B. KT.'S PAWN. Expect none very pleasing
That comes, sir, of my bringing; I'm for sad things.
B. KNIGHT. Thy conscience is so tender-hoof’d of late,
Every nail pricks it.
B. KT.'S PAWN. This may prick yours too,
If there be any quick flesh in a yard on’t.
B. KNIGHT. Mine?
Mischief must find a deep nail, and a driver
Beyond the strength of any Machiavel
The politic kingdoms fatten, to reach mine.
Prithee, compunction needle-prick’d, a little
Unbind this sore wound.
B. KT.'S PAWN. Sir, your plot’s discover’d.
B. KNIGHT. Which of the twenty thousand and nine
hundred
Four score and five? canst tell?
B. KT.'S PAWN. Bless us, so many!
How do poor countrymen have but one plot
To keep a cow on, yet in law for that?
You cannot know ’em all, sure, by their names, sir.
B. KNIGHT. Yes, were their numbers trebled: thou hast
seen
A globe stand on the table in my closet?
B. KT.'S PAWN. A thing, sir, full of countries and
hard words?
B. KNIGHT. True, with lines drawn, some tropical, some
oblique.
B. KT.'S PAWN. I scarce can read, I was brought up in
blindness.
B. KNIGHT. Just such a thing, if e’er my skull be
open’d,
Will my brains look like.
B. KT.'S PAWN. Like a globe of countries?
B. KNIGHT. Ay, and some master-politician,
That has sharp state[658]-eyes, will go near to
pick[659] out
The plots, and every[660] climate where they fasten’d;
'Twill puzzle ’em too.
B. KT.'S PAWN. I'm of your mind for that, sir.
B. KNIGHT. They’ll find ’em to fall thick upon some
countries;
They had need use spectacles: but I turn to you now;
What plot is that discover’d?
B. KT.'S PAWN. Your last brat, sir,
Begot ’twixt the Black Bishop and yourself,
Your ante-dated letters ’bout the Jesuit.
B. KNIGHT. Discover’d! how?
B. KT.'S PAWN. The White Knight’s policy hath
outstript yours,
Join’d with th' assistant counsel of his Duke:
The White Bishop’s Pawn[661] undertook the journey,
Who, as they say, discharg’d it like a flight,[662]
Ay, made him for the business fit and light.
B. KNIGHT. ’Tis but a bawdy Pawn out of the way;
Enough of them in all parts.[663]
_Enter on one side White King, White Queen, White
Knight, White Duke, White Bishop, Fat Bishop, and
White King’s Pawn; on the other, Black King, Black
Queen, Black Duke, and Black Bishop._
B. BISHOP. You have heard all then?
B. KNIGHT. The wonder’s past with me; but some shall
down for’t.
W. KING. Set free that[664] virtuous Pawn from all her
wrongs;
Let her be brought with honour to the face
Of her malicious adversaries. [_Exit W. Kg.’s Pawn._
B. KNIGHT. Good.
W. KING. Noble chaste Knight, a title of that candour
The greatest prince on earth without impeachment
May have the dignity of his worth compris’d in,
This fair delivering act Virtue will register
In that[665] white book of the defence of virgins,
Where the clear fames[666] of all preserving knights
Are to eternal memory consecrated;
And we embrace, as partner of that honour,
This worthy Duke,[667] the counsel of the act,
Whom we shall ever place in our respect.
W. DUKE. Most blest of kings, thron’d in all royal
graces,
Every good deed sends back its own reward
Into the bosom of the enterpriser;
But you t' express yourself as well to be
King of munificence[668] as integrity,
Adds glory to the gift.
W. KING. Thy desert claims it,
Zeal, and fidelity.—Appear, thou beauty
Of truth and innocency, best ornament
Of patience, thou that mak’st thy sufferings glorious!
_Re-enter White King’s Pawn with White Queen’s Pawn._
B. KNIGHT. I'll take no knowledge on’t. [_Aside._]—What
makes she here?
How dares yond Pawn unpenanc’d, with a cheek
Fresh as her falsehood yet, where castigation
Hath left no pale print of her visiting anguish,
Appear in this assembly?—Let me alone:
Sin must be bold; that’s[669] all the grace ’tis born
to. [_Aside._
W. KING. What’s this?
W. KNIGHT. I'm wonder-strook!
W. Q. PAWN. Assist me, goodness!
I shall to prison again.
B. KNIGHT. At least I've maz’d[670] ’em,
Scatter’d their admirations of her innocence,
As the fir’d ships[671] put in sever’d the fleet
In eighty-eight:[672] I'll on with’t; impudence
Is mischief’s patrimony. [_Aside._]—Is this justice?
Is injur’d reverence no sharplier righted?
I ever held that majesty impartial
That, like most equal heaven, looks on the manners,
Not on the shapes they shroud in.
W. KING.[673] This Black Knight
Will never take an answer; ’tis a victory
To make him understand he doth amiss,
When he knows in his own clear understanding
That he doth nothing else. Shew him the testimony,
Confirm’d by good men, how that foul attempter[674]
Got but this morning to the place from whence
He dated his forg’d lines for ten days past.
B. KNIGHT. Why, may not the corruption sleep in this
By some connivance, as you have wak’d in ours
By too rash confidence?
W. DUKE. I'll undertake
That Knight shall teach the devil how to lie.
W. KNIGHT. If sin were half so wise as impudent,[675]
She’d ne’er seek further for an advocate.
_Enter Black Queen’s Pawn._
B. Q. PAWN. Now to act treachery with an angel’s
tongue:
Since all’s come out, I'll bring him strangely in again.
[_Aside._
Where is this injur’d chastity, this goodness
Whose worth no transitory piece[676] can value?[677]
This rock of constant and invincible virtue,
That made sin’s tempest weary of his fury?
B. QUEEN. What, is my Pawn distracted?
B. KNIGHT. I think rather
There is some notable masterprize of roguery
This[678] drum strikes up for.
B. Q. PAWN. Let me fall with reverence
Before this blessed altar.
B. QUEEN. This is madness.
B. KNIGHT. Well, mark the end; I stand for roguery
still,
I will not change my side.
B. Q. PAWN. I shall be tax’d, I know;
I care not what the Black House thinks of me.
B. QUEEN. What say you now?
B. KNIGHT. I will not be unlaid yet.
B. Q. PAWN. However[679] censure flies, I honour
sanctity;
That is my object, I intend no other:
I saw this glorious and most valiant virtue
Fight the most noblest combat with the devil.
B. KNIGHT. If both the Bishops had been there for
seconds,
'Thad been a complete duel.
W. KING.[680] Then thou heard’st
The violence intended?
B. Q. PAWN. ’Tis a truth
I joy to justify: I was an agent
On virtue’s part, and rais’d that confus’d noise
That startled his attempt, and gave her liberty.
W. Q. PAWN. O, ’tis a righteous story she hath told,
sir!
My life and fame stand[681] mutually engag’d.
Both to the truth and goodness of this Pawn.
W. KING.[682] Doth it appear to you yet clear as the
sun?
B. KNIGHT. ’Las, I believ’d it long before ’twas done!
B. KING.[683] Degenerate ——
B. QUEEN. Base ——
B. BISHOP. Perfidious ——
B. DUKE. Traitrous Pawn!
B. Q. PAWN. What, are you all beside[684] yourselves?
B. KNIGHT. But I;
Remember that, Pawn.
B. Q. PAWN. May a fearful barrenness
Blast both my hopes and pleasures, if I brought not
Her ruin in my pity! a new trap
For her more sure confusion.
B. KNIGHT. Have I won now?
Did I not say ’twas craft and machination?
I smelt conspiracy all the way it went,
Although the mess were cover’d; I'm so us’d to’t.
B. KING.[685] That Queen would I fain finger.
B. KNIGHT. You’re too hot, sir;
If she were took, the game would be ours quickly:
My aim’s at that White Knight; entrap him first,
The Duke will follow too.
B. BISHOP. I would that Bishop
Were in my diocese! I'd soon change his whiteness.
B. KNIGHT. Sir, I could whip you up a Pawn
immediately;
I know where my game stands.
B. KING. Do’t[686] suddenly;
Advantage least must not be lost in this play.
B. KNIGHT. Pawn, thou art ours.
[_Seizes W. Kg.'s Pawn._
W. KNIGHT. He’s taken by default,
By wilful negligence. Guard the sacred persons;
Look well to the White Bishop, for that Pawn
Gave guard to the Queen and him in the third place.
B. KNIGHT. See what sure piece you lock[687] your
confidence in!
I made this Pawn here by corruption ours,
As soon as honour by creation yours.
This whiteness upon him is but the leprosy
Of pure dissimulation: view him now,
His heart and his intents are of our colour.
[_The upper garment of W. Kg’s Pawn being taken off,
he appears black underneath._
W. KING.[688] Most dangerous hypocrite!
W. DUKE. One made against us!
W. QUEEN. His truth of this[689] complexion!
W. KING. Hath my goodness,
Clemency, love, and favour gracious, rais’d thee
From a condition next to popular labour,
Took thee from all the dubitable hazards
Of fortune, her most unsecure adventures,
And grafted thee into a branch of honour,
And dost thou fall from the top-bough by the rottenness
Of thy alone corruption, like a fruit
That’s over-ripen’d by the beams of favour?
Let thine own weight reward thee; I've forgot thee:
Integrity of life is so dear to me,
Where I find falsehood or a crying sin,
Be it in any whom our grace shines most on,
I'd tear ’em from my heart.
W. BISHOP. Spoke like heaven’s substitute!
W. KING. You have him, we can spare him; and his shame
Will make the rest look better to their game.
B. KING. The more cunning we must use then.
B. KNIGHT.[690] We shall match you,
Play how you can, perhaps and mate you too.
F. BISHOP. Is there so much amazement spent on him
That’s but half black? there might be hope of that man;
But how will this House wonder if I stand forth
And shew a whole one, instantly discover
One that’s all black, where there’s no hope at all!
W. KING. I'll say, thy heart then justifies thy books;
I long for that discovery.
F. BISHOP. Look no further then:
Bear witness, all the House, I am the man,
And turn myself into the Black House freely;
I am of this side now.
W. KING.[691] Monster ne’er match’d him!
B. KING.[692] This is your noble work, Knight.
B. KNIGHT. Now I'll halter him.
F. BISHOP. Next news you hear, expect my books against
you,
Printed at Douay, Brussels, or Spalato.[693]
W. KING. See his goods seiz’d on!
F. BISHOP. ’Las, they were all convey’d
Last night by water[694], to a tailor’s house,
A friend of[695] the Black cause.
W. KING. A prepar’d hypocrite!
W. DUKE. Premeditated turncoat
[_Exeunt W. King, W. Queen, W. Knight, W.
Duke, and W. Bishop._
F. BISHOP. Yes, rail on;
I'll reach you in my writings when I'm gone.
B. KNIGHT. Flatter him a while with honours till we
put him
Upon some dangerous service, and then burn him.
B. KING. This came unlook’d for.
B. DUKE. How we joy to see you!
F. BISHOP. Now I'll discover all the White House to
you.
B. DUKE. Indeed, that will both reconcile and raise
you.
[_Exeunt B. King, B. Queen, B. Duke, B.
Bishop, and F. Bishop._
W. KG.'S PAWN. I rest upon you, Knight, for my
advancement now.
B. KNIGHT. O, for the staff, the strong staff that
will hold,
And the red hat, fit for the guilty mazzard?[696]
Into the empty bag know thy first way:
Pawns that are lost are ever out of play.
W. KG.'S PAWN. How’s this?
B. KNIGHT. No replications, you know me:[697]
No doubt ere long you’ll have more company;
The bag is big enough, ’twill hold us all.
[_Exeunt B. Knight, W. Kg.'s Pawn, and
B. Kt.'s Pawn._
W. Q. PAWN. I sue to thee, prithee, be one of us!
Let my love win thee: thou’st done truth this day
And yesterday my[698] honour noble service;
The best Pawn of our House could not transcend it.
B. Q. PAWN. My pity flam’d with zeal, especially
When I foresaw your marriage, then it mounted.
W. Q. PAWN. How! marriage?
B. Q. PAWN. That[699] contaminating act
Would have spoil’d all your fortunes—a rape! bless
us![700]
W. Q. PAWN. Thou talk’st of marriage!
B. Q. PAWN. Yes, yes, you do marry; I saw the man.
W. Q. PAWN. The man!
B. Q. PAWN. An absolute handsome[701] gentleman, a
complete one,—
You’ll say so when you see him,—heir to three red hats,
Besides his general hopes in the Black House.
W. Q. PAWN. Why, sure thou’rt much mistaken in[702]
this man;
I've promis’d single life to all my affections.
B. Q. PAWN. Promise you what you will, or I, or all
on’s,
There’s a fate rules and overrules us all, methinks.
W. Q. PAWN. Why, how came you to see or know this
mystery?
B. Q. PAWN. A magical glass I bought of an Egyptian,
Whose stone retains that speculative virtue,
Presented the man to me: your name brings him
As often as I use it; and methinks
I never have enough, person[703] and postures
Are all so pleasing.
W. Q. PAWN. This is wondrous strange!
The faculties of soul are still the same,
I can feel no one motion tend that way.
B. Q. PAWN. We do not always feel the[704] faith we
live by,
Nor ever see our growth, yet both work upward.
W. Q. PAWN. ’Twas well applied; but may I see him too?
B. Q. PAWN. Surely you may, without all doubt or fear,
Observing the right use as I was taught it,
Not looking back nor[705] questioning the spectre.
W. Q. PAWN. That’s no hard observation; trust it with
me:
Is’t possible? I long to see this man.
B. Q. PAWN. Pray follow me then, and I'll ease you
instantly. [_Exeunt._
_Enter a Black Jesting Pawn._
B. J. PAWN. I would so fain take one of these White
Pawns now!
I'd make him do all under-drudgery,
Feed him with asses' milk crumm’d with goats' cheese,
And all the white meats could be devis’d for him;
_Enter a White Pawn._
So make him my white jennet when I prance it[706]
After the Black Knight’s litter.
W. PAWN. And you’d look then
Just like the devil striding o’er a nightmare
Made of a miller’s daughter.
B. J. PAWN. A pox on you,[707]
Were you so near? I'm taken, like a blackbird
In the great snow, this White Pawn grinning o’er me.
W. PAWN. And now because I will not foul my clothes
Ever hereafter, for white quickly soils you know—
B. J. PAWN. I prithee, get thee gone then, I shall
smut thee.
W. PAWN. No, I'll put that to venture; now I've
snapt[708] thee,
Thou shalt do all the dirty drudgery
That slavery was e’er put to.
B. J. PAWN. I shall cozen you:
You may chance come and find your work undone then,
For I'm too proud to labour,—I'll starve first;
I tell you that beforehand.
W. PAWN. And I'll fit you then
With a black whip, that shall not be behindhand.
B. J. PAWN. Pish, I've been us’d to whipping; I have
whipt
Myself three mile out of town in a morning; and
I can fast a fortnight, and make all your meat
Stink and lie on your hand.
W. PAWN. To prevent that,
Your food shall be blackberries, and upon gaudy-days
A pickled spider, cut out like an anchovas:
I'm not to learn a monkey’s ordinary.[709]
Come, sir, will you frisk?
_Enter a Second Black Pawn._
SEC. B. PAWN. Soft, soft, you! you have no
Such bargain on’t, if you look well about you.
W. PAWN. I am snapt too, a Black Pawn in the breech of
me!
We three look like a bird-spit, a white chick
Between two russet woodcocks.
B. J. PAWN. I'm so glad of this!
W. PAWN. But you shall have but small cause, for I'll
firk[710] you.
SEC. B. PAWN. Then I'll firk you again.
W. PAWN. And I'll firk him again.
B. J. PAWN. Mass,[711] here will be old[712] firking!
I shall have
The worst on’t, for[713] I can firk nobody.
We draw together now for all the world
Like three flies with one straw thorough their buttocks.
[_Exeunt._[714]
SCENE II.
_A chamber, with a large mirror._
_Enter Black Queen’s Pawn and White Queen’s Pawn._
B. Q. PAWN. This is the room he did appear to me in;
And, look you, this the magical glass that shew’d him.
W. Q. PAWN. I find no motion yet: what should I think
on’t?
A sudden fear invades me, a faint trembling,
Under this omen,
As is oft felt the panting of a turtle
Under a stroking hand.
B. Q. PAWN. That bodes good luck still,
Sign you shall change state speedily; for that trembling
Is always the first symptom of a bride.
For any vainer fears that may accompany
His apparition, by my truth to friendship,
I quit you of the least; never was object
More gracefully presented; the very air
Conspires to do him honour, and creates
Sweet vocal sounds, as if a bridegroom enter’d;
Which argues the blest harmony of your[715] loves.
W. Q. PAWN. And will the using of my name produce him?
B. Q. PAWN. Nay, of yours only, else the wonder
halted:
To clear you of that doubt, I'll put the difference
In practice, the first thing I do, and make
His invocation in the name of others.
W. Q. PAWN. ’Twill satisfy me much that.
B. Q. PAWN. It shall be done.—
Thou, whose gentle form and face
Fill’d lately this Egyptic glass,
By th' imperious powerful name
And the universal fame
Of the mighty Black-House Queen,
I conjure thee to be seen!—
What, see you nothing yet?
W. Q. PAWN. Not any part:
Pray, try another.
B. Q. PAWN. You shall have your will.—
I double my command and power,
And at the instant of this hour
Invoke thee in the White Queen’s name,
With stay[716] for time, and shape the same.—
What see you yet?
W. Q. PAWN. There’s nothing shews at all.
B. Q. PAWN. My truth reflects the clearer then: now
fix
And bless your fair eye with your own for ever.
Thou well-compos’d, by Fate’s hand drawn
To enjoy the White Queen’s Pawn,
Of whom thou shalt by virtue met
Many graceful issues get;
By the beauty of her fame,
By the whiteness of her name,
By her fair and fruitful love,
By her truth that mates the dove,
By the meekness of her mind,
By the softness of her kind,[717]
By the lustre of her grace,—
By all these thou art summon’d to this place!—
Hark, how the air, enchanted with your praises
And his approach, those words to sweet notes raises!
