant to_ GOLDSTONE.
_Boy_, _servant to_ PURSENET.
JACK, _servant to_ TAILBY.
MARMADUKE, _servant to_ MISTRESS NEWCUT.
_Gentlemen_, _Tailor_, _Painter_, _&c._
KATHERINE, _a wealthy orphan_.
MISTRESS NEWCUT, _a merchant’s wife_.
_Novice._
_Courtesans._
Scene, LONDON, except during part of the third
act, which is laid in Combe-Park and its
neighbourhood.
YOUR FIVE GALLANTS.
--------------
_Presenter, or Prologue,[441] passing over the stage; the
bawd-gallant_ [PRIMERO], _with three wenches gallantly
attired, meets him; the whore-gallant_ [TAILBY], _the
pocket-gallant_ [PURSENET], _the cheating-gallant_
[GOLDSTONE], _kiss these three wenches, and depart in a
little whisper and wanton action. Now, for the other, the
broker-gallant_ [FRIPPERY], _he sits at home yet, I warrant
you, at this time of day, summing up his pawns_. Hactenus
quasi inductio, _a little glimpse giving_.
ACT I. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ FRIPPERY’S _House_. FRIPPERY
_discovered[442] summing up his pawns, one fellow
standing by him_.
_Enter_ ARTHUR _and a second fellow_.
AR. Is your pawn good and sound, sir?
SEC. F. I’ll pawn my life for that, sir.
AR. Place yourself there then; I will seek to prefer it
presently. My master is very jealous[443] of the
pestilence; marry, the pox sits at meat and meal with
him. [_Second fellow retires._
FRI. [_reading_] _Lent the fifth day of September to
mistress Onset upon her gown_, [_and_] _taffeta
petticoat with three broad silver laces, three pound
fifteen shillings_.
_Lent to Justice Cropshin upon both his velvet jackets
five pound ten shillings._
_Lent privately to my Lady Newcut upon her gilt
casting-bottle[444] and her silver lie-pot fifty-five
shillings._
AR. Sir——
FRI. [_reads_] _Lent to Sir Oliver Needy upon his
taffeta cloak, beaver hat, and perfumed leather-jerkin,
six pound five shillings._
AR. May it please your worship——
FRI. [_reads_] _Lent to master Andrew Lucifer upon his
flame-coloured doublet and blue taffeta hose_[445]—top
the candle, sirrah; methinks the light burns blue: when
came that suit in?
AR. ’T’as lain above the year now.
FRI. Fire and brimstone! cut it out into matches; the
white linings will serve for tinder.
AR. And with little help, sir; they are almost black
enough already. Sir, here’s another come with a pawn.
FRI. Keep him aside awhile, and reach me hither the bill
of the last week.
AR. ’Tis here at hand, sir.
FRI. Now, sir, what’s your pawn?
FIRST F. The second part of a gentlewoman’s gown, sir;
the lower half, I mean.
FRI. I apprehend you easily, the breeches of the gown.
FIRST F. Very proper; for she wears the doublet at home,
a guest that lies in my house, sir; she looks every hour
for her cousin out a’ th’ country.
FRI. O, her cousin lies here; ’a may mistake in that. My
friend, of what parish is your pawn?
FIRST F. Parish? why, Saint Clement’s, sir.
FRI. I’ll come to you presently.[446]—What parish is
your pawn, my friend? [_reads_] _Saint Bride’s_, 5;
_Saint Dunstan’s, none_; _Saint Clement’s_, 3. Three at
Clement’s?—Away with your pawn, sir! your parish is
infected; I will neither purchase the plague for
sixpence in the pound and a groat bill-money, nor
venture my small stock into contagious parishes: you
have your answer; fare you well, as fast as you can,
sir.
FIRST F. The pox arrest you, sir, at the suit of the
suburbs!
FRI. Ay, welcome, welcome.
FIRST F. For, I think, plague scorns your company.
[_Exit._
FRI. I rank with chief gallants; I love to smell safely.
[_Reads_] _Lent in the vacation to master Proctor upon
his spiritual gown five angels,[447] and upon his
corporal doublet fifteen shillings; sum, three pound
five shillings._
AR. Sir——
FRI. Now, sir?
AR. [_bringing forward a trunk._] Here’s one come in
with a trunk of apparel.
FRI. Whence comes it?
AR. From Saint Martin’s-in-the-Field.
FRI. Saint Martin’s-in-the-Field? [_reads_] _Saint Mary
Maudlin_, 2; _Saint Martin’s, none_: here’s an honest
fellow; let him appear, sir.
AR. You may come near, sir.
FRI. O welcome, welcome; what’s your pawn, sir?
SEC. F. Faith, a gentlewoman’s whole suit, sir.
FRI. Whole suit? ’tis well.
SEC. F. A poor, kind soul, troubled with a bad husband;
one that puts her to her shifts here.
FRI. He puts her from her shifts, methinks, when she is
fain to pawn her clothes.
SEC. F. Look you, sir; a fair satin gown, new taffeta
petticoat——
FRI. Stay, this petticoat has been turned.
SEC. F. Often turned up and down, and[448] you will, but
never turned, sir.
FRI. Cry you mercy, indeed.
SEC. F. A fine white beaver, pearl band, three
falls;[449] I ha’ known her have more in her days.
FRI. Alas, and she be but a gentlewoman of any count or
charge, three falls are nothing in these days! know
that: tut, the world’s changed; gentlewomen’s[450] falls
stand upright now; no sin but has a bolster, that it may
lie at ease. Well, what do you borrow of these, sir?
SEC. F. Twelve pound, and you will, sir.
FRI. How?
SEC. F. They were not her’s for twenty.
FRI. Why, so; our pawn is ever thrice the value of our
money, unless in plate and jewels; how should the months
be restored and the use else? We must cast it for the
twelvemonth, so many pounds, so many months, so many
eighteenpences; then the use of these eighteenpences;
then the want of the return of those pounds: all these
must be laid together; which well considered, the
valuation of the pawn had need to sound treble. Can six
pound pleasure the gentlewoman?
SEC. F. It may please her, but, like a man of
threescore, in the limberest degree.
FRI. I have but one word more to say in’t; twenty
nobles[451] is all and the utmost that I will hazard
upon’t.
SEC. F. She must be content with’t: the less borrowed,
the better paid; come.
FRI. Arthur.
AR. At hand, sir.
FRI. Tell out twenty nobles, and take her name in a
bill.
SEC. F. I’m satisfied, sir. [_Exit with_ ARTHUR.
FRI. Welcome, good Saint Martin’s-in-the-Field, welcome,
welcome! I know no other name.
_Enter_ PRIMERO.
PRI. What, so hard at your prayers?
FRI. A little, sir; summing up my pawns here—what,
master Primero, is it you, sir gallant? and how do[452]
all the pretty sweet ladies, those plump, kind, delicate
blisses, ha? whom I kiss in my very thoughts,—how do
they, gallant?
PRI. Why, gallant, if they should not do well in my
house, where should it be done, boy? have I not a
glorious situation?
FRI. O, a gallant receipt,—violet air, curious garden,
quaint walks, fantastical arbours, three back doors, and
a coach-gate! nay, thou’rt admirably seated: little
furniture will serve thee; thou’rt never without
moveables.
PRI. Ay, praise my stars! Ah, the goodly virginities
that have been cut up in my house, and the goodly
patrimonies that have lain like sops in the gravy! and
when those sops were eaten, yet the meat was kept whole
for another, and another, and another; for as in one pie
twenty may dip their sippits, so upon one woman forty
may consume their patrimonies.
FRI. Excellent, master Primero!
PRI. Well, I will[453] pray for women while I live;
They’re the profitablest fools, I’ll say that for ’em,
A man can keep ’bout his house; the prettiest kind fowl;
So tame, so gentle, e’en to strangers’ hands
So soon familiar; suffer to be touch’d
Of those they ne’er saw twice: the dove’s not like ’em.
FRI. Most certain, for that’s honest: but I have
A suit to you.
PRI. And so have I to you.
FRI. That happens well: grant mine, and I’ll grant
yours.
PRI. A match.
FRI. Make me perfect in that trick that got you so much
at primero.[454]
PRI. O, for the thread tied at your partner’s leg,
The twitch?
FRI. Ay, that twitch, and[455] you call it[456] so.
PRI. That secret twitch got me five hundred pound
Ere ’twas first known, and since I ha’ sold it well:
Five hundred pound laid down shall not yet buy
The fee-simple of my twitch: I would be here with’t.
’Twas a blest invention;
I’d[457] been a beggar many a lousy year
But for my twitch: it was the prettiest twitch!
Many over-cheated gulls have fatted
Me with the bottom of their patrimonies,
E’en to the last sop, gaped while I fed ’em,
Who now live by that art that first undid ’em.
But I must swear you to be secret, close.
FRI. As a maid at ten.
PRI. Had you sworn but two years higher
I would ne’er ha’ believ’d you.
FRI. Nay, I let twelve alone,
For after twelve has struck, maids look for one.
PRI. I look for one too, and a maid, I think.
FRI. What, to come hither?
PRI. Sure, she follows me: a pretty, fat-eyed wench,
with a Venus in her cheek: did but raiment smile upon
her, she were nectar for great dons, boy: and that’s my
suit to thee.
FRI. And that’s granted already. Of what volume is this
book, that I may fit a cover to’t?
PRI. Faith, neither in folio nor in decimo sexto, but in
octavo, between both; a pretty, middle-sized trug.[458]
FRI. Then I have fitted her already, in my eye, i’faith.
Here came a pawn in e’en now will make shift to serve
her as fit!—look you, sir gallant[459]—satin, taffeta,
beaver, fall,[460] and all.
PRI. Is it new?
FRI. New? you see it bears her youth as freshly——
PRI. A pretty suit of clothes, i’faith: but put case the
party should come to redeem ’em of a sudden?
FRI. Pooh, then your wit’s sickly: have not I the
policy, think you, to seem extreme busy, and defer ’em
till the morrow? against which time that pawn shall be
secretly fetched home, and another carried out to supply
the place.
PRI. I like thy craft well there.
FRI. A general course. O, frippery[461] is an unknown
benefit, sir gallant!
PRI. And what must I give you for the hire now, i’faith?
FRI. Of the whole suit, for the month?
PRI. Ay, for the month.
FRI. Go to, you shall give me but twelvepence a-day;
master Primero, you’re a friend, and I’ll use you so:
’tis got up at your house in an afternoon, i’faith, the
hire of the whole month: ye must think I can distinguish
spirits, and put a difference between you and others;
you pay no more, i’faith.