_Music: enter Black Bishop’s Pawn, richly attired, like
an apparition, and stands before the glass; then
exit._
W. Q. PAWN. O, let him stay a while! a little longer!
B. Q. PAWN. That’s a good hearing.
W. Q. PAWN. If he be mine, why should he part so soon?
B. Q. PAWN. Why, this is but the shadow of yours. How
do you?
W. Q. PAWN. O, I did ill to give consent to see it!
What certainty is in our blood or state?
What we still write is blotted out by fate;
Our wills are[718] like a cause that is law-tost,
What one court orders, is by another crost.
B. Q. PAWN. I find no fit place for this passion[719]
here,
’Tis merely[720] an intruder. He’s a gentleman
Most wishfully compos’d; honour grows on him,
And wealth pil’d up for him; has youth enough too,
And yet in the sobriety of his countenance
Grave as a tetrarch, which is gracious
I' th' eye of modest pleasure. Where’s the emptiness?
What can you more request?
W. Q. PAWN. I do not know
What answer yet to make; it doth require
A meeting ’twixt my fear and my desire.
B. Q. PAWN. She’s caught, and, which is strange, by
her most wronger. [_Aside._
[_Exeunt._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_Field between the two Houses._
_Enter severally Black Knight’s Pawn, and Black Bishop’s
Pawn in his gallant habit._[721]
B. KT.'S PAWN. It’s he, my confessor; he might have
pass’d me
Seven year together, had I not by chance
Advanc’d mine eye upon that letter’d hat-band,
The Jesuitical symbol to be known by,
Worn by the brave collegians with[722] consent:
’Tis a strange habit for a holy father,
A president of poverty especially;
But we, the sons and daughters of obedience,
Dare not once think awry, but must confess ourselves
As humbly to the father of that feather,[723]
Long spur, and poniard, as to the alb and altar,
And happy we’re so highly[724] grac’d to attain to’t.
[_Aside._
Holy and reverend!
B. B. PAWN. How, hast found me out?
B. KT.'S PAWN. O sir, put on the sparkling’st
trim[725] of glory,
Perfection will shine foremost; and I knew you
By the catholical[726] mark you wear about you,
The mark above your forehead.
B. B. PAWN. Are you grown
So ambitious in your observance? well, your business?
I have my game to follow.
B. KT.'S PAWN. I have a worm
Follows me so, that I can follow no game:
The most faint-hearted pawn, if he could see his play,
Might snap me up at pleasure. I desire, sir,
To be absolv’d: my conscience being at ease,
I could then with more courage ply my game.
B. B. PAWN. ’Twas a base fact.
B. KT.'S PAWN. ’Twas to a schismatic pawn, sir.
B. B. PAWN. What’s that to the nobility of revenge?
Suffices[727] I have neither will nor power
To give you absolution for that violence.
Make your petition to the Penance-chamber:
If the tax-register relieve you in’t
By the Black Bishop’s clemency, you have wrought out
A singular piece of favour with your money;
That’s all your refuge now.
B. KT.'S PAWN. The sting shoots deeper. [_Exit._
_Enter White Queen’s Pawn and Black Queen’s Pawn._
B. B. PAWN. Yonder’s my game, which, like a politic
chess-master,
I must not seem to see.
W. Q. PAWN. O my heart! ’tis he.[728]
B. Q. PAWN. That ’tis.
W. Q. PAWN. The very self-same that the magical mirror
Presented lately to me.
B. Q. PAWN. And how like
A most regardless[729] stranger he walks by,
Merely[730] ignorant of his fate! you are not minded,
The principall’st part of him. What strange mysteries
Inscrutable love works by!
W. Q. PAWN. The time, you see,
Is not yet come.
B. Q. PAWN. But ’tis in our power now[731]
To bring time nearer—knowledge is a mastery—
And make it observe us, and not we it.
W. Q. PAWN. I would force nothing from its proper
virtue;
Let time have his full course. I had rather die
The modest death of undiscover’d love
Than have heaven’s least and lowest servant suffer,
Or in his motion receive check, for me.
How is my soul’s growth alter’d! that single life,
The fittest garment that peace ever made for’t,
Is grown too strait, too stubborn on the sudden.
B. Q. PAWN. He comes this way again.
W. Q. PAWN. O, there’s a traitor
Leapt from my heart into my cheek already,
That will betray all to his powerful eye,
If it but glance upon me!
B. Q. PAWN. By my verity,
Look, he’s past by again, drown’d in neglect,
Without the prosperous hint of so much happiness
To look upon his fortune! How close fate
Seals up the eye of human understanding,
Till, like the sun’s flower, time and love unclose[732]
it!
'Twere pity he should dwell in ignorance longer.
W. Q. PAWN. What will you do?
B. Q. PAWN. Yes, die a bashful death, do,
And let the remedy pass by unus’d still:
You’re chang’d enough already, if you’d look into’t.—
Absolute sir, with your most noble pardon
For this my rude intrusion, I am bold
To bring the knowledge of a secret nearer
By many days, sir, than it would arrive
In its own proper revelation with you.
Pray, turn and fix: do you know yond noble goodness?
B. B. PAWN. ’Tis the first minute mine eye blest me
with her,
And clearly shews how much my knowledge wanted,
Not knowing her till now.
B. Q. PAWN. She’s to be lik’d then?
Pray, view advisedly: there is strong reason
That I'm so bold to urge it; you must guess
The work concerns you nearer than you think for.
B. B. PAWN. Her glory and the wonder of this secret
Put[733] a reciprocal amazement on me.
B. Q. PAWN. And ’tis not without worth: you two must
be
Better acquainted.
B. B. PAWN. Is there cause, affinity,
Or any courteous help creation joys in,
To bring that forward?
B. Q. PAWN. Yes, yes, I can shew you
The nearest way to that perfection
Of a most virtuous one that joy e’er found.
Pray, mark her once again, then follow me,
And I will shew you her must be your wife, sir.
B. B. PAWN. The mystery extends, or else creation
Hath set that admirable piece before us
To choose our chaste delights by.
B. Q. PAWN. Please you follow, sir.
B. B. PAWN. What art have you to put me on an object
And cannot get me off! ’tis pain to part from’t.
[_Exit with Black Queen’s Pawn._
W. Q. PAWN. If there prove no check in that magical
glass now,
But my proportion come as fair and full
Into his eye as his into mine lately,
Then I'm confirm’d he is mine own for ever.
_Re-enter Black Queen’s Pawn and Black Bishop’s Pawn._
B. B. PAWN. The very self-same that the mirror blest me
with,
From head to foot, the beauty and the habit!—
Kept you this place still? did you not remove, lady?
W. Q. PAWN. Not a foot further, sir.
B. B. PAWN. Is’t possible?
I would have sworn I had seen the substance yonder,
’Twas to that lustre, to that life presented.
W. Q. PAWN. Even so was yours to me, sir.
B. B. PAWN. Saw you mine?
W. Q. PAWN. Perfectly clear; no sooner my name us’d
But yours appear’d.
B. B. PAWN. Just so did yours at mine now.
B. Q. PAWN. Why stand you idle? will you let time
cozen you,
Protracting time, of those delicious benefits
That fate hath mark’d[734] to you? You modest pair
Of blushing gamesters,—and you, sir, the bashfull’st,
I cannot flatter a foul fault in any,—
Can you be more than man and wife assign’d,
And by a power the most irrevocable?[735]
Others, that be adventurers in delight,
May meet with crosses, shame,[736] or separation;
You know the mind of fate, you must be coupled.
B. B. PAWN. She speaks but truth in this: I see no
reason then
That we should miss the relish of this night,
But that we are both shamefac’d.
W. Q. PAWN. How? this night, sir?
Did not I know you must be mine, and therein
Your privilege runs strong, for that loose motion
You never should be. Is it not my fortune
To match with a pure mind? then am I miserable.
The doves and all chaste-loving winged creatures
Have their pairs fit, their desires justly mated;
Is woman more unfortunate, a virgin,
The May of woman? Fate, that hath ordain’d, sir,
We should be man[737] and wife, hath not given warrant
For any act of knowledge till we are so.
B. B. PAWN. Tender-ey’d modesty, how it grieves[738]
at this!
I'm as far off, for all this strange imposture,
As at first interview. Where lies our game now?
You know I cannot marry[739] by mine order.
B. Q. PAWN. I know you cannot, sir; yet you may
venture
Upon a contract.
B. B. PAWN. Hah!
B. Q. PAWN. Surely you may, sir,
Without all question, so far without danger,
Or any stain to your vow; and that may take her:
Nay, do’t with speed; she’ll think you mean the better
too.
B. B. PAWN. Be not so lavish of that blessed spring;
You’ve wasted that upon a cold occasion now
Would wash a sinful soul white. By our love-joys,
That motion shall ne’er light upon my tongue more
Till we’re contracted; then, I hope, you’re mine.
W. Q. PAWN. In all just duty ever.
B. Q. PAWN. Then? do you question it?
Pish! then you’re man and wife, all but church-ceremony:
Pray, let’s see that done first; she shall do reason
then.—
Now I'll enjoy the sport, and cozen you both:
My blood’s game is the wages I have work’d for.
[_Aside. Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_An apartment in the Black House._
_Enter Black Knight and Black Knight’s Pawn._
B. KNIGHT. Pawn, I have spoke to the Fat Bishop for
thee;
I'll get thee absolution from his own mouth.
Reach me my chair of ease, my chair of cozenage;
Seven thousand pounds in women, reach me that:
I love a' life[740] to sit upon a bank
Of heretic gold. O, soft and gently, sirrah!
There’s a foul flaw[741] i' the bottom of my drum, Pawn:
I ne’er shall make sound soldier, but sound
treacher[742]
With any he in Europe. How now? qualm?
Thou hast the puking’st soul that e’er I met with;
It cannot bear one suckling villany:
Mine can digest a monster without crudity,
A sin as weighty as an elephant,
And never wamble for’t.
B. KT.'S PAWN. Ay, you’ve been us’d to’t, sir;
That’s a great help. The swallow of my conscience
Hath but a narrow passage; you must think yet
It lies i' the penitent pipe, and will not down:
If I had got seven thousand pounds by offices,
And gull’d[743] down that, the bore would have been
bigger.
B. KNIGHT. Nay, if thou prov’st facetious, I shall hug
thee.
Can a soft, rear,[744] poor-poach’d[745] iniquity
So ride upon thy conscience? I'm asham’d of thee.
Hadst thou betray’d the White House to the Black,
Beggar’d a kingdom by dissimulation,
Unjointed[746] the fair frame of peace and traffic,
Poison’d allegiance, set faith back, and wrought
Women’s soft souls even up to masculine malice,
To pursue truth to death, if the cause rous’d ’em,
That stares[747] and parrots are first taught to curse
thee——
B. KT.'S PAWN. Ay, marry, sir, here’s swapping sins
indeed!
B. KNIGHT. All these, and ten times trebled, hath this
brain
Been parent to; they are my offsprings all.
B. KT.'S PAWN. A goodly brood!
B. KNIGHT. Yet I can jest as lightly,[748]
Laugh and tell stirring stories to court-madams,
Daughters of my seducement, with alacrity
As high and hearty as youth’s time of innocence
That never knew a sin to shape a sorrow by:
I feel no tempest, not a leaf wind-stirring
To shake a fault; my conscience is becalm’d rather.
B. KT.'S PAWN. I'm sure there is a whirlwind huffs in
mine, sir.
B. KNIGHT. Sirrah, I've sold the groom-of-the stole
six times,
And receiv’d money of six several ladies
Ambitious to take place of baronets' wives:
To three[749] old mummy matrons I have promis’d
The mothership o' the maids: I've taught our friends too
To convey White-House gold to our Black kingdom
In cold bak’d pasties, and so cozen searchers:
For venting hallow’d oil, beads, medals, pardons,
Pictures, Veronica’s heads in private presses,
That’s done by one i' th' habit of a pedlar;
Letters convey’d in rolls, tobacco-balls:
When a restraint comes, by my politic counsel,
Some of our Jesuits turn[750] gentlemen-ushers,
Some falconers, some park-keepers, and some huntsmen;
One took the shape of an old lady’s cook once,
And despatch’d two chares[751] on a Sunday morning,
The altar and the dresser. Pray, what use
Put I my summer-recreation to,
But more t' inform my knowledge in the state
And strength of the White Kingdom? no fortification,
Haven, creek, landing-place about the White coast,
But I got draft and platform; learn’d[752] the depth
Of all their channels, knowledge of all sands,
Shelves, rocks, and rivers for invasion properest;
A catalogue of all the navy royal,
The burthen of each ship, the brassy murderers,[753]
The number of the men, to what cape bound:
Again, for the discovery of the inlands,
Never a shire but the state better known
To me than to her breast[754]-inhabitants;
What power of men and horse, gentry’s revenues,
Who well affected to our side, who ill,
Who neither well nor ill, all the neutrality:
Thirty-eight thousand souls have been seduc’d, Pawn,
Since the jails[755] vomited with the pill I gave ’em.
B. KT.'S PAWN. Sure, you put oil of toad into[756]
that physic, sir.
B. KNIGHT. I'm now about a masterpiece of play
T' entrap the White Knight, and with false allurements
Entice him to the Black House,—more will follow,—
Whilst our Fat Bishop sets upon the Queen;
Then will our game lie sweetly.
_Enter Fat Bishop with a book._
B. KT.'S PAWN. He’s come now, sir.
F. BISHOP. Here’s _Taxa Pœnitentiaria_, Knight,
The Book of General Pardons, of all prices:
I have been searching for his sin this half hour,
And cannot light upon’t.
B. KNIGHT. That’s strange; let me see’t.
B. KT.'S PAWN. Wretched that I am! hath my rage done
that
There is no precedent of pardon for?
B. KNIGHT. [_reads_] _For wilful murder thirteen pound
four shillings
And sixpence_,—that’s reasonable cheap,—_For killing,
Killing, killing, killing, killing, killing_—
Why, here’s nothing but _killing_, Bishop, on this side.
F. BISHOP. Turn the sheet o’er, and you shall find
adultery
And other trivial sins.
B. KNIGHT. Adultery? O,
I'm in’t now—[_reads_] _For adultery a couple
Of shillings, and for fornication fivepence_,—
Mass,[757] these are two good pennyworths! I cannot
See how a man can mend himself—_For lying
With mother, sister, or[758] daughter_,—ay, marry, sir,—
_Thirty-three pounds three shillings and[759]
threepence_,—
The sin’s gradation right, paid all in threes too.
F. BISHOP. You’ve read the story of that monster, sir,
That got his daughter, sister, and his wife
Of his own mother?
B. KNIGHT. [_reads_] _Simony, nine pound._
F. BISHOP. They may thank me for that; it was nineteen
Before I came;
I've mitigated many of the sums.[760]
B. KNIGHT. [_reads_] _Sodomy, sixpence_—you should put
that sum
Ever on the backside of your book, Bishop.
F. BISHOP. There’s few on’s very forward, sir.
B. KNIGHT. What’s here, sir? [_reads_] _Two old
precedents of encouragement_——
F. BISHOP. Ay, those are ancient notes.
B. KNIGHT. [_reads_] _Given, as a gratuity, for the
killing of an heretical prince with a poisoned knife,
ducats five thousand._[761]
F. BISHOP. True, sir; that was paid.
B. KNIGHT. [_reads_] _Promised also to doctor Lopez[762]
for poisoning the maiden queen of the White Kingdom,
ducats twenty thousand; which said sum was afterwards
given as a meritorious alms to the nunnery at Lisbon,
having at this present ten thousand pounds more at use
in the town-house of Antwerp._
B. KT.'S PAWN. What’s all this to my conscience,
worthy holiness?
I sue for pardon; I've brought money with me.
F. BISHOP. You must depart; you see there is no
precedent
Of any price or pardon for your fact.
B. KT.'S PAWN. Most miserable! Are fouler sins
remitted,
Killing, nay, wilful murder?
F. BISHOP. True, there’s instance:
Were you to kill him, I would pardon you;
There’s precedent for that, and price set down,
But none for gelding.
B. KT.'S PAWN. I've pick’d out understanding now for
ever
Out of that cabalistic bloody riddle:
I'll make away all my estate,[763] and kill him,
And by that act obtain full absolution.
[_Aside, and exit._
_Enter Black King._
B. KING. Why, Bishop, Knight, where’s your removes,
your traps?
Stand you now idle in the heat of game?
B. KNIGHT. My life for yours, Black sovereign, the
game’s ours;
I have wrought underhand for the White Knight
And his brave Duke, and find ’em coming both.
F. BISHOP. Then for their sanctimonious Queen’s
surprisal, sir,
In that state-puzzle and distracted hurry,
Trust my arch-subtlety with.
B. KING.[764] O eagle pride!
Never was game more hopeful of our side.
[_Exeunt B. King and F. Bishop._
B. KNIGHT. If Bishop[765] Bull-beef be not snapt[766]
next[767] bout,
As the men stand, I'll never trust art more. [_Exit._
SCENE III.
_Dumb Show._
_Recorders. Enter Black Queen’s Pawn with a taper in her
hand; she conducts White Queen’s Pawn, in her
night-attire,[768] into one chamber, and then
conveys Black Bishop’s Pawn, in his night-habit,
into another chamber, and putting out the light,
follows him._
SCENE IV.
_Field between the two Houses._
_Enter White Knight and White Duke._
W. KNIGHT. True, noble Duke, fair virtue’s[769] most
endear’d one;
Let us prevent[770] their rank insinuation
With truth of cause and courage, meet their plots
With confident goodness that shall strike’em grovelling.
W. DUKE. Sir, all the gins, traps, and alluring
snares,
The devil hath been at work since eighty-eight[771] on,
Are laid for the great hope of this game only.
W. KNIGHT. Why, the more noble will truth’s triumph
be:
When they have wound about our constant courages
The glittering’st[772] serpent that e’er falsehood
fashion’d,
And glorying most in his resplendent poisons,
Just heaven can find a bolt to bruise his head.
W. DUKE. Look, would you see destruction lie
a-sunning?
_Enter Black Knight._
In yonder smile sit[773] blood and treachery basking;
In that perfidious model of face[774]-falsehood
Hell is drawn grinning.
W. KNIGHT. What a pain it is
For truth to feign a little!
B. KNIGHT. O fair Knight,
The rising glory of that House of Candour,
Have I so many protestations lost,
Lost, lost, quite lost? am I not worth your confidence?
I that have vow’d the faculties of soul,
Life, spirit, and brain, to your sweet game of youth,
Your noble, fruitful game? Can you mistrust
Any foul play in me, that have been ever
The most submiss observer of your virtues,
And no way tainted with ambition,
Save only to be thought your[775] first admirer?
How often have I chang’d, for your delight,
The royal presentation of my place
Into a mimic jester, and become,
For your sake and th' expulsion of sad thoughts,
Of a grave state-sire[776] a light son of pastime,
Made three-score years a tomboy, a mere wanton!
I'll tell you what I told a Savoy dame once,
New-wed, high-plump, and lusting for an issue:
Within the year I promis’d her a child,
If she could[777] stride over saint Rumbant’s[778]
breeches,
A relique kept at Mechlin: the next morning
One my followers' old hose[779] was convey’d
Into her chamber, where she tried the feat;
By that, and a court-friend, after grew great.
W. KNIGHT. Why, who could be without thee?
B. KNIGHT. I will change
To any shape to please you; and my aim
Hath been to win your love in all this game.
W. KNIGHT. Thou hast it nobly, and we long to see
The Black-House pleasure, state, and dignity.
B. KNIGHT. Of honour you’ll so surfeit and delight,
You’ll ne’er desire again to see the White. [_Exeunt._
_Enter White Queen._
W. QUEEN. My love, my hope, my dearest! O, he’s gone,
Ensnar’d, entrapt, surpris’d amongst the Black ones!
I never felt extremity like this:
Thick darkness dwells upon this hour; integrity,
Like one of heaven’s bright luminaries, now
By error’s dullest element interpos’d,
Suffers a black eclipse. I never was
More sick of love than now I am of horror:
I shall be taken; the game’s lost, I'm set upon!—
_Enter Fat Bishop._
O, ’tis the turncoat Bishop, having watch’d
Th' advantage of his play, comes now to seize on me!
O, I am hard beset, distrest most miserably!
F. BISHOP. ’Tis vain to stir; remove which way you
can,
I take you now; this is the time we’ve hop’d for:
Queen, you must down.
W. QUEEN. No rescue, no deliverance![780]
F. BISHOP. The Black King’s blood burns for thy
prostitution,
And nothing but die spring of thy chaste virtue
Can cool his inflammation; instantly
_Enter White Bishop._
He dies upon a plurisy of luxury,[781]
If he deflower thee not.
W. QUEEN. O strait of misery!
W. BISHOP. And is your holiness his divine procurer?
F. BISHOP. The devil’s in’t, I'm taken by a ring-dove!
Where stood this Bishop that I saw him not?
W. BISHOP. O,[782] you were so ambitious you look’d
o’er me!
You aim’d at no less person than the Queen,
The glory of the game; if she were won,
The way were open to the master-check,
_Enter White King._
Which, look you, he and his live[783] to give you;
Honour and virtue guide him in his station!
W. QUEEN. O my safe sanctuary!
W. KING. Let heaven’s blessings
Be mine no longer than I am thy sure one!
The dove’s house is not safer in the rock
Than thou in my firm bosom.
W. QUEEN. I am blest in’t.
W. KING. Is it that lump of rank ingratitude,
Swell’d with the poison of hypocrisy?
Could he be so malicious, hath partaken
Of the sweet fertile blessings of our kingdom?—
Bishop, thou’st done our White House gracious service,
And worthy the fair reverence of thy place.—
For thee, Black holiness, that work’st out thy death
As the blind mole, the properest son of earth,
Who, in the casting his ambitious hills up,
Is often taken and destroy’d i' the midst
Of his advancèd work; ’twere well with thee
If, like that verminous labourer, which thou imitat’st
In hills of pride and malice, when death puts thee up,
The silent grave might prove thy bag for ever;
No deeper pit than that: for thy vain hope
Of the White Knight and his most firm assistant,
Two princely pieces, which I know thy thoughts
Give lost for ever now, my strong assurance
Of their fix’d virtues, could you let in seas
Of populous untruths against that fort,
'Twould burst the proudest billows.
W. QUEEN. My fear’s past then.
W. KING. Fear? you were never[784] guilty of an injury
To goodness, but in that.
W. QUEEN. It stay’d not with me, sir.
W. KING. It was too much if it usurp’d a thought:
Place a strong[785] guard there.
W. QUEEN. Confidence is set, sir.
W. KING. Take that prize hence; go, reverend of men,
Put covetousness into the bag again.
F. BISHOP. The bag had need be sound, or’t goes to
wrack;
Sin and my weight will make a strong one crack.
[_Exeunt._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_Before the Black House._
_Loud music.[786] Black Bishop’s Pawn discovered above:
enter Black Knight in his litter,[787] as passing in
haste over the stage._
B. KNIGHT. Hold, hold!
Is the Black Bishop’s Pawn, the Jesuit,
Planted above for his concise oration?[788]
B. B. PAWN. _Ecce triumphantis_[789] _me fixum Cæsaris
arce!_
B. KNIGHT. Art there, my holy boy? sirrah, Bishop
Tumbrel
Is snapt[790] i' the bag by this time.
B. B. PAWN. _Hæretici pereant sic!_
B. KNIGHT. All Latin! sure th' oration hath infected
him.
Away, away, make haste, they are coming.
_Hautboys again.[791] Enter Black King, Black Queen,
Black Duke, with Pawns, meeting White Knight
and White Duke: Black Bishop’s Pawn from above
entertains him[792] with this Latin oration_:[793]
B. B. PAWN. _Si quid mortalibus unquam oculis hilarem et
gratum aperuit diem, si quid peramantibus amicorum
animis gaudium attulit peperitve lætitiam, Eques
Candidissime, prælucentissime, felicem profecto tuum a
Domo Candoris ad Domum Nigritudinis accessum promisisse,
peperisse, attulisse fatemur: omnes adventus tui
conflagrantissimi, omni qua possumus lætitia, gaudio,
congratulatione, acclamatione, animis observantissimis,
affectibus devotissimis, obsequiis venerabundis, te
sospitem congratulamur!_
B. KING. Sir, in this short congratulatory speech
You may conceive how the whole House affects you.
B. KNIGHT. The colleges and sanctimonious seed-plots.
W. KNIGHT. ’Tis clear and so acknowledg’d, royal sir.
B. KING. What honours, pleasures, rarities, delights,
Your noble thought can think——
B. QUEEN. Your fair eye fix[794] on,
That’s comprehended in the spacious circuit
Of our Black Kingdom, they’re your servants all.
W. KNIGHT. How amply you endear us!
W. DUKE. They are favours
That equally enrich the royal giver,
As the receiver, in the free donation.
[_Music. An altar is discovered with tapers unlit,
and divers images about it._
B. KNIGHT. Hark, to enlarge your welcome, from all
parts
Is heard sweet-sounding airs! abstruse things open
Of voluntary freeness; and yon altar,
The seat of adoration, seems t' adore
The virtues you bring with you.
W. KNIGHT. There’s a taste
Of the old vessel still.
W. DUKE. Th' erroneous relish.[795]
_Song._
_Wonder work some strange delight,
(This place was never yet without),
To welcome the fair[796] White-House Knight,
And to bring our hopes about!
May from the altar flames aspire,
Those tapers set themselves on fire!
May senseless things our joys approve,[797]
And those brazen statues move,
Quicken’d by some power above,
Or what more strange, to shew our love!_
[_Flames rise from the altar, the tapers take
fire, and the images move in a dance._
B. KNIGHT. A happy omen waits upon this hour;
All move portentously the right-hand way.
B. KING.[798] Come, let’s set free all the most choice
delights,
That ever adorn’d days or quicken’d nights. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Field between the two Houses._
_Enter White Queen’s Pawn._
W. Q. PAWN. I see ’twas but a trial of my duty now;
Hath a more[799] modest mind, and in that virtue
Most worthily hath fate provided for me.
_Enter Black Bishop’s Pawn in his reverend habit._
Hah! ’tis the bad man in the reverend habit:
Dares he be seen again, traitor to holiness,
O marble-fronted impudence! and knows
How much has wrong’d[800] me? I'm asham’d he blushes
not.
B. B. PAWN. Are you yet stor’d with any woman’s pity?
Are you the mistress of so much devotion,
Kindness, and charity, as to bestow
An alms of love on your poor sufferer yet
For your sake only?
W. Q. PAWN. Sir, for the reverend respect you ought
To give to sanctity, though none to me,
In being her servant vow’d and wear her livery,
If I might counsel, you should never speak
The language of unchasteness in that habit;
You would not think how ill it doth with you.
The world’s a stage on which all parts are play’d:
You’d think it most absurd to see a devil
Presented there not in a devil’s shape,
Or, wanting one, to send him out in yours;
You’d rail at that for an absurdity
No college e’er committed. For decorum' sake, then,
For pity’s cause, for sacred virtue’s honour,
If you’ll persist still in your devil’s part,
Present him as you should do, and let one
That carries up the goodness of the play
Come in that habit, and I'll speak with him;
Then will the parts be fitted, and the spectators
Know which is which: they must have cunning
judgments[801]
To find it else, for such a one as you
Is able to deceive a mighty audience;
Nay, those you have seduc’d, if there be any
In the assembly, when[802] they see what manner
You play your game with me, they cannot love you.
Is there so little hope of you, to smile, sir?
B. B. PAWN. Yes, at your fears, at th' ignorance of
your power,
The little use you make of time, youth, fortune,
Knowing you have a husband for lust’s shelter,
You dare not yet make bold with a friend’s comfort;
This is the plague of weakness.
W. Q. PAWN. So hot burning!
The syllables of sin fly from his lips
As if the letter came new-cast[803] from hell.
B. B. PAWN. Well, setting by[804] the dish you loathe
so much,
Which hath been heartily tasted by your betters,
I come to marry you to the gentleman
That last enjoy’d you: I hope that pleases you;
There’s no immodest relish in that office.
W. Q. PAWN. Strange of all men he should first light
on him
To tie that holy knot that sought t' undo me!
[_Aside._
Were you requested to perform that business, sir?
B. B. PAWN. I name you a sure token.
W. Q. PAWN. As for that, sir,
Now you’re most welcome; and my fair hope’s of you,
You’ll[805] never break the sacred knot you tie once
With any lewd soliciting hereafter.
B. B. PAWN. But all the craft’s in getting of it knit:
You’re all on fire to make your cozening market.
I am the marrier and the man—do you know me?
Do you know me, nice iniquity, strict luxury,[806]
And holy whoredom?—that would clap on marriage
With all hot speed to solder up your game:
See what a scourge fate hath provided for thee!
You were a maid; swear still, you’re no worse now,
I left you as I found you: have I startled you?
I'm quit with you now for my discovery,
Your outcries, and your cunning:[807] farewell, brokage!
W. Q. PAWN. Nay, stay, and hear me but give thanks a
little,
If your ear can endure a work so gracious;
Then you may take your pleasure.
B. B. PAWN. I have done that.
W. Q. PAWN. Thou[808] power, that hath preserv’d me
from this devil——
B. B. PAWN. How?
W. Q. PAWN. This that may challenge the chief chair in
hell,
And sit above his master——
B. B. PAWN. Bring in merit.
W. Q. PAWN. That suffered’st him, through blind lust,
to be led
Last night to the action of some common bed——
B. Q. PAWN [_within_]. Not over-common neither.
B. B. PAWN. Hah, what voice is that?
W. Q. PAWN. Of virgins be thou ever honourèd!—
Now you may go; you hear I've given thanks, sir.
B. B. PAWN. Here’s a strange game! Did not I lie with
you?
B. Q. PAWN [_within_]. No.
B. B. PAWN. What the devil art thou?
W. Q. PAWN. I will not answer you, sir,
After thanksgiving.
B. B. PAWN. Why, you made promise to me
After the contract.
B. Q. PAWN [_within_]. Yes.
B. B. PAWN. Mischief confound thee!
I speak not to thee—and you were prepar’d for’t,
And set your joys more high——
B. Q. PAWN [_within_]. Than you could reach, sir.
B. B. PAWN. This is some[809] bawdy Pawn; I'll slit
the throat on’t!
_Enter Black Queen’s Pawn._
B. Q. PAWN. What, offer violence to your bedfellow?
To one that works so kindly without rape?
B. B. PAWN. My bedfellow?
B. Q. PAWN. Do you plant your scorn against me?
Why, when I was probationer at Brussels,
That engine was not known; then adoration
Fill’d up the place, and wonder was in fashion:
Is’t turn’d to the wild seed of contempt so soon?
Can five years stamp a bawd? pray, look upon me, sir,
I've youth enough to take it: ’tis no longer
Since you were chief agent for the transportation
Of ladies' daughters, if you be remember’d:
Some of their portions I could name; who purs’d ’em too:
They were soon dispossess’d of worldly cares
That came into your fingers.
B. B. PAWN. Shall I hear her?
B. Q. PAWN. Holy derision, yes, till thy ears[810]
swell
With thine own venom, thy profane life’s vomit:
Whose niece was she you poison’d, with child twice,
And gave her out possess’d with a foul spirit,
When ’twas indeed your bastard?
B. B. PAWN. I am taken
In mine own toils!
_Enter White Queen and White Bishop’s Pawn._
W. B. PAWN. Yes, and ’tis just you should be.
W. QUEEN.[811] And thou, lewd Pawn, the shame of
womanhood!
B. B. PAWN. I'm lost of all hands!
B. Q. PAWN. And I cannot feel
The weight of my perdition; now he’s taken,
'T hath not the burden of a grasshopper.
B. B. PAWN. Thou whore of order, cockatrice[812] _in
voto_!
_Enter Black Knight’s Pawn._
B. KT.'S PAWN. Yon’s the White Bishop’s Pawn;
I'll play at’s heart now.
W. Q. PAWN. How now, black villain! would’st thou heap
a murder
On thy first foul offence? O merciless bloodhound,
’Tis time that thou wert taken!
B. KT.'S PAWN. Death![813] prevented?
W. Q. PAWN. For thy sake and that partner in thy
shame,
I'll never know man further than by name. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_In the Black House._
_Enter Black King, Black Queen, Black Knight, Black
Duke, Black Bishop, White Knight, and White Duke._
W. KNIGHT. You have enrich’d my knowledge, royal[814]
sir,
And my content together.
B. KING. ’Stead of riot
We set you only welcome: surfeit is
A thing that’s seldom heard of in these parts.
W. KNIGHT. I hear of the more virtue when I miss on’t.
B. KNIGHT. We do not use to bury in our bellies
Two hundred thousand ducats, and then boast on’t;
Or exercise th' old Roman painful idleness
With care of fetching fishes far from home,
The golden-headed coracine out of Egypt,
The salpa from Ebusus,[815] or the pelamis,
Which some call summer-whiting, from Chalcedon,
Salmons from Aquitaine, helops from Rhodes,
Cockles from Chios, frank’d[816] and fatted up
With far and sapa,[817] flour and cocted wine;
We cram no birds, nor, Epicurean[818]-like,
Enclose some creeks o' the sea, as Sergius Orata[819]
did,
He that invented the first stews for oysters
And other sea-fish, who, besides the pleasure of his
Own throat, got large revenues by th' invention,
Whose fat example the nobility follow’d;
Nor do we imitate that arch-gormandiser
With two-and-twenty courses at one dinner,
And, betwixt every course, he and his guests
Wash’d and us’d women, then sat down and strengthen’d,
Lust swimming in their dishes, which no sooner
Was tasted but was ready to be vented.
W. KNIGHT. Most impious epicures!
B. KNIGHT. We commend rather,
Of two extremes, the parsimony of Pertinax,
Who had half-lettuces set up to serve again;
Or his successor Julian,[820] that would make
Three meals of a lean hare, and often[821] sup
With a green fig and wipe his beard, as we can.
The old bewailers of excess in those days
Complain’d there was more coin bid for a cook
Than for a war-horse; but now cooks are purchas’d
After the rate of triumphs,[822] and some dishes
After the rate of cooks; which must needs make
Some of your White-House gormandizers, ’specially
Your wealthy plump plebeians, like the hogs
Which Scaliger cites,[823] that could not move for fat,
So insensible of either prick or goad,
That mice made holes to needle[824] in their buttocks,
And they ne’er felt ’em. There was once a ruler,
Cyrene’s governor,[825]] chok’d with his own paunch;
Which death fat Sanctius,[826] king of Castile, fearing,
Through his infinite mass of belly, rather chose
To be kill’d suddenly by a pernicious herb
Taken to make him lean, which old Corduba,
King of Morocco, counsell’d his fear to,
Than he would hazard to be stunk[827] to death,
As that huge cormorant that was chok’d before him.
W. KNIGHT. Well, you’re as sound a spokesman, sir, for
parsimony,
Clean abstinence, and scarce one meal a-day,
As ever spake with tongue.
B. KING. Censure him mildly, sir;
’Twas but to find discourse.
B. QUEEN. He’ll raise['t] of any thing.
W. KNIGHT. I shall be half afraid to feed hereafter.
W. DUKE. Or I, beshrew my heart, for I fear fatness,
The fog of fatness, as I fear a dragon:
The comeliness I wish for, that’s as glorious.
W. KNIGHT. Your course is wondrous strict: I should
transgress, sure,[828]
Were I to change my side, as you’ve much wrought me.
B. KNIGHT. How you misprize! this is not meant to
you-ward:
You that are wound up to the height of feeding
By clime and custom, are dispens’d withal;
You may eat kid, cabrito, calf, and tons,[829]
Eat and eat every day, twice, if you please;
Nay, the frank’d[830] hen, fatten’d with milk and corn,
A riot which th' inhabitants of Delos
Were first inventors of, or the cramm’d cockle.
W. KNIGHT. Well, for the food I'm happily
resolv’d[831] in;
But for the diet of my disposition,
There comes a trouble; you will hardly find
Food to please that.
B. KNIGHT. It must be a strange nature
We cannot find a dish for, having Policy,
The master-cook of Christendom, to dress it:
Pray, name your nature’s diet.