PRI. I could have offered you no less myself.
FRI. Tut, a man must use a friend as a friend may use
him: your house has been a sweet house to me, both for
pleasure and profit; I’ll give you your due: _omne tulit
punctum_, you have always kept fine punks in your house,
that’s for pleasure, _qui miscuit utile dulci_, and I
have had sweet pawns from ’em, that’s for profit now.
PRI. You flatter, you flatter, sir gallant,—but whist!
here she enters: I prithee, question her.
_Enter Novice._
O, you’re welcome!
FRI. Is this your new scholar, master Primero?
PRI. Marry is she, sir.
FRI. I’ll commend your judgment in a wench while I
live: that face will get money, i’faith; ’twill be a
get-penny, I warrant you.—Go to, your fortune was
choice, pretty bliss, to fall into the regard of so
kind a gentleman.
NOV. I hope so, sir.
FRI. See what his care has provided already for you;
you’ll be simply set out to the world! If you’ll have
that care now to deserve his pains, O that will be
acceptable! and these be the rudiments you must chiefly
point at: to counterfeit cunningly, to wind in gentlemen
with powerful attraction to keep his house in name and
custom, to dissemble with your own brother, never to
betray your fellows’ imperfections nor lay open the
state of their bodies to strangers, to believe those
that give you, to gull those that believe you, to laugh
at all under taffeta; and these be your rudiments.
PRI. There’s e’en all, i’faith; we’ll trouble you with
no more; nay, you shall live at ease enough: for nimming
away jewels and favours from gentlemen, which are your
chief vails, [I] hope that will come naturally enough to
you, I need not instruct you; you’ll have that wit, I
trust, to make the most of your pleasure.
NOV. I hope one’s mother-wit will serve for that, sir.
PRI. O, properest of all, wench! it must be a she-wit
that does those things, and thy mother was quick enough
at it in her days.
FRI. Give me leave, sister, to examine you upon two or
three particulars:—and you make you ready,[462] be not
ashamed; here’s none but friends—are you a maid?
NOV. Yes, in the last quarter, sir.
FRI. Very proper, that’s e’en going out: a maid in the
last quarter, that’s a whore in the first: let me see,
new moon on Thursday; she’ll be changed[463] by that
time too. Are you willing to pleasure gentlemen?
NOV. We are all born to pleasure our country, forsooth.
FRI. Excellent! Can you carry yourself cunningly, and
seem often holy?
NOV. O, fear not that, sir! my friends were all
Puritans.
FRI. I’ll ne’er try her further.
PRI. She’s done well, i’faith: I fear not now to turn
her loose to any gentleman in Europe.
FRI. You need not, sir: of her own accord, I think
she’ll be loose enough without turning.—Arthur.
_Re-enter_ ARTHUR.
AR. Here, sir.
FRI. Go, make haste, shift her into that suit presently.
AR. It shall be done.
PRI. Arthur, do’t neatly, Arthur.
AR. Fear’t not, sir. [_Exit._
PRI. Follow him, wench.
NOV. With all my heart, sir. [_Exit._
PRI. But, mass, sir,[464]
In what are we forgetful all this while!
FRI. In what?
PRI. The wooing business, man.
FRI. Heart, that’s true!
PRI. The gallants will prevent[465] us.
FRI. Are you certain?
PRI. I can avouch it: there’s a general meeting
At the deceas’d knight’s house this afternoon;
There’s rivalship enough.
FRI. No doubt in that:
Would either thou or I might bear her from ’em!
PRI. My hopes are not yet faint.
FRI. Nor mine.
PRI. Tut, man,
Nothing in women’s hearts sooner win[s] place
Than a brave outside and an impudent face.
FRI. And for both those we’ll fit it.
PRI. Ay, if the devil be not in’t: make haste.
FRI. I follow straight. [_Exit_ PRIMERO.
Vanish, thou fog, and sink beneath our brightness,
Abashed at the splendour of such beams!
We scorn thee, base eclipser of our glories,
That wouldst have hid our shine from mortal’s eyes.
Now, gallants, I’m[466] for you, ay, and perhaps before
you:
You can appear but glorious from yourselves,
And have your beams but drawn from your own light,
But mine from many,—many make me bright.
Here’s a diamond that sometimes graced the finger of a
countess; here sits a ruby that ne’er lins[467] blushing
for the party that pawned it; here a sapphire. O
providence and fortune! my beginning was so poor, I
would fain forget it; and I take the only course, for I
scorn to think on’t; slave to a trencher, observer of a
salt-cellar, privy to nothing but a close-stool, or such
unsavoury secret: but as I strive to forget the days of
my serving, so I shall once remember the first step of
my raising; for, having hardly raked five mark[s][468]
together, I rejoiced so in that small stock, which most
providently I ventured by water to Blackwall among
fishwives; and in small time, what by weekly return and
gainful restitution, it rize[469] to a great body,
beside a dish of fish for a present, that stately
preserved me a seven-night.
Nor[470] ceas’d it there, but drew on greater profit;
For I was held religious by those
That do profess like abstinence,
And was full often secretly supplied
By charitable Catholics,
Who censur’d[471] me sincerely abstinate,
When merely I for hunger, not[472] for zeal,
Eat up the fish, and put their alms to use!
Ha, ha, ha!
But those times are run out; and, for my sake,
Zealous dissemblance has since far’d the worse.
Let me see now, whose cloak shall I wear to-day to
continue change?—O—Arthur!
_Re-enter_ ARTHUR.
AR. Here, sir.
FRI. Bring down Sir Oliver Needy’s taffeta cloak and
beaver hat—I am sure he is fast enough in the Knight’s
ward[473]—and Andrew Lucifer’s rapier and dagger with
the embossed girdle and hangers[474] [_exit_ ARTHUR],
for he’s in his third sweat by this time, sipping of
the doctor’s bottle, or picking the ninth part of a
rack of mutton dry-roasted, with a leash of nightcaps
on his head like the pope’s triple crown, and as many
pillows crushed to his back, with O-the-needles! for
he got the pox of a sempster, and it pricked so much
more naturally. Quick, Arthur, quick.
_Re-enter_ ARTHUR, _with cloak, &c., which_ FRIPPERY
_puts on_.
Now to the deceas’d knight’s daughter,
Whom many gallants sue to, I ’mongst many;
For
Since impudence gains more respect than virtue,
And coin than[475] blood, which few can now deny,
Who’re your chief gallants then but such as I?
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_An Apartment in_ KATHERINE’S _House_.
_Enter_ KATHERINE _and_ FITSGRAVE.
FIT. You do your beauties injury, sweet virgin,
To lose the time they must rejoice in youth:
There’s no perfection in a woman plac’d
But wastes itself though it be never wasted;
Then judge your wrongs[476] yourself.
KAT. Good master Fitsgrave,
Through sorrow for the knight my father’s death,
(Whose being was the perfection[477] of my joy
And crown of my desires), I cannot yet
But forcedly on marriage fix my heart:
Yet heaven forbid I should deject your hopes!
Conceive not of me so uncharitably;
I should belie my soul if I should say
You are the man I never should affect.
I understand you thus far, you’re a gentleman,
Whom your estate and virtues may commend[478]
To a far worthier breast than this of mine.
FIT. O cease! I dare not hear such blasphemy.
What is without you worthy I neglect;
In you is plac’d the worth that I respect.
Vouchsafe,[479] unequall’d virgin, [to] accept
This worthless favour from your servant’s arm,
The hallow’d beads, whereon I justly kept
The true and perfect number of my sighs.
[_Gives a chain of pearl._
KAT. Mine cannot equal yours, yet in exchange
Accept and wear it for my sake. [_Gives a jewel._
FIT. Even as my [life] I’ll rate it.
_Enter_ GOLDSTONE, PURSENET, TAILBY, FRIPPERY, PRIMERO,
_and Boy_, _at the farther door_.
GOL. Heart! Fitsgrave in such bosom single-loves?
PUR. So close and private with her!
TAI. Observe ’em; he grows proud and bold.
FRI. Why, was not this a general meeting?
PRI. By her own consent. Death, how I could taste his
blood!
KAT. See, the gentlemen,
At my request, do all present themselves.
GOL. Manifold blisses wait on her desire,
Whose beauty and whose mind so many honour!
KAT. I take your wishes thankfully, kind gentlemen,
All here assembled, over whose long suits
I ne’er insulted;
Nor, like that common sickness of our sex,
Grew proud in the abundance of my suitors,
Or number of the days they sued unto me.
Dutiful sorrow for my father’s death,
Not wilful coyness, hath my hours detain’d
So long in silence.
I’m left to mine own choice: so much the more
My care calls on me: if I err through love,
’Tis I must chide myself; I cannot shift
The fault unto my parents, they’re at rest;
And I shall sooner err through love than wealth.
GOL. Good!
PUR. Excellent!
TAI. That likes[480] me well.
PRI. Hope still.
KAT. And my affections do pronounce you all
Worthy their pure and most entire deserts:
Yet they can choose but one;
Nor do I dissuade any of his hopes,
Because my heart is not yet throughly fix’d
On marriage or the man,
But crave the quiet respite of one month,
The month unto this night; against which time
I do invite you all to that election,
Which, on my unstain’d faith and virgin promise,
Shall light amongst no strangers, but yourselves.
May this content you?
[_While she is speaking, the Boy steals from her
the chain of pearl._
ALL. Glad and content!
KAT. ’Tis a good time to leave:
Till then commend us to your gentlest thoughts.
[_Exit._
ALL. Enough.
FIT. Ough!
[_The gallants look scurvily upon_ FITSGRAVE, _and_
_he upon them. Exeunt_ GOLDSTONE, TAILBY,
FRIPPERY, _and_ PRIMERO. _As_ PURSENET _is going
out, the Boy takes him into a corner_.
BOY. Hist, master, hist!
PUR. Boy, how now?
BOY. Look you, sir.
PUR. Her chain of pearl?
BOY. I sneckt it away finely.
PUR. Active boy,
Thy master’s best revenue, his life and soul!
Thou keep’st ’em both together: whip, away.
[_Exit Boy._
Fall back, fall belly, I must be maintain’d:
Hope is no purchase;[481]
Nor care I if I miss her. Why I rank
In this design with gallants, there’s full cause;
Policy invites me to it:
’Tis not for love, or for her sake alone;
It keeps my state suspectless and unknown.
[_Aside, and exit._
FIT. Their looks run through and through me, and the
stings
Of their snake-hissing whispers pierc’d my hearing.