W. KNIGHT. The first mess
Is hot ambition.
B. KNIGHT. That’s but serv’d in puff-paste;
Alas, the meanest of our cardinals' cooks
Can dress that dinner: your ambition, sir,
Can fetch no further compass than the world?
W. KNIGHT. That’s certain, sir.
B. KNIGHT. We’re about that already;
And in the large feast of our vast ambition
We count but the White Kingdom, whence you come from,
The garden for our cook to pick his salads;
The food’s lean France, larded with Germany;
Before which comes the grave, chaste signiory
Of Venice, serv’d in, capon-like, in white broth;
From our chief oven, Italy, the bake-meats;
Savoy the salt, Geneva the chipt manchet;[832]
Below the salt[833] the Netherlands are plac’d,
A common dish at lower end a' the table,
For meaner pride to fall to: for our second course,
A spit of Portugals serv’d in for plovers;
Indians and Moors for blackbirds: all this while
Holland stands ready-melted to make sauce
On all occasions: when the voider[834] comes,
And with such cheer our full hopes we suffice,
Zealand says grace for fashion; then we rise.
W. KNIGHT. Here’s meat enough, in[835] conscience, for
ambition!
B. KNIGHT. If there be any want, there’s Switzerland,
Polonia, and such pickled things will serve
To furnish out the table.
W. KNIGHT. You say well, sir:
But here’s the misery; when I've stopt the mouth
Of one vice, there’s another gapes for food;
I am as covetous as a barren womb,
The grave, or what’s more ravenous.
B. KNIGHT. We’re for you, sir:
Call you that heinous, that’s good husbandry?
Why, we make money of our faith,[836] our prayers;
We make the very deathbed buy her comforts,
Most dearly pay for all her[837] pious counsels,
Leave rich revenues for a few weak orisons,
Or else they pass unreconcil’d without ’em:
Did you but view the vaults within our monasteries,
You’d swear then Plutus, whom[838] the fiction calls
The lord of riches, were entombèd there.[839]
W. KNIGHT. Is’t possible?
B. DUKE. You cannot walk for tuns.
W. DUKE. But how shall I bestow the vice I bring,
sirs?
You quite forget me; I shall be shut out
By your strict key of life.
B. KNIGHT. Is yours so vild,[840] sir?
W. DUKE. Some that are pleas’d to make a wanton on’t,
Call it infirmity of blood, flesh-frailty;
But certain there’s a worse name in your books for’t.
B. KNIGHT. The trifle of all vices, the mere innocent,
The very novice of this house of clay,—venery:
If I but hug thee hard, I shew the worst on’t;
’Tis all the fruit we have here after supper;
Nay, at the ruins of a[841] nunnery once,
Six thousand infants' heads found in a fish-pond.
W. DUKE. How!
B. KNIGHT. Ay, how? how came they thither, think you?
Huldrick, bishop of Augsburg, in’s Epistle[842]
To Nicholas the first, can tell you how;
May be he was at cleansing of the pond:
I can but smile to think how it would puzzle
All mother-maids that ever liv’d in those parts
To know their own child’s head. But is this all?
B. DUKE. Are you ours yet?
W. KNIGHT. One more, and I am silenc’d:
But this that comes now will divide us questionless;
’Tis ten times, ten times worse than the forerunners.
B. KNIGHT. Is it so vild there is no name ordain’d
for’t?
Toads have their titles, and creation gave
Serpents and adders those names to be known by.
W. KNIGHT. This of all others bears the hiddenest
venom,
The smoothest poison; I'm an arch-dissembler, sir.
B. KNIGHT. How?
W. KNIGHT. ’Tis my nature’s brand; turn from me, sir;
The time is yet to come that e’er I spoke
What my heart meant.
B. KNIGHT. And call you that a vice?—
Avoid all profanation, I beseech you,—
The only prime state-virtue upon earth,
The policy of empires; O, take heed, sir,
For fear it take displeasure and forsake you!
’Tis like a jewel of that precious value,
Whose worth’s not known but to the skilful lapidary;
The instrument that picks ope princes' hearts,
And locks up ours from them, with the same motion:
You never came so near our souls as now.
B. DUKE. Now you’re a brother to us.
B. KNIGHT. What we have done
Hath been dissemblance ever.
W. KNIGHT. There you lie then,
And the game’s ours; we give thee check-mate by
Discovery, King, the noblest mate of all!
B. KNIGHT.[843] I'm lost, I'm taken!
[_A great shout and flourish._
W. KNIGHT. Ambitious, covetous,
Luxurious falsehood!
W. DUKE. Dissembler includes all.
B. KING.[844] All hopes confounded!
B. QUEEN. Miserable condition!
_Enter White King, White Queen, White Bishop, White
Queen’s Pawn, and other White Pawns._
W. KING. O, let me bless mine arms with this dear
treasure,
Truth’s glorious masterpiece! See, Queen of sweetness,
He’s in my bosom safe; and this fair structure
Of comely honour, his true blest assistant.
[_Embracing W. Knight and W. Duke._
W. QUEEN. May their integrities ever possess
That powerful sanctuary!
W. KNIGHT. As ’twas a game, sir,
Won with much hazard, so with much more triumph
We[845] gave him check-mate by discovery, sir.
W. KING. Obscurity is now the fittest favour
Falsehood can sue for; it well suits perdition:
’Tis their best course that so have lost their fame
To put their heads into the bag for shame;
And there, behold, the bag, like hell-mouth,[846] opens
[_The bag opens,[847] and the Fat Bishop and
the Black lost Pawns appear in it._
To take her due, and the lost sons appear
Greedily gaping for increase of fellowship
In infamy, the last desire of wretches,
Advancing their perdition-branded foreheads
Like Envy’s issue, or a bed of snakes.
B. B. PAWN [_in the bag_]. ’Tis too apparent; the
game’s lost, King[848] taken.
F. BISHOP [_in the bag_]. The White House hath given
us the bag,[849] I thank ’em.
B. JESTING PAWN [_in the bag_]. They had need give you
a whole bag by yourself:
'Sfoot, this Fat Bishop[850] hath so overlaid me,
So squelch’d[851] and squeez’d me, I've no verjuice left
in me!
You shall find all my goodness, if you look for’t,
In the bottom of the bag.
F. BISHOP [_in the bag_]. Thou malapert Pawn!
The Bishop must have room; he will have room,
And room to lie at pleasure.
B. JESTING PAWN [_in the bag_]. All the bag, I think,
Is room too scant for your Spalato[852] paunch.
B. B. PAWN [_in the bag_]. Down, viper of our order! I
abhor thee:
Thou shew thy whorish front?
B. Q. PAWN [_in the bag_]. Yes, monster-holiness!
W. KNIGHT. Contention in the pit! is hell divided?
W. KING. You had need have some of majesty and power
To keep good rule amongst you: make room, Bishop.
[_Puts B. King into the bag._
F. BISHOP [_in the bag_]. I'm not so[853] easily
mov’d when I'm once set;
I scorn to stir for any king on earth.
W. QUEEN. Here comes the Queen; what say you then to
her?
[_Puts B. Queen into the bag._
F. BISHOP [_in the bag_]. Indeed a Queen may make a
Bishop stir.
W. KNIGHT. Room for the mightiest Machiavel-politician
That e’er the devil hatch’d of a nun’s egg!
[_Puts B. Knight into the bag._
F. BISHOP [_in the bag_]. He’ll pick a hole in the
bag and get out shortly;
But I shall[854] be the last man that creeps out,
And that’s the misery of greatness ever.[855]
W. DUKE. Room for[856] a sun-burnt, tansy-fac’d
belov’d,
An olive-colour’d Ganymede! and that’s all
That’s worth the bagging.
F. BISHOP [_in the bag_]. Crowd in all you can,
The Bishop will be still uppermost man,
Maugre King, Queen, or politician.
W. KING. So, let the bag close now, the fittest womb
For treachery, pride, and falsehood; whilst we,
winner-like.
Destroying, through heaven’s power, what would destroy,
Welcome our White Knight with loud peals of joy.
[_Exeunt omnes._
EPILOGUE
_By White Queen’s Pawn._
My mistress, the White Queen, hath sent me forth,
And bade me bow thus low to all of worth,
That are true friends of the White House and cause,
Which she hopes most of this assembly draws:
For any else, by envy’s mark denoted,
To those night glow-worms in the bag devoted,
Where’er they sit, stand, or in private lurk,
They’ll be soon known by their depraving work;
But she’s assur’d what they’ll commit to bane,
Her White friends' hands will build up fair again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ANY THING FOR A QUIET LIFE.
_Any Thing For A Quiet Life. A Comedy, Formerly Acted at Black-Fryers, by
His late Majesties Servants. Never before Printed. Written by Tho.
Middleton, Gent. London: Printed by Tho. Johnson for Francis Kirkman, and
Henry Marsh, and are to be sold at the Princes Arms in Chancery-Lane_,
1662. 4to.
In the old ed. the whole play, with the exception of a few lines here and
there, is printed as prose; and there is every reason to believe that the
text is greatly corrupted.
PROLOGUE.
Howe’er th' intents and appetites of men
Are different as their faces, how and when
T' employ their actions, yet all without strife
Meet in this point,—Any thing for a quiet life:
Nor is there one, I think, that’s hither come
For his delight, but would find peace at home
On any terms. The lawyer does not cease[857]
To talk himself into a sweat with pain,
And so his fees buy quiet, ’tis his gain:
The poor man does endure the scorching sun
And feels no weariness, his day-labour done,
So his wife entertain him with a smile
And thank his travail, though she slept the while.
This being in men of all conditions true
Does give our play a name; and if to you
It yield content and usual delight,
For our parts we shall sleep secure to night.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
LORD BEAUFORT.
SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM.
GEORGE CRESSINGHAM, }
EDWARD, _a child_, } _his sons_.
FRANKLIN _senior_.
FRANKLIN _junior, his son_.
KNAVESBY, _a lawyer_.
SAUNDER, _steward to Sir Francis Cressingham_.
WATER-CAMLET, _a mercer_.
GEORGE, }
RALPH, } _his apprentices_.
SWEET-BALL, _a barber_.
FLESH-HOOK.
COUNTERBUFF.
_Surveyor, Barber’s Boy, &c._
LADY CRESSINGHAM, _wife to Sir Francis_.
MISTRESS GEORGE CRESSINGHAM, _disguised as Selenger, a
page to Lord Beaufort_.
MISTRESS KNAVESBY.
MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET.
MARIA, _a child, daughter to Sir Francis Cressingham_.
MARGARITA, _a French bawd_.
Scene, LONDON.
ANY THING FOR A QUIET LIFE.
ACT I. SCENE I.
_A room in_ SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM’S _house_.
_Enter_ LORD BEAUFORT _and_ SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM.
L. BEAU. Away, I am asham’d of your proceedings!
And, seriously, you have in this one act
O'erthrown the reputation the world
Held of your wisdom.
SIR F. CRES. Why, sir?
L. BEAU. Can you not see your error?
That having buried so good a wife
Not a month since,—one that, to speak the truth,
Had all those excellencies which our books
Have only feign’d to make a complete wife
Most exactly in her in practice,—and to marry
A girl of fifteen, one bred up i' the court,
That by all consonancy of reason is like
To cross your estate: why, one new gown of hers,
When ’tis paid for, will eat you out the keeping
Of a bountiful Christmas. I'm asham’d of you;
For you shall make too dear a proof of it,
I fear, that in the election of a wife,
As in a project of war, to err but once
Is to be undone for ever.
SIR F. CRES. Good my lord,
I do beseech you, let your better judgment
Go along with your reprehension!
L. BEAU. So it does,
And can find nought t' extenuate your fault
But your dotage: you’re a man well sunk in years,
And to graft such a young blossom into your stock
Is the next way to make every carnal eye
Bespeak your injury. Troth, I pity her too;
She was not made to wither and go out
By painted fires, that yield[858] her no more heat
Than to be lodg’d in some bleak banqueting-house
I' the dead of winter; and what follows then?
Your shame and the ruin of your children; and there’s
The end of a rash bargain.
SIR F. CRES. With your pardon,
That she is young is true; but that discretion
Has gone beyond her years, and overta’en
Those of maturer age, does more improve[859]
Her goodness. I confess she was bred at court,
But so retiredly, that, as still the best
In some place is to be learnt there, so her life
Did rectify itself more by the court-chapel
Than by th' office of the revels: best of all virtues
Are to be found at court; and where you meet
With writings contrary to this known truth,
They’re fram’d by men that never were so happy
To be planted there to know it. For the difference
Between her youth and mine, if you will read
A matron’s sober staidness in her eye,
And all the other grave demeanour fitting
The governess of a house, you’ll then confess
There’s no disparity between us.
L. BEAU. Come, come, you read
_Enter_ WATER-CAMLET.
What you’d have her to be, not what she is.—
O, master Water-Camlet, you are welcome.
W.-CAM. I thank your lordship.
L. BEAU. And what news stirring in Cheapside?
W.-CAM. Nothing new there,[860] my lord, but the
Standard.[861]
L. BEAU. O, that’s a monument your wives take great
delight in: I do hear you are grown a mighty purchaser;
I hope shortly to find you a continual resident upon the
north aisle of the Exchange.
W.-CAM.. Where? with the Scotchmen?
L. BEAU. No, sir, with the aldermen.
W.-CAM. Believe it, I am a poor commoner.
SIR F. CRES. Come, you are warm, and blest with a fair
wife.
W.-CAM. There’s it; her going brave[862] has the
only virtue to improve my credit in the subsidy-book.
L. BEAU. But, I pray, how thrives your new
plantation of silk-worms? those I saw last summer
at your garden.
W.-CAM. They are removed, sir.
L. BEAU. Whither?
W.-CAM. This winter my wife has removed them home to
a fair chamber, where divers courtiers use to come
and see them, and my wife carries them up: I think
shortly, what with the store of visitants, they’ll
prove as chargeable to me as the morrow after Simon
and Jude, only excepting the taking down and setting
up again of my glass-windows.
L. BEAU. That a man of your estate should be so
gripple-minded and repining at his wife’s bounty!
SIR F. CRES. There are no such ridiculous things i' the
world as those love money better than themselves; for
though they have understanding to know riches, and a
mind to seek them, and a wit to find them, and policy to
keep them, and long life to possess them; yet, commonly,
they have withal such a false sight, such bleared eyes,
all their wealth, when it lies before them, does seem
poverty; and such a one are you.
W.-CAM.. Good sir Francis, you have had sore eyes too,
you have been a gamester, but you have given it o’er;
and to redeem the vice belonged to’t, now you entertain
certain farcels[863] of silenced ministers, which, I
think, will equally undo you; yet should these waste you
but lenitively, your devising new water-mill[s] for
recovery of drowned land, and certain dreams you have in
alchemy to find the philosopher’s stone, will certainly
draw you to the bottom. I speak freely, sir, and would
not have you angry, for I love you.
SIR F. CRES. I am deeply in your books for furnishing
my late wedding; have you brought a note of the
particulars?
W.-CAM.. No, sir; at more leisure.
SIR F. CRES. What comes the sum to?
W.-CAM.. For tissue, cloth-of-gold, velvets, and silks,
about fifteen hundred pounds.
SIR F. CRES. Your money is ready.
W.-CAM.. Sir, I thank you.
SIR F. CRES. And how do[864] my two young children, whom
I have put to board with you?
L. BEAU. Have you put forth two of your children
already?
SIR F. CRES. ’Twas my wife’s discretion to have it so.
L. BEAU. Come, ’tis the first principle in a
mother-in-law’s chop-logic to divide the family, to
remove from forth your sight the object[s] that her
cunning knows would dull her insinuation. Had you been a
kind father, it would have been your practice every day
to have preached to these two young ones carefully your
late wife’s funeral-sermon. 'Las, poor souls, are they
turn’d so soon a-grazing?
W.-CAM.. My lord, they are placed where they shall be
respected as mine own.
_Enter_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM _and_ FRANKLIN _junior_.
L. BEAU. I make no question of’t, good master Camlet.—
See here your eldest son, George[865] Cressingham.
SIR F. CRES. You have displeas’d and griev’d your
mother-in-law;
And till you’ve made submission and procur’d
Her pardon, I'll not know you for my son.
G. CRES. I've wrought her no offence, sir; the
difference
Grew about certain jewels which my mother,
By your consent, lying upon her deathbed,
Bequeath’d to her three children: these I demanded,
And being denied these, thought this sin of hers,
To violate so gentle a request
Of her predecessor, was an ill foregoing
Of a mother-in-law’s harsh nature.
SIR F. CRES. Sir, understand
My will mov’d in her denial: you have jewels,
To pawn or sell them! sirrah, I will have you
As obedient to this woman as to myself;
Till then you’re none of mine.
W.-CAM. O master George,
Be rul’d, do any thing for a quiet life!
Your father’s peace of life moves in it too.
I have a wife; when she is in the sullens,
Like a cook’s dog that you see turn a wheel,
She will be sure to go and hide herself
Out of the way dinner and supper; and in
These fits Bow-bell is a still organ to her.
When we were married first, I well remember,
Her railing did appear but a vision,
Till certain scratches on my hand[s] and face
Assur’d me ’twas substantial. She’s a creature
Uses to waylay my faults, and more desires
To find them out than to have them amended:
She has a book, which I may truly nominate
Her Black Book, for she remembers in it,
In short items, all my misdemeanours;
as, item, such a day I was got foxed[866] with foolish
metheglin, in the company of certain Welsh chapmen:
item, such a day, being at the Artillery Garden,[867]
one of my neighbours, in courtesy to salute me with his
musket, set a-fire my fustian and apes breeches:[868]
such a day I lost fifty pound in hugger-mugger at dice,
at the Quest-house:[869] item, I lent money to a
sea-captain on his bare _Confound him he would pay me
again the next morning_: and such like:
For which she rail’d upon me when I should sleep,
And that’s, you know, intolerable, for indeed
'Twill tame an elephant.
G. CRES. ’Tis a shrewd vexation;
But your discretion, sir, does bear it out
With a month’s sufferance.
W.-CAM. Yes, and I would wish you
To follow mine example.
FRANK. JUN. Here’s small comfort,
George, from your father; here’s a lord whom I
Have long depended upon for employment; I'll see
If my suit will thrive better.—Please your lordship,
You know I'm a younger brother, and my fate
Throwing me upon the late ill-starr’d voyage
To Guiana,[870] failing of our golden hopes,
I and my ship address’d ourselves to serve
The duke of Florence.
L. BEAU. Yes, I understood so.
FRANK. JUN. Who gave me both encouragement and means
To do him some small service ’gainst the Turk:
Being settled there, both in his pay and trust,
Your lordship, minding to rig forth a ship
To trade for the East Indies, sent for me;
And what your promise was, if I would leave
So great a fortune to become your servant,
Your letters yet can witness.
L. BEAU. Yes; what follows?
FRANK. JUN. That, for ought I perceive, your former
purpose
Is quite forgotten. I've stay’d here two months,
And find your intended voyage but a dream,
And the ship you talk of as imaginary
As that th' astronomers point at in the clouds.
I've spent two thousand ducats since my arrival;
Men that have command, my lord, at sea, cannot live
Ashore without money.
L. BEAU. Know, sir, a late purchase,
Which cost me a great sum, has diverted me
From my former purpose; besides, suits in law
Do every term so trouble me by land,
I've forgot going by water. If you please
To rank yourself among my followers,
You shall be welcome, and I'll make your means
Better than any gentleman’s I keep.
FRANK. JUN. Some twenty mark[871] a-year! will that
maintain
Scarlet and gold lace, play at th' ordinary,[872]
And bevers[873] at the tavern?
L. BEAU. I had thought
To prefer you to have been captain of a ship
That’s bound for the Red Sea.
FRANK. JUN. What hinders it?
L. BEAU. Why, certainly, the merchants are
possess’d[874]
You’ve been a pirate.
FRANK. JUN. Say I were one still,
If I were past the Line once, why, methinks,
I should do them better service.
_Enter_ KNAVESBY.
L. BEAU. Pray, forbear;
Here is a gentleman whose business must
Engross me wholly.
G. CRES. What’s he? dost thou know him?
FRANK. JUN. A pox upon him! a very knave and rascal,
That goes a-hunting with the penal statutes,
And good for nought but to persuade their lords
To rack their rents and give o’er housekeeping:
Such caterpillars may hang at their lords' ears
When better men are neglected.
G. CRES. What’s his name?
FRANK. JUN. Knavesby.
G. CRES. Knavesby!
FRANK. JUN. One that deals in a tenth share
About projections: he and his partners, when
They’ve got a suit once past the seal, will so
Wrangle about partition, and sometimes
They fall to th' ears about it; like your fencers,
That cudgel one another by patent: you shall see him
So terribly bedash’d in a Michaelmas term,
Coming from Westminster, that you would swear
He were lighted from a horse-race. Hang him, hang him!
He’s a scurvy informer; has more cozenage
In him than is in five travelling lotteries.
To feed a kite with the carrion of this knave
When he’s dead, and reclaim[875] her, O she would prove
An excellent hawk for talon! has a fair creature
To his wife too, and a witty rogue it is;
And some men think this knave will wink at small faults.
But, honest George, what shall become of us now?
G. CRES. Faith, I'm resolvèd to set up my rest
For[876] the Low Countries.
FRANK. JUN. To serve there?
G. CRES. Yes, certain.
FRANK. JUN. There’s thin commons;
Besides, they’ve added one day more to the week
Than was in the creation: art thou valiant,
Art thou valiant, George?
G. CRES. I may be, and[877] I be put to’t.
FRANK. JUN. O, never fear that;
Thou canst not live two hours after thy landing
Without a quarrel: thou must resolve to fight,
Or, like a sumner,[878] thou’lt be bastinado’d
At every town’s end. You shall have gallants there
As ragged as the fall o' the leaf, that live
In Holland, where the finest linen’s made,
And yet wear ne’er a shirt: these will not only
Quarrel with a new-comer when they’re drunk,
But they will quarrel with any man has means
To be drunk afore them. Follow my council, George,
Thou shalt not go o’er; we’ll live here i' the city.
G. CRES. But how?
FRANK. JUN. How! why, as other gallants do,
That feed high and play copiously, yet brag
They’ve but nine pound a-year to live on: these
Have wit to turn rich fools and gulls into quarter-days,
That bring them in certain payment. I've a project
Reflects upon yon mercer, master Camlet,
Shall put us into money.
G. CRES. What is’t?
FRANK. JUN. Nay,
I will not stale[879] ’t aforehand, ’tis a new one:
Nor cheating amongst gallants may seem strange;
Why, a reaching wit goes current on th' Exchange.
[_Exeunt._ G. CRESSINGHAM _and_ FRANKLIN _junior_.
KNA. O, my lord, I remember you and I were students
together at Cambridge; but, believe me, you went far
beyond me.
L. BEAU. When I studied there, I had so fantastical a
brain, that like a felfare[880] frighted in winter by a
birding-piece, I could settle no where; here and there a
little of every several art, and away.
KNA. Now, my wit, though it were more dull, yet I went
slowly on; and as divers others, when I could not prove
an excellent scholar, by a plodding patience I attained
to be a petty lawyer; and I thank my dulness for’t: you
may stamp in lead any figure, but in oil or quicksilver
nothing can be imprinted, for they keep no certain
station.
L. BEAU. O, you tax me well of irresolution: but say,
worthy friend, how thrives my weighty suit which I have
trusted to your friendly bosom? is there any hope to
make me happy?
KNA. ’Tis yet questionable, for I have not broke the ice
to her: an hour hence come to my house; and if it lie in
man, be sure, as the law-phrase says, I will create you
lord-paramount of your wishes.
L. BEAU. O my best friend! and one that takes the
hardest course i' the world to make himself so. [_Exit_
KNAVESBY.]—Sir, now I'll take my leave.
SIR F. CRES. Nay, good my lord, my wife is coming down.
L. BEAU. Pray, pardon me; I have business so importunes
me o' the sudden, I cannot stay: deliver mine excuse;
and in your ear this,—let not a fair woman make you
forget your children. [_Exit._
_Enter_ LADY CRESSINGHAM _and_ SAUNDER.
L. CRES. What, are you taking leave too?
W.-CAM.. Yes, good madam.
L. CRES. The rich stuff[s] which my husband bought of
you, the works of them are too common; I have got a
Dutch painter to draw patterns, which I'll have sent to
your factors, as in Italy, at Florence, and Ragusa,
where these stuffs are woven, to have pieces made for
mine own wearing, of a new invention.
W.-CAM.. You may, lady; but ’twill be somewhat
chargeable.
L. CRES. Chargeable! what of that? if I live another
year, I'll have my agents shall lie for me at Paris, and
at Venice, and at Valladolid in Spain, for intelligence
of all new fashions.
SIR F. CRES. Do, sweetest; thou deservest to be
exquisite in all things.
W.-CAM.. The two children, to which you are
mother-in-law, would be repaired too; ’tis time they had
new clothing.
L. CRES. I pray, sir, do not trouble me with them; they
have a father indulgent and careful of them.
SIR F. CRES. I am sorry you made the motion to her.
W.-CAM.. I have done.—
He has run himself into a pretty dotage!— [_Aside._
Madam, with your leave.—
He’s tied to a new law and a new wife;
Yet, to my old proverb, Any thing for a quiet life.
[_Aside, and exit._
L. CRES. Good friend, I have a suit to you.
SIR F. CRES. Dearest self, you most powerfully sway me.—
L. CRES. That you would give o’er this fruitless, if I
may not say this idle, study of alchemy; why, half your
house looks like a glass-house.
SAUN. And the smoke you make is a worse enemy to good
housekeeping than tobacco.
L. CRES. Should one of your glasses break, it might
bring you to a dead palsy.
SAUN. My lord, your quicksilver has made all your more
solid gold and silver fly in fume.
SIR F. CRES. I'll be ruled by you in any thing.
L. CRES. Go, Saunder, break all the glasses.
SAUN. I fly to’t. [_Exit._
L. CRES. Why, noble friend, would you find the true
philosopher’s stone indeed, my good housewifery should
do it: you understand I was bred up with a great courtly
lady; do not think all women mind gay clothes and riot;
there are some widows living have improved both their
own fortunes and their children’s: would you take my
counsel, I'd advise you to sell your land.
SIR F. CRES. My land!
L. CRES. Yes; and the manor-house upon’t, ’tis rotten: O
the new-fashioned buildings brought from the Hague! ’tis
stately. I have intelligence of a purchase, and the
title sound, will for half the money you may sell yours
for, bring you in more rent than yours now yields you.
SIR F. CRES. If it be so good a pennyworth, I need not
sell my land to purchase it; I'll procure money to do
it.
L. CRES. Where, sir?
SIR F. CRES. Why, I'll take it up at interest.
L. CRES. Never did any man thrive that purchased with
use-money.
SIR F. CRES. How come you to know these thrifty
principles?
L. CRES. How? why, my father was a lawyer, and died in
the commission; and may not I, by a natural instinct,
have a reaching that way? there are, on mine own
knowledge, some divines' daughters infinitely affected
with reading controversies; and that, some think, has
been a means to bring so many suits into the spiritual
court. Pray, be advised; sell your land, and purchase
more: I knew a pedlar, by being merchant this way, is
become lord of many manors: we should look to lengthen
our estates, as we do our lives;
_Re-enter_ SAUNDER.
And though I'm young, yet I am confident
Your able constitution of body,
When you are past fourscore, shall keep you fresh
Till I arrive at the neglected year
That I'm past child-bearing; and yet even there[881]
Quickening our faint heats in a soft embrace,
And kindling divine flames in fervent prayers,
We may both go out together, and one tomb
Quit our executors the rites of two.
SIR F. CRES. O, you’re so wise and so good in every
thing,
I move by your direction.
SAUN. She has caught him. [_Aside._
[_Exeunt._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_A room in_ KNAVESBY’S _house_.
_Enter_ KNAVESBY _and_ MISTRESS KNAVESBY.
KNA. Have you drunk[882] the eggs and muscadine I sent
you?
MIS. KNA. No, they are too fulsome.
KNA. Away! you’re a fool!—How shall I begin to break the
matter to her? [_Aside._]—I do long, wife.
MIS. KNA. Long, sir?
KNA. Long infinitely: sit down; there is a penitential
motion in me, which if thou wilt but second, I shall be
one of the happiest men in Europe.
MIS. KNA. What might that be?
KNA. I had last night one of the strangest dreams;
Methought I was thy confessor, thou mine,
And we reveal’d between us privately
How often we had wrong’d each other’s bed
Since we were married.
MIS. KNA. Came you drunk to bed?
There was a dream, with a witness!
KNA. No, no witness;
I dreamt nobody heard it but we two.
This dream, wife, do I long to put in act;
Let us confess each other; and I vow,
Whatever thou hast done with that sweet corpse
In the way of natural frailty, I protest,
Most freely I will pardon.
MIS. KNA. Go sleep again:
Was there e’er such a motion?
KNA. Nay, sweet woman,
And[883] thou’lt not have me run mad with my desire,
Be persuaded to’t.
MIS. KNA. Well, be it [at] your pleasure.
KNA. But to answer truly.
MIS. KNA. O, most sincerely.
KNA. Begin then; examine me first.
MIS. KNA. Why, I know not what to ask you.
KNA. Let me see: your father was a captain; demand of me
how many dead pays[884] I am to answer for in the
muster-book of wedlock, by the martial fault of
borrowing from my neighbours.
MIS. KNA. Troth, I can ask no such foolish questions.
KNA. Why, then, open confession, I hope, dear wife, will
merit freer pardon: I sinned twice with my laundress;
and last circuit there was at Banbury a she-chamberlain
that had a spice of purity, but at last I prevailed over
her.
MIS. KNA. O, you are an ungracious husband!
KNA. I have made a vow never to ride abroad but in thy
company: O, a little drink makes me clamber like a
monkey! Now, sweet wife, you have been an out-lier too;
which is best feed, in the forest or in the purlieus?
MIS. KNA. A foolish mind of you i' this.
KNA. Nay, sweet love, confess freely; I have given you
the example.
MIS. KNA. Why, you know I went last year to Stourbridge
fair.
KNA. Yes.
MIS. KNA. And being in Cambridge, a handsome scholar,
one of Emmanuel College, fell in love with me.
KNA. O you sweet-breathed monkey!
MIS. KNA. Go hang; you are so boisterous.
KNA. But did this scholar shew thee his chamber?
MIS. KNA. Yes.
KNA. And didst thou like him?
MIS. KNA. Like him? O, he had the most enticingest
straw-coloured beard, a woman with black eyes would have
loved him like jet: he was the finest man, with a formal
wit; and he had a fine dog, that sure was whelped i' the
college, for he understood Latin.
KNA. Pooh waw! this is nothing, till I know what he did
in’s chamber.
MIS. KNA. He burnt wormwood in’t, to kill the fleas i'
the rushes.[885]
KNA. But what did he to thee there?
MIS. KNA. Some five-and-twenty years hence I may
chance tell you: fie upon you; what tricks, what
crotchets are these? have you placed any body behind
the arras to hear my confession? I heard one in
England got a divorce from ’s wife by such a trick:
were I disposed now, I would make you as mad: you
shall see me play the changeling.[886]
KNA. No, no, wife, you shall see me play the changeling:
hadst thou confessed, this other suit I'll now prefer to
thee would have been despatched in a trice.
MIS. KNA. And what’s that, sir?
KNA. Thou wilt wonder at it four-and-twenty years longer
than nine days.
MIS. KNA. I would very fain hear it.
KNA. There is a lord o' the court, upon my credit, a
most dear, honourable friend of mine, that must lie with
thee: do you laugh? ’tis not come to that; you’ll laugh
when you know who ’tis.
MIS. KNA. Are you stark mad?
KNA. On my religion, I have past my word for’t;
’Tis the Lord Beaufort; thou’rt made happy for ever;
The generous and bountiful Lord Beaufort:
You being both so excellent, ’twere pity
If such rare pieces should not be conferr’d
And sampled together.
MIS. KNA. Do you mean seriously?
KNA. As I hope for preferment.
MIS. KNA. And can you lose me thus?
KNA. Lose you? I shall love you the better: why, what’s
the viewing any wardrobe or jewel-house, without a
companion to confer their likings? yet, now I view thee
well, methinks thou art a rare monopoly, and great pity
one man should enjoy thee.
MIS. KNA. This is pretty!
KNA. Let’s divorce ourselves so long, or think I am gone
to th' Indies, or lie with him when I am asleep; for
some Familists[887] of Amsterdam will tell you [it] may
be done with a safe conscience: come, you wanton, what
hurt can this do to you? I protest, nothing so much as
to keep company with an old woman has sore eyes; no more
wrong than I do my beaver when I try it thus; look, this
is all; smooth, and keeps fashion still.
MIS. KNA. You’re one of the basest fellows!
KNA. I look’d for chiding;
I do make this a kind of fortitude
The Romans never dreamt of; and[888] ’twere known,
I should be spoke and writ of when I'm rotten,
For ’tis beyond example.
MIS. KNA. But, I pray, resolve[889] me;
Suppose this done, could you e’er love me after?
KNA. I protest I never thought so well of thee
Till I knew he took a fancy to thee; like one
That has variety of choice meat before him,
Yet has no stomach to’t until he hear
Another praise [it]: hark, my lord is coming!
[_Knocking within._
MIS. KNA. Possible?
KNA. And my preferment comes along with him: be wise,
mind your good; and to confute all reason in the world
which thou canst urge against it, when ’tis done, we
will be married again, wife, which some say is the only
_supersedeas_ about Limehouse to remove cuckoldry.
_Enter_ LORD BEAUFORT.
L. BEAU. Come, are you ready to attend me to the court?
KNA. Yes, my lord.
L. BEAU. Is this fair one your wife?
KNA. At your lordship’s service. I will look up some
writings, and return presently. [_Exit._
MIS. KNA. To see and[890] the base fellow do not leave
’s alone too! [_Aside._
L. BEAU. ’Tis an excellent habit this: where were you
born, sweet?
MIS. KNA. I am a Suffolk woman, my lord.
L. BEAU. Believe it, every country you breathe on is the
sweeter for you: let me see your hand; the case is loath
to part with the jewel [_drawing off her glove_]:
fairest one, I have skill in palmistry.
MIS. KNA. Good my lord, what do you find there?
L. BEAU. In good earnest, I do find written here, all my
good fortune lies in your hand.
MIS. KNA. You’ll keep a very bad house then; you may see
by the smallness of the table.[891]
L. BEAU. Who is your sweetheart?
MIS. KNA. Sweetheart?
L. BEAU. Yes; come, I must sift you to know it.
MIS. KNA. I am a sieve too coarse for your lordship’s
manchet.[892]
L. BEAU. Nay, pray you, tell me; for I see your husband
is an unhandsome fellow.
MIS. KNA. O, my lord, I took him by weight, not fashion;
goldsmiths' wives taught me that way of bargain, and
some ladies swerve not to follow the example.
L. BEAU. But will you not tell me who is your private
friend?
MIS. KNA. Yes, and[890] you’ll tell me who is yours.
L. BEAU. Shall I shew you her?
MIS. KNA. Yes; when will you?
L. BEAU. Instantly: look you, there you may see her.
[_Leading her to a mirror._
MIS. KNA. I'll break the glass, ’tis now worth nothing.
L. BEAU. Why?
MIS. KNA. You have made it a flattering one.
L. BEAU. I have a summer-house for you, a fine place to
flatter solitariness; will you come and lie there?
MIS. KNA. No, my lord.
L. BEAU. Your husband has promised me; will you not?
MIS. KNA. I must wink, I tell you, or say nothing.
L. BEAU. So, I'll kiss you and wink too [_kisses her_];
midnight is Cupid’s holyday.
_Re-enter_ KNAVESBY.
KNA. By this time ’tis concluded.—Will you go, my lord?
L. BEAU. I leave with you my best wishes till I see you.
KNA. This now, if I may borrow our lawyer’s phrase, is
my wife’s _imparlance_; at her next appearance she must
answer your _declaration_.