They’re mad she grac’d me with one private minute
Above their fortunes: I’ve[482] observed ’em often
Most spitefully aspécted toward my happiness,
Beyond all others; but the cause I know not.
A quiet month the virgin has enclos’d
Unto herself; suitors stand without till then:
In which space cunningly I’ll wind myself
Into their bosoms. I’ve bethought the shape;
Some credulous scholar, easily infected
With fashion, time, and humour: unto such
Their deepest thoughts will, like to wanton fishes,
Play above water, and be all parts seen:
For since at me their envy pines, I’ll see
Whether their lives from touch of blame sit free.
[_Exit._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ PRIMERO’S _House_.
_Enter_ PRIMERO, _meeting_ MISTRESS NEWCUT.
PRI. Mistress Newcut, welcome: here will be choice of
gallants for you anon.
MIS. N. Is all clear? may I venture? am I not seen of
the wicked?
PRI. Strange absurdity, that you should come into my
house, and ask if you be not seen of the wicked!
push![483] I take’t unkindly, i’faith: what think you of
my house? ’tis no such common receptacle.
MIS. N. Forgive me, sweet master Primero: I can be
content to have my pleasure as much as another, but I
must have a care of my credit; I would not be seen; any
thing else. My husband’s at sea, and a woman shall have
an ill report in this world, let her carry herself never
so secretly; you know’t, master Primero. And what choice
of gallants be they? will they be proper gentlemen,
think you?
PRI. Nay, sure they are as proper as they will be
already.
MIS. N. I must have choice, you know; I come for no
gain, but for sheer pleasure and affection.
PRI. You see your old spy-hole yonder; take your
stand, please your own eye. I’ll work it so the
gallants shall present themselves before you, and in
the most conspicuous fashion.
MIS. N. That’s all I can desire—till better come.
[_Aside._]—Look you.
PRI. What mean you, lady?
MIS. N. A trifle, sir, to buy you silver spurs:
Good sir, accept it. [_Gives money, and exit._
PRI. Silver spurs? a pretty emblem! mark it; all her
gifts are about riding still: the other day she sent me
boot-hose wrought in silk and gold; now silver spurs.
Well, go thy ways, thou’rt as profitable a spirit as
e’er lighted into my house. Come, ladies, come, ’tis
late; to music,—when?[484]
_Enter Courtesans and Novice._
FIRST C. You’re best command us, sir!—Our pimp’s grown
proud.
PRI. To fools and strangers these are gentlewomen
Of sort and worship, knights’ heirs, great in portions,
Boarded here for their music;
And oftentimes ’tas been so cunningly carried,
That I have had two stolen away at once,
And married at Savoy,[485] and prov’d honest
shopkeepers:
And I may safely swear they practis’d music;
They’re natural at prick-song. A small mist
Will dazzle a fool’s eye, and that’s the world:
So I can thump my hand upon the table
With an austere grace, and cry one, two, and three,
Fret, stamp, and curse, foh, ’twill pass well for me!
_Enter Boy._
How now, sirrah?
BOY. They’re coming in, sir, and strangers in their
company.
PRI. Tune apace, ladies.—Be ready for the song, sirrah.
_Enter_ GOLDSTONE, PURSENET, FRIPPERY, TAILBY, FITSGRAVE
_disguised, and_ BUNGLER.
GOL. Nay, I beseech you, gallants, be more inward[486]
with this gentleman; his parts deserve it.
PUR. Whence comes he, sir?
GOL. Piping hot[487] from the university; he smells of
buttered loaves yet; an excellent scholar, but the
arrantest ass! For this our solicitor, he’s a rare
fellow five-and-forty mile hence, believe that: his
friends are of the old fashion, all in their graves; and
now has he the leisure to follow all new fashions, ply
the brothels, practise salutes and cringes.
PUR. O!
GOL. Now, dear acquaintance,
I’ll bring you to see fashions.
FIT. What house is this, sir?
GOL. O, of great name: here music is profess’d;
Here sometimes ladies practise, and the meanest,
Daughters to men of worship,
Whom gentlemen, such as ourselves, may visit,
Court, clip,[488] and exercise our wits upon;
It is a profess’d courtesy.
FIT. A pretty recreation, i’faith!
GOL. I seldom saw so few here: you shall have ’em
sometimes in every corner of the house, with their
viols[489] betwixt their legs, and play the sweetest
strokes; ’twould e’en filch your soul almost out of your
bosom.
FIT. Pax[490] on’t, we spoil ourselves for want of these
things at university.
GOL. You have no such natural happiness: let’s draw
near.
PRI. Gentlemen, you are all most respectively[491]
welcome.
GOL. We are bold and insatiate suitors, sir, to the
breath of your music, and the dear sight of those
ladies.
PRI. And what our poor skill can invite you to,
You’re[492] kindly welcome: you must pardon ’em,
gentlemen,
Virgins and bashful, besides new beginners;
’Tis not a whole month since they were first enter’d.
GOL. Seven year in my knowledge. [_Aside._
PRI. They blush at their very lessons; they’ll[493]
not endure
To hear of a stop, a prick, or a semiquaver.
FIRST C. O, out upon you!
PRI. La, I tell you;—you’ll bear me witness,
gentlemen,
If their complaints come to their parents’ ears,
They’re words of art I teach ’em, nought but art.
GOL. Why, ’tis most certain.
BUN. For all scholars know that _musica est ars_.
ALL THE C. O beastly word!
PRI. Look to the ladies, gentlemen.
GOL. Kiss again.
PUR. Come, another.
TAI. This [is] a good interim. [_Exit._[494]
PRI. What have you done, sir?
BUN. Why, what have I done?
PRI. Saw you their stomachs queasy,[495] and come with
such gross meat?
BUN. Why, is’t not Latin, sir?
PRI. Latin? why, then, let the next to’t be Latin too.
PUR. So, enough.
GOL. Nay, I can assure you thus far, I that never knew
the language have heard so much that _ars_ is Latin for
art; and it may well be too, for there’s more art in’t
now a-days than ever was.
PRI. Is’t possible?
I’m sorry then I’ve[496] followed it so far.
FIRST C. A scholar call you him?
PRI. Music must not jar:
The offence is satisfied. Come, to the song;
Begin, sir.
[_The song: and he[497] keeps time, shews several
humours and moods: the Boy in his pocket nims
away Fitsgrave’s jewel here, and exit._
BUN. Not a whole month since you were entered, ladies?
FIT. None that shall see their cunning will believe
it. [_Aside._
PRI. It is no affliction,[498] gentlemen.
BUN. I care not much, i’faith, if I write down to my
father presently to send up my sister in all haste, that
I may place her here at this music-school.
MIS. N. [_peeping in_] ’Slid, ’tis the fool my cousin! I
would not for the value of three recreations he had seen
me here.
PRI. How like you your new prize?
FRI. Pray, give me leave; I have not yet sufficiently
admir’d her.
PRI. My wits[499] must not stand idle. ’Slife, he’s in a
sick trance!
GOL. A cheat or two among these mistresses
Would not be ill bestow’d; I affect none,
But for my prey: such are their affections,
I know it; how could drabs and cheaters live else?
Then since the world rolls on dissimulation,
I’ll be the first dissembler. [_Aside._
FIRST C. Prithee, love, comfort, choice,
My only wish, in thee I am confin’d!
Deny me any thing, a slight chain of pearl?
PUR. Nay, and it[500] be but slight——
FIRST C. Being denied,
I prize it slight; but given me by my love,
Light shall not be so dear unto my eye,
Mine eye unto the body, as the gift.
PUR. How have I power to deny this to you,
That command all? my fortunes are thy servants,
And thou the mistress both of them and me.
[_Gives her the chain._
FIRST C. The truest that e’er breath’d!
GOL. To a gentleman
That thus so long and so[501] sincerely lov’d you
As I myself, ne’er was less pity shewn.
SEC. C. Why, I never was held cruel.
GOL. But to me.
SEC. C. Nor to you.
GOL. Go to, ’t’as scar’d you much.
SEC. C. I’m sorry your conceit is so unkind
To think me so.
GOL. When had I other argument?
I’ve often tender’d you my love and service,
And that in no mean fashion;
Yet were you never[502] that requiteful mistress
That grac’d me with one favour;
’Slight, not so much as such a pretty ring;
Pax[503] on’t, ’t’as almost broke my heart.
[_Takes off her ring._
SEC. C. Has took it off:—’Sfoot, master
Goldstone![504]
GOL. Nay, where a man loves most, there to be scanted!
SEC. C. My ring, come, come——
GOL. What reckon I a satin gown or two,
If she were wise?
SEC. C. Life! my ring, sir, come——
GOL. Have you the face, i’faith?
SEC. C. Give me my ring.
GOL. Prithee, hence; by this light you get none on’t.
SEC. C. How?
GOL. I hold your favours of more pure esteem
Than to part from ’em; faith, I do, howe’er
You think of me.
SEC. C. Push,[505] pray, sir——
GOL. Hark you, go to;
You’ve[506] lost much by unkindness; go your ways.
SEC. C. ’Sfoot!
GOL. But yet there’s no time past; you may redeem it.
SEC. C. Come, I cannot miss[507] it, i’faith; beside,
the gentleman that bestowed it on me swore to me it cost
him twenty nobles.[508]
GOL. Twenty nobles? pox of twenty nobles!
But you must cost me more, you pretty villain:
Ah, you little rogue!
SEC. C. Come, come, I know you’re but in jest.
GOL. In jest? no, you shall see.
SEC. C. No way will get it:
As good give it him now, and hope for somewhat.
[_Aside._
GOL. True love made jest!
SEC. C. I did but try thy faith,
How fast thou’dst hold it. Now I see a woman
May venture worthy favours to thy trust,
And have ’em truly kept; and I protest,
Had I drawn’t from thee, I should ne’er ha’ lov’d thee;
I know that.
GOL. ’Sfoot, I was ne’er so wrongèd in my life!
Think you I’m[509] in jest with you? what, with my love?
I could find lighter subjects you shall see;
And time will shew how much you injure me.
SEC. C. The ring, were it[510] thrice worth, I freely
give,
For I know you’ll[511] requite it.
GOL. Will I live?
SEC. C. Enough.
GOL. Why, this was well come off now:
Where’s my old serving-man? not yet return’d?
O, here he peeps. [_Aside._
_Enter_ FULK.
Now, sirrah?
FULK. May it please your worship—they’re done
artificially, i’faith, boy.
GOL. Both the great beakers?
FULK. Both, lad.
GOL. Just the same size?
FULK. Ay, and the marks as just.
GOL. So, fall off respectively[512] now.