L. BEAU. You follow it well, sir.
[_Exeunt._ LORD BEAUFORT _and_ KNAVESBY.
MIS. KNA. Did I not know my husband of so base,
Contemptible [a] nature, I should think
'Twere but a trick to try me; but it seems
They’re both in wicked earnest; and methinks
Upon the sudden, I've a great mind to loathe
This scurvy, unhandsome way my lord has ta’en
To compass me; why, ’tis for all the world
As if he should come to steal some apricocks
My husband kept for’s own tooth, and climb up
Upon his head and shoulders: I'll go to him;
He’ll put me into brave[893] clothes and rich jewels;
'Twere a very ill part in me not to go,
His mercer and his goldsmith else might curse me;
And what I'll do there, a' my troth, yet I know not.
Women, though puzzled with these subtle deeds,
May, as i' the spring, pick physic out of weeds.
[_Exit._
SCENE II.
WATER-CAMLET’S _shop_.[894]
WATER-CAMLET, GEORGE, _and_ RALPH _discovered_.
GEO. What is’t you lack,[895] you lack, you lack?
Stuffs for the belly or the back?
Silk-grograns, satins, velvet fine,
The rosy-colour’d carnadine,[896]
Your nutmeg hue, or gingerline,
Cloth-of-tissue or tabine,[897]
That like beaten gold will shine
In your amorous ladies' eyne,[898]
Whilst you their softer silks do twine?
What is’t you lack, you lack, you lack?
_Enter_ MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET.
MIS. W.-CAM. I do lack content, sir, content I lack;
have you or your worshipful master here any content to
sell?
GEO. If content be a stuff to be sold by the yard, you
may have content at home, and never go abroad for’t.
MIS. W.-CAM. Do, cut me three yards; I'll pay for ’em.
GEO. There’s all we have i' the shop; we must know what
you’ll give for ’em first.
W.-CAM.. Why, Rachel, sweet Rachel, my bosom Rachel,
How didst thou get forth? thou wert here, sweet Rac,
Within this hour, even in my very heart.
MIS. W.-CAM. Away! or stay still, I'll away from thee;
One bed shall never hold us both again,
Nor one roof cover us: didst thou bring home—
GEO. What is’t you lack, you lack, you lack?
MIS. W.-CAM. Peace, bandog, bandog! give me leave to
speak,
Or I'll——
GEO. Shall I not follow my trade? I'm bound to’t, and my
master bound to bring me up in’t.
W.-CAM.. Peace, good George; give her anger leave;
Thy mistress will be quiet presently.
MIS. W.-CAM. Quiet! I defy thee and quiet too;
Quiet thy bastards thou hast brought home.
GEO. _and_ RAL. What is’t you lack, you lack? &c.
MIS. W.-CAM. Death, give me an ell![899] has one
bawling cur
Raised up another? two dogs upon me?
And[900] the old bear-ward will not succour me,
I'll stave ’em off myself: give me an ell, I say!
GEO. Give her not an inch, master, she’ll take two ells
if you do.
W.-CAM.. Peace, George and Ralph; no more words, I
charge you:—
And Rachel, sweet wife, be more temperate:
I know your tongue speaks not by the rule
And guidance of your heart, when you proclaim
The pretty children of my virtuous
And noble kinswoman, whom in life you knew
Above my praises' reach, to be my bastards:
This is not well, although your anger did it;
Pray, chide your anger for it.
MIS. W.-CAM. Sir, sir, your gloss
Of kinswoman cannot serve turn; ’tis stale,
And smells too rank: though your shop-wares you
vent[901]
With your deceiving lights,[902] yet your chamber-stuff
Shall not pass so with me; I say, and I'll prove—
GEO. What is’t you lack?
_Enter_ MARIA _and_ EDWARD.
W.-CAM. Why, George, I say——
MIS. W.-CAM. Lecher, I say, I'll be divorc’d from
thee;
I'll prove ’em thy bastards, and thou insufficient.
[_Exit._
MAR. What said my angry cousin[903] to you, sir?
That we were bastards?
EDW. I hope she meant not us.
W.-CAM. No, no,
My pretty cousins, she meant George and Ralph;
Rage will speak any thing; but they’re ne’er the worse.
GEO. Yes indeed, forsooth, she spoke to us, but chiefly
to Ralph, because she knows he has but one stone.
RAL. No more of that, if you love me, George; this is
not the way to keep a quiet house.
MAR. Truly, sir, I would not, for more treasure
Than ever I saw yet, be in your house
A cause of discord.
EDW. And do you think I would, sister?
MAR. No indeed, Ned.
_Enter_ FRANKLIN _junior and_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM,
_disguised_.
EDW. Why did you not speak for me with you then, and
said we could not have done so?
W.-CAM.. No more, sweet cousins, now.—Speak, George,
customers approach.
G. CRES. Is the barber prepared?
FRANK. JUN. With ignorance enough to go through with it;
so near I am to him, we must call cousins; would thou
wert as sure to hit the tailor!
G. CRES. If I do not steal away handsomely, let me never
play the tailor again.
GEO. What is’t you lack? &c.
FRANK. JUN. Good satins, sir.
GEO. The best in Europe, sir; here’s a piece worth a
piece every yard of him; the king of Naples wears no
better silk; mark his gloss, he dazzles the eye to look
upon him.
FRANK. JUN. Is he not gummed?[904]
GEO. Gummed! he has neither mouth nor tooth, how can he
be gummed?
FRANK. JUN. Very pretty.
W.-CAM.. An especial good piece of silk; the worm never
spun a finer thread, believe it, sir.
FRANK. JUN. Gascoyn, you have some skill in it.
W.-CAM.. Your tailor, sir?
FRANK. JUN. Yes, sir.
G. CRES. A good piece, sir; but let’s see more choice.
RAL. Tailor, drive thorough; you know your bribes.
G. CRES. Mum: he bestows forty pounds, if I say the
word.
RAL. Strike through; there’s poundage for you then.
FRANK. JUN. Ay, marry, I like this better.—What sayst
thou, Gascoyn?
G. CRES. A good piece indeed, sir.
GEO. The great Turk has worse satin at’s elbow than
this, sir.
FRANK. JUN. The price?
W.-CAM.. Look on the mark, George.
GEO. O, _Souse_ and _P_, by my facks, sir.
W.-CAM.. The best sort then; sixteen a yard, nothing to
be bated.
FRANK. JUN. Fie, sir, fifteen’s too high, yet so.—
How[905] many yards will serve for my suit, sirrah?
G. CRES. Nine yards, you can have no less, sir Andrew.
FRANK. JUN. But I can, sir, if you please to steal less;
I had but eight in my last suit.
G. CRES. You pinch us too near, in faith, sir Andrew.
FRANK. JUN. Yet can you pinch out a false pair of
sleeves to a friezado doublet.
GEO. No, sir; some purses and pin-pillows perhaps: a
tailor pays for his kissing that ways.
FRANK. JUN. Well, sir, eight yards; eight fifteens I
give, and cut it.
W.-CAM.. I cannot, truly, sir.
GEO. My master must be no subsidy-man, sir, if he take
such fifteens.
FRANK. JUN. I am at highest, sir, if you can take money.
W.-CAM.. Well, sir, I'll give you the buying once; I hope
to gain it in your custom: want you nothing else, sir?
FRANK. JUN. Not at this time, sir.
G. CRES. Indeed but you do, sir Andrew; I must needs
deliver my lady’s message to you, she enjoined me by
oath to do it; she commanded me to move you for a new
gown.
FRANK. JUN. Sirrah, I'll break your head, if you motion
it again.
G. CRES. I must endanger myself for my lady, sir: you
know she’s to go to my lady Trenchmore’s wedding; and to
be seen there without a new gown! she’ll have ne’er an
eye to be seen there, for her fingers in ’em: nay, by my
fack, sir, I do not think she’ll go; and then, the cause
known, what a discredit 'twill be to you!
FRANK. JUN. Not a word more, goodman snip-snapper, for
your ears.—What comes this to, sir?
W.-CAM.. Six pound, sir.
FRANK. JUN. There’s your money. [_Gives money._]—Will
you take this, and be gone and about your business
presently?
G. CRES. Troth, sir, I'll see some stuffs for my lady
first; I'll tell her, at least, I did my good will.—A
fair piece of cloth-of-silver, pray you, now.
GEO. Or cloth-of-gold, if you please, sir, as rich as
ever the Sophy wore.
FRANK. JUN. You are the arrantest villain of a tailor
that ever sat cross-legged; what do you think a gown of
this stuff will come to?
G. CRES. Why, say it be forty pound, sir, what’s that to
you? three thousand a-year I hope will maintain it.
FRANK. JUN. It will, sir; very good, you were best be my
overseer: say I be not furnished with money, how then?
G. CRES. A very fine excuse in you! which place of ten
now will you send me for a hundred pound, to bring it
presently?
W.-CAM.. Sir, sir, your tailor persuades you well; ’tis
for your credit and the great content of your lady.
FRANK. JUN. ’Tis for your content, sir, and my charges.—
Never think, goodman false-stitch, to come to the
mercer’s with me again: pray, will you see if my cousin
Sweetball the barber—he’s nearest hand—be furnished, and
bring me word instantly.
G. CRES. I fly, sir. [_Exit._
FRANK. JUN. You may fly, sir, you have clipt somebody’s
wings for it, to piece out your own; an arrant thief you
are!
W.-CAM.. Indeed he speaks honestly and justly, sir.
FRANK. JUN. You expect some gain, sir, there’s your
cause of love.
W.-CAM.. Surely I do a little, sir.
FRANK. JUN. And what might be the price of this?
W.-CAM.. This is thirty a yard; but if you’ll go to
forty, here’s a nonpareil.
FRANK. JUN. So, there’s a matter of forty pound for a
gown-cloth?
W.-CAM.. Thereabouts, sir: why, sir, there are far short
of your means that wear the like.
FRANK. JUN. Do you know my means, sir?
GEO. By overhearing your tailor, sir,—three thousand
a-year; but if you’d have a petticoat for your lady,
here’s a stuff.
FRANK. JUN. Are you another tailor, sirrah? here’s a
knave! what are you?
GEO. You are such another gentleman! but for the stuff,
sir, ’tis _L.SS._ and _K_, for the turn stript[906] a'
purpose; a yard and a quarter broad too, which is the
just depth of a woman’s petticoat.
FRANK. JUN. And why stript for a petticoat?
GEO. Because if they abuse their petticoats, there are
abuses stript; then ’tis taking them up, and they may be
stript and whipt too.[907]
FRANK. JUN. Very ingenious!
GEO. Then it is likewise stript standing, between which
is discovered the open part, which is now called the
placket.[908]
FRANK. JUN. Why, was it ever called otherwise?
GEO. Yes; while the word remained pure in his original,
the Latin tongue, who have no K's, it was called the
_placet_; _a placendo_, a thing or place to please.
_Re-enter_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM.
FRANK. JUN. Better and worse still.— Now, sir, you come
in haste; what says my cousin?
G. CRES. Protest, sir, he’s half angry, that either you
should think him unfurnished, or not furnished for your
use; there’s a hundred pound ready for you: he desires
you to pardon his coming; his folks are busy, and his
wife trimming a gentleman; but at your first approach
the money wants but telling.
FRANK. JUN. He would not trust you with it—I con him
thanks[909]—for that he knows what trade you are of.—
Well, sir, pray, cut him patterns; he may in the
meantime know my lady’s liking: let your man take the
pieces whole, with the lowest prices, and walk with me
to my cousin’s.
W.-CAM.. With all my heart, sir.—Ralph, your cloak, and
go with the gentleman: look you give good measure.
G. CRES. Look you carry a good yard with you.
RAL. The best i' the shop, sir; yet we have none bad.—
You’ll have the stuff for the petticoat too?
FRANK. JUN. No, sir, the gown only.
G. CRES. By all means, sir: not the petticoat? that were
holy-day upon working-day, i’faith.
FRANK. JUN. You are so forward for a knave,[910] sir!
G. CRES. ’Tis for your credit and my lady’s both I do
it, sir.
FRANK. JUN. Your man is trusty, sir?
W.-CAM.. O sir, we keep none but those we dare trust,
sir.—Ralph, have a care of light gold.
RAL. I warrant you, sir, I'll take none.
FRANK. JUN. Come, sirrah.—Fare you well, sir.
W.-CAM.. Pray, know my shop another time, sir.
FRANK. JUN. That I shall, sir, from all the shops i' the
town; ’tis the Lamb in Lombard Street.
[_Exent_ FRANKLIN _jun._, G. CRESSINGHAM,
_and_ RALPH _carrying the stuffs and a
yard-measure_.
GEO. A good morning’s work, sir; if this custom would
but last long, you might shut up your shop and live
privately.
W.-CAM.. O George, but here’s a grief that takes away all
the gains and joy of all my thrift.
GEO. What’s that, sir?
W.-CAM.. Thy mistress, George; her frowardness sours all
my comfort.
GEO. Alas, sir, they are but squibs and crackers,
they’ll soon die; you know her flashes of old.
W.-CAM.. But they fly so near me, that they burn me,
George;
They are as ill as muskets charg’d with bullets.
GEO. She has discharged herself now, sir; you need not
fear her.
W.-CAM.. No man can love without his affliction, George.
GEO. As you cannot without my mistress.
W.-CAM.. Right, right;[911] there’s harmony in discords:
this lamp of love, while any oil is left, can never be
extinct; it may, like a snuff, wink and seem to die, but
up he will again and shew his head: I cannot be quiet,
George, without my wife at home.
GEO. And when she’s at home you’re never quiet, I'm
sure; a fine life you have on’t! Well, sir, I'll do my
best to find her, and bring her back, if I can.
W.-CAM.. Do, honest George; at Knavesby’s house, that
varlet’s—
There is her haunt and harbour—who enforces
A kinsman on her, and [she] calls him cousin.
Restore her, George, to ease this heart that’s vext,
The best new suit that e’er thou wor’st is next.
GEO. I thank you aforehand, sir. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_A room in_ SWEETBALL’S _house_.
_Enter_ FRANKLIN _jun. and_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM
_disguised as before_, RALPH _carrying the stuffs and
a yard-measure_, SWEETBALL, _and Boy_.
SWEET. Were it of greater moment than you speak of,
noble sir, I hope you think me sufficient, and it shall
be effectually performed.
FRANK. JUN. I could wish your wife did not know it, coz;
women’s tongues are not always tuneable; I may many ways
requite it.
SWEET. Believe me, she shall not, sir; which will be the
hardest thing of all.
FRANK. JUN. Pray you, despatch him then.
SWEET. With the celerity a man tells gold to him.
FRANK. JUN. He hits a good comparison. [_Aside._]—Give
my waste-good your stuffs, and go with my cousin, sir;
he’ll presently despatch you.
RAL. Yes, sir. [_Gives stuffs to_ G. CRESSINGHAM.
SWEET. Come with me, youth, I am ready for you in my
more private chamber.
[_Exeunt._ SWEETBALL _and_ RALPH.
FRANK. JUN. Sirrah, go you shew your lady the stuffs,
and let her choose her colour; away, you know whither.—
Boy, prithee, lend me a brush i' the meantime.—Do you
tarry all day now?
G. CRES. That I will, sir, and all night too, ere I come
again. [_Exit with the stuffs._
BOY. Here’s a brush, sir. [_Gives brush._
FRANK. JUN. A good child.
SWEET. [_within_] What, Toby!
BOY. Anon, sir.
SWEET. [_within_] Why, when,[912] goodman picklock?
BOY. I must attend my master, sir.—I come.
FRANK. JUN. Do, pretty lad. [_Exit Boy._]—So, take water
at Cole-Harbour:[913]
An easy mercer, and an innocent[914] barber!
[_Exit with the brush._
SCENE IV.
_Another room in_ SWEETBALL’S _house_.
_Enter_ SWEETBALL, RALPH, _and Boy_.
SWEET. So, friend; I'll now despatch you presently.—
Boy, reach me my dismembering instrument, and let my
cauterizer[915] be ready; and, hark you, snip-snap——
BOY. Ay, sir.
SWEET. See if my _luxinium_,[916] my fomentation, be
provided first; and get my rollers, bolsters,[917] and
pledgets armed. [_Exit Boy._
RAL. Nay, good sir, despatch my business first; I should
not stay from my shop.
SWEET. You must have a little patience, sir, when you
are a patient: if _præputium_ be not too much perished,
you shall lose but little by it, believe my art for
that.
RAL. What’s that, sir?
SWEET. Marry, if there be exulceration between
_præputium_ and _glans_, by my faith, the whole _penis_
may be endangered as far as _os pubis_.
RAL. What’s this you talk on, sir?
SWEET. If they be gangrened once, _testiculi_, _vesica_,
and all may run to mortification.
RAL. What a pox does this barber talk on?
SWEET. O fie, youth! _pox_ is no word of art; _morbus
Gallicus_, or _Neapolitanus_, had been well: come,
friend, you must not be nice; open your griefs freely to
me.
RAL. Why, sir, I open my grief to you, I want my money.
SWEET. Take you no care for that; your worthy cousin has
given me part in hand, and the rest I know he will upon
your recovery, and I dare take his word.
RAL. ’Sdeath, where’s my ware?
SWEET. Ware! that was well; the word is cleanly, though
not artful; your ware it is that I must see.
RAL. My tabine[918] and cloth-of-tissue!
SWEET. You will neither have tissue nor issue, if you
linger in your malady; better a member cut off than
endanger the whole microcosm.
RAL. Barber, you are not mad?
SWEET. I do begin to fear you are subject to
_subeth_,[919] unkindly sleeps, which have bred
oppilations in your brain; take heed, the _symptoma_
will follow, and this may come to frenzy: begin with the
first cause, which is the pain of your member.
RAL. Do you see my yard, barber?
[_Holding up yard-measure._
SWEET. Now you come to the purpose; ’tis that I must see
indeed.
RAL. You shall feel it, sir: death, give me my fifty
pounds or my ware again, or I'll measure out your
anatomy by the yard!
SWEET. Boy, my cauterizing iron red hot!
_Re-enter Boy with the iron._
BOY. ’Tis here, sir.
SWEET. If you go further, I take my dismembering knife.