FULK. My lord desires your worship of all love——
GOL. His lordship must hold me excused till morning;
I’ll not break company to-night. Where sup we, gallants?
PUR. At Mermaid.[513]
GOL. Sup there who list, I forsworn the house.
FULK. For the truth is, this plot must take effect at
Mitre.[514]
[_Aside, and exit._
PUR. Faith,[515] I’m indifferent.
BUN. So are we, gentlemen.
PUR. Name the place, master Goldstone.
GOL. Why, the Mitre, in my mind, for neat attendance,
diligent boys, and—push![516] excels it far.
ALL. Agreed, the Mitre then.
PUR. Boy[517]—some goodness toward:[518] the boy’s whipt
away. [_Aside._
FIT. The jewel, heart, the jewel!
GOL. How now, sir? what mov’d you?
FIT. Nothing, sir;
A spice of poetry, a kind a’ fury,
A disease runs among scholars.
GOL. Mass, it made you stamp.
FIT. Whew,
’T’ill make some stamp and stare, make a strange noise,
Curse, swear, beat tire-men,[519] and kick players’
boys;
The effects are very fearful.
PUR. Bless me from’t!
FIT. O, you need not fear it, sir.—Hell of this luck!
GOL. Hark, he’s at it again!
PUR. Some pageant-plot, or some device for the
tilt-yard:
Disturb him not.
FIT. How can I gain her love,
When I have lost her favour? [_Aside._
GOL. What money hast about thee? Look you,[520] sir, I
must be fain to pawn a fair stone here for ordinary
expenses: a pox of my tenants! I give ’em twenty days
after the quarter, and they cut out forty.
FRI. Why, you might take the forfeiture of their leases
then.
GOL. I know I might; but what’s their course? The rogues
come[521] me up all together, with geese and capons, and
petitions in pigs’ snouts, which would move any man,
i’faith, were his stomach ne’er so great; and to see how
pitifully the pullen[522] will look, it makes me after
relent, and turn my anger into a quick fire to roast
’em—nay, touch’t and spare it not.
FRI. ’Tis right: well, what does your worship borrow of
this, sir?
GOL. The stone’s twenty nobles.[523]
FRI. Nay, hardly.
GOL. As I am a right gentleman.
FRI. It comes near it indeed: well, here’s five pound in
gold upon’t.
GOL. ’Twill serve; and the ring safe and secret?
FRI. As a virgin’s.
GOL. I wish no higher.—What, gallants, are you
constant?
Does the place hold?
ALL. The Mitre.
GOL. Sir, in regard of our continued boldness and
trouble, which love to your music hath made us guilty
of, shall we entreat your worship’s company, with these
sweet ladies, your professed scholars, to take part of a
poor supper with myself and these gentlemen at the
Mitre?
FRI. Pray, master Primero——
PUR. I beseech you, sir, let it be so.
PRI. O, pardon me, sweet gentlemen; the world’s apt to
censure. I have the charge of them, they’re left in
trust, they’re virgins: and I dare not hazard their
fames; the least touch mars ’em: and what would their
right worshipful parents think, if the report should fly
to them, that they were seen with gentlemen in a tavern?
GOL. All this may be prevented: what serves your coach
for?
They may come coach’d and mask’d.
PRI. You put me to’t, sir;
Yet I must say again, I fear the drawers
And vintner’s boys will be familiar with them,
And think ’em mistresses.
PUR. There are those places where respect seems
slighter;
More censure[524] is belonging to the Mitre;
You know that, sir.
PRI. Gentlemen, you prevail.
GOL. We’ll all expect you there.
PRI. And we’ll not fail.
FRI. The devil will ne’er dissemble with them so,
As you for them.
GOL. Come, sir.
FRI. What else? let’s go.
[_Exeunt all except_ PRIMERO, _Courtesans, and Novice_.
_Re-enter_ TAILBY.
PRI. How cheer you, sir?
TAI. Faith, like the moon, more bright,
Decreas’d in body, but re-made in light:
Here thou shalt share some of my brightness with me.
PRI. By my faith, they’re[525] comfortable beams, sir.
FIRST C. Come,
Where have you spent the time now from my sight?
I’m jealous of thy action.
TAI. Push![526] I did but walk
A turn or two in the garden.
FIRST C. What made you[527] there?
TAI. Nothing but cropt a flower.
FIRST C. Some woman’s honour, I believe.
TAI. Foh! is this a woman’s honour?
FIRST C. Much about one,
When both are pluck’d, their sweetness is soon gone.
TAI. Prithee, be true to me.
FIRST C. When did I fail?
TAI. Yet I am ever doubtful that you[528] sin.
FIRST C. I do account the world but as my spoil,
To adorn thee:
My love is artificial to all others,
But purity to thee. Dost thou want gold?
Here, take this chain of pearl, supply thyself:
Be thou but constant, firm, and just to me,
Rich heirs shall want ere want come near to thee.
_Tai._ Upon thy lip I seal sincerity.
[_Exit First Courtesan._
SEC. C. Was this your vow to me?
TAI. Pox, what’s a kiss to be quite rid of her?
She’s su’d so long, I was asham’d of her:
’Twas but her cheek I kiss’d neither, to save her
longing.
SEC. C. ’Tis not a kiss I weigh.
TAI. Had you weigh’d this,
’T’ad lack’d above five ounces of a true one;
No kiss that e’er weigh’d lighter.
SEC. C. ’Tis thy love that I suspect.
TAI. My love? why, by this—what shall I swear by?
SEC. C. Swear by this jewel; keep thy oath, keep that.
TAI. By this jewel, then, no creature can be perfect
In my love but thy dear self.
SEC. C. I rest [content]. [_Exit._
TAI. Ha, ha, ha! let’s laugh at ’em, sweet soul.
NOV. Ay, they may laugh at me;
I was a novice, and believ’d your oaths.
TAI. Why, what do you think of me? make I no
difference
’Tween[529] seven years’ prostitution and seven days?
Why, you’re but in the wane of a maid yet.
You wrong my health in thinking I love them:
Do not I know their populous[530] imperfections?
Why, they cannot live till Easter, let ’em shew
The fairest side to th’ world, like hundreds more,
Whose clothes
E’en stand upright in silver, when their bodie[s]
Are ready to drop through ’em: such there be;
They may deceive the world, they ne’er shall me.
NOV. Forgive my doubts;
And for some satisfaction wear this ring,
From which I vow’d ne’er but to thee to part.
TAI. With which thou ever[531] bind’st me to thy
heart. [_Exit Novice._
[_singing_] _O, the parting of us twain
Hath caus’d me mickle[532] pain!
And I shall ne’er be married
Until I see my muggle again._
MIS. N. [_peeping in_] Hist!
PRI. Ha?
MIS. N. The nimble gentleman, in the celestial
stockings——
PRI. Has the best smock-fortune to be beloved of women.—
Valle loo lo, lille lo lillo, valle loo lee lo lillo!
TAI. Valle loo lo, lille [lo] lillo, valle loo lee lo
lillo!
MIS. N. Ah, sweet gentleman, he keeps it up stately!
[_Aside._
PRI. Well held, i’faith, sir: mass, and now I remember
too, I think you ne’er saw my little banqueting box
above since I altered it.
TAI. Why, have you altered that?
PRI. O, divinely, sir! the pictures are all new run over
again.
TAI. Fie!
PRI. For what had the painter done, think you? drew
me Venus naked, which is the grace of a man’s room,
you know; and, when he had done, drew a number of
oaken leaves before her: had not lawn been a hundred
times softer, made a better shew, and been more
gentlewoman-like?
TAI. More lady-like a great deal.
PRI. Come, you shall see how ’tis altered now;
I do not think but you’ll like her. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Street._
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.[533]
FIT. My pocket pick’d? this was no brothel-house!
A music-school? damnation has fine shapes:
I paid enough for the song, I’ve[534] lost a jewel
To me more precious than their souls to them
That gave consent to filch it. I’ll hunt hard,
Waste time and money, trace and wheel about,
But I will find these secret mischiefs out.
_Enter Servant._
How now? what’s he?
O, a servant to my love: being thus disguis’d,
I’ll learn some news. [_Aside._]—Now, sir? you belong to
me.[535]
SER. I do, sir; but I cannot stay to say so: nay, good
sir, detain me not; I am going in all haste to inquire
or lay wait for a chain of pearl, nimmed out of her
pocket the fifth of November, a dismal day.
FIT. Ha! a chain of pearl, sayst thou?
SER. A chain of pearl, sir, which one master Fitsgrave,
a gentleman and a suitor, fastened upon her as a pledge
of his love.
FIT. Ha!
SER. Urge me no more, I have no more to say;
Your friend, Jeronimo Bedlam. [_Exit._
FIT. Thou’rt a mad fellow indeed.
Some comfort yet, that hers is missing too;
I feel my soul at much more ease: both stoln![536]
When griefs have partners they are better borne.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.[537]
_A Room in the Mitre._[538]
_Where are discovered_ PRIMERO, _Courtesans_,
_Novice_, GOLDSTONE, PURSENET, FRIPPERY,
TAILBY, BUNGLER, FULK, ARTHUR, _Boy_, _and
Servant_.
PRI. Where be your liveries?
FIRST C. They attend without.
PRI. Go, call the coach. [_Exit Servant._]—Gentlemen,
you have excelled in kindness as we in boldness.
TAI. So you think amiss, sir.
GOL. Kind ladies, we commit you to sweet dreams,
Ourselves unto the fortune of the dice.—
Dice, ho! [_Exit_ PRIMERO.
FIRST C. You rest firm mine?
TAI. E’en all my soul to thee.
[_Exit First Courtesan._
SEC. C. You keep your vows?
TAI. Why, do I breathe or see?
[_Exit Sec. Courtesan._
NOV. Is your love constant?
TAI. Ay, to none but thee. [_Exit Novice._
Now gone, ay, now I love nor them nor thee;
’Slife, I should be cloy’d, should I love one in three.
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.
PUR. O, here’s master Bouser now.
FIT. Save you, sweet gentlemen.
TAI. Sweet master Bouser, welcome.
PUR. When come these dice?
[_Within._] Anon, anon, sir.
PUR. Yet anon, anon, sir!
GOL. Hast thou shewn art in ’em?
FULK. You shall be judge, sir; here be the
tavern-beakers, and here peep out the fine alchemy[539]
knaves, looking like well, sir, most of our gallants,
that seem what they are not.
GOL. Peace, villain, am not I in presence?
FULK. Why, that puts me in mind of the jest, sir.
GOL. Again, you chatterer?[540]
FULK. Nay, compare ’em, and spare ’em not.
GOL. The bigness of the bore, just the same size; the
marks, no difference. Away, put money in thy pocket, and
offer to draw in upon the least occasion.
FULK. I am no babe, sir.
GOL. Hist!
FULK. What’s the matter now?
GOL. Give me a pair of false dice ere you go.
FULK. Pax[541] on’t, you’re so troublesome too, you
cannot remember a thing before! If I stay a little
longer, I shall be staid anon.
_Enter Vintner._
VIN. Here be dice for your worships.
PUR. O, come, come!
GOL. The vintner himself?
I’ll shift away these beakers by a slight.[542]
[_Aside._
VIN. Master Goldstone——
GOL. How now, you conjuring rascal?
VIN. Bless your good worship; you’re in humours,
methinks.
GOL. Humours? say that again.
VIN. I said no such word, sir.—Would I had my beakers
out on’s fingers! [_Aside._
GOL. What’s thy name, vintner?
VIN. Jack, and[543] please your worship.
GOL. Turn knight, like thy companions, scoundrel, live
upon usury, wear thy gilt spurs at thy girdle for fear
of slubbering.
VIN. O no, I hope I shall have more grace than so, sir!
Pray, let me help your worship.
GOL. Cannot I push ’em together without your help?
VIN. O, I beseech your worship! they’re the two
standards of my house.
GOL. Standards? there lie your standards.
VIN. Good your worship.—I am glad they are out of his
fingers: my wife shall lock ’em up presently; they shall
see no sun this twelvemonth’s day for this trick.
[_Aside._
GOL. Let me come to the sight of your standards again.
VIN. Your worship shall pardon me.—Now you shall not see
’em in haste, I warrant ye. [_Aside._
GOL. I do not desire’t. Ha, ha!
[_Exit Vintner[544] with beakers._
FIT. Why, master Goldstone!
GOL. I am for you, gallants.—Master Bouser, cry you
mercy, sir: why supped you from us?
FIT. Faith, sir, I met with a couple of my fellow-pupils
at university, and so we renewed our acquaintance and
supped together.
GOL. Fie, that’s none of the newest fashion, I must
tell you that, master Bouser: you must never take
acquaintance of any a’ th’ university when you are at
London; nor any of London when you’re at university:
you must be more forgetful, i’faith; every place
ministers his acquaintance abundantly.
BUN. He tells you true, sir.
GOL. I warrant you here’s a gentleman will ne’er commit
such an absurdity.
BUN. Who, I? no: ’tis well known, if I be disposed, I’ll
forget any man in a seven-night, and yet look him in the
face: nay, let him ride but ten mile from me, and come
home again, it shall be at my choice whether I’ll
remember him or no: I have tried that.
GOL. This is strange, sir.
BUN. ’Tis as a man gives his mind to’t, sir: and now you
bring me in, I remember ’twas once my fortune to be
cozened of all my clothes, and with my clothes my money;
a poor shepherd, pitying me, took me in and relieved me.
GOL. ’Twas kindly done of him, i’faith.
BUN. Nay, you shall see now: ’twas his fortune likewise,
not long after, to come to me in much distress, i’faith,
and with weeping eyes; and do you think I remembered
him?
GOL. You could not choose.
BUN. By my troth, not I; I forgot him quite, and never
remembered him to this hour.
GOL. And yet knew who he was?
BUN. As well as I know you, i’faith: ’tis a gift given
to some above others.
FIT.[545] To fools and knaves; they never miss on’t.
[_Aside._
BUN. Does any make such a wonder at this? why, alas,
’tis nothing to forget others! what say you to those
that forget themselves?
GOL. Nay, then, to dice:—come, set me, gallants, set.
FRI. Ay, fall to’t, gentlemen,
I shall hear some news from some of you anon:
I’ve[546] th’ art to know which lose, and ne’er look on.
I’ll be ready with all the worst money I can find about
me. [_Aside._]—Arthur!
AR. Here, sir.
FRI. Stand ready.
AR. Fear not me, sir.
GOL. These are mine, sir.
FRI. Here’s a washed angel;[547]
It shall away: here’s mistress rose-noble[548]
Has lost her maidenhead, crack’d in the ring;[549]
She’s good enough for gamesters, and to pass
From man to man: for gold presents at dice
Your harlot, in one hour won and lost thrice;
Every man has a fling at her.
TAI. Again? pax[550] of these dice!
BUN. ’Tis ill to curse the dead, sir.
TAI.[551] Mew, where should I wish the pox but among
bones?
FIT. He tells you right, sir.
TAI. I ne’er have any luck at these odd hands:
None here to make us six? why, master Frip!
FRI. I am very well here, I thank you, sir: I had rather
be telling my money myself than have others count it for
me; ’tis the scurviest music in the world, methinks, to
hear my money gingle in other men’s pockets; I never had
any mind to’t, i’faith.
TAI. ’Slud, play six or play four, I’ll play no more.
GOL. ’Sfoot, you see there’s none here to draw in.
FULK. Rather than you should be destitute, gentlemen,
I’ll play my ten pound, if my master’s worship will give
me leave.
PUR. Come.
TAI. He shall, he shall.
GOL. Pray, excuse me, gentlemen.—’Sfoot, how now,
goodman rascal? what! because you served my grandfather
when he went ambassador, and got some ten pound by th’
hand, has that put such spirit in you to offer to draw
in among gentlemen of worship, knave?
TAI. Pray, sir, let’s entreat so much for once.
PUR. ’Tis a usual grace, i’faith, sir;
You’ve many gentlemen will play with their men.
BUN. Ay, and with their maids too, i’faith.
PUR. Good sir, give him leave.
GOL. Yes, come, and[552] you be weary on’t; I pray draw
near, sir.
FULK. Not so, sir.
TAI. Come, fool, fear nothing; I warrant ’t ye has given
thee leave: stand here by me.—Come now, set round,
gentlemen, set.
PUR. How the poor fellow shakes!—Throw lustily, man.
FULK. At all, gentlemen!
TAI. Well said, i’faith.
PUR. They’re all thine.[553]
TAI. By my troth, I am glad the fellow has such luck,
’twill encourage him well.
FULK. At my master’s worship alone!
GOL. Now, sir slave?
FULK. At my master’s worship alone!
GOL. So, saucy rascal!
FULK. At my master’s worship alone!
GOL. You’re a rogue, and will be ever one![554]
FULK. By my troth, gentlemen, at all again for once!
TAI. Take ’em to thee, boy, take ’em to thee; thou’rt
worthy of ’em, i’faith.
GOL. Gentlemen, faith I am angry with you: go and suborn
my knave again[555] me here, to make him proud and
peremptory!
TAI. Troth, that’s but your conceit, sir; the fellow’s
an honest fellow, and knows his duty, I dare swear for
him.
PUR. Heart, I am sick already!
GOL. Whither goes master [Pursenet]?
PUR. Play on; I’ll take my turn, sir.—Boy.
BOY. Master?
PUR. Hist![556] a supply;—carry’t closely, my little
fooker,—how much?
BOY. Three pound, sir.
PUR. Good boy! take out another lesson.—How now,
gentlemen?
TAI. Devil’s in’t, did you e’er see such a hand?
PUR. I set you these three angels.[557]
BOY. My master may set high, for all his stakes are
drawn out of other men’s pockets. [_Aside._
FULK. As I said, gentlemen.
PUR. Deuce, ace!
FULK. At all your right worshipful worships!
PUR. &c.[558] Death and vengeance!
GOL. Hell, darkness!
TAI. Hold, sir.
PUR. Master Goldstone——
GOL. Hinder me not, sweet gentlemen.—You rascal, I
banish thee the board.
TAI. I’faith, but you shall not, sir.
GOL. Touch a die, and[559] thou darest! come you in with
your lousy ten pound, you slave, among gentlemen of
worship, and win thirty at a hand?
TAI. Why, will you kick again[560] luck, sir?
BUN. As long as the poor fellow ventures the loss of his
own money, who can be offended at his fortunes?
FULK. I have a master here! many a gentleman would be
glad to see his man come forward, aha.
PUR. Pray, be persuaded, sir.
GOL. ’Slife, here’s none cuts my throat in play but
he;
I have observ’d it, an unlucky slave ’tis.
BUN. Methinks his luck’s good enough, sir.
GOL. Upon condition, gentlemen, that I may ever bar him
from the board hereafter, I am content to wink at him.
PUR. Faith, use your own pleasure hereafter; has won our
money now.—Come to th’ table, sir; your master’s friends
with you.
FULK. Pray, gentlemen——
TAI. The fiend’s in’t, I think: I left a fair chain of
pearl at my lodging too, like an ass, and ne’er
remembered it; that would ha’ been a good pawn now.—
Speak, what do you lend upon these, master Frip?
[_Offering his weapons, with girdle and hangers_] I care
not much if you take my beaver hat too, for I perceive
’tis dark enough already, and it does but trouble me
here.
FRI. Very well, sir; why, now I can lend you three
pound, sir.
TAI. Prithee, do’t quickly then.
FRI. There ’tis, in six angels.[561]
TAI. Very compendiously.
FRI. Here, Arthur, run away with these presently; I’ll
enter ’em into th’ shop-book to-morrow. [_Exit_ ARTHUR
_with weapons, &c._] [_Writing_] _Item, one gilt
hatcht[562] rapier and dagger, with a fair embroidered
girdle and hangers,[563] with which came also a beaver
hat with a correspondent band._
TAI. Push![564] i’faith, sir, you’re to blame; you have
snibbed[565] the poor fellow too much; he can scarce
speak, he cleaves his words with sobbing.
FULK. Haff,[566] haff, haff, haff at all, gentlemen.
GOL. Ah, rogue, I’ll make you know yourself!
FULK. At the fairest!
PUR. Out, i’faith! two aces.
GOL. I am glad of that; come, pay me all these, goodman
cloak-bag.
PUR. Why, are you the fairest, sir?
GOL. You need not doubt of that, sir.—Five angels, you
scoundrel!
TAI. Fie[567] a’ these dice! not one hand to-night!—
There they go, gentlemen, at all, i’faith!
PUR. Pay all with two treys and a quater.
TAI. All curses follow ’em! pay yourselves withal.—I’ll
pawn myself to’t, but I’ll see a hand to-night: not once
hold in!—Here, master Frip, lend me your hand, quick,
quick; so.
[_Taking off his doublet._
FRI. What do you borrow of this doublet now?
TAI. Ne’er saw the world three days.
FRI. Go to; in regard you’re a continual customer I’ll
use you well, and pleasure you with five angels[568]
upon’t.