RAL. Where’s the knight, your cousin? the thief and the
tailor, with my cloth-of-gold and tissue?
BOY. The gentleman that sent away his man with the
stuffs is gone a pretty while since; he has carried away
our new brush.
SWEET. O that brush hurts my heart’s side! Cheated,
cheated! he told me that your _virga_ had a burning
fever.
RAL. Pox on your _virga_, barber!
SWEET. And that you would be bashful, and ashamed to
shew your head.
RAL. I shall so hereafter; but here it is, you see, yet,
my head, my hair, and my wit; and here are my heels that
I must shew to my master, if the cheaters be not found:
and, barber, provide thee plasters, I will break thy
head with every basin under the pole. [_Exit._
SWEET. Cool the _luxinium_,[920] and quench the
cauterizer;
I'm partly out of my wits, and partly mad;
My razor’s at my heart: these storms will make
My sweet-balls stink, my harmless basins shake.
[_Exeunt._
ACT III. SCENE I.
_An apartment in_ LORD BEAUFORT’S _house_.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GEORGE CRESSINGHAM _disguised as a
page, and_ MISTRESS KNAVESBY.
MIS. G. CRES. You’re welcome, mistress, as I may
speak it,
But my lord will give’t a sweeter emphasis;
I'll give him knowledge of you. [_Going._
MIS. KNA. Good sir, stay,
Methinks it sounds sweetest upon your tongue;
I'll wish you to go no further for my welcome.
MIS. G. CRES. Mine! it seems you never heard good
music,
That commend a bagpipe: hear his harmony!
MIS. KNA. Nay, good now, let me borrow of your
patience,
I'll pay you again before I rise to-morrow:
If it please you[921]——
MIS. G. CRES. What would you, forsooth?
MIS. KNA. Your company, sir.
MIS. G. CRES. My attendance you should have, mistress,
but that my lord expects it, and ’tis his due.
MIS. KNA. And must be paid upon the hour? that’s too
strict; any time of the day will serve.
MIS. G. CRES. Alas, ’tis due every minute! and paid,
’tis due again, or else I forfeit my recognisance, the
cloth I wear of his.
MIS. KNA. Come, come; pay it double at another time, and
’twill be quitted; I have a little use of you.
MIS. G. CRES. Of me, forsooth? small use can be made of
me: if you have suit to my lord, none can speak better
for you than you may yourself.
MIS. KNA. O, but I am bashful.
MIS. G. CRES. So am I, in troth, mistress.
MIS. KNA. Now I remember me, I have a toy to deliver
your lord that’s yet unfinished, and you may further me:
pray you, your hands, while I unwind this skein of gold
from you; ’twill not detain you long.
[_Putting skein on_ MIS. G. CRESSINGHAM’S _hands_.
MIS. G. CRES. You wind me into your service prettily:
with all the haste you can, I beseech you.
MIS. KNA. If it tangle not, I shall soon have done.
MIS. G. CRES. No, it shall not tangle, if I can help it,
forsooth.
MIS. KNA. If it do, I can help it; fear not: this thing
of long length you shall see I can bring you to a
bottom.
MIS. G. CRES. I think so too; if it be not bottomless,
this length will reach it.
MIS. KNA. It becomes you finely; but I forewarn you,
and remember it, your enemy gain not this advantage of
you; you are his prisoner then; for, look you, you are
mine now, my captive manacled, I have your hands in
bondage.[922]
MIS. G. CRES. ’Tis a good lesson, mistress, and I am
perfect in it; another time I'll take out this, and
learn another: pray you, release me now.
MIS. KNA. I could kiss you now, spite of your teeth, if
it please me.
MIS. G. CRES. But you could not, for I could bite you
with the spite of my teeth, if it pleases me.
MIS. KNA. Well, I'll not tempt you so far, I shew it but
for rudiment.
MIS. G. CRES. When I go a-wooing, I'll think on’t again.
MIS. KNA. In such an hour I learnt it: say I should,
In recompence of your hands' courtesy,
Make you a fine wrist-favour of this gold,
With all the letters of your name emboss’d
On a soft tress of hair, which I shall cut
From mine own fillet, whose ends should meet and close
In a fast true-love knot, would you wear it
For my sake, sir?
MIS. G. CRES. I think not, truly, mistress;
My wrists have enough of this gold already;
Would they were rid on’t yet! pray you, have done;
In troth, I'm weary.
MIS. KNA. And what a virtue
Is here express’d in you, which had lain hid
But for this trial: weary of gold, sir?
O that the close engrossers of this treasure
Could be so free to put it off of hand!
What a new-mended world would here be!
It shews a generous condition[923] in you;
In sooth, I think I shall love you dearly for’t.
MIS. G. CRES. But if they were in prison, as I am,
They would be glad to buy their freedom with it.
MIS. KNA. Surely no; there are that, rather than
release
This dear companion, do lie in prison
With it, yes, and will die in prison too.
MIS. G. CRES. ’Twere pity but the hangman did
enfranchise both.
_Enter_ LORD BEAUFORT.
L. BEAU. Selenger, where are you?
MIS. G. CRES. E'en here, my lord.—Mistress, pray you, my
liberty; you hinder my duty to my lord.
L. BEAU. [_taking off his hat_] Nay, sir, one courtesy
shall serve us both
At this time; you are busy, I perceive;
When next your leisure[924] serves you, I'd employ you.
MIS. G. CRES. You must pardon me, my lord; you see I am
entangled here.—Mistress, I protest I'll break prison,
if you free me not: take you no notice?
MIS. KNA. O, cry your honour mercy!—You are now at
liberty, sir. [_Releasing her hands._
MIS. G. CRES. And I'm glad on’t; I'll ne’er give both my
hands at once again to a woman’s command; I'll put one
finger in a hole rather.
L. BEAU. Leave us.
MIS. G. CRES. Free leave have you, my lord, so I think
you may have.—Filthy beauty, what a white witch thou
art! [_Exit._
L. BEAU. Lady, you’re welcome.
MIS. KNA. I did believe[925] it from your page, my
lord.
L. BEAU. Your husband sent you to me?
MIS. KNA. He did, my lord;
With duty and commends unto your honour,
Beseeching you to use me very kindly,
By the same token your lordship gave him grant
Of a new lease of threescore pounds a-year,
Which he and his should forty years enjoy.
L. BEAU. The token’s true; and for your sake, lady,
’Tis likely to be better’d; not alone the lease,
But the fee-simple may be his and yours.
MIS. KNA. I have a suit unto your lordship too,
Only myself concerns.
L. BEAU. ’Twill be granted, sure,
Though it outvalue thy husband’s.
MIS. KNA. Nay, ’tis small charge;
Only your good will and good word, my lord.
L. BEAU. The first is thine confirm’d; the second,
then,
Cannot stay long behind.
MIS. KNA. I love your page, sir.
L. BEAU. Love him! for what?
MIS. KNA. O the great wisdoms that
Our grandsires had! do you ask me reason for’t?
I love him ’cause I like him, sir.
L. BEAU. My page!
MIS. KNA. In mine eye he is a most delicate youth,
But in my heart a thing that it would bleed for.
L. BEAU. Either your eye’s blinded or your remembrance
broken;
Call to mind wherefore you came hither, lady.
MIS. KNA. I do, my lord; for love; and I'm in
profoundly.
L. BEAU. You trifle, sure; do you long for unripe
fruit?
'Twill breed diseases in you.
MIS. KNA. Nothing but worms
In my belly, and there’s a seed to expel them;
In mellow, falling fruit I find no relish.
L. BEAU. ’Tis true the youngest vines yield[926] the
most clusters,
But the old ever the sweetest grapes.
MIS. KNA. I can taste of both, sir;
But with the old I am the soonest cloy’d,
The green keep still an edge on appetite.
L. BEAU. Sure you’re a common creature.
MIS. KNA. Did you doubt it?
Wherefore came I hither else? did you think
That honesty only had been immur’d for you,
And I should bring it as an offertory
Unto your shrine of lust? As ’twas, my lord,
’Twas meant to you, had not the slippery wheel
Of fancy[927] turn’d when I beheld your page;
Nay, had I seen another before him
In mine eyes better grace, he had been forestall’d;
But as it is—all my strength cannot help—
Beseech you, your good will and good word, my lord;
You may command him, sir; if not affection,
Yet his body; and I desire but that:
Do it, and I'll command myself your prostitute.
L. BEAU. You’re a base strumpet! I succeed my page!
MIS. KNA. O, that’s no wonder, my lord; the servant
oft
Tastes to his master of the daintiest dish
He brings to him: beseech you, my lord——
L. BEAU. You’re a bold mischief; and to make me your
spokesman,
Your procurer to my servant!
MIS. KNA. Do you shrink at that?
Why, you’ve done worse without the sense of ill,
With a full, free conscience of a libertine:
Judge your own sin;
Was it not worse, with a damn’d broking-fee
To corrupt a[928] husband, ’state him a pander
To his own wife, by virtue of a lease
Made to him and your bastard issue, could you get ’em?
What a degree of baseness call you this?
’Tis a poor sheep-steal[er] provok’d by want
Compar’d unto a capital traitor: the master
To his servant may be recompens’d, but the husband
To his wife never.
L. BEAU. Your husband shall smart for this. [_Exit._
MIS. KNA. Hang him, do! you have brought him to
deserve it;
Bring him to the punishment, there I'll join with you;
I loathe him to the gallows! hang your page too;
One mourning-gown shall serve for both of them.
This trick hath kept mine honesty secure;
Best soldiers use policy: the lion’s skin
Becomes the body not[929] when ’tis too great,
But then the fox’s may sit close and neat. [_Exit._
SCENE II.
_A Street._
_Enter_ SWEETBALL, FLESH-HOOK, _and_ COUNTERBUFF.
SWEET. Now, Flesh-hook, use thy talon, set upon his
right shoulder; thy sergeant, Counterbuff, at the left;
grasp in his jugulars; and then let me alone to tickle
his _diaphragma_.
FLESH. You are sure he has no protection, sir?
SWEET. A protection to cheat and cozen! there was never
any granted to that purpose.
FLESH. I grant you that too, sir; but that use has been
made of ’em.
COUN. Marry has there, sir; how could else so many
broken bankrupts play up and down by their creditors'
noses, and we dare not touch ’em?
SWEET. That’s another case, Counterbuff; there’s
privilege to cozen, but here cozenage went before, and
there’s no privilege for that: to him boldly, I will
spend all the scissors in my shop, but I'll have him
snapt.
COUN. Well, sir, if he come within the length of large
mace once, we’ll teach him to cozen.
SWEET. Marry, hang him! teach him no more cozenage, he’s
too perfect in’t already; go gingerly about it; lay your
mace on gingerly, and spice him soundly.
COUN. He’s at the tavern, you say?
SWEET. At the Man in the Moon, above stairs; so soon as
he comes down, and the bush[930] left at his back, Ralph
is the dog behind him; he watches to give us notice: be
ready then, my dear bloodhounds; you shall deliver him
to Newgate, from thence to the hangman: his body I will
beg of the sheriffs, for at the next lecture I am likely
to be the master of my anatomy; then will I vex every
vein about him; I will find where his disease of
cozenage lay, whether in the _vertebræ_ or in _os
coxendix_;[931] but I guess I shall find it descend from
_humore_, through the _thorax_, and lie just at his
fingers'-ends.
_Enter_ RALPH.
RAL. Be in readiness, for he’s coming this way, alone
too; stand to’t like gentlemen and yeomen: so soon as he
is in sight, I'll go fetch my master.
SWEET. I have had a conquassation in my _cerebrum_ ever
since the disaster, and now it takes me again; if it
turn to a megrim, I shall hardly abide the sight of him.
RAL. My action of defamation shall be clapt on him too;
I will make him appear to’t in the shape of a white
sheet, all embroidered over with _peccavis_: look about,
I'll go fetch my master. [_Exit._
_Enter_ FRANKLIN _junior_.
COUN. I arrest you, sir.
FRANK. JUN. _Ha! qui va là? que pensez-vous faire,
messieurs? me voulez-vous dérober? je n’ai point
d’argent; je suis un pauvre gentilhomme François._
SWEET. Whoop! pray you, sir, speak English; you did when
you bought cloth-of-gold at six _nihils_ a-yard, when
Ralph’s _præputium_ was exulcerated.
FRANK. JUN. _Que voulez-vous? me voulez-vous tuer? les
François ne sont point ennemis: voilà ma bourse; que
voulez-vous d’avantage?_
COUN. Is not your name Franklin, sir?
FRANK. JUN. _Je n’ai point de joyaux que cestui-ci, et
c’est à monsieur l’ambassadeur; il m’envoie à ses
affaires, et vous empêchez mon service._
COUN. Sir, we are mistaken, for ought I perceive.
_Enter_ WATER-CAMLET _with_ RALPH, _hastily_.
W.-CAM. So, so; you have caught him, that’s well.—How
do you, sir?
FRANK. JUN. _Vous semblez être un homme courtois, je
vous prie entendez mes affaires; il y a ici deux ou
trois canailles qui m’ont assiégé, un pauvre étranger,
qui ne leur ai fait nul mal; ni donné mauvaise parole,
ni tiré mon épée; l’un me prend par une épaule, et me
frappe deux livres pesant; l’autre me tire par le bras,
il parle je ne sais quoi: je leur ai donné ma bourse, et
s’ils ne me veulent point laisser aller, que ferai-je,
monsieur?_
W.-CAM.. This is a Frenchman, it seems, sirs.
COUN. We can find no other in him, sir; and what that is
we know not.
W.-CAM.. He’s very like the man we seek for, else my
lights go false.
SWEET. In your shop[932] they may, sir, but here they go
true; this is he.
RAL. The very same, sir; as sure as I am Ralph, this is
the rascal.
COUN. Sir, unless you will absolutely challenge him the
man, we dare not proceed further.
FLESH. I fear we are too far already.
W.-CAM.. I know not what to say to’t.
_Enter_ MARGARITA.
MAR. _Bon jour, bon jour, gentilhommes._
SWEET. How now? more news from France?
FRANK. JUN. _Cette femme ici est de mon pays.—Madame, je
vous prie leur dire mon pays; ils m’ont retargé,[933] je
ne sais pourquoi._
MAR. _Etes-vous de France, monsieur?_
FRANK. JUN. _Madame, vrai est, que je les ai trompés, et
suis arrêté, et n’ai nul moyen d'échapper qu’en
changeant mon langage: aidez-moi en cette affaire; je
vous connois bien, où vous tenez un bordeau; vous et les
votres en serez de mieux._
MAR. _Laissez faire à moi. Etes-vous de Lyons,
dites-vous?_
FRANK. JUN. _De Lyon, ma chère dame._
MAR. _Mon cousin! je suis bien aise de vous voir en
bonne disposition._ [_Re-enter_
FRANK. JUN. _Ma cousine!_
W.-CAM.. This is a Frenchman sure.
SWEET. If he be, ’tis the likest an Englishman that ever
I saw, all his dimensions, proportions; had I but the
dissecting of his heart, in _capsula cordis_ could I
find it now; for a Frenchman’s heart is more quassative
and subject to tremor than an Englishman’s.
W.-CAM.. Stay, we’ll further inquire of this
gentlewoman.—Mistress, if you have so much English to
help us with—as I think you have, for I have long seen
you about London—pray, tell us, and truly tell us, is
this gentleman a natural Frenchman or no?
MAR. Ey, begar, de Frenchman, born _à Lyons_, my cozin.
W.-CAM.. Your cousin? if he be not your cousin, he’s my
cousin, sure.
MAR. Ey connosh his _père_, what you call his fadre; he
sell _poissons_.
SWEET. Sell poisons? his father was a ’pothecary then.
MAR. No, no, _poissons_,—what you call fish, fish.
SWEET. O, he was a fishmonger.
MAR. _Oui, oui._
W.-CAM.. Well, well, we are mistaken, I see; pray you, so
tell him, and request him not to be offended; an honest
man may look like a knave, and be ne’er the worse for’t:
the error was in our eyes, and now we find it in his
tongue.
MAR. _J'essayerai encore une fois, monsieur cousin, pour
votre sauveté; allez-vous en; votre liberté est
suffisante: je gagnerai le reste pour mon devoir, et
vous aurez votre part à mon école; j’ai une fille qui
parle un peu François; elle conversera avec vous à la
Fleur-de-Lis en Turnbull Street.[934] Mon cousin, ayez
soin de vous-même, et trompez ces ignorans._
FRANK. JUN. _Cousin, pour l’amour de vous, et
principalement pour moi, je suis content de m’en aller:
je trouverai votre école; et si vos écoliers me sont
agréables, je tirerai à l'épée seule; et si d’aventure
je la rompe, je payerai dix sous; et pour ce vieux fol,
et ces deux canailles, ce poulain snip-snap, et l’autre
bonnet rond, je les verrai pendre premier que je les
vois._ [_Exit._
W.-CAM.. So, so, she has got him off, but I perceive much
anger in his countenance still.—And what says he, madam?
MAR. Moosh, moosh anger; but ey connosh heer lodging
shall cool him very well; dere is a kinswomans can moosh
allay heer heat and heer spleen; she shall do for my
saka, and he no trobla you.
W.-CAM.. [_giving money_] Look, there is earnest, but thy
reward’s behind; come to my shop, the Holy Lamb in
Lombard Street: thou hast one friend more than e’er thou
hadst.
MAR. Tank u, monsieur, shall visit u; ey make all
pacifie: _à votre service très humblement_,—tree, four,
five fool of u. [_Aside, and exit._
W.-CAM.. What’s to be done now?
COUN. To pay us for our pains, sir; and better reward
us, that we may be provided against further danger that
may come upon ’s for false imprisonment.
W.-CAM.. All goes false, I think. What do you, neighbour
Sweetball?
SWEET. I must phlebotomise, sir, but my almanac says the
sign is in Taurus; I dare not cut my own throat; but if
I find any precedent that ever barber hanged himself,
I'll be the second example.
RAL. This was your ill _luxinium_,[935] barber, to cause
all to be cheated.
COUN. What say you to us, sir?
W.-CAM.. Good friends, come to me at a calmer hour,
My sorrows lie in heaps upon me now:
What you have, keep; if further trouble follow,
I'll take it on me: I would be press’d to death.