TAI. Let me not stand too long i’ th’ cold for them.
BUN. Had ever country gentleman such fortune? All swoopt
away! I’d need repair to th’ broker’s.
TAI. If you be in that mind, sir, there sits a gentleman
will furnish you upon any pawn as well as the publickst
broker of ’em all.
BUN. Say you so, sir? there’s comfort in that, i’faith.
FRI. [_Writing_] _Item, upon his orange-tawny satin
doublet five angels._
BUN. But, by your leave, sir, next come[569] the
breeches.
FRI. O, I have tongue fit for any thing.
BUN. Saving your tale, sir; ’tis given me to understand
that you are a gentleman i’ th’ hundred, and deal in the
premises aforesaid.
FRI. Master Bungler, master Bungler, you’re mightily
mistook: I am content to do a gentleman a pleasure for
once, so his pawn be neat and sufficient.
BUN. Why, what say you to my grandfather’s seal-ring
here?
FRI. Ay, marry, sir, this is somewhat like.
BUN. Nay, view it well; an ancient arms, I can tell you.
FRI. What’s this, sir?
BUN. The great cod-piece, with nothing in’t.
FRI. How!
BUN. The word[570] about it, _Parturiunt montes_.
FRI. What’s that, I pray, sir?
BUN. _You promise to mount us._
FRI. And belike he was not so good as his word?
BUN. So it should seem by the story, for so our names
came to be Bunglers.
FRI. A lamentable hearing, that so great a house should
shrink and fall to ruin!
PUR. Two quaters, and yet lose it? heart!—Boy!—i’faith,
what is’t?
BOY. Five pound, sir.
PUR. By my troth, this boy goes forward well; ye shall
see him come to his preferment i’ th’ end!
GOL. Why, how now? who’s that, gentlemen? a bargeman?
TAI. I never have any luck, gallants, till my
doublet’s off; Pm not half nimble enough. At this old
cinque-quater drivel-beard!
GOL.[571] Your worship must pay me all these, sir.
TAI. There, and feast the devil with ’em!
PUR. Hell gnaw these dice!
GOL. What, do you give over, gallants?
FIT.[572] Is’t not time?
TAI. I protest I have but one angel left to guide me
home to my lodging.
GOL. How much, thinkest?
FULK. Some fourscore angels, sir.
GOL. Peace, we’ll join powers anon, and see how strong
we are in the whole number. Mass, yon gilt goblet stands
so full in mine eye, the whorson tempts me; it comes
like cheese after a great feast, to disgest[573] the
rest: he will hardly ’scape me, i’faith, I see that by
him already: back for a parting blow now.—Boy!
_Re-enter Vintner._
VIN. Anon, anon, sir.
GOL. Fetch a pennyworth of soft wax to seal letters.
VIN. I will, sir. [_Exit._
TAI. Nay, had not I strange casting? thrice together two
quaters and a deuce!
PUR. Why, was not I as often haunted with two treys and
a quater?
_Re-enter Vintner._
VIN. There’s wax for your worship.—Anon, anon, sir.
[_Exit._
GOL. Screen me a little, you whorson old
cross-biter.[574]
FULK. Why, what’s the business? filch it on hob goblet!
PUR. And what has master Bouser lost?
FIT. Faith, not very deeply, sir; enough for a scholar,
some half a score royals.
PUR. ’Sfoot, I have lost as many with spurs[575] at
their heels.
_Re-enter Vintner with two Drawers._
GOL. Come, gallants, shall we stumble?
TAI. What’s a’ clock?
FIRST D. Here’s none on’t, Dick; the goblet’s carried
down.
GOL. Nay, ’tis upon the point of three, boy.
SEC. D. What’s[576] to be done, sirs?
VIN. All’s paid, and your worships are welcome; only
there’s a goblet missing, gentlemen, and cannot be found
about house.
GOL. How, a goblet?
PUR. What manner a’ one?
VIN. A gilt goblet, sir, of an indifferent size.
GOL. ’Sfoot, I saw such a one lately.
VIN. It cannot be found now, sir.
GOL. Came there no strangers here?
VIN. No, sir.
GOL. This [is] a marvellous matter, that a goblet should
be gone, and none but we in the room; the loss is near
all,[577] here as we are; keep the door, vintner.
VIN. No, I beseech your worship.
GOL. By my troth, vintner, we’ll have a privy search for
this. What! we are not all one woman’s children.
VIN. I beseech ye, gentlemen, have not that conceit of
me, that I suspect your worships.
GOL. Tut, you are an ass; do you know every man’s
nature? there’s a broker i’ th’ company.
PUR. ’Slife, you have not stole the goblet, boy, have
you?
BOY. Not I, sir.
PUR. I was afraid.—’Tis a good cause, i’faith, let each
man search his fellow: we’ll begin with you.
TAI. I shall save somebody a labour, gentlemen, for I’m
half searched already.
PUR. I thought the goblet had hung here, i’faith; none
here, nor here.
GOL. Seek about floor.—What was the goblet worth,
vintner?
VIN. Three pound ten shillings, sir; no more.
GOL. Pox on’t, gentlemen, ’tis but angels[578] a-piece:
it shall be a brace of mine, rather than I would have
our reputations breathed upon by all comers; for you
must think they’ll talk on’t in all companies—such a
night, in such a company, such a goblet: ’sfoot, it may
grow to a gangrene in our credits, and be incurable.
TAI. Faith, I am content.
FRI. So am I.
PUR. There’s my angel too.
GOL. So, and mine.—I’ll tell thee what, the missing of
this goblet has dismayed the gentlemen much.
VIN. I am sorry for that, sir.
GOL. Yet they send thee this comfort by me; if they see
thee but rest satisfied, and depart away contented,
which will appear in thy countenance, not three times
thrice the worth of the goblet shall hang between them
and thee, both in their continual custom and all their
acquaintances’.
VIN. I thank their worships all; I am satisfied.
GOL. Say it again.—Do you hear, gentlemen?
VIN. I thank your worships all; I am satisfied.
[_Exeunt Vintner and Drawers._
GOL. Why, la, was not this better than hazarding our
reputations upon trifles, and in such public as a
tavern, such a questionable place?
TAI. True.
PUR. Faith,[579] it was well thought on.
GOL. Nay, keep your way, gentlemen: I have sworn, master
Bouser, I will be last, i’faith. [_Exeunt all except_
GOLDSTONE _and_ FULK.]—Rascal, the goblet!
FULK. Where, sir?
GOL. Peep yon,[580] sir, under.
FULK. Here, sir.[581] [_Exeunt._
ACT III.[582] SCENE I.
_A Room in_ TAILBY’S _Lodging_.
_Enter_ TAILBY _reading a letter_.
TAI. [_reads_] _My husband is rode from home: make no
delay; I know, if your will be as free as your horse,
you will see me yet ere dinner. From Kingston, this
eleventh of November._—Hah! these women are such
creatures, such importunate, sweet souls, they’ll scarce
give a man leave to be ready;[583] that’s their only
fault, i’faith: if they be once set upon a thing, why,
there’s no removing of ’em, till their pretty wills be
fulfilled. O, pity thy poor oppressed client here, sweet
Cupid, that has scarce six hours’ vacation in a month,
his causes hang in so many courts! yet never suffer my
French adversary, nor his big swoln confederates, to
overthrow me,
Who without mercy would my blood carouse,
And lay me in prison in a doctor’s house.
Thy clemency, great Cupid!—Peace, who comes here?
_Enter_ PURSENET.
PUR. Sir gallant, well encountered.
TAI. I both salute and take my leave together.
PUR. Why, whither so fast, sir?
TAI. Excuse me, pray; I’m in a little haste;
My horse waits for me.
PUR. What, some journey toward?[584]
TAI. A light one, i’faith, sir.
PUR. I’m[585] sorry that my business so commands me,
I cannot ride with you; but I make no question
You have company enough.
TAI. Alas, not any!—nor do I desire it.—[_Aside._
Why, ’tis but to Kingston yonder.
PUR. O, cry you mercy, sir.
TAI. ’Scape but one reach, there’s little danger
thither.
PUR. True, a little of Combe Park.[586]
TAI. You’ve nam’d the place, sir; that’s all I fear,
i’faith.
PUR. Farewell, sweet master Tailby. [_Exit_ TAIL.
This fell out happily;
I’ll call this purchase[587] mine before I greet him;
E’en where his fear lies most, there will I meet him.
SCENE II.[588]
_Combe Park._
_Enter_ PURSENET _with a scarf over his face, and Boy_.
PUR. Boy.
BOY. Sir?
PUR. Walk my horse behind yon thicket; give a word if
you descry.
BOY. I have all perfect, sir. [_Exit._
PUR. So; he cannot now be long. What with my boy’s
dexterity at ordinaries, and my gelding’s celerity over
hedge and ditch, but we make pretty shift to rub out a
gallant; for I have learnt these principles:
Stoop thou to th’ world, ’twill on thy bosom tread;
It stoops to thee, if thou advance thy head.
The mind being far more excellent than fate,
’Tis fit our mind then be above our state.
Why should I write my extremities in my brow,
To make them loathe me that respect me now?
If every man were in his courses known,
Legs that now honour him might spurn him down.
To conclude, nothing seems as it is but honesty, and
that makes it so little regarded amongst us.
BOY [_within_]. Ela, ha, ho!
PUR. The boy?
He’s hard at hand; I’ll cross him suddenly:
And here he comes.—
_Enter_ TAILBY.
Stand!
TAI. Ha!
PUR. Deliver your purse, sir.
TAI. I feared none but this place, i’faith; nay, when my
mind gives me a thing once——
PUR. Quick, quick, sir, quick; I must despatch three
robberies yet ere night.
TAI. I’m glad you have such good doings, by my troth,
sir.
PUR. You’ll fare ne’er[589] a whit the better for your
flattery,
I warrant you, sir.
TAI. I speak sincerely; ’tis pity such a proper-parted
gentleman should want; nor shall you, as long as I
have’t about me. [PURSENET _rifles his pockets_.] Nay,
search and spare not: there’s a purse in my left pocket,
as I take it, with fifteen pound in gold in’t, and
there’s a fair chain of pearl in the other: nay, I’ll
deal truly with you; it grieves me, i’faith, when I see
such goodly men in distress; I’ll rather want it myself
than they should go without it.
PUR. And that shews a good nature, sir.
TAI. Nay, though I say it, I have been always accounted
a man of a good nature; I might have hanged myself ere
this time else. Pray, use me like a gentleman; take all,
but injury[590] not my body.
PUR. You must pardon me, sir;
I must a little play the usurer,
And bind you, for mine own security.
TAI. Alas, there’s no conscience in that, sir! shall I
enter into bond and pay money too?
PUR. Tut, I must not be betrayed.
TAI. Hear me but what I say, sir; I do protest I would
not be he that should betray a man, to be prince of the
world.
PUR. Mass, that’s the devil,—I thank you heartily,—
For he’s call’d prince a’ th’ world.
TAI. You take me still at worst.
PUR. Swear on this sword, then,
To set spurs to your horse, not to look back,
To give no marks to any passenger.
TAI. Marks?[591] why, I think you have left me ne’er a
penny, sir.
PUR. I mean, no marks of any.[592]
TAI. I understand you, sir.
PUR. Swear then.
TAI. I’faith, I do, sir.
PUR. Away!
TAI. I’m gone, sir.—By my troth, of a fierce thief he
seems to be a very honest gentleman.
[_Exit._
PUR. Why, this was well adventur’d, trim a gallant!
Now, with a covetous[593] and long-thirsting eye,
Let me behold my purchase,[594]
And try the soundness of my bones with laughter.
How? is not this the chain of pearl I gave
To that perjurèd harlot? ’tis, ’sfoot, ’tis,
The very chain!—O damnèd mistress!—Ha!
And this the purse which, not five days before,
I sent her fill’d with fair spur-royals?[595] Heart,
The very gold! ’Slife, is this no robbery?
How many oaths flew toward heaven,
Which ne’er came half-way thither, but, like
fire-drakes,[596]
Mounted a little, gave a crack, and fell:
Feign’d oaths bound up to sink more deep to hell.
What folded paper’s this? death, ’tis her hand!
[_reads_] _Master Tailby, you know with what affection I
love you._ You do? _I count the world but as my prey to
maintain you._ The more dissembling quean you, I must
tell you. _I have sent you an embroidered purse here
with fifty fair spur-royals in’t._ A pox on you for your
labour, wench! _And I desire you of all loves to keep
that chain of pearl from master Pursenet’s sight._ He
cannot, strumpet; I behold it now, unto thy[597] secret
torture. _So fare thee well, but be constant and want
nothing_—as long as I ha’t, i’faith! methinks it should
have gone so. Well, what a horrible age do we live in,
that a man cannot have a quean to himself! let him but
turn his back, the best of her is chipt away like a
court loaf, that when a man comes himself, has nothing
but bumbast; and these are two simple chippings here.
Does my boy pick and I steal to enrich myself, to keep
her, to maintain him? why, this is right the sequence of
the world. A lord maintains her, she maintains a knight,
he maintains a whore, she maintains a captain. So in
like manner the pocket keeps my boy, he keeps me, I keep
her, she keeps him; it runs like quicksilver from one to
another. ’Sfoot, I perceive I have been the chief
upholder of this gallant all this while: it appears
true, we that pay dearest for our pasture[598] are ever
likely worse used. ’Sfoot, he has a nag can run for
nothing, has his choice, nay, and gets by the running of
her.[599] O fine world, strange devils, and pretty
damnable affections!
BOY [_within_]. Lela, ha, ho!
PUR. There, boy, again; what news there?
_Re-enter Boy._
BOY. Master, hist,[600] master!
PUR. How now, boy?
BOY. I have descried a prize.
PUR. Another, lad?
BOY. The gull, the scholar.
PUR. Master Bouser?
BOY. Ay; comes along this way.
PUR. Without company?
BOY. As sure as he is your own.
PUR. Back to thy place, boy. [_Exit Boy._
I have the luck to-day to rob in safety;
Two precious cowards! Whist; I hear him.—
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.
Stand!
FIT. You lie; I came forth to go.
PUR. Deliver your purse.
FIT. ’Tis better in my pocket.
PUR. How now? at disputations, signior fool?
FIT. I’ve so much logic to confute a knave,
A thief, a rogue!
[_Attacks and strikes_ PURSENET _down_.
PUR. Hold, hold, sir, and[601] you be a gentleman, hold!
let me rise.
FIT. Heart!
’Tis the courtesy of his scarf unmask’d him to me
Above the lip by chance: I’ll counterfeit. [_Aside._
Light! because I am a scholar, you think belike that
scholars have no metal in ’em, but you shall find,—I
have not done with you, cousin.
PUR. As you’re a gentleman!
FIT. As you’re a rogue!
PUR. Keep on upon your way, sir.
FIT. You bade me stand——
PUR. I have been once down for that.
FIT. And then deliver.
PUR. Deliver me from you, sir!—O, pax[602] on’t, has
wounded me!—Ela, ha, ho! my horse, my horse, boy!
[_Exit._
FIT. Have you your boy so ready? O thou world,
How art thou muffled in deceitful forms!
There’s such a mist of these, and still hath been,
The brightness of true gentry is scarce seen.
This journey was most happily assign’d;
I’ve[603] found him dross both in his means and mind.
What paper’s this he dropt? I’ll look on’t as I go.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_Near Combe Park._
_Enter_ PURSENET _and Boy_.
PUR. A gull call you him? let me always set upon wise
men; they’ll be afraid of their lives; they have a
feeling of their iniquities, and know[604] what ’tis to
die with fighting: ’sfoot, this gull lays on without
fear or wit. How deep’s it, sayst thou, boy?
BOY. By my faith, three inches, sir.
PUR. La, this was long of you, you rogue!
BOY. Of me, sir?
PUR. Forgive me, dear boy; my wound ached, and I grew
angry: there’s hope of life, boy, is there not?
BOY. Pooh, my life for yours!
PUR. A comfortable boy in man’s extremes! I was ne’er
so afraid in my life but the fool would have seen my
face: he had me at such advantage, he might have
commanded my scarf. I ’scaped well there; ’t’ad choked
me; my reputation had been past recovery: yet live I
unsuspected, and still fit for gallants’ choice
societies. But here I vow, if e’er I see this Bouser
when he cannot see me, either in by-lane, privilege[d]
place, court, alley, or come behind him when he’s
standing,[605]
Or take him when he reels from a tavern late,
Pissing again[606] a conduit, wall, or gate;
When he’s in such a plight, and clear from me[n],
I’ll do that I’m[607] asham’d to speak till then.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_A Street._
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE[608] _and Gentleman_.
FIT. Nay, read forward: I have found three of
your gallants, like your bewitching shame,[609]
merely sophistical: there’s your bawd-gallant,
your pocket-gallant, and your whore-gallant.
GEN. [_reads_] _Master Tailby._
FIT. That’s he.
GEN. [_reads_] _I count the world but as my prey to
maintain you._
FIT. That’s just the phrase and style of ’em all to him;
they meet altogether in one effect, and it may well hold
too, for they all jump upon one cause, _subaudi_
lechery.
GEN. What shapes can flattery take! Let me entreat
you,
Both in the virgin’s right and our good hopes,
Since your hours are so fortunate, to proceed.
FIT. Why, he’s base that faints[610] until he crown his
deed.
[_Exit._
SCENE V.
_A Room in_ PRIMERO’S _House_.
_Enter_ PURSENET (_his arm in a scarf_) _and Boy,
meeting First Courtesan_.
PUR. See that dissembling devil, that perjur’d
strumpet! [_Aside._
FIRST C. Welcome, my soul’s best wish. O, out, alas!
Thy arm bound in a scarf? I shall swoon instantly.
PUR. Heart, and I’ll fetch you again in the same tune.
[_Aside._
O my unmatch’d love, if any spark of life remain,
Look up, my comfort, my delight, my——
FIRST C. O good, O good!
PUR. The organ of her voice is tun’d again;
There’s hope in women when their speech returns;
See, like the moon after a black eclipse,
She by degrees recovers her pure light.
How cheers my love?
FIRST C. As one new-wak’d out of a deadly trance,
The fit scarce quiet.
PUR. ’Twas terrible for the time;
I’d much ado to fetch you.
FIRST C. ’Shrew your fingers! [_Aside._
How came my comfort wounded? speak.
PUR. Faith, in a fray last night.
FIRST C. In a fray? will you lose your blood so
vainly?
Many a poor creature lacks it. Tell me how?
What was the quarrel?
PUR. Loath to tell you that.
FIRST C. Loath to tell me?
PUR. Yet ’twas my cause of coming.
FIRST C. Why, then, must not I know it?
PUR. Since you urge it, you shall,
You’re a strumpet!
FIRST C. O, news abroad, sir!
PUR. Say you so?
FIRST C. Why, you knew that the first night you lay
with me.
PUR. Nay, not to me only, but to the world.
FIRST C. Speak within compass, man.
PUR. Faith, you know none, you sail without.
FIRST C. I have the better skill then.
PUR. At my first step into a tavern-room, to spy
That chain of pearl wound on a stranger’s arm
You begg’d of me!
FIRST C. How? you mistook it sure.
PUR. By heaven, the very self-same chain!
FIRST C. O, cry you mercy, ’tis true, I’d forgot it:
’tis St. George’s day to-morrow: I lent it to my cousin
only to grace his arm before his mistress.
PUR. Notable cunning!
FIRST C. And is this all now, i’faith?
PUR. Not; I durst go further.
FIRST C. Why, let me never possess your love if you see
not that again a’ Thursday morning: I take’t unkindly,
i’faith, you should fall out with me for such a trifle.
PUR. Better and better!
FIRST C. Come, a kiss, and friends!
PUR. Away!
FIRST C. By this hand, I’ll spoil your arm and[611] you
will not.
PUR. More for this than the devil——
_Enter_ GOLDSTONE, TAILBY, FITSGRAVE, BUNGLER, _and
Courtesans_.
GOL. Yea, at your book so hard?[612]
PUR. Against my will.—Are you there, signior Logic?
A pox of you, sir! [_Aside._
GOL. Why, how now? what has fate sent us here, in the
name of Venus, goddess of Cyprus?
PUR. A freebooter’s pink, sir, three or four inches
deep.
GOL. No more? that’s conscionable, i’faith.
TAI. Troth, I’m sorry for’t: pray, how came it, sir?
PUR. Faith, by a paltry fray, in Coleman Street.
FIT. Combe Park he would say. [_Aside._
PUR. No less than three at once, sir,
Made a triangle with their swords and daggers,
And all opposing me.
FIT. And amongst those three only one hurt you, sir?
PUR. Ex for ex.[613]
TAI. Troth, and I’ll tell you what luck I had too, since
I parted from you last.
PUR. What, I pray?
TAI. The day you offered to ride with me, I wish now I’d
had your company: ’sfoot, I was set upon in Combe Park
by three too.
PUR. Bah!
TAI. Robbed, by this light, of as much gold and jewels
as I valued at forty pound.
PUR. Sure Saturn is in the fifth house.
TAI. I know not that; he may be in the sixth and[614]
he will for me: I am sure they were in my pocket
wheresoever they are;[615] but I’ll ne’er refuse a
gentleman’s company again when ’tis offered me, I
warrant you.
GOL. I must remember you ’tis Mitre-night,[616] ladies.
SEC. C. Mass, ’tis indeed Friday to-day, I’d quite
forgot: when a woman’s busy, how the time runs away!
FIRST C. O, you’ve betrayed us both!
TAI. I understand you not.
FIRST C. You’ve let him see the chain of pearl I gave
you.
TAI. Who? him? will you believe me, by this hand,
He never saw it.
FIRST C. Upon a stranger’s arm he swore to me.
TAI. Mass, that may be; for the truth is, i’faith,
I was robb’d on’t at Combe Park.
FIRST. C. ’Twas that betrayed it.
TAI. I would [I] had stay’d him;
He was no stranger, he was a thief, i’faith,
For thieves will be no strangers.
FIRST C. How shall I excuse it?
BUN. Nay, I have you fast enough, boy; you rogue!
[_Seizing the Boy, who had attempted to pick his pocket._
BOY. Good sir, I beseech you, sir, let me go!
[_Struggling._[617]
BUN. A pickpocket? nay, you shall to Newgate, look you.—
Is this your boy, sir?
PUR. How now, boy? a monster? thy arm lined[618] fast
in another’s pocket? where learnt you that manners?
what company have you kept a’ late, that you are so
transformed into a rogue? that shape I know not.—
Believe me, sir, I much wonder at the alteration of
this boy, where he should get this nature: as good a
child to see to, and as virtuous; he has his creed by
heart, reads me his chapter duly every night; he will
not miss you one tittle in the nine commandments.
BUN. There’s ten of ’em.
PUR. I fear he skips o’er one, Thou shall not steal.
BUN. Mass, like enough.
PUR. Else grace and memory would quite abash the boy.—
Thou graceless imp! ah, thou prodigious child,
Begot at some eclipse, degenerate rogue,
Shame to thy friends, and to thy master eke!
How far digressing from the noble mind
Of thy brave ancestors, that lie in marble
With their coat-armours o’er ’em!
BUN. Had he such friends?
PUR. The boy is well descended, though he be a rogue,
and has no feeling on’t; yet for my sake, and for my
reputation’s, seek not the blood of the boy; he’s near
allied to many men of worship now yet living; a fine old
man to his father; it would kill his heart, i’faith;
he’d away like a chrisom.[619]
BUN. Alas, good gentleman!
PUR. Ah, shameless villain, complain’st thou? dost
thou want?
BOY. No, no, no, no!
PUR. Art not well clad? thy hunger well resisted?
BOY. Yes, yes, yes, yes!
PUR. But thou shalt straight to Bridewell——
BOY. Sweet master!
PUR. Live upon bread and water and chap-choke.
BOY. I beseech your worship!
BUN. Come, I’ll be his surety for once.
PUR. You shall excuse me indeed, sir.
BUN. He will mend; ’a may prove an honest man for all
this. I know gallant gentlemen now that have done as
much as this comes to in their youth.
PUR. Say you so, sir?
BUN. And as for Bridewell, that will but make him worse;
’a will learn more knavery there in one week than will
furnish him and his heirs for a hundred year.
PUR. Deliver the boy!
BUN. Nay, I tell you true, sir; there’s none goes in
there a quean, but she comes out an arrant whore, I
warrant you.
PUR. The boy comes not there for a million!
BUN. No, you had better forgive him by ten parts.
PUR. True; but ’a must not know it comes from me.—
Down a’ your knees, you rogue,
And thank this gentleman has got your pardon.
BOY. O, I thank your worship!
PUR. A pox on you for a rogue;
You put me to my set speech once a quarter.
[_Aside to him._
GOL. Nay, gentlemen, you quite forget your hour;
Lead, master Bouser.
[_Exeunt all but_ GOLDSTONE _and Second Courtesan_.
SEC. C. Let me go: you’re a dissembler.
GOL. How?
SEC. C. Did not you promise me a new gown?
GOL. Did I not? yes, faith, did I, and thou shalt have
it.—Go, sirrah, [_calling to one off the stage_] run for
a tailor presently. Let me see for the colour now:
orange-tawney, peach colour—what sayst to a watchet[620]
satin?
_Enter Tailor._
SEC. C. O, ’tis the only colour I affect!
TAI. A very orient colour, an’t please your worships. I
made a gown on’t for a gentlewoman t’other day, and it
does passing well upon her.
GOL. A watchet satin gown——
TAI. There your worship left, sir.
GOL. Laid about, tailor——
TAI. Very good, sir.
GOL. With four fair laces.
TAI. That will be costly, sir.
GOL. How, you rogue, costly? out a’ th’ house, you
slipshod, sham-legged, brown-thread-penny-skeined
rascal!
SEC. C. Nay, my sweet love—— [_Exit Tailor._
GOL. Hang him, rogue! he’s but a botcher neither: come,
I’ll send thee a fellow worth a hundred of this, if the
slave were clean enough. [_Exeunt._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_Before_ TAILBY’S _Lodging_.
_Enter a Servant[621] bringing in a suit of satin, who
knocks at_ TAILBY’S _door, from which enter_ JACK.
JACK. Who knocks?
SER. A Christian: pray, is not this master Tailby’s
lodging? I was directed hither.
JACK. Yes, this is my master’s lodging.
SER. Cry you mercy, sir: is he yet stirring?
JACK. He’s awake, but not yet stirring, for he played
away half his clothes last night.
SER. My mistress commends her secrets unto him, and
presents him by me with a new satin suit here.
JACK. Mass, that comes happily.
SER. And she hopes the fashion will content him.
JACK. There’s no doubt to be had of that, sir: your
mistress’ name, I pray? you’re much preciously welcome.
SER. I thank you uncommonly, sir.
JACK. The suit shall be accepted, I warrant you, sir.
SER. That’s all my mistress desires, sir.
JACK. Fare you well, sir.
SER. Fare you well, sir. [_Exit._
JACK. This will make my master leap out of the bed for
joy, and dance Wigmore’s galliard[622] in his shirt
about the chamber![623] [_Exit into the house._
SCENE II.
_A Hall in_ TAILBY’S _Lodging_.
_Enter_ TAILBY, _and_ JACK _trussing him_.[624]
TAI. Came this suit from mistress Cleveland?
JACK. She sent it secretly, sir.
TAI. A pretty requiteful squall! I like that woman that
can remember a good turn three months after the date; it
shews both a good memory and a very feeling spirit.
JACK. This came fortunately, sir, after all your ill
luck last night.
TAI. I’d beastly casting, Jack.
JACK. O abominable, sir! you had the scurviest hand: the
old serving-man swooped up all.
TAI. I am glad the fortune lighted upon the poor fellow,
by my troth; it made his master mad.
JACK. Did you mark that, sir? I warrant he has the
doggedest master of any poor fellow under the dog-sign:
I’d rather serve your worship, I’ll say that behind your
back, sir, for nothing, as indeed I have no standing
wages at all, your worship knows.
TAI. O, but your vails, Jack, your vails considered,
when you run to and fro between me and mistresses——
JACK. I must confess my vails are able to keep an honest
man, go I where I list.
TAI. Go to then, Jack.
JACK. But those vails stand with the state of your body,
sir, as long as you hold up your head: if that droop
once, farewell you, farewell I, farewell all; and droop
it will, though all the caudles in Europe should put to
their helping hands to’t: ’tis e’en as uncertain as
playing, now up and now down;[625] for if the bill down
rise to above thirty, here’s no place for players; so if
your years rise to above forty, there’s no room for old
lechers.
TAI. And that’s[626] the reason all rooms are taken up
for young templars.
JACK. You’re in the right, sir.
TAI. Pize on’t, I pawned a good beaver hat to master
Frip last night, Jack: I feel the want of it now. Hark,
who’s that knocks? [_Knocking within._
_Enter a Servant, bringing in a letter and a beaver
hat._
SER. Is master Tailby stirring?
JACK. What’s your pleasure with him? he walks here i’
th’ hall.
SER. Give your worship good morrow.
TAI. Welcome, honest lad.
SER. A letter from my mistress.
TAI. Who’s thy mistress?
SER. Mistress Newblock.
TAI. Mistress Newblock, my sincere love! how does she?
SER. Faith, only ill in the want of your sight.
TAI. Alas, dear sweet! I’ve had such business, I protest
I ne’er stood still since I saw her.
SER. She has sent your worship a beaver hat here, with a
band best in fashion.
TAI. How shall I requite this dear soul?
SER. ’Tis not a thing fit for me to tell you, sir, for I
have three years to serve yet: your worship knows how, I
warrant you.
TAI. I know the drift of her letter; and for the beaver,
say I accept it highly.
SER. O, she will be a proud woman of that, sir!
TAI. And hark thee; tell thy mistress, as I’m a
gentleman, I’ll despatch her out of hand the first thing
I do, a’ my credit: canst thou remember these words now?
SER. Yes, sir; as you are a gentleman, you’ll despatch
her out of hand the first thing you do.
TAI. Ay, a’ my credit.
SER. O, of your credit; I thought not of that, sir.
TAI. Remember that, good boy.
SER. Fear it not now, sir. [_Exit._
TAI. I dreamt to-night, Jack, I should have a secret
supply out a’ th’ city.
JACK. Your dream crawls out partly well, sir.—
_Enter a Servant, bringing in a purse._
What news there now?
SER. I have an errand to master Tailby.
JACK. Yonder walks my master.
SER. Mistress Tiffany commends her to your worship, and
has sent you your ten pound in gold back again, and says
she cannot furnish you of the same lawn you desire till
after All-holland-tide.[627]
TAI. Thank her she would let me understand so much.
[_Exit Servant._]—Ha, ha!
This wench will live: why, this was sent like a
Workwoman now; the rest are botchers to her.
Faith, I commend her cunning: she’s a fool
That makes her servant fellow to her heart;
It robs her of respect, dams up all duty,
Keeps her in awe e’en of the slave she keeps:
This takes a wise course—I commend her more—
Sends back the gold I never saw before.
Well, women are my best friends [still], i’faith.
Take[628] lands: give me
Good legs, firm back, white hand, black eye, brown hair,
And add but to these five a comely stature;
Let others live by art, and I by nature. [_Exeunt._