COUN. Well, sir, for this time we’ll leave you.
SWEET. I will go with you, officers; I will walk with
you in the open street, though it be a scandal to me;
for now I have no care of my credit, a cacokenny[936] is
run all over me.
[_Exeunt._ SWEETBALL, FLESH-HOOK, _and_
COUNTERBUFF.
W.-CAM.. What shall we do now, Ralph?
RAL. Faith, I know not, sir: here comes George, it may
be he can tell you.
W.-CAM.. And there I look for more disaster still;
Yet George appears in a smiling countenance.
_Enter_ GEORGE.
Ralph, home to the shop; leave George and I together.
RAL. I am gone, sir. [_Exit._
W.-CAM.. Now, George, what better news eastward? all goes
ill t’other way.
GEO. I bring you the best news that ever came about your
ears in your life, sir.
W.-CAM.. Thou puttest me in good comfort, George.
GEO. My mistress, your wife, will never trouble you
more.
W.-CAM.. Ha! never trouble me more? of this, George, may
be made a sad construction; that phrase we sometimes use
when death makes the separation; I hope it is not so
with her, George?
GEO. No, sir, but she vows she’ll never come home again
to you; so you shall live quietly; and this I took to be
very good news, sir.
W.-CAM.. The worst that could be this, candied poison:
I love her, George, and I am bound to do so;
The tongue’s bitterness must not separate
United[937] souls: ’twere base and cowardly
For all to yield to the small tongue’s assault:
The whole building must not be taken down
For the repairing of a broken window.
GEO. Ay, but this is a principal, sir: the truth is, she
will be divorced, she says, and is labouring with her
cousin Knave—what do you call him? I have forgotten the
latter end of his name.
W.-CAM.. Knavesby, George.
GEO. Ay, Knave, or Knavesby, one I took it to be.
W.-CAM.. Why, neither rage nor envy can make a cause,
George.
GEO. Yes, sir; not only at your person, but she shoots
at your shop too; she says you vent ware that is not
warrantable, braided ware, and that you give not London
measure; women, you know, look for more than a bare
yard: and then you keep children in the name of your
own, which she suspects came not in at the right door.
W.-CAM.. She may as well suspect immaculate truth
To be curs’d falsehood.
GEO. Ay, but if she will, she will; she’s a woman, sir.
W.-CAM.. ’Tis most true, George: well, that shall be
redress’d;
My cousin Cressingham must yield me pardon,
The children shall home again, and thou shalt conduct
'em, George.
GEO. That done, I'll be bold to venture once more for
her recovery, since you cannot live at liberty, but
because you are a rich citizen, you will have your chain
about your neck: I think I have a device will bring you
together by th' ears again, and then look to ’em as well
as you can.
W.-CAM.. O George, ’mongst all my heavy troubles, this
Is the groaning weight; but restore my wife![938]
GEO. Although you ne’er lead hour of quiet life.
W.-CAM. I will endeavour ’t, George; I'll lend her
will
A power and rule to keep all hush’d and still:
Eat we all sweetmeats, we are soonest rotten.
GEO. A sentence! pity ’t should have been forgotten!
[_Exeunt._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_A room in_ SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM′S _house_.
_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM _and Surveyor
severally_.
SUR. Where’s master steward?
SIR F. CRES. Within: what are you, sir?
SUR. A surveyor, sir.
SIR F. CRES. And an almanac-maker, I take it: can you
tell me what foul weather is toward?[939]
SUR. Marry, the foulest weather is, that your land is
flying away. [_Exit._
SIR F. CRES. A most terrible prognostication! All the
resort, all the business to my house is to my lady and
master steward, whilst sir Francis stands for a cipher;
I have made away myself and my power, as if I had done
it by deed of gift: here comes the comptroller of the
game.
_Enter_ SAUNDER.
SAUN. What, are you yet resolved to translate this
unnecessary land into ready money?
SIR F. CRES. Translate it!
SAUN. The conveyances are drawn, and the money ready: my
lady sent me to you to know directly if you meant to go
through in the sale; if not, she resolves of another
course.
SIR F. CRES. Thou speakest this cheerfully, methinks;
whereas faithful servants were wont to mourn when they
beheld the lord that fed and cherished them, as[940] by
cursed enchantment, removed into another blood.
Cressingham of Cressingham has continued many years, and
must the name sink now?
SAUN. All this is nothing to my lady’s resolution; it
must be done, or she’ll not stay in England: she would
know whether your son be sent for, that must likewise
set his hand to the sale; for otherwise the lawyers say
there cannot be a sure conveyance made to the buyer.
SIR F. CRES. Yes, I have sent for him; but, I pray thee,
think what a hard task ’twill be for a father to
persuade his son and heir to make away his inheritance.
SAUN. Nay, for that, use your own logic; I have heard
you talk at the sessions terribly against deer-stealers,
and that kept you from being put out of the commission.
[_Exit._
SIR F. CRES. I do live to see two miseries; one to be
commanded by my wife, the other to be censured by my
slave.
_Enter_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM.
G. CRES. That which I have wanted long, and has been
cause of my irregular courses, I beseech you let raise
me from the ground. [_Kneels._
SIR F. CRES. [_raising him and giving money_] Rise,
George; there’s a hundred pounds for you, and my
blessing, with these your mother’s favour: but I hear
your studies are become too licentious of late.
G. CRES. Has heard of my cozenage. [_Aside._
SIR F. CRES. What’s that you are writing?
G. CRES. Sir, not any thing.
SIR F. CRES. Come, I hear there’s something coming forth
of yours will be your undoing.
G. CRES. Of mine?
SIR F. CRES. Yes, of your writing; somewhat you should
write will be dangerous to you. I have a suit to you.
G. CRES. Sir, my obedience makes you commander in all
things.
SIR F. CRES. I pray, suppose I had committed some fault,
for which my life and sole estate were forfeit to the
law, and that some great man near the king should labour
to get my pardon, on condition he might enjoy my
lordship, could you prize your father’s life above the
grievous loss of your inheritance?
G. CRES. Yes, and my own life at stake too.
SIR F. CRES. You promise fair; I come now to make trial
of it. You know I have married one whom I hold so dear,
that my whole life is nothing but a mere estate
depending upon her will and her affections to me; she
deserves so well, I cannot longer merit than _durante
bene placita_: ’tis her pleasure, and her wisdom moves
in’t too, of which I'll give you ample satisfaction
hereafter, that I sell the land my father left me: you
change colour! I have promised her to do’t; and should I
fail, I must expect the remainder of my life as full of
trouble and vexation as the suit for a divorce: it lies
in you, by setting of your hand unto the sale, to add
length to his life that gave you yours.
G. CRES. Sir, I do now[941] ingeniously perceive why you
said lately somewhat I should write would be my
undoing, meaning, as I take it, setting my hand to this
assurance. O, good sir, shall I pass away my birthright?
O, remember there is a malediction denounced against
it in holy writ! Will you, for her pleasure, the
inheritance of desolation leave to your posterity? think
how compassionate the creatures of the field, that only
live on the wild benefits of nature,[942] are unto their
young ones; think likewise you may have more children by
this woman, and by this act you undo them too. ’Tis
a strange precedent this, to see an obedient son
labouring good counsel to the father; but know, sir,
that the spirits of my great-grandfather and your
father move[943] at this present in me, and what they
bequeathed you on their[944] deathbed, they charge you
not to give away in the dalliance of a woman’s bed. Good
sir, let it not be thought presumption in me that I have
continued my speech unto this length; the cause, sir, is
urgent, and, believe it, you shall find her beauty as
malevolent unto you as a red morning, that doth still
foretell a foul day to follow. O, sir, keep your land!
keep that to keep your name immortal, and you shall see
All that her malice and proud will procures
Shall shew her ugly heart, but hurt not yours.
SIR F. CRES. O, I am distracted, and my very soul sends
blushes into my cheeks!
_Enter_ GEORGE _with_ MARIA _and_ EDWARD.
G. CRES. See here an object to beget more compassion.
GEO. O, sir Francis, we have a most lamentable house at
home! nothing to be heard in’t but separation and
divorces, and such a noise of the spiritual court, as if
it were a tenement upon London Bridge, and built upon
the arches.
SIR F. CRES. What’s the matter?
GEO. All about boarding your children: my mistress is
departed.
SIR F. CRES. Dead!
GEO. In a sort she is, and laid out too, for she is run
away from my master.
SIR F. CRES. Whither?
GEO. Seven miles off, into Essex; she vowed never to
leave Barking while she lived, till these were brought
home again.
SIR F. CRES. O, they shall not offend her: I am sorry
for’t.
MARIA.[945] I am glad we are come home, sir; for we
lived in the unquietest house!
EDW. The angry woman, methought, grutched[946] us our
victuals; our new mother is a good soul, and loves us,
and does not frown so like a vixen as she does.
MARIA. I am at home now, and in heaven, methinks: what a
comfort ’tis to be under your wing!
EDW. Indeed, my mother was wont to call me your
nestle-cock, and I love you as well as she did.
SIR F. CRES. You are my pretty souls!
G. CRES. Does not the prattle of these move you?
_Re-enter_ SAUNDER _with_ KNAVESBY, _and Surveyor_.
SAUN. Look you, sir, here’s the conveyance and my
lady’s solicitor; pray resolve what to do, my lady is
coming down.—How now, George? how does thy mistress,
that sits in a wainscot-gown,[947] like a citizen’s lure
to draw in customers? O, she’s a pretty mouse-trap!
GEO. She’s ill baited though to take a Welshman, she
cannot away with[948] cheese.
SIR F. CRES. And what must I do now?
KNA. Acknowledge a fine and recovery of the land; then
for possession the course is common.
SIR F. CRES. Carry back the writings, sir; my mind is
changed.
SAUN. Changed! do not you mean to seal?
_Enter_ LADY CRESSINGHAM.
SIR F. CRES. No, sir, the tide’s turned.
SAUN. You must temper him like wax, or he’ll not seal.
L. CRES. Are you come back again?—How now, have you
done?
MARIA. How do you, lady mother?
L. CRES. You are good children.—Bid my woman give them
some sweetmeats.
MARIA. Indeed, I thank you:—is not this a kind mother?
G. CRES. Poor fools, you know not how dear you shall pay
for this sugar!
[_Exeunt._ GEORGE _with_ MARIA _and_ EDWARD.
L. CRES. What, ha’nt you despatched?
SIR F. CRES. No, sweetest, I'm dissuaded by my son
From the sale o' the land.
L. CRES. Dissuaded by your son!
SIR F. CRES. I cannot get his hand to’t.
L. CRES. Where’s our steward?
Cause presently that all my beds and hangings
Be taken down; provide carts, pack them up;
I'll to my house i' the country: have I studied
The way to your preferment and your children’s,
And do you cool i' th' upshot?
G. CRES. With your pardon,
I cannot understand this course a way
To any preferment, rather a direct
Path to our ruin.
L. CRES. O, sir, you’re young-sighted:—
Shew them the project of the land I mean
To buy in Ireland, that shall outvalue yours
Three thousand in a year.
KNA. [_shewing map_] Look you, sir; here is Clangibbon,
a fruitful country, and well wooded.
SIR F. CRES. What’s this? marsh ground?
KNA. No, these are bogs, but a little cost will drain
them: this upper part, that runs by the black water, is
the Cossack’s land,—a spacious country, and yields
excellent profit by the salmon and fishing for herring;
here runs the Kernesdale, admirable feed for cattle; and
hereabout is St. Patrick’s Purgatory.[949]
G. CRES. Purgatory? shall we purchase that too?
L. CRES. Come, come, will you despatch the other
business,
We may go through with this?
SIR F. CRES. My son’s unwilling.
L. CRES. Upon my soul, sir, I'll ne’er bed with you
Till you have seal’d.
SIR F. CRES. Thou hear’st her: on thy blessing
Follow me to the court, and seal.
G. CRES. Sir, were it my death, were’t to the loss of my
estate, I vow to obey you in all things; yet with it
remember there are two young ones living that may curse
you; I pray dispose part of the money on their generous
educations.
L. CRES. Fear no[t] you, sir.—The caroach there!—
When you have despatched, you shall find me at the
scrivener’s, where I shall receive the money.
G. CRES. She’ll devour that mass too.
L. CRES. How likest thou my power over him?
SAUN. Excellent.
L. CRES. This is the height of a great lady’s sway,
When her night-service makes her rule i' the day.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.[950]
_A hall in_ KNAVESBY’S _house_.
_Enter_ KNAVESBY.
KNA. Not yet, Sib? my lord keeps thee so long, thou’rt
welcome, I see then, and pays sweetly too: a good wench,
Sib, thou’rt, to obey thy husband. She’s come: a hundred
mark[951] a-year, how fine and easy it comes into mine
arms now!—
_Enter_ MISTRESS KNAVESBY.
Welcome home! what says my lord, Sib?
MIS. KNA. My lord says you are a cuckold!
KNA. Ha, ha, ha, ha! I thank him for that bob, i’faith;
I'll afford it him again at the same price a month
hence, and let the commodity grow as scarce as it will.
Cuckold, says his lordship? ha, ha! I shall burst my
sides with laughing, that’s the worst; name not a
hundred [a]-year, for then I burst.[952] It smarts not
so much as a fillip on the forehead by five parts: what
has his dalliance taken from thy lips? ’tis as sweet as
e’er’twas; let me try else; buss me, sugar-candy.
MIS. KNA. Forbear! you presume to a lord’s pleasure!
KNA. How’s that? not I, Sib.
MIS. KNA. Never touch me more;
I'll keep the noble stamp upon my lip,
No under baseness shall deface it now:
You taught me the way,
Now I am in, I'll keep it; I have kiss’d
Ambition, and I love it; I loathe the memory
Of every touch my lip hath tasted from thee.
KNA. Nay, but, sweet Sib, you do forget yourself.
MIS. KNA. I will forget all that I ever was,
And nourish new:[953] sirrah, I am a lady.
KNA. Lord bless us, madam!
MIS. KNA. I've enjoy’d a lord,
That’s real possession, and daily shall,
The which all ladies have not with their lords.
KNA. But, with your patience, madam, who was it that
preferred you to this ladyship?
MIS. KNA. ’Tis all I am beholding[954] to thee for;
Thou’st brought me out of ignorance into light:
Simple as I was, I thought thee a man,
[Un]till I found the difference by a man;
Thou art a beast, a hornèd beast, an ox!
KNA. Are these ladies' terms?
MIS. KNA. For thy pander’s fee,
It shall be laid under the candlestick;
Look for’t, I'll leave it for thee.
KNA. A little lower,
Good your ladyship, my cousin Camlet
Is in the house; let these things go no further.
MIS. KNA. ’Tis for mine own credit if I forbear, not
thine, thou bugle-browed[955] beast thou!
_Enter_ GEORGE _with rolls of paper in his hand_.
GEO. Bidden, bidden, bidden, bidden: so, all these are
past, but here’s as large a walk to come: if I do not
get it up at the feast, I shall be leaner for bidding
the guests, I'm sure.
KNA. How now? who’s this?
GEO. [_reads_] _Doctor Glister et_—what word’s this?
__fuxor__—O, _uxor_—the doctor and his wife—_Master Body
et uxor of Bow Lane, Master Knavesby et uxor_.
KNA. Ha! we are in, whatsoever the matter is.
GEO. Here’s forty couple more in this quarter; but
there, the provision bringing in, that puzzles me most.
[_Reads_] _One ox_,—that will hardly serve for beef
too;—_five muttons, ten lambs_,—poor innocents, they’ll
be devoured too!—_three gross of capons_——
KNA. Mercy upon us! what a slaughter-house is here!
GEO. [_reads_] _Two bushels of small birds, plovers,
snipes, woodcocks, partridge[s], larks_;—then for baked
meats——
KNA. George, George, what feast is this? ’tis not for
St. George’s day?
GEO. Cry you mercy, sir; you and your wife are in my
roll: my master invites you his guests to-morrow dinner.
KNA. Dinner, say’st thou? he means to feast a month
sure.
GEO. Nay, sir, you make up but a hundred couple.
KNA. Why, what ship has brought an India home to him,
that he’s so bountiful? or what friend dead—unknown to
us—has so much left to him of arable land, that he means
to turn to pasture thus?
GEO. Nay,’tis a vessel, sir; a good estate comes all in
one bottom to him, and ’tis a question whether ever he
find the bottom or no; a thousand a-year, that’s the
uppermost.
KNA. A thousand a-year!
GEO. To go no further about the bush, sir, now the
bird is caught, my master is to-morrow to be married,
and, amongst the rest, invites you a guest at his
wedding-dinner the second.
KNA. Married!
GEO. There is no other remedy for flesh and blood, that
will have leave to play, whether we will or no, or
wander into forbidden pastures.
KNA. Married! why, he is married, man; his wife is in my
house now; thy mistress is alive, George.
GEO. She that was, it may be, sir, but dead to him; she
played a little too rough with him, and he has discarded
her; he’s divorced, sir.
KNA. He divorced! then is her labour saved, for she was
labouring a divorce from him.
GEO. They are well parted then, sir.
KNA. But wilt thou not speak with her? i’faith, invite
her to’t.
GEO. ’Tis not in my commission, I dare not. Fare you
well, sir; I have much business in hand, and the time is
short.
KNA. Nay, but, George, I prithee, stay; may I report
this to her for a certain truth?
GEO. Wherefore am I employed in this invitation, sir?
KNA. Prithee, what is she his second choice?
GEO. Truly, a goodly presence, likely to bear great
children, and great store; she never saw five-and-thirty
summers together in her life by her appearance, and
comes in her French hood; by my fecks, a great match
’tis like to be: I am sorry for my old mistress, but
cannot help it. Pray you, excuse me now, sir; for all
the business goes through my hands, none employed but
myself. [_Exit._
KNA. Why, here is news that no man will believe but he
that sees.
MIS. KNA. This and your cuckoldry will be digestion
throughout the city-dinners and suppers for a month
together; there will need no cheese.
KNA. No more of that, Sib: I'll call my cousin Camlet,
and make her partaker of this sport.
_Enter_ MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET.