A SELECT COLLECTION
OF
OLD ENGLISH PLAYS.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY
IN THE YEAR 1744.
_FOURTH EDITION_,
NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED
WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS,
AND NEW NOTES
BY
W. CAREW HAZLITT.
BENJAMIN BLOM, INC.
[Illustration: New York]
A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.
_EDITION._
_A Match at Mid-night. A Pleasant Comœdie: As it hath beene
Acted by the Children of the Revells. Written by W. R. London:
Printed by Aug. Mathewes, for William Sheares, and are to be
sold at his Shop, in Brittaines Bursse._ 1633. 4º.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
+Sir Marmaduke Many-Minds.+
+Sir Janus Ambexter.+
+Captain Carvegut.+
+Lieutenant Bottom.+
+Ancient Young.+
+Bloodhound+, _a usurer_.
+Alexander Bloodhound+, } _his two sons_.
+Tim Bloodhound+, }
+Randall+, _a Welshman_.
+Ear-lack+, _a scrivener_.
+Sim+, _the clown_.
+John+, _servant to the Widow_.
+Jarvis+, _the Widow's husband, disguised like her servant_.
_A Smith._
+Busy+, _a Constable_.
_Watch._
[+Women.+]
+Widow Wag.+
+Moll+, _Bloodhound's daughter_.
+Widow's Maid.+
+Mistress Coote+, _a bawd_.
+Sue Shortheels+, _a whore_.
A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.
ACT I., SCENE I.
_Enter, as making themselves ready, +Tim Bloodhound+,
and +Sim+ the man._
+Sim.+ Good morrow, Master Tim.
+Tim.+ Morrow, Sim; my father stirring, Sim?
+Sim.+ Not yet, I think; he heard some ill-news of your
brother Alexander last night, that will make him lie an hour
extraordinary.
+Tim.+ Hum: I'm sorry the old man should lie by the hour; but,
O, these wicked elder brothers, that swear refuse them,[1]
and drink nothing but wicked sack; when we swear nothing but
niggers-noggers, make a meal of a bloat herring, water it with
four-shillings' beer, and then swear we have dined as well as
my lord mayor.
+Sim.+ Here was goody Fin, the fishwoman, fetched home her ring
last night.
+Tim.+ You should have put her money by itself, for fear of
wronging of the whole heap.
+Sim.+ So I did, sir, and washed it first in two waters.
+Tim.+ All these petty pawns, sirrah, my father commits to my
managing, to instruct me in this craft that, when he dies, the
commonwealth may not[2] want a good member.
_Enter +Mistress Mary+._
+Sim.+ Nay, you are cursed as much as he already.
+Mis. Mary.+ O brother, 'tis well you are up.
+Tim.+ Why, why?
+Mis. Mary.+ Now you shall see the dainty widow, the sweet
widow, the delicate widow, that to-morrow morning must be our
mother-in-law.
+Tim.+ What, the widow Wag?
+Sim.+ Yes, yes; she that dwells in Blackfriars, next to the
sign of the Fool laughing at a feather.[3]
+Mis. Mary.+ She, she; good brother, make yourself handsome,
for my father will bring her hither presently.
+Tim.+ Niggers-noggers, I thought he had been sick, and had not
been up, Sim.
+Sim.+ Why, so did I too; but it seems the widow took him at a
better hand, and raised him so much the sooner.
+Tim.+ While I tie my band, prythee stroke up my foretop a
little: niggers, an' I had but dreamed of this an hour before
I waked, I would have put on my Sunday clothes. 'Snails, my
shoes are pale as the cheek of a stewed pander; a clout, a
clout, Sim.
+Sim.+ More haste the worse speed; here's ne'er a clout now.
+Tim.+ What's that lies by the hooks?
+Sim.+ This? 'tis a sumner's coat.[4]
+Tim.+ Prythee, lend's a sleeve of that; he had a noble on't
last night, and never paid me my bill-money.
_Enter +Old Bloodhound+, the +Widow+, her +Maid+,
and +Man+._[5]
+Blood.+ Look, look, up[6] and ready; all is ready, widow. He
is in some deep discourse with Sim, concerning moneys out to
one or another.
+Wid.+ Has he said his prayers, sir?
+Blood.+ Prayer before providence! When did ye know any thrive
and swell that uses it? He's a chip o' th' old block; I
exercise him in the trade of thrift, by turning him to all the
petty pawns. If they come to me, I tell them I have given over
brokering, moiling for muck and trash, and that I mean to live
a life monastic, a praying life: pull out the tale of Crœsus
from my pocket, and swear 'tis called "Charity's Looking-Glass,
or an exhortation to forsake the world."
+Maid.+ Dainty hypocrite! [_Aside._
+Wid.+ Peace!
+Blood.+ But let a fine fool that's well-feathered come,
and withal good meat, I have a friend, it may be, that may
compassionate his wants. I'll tell you an old saw[7] for't over
my chimney yonder--
_A poor man seem to him that's poor,
And prays thee for to lend;
But tell the prodigal (not quite spent)
Thou wilt procure a friend._
+Wid.+ Trust me, a thrifty saw.
+Blood.+ Many will have virtuous admonitions on their walls,
but not a piece in their coffers: give me these witty politic
saws; and indeed my house is furnished with no other.
+Wid.+ How happy shall I be to wed such wisdom!
+Blood.+ Shalt bed it, shalt bed it, wench; shalt ha't by
infusion. Look, look!
_Enter a +Smith+._
+Smith.+ Save ye, Master Tim.
+Tim.+ Who's this? goodman File, the blacksmith! I thought it
had been our old collier. Did you go to bed with that dirty
face, goodman File?
+Smith.+ And rise with it too, sir.
+Tim.+ What have you bumming out there, goodman File?
+Smith.+ A vice, sir, that I would fain be furnished with a
little money upon.
+Tim.+ Why, how will you do to work then, goodman File?
+Smith.+ This is my spare vice, not that I live by.
+Tim.+ Hum! you did not buy this spare vice of a lean courtier,
did ye?
+Smith.+ No, sir, of a fat cook, that 'strained[8] of a smith
for's rent.
+Sim.+ O hard-hearted man of grease!
+Tim.+ Nay, nay, Sim, we must do't sometimes.
+Blood.+ Ha, thrifty whoreson!
+Tim.+ And what would serve your turn, goodman File?
+Smith.+ A noble, sir.
+Tim.+ What! upon a spare vice to lend a noble?
+Sim.+ Why, sir, for ten groats you may make yourself drunk,
and so buy a vice outright for half the money.
+Tim.+ That is a noble vice, I assure you.
+Sim.+ How long would you have it?
+Smith.+ But a fortnight; 'tis to buy stuff, I protest, sir.
+Tim.+ Look you, being a neighbour, and born one for another----
+Blood.+ Ha, villain, shalt have all!
+Tim.+ There is five shillings upon't, which, at the
fortnight's end, goodman File, you must make five shillings
sixpence.
+Smith.+ How, sir?
+Tim.+ Nay, an' it were not to do you a courtesy----
+Blood.+ Ha, boy!
+Tim.+ And then I had forgot threepence for my bill; so there
is four shillings and ninepence,[9] which you are to tender
back five shillings sixpence, goodman File, at the end of the
fortnight.
+Smith.+ Well, an' it were not for earnest necessity----Ha,
boys! I come, I come, you black rascals, let the cans go round.
[_Exit +Smith+._
+Tim.+ Sim, because the man's an honest man, I pray lay up his
vice, as safe as it were our own.
+Sim.+ And if he miss his day, and forfeit, it shall be yours
and your heirs for ever.
+Blood.+ What, disbursing money, boy? Here is thy mother-in-law.
+Sim.+ Your nose drops: 'twill spoil her ruff.
+Tim.+ Pray, forsooth, what's a clock?
+Maid.+ O, fie upon him, mistress, I thought he had begun to
ask you blessing.
+Wid.+ Peace, we'll have more on't. [_Walks towards him._
+Tim.+ I wonnot kiss, indeed.
+Sim.+ An' he wonnot, here are those that will, forsooth.
+Blood.+ Get you in, you rogue. [_Exit +Sim.+_
+Wid.+ I hope you will, sir: I was bred in Ireland, where the
women begin the salutation.
+Tim.+ I wonnot kiss truly.
+Wid.+ Indeed you must.
+Tim.+ Would my girdle may break if I do.[10]
+Wid.+ I have a mind.
+Tim.+ Niggers-noggers, I wonnot.
+Blood.+ Nay, nay, now his great oath's pass'd, there's no talk on't.
I like him ne'er the worse; there's an old saw for't--
_A kiss first, next the feeling sense,
Crack say the purse-strings, out fly the pence._
But he can talk, though: whose boy are you, Tim?
+Tim.+ Your boy, forsooth, father.
+Blood.+ Can you turn and wind a penny, Tim?
+Tim.+ Better than yourself, forsooth, father.
+Blood.+ You have looked in the church-book of late; how old
are you, Tim?
+Tim.+ Two and twenty years, three months, three days, and
three quarters of an hour, forsooth, father.
+Wid.+ He has arithmetic.
+Blood.+ And grammar too: what's Latin for your head, Tim?
+Tim.+ _Caput._
+Wid.+ But what for the head of a block?
+Tim.+ _Caput_ blockhead.
+Blood.+ Do you hear; your ear?
+Tim.+ _Aura._
+Blood.+ Your eye?
+Tim.+ _Oculus._
+Blood.+ That's for one eye; what's Latin for two?
+Tim.+ _Oculus-Oculus._[11]
+Widow.+ An admirable accidental grammarian, I protest, sir.
+Blood.+ This boy shall have all: I have an elder rogue that
sucks and draws me; a tavern academian; one that protests to
whores, and shares with highway lawyers; an arrant unclarified
rogue, that drinks nothing but wicked sack.
_Enter +Sim+ and +Alexander+ drunk._
+Sim.+ Here's a gentleman would speak with you.
+Blood.+ Look, look; now he's come for more money.
+Wid.+ A very hopeful house to match into, wench; the father a
knave, one son a drunkard, and t'other a fool. [_Aside._
+Tim.+ O monster, father! Look if he be not drunk; the very
sight of him makes me long for a cup of six.[12]
+Alex.+ Pray, father, pray to God to bless me. [_To +Tim+._
+Blood.+ Look, look! takes his brother for his father!
+Sim.+ Alas, sir! when the drink's in, the wit's out? and none
but wise children know their own fathers.
+Tim.+ Why, I am none of your father, brother; I am Tim; do you
know Tim?
+Alex.+ Yes, umph--for a coxcomb.
+Wid.+ How wild he looks! Good sir, we'll take our leaves.
+Blood.+ Shalt not go, faith, widow: you cheater, rogue;
must I have my friends frighted out of my house by you? Look
he[13] steal nothing to feast his bawds. Get you out, sirrah!
there are constables, beadles, whips, and the college of
extravagants, yclept Bridewell, you rogue; you rogue, there is,
there is, mark that.
+Alex.+ Can you lend me a mark upon this ring, sir? and there
set it down in your book, and, umph--mark that.
+Blood.+ I'll have no stolen rings picked out of pockets, or
taken upon the way,[14] not I.
+Alex.+ I'll give you an old saw for't.
+Blood.+ There's a rogue mocks his father: sirrah, get you
gone. Sim, go let loose the mastiff.
+Sim.+ Alas, sir! he'll tear and pull out your son's throat.
+Blood.+ Better pull't out than halter stretch it. Away, out of
my doors! rogue, I defy thee.
+Alex.+ Must you be my mother-in-law?
+Wid.+ So your father says, sir.
+Alex.+ You see the worst of your eldest son; I abuse nobody.
+Blood.+ The rogue will fall upon her.
+Alex.+ I will tell you an old saw.
+Wid.+ Pray let's hear it.
+Alex.+
_An old man is a bedful of bones,
And who can it deny?
By whom (umph)[15] a young wench lies and groans
For better company._
+Blood.+ Did you ever hear such a rascal? Come, come, let's
leave him: I'll go buy thy wedding-ring presently. You're best
be gone, sirrah: I am going for the constable--ay, and one of
the churchwardens; and, now I think on't, he shall pay five
shillings to the poor for being drunk: twelve pence shall go
into the box, and t'other four my partner and I will share
betwixt us. There's a new path to thrift, wench; we must live,
we must live, girl.
+Wid.+ And at last die for all together.
[_Exeunt +Bloodhound+, +Widow+, +Maid+, and +Man+._
+Sim.+ 'Tis a diamond.[16] [_Aside._
+Tim.+ You'll be at the Fountain[17] after dinner?
+Alex.+ While 'twill run, boy.
+Tim.+ Here's a noble now, and I'll bring you t'other as I come
by to the tavern; but I'll make you swear I shall drink nothing
but small beer.
+Alex.+ Niggers-noggers, thou shalt not; there's thine own oath
for thee: thou shalt eat nothing, an' thou wilt, but a poached
spider, and drive it down with syrup of toads. [_Exit._
+Tim.+ Ah! prythee, Sim, bid the maid eat my breakfast herself.
[_Exit._
+Sim.+ H' has turned his stomach, for all the world like a
Puritan's at the sight of a surplice.[18] But your breakfast
shall be devoured by a stomach of a stronger constitution, I
warrant you. [_Exit._
_Enter +Captain Carvegut+ and +Lieutenant
Bottom+._[19]
+Capt.+ No game abroad this morning? This
Coxcomb park,[20] I think, be past the best: I have
known the time the bottom 'twixt those hills has
been better fledged.
+Lieut.+ Look out, Captain, there's matter of
employment at foot o' th' hill.
+Capt.+ A business?
+Lieut.+ Yes, and hopeful. There's a morning
bird, his flight, it seems, for London: he halloos
and sings sweetly: prythee, let's go and put him
out of tune.
+Capt.+ Thee and I have crotchets in our pates;
and thou knowest two crotchets make one quaver;[21]
he shall shake for't. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Randall+._
+Ran.+
_Did hur not see hur true loves,
As hur came from London?
O, if hur saw not hur fine prave loves,
Randall is quite undone._
Well, was never mortal man in Wales could have waged praver,
finers, and nimblers, than Randalls have done, to get service
in Londons: whoope, where was hur now? just upon a pridge of
stone, between the legs of a couple of pretty hills, but no
more near mountains in Wales, than Clim of the Clough's bow to
hur cozen David's harp. And now hur prattle of Davie, I think
yonder come prancing down the hills from Kingston a couple of
hur t'other cozens, Saint Nicholas' clerks;[22] the morning was
so red as an egg, and the place fery full of dangers, perils,
and bloody businesses by reports: augh! her swords was trawn;
Cod pless us! and hur cozen Hercules was not stand against
two. Which shall hur take? If they take Randalls, will rip
Randalls cuts out; and then Randalls shall see Paul's steeples
no more; therefore hur shall go directly under the pridge, here
was but standing to knees in little fine cool fair waters; and
by cat, if hur have Randalls out, hur shall come and fetch
Randalls, and hur will, were hur nineteen Nicholas' clerks.
[_Exit._
_Enter +Captain+ and +Lieutenant+._
+Lieut.+ Which way took he?
+Capt.+ On straight, I think.
+Lieut.+ Then we should see him, man; he was just in mine eye
when we were at foot o' th' hill, and, to my thinking, stood
here looking towards us upon the bridge.
+Capt.+ So thought I; but with the cloud of dust we raised
about us, with the speed our horses made, it seems we lost him.
Now I could stamp, and bite my horse's ears off.
+Lieut.+ Let's spur towards Coomb House:[23] he struck that
way; sure, he's not upon the road.
+Capt.+ 'Sfoot, if we miss him, how shall we keep our word
with Saunder Bloodhound in Fleet Street, after dinner, at the
Fountain? he's out of cash; and thou know'st, by Cutter's
law,[24] we are bound to relieve one another.
+Lieut.+ Let's scour towards Coomb House; but if we miss him?
+Capt.+ No matter; dost see yonder barn o' th' left hand?
+Lieut.+ What of that?
+Capt.+ At the west end I tore a piece of board out,
And stuff'd in close amongst the straw a bag
Of a hundred pound at least, all in round shillings,
Which I made my last night's purchase from a lawyer.
+Lieut.+ Dost know the place to fetch it again?
+Capt.+ The torn board is my landmark; if we miss this,
We make for that; and, whilst that lasts, O London,
Thou labyrinth that puzzlest strictest search,
Convenient inns-of-court for highway-lawyers,
How with rich wine, tobacco, and sweet wenches,
We'll canvas thy dark case!
+Lieut.+ Away, let's spur. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Randall+._
+Ran.+ Spur did hur call hur? have made Randalls stand without
poots in fery pitiful pickles; but hur will run as nimbles to
Londons as creyhound after rabbits. And yet, now hur remember
what hur cozens talkt, was some wiser and some, too, Randalls
heard talk of parn upon left hand, and a prave bag with hundred
pounds in round shillings, Cod pless us! And yonder was parns,
and upon left hands too: now here was questions and demands to
be made, why Randalls should not rob them would rob Randalls?
hur will go to parns, pluck away pords, pull out pags, and
show hur cozen a round pair of heels, with all hur round
shillings; mark hur now. [_Exit._
_Enter +Captain+ and +Lieutenant+._
+Lieut.+ The rogue rose[25] right, and has outstripped us. This
was staying in Kingston with our unlucky hostess, that must be
dandled, and made drunk next her heart; she made us slip the
very cream o' th' morning: if anything stand awkward, a woman's
at one end on't.
+Capt.+ Come, we've a hundred pieces good yet in the barn; they
shall last us and Sander[26] a month's mirth at least.
+Lieut.+ O these sweet hundred pieces! how I will kiss you and
hug you with the zeal a usurer does his bastard money when he
comes from church. Were't not for them, where were our hopes?
But come, they shall be sure to thunder in the taverns. I but
now, just now, see pottle-pots thrown down the stairs, just
like serjeants and yeomen, one i' th' neck of another.
+Capt.+ Delicate vision! [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Randall+._
+Ran.+ Hur have got hur pag and all by the hand, and hur had
ferily thought in conscience, had not been so many round
sillings in whole worlds, but in Wales: 'twas time to supply
hur store, hur had but thirteenpence halfpenny in all the
worlds, and that hur have left in hur little white purse, with
a rope hur found py the parn, just in the place hur had this.
Randalls will be no servingmans now; hur will buy her prave
parels, prave swords, prave taggers, and prave feathers, and go
a-wooing to prave, comely, pretty maids. Rob Randalls, becat!
and hur were ten dozen of cousins, Randalls rob hur; mark hur
now. [_Exit._
_Enter +Captain+ and +Lieutenant+._
+Lieut.+ A plague of Friday mornings! the most unfortunate day
in the whole week.
+Capt.+ Was ever the like fate? 'sfoot, when I put it in, I was
so wary, though it were midnight, that I watched till a cloud
had masked the moon, for fear she should have seen't.
+Lieut.+ O luck!
+Capt.+ A gale of wind did but creep o'er the bottom, and,
because I heard things stir, I stayed; 'twas twelve score past
me.
+Lieut.+ The pottle-pots will sleep in peace to-night.
+Capt.+ And the sweet clinks.
+Lieut.+ The clattering of pipes.
+Capt.+ The Spanish fumes.
+Lieut.+ The _More wine, boy_, the nimble _Anon, anon, sir_.[27]
+Capt.+ All to-night will be nothing; come, we must shift.
'Sfoot, what a witty rogue 'twas to leave this fair
thirteenpence halfpenny and this old halter; intimating aptly,
Had the hangman met us there, by these presages,
Here had been his work, and here his wages.[28]
+Lieut.+ Come, come, we must make friends. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Bloodhound+, +Tim+, and +Sim+._
+Blood.+ There, sirrah, there's his bond: run into the Strand,
'tis six weeks since the tallow-chandler fetched my hundred
marks I lent him to set him up, and to buy grease; this is his
day, I'll have his bones for't else, so pray tell him.
+Tim.+ But are a chandler's bones worth so much, father?
+Blood.+ Out, coxcomb!
+Sim.+ Worth so much! I know my master will make dice of
them; then 'tis but letting Master Alexander carry them next
Christmas to the Temple,[29] he'll make a hundred marks a night
of them.
+Tim.+ Mass, that's true.
+Blood.+ And run to Master Ear-lack's the informer, in Thieving
Lane, and ask him what he has done in my business. He gets
abundance; and if he carry my cause with one false oath, he
shall have Moll; he will take her with a little. Are you gone,
sir?
+Tim.+ No, forsooth.
+Blood.+ As you come by Temple Bar, make a step to th' Devil.
+Tim.+ To the Devil, father?
+Sim.+ My master means the sign of the Devil;[30] and he cannot
hurt you, fool; there's a saint holds him by the nose.
+Tim.+ Sniggers! what does the devil and a saint both in a sign?
+Sim.+ What a question's that? what does my master and his
prayer-book o' Sunday both in a pew?
+Blood.+[31] Well, well, ye gipsy, what do we both in a pew?
+Sim.+ Why, make a fair show; and the devil and the saint does
no more.
+Blood.+ You're witty, you're witty. Call to the man o' th'
house, bid him send in the bottles of wine to-night; they will
be at hand i' th' morning. Will you run, sir?
+Tim.+ To the devil, as fast as I can, sir; the world shall
know whose son I am. [_Exit._
+Blood.+ Let me see now for a poesy for the ring: never an end
of an old saw? 'Tis a quick widow, Sim, and would have a witty
poesy.
+Sim.+ If she be quick, she's with child; whosoever got it, you
must father it; so that
_You come o' th' nick,
For the widow's quick._
There's a witty poesy for your quick widow.
+Blood.+ No, no; I'll have one shall savour of a saw.
+Sim.+ Why then, 'twill smell of the painted cloth.[32]
+Blood.+ Let me see, _a widow witty_----
+Sim.+ _Is pastime pretty_:--put in that for the sport's sake.
+Blood.+ No, no, I can make the sport. Then, _an old man_----
+Sim.+ Then will she answer, _If you cannot, a younger
can._[33] And look, look, sir, now I talk of the younger,
yonder's Ancient Young come over again, that mortgaged sixty
pound _per annum_ before he went; I'm deceived if he come not a
day after the fair.
+Blood.+ Mine almanac!
+Sim.+ A prayer-book, sir?
+Blood.+ A prayer-book; for devout beggars I hate; look, I
beseech thee. Fortune, now befriend me, and I will call the
plaguy whore in. Let me see, six months.
_Enter +Ancient Young+._
+Anc.+ Yes, 'tis he, certain: this is a business must not be
slackened, sir.
+Sim.+ Look, I beseech thee; we shall have oatmeal in our
pottage six weeks after.
+Blood.+ Four days too late, Sim; four days too late, Sim.
+Sim.+ Plumbs in our pudding a Sunday, plumbs in our pudding.
+Anc.+ Master Bloodhound, as I take it.
+Blood.+ You're a stranger, sir. [_Aside._] You shall be
witness, I shall be railed at else, they will call me devil. I
pray you, how many months from the first of May to the sixth of
November following?
+Anc.+ Six months and four days, just.
+Blood.+ I ask, because the first of May last, a noble
gentleman, one Ancient Young----
+Anc.+ I am the man, sir.
+Blood.+ My spectacles, Sim: look, Sim, is this Ancient Young?
+Sim.+ 'Twas Ancient Young, sir.
+Blood.+ And is't not Ancient Young?
+Sim.+ No, sir, you have made him a young ancient.
+Blood.+ O Sim, a chair. I know him now, but I shall not live
to tell him.
+Anc.+ How fare you, sir?
+Sim.+ The better for you; he thanks you, sir.
+Blood.+ Sick, sick, exceeding sick.
+Anc.+ O' th' sudden? Strange!
+Sim.+ A qualm of threescore years come over his stomach,
nothing else.[34] [_Aside._
+Blood.+ That you, beloved you, who, of all men i' th' world,
my poor heart doated on, whom I loved better than father,
mother, brother, sister, uncles, aunts--what would you have?
that you should stay four days too late!
+Anc.+ I have your money ready;
And, sir, I hope your old love to my father----
+Blood.+ Nay, nay, I am noble, fellow, very noble, a very rock
of friendship; but--but I had a house and barn burnt down to
the ground since you were here.
+Anc.+ How?
+Blood.+ How? burned--ask Sim.
+Sim.+ By fire, sir, by fire.
+Blood.+ To build up which, for I am a poor man--a poor man, I
was forced by course of law to enter upon your land, and so,
for less money than you had of me, I was fain to sell it to
another. That, by four days' stay, a man should lose his blood!
our livings! our blood! O my heart! O my head!
+Anc.+ Pray, take it not so heinous, we'll go to him: I'll buy
it again of him, he won't be too cruel.
+Blood.+ A dog, a very dog; there's more mercy in a pair of
unbribed bailiffs. To shun all such solicitings, he's rid to
York. A very cut-throat rogue! But I'll send to him.
+Anc.+ An honest old man, how it moves him! [_Aside._] This was
my negligence. Good Sim, convey him into some warmer room; and
I pray, however Fortune--she that gives ever with the dexterity
she takes--shall please to fashion out my sufferings, yet for
his sake, my deceased father, the long friend of your heart, in
your health keep me happy.
+Blood.+ O right honest young man! Sim.
+Sim.+ Sir.
+Blood.+ Have I done't well?
+Sim.+ The devil himself could not have done't better.
+Blood.+ I tell thee an old saw, sirrah--
_He that dissembles in wealth shall not want;
They say doomsday's coming, but think you not on't._
This will make the pot seethe, Sim.
+Anc.+[35] Good sir, talk no more, my mouth runs over. [_Exeunt
+Bloodhound+ and +Sim+._] Sleep, wake, worthy beggar, worthy
indeed to be one, and am one worthily. How fine it is to
wanton without affliction! I must look out for fortunes over
again: no, I have money here, and 'tis the curse of merit not
to work when she has money. There was a handsome widow, whose
wild-mad-jealous husband died at sea; let me see, I am near
Blackfriars, I'll have one start at her, or else----
_Enter +Bloodhound's+ daughter +Moll+, with a bowl
of beer._
+Moll.+ By my troth, 'tis he! Captain Young's son. I have loved
him even with languishings, ever since I was a girl; but should
he know it, I should run mad, sure. What handsome gentlemen
travel and manners make! my father begun to you, sir, in a cup
of small beer.
+Anc.+ How does he, pray?
+Moll.+ Pretty well now, sir.
+Anc.+ Mass, 'tis small indeed. [_Aside._] You'll pledge me?
+Moll.+ Yes, sir.
+Anc.+ Pray, will you tell me one thing?
+Moll.+ What is't?
+Anc.+ Which is smaller, this beer or your maidenhead?
+Moll.+ The beer a great deal, sir.
+Anc.+ Ay, in quality.
+Moll.+ But not in quantity?
+Anc.+ No.
+Moll.+ Why?
+Anc.+ Let me try, and I'll tell you.
+Moll.+ Will you tell me one thing before you try?
+Anc.+ Yes.
+Moll.+ Which is smaller, this beer or your wit?
+Anc.+ O the beer, the beer.
+Moll.+ In quality?
+Anc.+ Yes, and in the quantity.
+Moll.+ Why, then, I pray, keep the quantity of your wit from
the quality of my maidenhead, and you shall find my maidenhead
more than your wit.
+Anc.+ A witty maidenhead, by this hand. [_Exeunt severally._
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _Refuse me_, or _God refuse me_, appears to have been among the
fashionable modes of swearing in our author's time. So in "The White
Devil," act i. sc. 1, Flamineo says, _God refuse me._ Again, in "A
Dogge of Warre," by Taylor the Water-poet, Works, 1630, p. 229--
"Some like Dominicall Letters goe,
In scarlet from the top to toe,
Whose valours talke and smoake all;
Who make (God sink 'em) their discourse
_Refuse_, Renounce, or Dam that's worse:
I wish a halter choake all."
Again, in "The Gamester," by Shirley, Wilding says, "_Refuse me_, if I
did."
[2] _Not_ is omitted in the 4º.--_Collier._
[3] See [Randolph's Works, by Hazlitt, p. 179.]
[4] See note to "_The Heir_," [vol. xi. 535.]
[5] Standing unseen for the present.--_Collier._
[6] The 4º reads _Look, look upon, and ready_, &c.--_Collier._
[7] A proverb or wise saying. So in "The Wife of Bath's Prologue," l.
6240--
"But all for nought, I sette not an hawe
Of his Proverbes, ne of his _olde sawe_."
[8] Distrained. So in "Thomas, Lord Cromwell," 1602--
"His furniture fully worth half so much,
Which being all _strain'd_ for the king,
He frankly gave it to the Antwerp merchants."
[9] The 4º reads _four pence and ninepence_. This play, in the former
editions, is very incorrectly printed.
[10] So in Massinger's "Maid of Honour," act iv. sc. 5, Sylli says,
"The King ... _break girdle, break_!" Again, Falstaff says, in the
"First Part of King Henry IV."--
"Dost thou think I'll fear thee as I fear thy father?
Nay, an' if I do, let _my girdle break_."
To explain the phrase "_may my girdle break_," it should be remembered
that the purse was anciently worn hanging at the girdle. Hence the
propriety of Trincalo's complaint, that while Ronca embraced him his
"purse shook dangerously." See "Albumazar," act iii. sc. 7 [xi. 368].
[11] The 4º reads _Oculies, Oculies_.--_Collier._
[12] [Six-shilling beer, a stronger kind than that previously described
as four-shilling.]
[13] _Look, he'll steal nothing to feast his bawds_, is the reading of
the old copy.--_Collier._
[14] Highway.
[15] These interjections probably mean to express that Alexander
hiccups in the course of what he says.--_Collier._
[16] [In allusion to Alexander.]
[17] [A tavern so called.]
[18] The aversion of the _Puritans_ to a _surplice_ is alluded to in
many of the old comedies. See several instances in Mr Steevens's note
to "All's Well that Ends Well," act i. sc. 3.
[19] [Two footpads, who seem to have frequented the purlieus of Coomb
Park. Sham military men were as common at that time as now.]
[20] The park belonging to Coomb House.
[21] But two quavers make one crotchet: this seems to be false wit,
having no foundation in truth.--_Pegge._
[22] Highwaymen or robbers were formerly called _Saint Nicholas'
clerks_. See notes by Bishop Warburton and Mr Steevens on the "First
Part of King Henry IV.," act ii. sc. 1.
So in Dekker's "Belman of London," 1616: "The theefe that commits the
robery, and is chiefe _clarke to Saint Nicholas_, is called the high
lawyer."
And in "Looke on me London," 1613, sig. C: "Here closely lie _Saint
Nicholas Clearkes_, that, with a good northerne gelding, will gaine
more by a halter, than an honest yeoman with a teame of good horses."
[23] This ancient fabric, which is now destroyed, was the seat
of the Nevils, Earls of Warwick. It stood about a mile from
Kingston-upon-Thames, near Wolsey's Aqueducts, which convey water to
Hampton Court.--_Steevens._
[24] A cutter was, about the beginning of the last century, a cant word
for a swaggering fellow. This appears in the old black-letter play
entitled "The Faire Maid of Bristow," sig. A iij., where Sir Godfrey
says of Challener--
"He was _a cutter_ and a swaggerer."
He is elsewhere (sig. A 4) called a swaggering fellow.--_MS. note in
Oldys's Langbaine._
[25] [Old copy, _rise_. The meaning seems to be that Randall had got up
betimes.]
[26] _i.e._, Alexander Bloodhound.--_Pegge._
[27] _i.e._, The reply of drawers when they are called.
[28] [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 247-8.]
[29] It was formerly usual to celebrate Christmas, at the several inns
of court, with extraordinary festivity. Sometimes plays or masques were
performed; and when these were omitted, a greater degree of licence
appears to have been allowed to the students than at other times. In
societies where so many young men, possessed of high spirits, and
abounding with superfluous sums of money, were assembled, it will not
seem wonderful to find the liberty granted at this season should be
productive of many irregularities. Among others, gaming, in the reign
of James I., when this play was probably written, had been carried to
such an extravagant height as to demand the interposition of the heads
of some of the societies to prevent the evil consequences attending it.
In the 12th of James I. orders for reformation and better government of
the inns of court and Chancery were made by the readers and benchers
of the four houses of court; among which is the following:--"For that
disorders in the _Christmas_-time, may both infect the minds, and
prejudice the estates and fortunes, of the young gentlemen in the same
societies: it is therefore ordered, that there shall be commons of the
house kept, in every house of court, during the _Christmas_; and that
none shall play in their several halls at the dice, except he be a
gentleman of the same society, and in commons; and the benefits of the
boxes to go to the butlers of every house respectively."--Dugdale's
"Orig. Jurid.," p. 318. In the 4th of Car. I. (Nov. 17) the society of
Gray's Inn direct, "that all playing at dice, cards, or otherwise, in
the hall, buttry, or butler's chamber, should be thenceforth barred and
forbidden, at all times of the year, the twenty days in _Christmas_
only excepted."--_Ibid._ p. 286. And in the 7th of Car. I. (7th Nov.)
the society of the _Inner Temple_ made several regulations for keeping
good rule in _Christmas-time_, two of which will show how much gaming
had been practised there before that time. "8. That there shall not be
any knocking with boxes, or calling aloud for gamesters. 9. That no
play be continued within the house upon any Saturday night, or upon
Christmas-eve at night, after twelve of the clock."
Sir Simon D'Ewes also, in the MS. life of himself in the British
Museum, takes notice of the Christmas irregularities about this period
(p. 52, Dec. 1620)--"At the saied Temple was a lieutenant chosen,
and much gaming, and other excesses increased during these festivall
dayes, by his residing and keeping a standing table ther; and, when
sometimes I turned in thither to behold ther sportes, and saw the many
oaths, execrations, and quarrels, that accompanied ther dicing, I began
seriously to loath it, though at the time I conceived the sporte of
itselfe to bee lawfull."--["Life of D'Ewes," edit. 1845, i. 161.] "The
first day of Januarie [_i.e._, 1622-23] at night, I came into commons
at the Temple, wheere ther was a lieftenant choosen, and all manner of
gaming and vanitie practiced, as if the church had not at all groaned
under those heavie desolations which it did. Wherefore I was verie
gladd, when, on the Tuesday following, being the seventh day of the
same moneth, the howse broake upp ther Christmas, and added an end to
those excesses."--[Life, _ut supr._, i. 223.]
To what excess gaming was carried on in the inns-of-court at this
period may be judged from the following circumstance, that in taking
up the floor of one of the Temple halls about 1764, near one hundred
pair of dice were found, which had dropt at times through the chinks or
joints of the boards. They were very small, scarce more than two-thirds
as large as our modern ones. The hall was built in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth. [See on this subject "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain,"
i., where copious collections will be found upon this subject.]
[30] This tavern, with the same sign as above described, [existed till
1787. See Gifford's Ben Jonson, 1816, ix. 84-5.]
[31] This question is improperly given to Sim in the 4º.--_Collier._
[32] [See Dyce's Middleton, iii. 97, and v. 208.]
[33] [A line of an old song altered.]
[34] This is the reading of the quarto, but Mr Reed, without necessity
or notice, changed it thus--
"A qualm of threescore _pounds a year_ came over his stomach."
Sim refers to the age and infirmity of Bloodhound.--_Collier._
[35] All that follows, to the entrance of Moll, in the 4º is made a
continuation of what is said by Bloodhound.--_Collier._
ACT II., SCENE I.
_A table set out. Enter two servants, +Jarvis+ and
+John+, as to cover it for dinner._
+John.+ Is my mistress ready for dinner?
+Jar.+ Yes, if dinner be ready for my mistress.
+John.+ Half an hour ago, man.
+Jar.+ But, prythee, sir, is't for certain? for yet it cannot
sink into my head that she is to be married to-morrow.
+John.+ Troth, she makes little preparation; but it may be, she
would be wedded, as she would be bedded, privately.
+Jar.+ Bedded, call you it? and she be bedded no better than
he'll bed her, she may lie tantalised, and eat wishes.
+John.+ Pox on him! they say he's the arrantest miser: we shall
never live a good day with him.
+Jar.+ Well, and she be snipped by threescore and ten, may
she live six score and eleven, and repent twelve times a
day--that's once an hour. [_Exit._
_Enter +Widow+._
+Wid.+ Set meat o' th' board.
+John.+ Yes.
+Wid.+ Why does your fellow grumble so?
+John.+ I do not know. They say you're to marry one that will
feed us with horse-plums instead of beef and cabbage.
+Wid.+ And are you grieved at that?
+John.+ No, but my friends are.
+Wid.+ What friends are grieved?
+John.+ My guts.
+Wid.+ So, it seems, you begun clown----
+John.+ Yes, and shall conclude coxcomb, and I be fed with
herring-bones. 'Sfoot, I say no more; but if we do want as much
bread of our daily allowance as would dine a sparrow, or as
much drink as would fox a fly,[36] I know what I know.
+Wid.+ And what do you know, sir?
+John.+ Why, that there goes but a pair of shears[37] between
a promoter and a knave; if you know more, take your choice of
either.
+Wid.+ 'Tis well; set on dinner.
_Enter +Jarvis+ with a rabbit in one hand and a dish
of eggs in another, and the +Maid+._
+Jar.+ O mistress, yonder's the mad gallant, Master Alexander
Bloodhound, entered into the hall.
+Wid.+ You should have kept him out.
+Maid.+ Alas! ne'er a wench in town could do't, he's so nimble:
I had no sooner opened the door, but he thrust in ere I was
aware.
_Enter +Alexander+._
+Alex.+ And how does my little, handsome, dainty, delicate,
well-favoured, straight and comely, delicious, bewitching widow?
+Jar.+ 'Sfoot, here's one runs division before the fiddlers.
+Wid.+ Sir, this is no seasonable time of visit.
+Alex.+ 'Tis pudding-time, wench, pudding-time; and a dainty
time, dinner-time, my nimble-eyed, witty one. Woot be married
to-morrow, sirrah? [_Sits to table._
+Jar.+ She'll be mad to-morrow, sirrah.
+Alex.+ What, art thou a fortune-teller?
+Jar.+ A chip of the same block--a fool, sir.
+Alex.+ Good fool, give me a cup of cool beer.
+Jar.+ Fill your master a cup of cool beer.
+Alex.+ Pish! I spoke to the fool.
+Jar.+ I thought you'd brought the fool with you, sir.
+Alex.+ Fool, 'tis my man: shalt sit, i' faith, wench.
+Wid.+ For once I'll be as merry as you are mad, and learn
fashions. I am set, you see, sir; but you must pardon, sir,
our rudeness--Friday's fare for myself, a dish of eggs and a
rabbit; I looked for no strange faces.
+Alex.+ Strange: mine's a good face, i' faith; prythee, buss.
+Jar.+ Why, here's one comes to the business now.
+Alex.+ Sirrah, woot have the old fellow?
+Wid.+ Your father? Yes.
+Alex.+ I tell thee thou shalt not; no, no; I have such [a rare
one][38]--this rabbit's raw too.
+Jar.+ There's but one raw bit, sir.
+Alex.+ Thy jester, sure, shall have a coat.[39]
+Wid.+ Let it be of your own cut, sir.
+Alex.+ Nay, nay, nay; two to one is extremity--but, as I was
telling thee, I have such a husband for thee: so knowing, so
discreet, so sprightly--fill a cup of claret--so admirable in
desires, so excellently deserving, that an old man--fie, fie,
prythee. Here's to thee.
+Wid.+ The man's mad, sure.
+Jar.+ Mad! by this hand, a witty gallant.
+John.+ Prythee, peace, shalt hear a song.
_Enter +Ancient Young+._
+Wid.+ What cope's-mate's[40] this, trow? who let him in?
+Jar.+ By this light, a fellow of an excellent breeding.
He came unbidden, and brought his stool with him.
+John.+ Look, mistress, how they stare one at another.
+Jar.+ Yes, and swell like a couple of gibbed cats[41] met
both by chance i' th' dark in an old garret.
+Wid.+ Look, look; now there's no fear of the wild beasts:
they have forgot their spleens, and look prettily; they fall
to their pasture. I thought they had been angry, and they are
hungry.
+Jar.+ Are they none of Duke Humphrey's[42] furies? Do you
think that they devised this plot in Paul's to get a dinner?
+Wid.+ Time may produce as strange a truth. Let's note them.
_Enter +Randall+._
+Ran.+ Hur loved hur once: hur loved hur no more,
Saint Tavie, so well as hur loved hur then.
+Wid.+ Another burr! this is the cookmaid's leaving ope the
door; and this is the daintiest dish she has sent in--a widgeon
in Welsh sauce! Pray, let's make a merry day on't.
+Ran.+ What! do hur keep open house? Had heard hur was widows
that dwelt here: are you widows, good womans?
+Wid.+ I want a husband, sir.[43]
+Ran.+ Augh, Randalls comes in very good times: you keep
ordinaries, hur think. What, have you set a cat before gallants
there?
+Jar.+ They will eat him for the second course. [_Aside._]
These are suitors to my mistress sure--things that she slights.
Set your feet boldly in; widows are not caught as maids
kiss--faintly, but as mastiffs fight--valiantly.
+Ran.+ Is hur so: I pray pid hur mistress observe Randalls for
valours and prave adventures?
+Anc.+ Some beer.
+Wid.+ Let them want nothing.
+Anc.+ Here, widow.
+Wid.+ I thank you, sir.
+Alex.+ Some wine.
+Jar.+ Here is wine for you, sir.
+Ran.+ Randalls will not be outpraved, I warrant hur.
+Alex.+ Here, widow.
+Wid.+ I thank you too, sir.
+Ran.+ Sounds, some metheglins here.
+Wid.+ What does he call for?
+Jar.+ Here are some eggs for you, sir.
+Ran.+ Eggs, man! some metheglins, the wine of Wales.
+Jar.+ Troth, sir, here's none i' th' house: pray, make a
virtue of necessity, and drink to her in this glass of claret.
+Ran.+ Well, because hur will make a great deals of
necessities of virtues, mark, with what a grace Randalls will
drink to hur mistress.
+Maid.+ He makes at you, forsooth.
+Wid.+ Let him come, I have ever an English virtue to put by a
Welsh.
+Ran.+ O noble widows, hur heart was full of woes.
+Alex.+ No, noble Welshman, hur heart was in hur hose.
[_Takes away his cup._
+Ran.+ Sounds, was that hur manners, to take away Randall's
cups?
+Anc.+ No, it showed scurvy.
+Alex.+ Take't you at worst, then.
+Anc.+ Whelp of the devil, thou shalt see thy sire[44] for't.
+John+, +Jar.+ Gentlemen, what mean you?
+Ran.+ Let hur come, let hur come; Randalls will redeem
reputations, hur warrant hur.
+Wid.+ Redeem your wit, sir. First for you, sir, you are a
stranger; but you--fie, Master Bloodhound!
+Anc.+ Ha! Bloodhound! good sir, let me speak with you.
+Ran.+ Sounds, what does Randalls amongst ploodhounds? Good
widows, lend hur an ear.
+Alex.+ Ancient Young! how false our memories have played
through long discontinuance![45] But why met here, man? Is Mars
so bad a paymaster that our ancients fight under Cupid's banner?
+Anc.+ Faith, this was but a sudden start, begotten from
distraction of some fortunes: I pursue this widow but for want
of wiser work.
+Jar.+ The Welshman labours at it. [_Aside._
+Ran.+ A pair of a hundred of seeps, thirty prave cows, and
twelve dozen of runts.
+Wid.+ Twelve dozen of goose!
+Ran.+ Give hur but another hark!
+Alex.+ He has the mortgage still, and I have a handsome
sister: do but meet at the Fountain in Fleet Street after
dinner; O, I will read thee a history of happiness, and thou
shalt thank me.
+Anc.+ Ay, read, all's well or weapons.
+Alex.+ A word, Jarvis. [_Whispers him._
+Ran.+ O prave widows, hur will meet hur there, hur knows
hur times and hur seasons, hur warrant hur. Randalls will
make these prave gallants hang hurselfs in those garters of
willow-garlands apout hur pates; mark hur now, and remember.
[_Exit._
+Anc.+ Adieu, sweet widow; for my ordinary---- [_Kisses her._
+Wid.+ 'Twas not so much worth, sir.
+Anc.+ You mean, 'twas worth more then; and that's another
handsomely begged. [_Kisses her again._
+Wid.+ You conclude women cunning beggars, then.
+Anc.+ Yes, and men good benefactors. My best wishes wait on so
sweet a mistress. Will you walk? [_Exit +Ancient+._
+Alex.+ I'll follow you. Woot think on't soon at night, or not
at all? [_Aside to +Jarvis+._
+Jar.+ I would not have my wishes wronged; if I should bring it
about handsomely, you can be honest. [_Aside._
+Alex.+ Can [I]? dost conclude me a satin cheat? [_Aside._
+Jar.+ No, a smooth gallant, sir. Do not you fail to be here
soon at nine, still provided you will be honest: if I convey
you not under her bed, throw me a top o' th' tester, and lay me
out o' th' way like a rusty bilbo. [_Aside._
+Alex.+ Enough; drink that. [_Aside, giving him money._]
Farewell, widow; Fate, the Destinies, and the three
ill-favoured Sisters have concluded the means, and when I am
thy husband----
+Wid.+ I shall be your wife.
+Alex.+ Do but remember these cross capers then, ye
bitter-sweet one.[46] [_Exit._
+Wid.+ Till then adieu, you bitter-sweet one. [_Exit._
+Jar.+ This dinner would have showed better in bed-lane; and
she at the other side holdeth her whole nest of suitors [at]
play. What art decks the dark labyrinth of a woman's heart!
[_Exit._
_Enter +Mary Bloodhound+ and +Sim+._
+Moll.+ Marry old Ear-lack! is my father mad?
+Sim.+ They're both a-concluding on't yonder; to-morrow's the
day; one wedding-dinner must serve both marriages.
+Moll.+ O Sim! the Ancient, the delicate Ancient; there's a
man, and thou talk'st of a man; a good face, a sparkling eye, a
straight body, a delicate hand, a clean leg and foot. Ah, sweet
Sim! there's a man worth a maidenhead.
_Enter +Bloodhound+ and +Ear-lack+._
+Sim.+ But I say, Master Ear-lack, the old man! a foot like a
bear, a leg like a bed-staff, a hand like a hatchet, an eye
like a pig, and a face like a winter peony;[47] there's a man
for a maidenhead.
+Moll.+ O look, look! O, alas! what shall I do with him?
+Sim.+ What? why, what shall fifteen do with sixty and twelve?
make a screen of him; stand next the fire, whilst you sit
behind him and keep a friend's lips warm. Many a wench would be
glad of such a fortune.
+Blood.+ Your oath struck it dead then, o' my side?
+Ear.+ Five hundred deep of your side, i' faith, father.
+Blood.+ Moll, come hither, Moll; I hope Sim has discovered the
project.
+Ear.+ And to-morrow must be the day, Moll; both of a day: one
dinner shall serve. We may have store of little ones; we must
save for our family.
+Moll.+ Good sir, what rashness was parent to this madness?
marry an old man--Ear-lack the informer!
+Blood.+ Madness! You're a whore.
+Ear.+ Is she a whore, Sim?
+Sim.+ She must be your wife, I tell-----
+Blood.+ An arrant whore, to refuse Master Innocent Ear-lack of
Rogue-land!--that for his dwelling: next, that he doth inform
now and then against enormities, and hath been blanketed--it
may be, pumped in's time; yet the world knows he does it not
out of need: he's of mighty means, but takes delight now and
then to trot up and down to avoid idleness, you whore.
+Sim.+ Good sir!
+Ear.+ Pray, father!
+Moll.+ This wound wants oil. Good sir, in all my paths
I will make you my guide; I was only startled
With the suddenness of the marriage,
In that I knew that this deserving gentleman
And I had never so much conference,
Whereby this coal of Paphos--by the rhetoric
Of his love-stealing, heart-captivating language--
Might be blown into a flame.
+Ear.+ Does she take tobacco, father?
+Blood.+ No, no, man; these are out of ballads; she has all the
Garland of Good-will[48] by heart.
+Ear.+ Snails, she may sing me asleep o' nights then, Sim.
+Sim.+ Why, right, sir; and then 'tis but tickling you o' th'
forehead with her heels, you are awake again, and ne'er the
worse man.
+Moll.+ Is he but five years older than yourself, sir?
+Ear.+ Nay, I want a week and three days of that too.
+Blood.+ I'll tell thee an old saw for't, girl--
_Old say he be, old blades are best,
Young hearts are never old._
+Ear.+ Ha, ha!
+Blood.+
_Gold is great glee, gold begets rest,
What fault is found in gold?_
+Sim.+ I will answer presently, sir, with another saw.
+Blood.+ Let's ha't, let's ha't.
+Ear.+ Mark, Moll.
+Sim.+
_Young? say she be young, young mutton's sweet,
Content is above gold;
If, like an old cock, he with young mutton meet,
He feeds like a cuckold._
+Blood.+ A very pretty pithy one, I protest; look, an' Moll do
not laugh: shalt have a pair of gloves for that. What leather
dost love?
+Sim.+ Calf, sir; sheep's too simple for me.
+Blood.+ Nay, 'tis a witty notable knave; he should never serve
me else.
_Enter +John+ with a letter._
+John.+ My mistress remembers her love, and requests you would
inure her so much to your patience as to read that.
+Blood.+ Love-letters, love-lies: dost mark, Sim; these women
are violent, Sim. Whilst I read the lie,[49] do you rail to him
upon the brewer: swear he has deceived us, and save a cup of
beer by't.
+Sim.+ I will not save you a cup at that rate, sir.
+Ear.+ I can make thee a hundred a year jointure, wench. At the
first, indeed, I began with petty businesses, wench; and here
I picked, and there I picked; but now I run through none but
things of value.
+Moll.+ Sir, many thoughts trouble me; and your words carry
such weight, that I will choose a time, when I have nothing
else to do, to think on 'em.
+Ear.+ By my troth, she talks the wittiliest, an' I would
understand her.
+Blood.+ O nimble, nimble widow! I am sorry we have no better
friends; [_To +John+_] but pray, commend me, though in a blunt,
dry commendation; at the time and place appointed I wonnot
fail. I know she has a nest of suitors, and would carry it
close, because she fears surprisal. [_Exit +John+._
+Ear.+ What news, father?
+Blood.+ Shalt lie there all night, son.
+Ear.+ Was that the first news I heard on't?
+Blood.+ I must meet a friend i' th' dark soon: let me see, we
lovers are all a little mad; do you and Moll take a turn or
two i' th' garden, whilst Sim and I go up into the garret and
devise till the guests come. [_Exit._
+Sim.+ He's a little mad. I had best hang him upon the
cross-beam in the garret. [_Exit._
+Ear.+ Come, Moll, come, Malkin:[50] we'll even to the camomile
bed, and talk of household stuff; and be sure thou rememberest
a trade.
+Moll.+ Please you go before, sir.
+Ear.+ Nay, an old ape has an old eye; I shall go before, an'
thou woot show me a love-trick, and lock me into the garden. I
will come discreetly behind, Moll.
+Moll.+ Out upon him, what a suitor have I got! I am sorry
you're so bad an archer, sir.
+Ear.+ Why, bird, why, bird?
+Moll.+ Why, to shoot at butts, when you should use
prick-shafts: short shooting will lose you the game, I assure
you, sir.
+Ear.+ Her mind runs, sure, upon a fletcher[51] or a bowyer:
howsoever, I'll inform against both; the fletcher, for taking
whole money for pierced arrows: the bowyer, for horning
the headmen of his parish, and taking money for his pains.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter in the tavern, +Alexander+, the +Captain+,
+Lieutenant+, +Sue Shortheels+, and +Mistress
Coote+, a bawd._
+Alex.+ Some rich canary, boy.
+Drawer.+ Anon, anon, sir.
+Alex.+ [Is't] possible? Thus cheated of a hundred
Pieces? A handsome halter, and the hangman's
Wages popp'd in the place! What an acute wit
We have in wickedness!
+Capt.+ 'Tis done, and handsomely.
_Enter +Drawer+._
+Drawer.+ Here's a pottle of rich canary and a quart of neat
claret, gentlemen; and there's a gentleman below, he says he is
your brother, Master Bloodhound: he appointed to meet you here.
+Capt.+ The expected thing, that bought the Bristow stone.
+Alex.+ Send him up, prythee. Remember how it must be carried.
+Mis. Coote.+ I am her grandmother; forget not that, by any
means.
+Alex.+ And pray remember that you do not mump, as if you were
chewing bacon, and spoil all.
+Mis. Coote.+ I warrant you.
_Enter +Ancient Young+._
+Alex.+ And hark.
+Drawer.+ Are these the company, sir?
+Anc.+ Yes, but those I like not; these are not they: I'll stay
i' th' next room till my company come.
+Drawer.+ Where you please, sir; pray follow me. [_Exeunt._
+Capt.+ I hear him coming up gingerly.
+Alex.+ O, he tramples upon the bosom of a tavern with that
dexterity, as your lawyers' clerks do to Westminster Hall upon
a dirty day with a pair of white silk stockings.
_Enter +Tim+._
Brother Tim, why, now you're a man of your word, I see.
+Tim.+ Nay, I love to be as good as my say. See, brother, look,
there's the rest of your money upon the ring. I cannot spend a
penny, for I have ne'er a penny left. What are these? what are
these?
+Alex.+ Gallants of note and quality; he that sits taking
tobacco is a captain, Captain Carvegut.
+Tim.+ He will not make a capon of me, will he?
+Alex.+ Are you not my brother? He that pours out the sparkling
sprightly claret is a lieutenant under him, Lieutenant Bottom.
He was a serjeant first.
+Tim.+ Of the Poultry or of Wood Street?
+Alex.+ Of the Poultry?[52] of a woodcock! A serjeant in the
field, a man of blood.
+Tim.+ I'll take my leave, brother, I am in great haste.
+Alex.+ That delicate, sweet young gentlewoman----
+Tim.+ Foh! this tobacco!
+Alex.+ That bears the blush of morning on her cheeks,
Whose eyes are like a pair of talking twins.
+Tim.+ She looks just upon me.
+Alex.+ I think you are in haste.
+Tim.+ No, no, no, pray.
+Alex.+ Whose lips are beds of roses, betwixt which
There steals a breath sweeter than Indian spices.
+Tim.+ Sweeter than ginger!
+Alex.+ But then to touch those lips you stay too long, sure?
+Tim.+ Pish, I tell you I do not; I know my time. Pray, what's
her name?
+Alex.+ But 'tis descended from the ancient stem,
[O'] the great Trebatio,[53] Lindabride's her name;
That ancient matron is her reverend grannum.
+Tim.+ Niggers, I have read of her in the Mirror of
Knighthood.[54]
+Alex.+ Come, they shall know you.
+Tim.+ Nay, brother.
+Alex.+ I say they shall.
+Tim.+ Let me go down and wash my face first.
+Alex.+ Your face is a fine face. My brother, gentlemen.
+Capt.+ Sir, you're victoriously welcome.
+Tim.+ That word has e'en conquered me.
+Lieut.+ I desire to kiss your hand, sir.
+Tim.+ Indeed, but you shall not, sir: I went out early, and
forgot to wash them.
+Mis. Coote.+ Precious dotterel! [_Aside._
+Capt.+ Sir, I shall call it a courtesy if you shall please to
vouchsafe to pledge me.
+Tim.+ What is't, brother? Four or six?[55]
+Capt.+ Four or six! 'tis rich Canary: it came from beyond the
seas.
+Tim.+ I will do no courtesy at this time, sir; yet for one cup
I care not, because it comes from beyond the seas. I think 'tis
outlandish wine.
+Sue.+ Look how it glides!
+Mis. Coote.+ Now, truly, the gentleman drinks as like one
Master Widgeon, a kinsman of mine----
+Lieut.+ Pox on you! heildom![56]
+Tim.+ I ha' heard of that Widgeon, I ha' been taken for
him; and now I think on't, a cup of this is better than our
four-shilling beer at home.
+Lieut.+ You must drink another, sir: you drank to nobody.
+Tim.+ Is it the law that, if a man drinks to nobody, he must
drink again?
+Omnes.+ Ay, ay, ay. Fill his glass.
+Tim.+ Why, then, I will drink to nobody once more, because I
will drink again.
+Alex.+ Did not I tell you? More wine there, drawer.
+Sue.+ This pageant's worth the seeing, by this hand.
+Tim.+ Methinks this glass was better that t'other, gentlemen.
+Capt.+ O sir, the deeper the sweeter ever.
+Tim.+ Do you think so?
+Lieut.+ Ever that when ye drink to nobody.
+Tim.+ Why, then, I pray give me t'other cup, that I may drink
to somebody.
+Mis. Coote.+ I have not drunk yet, sir.
+Alex.+ Again, ye witch! Drink to the young gentlewoman.
+Tim.+ Mistress Lindabrides.
+Sue.+ Thanks, most ingenious sir.
+Tim.+ She's a little shame-faced. The deeper the sweeter,
forsooth.
+Alex.+ Pox on you for a coxcomb!
_Enter +Ancient Young+ [standing aside]._
+Anc.+ I' th' next room I have seen and heard all. O noble
soldiers!
+Tim.+ Here, boys, give us some more wine. There's a hundred
marks, gallants; 'tis your own, an' do but let me bear an
office amongst ye. I know as great a matter has been done for
as small a sum. Pray let me follow the fashion.
+Capt.+ Well, for once take up the money. Give me a cup of
sack, and give me your hand, sir; and, because our Flemish
corporal was lately choked at Delft with a flap-dragon,[57]
bear you his name and place, and be henceforth called Corporal
Cods-head. Let the health go round!
+Tim.+ Round! An' this go not round!--Some wine there, tapster.
Is there ne'er a tapster i' th' house? [_+Ancient+ shows himself._
+Alex.+ My worthy friend, thou'rt master of thy word.
Gentlemen, 'tis Ancient Young; you're soldiers; come, come,
save cap: compliment in cup. Prythee, sit down.
+Anc.+ Are you a captain, sir?
+Capt.+ Yes.
+Anc.+ And you a lieutenant?
+Lieut.+ Yes.
+Anc.+ I pray, where served you last?
+Capt.+ Why, at the battle of Prague.[58]
+Anc.+ Under what colonel? In what regiment?
+Capt.+ Why, let me see--but come, in company? Let's sit,
sir. True soldiers scorn unnecessary discourse, especially in
taverns.
+Anc.+ 'Tis true, true soldiers do: but you are tavern-rats.
+Capt.+ How?
+Alex.+ Prythee!
+Anc.+ Foul food, that lies all day undigested
Upon the queasy stomach of some tavern,
And are spew'd out at midnight.
+Tim.+ Corporal Cods-head's health, sir.
+Anc.+ In thy face, fool. [_+Tim+ retires._
+Alex.+ This is cruel, Ancient.
+Anc.+ You are but
The worms of worth, the sons of shame and baseness,
That in a tavern dare outsit the sun,
And, rather than a whore shall part unpledg'd,
You'll pawn your souls for a superfluous cup,
Though ye cast it into the reckoning.
The true soldier, who is all o'er, a history of man,
Noble and valiant; wisdom is the mould
In which he casts his actions. Such a discreet temperance
Doth daily deck his doings, that by his modesty
He's guess'd the son of merit, and by his mildness
Is believed valiant. Go, and build no more
These airy castles of hatched fame, which fools
Only admire and fear you for: the wise man
Derides and jeers you as puffs. [Be] really of[59]
Virtue and valour, those fair twins,
That are born, breathe, and die together: then
You'll no more be called butterflies, but men:
Think on't, and pay your reckoning. [_Exit._
+Capt.+ Shall we suffer this, Saunder?
+Alex.+ I must go after him.
+Sue.+ Kill him, an' there be no more men in Christendom.
+Alex.+ I know my sister loves him, and he swears he loves her;
and, by this hand, it shall go hard if he have her not, smock
and all. Brave, excellent man! With what a strength of zeal we
admire that goodness in another which we cannot call our own!
[_Exit._
+Lieut.+ He's a dead man, I warrant him.
+Capt.+ But where's our corporal? Corporal, corporal!
+Tim.+ Well, here's your corporal, an' you can be quiet.
[_Looks out._[60]
+Sue.+ Look, an' he have not ensconced[61] himself in a wooden
castle.
+Tim.+ Is he gone that called us butterflies?
+Mis. Coote.+ Yes, yes; h' has taken wing; and your brother's
gone after him, to fight with him.
+Tim.+ That's well; he cannot in conscience but do us the
courtesy to kill him for us. Come, gallants, what shall we
do? I'll never go home to go to bed with my guts full of
four-shillings beer, when I may replenish them with sack. Ha!
now am I as lusty! Methinks we two have blue beards. Is there
ne'er a wench to be had? Drawer, bring us up impossibilities,
an honest whore and a conscionable reckoning.
+Lieut.+ Why, here's all fire-wit, whe'r[62] he will or no.
+Sue.+ A whore! O tempting, handsome sir! think of a rich wife
rather.
+Tim.+ Tempting, handsome sir! She's not married, is she,
gentlemen?
+Capt.+ A woodcock springed! Let us but keep him in this
bacchanalian mist till morning, and 'tis done. [_Aside._
+Tim.+ Tempting, handsome sir! I've known a woman of handsome,
tempting fortunes throw herself away upon a handsome, tempting
sir.
+Lieut.+ Hark you, sir: if she had, and could be tempted to't,
have you a mind to marry? Would you marry her?
+Tim.+ O, and a man were so worthy, tempting sir.
+Lieut.+ Give me but a piece from you.
+Tim.+ And when will you give it me again?
+Lieut.+ Pray, give me but a piece from you. I'll pay this
reckoning into the bargain; and if I have not a trick to make
it your own, I'll give you ten for't--here's my witness.
+Tim.+ There 'tis; send thee good luck with't, and go drunk to
bed.
+Lieut.+ Do not you be too rash, for she observes you, and is
infinitely affected to good breeding.
+Tim.+ I wonnot speak, I tell you, till you hold up your finger
or fall a-whistling.
+Capt.+ Come, we'll pay at bar, and to the Mitre in Bread
Street;[63] we'll make a mad night on't. Please you, sweet
ladies, but to walk into Bread Street; this gentleman has
[had] a foolish slight supper, and he most ingeniously
professes it would appear to him the meridian altitude of his
desired happiness but to have the table decked with a pair of
perfections so exquisitely refulgent.
+Tim.+ He talks all sack, and he will drink no small beer.
+Mis. Coote.+ Pray lead, and we[64] shall follow.
+Sue.+ Bless mine eyes! my heart is full of changes. [_Exit._
+Tim.+ O, is it so? I have heard there may be more changes
in a woman's heart in an hour than can be rung upon six bells
in seven days. Well, go thy ways: little dost thou think how
thou shalt be betrayed. Within this four-and-twenty hours thou
shalt be mine own wife, flesh and blood, by father and mother,
O tempting, handsome sir! [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[36] _i.e._, Intoxicate a fly.
[37] The 4º reads a _pair of sheets_, but evidently wrong. See
Marston's "Malcontent," iv. 5.
[38] [These words seem to have dropped out of the old copy, as
Alexander immediately after puns on the word _rare_ (pronounced
sometimes like _raw_).]
[39] _i.e._, A fool's coat, such as the jesters or fools anciently
wore. See notes to "Tempest," act iii. sc. 2, by Dr Johnson and Mr
Steevens.
[40] _Copesmate_ Dr Johnson conjectures to be the same as _copsmate_,
a companion in drinking, or one that dwells under the same _cope_, or
house. I find the word used in "The Curtain-Drawer of the World," 1612,
p. 31, but not according to either of the above explanations. "Hee that
trusts a tradesman on his word, a usurer with his bond, a phisitian
with his body, and the divell with his soule, needes not care who he
trusts afterwards, nor what _copesmate_ encounters him next."
_Copesmate_, I believe, means only _companion_, a word which was used
both in a bad and good sense by our ancestors. To _cope_ is to meet
with, to encounter. Thus Hamlet--
"As e'er my conversation _cop'd_ withall."
_--Steevens._
Again, in Wither's "Abuses Stript and Whipt," 1613, bk. ii. s. 1--
"Nay be advised (quoth his _copesmate_) harke,
Lets stay all night, for it grows pest'lence darke."
[41] See note to "Gammer Gurton's Needle," [iii. 178], and also the
notes of Dr Percy, Mr Steevens, and Mr Tollet, to the "First Part of
King Henry IV.," act i. sc. 2.
[42] [A constant allusion in our old plays.]
[43] This reply, and the preceding question of Randall, were omitted by
Dodsley and Reed.
[44] [It is still a common expression, that a person will "see his
_grandmother_" after taking so and so.]
[45] Mr Reed allowed it to stand _continuance_ instead of
_discontinuance_, which made nonsense of the passage.--_Collier._
[46] See note to "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 3, vol. x. edit.
1778.--_Steevens._
[47] [Old copy and former editions, _pigme_. The peony is very apt
to be nipped by the frost, and so to be pinched up; hence Sim's
similitude.]
[48] One of the miscellaneous collections of songs and poems, formerly
published, called "Garlands." The names of a great number of these,
and, amongst the rest, "The Garland of Good-will," by T. D., [1604,]
are enumerated in [Hazlitt's "Handbook," 1867, art. Garlands, Deloney,
&c.]
[49] [A play on the similarity between _lye_ and _lie_, the former
being the dregs or lees of beer.]
[50] [_Moll_ and _Malkin_ are the same, of course. Ear-lack, just
after, plays on the meanings of the words _bed_ and _stuff_.]
[51] _Flechier_, Fr., a maker of arrows. We have still the Fletchers'
Company in the city of London.
[52] [The Poultry in Wood Street is meant.]
[53] [Former edits., _Tributie_.]
[54] [The "Mirror of Knighthood," better known as the "Knight of the
Sun," a romance in nine parts, translated into English by Margaret
Tyler and others, between 1579 and 1601. Complete sets are of the
greatest rarity. The bibliography of the work may be seen in Hazlitt
_v._ Knight of the Sun.]
It appears that Thomas Este, the printer, [originally] undertook the
publication of this work, which is executed by different translators,
and dedicated to different patrons. Margaret Tyler (_thine to use_,
as she says at the conclusion of her address to the reader) having no
concern with any part but the first.--_Steevens._
[55] Tim means to ask, is it _four_ or _six shilling beer_, supposing
that such was the beverage, to which the Captain replies scornfully,
_Four or six! 'Tis rich Canary_, &c. This was omitted by Mr
Reed.--_Collier._
[56] [Former edits., _Pox on you heilding. Heildom_ is a _health_, and
the lieutenant means to say that Tim should propose one.]
[57] [See Dyce's Middleton, i. 66.]
[58] This battle was fought at Weisenberg, near Prague, 18th November
1620, and was fatally decisive against the Elector Palatine who, in
consequence of it, not only lost his new kingdom of Bohemia, but also
was deprived by the Emperor of his hereditary dominions.
[59] [In the former edits, this passage stands, "_jeers ye puffs really
of_."]
[60] Tim, who has hidden or _ensconced_ himself, looks out, and
not the Captain, as Mr Reed made it, by misplacing the stage
direction.--_Collier._
[61] A _sconce_ is a petty fortification. The verb _to ensconce_
occurs more than once in Shakespeare. See note on "The Merry Wives of
Windsor," act ii. sc. 2.--_Steevens._ [This note amounts to nothing,
as the word _ensconce_ is very common, and all that is here intended
is that Tim, frightened at the Ancient, had hidden himself behind a
chest of drawers (a very petty fortification!) or some other article of
furniture.]
[62] _i.e._, Whether. It is frequently so [spelled] in ancient writers.
See Ben Jonson's "New Inn," act v. sc. 2., and Mr Whalley's note,
[Gifford's edit., v. 428.]
[63] From a passage in "Ram Alley," [x. 313], it has already appeared
there were two taverns at this time with the same sign.
[64] [Former edits., _he_.]
ACT III., SCENE I.
_Enter +John+ and the +Maid+._
+John.+ But, sirrah, canst tell what my mistress means to do
with her suitors?
+Maid.+ Nay, nay, I know not; but there is one of them, I am
sure, worth looking after.
+John.+ Which is he, I prythee?
+Maid.+ O John, Master Randall, John.
+John.+ The Welshman?
+Maid.+ The witty man, the pretty man, the singing-man. He has
the daintiest ditty, so full of pith, so full of spirit, as
they say.
+John.+ Ditties! they are the old ends of ballads.[65]
+Maid.+ Old ends! I am sure they are new beginnings with me.
+John.+ Here comes my mistress.
_Enter +Widow+ and +Jarvis+._
+Wid.+ Who was that knocked at the gate?
+Jar.+ Why, your Welsh wooer.
+Maid.+ Alas! the sight on's eyes is enough to singe my little
maidenhead. I shall never be able to endure him. [_Exit +Maid+._
_Enter +Randall+._
+Ran.+
_When high King Henry rul'd this land,[66]
The couple of her name,
Besides hur queen was tearly lov'd,
A fair and princely--widows._
Hark you, widows; Randalls was disturbed in cogitations about
lands, ploughs, and cheesepresses in Wales; and, by cat, hur
have forgot where hur and hur meet soon at pright dark evenings.
+Wid.+ Why, on the 'Change, in the Dutch walks.
+Ran.+ O haw, have hur? but Randalls was talk no Dutch; pray
meet her in the Welsh walk. Was no Welsh walk there?
+Wid.+ Fie, no! There are no Welsh merchants there?
+Ran.+ Mass, was fery true, was all shentlemen in Wales. Hur
never saw hur shambermaid; pray, where was her shambermaid?
+Jar.+ Taken up i' th' kitchen, sir.
+Ran.+ Can hur make wedding-ped pravely for Randalls and widows?
+Wid.+ Pray tell him, Jarvis, whe'r[67] she can or no.
+Jar.+ Sir, not to delay, but to debilitate the strength of
your active apprehension of my mistress's favour----
+Ran.+ Was fery good words.
+Jar.+ Hark in your ear: she will have her nest feathered with
no British breed.
+Ran.+ Sounds, was not British so good as English?
+Jar.+ Yes, where there's wisdom, wit, and valour; but, as
amongst our English, we may have one fool, a knave, a coxcomb,
and a coward, she bid me tell you, she has seen such wonders
come out of Wales. In one word,[68] you're an ass, and she'll
have none of you.
+Ran.+ Augh, Saint Tavie, Owen, Morgan, and all hur cousins!
was widow herself say so?
+Wid.+ Good sir, let every circumstance make up one answer,
take it with you.
+Jar.+ And the Roman answer is, the English goose, sir.[69]
+Ran.+ Sounds! hur was kill now! Gog and Gogmagog! a whole
dozen of shiants. Make fool of Randalls! Randalls was wisht to
as prave match as widows; was know one Mary Bloodhound, was
ha' all, when her father kick up heels; and, by cat, though
hur never saw hur, hur will send hur love-letters presently,
get hur good-wills, and go to shurch and marry, and hur were
eight-and-thirty, two hundred and nine and fifty widows. Mark
hur now. [_Exit +Randall+._
+Jar.+ He pelts as he goes pitifully.
+Wid.+ Where's Mary?
+John.+ Mary!
_Enter +Maid+._
+Wid.+ Pray go to Aldgate, to my sempstress, for my ruff; I
must use it, say, to-morrow. Did ye bid her hollow it just in
the French fashion cut?
+Maid.+ Yes, forsooth.
+Wid.+ 'Twas well; we have no other proof in use that we are
English, if we do not zany them. Let John go with you.
+Maid.+ Yes, forsooth. [_Exit._
+Jar.+ But pray, forsooth, how do you mean to dispose of your
suitors?
+Wid.+ Shall I tell thee? For this, thou hast given him his
cure, and he is past care; for old Bloodhound the sawmonger,
I writ to him to meet me soon, at ten in the dark, upon the
'Change; and if I come not by ten, he should stay till twelve:
intimating something mystically that, to avoid surprisals of
other rivals, I mean to go from thence with him to lie at his
house all night, and go to church with him i' th' morning; when
my meaning is only knavery, to make myself merry, and let him
cool his heels[70] there till morning.
+Jar.+ And now have I a whimsy, newly jumped into the coll of
ingenious apprehension, to sauce him daintily; that for that.
What think you of the gentleman that brought a stool with him
out of the hall, and sat down at dinner with you in the parlour?
+Wid.+ They say he's an ancient, but I affect not his colours.
+Jar.+ But what say you to the mad, victorious Alexander?
+Wid.+ A wild, mad roarer, a trouble not worth minding.
+Jar.+ He will mind you ere morning, troth, mistress.
[_Aside._] There waits a gentleman i' th' next room that hath a
long time loved you, and has watched for such an hour, when all
was out of doors, to tell you so; and, none being within but
you and I, he desires you would hear him speak, and there's an
end on't.
+Wid.+ What is he?
+Jar.+ An honest man.
+Wid.+ How know you?
+Jar.+ Why, he told me so.
+Wid.+ And why were you such a fool to take his own word.
+Jar.+ Because all the wit I had could get nobody's else.
+Wid.+ A knave will ever tell you he's an honest man.
+Jar.+ But an honest man will never tell you he's a knave.
+Wid.+ Well, sir, your mistress dares look upon the honest man.
+Jar.+ And the honest man dares look upon my mistress. [_Exit._
+Wid.+ 'Tis the roughest, bluntest fellow. Yet, when I take
young Bloodhound to a retired collection of scattered judgment,
which often lies disjointed with the confused distraction of so
many, methinks he dwells in my opinion a right ingenious[71]
spirit, veiled merely with the vanity of youth and wildness.
He looks, methinks, like one that could retract himself from
his mad starts, and, when he pleased, turn tame. His handsome
wildness, methinks, becomes him, could he keep it bounded in
thrift and temperance. But down, these thoughts; my resolve
rests here in private.
But from a fool, a miser, and a man too jealous for a little
sweetness [in] love, Cupid defend me!
_Enter +Jarvis+ like a gentleman, very brave, with his
former clothes in his hand._[72]
+Jar.+ And to a widow wise, nobly liberal and discreetly
credulous, Cupid hath sent me.
+Wid.+ Pray prove you, as you appear, a gentleman.
Why, Jarvis?
+Jar.+ Look you, here's Jarvis hangs by geometry [_Hangs up his
livery_]; and here's the gentleman--for less I am not--that
afar off, taken with the fainted praises of your wealthy
beauty, your person, wisdom, modesty, and all that can make
woman gracious, in this habit sought and obtained your service.
+Wid.+ For heaven's sake whats your intent?
+Jar.+ I love you.
+Wid.+ Pray, keep off.
+Jar.+ I would keep from you. Had my desires bodies,
How I could beat them into better fashion,
And teach them temperance. For I rid to find you;
And, at a meeting amongst many dames,
I saw you first. O, how your talking eyes,
Those active, sparkling sweet, discoursing[73] twins,
In their strong captivating motion told me
The story of your heart! A thousand Cupids,
Methought, sat playing on that pair of crystals,[74]
Carrying, to the swiftness of covetous fancy,
The very letters we spell love with.
+Wid.+ Fie, fie!
+Jar.+ I have struck her to the heart, though my face
Apparelled with this shield of gravity, [bear][75]
The neglected roughness of a soldier's dart.
These diamond-pointed eyes but hither throw,
And you will see a young spring on't; but question
Time's fair ones, they'll confess, though with a blush.
They have often found good wine at an old bush.
My blood is young, and full of amorous heats,
Which but branch'd out into these lusty veins,
Would play and dally, and in wanton turnings
Would teach you strange constructions, [madam.]
Let time and place then, with love's old friend,
Opportunity, instruct you to be wise.
+Wid.+ Alas, sir!
Where learned you to catch occasions thus?
+Jar.+ Of a lawyer's clerk, wench, that, with six such catches,
leaped in five years from his desk to his coach, drawn with
four horses.
+Wid.+ Do you mean marriage?
+Jar.+ Marriage is a cloying meat; marry who thou woot to make
a show to shroud thee from the storms round-headed opinion,
that sways all the world, may let fall on thee. Me cousin thou
shalt call. Once in a month or so, I'll read false letters from
a far-distant uncle, insert his commendations to thee, hug thy
believing husband into a pair of handsome horns; look upon him
with one eye, and wink upon thee with the other. Wouldst have
any more?
+Wid.+ The return of servants, or some friendly visit, will
intercept us now: re-assume your habit, and be but Jarvis till
to-morrow morning, and, by the potent truth of friendship, I
will give you plenty of cause to confess I love you truly and
strongly.
+Jar.+ You're in earnest?
+Wid.+ On my life, serious; let this kiss seal it.
+Jar.+ The softest wax ever sealed bawdy business! Now for old
Bloodhound: I'll meet you upon the 'Change, sir, with a blind
bargain, and then help your son to a good pennyworth; this
night shall be all mirth, a mistress of delight. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Bloodhound+_,[76] +Sim+, _and +Moll+._
+Blood.+ Nay, nay, nay, mark what follows; I must bring her
home i' th' dark, turn her up to bed, and here she goes to
church. My cloak, sirrah.
+Sim.+ 'Tis a very dark night, sir; you'll not have a cloak for
the rain.[77]
+Blood.+ I'm going to steal the widow from I know not how many.
+Sim.+ Nay, then I'll let your cloak for the rain alone, and
fetch you a cloak for your knavery.
+Blood.+ To bed, to bed, good Sim. What, Moll, I say!
+Moll.+ Sir.
+Blood.+ I charge you, let not one be up i' th' house but
yourself after the clock strikes ten, nor a light be stirring.
Moll, trick up the green bed-chamber very daintily.
+Moll.+ I shall, sir.
+Blood.+ And--well-remembered, Moll--the keys of my
compting-house are in the left pocket of my hose[78] above i'
th' wicker chair; look to them, and have a care of the black
box there I have often told thee of: look to that as to thy
maidenhead.
+Moll.+ I shall, sir.
+Blood.+ Pray for me, all; pray for me, all.
+Sim.+ Have you left out anything for supper?
+Blood.+ Out, rogue! shall not I be at infinite expense
to-morrow? fast to-night, and pray for me.
+Sim.+ An old devil in a greasy satin doublet keep you company!
[_Aside._
+Blood.+ Ha, what's that?
+Sim.+ I say, the satin doublet you will wear to-morrow will be
the best in the company, sir.
+Blood.+ That's true, that's true. I come, widow, I come,
wench. [_Exit +Bloodhound+._
+Moll.+ O sweet Sim, what shall I do to-morrow? To-morrow must
be the day, the doleful day, the dismal day! Alas, Sim! what
dost thou think in thy conscience I shall do with an old man?
+Sim.+ Nay, you're well enough served; you know how your
brother, not an hour ago, lay at you to have the Ancient, one
that your teeth e'en water at; and yet you cry, I cannot love
him, I wonnot have him.
+Moll.+ I could willingly marry him, if I might do nothing but
look on him all day, where he might not see me; but to lie with
him--alas! I shall be undone the first night.
+Sim.+ That's true: how will you go to bed else? But, remember,
he is a man of war, an ancient, you are his colours: now, when
he has nimbly displayed you, and handsomely folded you up
against the next fight, then we shall have you cry, O sweet
Sim, I had been undone, if I had not been undone.[79]
+Moll.+ Nay, and then the old fellow would mumble me to bed.
+Sim.+ Abed! a bawd with two teeth would not mumble bacon so:
then he is so sparing, you shall wear nothing but from the
broker's at second-hand; when, being an ancient's wife, you
shall be sure to flourish.
+Moll.+ Prythee, go in and busy the old man with a piece of
Reynard the Fox,[80] that he may not disturb us; for at this
hour I expect Ancient Young and my brother.
+Sim.+ Well, I leave you to the managing of Ancient Young,
while I go in and flap the old man i' th' mouth with a
fox-tail. [_Exit._
_Enter +Alexander+ and +Ancient+._
+Moll.+ Look, look, an' he have not brought him just upon the
minute. O sweet, silken Ancient, my mind gives me thee and I
shall dance the shaking of the sheets[81] together.
+Alex.+ Now, you Mistress Figtail, is the wind come about yet?
I ha' brought the gentleman: do not you tell him now, you
had rather have his room than his company, and so show your
breeding.
+Moll.+ Now, fie upon you; by this light you're the wickedest
fellow! My brother but abuses you: pray, sir, go over again,
you've a handsome spying wit, you may send more truth over in
one of your well-penned pamphlets, than all the weekly news we
buy for our penny.
+Anc.+ Pox on't! I'll stay no longer.
+Alex.+ 'Sfoot, thou shalt stay longer; we'll stay her
heart--her guts out.
+Moll.+ Ha, ha! how will you do for a sister then?
+Alex.+ Prythee, Moll, do but look upon him.
+Moll.+ Yes, when I ha' no better object.
+Alex.+ What canst thou see in him, thou unhandsome hideous
thing, that merits not above thee?
+Moll.+ What would I give to kiss him! [_Aside._
+Alex.+ Has he not a handsome body, straight legs,[82] a good
face?
+Moll.+ Yes, but his lips look as if they were as hard as his
heart.
+Anc.+ 'Sfoot, shalt try that presently.
+Moll.+ You're basely, sir, conditioned. Pah!
+Alex.+ Why do you spit?
+Moll.+ You may go. By this light, he kisses sweetly. [_Aside._
+Alex.+ Do but stay a little, Moll: prythee, Moll, thou knowest
my father has wronged him; make him amends, and marry him.
+Moll.+ Sweet Master Spendall, spare your busy breath; I must
have a wise man, or else none.
+Alex.+ And is not he a wise man?
+Moll.+ No.
+Alex.+ Why?
+Moll.+ Because he keeps a fool company.
+Alex.+ Why, you are now in's company.
+Moll.+ But birds of a feather will fly together; and you and
he are seldom asunder.
+Alex.+ Why, you young witch, call your elder brother fool!
But go thy ways, and keep thy maidenhead till it grow
more deservedly despised than are the old base boots of a
half-stewed pander: lead a Welsh morris with the apes in hell
amongst the little devils; or, when thou shalt lie sighing by
the side of some rich fool, remember, thou thing of thread and
needles, not worth threepence halfpenny.
+Moll.+ Too late, I fear; I ha' been too coy. [_Aside._] You
are to be married then, sir?
+Anc.+ I am indeed, sweet mistress, to a maid Of excellent
parentage, breeding, and beauty.
+Alex.+ I ha' thought of such musicians for thee!
+Anc.+ But let it not be any way distasteful unto you, that
thus I tried you; for your brother persuaded me to pretend
to love you, that he might perceive how your mind stood to
marriage, in that, as I guess, he has a husband kept in store
for you.
+Alex.+ Ay, I have provided a husband for thee, Moll.
+Moll.+ But I'll have no husband of your providing; for, alas!
now I shall have the old man, whether I will or no.
+Alex.+ I have such a stripling for thee, he wants one eye, and
is crooked-legged; but that was broke at football.
+Anc.+ Alas! we cannot mould men, you know.
+Alex.+ He's rich, he's rich, Moll.
+Moll.+ I hate him and his riches. Good sir, are you to be
married in earnest?
+Alex.+ In earnest! Why, do you think men marry, as fencers
sometimes fight, in jest? Shall I show her Mistress Elizabeth's
letter I snatched from thee? [_To +Ancient+._
+Anc.+ Not, and thou lovest me.
+Moll.+ Good brother, let me see it; sweet brother, dainty
brother, honey brother.
+Alex.+ No indeed, you shall not see it, sweet sister, dainty
sister, honey sister.
+Moll.+ O good sir, since so long time I have loved you, let me
not die for your sake.
+Alex.+ The tide turns. [_Aside._
+Anc.+ Long time loved me!
+Moll.+ Long ere you went to sea, I did.
I have lov'd you very long with all my heart.
+Alex.+ Think of Bess, think of Bess; 'tis the better match.
+Moll.+ You wicked brother! Indeed I love you better than all
the Besses in the world; and if to-night I shift not into
better fortunes, to-morrow I am made the miserablest wife
marriage and misery can produce.
+Alex.+ Is't possible?
+Moll.+ Alas, sir! I am to marry an old man--a very old man,
trust me. I was strange[83] in the nice timorous temper of a
maid: I know 'tis against our sex to say we love; but rather
than match with sixty and ten, threescore and ten times I would
tell you so, and tell them ten times over, too. Truth loves not
virtue with more of virtuous truth than I do you; and wonnot
you love me then? [_Weeps._
+Anc.+ And lie with thee too, by this hand, wench. Come, let
us have fair weather; thou art mine, and I am thine; there's
an end o' th' business. This was but a trick, there's the
projector.
+Moll.+ O, you're a sweet brother!
+Alex.+ And now thou'rt my sweet sister. I know the old man's
gone to meet with an old wench that will meet with him,[84]
or Jarvis has no juice in his brains; and while I, i' th'
meantime, set another wheel agoing at the widow's, do thou
soon--about ten, for 'tis to be very conveniently dark--meet
this gentleman at the Nag's Head corner, just against
Leadenhall. We lie in Lime Street; thither he shall carry thee,
accommodate thee daintily all night with Mistress Dorothy, and
marry i' th' morning very methodically.
+Moll.+ But I have the charge of my father's keys, where all
his writings lie.
+Anc.+ How all things jump in a just equivalency,
To keep thee from the thing of threescore and ten!
Didst thou not see my mortgage lately there?
+Moll.+ Stay, stay.
+Alex.+ A white devil with a red fox-tail in a black box.
[_Aside._
+Moll.+ But yesterday my father showed it me, and swears, if I
pleased him well, it should serve to jump[85] out my portion.
+Anc.+ Prove thine old dad a prophet; bring it with thee, wench.
+Moll.+ But now, at's parting, he charged me to have a care to
that as to my maidenhead.
+Alex.+ Why, if he have thy maidenhead and that into the
bargain, thy charge is performed. Away, get thee in, forget
not the hour; and you had better fight under Ancient Young's
colours than the old man's standard of sixty and ten.
+Anc.+[86] Remember this, mad-brain! [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[65] [Old copy, _ends of old ballets_.]
[66] A stanza, with some alterations, of the old ballad of "Fair
Rosamond," [printed in Deloney's "Garland of Good-Will."] See Percy's
"Reliques," vol. ii.
[67] See note on p. 47.
[68] The 4º reads _in one shirt_.--_Collier._
[69] A pun on the Latin word _anser_, which signifies a _goose_.
[70] To _cool his heels_ is a very common expression, which for some
reason, or perhaps no reason, was altered in the edition of 1780, to
_cool himself_.--_Collier._
[71] _Ingenious_ and _ingenuous_ were formerly used indiscriminately
for each other. [The truth seems to be that ingenuous was merely
understood formerly in the sense in which we use it now, and that
_ingenious_, on the contrary, had a larger meaning, standing generally
for the gifts of the mind or intellect. Old-fashioned people only
would say of such an one, "He's an ingenious man," meaning a person of
intellectual culture.]
[72] The stage direction in the old copy is not very intelligible:
_Enter like a gentleman very brave, with Jarvis cloaths in's
hand._--_Collier._
[73] The 4º reads _sweet discovered twins_.--_Collier._
[74] A common expression to signify the eyes. See several instances in
Mr Steevens's note on "King Henry V.," act ii. sc. 3.
[75] [The text has been changed here, with what degree of success the
reader has to determine. In the former editions it stood thus--
"Through my face
Apparelled with this field of gravity,
The neglected roughness of a soldier's dart."
Perhaps this passage was intended as an _aside_.]
[76] The 4º has _Enter Bloodhound, Ear-lack with letters, Sim, and
Moll._ But as there is no business nor speech for Ear-lack during the
whole scene, I have expunged his name.
[77] [An allusion to the proverb, "He has a cloak for every
rain"--_i.e._, an expedient for every turn of fortune.]
[78] Mr Reed altered _hose_ to _coat_ without any warrant
whatever.--_Collier._
[79] A parody of that Latin saying, _Periissem nisi
periissem_.--_Pegge._
[80] _i.e._, The story-book with that name, [first printed in 1481.
The abridged and modernised version was probably the one with which
Moll was familiar. The earliest edition of this yet discovered is dated
1620.]--_Steevens._
[81] [A play on the name of] a dance, [which is constantly mentioned in
old plays.]
[82] [Old copy, _legg'd_.]
[83] _i.e._, Shy, coy. See note to "Cymbeline," act i. sc. 7, edit.
1778.--_Steevens._
[84] _i.e._, Be even with him. The phrase occurs in Shakespeare's "Much
Ado about Nothing," act i. sc. 1. See note thereon.--_Stevens._
[85] _Jump_ is the word in the 4º, though altered in the edit. of 1780
without notice to _eke_. Moll only repeats the term used by the Ancient
just before--
"How all things jump in a just equivalency."
--_Collier._
[86] [Old copy gives this speech to Moll.]
ACT IV., SCENE I.
_Enter +Sue+, +Tim+, +Captain+, and +Mistress Coote+._
+Tim.+ Ha, ha, ha, grandmother! I'll tell thee the best jest.
+Sue.+ Prythee, chick.
+Mis. Coote.+ Jest, quotha'! Here will be jesting of all sides,
I think, if Jarvis keep his word.
+Tim.+ Sirrah, whilst thou wert sent for into the next room,
up came our second course; amongst others, in a dish of
blackbirds, there lay one that I swore was a woodcock: you were
at table, captain?
+Capt.+ That I was, and our brave mad crew, which for my sake
you are pleased to make welcome.
+Tim.+ Pish, we'll have as many more to-morrow night; but
still I swore 'twas a woodcock: she swore 'twas a blackbird;
now who shall we be tried by but Serjeant Sliceman, Captain
Carvegut's cousin here? a trifling wager, a matter of the
reckoning was laid; the serjeant swore 'twas a blackbird. I
presently paid the reckoning, and she clapped o' the breast
presently, and swore 'twas a woodcock, as if any other would
pass after the reckoning was paid.
+Mis. Coote.+ This was a pretty one, I protest.
+Tim.+ Made sure before such a mad crew of witnesses, sirrah.
Grannum, all's agreed, Sue's----
+Sue.+ Ay, you may see how you men can betray poor maids.
_Enter +Lieutenant+._
+Lieut.+ Do you hear, corporal? yonder's Serjeant Sliceman, and
the brave crew that supped with us, have called for three or
four gallons of wine, and are offering money.
+Tim.+ How! prythee, grannum, look to Dab: do you two but hold
them in talk, whilst I steal down and pay the reckoning.
+Lieut.+ Do't daintily: they'll stay all night.
+Tim.+ That's it I would have, man: we'll make them all drunk;
they'll never leave us else, and still as it comes to a crown,
I'll steal down and pay it in spite of their teeth. Remember,
therefore, that ye make them all drunk; but be sure you keep me
sober to pay the reckonings.
+Omnes.+ Agreed, agreed.
+Mis. Coote.+ O Jarvis, Jarvis, how I long till I see thee!
[_Exeunt._
_Enter +Moll Bloodhound+, and +Sim+ with a letter._
+Moll.+ There we must meet soon, and be married to-morrow
morning, Sim: is't not a mad brother?
+Sim.+ Yes, and I can tell you news of a mad lover.
+Moll.+ What is he, in the name of Cupid?
+Sim.+ Why, one Master Randalls, a Welshman: I have had such
a fit with him; he says he was wished[87] to a very wealthy
widow; but of you he has heard such histories, that he will
marry you, though he never saw you; and that the parboiled Ætna
of his bosom might be quenched by the consequent pastime in the
Prittish flames of his Prittish plood, he salutes you with that
love-letter.
+Moll.+ This is a mad lover, indeed; prythee, read it.
+Sim.+ Mass, h' has writ it in the Welsh-English; we had
been spoiled else for want of an interpreter. But thus he
begins:--_Mistress Maries_--
+Moll.+ He makes two Maries serve one mistress.
+Sim.+ Ever while you live, 'tis your first rule in Welsh
grammars--[88]
_That hur forsake widows, and take maids, was no great wonder,
for sentlemen ever love the first cut._
+Moll.+ But not o' th' coxcomb; he should have put in that.
+Sim.+ The coxcomb follows by consequence, mark else.
_I Randall Crack, of Carmarden, do love thee Mary Ploodhounds,
of Houndsditch, dwelling near Aldgate, and Pishop's-gate, just
as between hawk and buzzard._
+Moll.+ He makes an indifferent wooing.
+Sim.+ _And that hur loves Maries so monstrous, yet never
saw her, was because hur hear hur in all societies so fery
fillanously commended, but specially before one Master Pusy,
constables of hur parish, who made hurself half foxed by
swearing by the wines, that Maries would be monstrous good
marriages for Randalls._
+Moll.+ Master Busy, it seems, was not idle.
+Sim.+ _If Maries can love a Pritain of the plood of
Cadwallader, which Cadwallader was Prut's great grandfather,
Randalls was come in proper persons, pring round sillings in
hur pockets, get father's goodwill, and go to shurch a Sunday
with a whole dozen of Welsh harps before hur. So hur rest hur
constant lovers_,
_Randall William ap Thomas, ap Tavy, ap Robert, ap
Rice, ap Sheffery, Crack._
+Moll.+ Fie! what shall I do with all them?
+Sim.+ Why, he said these all rest your constant lovers,
whereof, for manners'-sake, he puts himself in the first place.
He will call here presently; will you answer him by letter or
word of mouth?
+Moll.+ Troth, neither of either, so let him understand.
+Sim.+ Will ye not answer the love-sick gentleman?
+Moll.+ If he be sick with the love of me, prythee, tell him
I cannot endure him: let him make a virtue of necessity, and
apply my hate for's health. [_Exit._
+Sim.+ Ay, but I'll have more care of the gentleman, I warrant
you: if I do not make myself merry, and startle your midnight
meeting, say Sim has no more wit than his godfathers, and they
were both head-men of his parish.
_Enter +Randall+._
+Ran.+
_Farewell widows prave, her sall no Randalls have.
Widows was very full of wiles;
Mary Ploodhounds now, Randalls make a vow,
Was run for Moll a couple of miles._
Honest Simkins, what said Maries to Randall's letters?
+Sim.+ You're a madman.
+Ran.+ Augh, hur was very glad hur was mad.
+Sim.+ The old man has money enough for her; and if you marry
her, as, if her project take, you may, she'll make you more
than a man.
+Ran.+ More than mans! what's that?
+Sim.+ Troth, cannot you tell that? this is the truth on't; she
would be married to-morrow to one Ancient Young, a fellow she
cannot endure: now, she says, if you could meet her privately
to-night, between ten and eleven, just at the great cross-way
by the Nag's Head tavern at Leadenhall.
+Ran.+ Was high-high pump, there, as her turn in Graces Street?
+Sim.+ There's the very place. Now, because you come the
welcomest man in the world to hinder the match against her mind
with the Ancient, there she will meet you, go with you to your
lodging, lie there all night, and be married to you i' th'
morning at the Tower, as soon as you shall please.
+Ran.+ By cat, hur will go and prepare priests presently. Look
you, Simkins, there is a great deal of round sillings for hur,
hur was very lucky sillings, for came to Randalls shust for all
the world as fortune was come to fool: tell Maries hur will
meet hur, hur warrant hur; make many puppy fools of Ancients,
and love her very monstrously. [_Exit._
+Sim.+ Ha, ha, ha! so, so; this midnight match shall be mine;
she told me she was to meet the Ancient there. I'll be sure the
Ancient shall meet him there; so I shall lie abed and laugh, to
think, if he meet her there, how she will be startled; and if
the Ancient meet him there, how he will be cudgelled. Beware
your ribs, Master Randall. [_Exit._
_Enter +Old Bloodhound+._
+Blood.+ I wonder where this young rogue spends the day. I hear
he has received my hundred marks and my advantage with it; and,
it may be, he went home since I went out. Jarvis was with me
but even now, and bid me watch, and narrowly, for fear of some
of my rival spies, for I know she has many wealthy suitors. All
love money. This Jarvis is most neat in a love business, and,
when we are married (because many mouths, much meat), I will
requite his courtesy, and turn him away: the widow's all I look
for. Nay, let her fling to see I have her possessions; there's
a saw for't--
_There's thriving in wiving: for when we bury
Wives by half-dozens, the money makes merry._
O money, money, money! I will build thee
An altar on my heart, and offer thee
My morning longings and my evening wishes,
And, hadst thou life, kill thee with covetous kisses.
_Enter +John+ and +Jarvis+._
+John.+ But now, and she speak, she spoils all; or if he call
her by my mistress's name, hast thou not tricks to enjoin them
both to silence, till they come sure?
+Jar.+ Phaw! that's a stale one: she shall speak to him in her
own accent; he shall call her by her own name, leaving out the
bawd, yet she shall violently believe he loves her, and he
shall confidently believe the same which he requires, and she
but presents. Fall off; she comes.
_Enter +Mistress Coote+._
+Mis. Coote.+ Jarvis!
+Jar.+ Here I have discovered him; 'tis he, by his coughs.
Remember your instructions, and use few words; say, though
till night you knew it not, you will be married early in the
morning, to prevent a vintner's widow that lays claim to him.
+Blood.+ Jarvis!
+Jar.+ Good old man, I know him by his tongue.
+Blood.+ Is she come? Is she come, Jarvis?
+Jar.+ Ask her if she would live, sir. She walks aloof yonder.
+Blood.+ We shall cosen all her wooers.
+Jar.+ Nay, amongst all of you, we'll cosen one great one,
that had laid a pernicious plot this night, with a cluster of
his roaring friends, to surprise her, carry her down to the
waterside, pop her in at Puddle-dock,[89] and carry her to
Gravesend in a pair of oars.
+Blood.+ What, what is his name, I prythee?
+Jar.+ He's a knight abounding in deeds of charity; his name
Sir Nicholas Nemo.
+Blood.+ And would he pop her in at Puddle-dock?
+Jar.+ And he could but get her down there.
+Blood.+ By my troth, we shall pop him fairly. Where is she?
where is she?
+Jar.+ Ha! do you not perceive a fellow walk up and down
muffled yonder?
+Blood.+ There is something walks.
+Jar.+ That fellow has dogged us all the way, and I fear all is
frustrate.
+Blood.+ Not, I hope, man.
+Mis. Coote.+ This it is to be in love; if I do not dwindle----
+Jar.+ I know him now.
+Blood.+ 'Tis none of Sir Nicholas' spies, is't?
+Jar.+ He serves him.
+Blood.+ He wonnot murder me, will he?
+Jar.+ He shall not touch you: only, I remember, this afternoon
this fellow, by what he had gathered by eavesdropping, or by
frequent observation, asked me privately if there were no
meeting betwixt you and my mistress to-night in this place, for
a widow, he said, he knew you were to meet.
+Blood.+ Good.
+Jar.+ Now I handsomely threw dust in's eyes, and yet kept the
plot swift afoot too. I told him you were here to meet a widow
too, whom you long loved, but would not let her know't till
this afternoon, naming to him one of my aunts[90], a widow
by Fleet-ditch. Her name is Mistress Gray, and keeps divers
gentlewomen lodgers.
+Blood.+ Good again.
+Jar.+ To turn the scent then, and to cheat inquisition the
more ingeniously----
+Blood.+ And to bob Sir Nicholas most neatly.
+Jar.+ Be sure, all this night, in the hearing of any that you
shall but suspect to be within hearing, to call her nothing but
Mistress Coote.
+Blood.+ Or Widow Coote.
+Jar.+ Yes, you may put her in so; but be sure you cohere
in every particle with the precedent fallacy, as that you
have loved her long, though till this day--and so as I did
demonstrate.
+Blood.+ But how an' she should say she is not Widow Coote, and
that she knows no such woman, and so spoil all?
+Jar.+ Trust that with her wit and my instructions. We
suspected a spy, and therefore she will change her voice.
+Blood.+ Thou hast a delicate mistress of her.
+Jar.+ One thing more, and you meet presently. Mine aunt has
had nine husbands; tell her you'll hazard a limb, and make the
tenth.
+Blood.+ Prythee, let me alone; and Sir Nicholas were here
himself, he should swear 'twere thine aunt.
+Jar.+ [_To +Mistress Coote+._] Go forwards towards him; be not
too full of prattle, but make use of your instructions.
+Blood.+ Who's there? Widow Coote?
+Mis. Coote.+ Master Bloodhound, as I take it.
+Blood.+ She changes her voice bravely. I must tell thee,
true widow, I have loved thee a long time (look how the rogue
looks!), but had never the wit to let thee know it till to-day.
+Mis. Coote.+ So I was given to understand, sir.
+Jar.+ Is't not a fool finely? [_Aside._
+John.+ Handsome, by this hand.
+Blood.+ I like thy dwelling well upon the Fleet-ditch.
+Mis. Coote.+ A pretty wholesome air, sir, in the summer-time.
+Blood.+ Who would think 'twere she, Jarvis? [_Aside._
+Jar.+ I told ye she was tutored. [_Aside._
+Blood.+ I'll home with her presently; some stays up in the
dark.
+Jar.+ Fool! and he have any private discourse with her, they
discover themselves one to another, and so spoil the plot.
No trick! no, by no means, sir, hazard your person with her;
the bold rogue may come up close, so discover her to be my
mistress, and recover her with much danger to you.
+Blood.+ He has got a dagger.
+Jar.+ And a sword six foot in length. I'll carry her home for
you, therefore [let] not a light be stirring. For I know your
rivals will watch your house. Sim shall show us the chamber,
we'll conduct her up i' th' dark, shut the door to her above,
and presently come down and let you in below.
+Blood.+ There was never such a Jarvis heard of. Bid Sim to be
careful; by the same token, I told him he should feed to-morrow
for all the week after. Good night, Widow Coote; my man stayeth
up; we will bob Sir Nicholas bravely. Good night, sweet Widow
Coote; I do but seem to part; we'll meet at home, wench.
[_Exit._
+Mis. Coote.+ Adieu, my sweet dear heart.
+Jar.+ Go you with me. So, so, I'll cage this cuckoo,
And then for my young madcap; if all hit right,
This morning's mirth shall crown the craft o' th' night.
Follow me warily.
+Mis. Coote.+ I warrant thee, Jarvis, let me alone to right
myself into the garb of a lady. O, strange! to see how dreams
fall by contraries; I shall be coached to-morrow, and yet last
night dreamed I was carted. Prythee, keep a little state; go,
Jarvis. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Randall+. [Midnight.]_
+Ran.+ Was fery exceeding dark, but here is high pumps, sure,
here is two couple of cross-ways, and there was the street
where Grace dwells. One hundred pound in mornings in round
shillings, and wife worth one thousand, ere hur go to bed.
Randall's fortunes comes tumbling in like lawyers' fees, huddle
upon huddle.
_Enter +Moll+._
+Moll.+ O sweet Ancient, keep thy word and win my heart. They
say a moonshine night is good to run away with another man's
wife; but I am sure a dark night is best to steal away my
father's daughter.
+Ran.+ Mary.
+Moll.+ O, are you come, sir? there's a box of land and
livings, I know not what you call it.
+Ran.+ Lands and livings?
+Moll.+ Nay, nay; and we talk, we are undone. Do you not see
the watch coming up Gracious Street yonder? This cross-way was
the worst place we could have met at; but that is yours, and I
am yours; but, good sir, do not blame me, that I so suddenly
yielded to your love; alas! you know what a match on't I should
have to-morrow else.
+Ran.+ Hur means the scurvy Ancient. [_Aside._
+Moll.+ I' th' morning we shall be man and wife, and
then--Alas, I am undone! the watch are hard upon us: go
you back through Cornhill, I'll run round about the 'Change
by the Church Corner, down Cateaton Street, and meet you at
Bartholomew Lane end. [_Exit._
+Ran.+ Cat's Street was call hur? sure, Randalls was wrapped
in['s][91] mother's smock.
_Enter +Constable+ and +Watch+._
+Con.+ Keep straight towards Bishopsgate: I'm deceived if I
heard not somebody run that way.
_Enter +Maid+ with a bandbox._[92]
+Watch.+ Stay, sir; her's somebody come from Aldgate Ward?
+Maid.+ Alas! I shall be hanged for staying so long for this
cuff.
+Watch.+ Come before the constable here.
+Maid.+ Let the constable come before me, and he please.
+Con.+ How now! where ha' you been, pray, dame, ha!
+Maid.+ For my mistress's ruff at her sempstress', sir; she
must needs use it to-morrow, and that made me stay till it was
done.
+Con.+ Pray, who's your mistress? where dwell you?
+Maid.+ With one Mistress Wag, in Blackfriars, next to the sign
of the Feathers and the Fool, sir.
+Con.+ O, I know her very well; make haste home; 'tis late.
Come, come, let's back to Gracechurch; all's well, all's well.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter severally, +Ancient+ and +Moll+._
+Anc.+ I 'scaped the watch at Bishopsgate with ease: there is
somebody turning down the church corner towards the Exchange;
it may be Mistress Mary.
+Moll.+ Ancient!
+Anc.+ Yes.
+Moll.+ Are you here again? you have nimbly followed me: what
said the watch to you?
+Anc.+ I passed them easily; the gates are but now shut in.
+Moll.+ As we go, I'll tell thee such a tale of a Welsh wooer
and a lamentable love-letter.
+Anc.+ Yes, Sim told me of such a rat, and where he lodges: I
thought I should have met him here.
+Moll.+ Here? out upon him! But the watches walk their station,
and in few words is safety. I hope you will play fair, and
lodge me with the maid you told me of.
+Anc.+ She stays up for us, wench: in the word of a gentleman,
all shall be fair and civil.
+Moll.+ I believe you. [_Exeunt._
_Enter at several doors, +Randall+ and +Maid+._
+Ran.+ Sounds, was another fire-drake[93] walk in shange, we'll
run pack; was Maries have saved her labours, and was come after
Randalls. Maries, was Randall, that loves hur mightily Maries.
+Maid.+ Master Randall.
+Ran.+ How did watch let her go to Grace's Street?
+Maid.+ They knew me, and let me pass.
+Ran.+ Well now hur understands Maries loves Randalls so mighty
deal.
+Maid.+ If John have not told him, I'll be hanged. [_Aside._
+Ran.+ Maries shall go with Randalls to lodgings, and that hur
father work no divorcements, he will lie with her all to-night,
and marry her betimes next morning: meantime, hur will make
lands and livings fast.
+Maid.+ How? father! this is a mistake sure; and, to fashion it
fit for mine own following, I will both question and answer in
ambiguities that if he snap me one way, I may make myself good
i' th' other; and as he shall discover himself, I'll pursue the
conceit accordingly. [_Aside._] But will ye not deceive me?
maids[94] are many men's almanacs; the dates of your desires
out, we serve for nothing but to light tobacco.
+Ran.+
_If Randall false to Maries prove,
Then let not Maries Randalls love:
For Randalls was so true as Jove,
And Maries was hur joy.
If Randalls was not Pritain born,
Let Maries Randalls prow adorn,
And let her give a foul great horn
To Randalls._
Hur will love hur creat deal of much, hur warrant hur.
+Maid.+ And 'tis but venturing a maidenhead; if the worst come
to the worst, it may come back with advantage. [_Exeunt._
_Enter in her night-clothes, as going to bed, +Widow+
and +Maid+._
+Wid.+ Is not Mary come home yet?
+Maid.+ No, forsooth.
+Wid.+ 'Tis a fine time of night, I shall thank her for't: 'tis
past eleven, I am sure. Fetch the prayer-book lies within upon
my bed.
+Maid.+ Yes, forsooth. [_Exit._
+Wid.+ I wonder what this gentleman should be that catched me
so like Jarvis: he said he has fitted old Bloodhound according
to his quality; but I must not let him dally too long upon my
daily company: lust is a hand-wolf, who with daily feeding, one
time or other, takes a sudden start upon his benefactor.
_Enter +Maid+._
+Maid.+ O mistress, mistress!
+Wid.+ What's the matter, wench?
+Maid.+ A man, a man under your bed, mistress.
+Wid.+ A man! what man?
+Maid.+ A neat man, a proper man, a well-favoured man, a
handsome man.
+Wid.+ Call up John: where's Jarvis?
+Maid.+ Alas! I had no power to speak; his very looks are able
to make a woman stand as still as a miller's horse, when he's
loading. O, he comes, he comes! [_Exit._
_Enter +Alexander+._
+Wid.+ How came you hither, sir? how got you in?
+Alex.+ As citizens' wives do into masques, whether I would or
no. Nay, nay, do not doubt the discretion of my constitution:
I have brought ne'er a groat in my bosom; and, by this hand, I
lay under thy bed with a heart as honest and a blood as cold as
had my sister lain at top. Will you have me yet?
+Wid.+ You're a very rude, uncivil fellow.
+Alex.+ Uncivil! and lay so tame while you set up your foot
upon the bed to untie your shoe! such another word, I will
uncivilise that injured civility which you so scurvily slander,
and reward you with an undecency proportionable to your
understandings. Will you have me? will you marry me?
+Wid.+ You! why, to-morrow morning I am to be married to your
father.
+Alex.+ What, to sixty and I know not how many? that will lie
by your side, and divide the hours with coughs, as cocks do the
night by instinct of nature.
+Wid.+ And provide for his family all day.
+Alex.+ And only wish well to a fair wife all night.
+Wid.+ And keep's credit all day in all companies.
+Alex.+ And discredit himself all night in your company.
+Wid.+ Fie, fie! pray quit my house, sir.
+Alex.+ Yours? 'tis my house.
+Wid.+ Your house! since when?
+Alex.+ Even since I was begotten; I was born to't. I must have
thee, and I will have thee; and this house is mine, and none of
thine.
_Enter +Jarvis+._
+Jar.+ O mistress, the saddest accident i' th' street yonder.
+Wid.+ What accident, prythee?
+Jar.+ You must pardon my boldness in coming into your
bed-chamber: there is a gentleman slain in a fray at the door
yonder, and the people won't be persuaded but that he that did
it took this house. There is a constable, churchwardens, and
all the head-men of the parish be now searching; and they say
they will come up hither to your bed-chamber, but they'll find
him. I'll keep them down as long as I can; I can do no more
than I can. [_Exit._
+Wid.+ Are not you the murderer, sir?
+Alex.+ I ha' been under thy bed, by this hand, this three
hours.
+Wid.+ Pray, get you down then: they will all come up, and find
you here and all, and what will the parish think then? Pray get
you down.
+Alex.+ No, no, no; I will not go down, now I think on't.
[_Makes himself unready._[95]
+Wid.+ Why, what do you mean; you will not be so uncivil to
unbrace you here?
+Alex.+ By these buckles, I will, and what will they think
on't----
+Wid.+ Alas! you will undo me.
+Alex.+ No, no, I will undo myself, look ye.
+Wid.+ Good sir.
+Alex.+ I will off with my doublet to my very shirt.
+Wid.+ Pray, sir, have more care of a woman's reputation.
+Alex.+ Have a care on't thyself, woman, and marry me then.[96]
+Wid.+ Should they come up and see this, what could they
think, but that some foul, uncivil act of shame had this night
stained my house? and as good marry him as my name lost for
ever. [_Aside._
+Alex.+ Will you have me, afore t'other sleeve goes off?
+Wid.+ Do, hang yourself; I will not have you--look, look, if
he have not pulled it off quite: why, you wonnot pull off your
boots too, will you?
+Alex.+ Breeches and all, by this flesh.
+Wid.+ What, and stand naked in a widow's chamber?
+Alex.+ As naked as Grantham steeple or the Strand May-pole, by
this spur: and what your grave parishioners will think on't?
+Jar.+ Gentlemen, pray keep down.
+Wid.+ Alas! they are at the stairs' foot; for heaven's sake,
sir!
+Alex.+ Will you have me?
+Wid.+ What shall I do? no.
+Alex.+ This is the last time of asking; they come up, and down
go my breeches. Will you have me?
+Wid.+ Ay, ay, ay, alas! and your breeches go down, I am undone
for ever.
+Alex.+ Why, then, kiss me upon't. And yet there's no cracking
your credit: Jarvis, come in, Jarvis.
_Enter +Jarvis+._
+Jar.+ I have kept my promise, sir; you've catched the old one.
+Wid.+ How, catched? is there nobody below, then?
+Jar.+ Nobody but John, forsooth, recovering a tobacco snuff,
that departed before supper.
+Wid.+ And did you promise this, sir?
+Jar.+ A woman cannot have a handsomer cloud than a
hair-brained husband: I will be your coz, he shall be my
cuckold. [_Aside._
+Wid.+ I love you for your art. [_Aside._
+Jar.+ Come, come, put on, sir; I've acquainted you both with
your father's intended marriage. I' th' morning you shall
certify him very early by letter the quality of your fortunes,
and return to your obedience; and that you and your wife, still
concealing the parties, will attend him to church. John and
I'll be there early, as commanded by my mistress, to discharge
our attendance: about goes the plot, out comes the project, and
there's a wedding-dinner dressed to your hands.
+Alex.+ As pat as a fat heir to a lean shark; we shall hunger
for't: honest Jarvis, I am thy bedfellow to-night, and
to-morrow thy master.
+Wid.+ You're a fine man to use a woman thus.
+Alex.+ Pish! come, come.
Fine men must use fine women thus, 'tis fit.
Plain truth takes maids, widows are won with wit.
+Jar.+ You shall wear horns with wisdom; that is in your
pocket. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[87] _i.e._, Recommended.
[88] _Ever while you live, 'tis your first rule in We'sh grammars_,
which is clearly a reply to Moll's remark, has been hitherto very
absurdly made a part of Randall's letter, which begins only at _That
hur forsake_, &c.
[89] On the banks of the river Thames, formerly used for a laystall for
the soil of the streets, and much frequented by barges and lighters for
taking the same away; also for landing corn and other goods.--"Stowe's
Survey," bk. iii., p. 229, vol. i edit 1720.
[90] [The cant meaning of aunt at that time was _procuress_. See Dyce's
Middleton, i. 444. The word in this acceptation is not unusual.]
[91] [See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, p. 149. _To be wrapped in his
mother's smock_ is a synonym for good fortune.]
[92] In the 4º it runs _Enter Chambermaid, Hugh with a bandbox_:
probably Hugh, though he says nothing, carried the box for the maid.
Mr. Reed made the change.--_Collier._
[93] See note to "The Miseries of Enforced Marriage," [ix. 572.]
[94] [Old copy, _many minds_.]
[95] To make one's-self _unready_ was the common term for undressing.
See several instances in Mr Steevens's note on the "First Part of King
Henry VI.," act ii. sc. 1.
[96] In the old copy, the dialogue is here confused, what is said by
Alexander being given to the widow, and what is said by the widow to
Jarvis.--_Collier._
ACT V., SCENE I.
_Enter +Sim+ and +John+, passing over with a basin of
rosemary[97] and a great flagon with wine._
+Sim.+ Come, John, carry your hand steadily; the guests drop
in apace, do not let your wine drop out.[98]
+John.+ 'Tis as I told thee; Master Alexander, thy mistress'
eldest son will be here.
+Sim.+ Rose, I pray burn some pitch i' th' parlour, 'tis good
against ill airs; Master Alexander will be here. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Old Bloodhound+ and +Jarvis+._
+Blood.+ I am up before you, son Ear-lack. Will Ancient Young
be here with a rich wife too? Thy mistress is not stirring yet,
sirrah. I'll hold my life the baggage slipped to thy mistress;
there they have e'en locked the door to them, and are tricking
up one another: O these women! But this rogue Tim, he lay out
to-night too; he received my hundred mark, and (I fear) is
murdered. Truss, truss, good Jarvis.
+Jar.+ He has been a-wooing, sir, and has fetched over the
delicatest young virgin! Her father died but a week since, and
left her to her marriage five thousand pound in money and a
parcel of land worth three hundred per annum.
+Blood.+ Nay, nay, 'tis like; the boy had ever a captivating
tongue to take a woman. O excellent money, excellent money,
mistress of my devotions! My widow's estate is little less too;
and then Sander--he has got a moneyed woman too; there will be
a bulk of money. Tim is puling, I may tell thee, one that by
nature's course cannot live long: t'other a midnight surfeit
cuts off: then have I a trick to cosen both their widows, and
make all mine. O Jarvis, what a moneyed generation shall I then
get upon thy mistress?
+Jar.+ A very virtuous brood.
+Blood.+ Hast done?
+Jar.+ I have done, sir.
+Blood.+ I'll in and get some music for thy mistress, to
quicken her this morning; and then to church in earnest. When
'tis done, where is Sir Nicholas Nemo and his wards.[99]
That watch so for her? Ha, ha, ha! all's mixed with honey:
I have mirth, a sweet young widow, and her money.
O that sweet saint, call'd Money! [_Exeunt._
+Anc.+ Joy! ay, and a hundred pound a year in a black box to
the bargain, given away i' th' dark last night to we know not
who, and to be heard of, we know not when. 'Sfoot, an' this be
joy, would we had a handsome slice of sorrow to season it.
+Alex.+ By this light, 'twas strange.
+Moll.+ Believe me, sir, I thought I had given it you: he that
took it called me by my name.
+Sim.+ Did he speak Welsh or English?
+Moll.+ Alas! I know not; I enjoined him silence, seeing the
watch coming, who parted us.
+Sim.+ If this were not Master Randalls of Randall Hall, that I
told you of, I'll be flayed.
+Alex.+ Be masked, and withdraw awhile; here comes our dad.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter +Bloodhound+, +Sir Marmaduke Many-Minds+,
+Sir Janus Ambidexter+, and +Master
Busy+._
+Blood.+ Why, Master Busy, asleep as thou stand'st, man!
+Sim.+ Some horse taught him that; 'tis worth god-a-mercy.[100]
+Con.+ I watch all night, I protest, sir; the compters pray for
me: I send all in, cut and long tail.[101]
+Sir Mar.+ What, what?
+Con.+ I sent twelve gentlewomen, our own neighbours, last
night, for being so late but at a woman's labour.
+Blood.+ Alas, sir! a woman in that kind, you know, must have
help.
+Con.+ What's that to me? I am to take no notice of that: they
might have let her alone till morning, or she might have cried
out some other time.
+Sir Mar.+ Nay, nay, Master Busy knows his place, I warrant you.
_Enter +Alexander+, +Ancient Young+, +Widow+,
and +Moll+._[102]
+Blood.+ Son Alexander, welcome; and Ancient Young too: I have
heard all.
+Alex.+ You must pardon the rudeness of the gentlewomen, sir,
in not unmasking; they entreated me to inform you, there are
some i' th' house to whom they would by no means be laid open.
+Blood.+ They are witty, they are witty.
+Alex.+ But, for myself, I am now your most obedient, virtuous
Alexander.
+Blood.+ Obedience! hang Virtue, let her starve. Has she money?
has she money?
+Alex.+ Two chests of silver and two Utopian trunks[103] full
of gold and jewels.
+Blood.+ They are all Alexander's women, do you mark?
+Sim.+ Alexander was the conqueror, sir?
+Blood.+ Come, come, we'll to church presently. Prythee,
Jarvis, whilst the music plays just upon the delicious close,
usher in the brides, the widow, and my Moll. [_Exit +Jarvis+._
+Sim.+ I tell you true, gallants, I have seen neither of them
to-day. Shall I give him the lie?
+Blood.+ They are both locked up, i' faith, trimming of one
another. O these women, they are so secret in their business,
they will make very coxcombs of us men, and do 't at pleasure
too. 'Tis well said, friends; play, play. Where's Sim?
+Anc.+ How he bestirs him!
+Alex.+ Yes, he will sweat by and by.
+Sim.+ Here is the sign of Sim, sir.
+Blood.+ Have the guests rosemary without?
+Sim.+ They have _Rose_ the cookmaid without; but they say you
have Mistress _Mary_ within.
+Alex.+ Well said, rascal.
+Blood.+ Mary's above, goodman blockhead. Call my son,
Ear-lack, bid him for shame make haste.
+Sim.+ He shall make haste for shame. [_Exit._
+Blood.+ I am so busied; you must bear with me, gentlemen: they
leave it all to me here.
+Con.+ But I will go charge some of the inferior guests, in the
king's name, to fill some wine.
+Blood.+ No, no, good Master Busy; we will first usher the
brides.
_Enter +Sim+._
+Sim.+ O gentlemen, where are you? Where are you? Where are
you, gentlemen?
+Omnes.+ What's the matter?
+Blood.+ Where's Moll, Sim? the widow, Sim, the dainty widow?
+Sim.+ There's no Moll; there is no dainty young widow; but
a damnable bawd we found abed, with a face like an apple
half-roasted.
+Omnes.+ How's this?
+Blood.+ Why, gentlemen!
+Anc.+ Now it works.
+Blood.+ Jarvis, you're a rogue: a cutpurse, Jarvis. Run, Sim,
call my son Ear-lack: he shall put her into the spiritual court
for this.
+Sim.+ Nay, he has put her in there already, for we found him
abed with her.
+Omnes.+ Possible!
+Blood.+ Ha, boys! the informer and the bawd, the bawd and the
informer have got a devil betwixt them, gentlemen.
+Sim.+ Nay, sir, the jest was, that they should fall asleep
together, and forget themselves; for very lovingly we found
them together, like the Gemini, or the two winter mornings met
together. Look, look, look, where they come, sir, and Jarvis
between 'em--just like the picture of knavery betwixt fraud and
lechery.
_Enter +Jarvis+, +Ear-lack+, and +Mistress Coote+._
+Jar.+ _Tim is a puling sirrah, I may tell it thee: a midnight
surfeit too may cut off Sander; I'll cosen their wives, make
all mine own; and then, O Jarvis, what a moneyed generation
shall I get upon this Widow Coote that hath two teeth!_
+Blood.+ Did we bring you to music, with a mischief? Ear-lack,
thou'rt a goat; thou hast abused the best bed in my house; I'll
set a sumner[104] upon thee.
+Ear.+ Bloodhound, thou art a usurer, and takest forty in the
hundred; I'll inform against thee.
+Blood.+ Are you a bawd, huswife, ha?
+Mis. Coote.+ Alas, sir! I was merely conied, betrayed by
Jarvis; but as I have been bawd to the flesh, you have
been bawd to your money; so set the hare-pie against the
goose-giblets, and you and I are as daintily matched as can be,
sir.
+Blood.+ Sim, run to the Widow Wag's; tell her we are both
abused; this Jarvis is a juggler, say.
+Anc.+ I can save Sim that labour, sir. I assure you the widow
is married to your son Alexander, and, as a confirmation, she
is come herself to witness it. [_Discovers._
+Alex.+ Your fair young daughter is wife to this Ancient, who
is come likewise to witness it.
+Wid.+ The plain truth is, Master Bloodhound, I would entreat
you to keep the kennel: the younger dog, being of the better
scent, has borne the game before you.
+Alex.+ We have clapped hands on't, sir; and the priest that
should have married you to her is to marry her to me: so,
sister, talk for yourself.
+Blood.+ Ha, brave tricks and conceits! Can you dance, Master
Ear-lack?
+Ear.+ Ha, ha! the old man's a little mad. But thou art not
married, Moll?
+Moll.+ Yes, indeed, sir, and will lie with this gentleman soon
at night. Do you think I would chew ram-mutton when I might
swallow venison? That's none of Venus's documents, Monsieur
Dotterel.
+Ear.+ Pox of that Venus! she's a whore, I warrant her.
+Blood.+ And were not you the other juggler with Jarvis in
this, hey? pass and repass!
+Alex.+ Good sir, be satisfied; the widow and my sister
sung both one song, and what was't, but _Crabbed age and
youth cannot live together._[105] Now we persuaded them,
and they could not live together, they would never endure
to lie together; this consequently descended, there was the
antecedent: we clapped hands, sealed lips, and so fell unto the
relative.
+Sim.+ This was your bargain upon the exchange, sir, and
because you have ever been addicted to old proverbs and pithy
saws, pray let me seal up the mistake with one that will appear
very seasonably.
+Blood.+ And I pray let's hear it, sir.
+Sim.+ You, a new-fangled fowler, came to show your art i' th'
dark; but take this truth, you catched in truth a cuckoo for't.
_Enter +Tim+ and +Sue+._
+Blood.+ Heyday, we are cheated by the rule, i' faith. Now,
sirrah, they say you are to be married too.
+Tim.+ Yes, indeed, father, I am going to the business; and,
gentlemen all, I am come, whether you will or no, to invite
you all to my marriage to this gentlewoman who, though a good
face needs no mask, she's masked, to make a man think she has a
scurvy face, when I know she has a good face. This is sack to
them, and out of their element.
+Blood.+ But, sirrah, setting aside marriages, where's my
hundred marks you went to receive?
+Tim.+ Hum!--upon such a match of mine, talk of a hundred
marks! this is to drink ignoble four-shillings beer. A hundred
marks! why your lawyer there can clear such a trifle in a term,
and his clients ne'er the better.
+Blood.+ Such a match! I pray discover her; what is she?
+Tim.+ What is she! here's my brother knows what she is well
enough. Come hither, Dab, and be it known unto you, her name
is Lindabrides, descended from the Emperor Trebatio of Greece,
and half-niece, some six-and-fifty descents, to the most
unvanquished Clarindiana.
+Alex.+ Who's this? Pox on't! what makes that bawd yonder?
[_Unmasks her._
+Con.+ I am very much deceived if I did not send this
gentlewoman very drunk t'other night to the Compter.
+Tim.+ I tell thee, prattling constable, 'tis a lie:
Lindabrides a drunkard!
+Alex.+ Harkee, brother, where lies her living?
+Tim.+ Where? why, in Greece.
+Alex.+ In grease.
+Sim.+ She looks as if she had sold kitchen-stuff.
+Alex.+ This is a common whore, and you a cheated coxcomb. Come
hither, you rotten hospital, hung round with greasy satin; do
not you know this vermin?
+Mis. Coote.+ I winked at you, Sue, and you could have seen me:
there's one Jarvis, a rope on him, h' has juggled me into the
suds too.
+Con.+ Now I know her name too: do not you pass under the name
of Sue Shortheels, minion?
+Sue.+ Go look, Master Littlewit. Will not any woman thrust
herself upon a good fortune when it is offered her?
+Blood.+ Sir Marmaduke, you are a justice of peace; I charge
you in the king's name, you and Master Ambidexter, to assist me
with the whore and the bawd to Bridewell.
+Sir Mar.+ By my troth, we will, and we shall have an excellent
stomach by that time dinner's ready.
+Amb.+ Ay, ay, away with them, away with them!
+Mis. Coote.+ O this rogue Jarvis!
[_Exeunt +Coote+ and +Shortheels+._
+Blood.+ Now, now, you look like a melancholy dog, that had
lost his dinner; where's my hundred marks now, you coxcomb?
+Tim.+ Truly, father, I have paid some sixteen reckonings
since I saw you: I was never sober since you sent me to the
devil yesterday; and for the rest of your money, I sent it to
one Captain Carvegut. He swore to me his father was my Lord
Mayor's cook, and that by Easter next you should have the
principal and eggs for the use, indeed, sir.
+Blood.+ O rogue, rogue! I shall have eggs for my money:[106] I
must hang myself.
+Sim.+ Not before dinner, pray, sir; the pies are almost baked.
_Enter +Randall+._
+Ran.+ _And Maries now was won,
And all her pusiness done,
And Randalls now was run_;
Hur have made all sure, I warrant hur.
+Alex.+ Look, look, yonder's the conceit the mistake happened
upon last night.
+Anc.+ And the very box at's girdle.
+Ran.+ Cot pless hur father Ploothounds, Randalls have robbed
Ancients, hur warrant hur.
+Anc.+ Sir, 'tis known how you came by that box.
+Ran.+ Augh! was hur so?
_Will you hear a noble Pritain,
How her gull an English Flag?_[107]
+Anc.+ And you ought to cry.
+Ran.+ O noble Randalls, as hur meet by Nag's-head, with Maries
plood, prave.
+Blood.+ Here's another madman.
+Anc.+ Harkee in your ear, you must deliver that box to me.
+Ran.+ Harkee in hur t'other ear, hur will not deliver hur, and
hur were nine-and-forty Ancients, and five-and-fourscore Flags.
+Anc.+ Let my foe write mine epitaph if I tear not my
birthright from thy bosom? [_Draws._
+Sim.+ Gentlemen, there's Aligant[108] i' th' house, pray set
no more abroach.
+Ran.+ Nay, let hur come with hur pack of needles, Randalls can
pox and bob as well as hur, hur warrant hur.
+Blood.+ What box is that? I should know that box.
+Alex.+ I will resolve you, sir; keep them asunder.
+Anc.+ You will restore that box?
+Ran.+ Hur will not restore hur: 'twas Mary Ploodhounds gave
hur the box; Randalls have married Mary Ploodhounds, and gulled
Ancient, mark hur now.
+Wid.+ Mark him, good sir; methinks he says he has married Mary
Bloodhound.
+Anc.+ Hang him, he's mad!
+Ran.+ Souns, make tog of Randalls? come out here, Maries.
Look, here was Mary Ploodhounds.
_Enter +Maid+ and +Hugh+._
Now I pray tumble down of hur marrow-pones, and ask hur father
plessing?
+Alex.+ This! why this is your maid, widow.
+Ear.+ This is Mary the widow's maid, man.
+Alex.+ And here is Mary Bloodhound, my choleric shred of
Cadwallader, married to this gentleman, who has a hundred a
year dangling at your girdle there.
+Wid.+ I pray, mistress, are you married to this gentleman?
+Maid.+ By six i' th' morning, forsooth: he took me for Mary
Bloodhound, having, it seems, never seen either of us before,
and I being something amorously affected, as they say, to his
Welsh ditties, answered to her name, lay with him all night,
and married him this morning; so that as he took me for her, I
took him as he was, forsooth.
+Sim.+ She means for a fool; I'm fain to answer you.
+Blood.+ Ha, ha, ha! Cupid, this twenty-four hours, has done
nothing but cut cross-capers.
+Alex.+ Do ye hear, Sir Bartholomew Bayard,[109] that leap
before you look? it will handsomely become you to restore the
box to that gentleman, and the magnitude of your desires upon
this dainty, that is so amorously taken with your ditties.
+Ran.+ _Hur wail[110] in woe, her plunge in pain._
And yet, by cat, her do not neither. Randalls will prove
hurself Pritains born, and because hur understands Ancients was
prave fellows and great travellers, there is hur box for hur.
+Anc.+ I thank you.
+Ran.+ And because was no remedies, before hur all, here will
Randalls embrace Maries, and take a puss. [_Kisses._
_Enter +Jarvis+ brave._
+Jar.+ Save you, gallants, do you want any guest?
Call me thy coz, and carry it handsomely.
[_To the +Widow+._
+Blood.+ Who have we here, trow?
+Alex.+ Dost thou know the gentleman that whispered to thee?
+Wid.+ O, wondrous well! He bid me call him coz, and carry it
handsomely.
+Jar.+ Widow, would I were off again.
+Wid.+ Know, all: this gentleman has, to obtain his lust and
loose desires, served me this seven months under the shape and
name of Jarvis.
+Omnes.+ Possible!
+Wid.+ Look well; do you not know him?
+Blood.+ The very face of Jarvis.
+Tim.+ Ay truly, father, and he were anything like him, I would
swear 'twere he.
+Jar.+ I must cast my skin, and am catch'd.
Why, coz.
+Wid.+ Come, you're cosen'd,
And with a noble craft. He tempted me
In mine own house, and I bid him keep's disguise
But till this morning, and he should perceive
I loved him truly; intending here before you
To let him know't, especially i' th' presence
Of you, sir, that intend me for your wife.
+Anc.+ What should this mean?
+Alex.+ Some witty trick, I warrant thee: prythee, despatch him
presently, that we were at church!
+Wid.+ First, then, know you for truth, sir, I mean never to
marry.
+Blood.+ How, woman?
+Sim.+ She has despatched you, sir!
+Wid.+ And for a truth, sir, know you, I never mean to be your
whore.
+Blood.+ This is strange.[111]
+Wid.+ But true, as she, whose chaste, immaculate soul
Retains the noble stamp of her integrity
With an undefac'd perfection--perchance as these.
Nay, common fame hath scattered, you conceive me,
Because pale Jealousy (Cupid's angry fool)
Was frequent lodger at that sign of Folly--
My husband's soon suspicious heart--that I,
In a close-clouded looseness, should expose him
To that desperate distraction of his fortunes
That sent him to the sea, to nourish her
With your vain hope, that the fame of frequent suitors
Was but a mask of loose 'scapes: like men at lotteries,
You thought to put in for one, sir; but, believe me,
You have drawn a blank.
+Ran.+ By cat, hur look fery blank indeed.
+Wid.+ O my beloved husband!
However in thy life thy jealousy
Sent thee so far to find death, I will be
Married to nothing but thy memory!
+Jar.+ Let her alone, if her husband do not know this----
+Omnes.+ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
+Blood.+ Her husband, I told you, was a madman.
+Anc.+ Why, her husband's dead, sir.
+Jar.+ He is not dead, sir; he had it spread o' purpose; he is
in England, and in your house; and look, do you not see him?
+Wid.+ Where, where?
+Jar.+ Here, here he is that hath found rash jealousy,
Love's joys, and a wife whose discreet carriage
Can intimate to all men a fair freedom,
And to one be faithful. Such a wife I prove,
Her husband's glory, worth a wealthy love.
+Wid.+ You're welcome to my soul, sir.
+Blood.+ By my troth, Master Wag, this was a wag's trick
indeed; but I knew I knew you; I remembered you a month ago,
but that I had forgotten where I saw you.
+Sim.+ I knew you were a crafty merchant;[112] you helped my
master to such bargains upon the Exchange last night: here has
been the merriest morning after it.
+Alex.+ My pitcher's broke just at the well-head; but give me
leave to tell you, sir, that you have a noble wife, and indeed
such a one as would worthily feast the very discretion of a
wise man's desire. Her wit ingeniously waits upon her virtue,
and her virtue advisedly gives freedom to her wit; but because
my marriage shall seriously proceed, I wed myself, sir, to
obedience and filial regularity, and vow to redeem, in the duty
of a son, the affection of a father.
+Ran.+ By cat, was as well spoke as Randall hurself could talk.
+Blood.+ All's forgotten now, my best son Alexander;
And that thy wedding want no good company,
I invite you all.
+Jar.+ Come, my deserving wife,
Wisdom this day re-marries us. And, gentlemen,
From all our errors we'll extract this truth:
Who vicious ends propose,[113] they stand on wheels,
And the least turn of chance throws up their heels;
But virtuous lovers ever green do last,
Like laurel, which no lightening can blast.
FOOTNOTES:
[97] "Rosemary," as Mr Steevens observes (note to "Hamlet," act iv. sc.
5), "was anciently supposed to strengthen the memory; and was not only
carried at funerals, but worn at weddings." See the several instances
there quoted. Again, in Dekker's "Wonderful Yeare," 1603: "Heere is a
strange alteration; for the _rosemary_ that was washt in sweet water to
set out the bridall, is now wet in teares to furnish her buriall."
Again, in "The Old Law," act iv. sc. 1: "Besides, there will be charges
saved, too; the same _rosemary_ that serves for the funeral will serve
for the wedding."
And in "The Fair Quarrell," act v. sc. 1--
"+Phis.+ Your Maister is to bee married to-day.
+Trim.+ Else all this _rosemaries_ lost."
It appears also to have been customary to drink wine at church,
immediately after the marriage ceremony was performed. So in Dekker's
"Satiro-mastix:" "And, Peter, when we are at church, bring _wine_ and
cakes." At the marriage of the Elector Palatine with the Princess
Elizabeth, daughter of James the First, it is said, "In conclusion, a
joy pronounced by the king and queen, and seconded with congratulations
of the lords there present, which crowned with draughts of _Ippocras_,
out of a great golden bowle, as a health to the prosperitie of the
marriage (began by the Prince Palatine, and answered by the Princess),
after which were served up by six or seaven barons, so many bowles
filled with wafers, so much of that worke was consummate."--Finett's
"Philoxenis," 1656, fol. 11.
[98] [Old copy, _on't_.]
[99] The old copy reads _Sir Nicholas Nemo and his words_, but the
sense seems to require that it should be _Sir Nicholas Nemo and his
wards_, or watchmen or spies.--_Collier._
[100] [See "Old English Jest-Books," ii. 217-18.]
[101] [Equivalent to our modern phrase, tag, rag, and bobtail. The
original signification seems to have been descriptive of the different
kinds of horses, cuts, curtails, and longtails, and hence it came to
mean generally _all sorts and kinds_, like the modern term. Compare
Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," 1868, in _v._] This phrase occurs in
"The Merry Wives of Windsor," act iii. sc. 4. Steevens says the origin
of it was from Forest Laws, by which the dog of a man who had no right
to the privilege of chase, was obliged to be cut or lawed; and amongst
other modes of disabling him, one was by depriving him of his tail.
_Cut_ and _long tail_ therefore signified the dog of a clown and the
dog of a gentleman. [Reed (more correctly) remarks:] "_Cut and long
tail_, I apprehend referred originally to horses, when their tails were
either docked, or left to grow their full length; and this distinction
might formerly be made according to their qualities and values. A
horse therefore used for drudgery might have his tail cut, while the
tails of those which served for pomp or show, might be allowed their
utmost growth. A _cut_ appears to have been the term used for a bad
horse in many contemporary writers, and from thence to call a person
_cut_ became a common opprobrious word employed by the vulgar, when
they abused each other. See note to 'Gammer Gurton's Needle' [iii.
211.] In confirmation of this idea, it may be added, that Sim says in
the text, _Some horse taught him that_, which naturally introduces the
phrase _cut and long tail_ into the Constable's answer. The words _cut
and long tail_ occur also in 'The Return from Parnassus,' act iv. sc.
1: 'As long as it lasts, come _cut and long tail_, we'll spend it as
liberally for his sake.' There seems no doubt that _cut and long tail_
has reference to horses. Sir J. Vanbrugh, in his 'Æsop,' so employs the
phrase: the groom says, 'Your worship has six coach horses, _cut and
long tail_, two runners, half a dozen hunters,' &c."--_Collier._
[102] Their entrance is not mentioned in the 4º.--_Collier._
[103] _i.e._, Ideal ones, like the _Utopian_ schemes of
government.--_Steevens._
[104] See note to "The Heir," [xi. 535.]
[105] This elegant song was the production of our great poet
Shakespeare. It is printed in his collection of sonnets, entitled
"The Passionate Pilgrim." The reader may likewise see it in "Percy's
Reliques of Antient Poetry," vol. i. p. 259.
[106] The same phrase occurs in Shakespeare's "Winter's Tale," act i.
sc. 2, where Leontes says to Mamillius--
"Mine honest friend,
_Will you take eggs for money_?"
Dr Johnson says that it seems to be a proverbial expression used when
a man sees himself wronged and makes no resistance; and Mr Smith is
of opinion that it means _Will you put up affronts?_ In the present
instance it seems intended to express the speaker's fears that he shall
receive nothing in return for his money.
[107] These lines seem intended as a parody on the beginning of the old
song called "The Spanish Lady's Love." See Percy's "Reliques," vol. ii.
p. 233. An English Flag means the _Ancient_; a name which was formerly
used as synonymous to _Ensign_.
[108] _i.e._, Wine of Alicant. [But Sim means to dissuade them from
bloodshed, as there is red wine already in the house.]
[109] [See Nares, edit. 1859, in _v._ Bayard meant originally _a bay
horse_, and afterward any kind or colour.]
[110] This tune is mentioned in "Eastward Hoe," 1605. In Gascoigne's
works, 1587, fol. 278, is the following line--
"I wept for _woe_, I pin'd for deadly _paine_."
[111] Mr Reed transferred this exclamation to Alexander, but it is just
as probably what old Bloodhound says, and the old copy gives it to
him.--_Collier._
[112] [This word has been already explained more than once.]
[113] The 4º has it, _Where vicious ends prepose_, and in the next line
but one virtuous lovers are called _virtue's_ lovers. The last may be
right.--_Collier._
THE CITY NIGHTCAP.
_EDITION._
_The City Night-Cap: Or, Crede quod habes, & habes. A
Tragi-Comedy. By Robert Davenport. As it was Acted with
great Applause, by Her Majesties Servants, at the Phœnix in
Drury-Lane. London: Printed by Ja: Cottrel, for Samuel Speed,
at the Signe of the Printing-Press, in St. Paul's Church-yard._
1661. 4º.
PREFACE.
Robert Davenport is a writer (remarks Reed) of whom scarce any
particulars are known. It appears, from the office-book of Sir Henry
Herbert, that Davenport had licence for the "History of Henry the
First" on the 10th April, 1624; and this is the earliest memorandum
relating to him with which we have met. His dramatic productions are--
1. "The History of Henry the First," not printed.
2. "A Pleasant and Witty Comedy, called a New Trick to Cheat the
Devil," 1639, 4º.
3. "King John and Matilda," 1655, 4º.[114]
4. "The Pirate," not printed.[115]
5. "The Woman's Mistaken," not printed.
6. "The Fatal Brothers," not printed.
7. "The Politic Queen," not printed.
8. "The City Nightcap," 1661, 4º. Licensed Oct. 24, 1624.
He has also been credited with a piece called "The Pedlar," licensed
to Robert Allot, April 8, 1630; but this production, under the title
of "The Conceited Pedlar," is printed at the end of Allot's edition
of Randolph's "Aristippus," 4º, 1630. It is, of course, included in
Hazlitt's edition of Randolph, 12º, 1875.
Davenport, besides his plays, was the author of a considerable
collection of poems, the greater part of which were not published. In
1639, however, appeared a thin 4º volume, entitled "A Crowne for a
Conqueror; and Too late to call backe yesterday. Two Poems, the one
Divine, the other Morall. By R. D." In the Bodleian Catalogue this
little book is misdated 1623.[116] The latter piece is dedicated to
his noble friends, as he calls them, Mr Richard Robinson[117] and Mr
Michael Bowyer; and in his address to them he styles both the poems
some of the expense of his time at sea. From the address prefixed to
the play of "King John and Matilda," signed R. D., he appears to have
been alive in the year 1655, when that piece was first published.
FOOTNOTES:
[114] It was published by Andrew Pennycuicke, one of the performers,
who says that he was the last who played the character of Matilda. See
it criticised in the _Retrosp. Review_, iv. 87-100.
[115] In S. Sheppard's "Poems," 8º, 1651, is one "To Mr Davenport, on
his play called 'The Pirate.'"--_Collier._
[116] [For a notice of Davenport's unprinted poems, see Hazlitt's
"Handbook," 1867, in _v._]
[117] Both Robinson and Bowyer were players. The former is in the list
of the performers in Shakespeare's plays, and acted in the "Roman
Actor." The name of the latter is to be found amongst the performers in
"The Bondman," by Massinger, "King John and Matilda," &c.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
+Duke of Verona.+
+Duke of Venice+, _brother to Abstemia_.
+Duke of Milan.+
+Antonio+, _the duke's son_.
+Lorenzo+, _husband to Abstemia_.
+Philippo+, _his friend_.
+Lodovico+, _husband to Dorothea_.
+Lords of Verona.+
+Senators of Venice.+
+Sanchio+, } _lords of Milan_.
+Sebastiano+, }
+Pandulpho.+
+Spinoso.+
+Jaspro.+
+Jovani.+
+Francisco+, _servant to Lodovico_.
+Pambo+, _a clown_.
+Morbo+, _a pander_.
_A Turk, slave to Antonio.
Two slaves to Lorenzo.
Officers and servants._
WOMEN ACTORS.[118]
+Abstemia+, _Lorenzo's wife, and sister to the Duke of Venice_.
+Dorothea+, _Lodovico's wanton lady_.
+Timpanina+, _a bawd_.
_Ladies._
FOOTNOTES:
[118] _i.e._, Actors of women's parts; though _women actors_ were
brought upon the stage about the date when this play was printed, but
not when it was first performed.
THE CITY NIGHTCAP.[119]
ACT I.[120]
_Enter +Lorenzo+ and +Philippo+._
+Lor.+ Thou shalt try her once more.
+Phil.+ Fie, fie!
+Lor.+ Thou shalt do't.
If thou be'st my friend, thou'lt do't.
+Phil.+ Try your fair wife?
You know 'tis an old point, and wondrous frequent
In most of our Italian comedies.
+Lor.+ What do I care for that? let him seek new ones,
Cannot make old ones better; and this new point
(Young sir) may produce new smooth passages,
Transcending those precedent. Pray, will ye do't?
+Phil.+ Pray, fool yourself no farther: twice you have sway'd me;
Twice have I tried her; and 'tis not yet, ye know,
Ten days since our reconciliation.
How will it show in you, so near a kinsman
To the duke? nay, having woven yourself into
The close-wrought mystery of opinion,
Where you remain a soldier, a man
Of brain and quality, to put your friend
Again on such a business, and to expose
Your fair wife to the tempest of temptation?
And, by the white, unspotted cheek of truth,
She is----
+Lor.+ A woman.
+Phil.+ A good woman.
+Lor.+ Pish!
+Phil.+ As far from your distrust, as bad ones are from truth.
She is in love with virtue: would not boast it,
But that her whole life is a well-writ story.
Where each word stands so well-plac'd, that it passes
Inquisitive detraction to correct.
She's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence;
Not that she wants apt words, for, when she speaks,
She inflames love with wonder; but because
She calls wise silence the soul's harmony.
She's truly chaste; yet such a foe to coyness,
The poorest call her courteous; and which is excellent,
Though fair and young, she shuns t' expose herself
To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom
Or never walks abroad but in your company;
And then with such sweet bashfulness, as if
She were venturing on crack'd ice; and takes delight
To step into the print your foot hath made,
And will follow you whole fields: so she will drive
Tediousness out of time with her sweet character.
And therefore, good my friend, forbear to try
The gold has pass'd the fire.
+Lor.+ Thou foolish friend,
Beauty, like the herb larix, is cool i' th' water,
But hot i' th' stomach. Women are smooth flatterers,
But cunning injurers.
+Phil.+ Thou wondrous yellow friend.
Temper an antidote with antimony,
And 'tis infectious: mix jealousy with marriage,
It poisons virtue: let the child feel the sting,
He'll fly the honeycomb. Has she one action
That can expose you to distrust?
+Lor.+ O, when the Alexanders-leaf looks most green,
The sap is then most bitter. An approv'd appearance
Is no authentic instance: she that is lip-holy
Is many times heart-hollow. Here she comes,
_Enter +Abstemia+._
A prayer-book in her hand! O hypocrisy!
How fell'st thou first in love with woman? wilt try again,
But this one time?
+Phil.+ Condition'd you will stand
Ear-witness to our conference; that you may take
In at your ear a virtue that will teach
Your erring soul to wonder.
+Lor.+ He would wittol me
With a consent to my own horns. I will.
I'll give thee a new occasion: there lurks
In woman's blood a vindicating spirit.
+Abs.+ I came, sir, to give you notice,
Count Lodovico, Stroimo, Spinoso, and Pandulpho,
With the rest of the consilliadory, certify
They are setting forth to meet the duke your kinsman,
Returning from Venice.
+Lor.+ O, there he has seen the duke your brother.
+Abs.+ Yes, sir, and they stay but for your company.
+Lor.+ And you're cloy'd with't----
[_Kicks her, and retires to conceal himself. She weeps._
+Phil.+ And will you still be us'd thus? O madam,
I do confess twice I have batter'd at
The fort I fain would vanquish, and I know
Ye hold out more, 'cause you would seem a soldier,
Than in hate to the assailant. I am again
Inflam'd with those sweet fountains, from whence flow
Such a pair of streams. O strong force of desire!
The quality should quench hath set on fire:
I love you in your sorrows.
+Abs.+ And I sorrow
In nothing but your love. Twice, Philippo,
Have I not beat back the impetuous storm
Of thy incessant rudeness? Wilt thou again
Darken fair honour with dishonesty?
Thou know'st my lord hath long and truly lov'd thee
In the wisdom of a friend; in a fair cause:
He wears his good sword for thee, lays his heart
A lodger in thy bosom, proclaims thee partner
In all he hath but me: O, be not counterfeit!
We all conclude, a diamond with clouds
The goldsmith casts into his dust: and a gentleman
So blemish'd in his honour, blots his name
Out of the herald's book, stands a lost man
In goodness and opinion. O Philippo,
Make me once more so happy to believe
'Tis but a painted passion.
+Lor.+ Most acute witch![121]
+Phil.+ Come, learn of your city wagtail: with one eye
Violently love your husband, and with t'other
Wink at your friend.
+Lor.+ I will not trust you, brother.
+Phil.+ He seeks: will ye not have him find? cries ye out
In his mad fits a strumpet; rails at all women,
Upon no cause, but because you are one:
He gives wound upon wound, and then pours vinegar
Into your bleeding reputation,
Poison'd with bitter calumny. Pox on him!
Pile a reciprocal reward upon him:
Let ballad-mongers crown him with their scorns:
Who buys the buck's-head well deserves the horns.
Demur not on't, but clap them on.
+Abs.+ You are, sir,
Just like the Indian hyssop, prais'd of strangers
For the sweet scent, but hated of the inhabitants
For the injurious quality. Can he love the wife,
That would betray the husband? Hast thou not seen me
Bear all his injuries, as the ocean suffers
The angry bark to plough thorough her bosom,
And yet is presently so smooth, the eye
Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made?
And cannot this inform, I love him better
In his sour follies, than you in your sweet flatteries?
If Verona hath observ'd any errors in me,
I well may call for grace to amend them,
But will never fall from grace to befriend you.
+Phil.+ With what a majesty good women thunder!
+Lor.+ H' has given her some close nod that I am here.
+Abs.+ Rip up the end of thy intent, and see,
How shame and fear do lurk where you would walk,
Like a pair of serpents in a flow'ry mead.
Lust sees with pleasure, but with fear doth tread.
+Phil.+ Very brave, woman!
+Abs.+ What is the pleasure thou pursu'st? A sin
Finish'd with infinite sorrows. Read, and find,
How barb'rous nations punish it with death:
How a minute's sin so stolen, though in the face
Sit summer calms all smooth, yet thou wilt hear,
From the eternal 'larum[122] of thy conscience,
How it sets within thy soul continual tempests,
Thunder and dismal blackness! Mark but the course
Of the holy-seeming hollow man, and see
How he that glories heaven with no honour,
Covets to glorify himself with honesty.
And, to put you past your hopes, let me leave this with you:--
Thou may'st hold an elephant with a thread, eat fire
And not be burnt, or catch birds with desire,
Quench flame with oil, cut diamonds with glass,
Pierce steel with feathers: this thou may'st bring to pass
Sooner than hope to steal the husband's right,
Whose wife is honest, and no hypocrite.[123] [_Exit._
+Phil.+ What think you now, sir?
+Lor.+ [_Coming forward._] Why now I do think it possible for the world
To have an honest woman in it. Goodbye, sir;
I must go meet the duke. Adieu.
+Phil.+ Farewell.
O jealousy! how near thou dwell'st to hell! [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Lodovico+, +Pandulpho+, +Spinoso+, +Jaspro+_,
+Jovani+, _and +Clown+._
+Lod.+ The duke not seven leagues off? my horse, rogues!
+Pan.+ Our negligence deserves just blame; and how
'Twill please his grace to construe it, we know not.
+Jas.+ But where's your fair chaste wife, my lord?
+Lod.+ Marry, with my man Francisco. O that fellow! She were
undone without him; for indeed she takes great pleasure in him:
he learns her music. To hear what counsel she will give him!
if he but screw his look sometimes with the pin, she will tell
him straight 'twas an unchristian look. I love him dearly.
+Spin.+ But can your honour never woo your lady to a more
sociable affability? She will not kiss, nor drink, nor talk,
but against new fashions.
+Lod.+ O sir, she is my crown: nor is it requisite women should
be so sociable. I have had such a coil with her, to bring her
but to look out at window! When we were first married, she
would not drink a cup of wine, unless nine parts of it were
water.
+Omnes.+ Admired temperance!
+Lod.+ Nay, and ye knew all, my lords, ye would say so. T'other
day I brought an English gentleman home with me, to try a horse
I should sell him: he (as ye know their custom, though it be
none of ours) makes at her lips the first dash.
+Clown.+ He dashed her out of countenance, I'm sure of that.
+Lod.+ She did so pout and spit, that my hot-brained gallant
could not forbear but ask the cause. Quoth she----
+Clown.+ No, sir, she spit again before _quoth she_ left her
lips.
+Lod.+ I think she did indeed: but then, quoth she, A kiss,
sir, is sin's earnest-penny. Is't not true, Pambo?
+Clown.+ Very true, sir. By the same token, quoth he to her
again, if you dislike the penny, lady, pray let me change it
into English halfpence, and so gave her two for't.
+Lod.+ But how she vexed then! Then she rattled him, and told
him roundly, though confidence made cuckolds in England, she
could no coxcombs in Italy.
+Clown.+ But did ye mark how bitterly he closed it with a
middling jest?
+Lod.+ What was that, I prythee?
+Clown.+ Why, quoth he again, Confidence makes not so many
cuckolds in England, but craft picks open more padlocks in
Italy.
+Jov.+ That was something sharp. But there she comes.
_Enter +Dorothea+ and +Francisco+._
+Lod.+ Ye shall see how I'll put ye all upon her presently.
+Clown.+ Then I shall take my turn.
+Dor.+ Francis.
+Fran.+ Madam.
+Dor.+ Have you changed the ditty you last set?
+Fran.+ I have, madam.
+Dor.+ The conceit may stand; but I hope you have clothed the
method in a more Christian-like apparel.
+Fran.+ I have, lady.
+Dor.+ Pray, let me hear it now.
+Fran.+ _She that in these days looks for truth,
Seldom or never finds in sooth._
+Dor.+ That's wondrous well.
+Clown.+ Yes, in sadness.
+Lod.+ Peace, sirrah! nay, she's built of modesty.
+Fran.+ _Even as a wicked kiss defiles the lips,
So do new fashions her that through them trips._
+Dor.+ Very modest language.
+Fran.+ _She that doth pleasure use for what 'twill bring her,
Will pluck a rose, although she prick her finger._
+Dor.+ Put in _hurt her finger_, good Francis: the phrase will
be more decent.
+Pan.+ Y' are a wondrous happy man in one so virtuous!
+Lod.+ Nay, ye shall have no Count Lorenzo of me, I warrant ye.
+Clown.+ Nor no Count Lorenzo's lady of your wife, I warrant ye.
+Lod.+ Sweet chick, I come to take leave of thee: finger in eye
already? We are all to meet the duke this afternoon, bird, who
is now come from Venice. Thou may'st walk and see the Count
Lorenzo's lady.
+Dor.+ Alas! she's too merry for my company.
+Jas.+ Too merry! I have seen her sad,
But very seldom merry.
+Dor.+ I mean, my lord,
That she can walk, tell tales, run in the garden.
+Clown.+ Why, then your ladyship may hold your tongue, say
nothing, and walk in the orchard.
+Dor.+ She can drink a cup of wine not delayed[124] with water.
+Clown.+ Why, then you may drink a cup of water without wine.
+Dor.+ Nay, if a nobleman come to see her lord,
She will let him kiss her too against our custom.
+Pan.+ Why, a modest woman may be kissed by accident, yet not
give the least touch to her reputation.
+Lod.+ Well said: touch her home.
+Dor.+ Nay, but they may not: she that will kiss, they
say,[125] will do worse, I warrant her.
+Jov.+ Why, I have seen you, madam, kissed against your will.
+Dor.+ Against my will, it may be, I have been kissed indeed.
+Clown.+ Pshaw, there's nothing against a woman's will; and I
dare be sworn, if my lady kiss but any one man, 'tis because
she cannot do with all.
+Lod.+ Nay, I know that to be true, my lords: and at this time,
because you cannot do with all, pray kiss them in order; kiss
her all over, gentlemen, and we are gone.
+Dor.+ Nay, good my lord, 'tis against our nation's custom.
+Lod.+ I care not; let naturals love nations:
My humour's my humour.
+Spin.+ I must have my turn too, then.
+Jov.+ It must go round.
+Dor.+ Fie, fie!
+Lod.+ Look how she spits now!
+Jas.+ The deeper the sweeter, lady.
+Clown.+ The nearer the bone, the sweeter the flesh, lady.
+Dor.+ How now, sauce-box!
+Clown.+ Did not my lord bid the gentlemen kiss you all over?
+Lod.+ I have sweet cause to be jealous, have I not, gentlemen?
no. _Crede quod habes, et habes_ still. He that believes he has
horns, has them. Will you go bring my horse, sir?
+Clown.+ I will bring your horse, sir, and your horse shall
bring his tail with him. [_Exit._
+Lod.+ Francis, I prythee, stay thou at home with thy lady. Get
thy instrument ready; this melancholy will spoil her: before
these lords here make her but laugh, when we are gone----
+Fran.+ Laugh before these lords when they are gone, sir!
+Lod.+ Pish! I mean, make her laugh heartily before we come
home, and, before these lords, I promise thee a lease of forty
crowns per annum.
+Fran.+ Can ye tell whether she be ticklish, sir?
+Lod.+ O, infinitely ticklish!
+Fran.+ I'll deserve your lease, then, ere you come home, I
warrant.
+Lod.+ And thou shalt ha't, i' faith, boy.
_Enter +Clown+._
+Clown.+ Your horse is ready, sir.
+Lod.+ My lords, I think we have stayed with the longest.
Farewell, Doll. _Crede quod habes, et habes_, gallants.
+Pan.+ Our horses shall fetch it up again. Farewell, sweet lady.
+Jas.+ Adieu, sweet mistress: and whensoe'er I marry,
Fortune turn up to me no worse card than you are!
+Clown.+ And whensoe'er I marry, Venus send me a card may save
Fortune the labour, and turn up herself. [_Exeunt._
+Dor.+ How now? why loiter you behind? why ride you not along
with your lord?
+Fran.+ To lie with your ladyship.
+Dor.+ How?
+Fran.+ In the bed, upon the bed, or under the bed.
+Dor.+ Why, how now, Francis!
+Fran.+ This is the plain truth on't, I would lie with ye.
+Dor.+ Why, Francis----
+Fran.+ I know too, that you will lie with me.
+Dor.+ Nay, but, Francis----
+Fran.+ Plague of Francis! I am neither Frank nor Francis,
But a gentleman of Milan, that even there
Heard of your beauty, which report there guarded
With such a chastity, the glittering'st sin
Held no artillery of power to shake it.
Upon which I resolv'd to try conclusions;
Assum'd this name and fortune, sought this service:
And I will tell ye truly what I guess you.
+Dor.+ You will not ravish me, Francis?
+Fran.+ No; but unravel ye in two lines experience writ lately--
_Extremes in virtue are but clouds to vice;
She'll do i' th' dark who is i' th' day too nice._
+Dor.+ Indeed ye do not well to belie me thus.
+Fran.+ Come, I'll lie with thee, wench, and make all well
again. Though your confident lord makes use of _Crede quod
habes, et habes_, and holds it impossible for any to be a
cuckold, [and] can believe himself none, I would have his lady
have more wit, and clap them on.
+Dor.+ And truly, Francis, some women now would do't.
+Fran.+ Who can you choose more convenient to practise with
than me, whom he doats on? where shall a man find a friend but
at home? so you break one proverb's pate, and give the other a
plaster. Is't a match, wench?
+Dor.+ Well, for once it is: but, and ye do any more, indeed
I'll tell my husband.
+Fran.+ But when shall this once be? now?
+Dor.+ Now? no indeed, Francis.
It shall be soon at night, when your lord's come home.
+Fran.+ Then! how is it possible?
+Dor.+ Possible! women can make any of these things possible,
Francis: now many casualties may cross us; but soon at night my
lord, I'm sure, will be so sleepy, what with his journey and
deep healths for the duke's return, that before he goes to bed
(as he uses still when he has been hard a-drinking) he will
sleep upon the bed in's clothes so sound, bells, would not wake
him, rung in the chamber.
+Fran.+ The cuckold slumbers; and though his wife hit him o'
th' forehead with her heel, he dreams of no such matter.
+Dor.+ Now Pambo, that makes him merry in his chamber, shall,
when the candle's out and he asleep, bring you into the chamber.
+Fran.+ But will he be secret?
+Dor.+ Will he, good soul! I am not to try him now.
+Fran.+ 'Sfoot, this is brave,
My kind lord's fool is my cunning lady's knave.
But, pray, how then?
+Dor.+ When you are in at door on right before you, you shall
feel the bed; give me but softly a touch, I'll rise, and follow
you into the next chamber: but truly, and you do not use me
kindly, I shall cry out and spoil all.
+Fran.+ Use you kindly! was lady e'er used cruelly i' th' dark?
Do you but prepare Pambo and your maid: let me alone with her
mistress. About eleven I desire to be expected.
+Dor.+ And till the clock strike twelve, I'll lie awake.
+Fran.+ Now ye dare kiss?
+Dor.+ Once with my friend, or so; yet you may take two,
Francis.
+Fran.+ My cast is ames-ace then.
+Dor.+ Deuce-ace had got the game.
+Fran.+ Why, then, you're welcome. Adieu, my dainty mistress.
+Dor.+ Farewell, kind Francis. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Lorenzo+, as from horse._
+Lor.+ I have given them all the slip, the duke and all,
And am at home before them. I cannot rest,
Philippo and my wife run in my mind so:
I know no cause why I should trust him more
Than all the world beside. I remember
He told her that I bought the buck's-head, therefore
Deserv'd the horns: although I bid him try her,
Yet I did not bid him bid her with one eye
Love me, and with the other wink at a friend.
How we long to grow familiar with affliction;
And, as many words do aptly hold concordance
To make one sentence, just so many causes
Seem to agree, when conceit makes us cuckolds.
_Enter +Philippo+ and +Abstemia+. +Lorenzo+ aside._
And here comes proof apparent; hand in hand too!
Now their palms meet: that grasp begets a bastard!
+Phil.+ By your white hand, I swear 'twas only so.
+Lor.+ Poison of toads betwixt ye!
+Abs.+ Philippo, you have fully satisfied me.
+Lor.+ Insatiate whore! could not I satisfy ye?
I shall commit a murder if I stay:
I'll go forge thunder for ye. O, let me
Nevermore marry! what plague can transcend
A whorish wife and a perfidious friend! [_Exit._
+Phil.+ By the unblemish'd faith then of a gentleman,
And by your potent goodness (a great oath,
For you are greatly good), by truth itself;
For still I swear by you--what again hath pass'd,
Was at the first but trial of your chastity,
Far above time or story: as I speak truth,
So may I prosper.
+Abs.+ And came these trials from your breast only?
+Phil.+ Only from my breast; and by the sweet
Excellent blush of virtue, there is in you
Plenty of truth and goodness.
+Abs.+ You have nobly
Appeas'd the storm o'ertook you, and you are
Again a good man.
_Enter +Lorenzo+, +Pandulpho+, +Spinoso+, +Jaspor+,
+Jovani+._
+Lor.+ Traitor to truth and friendship!
Did not mine honour hold me, I should rip out
That blushing hypocrite thy heart, that hath broke
So strong a tie of faith: but behold
How much of man is in me! there, I cast thee[126]
From this believing heart to the iron hand
Of law, the wrong'd man's saint?
+Phil.+ What means this?
+Pan.+ My lord, here's warrant
For what's done, immediate from the duke;
By force of which you're early i' th' morning
Before his grace to answer to such injuries
The Count Lorenzo shall allege against you.
+Phil.+ Injuries! Why, friend, what injuries?
+Lor.+ Can ye spell stag, sir? 'tis four letters with two horns.
Good gentlemen, convey him from my fury,
For fear of greater mischief.
+Phil.+ Thou yellow fool!
[_Exit._
+Abs.+ I would you would instruct me, noble sir,
But how to understand all this.
+Lor.+ Do ye see her? look on her, all, and wonder:
Did ye ever see so foul guilt stand underneath
A look so innocent?
+Jov.+ I should have pawn'd
My blood upon her honour.
+Pan.+ Colours not in grain
Make as fair show, but are more apt to stain.
+Abs.+ My lord.
+Lor.+ Ye whore!
[_Kicks her. She swoons._
+Jas.+ Look to the lady.
+Lor.+ Look to her! hang her: let me send her now
To the devil, with all her sins upon her head.
+Spin.+ Bear her in gently, and see her guarded.
+Pan.+ You are too violent, my lord.
+Lor.+ That men should ever marry! that we should lay our heads,
And take our horns up out of women's laps!
+Jov.+ Be patient, good sir.
+Lor.+ Yes, and go make potguns.
+Jas.+ 'Tis late, and sleep would do you good, my lord.
+Lor.+ Sleep! why, do you think I am mad, sir?
+Jas.+ Not I, my lord.
+Lor.+ Then you do lie, my lord,
For I am mad, horn-mad: I shall be acted
In our theatres of Verona. O, what poison's
Like a false friend, and what plague more ruinous
Than a lascivious wife? they steal our joys,
And fill us with affliction: they leave our names
Hedg'd in with calumny: in their false hearts
Crocodiles breed, who make grief their disguise,
And, in betraying, tears 'stil through their eyes.
O, he that can believe he sleeps secure
In a false friend's oath, or in a bad wife's arms,
Trusts Circe's witchcraft and Calypso's charms.
+Omnes.+ 'Tis late; let's to the Court.
[_Exeunt +Omnes+._
FOOTNOTES:
[119] The plot of this play is taken partly from "Philomela, the Lady
Fitzwater's Nightingale," by Robert Greene, 1592, 4º, which resembles
the novel of the "Curious Impertinent" in "Don Quixote," and partly
from Boccaccio's "Decameron," Gior. 7, Novella 7.--_Reed._
[120] This play, in the old copy, is divided into acts, but not into
scenes. It was therefore useless to mark "Scene I." at the beginning of
each act, as Mr Reed allowed it to stand, without the noting of any of
the other scenes.--_Collier._
[121] Of course all that Lorenzo says in this scene in the presence of
Abstemia is aside, and while he stands unseen by her.--_Collier._
[122] [Old copy, _alarm_.]
[123] The 4º reads--
"Whose wife _seems_ honest, and no hypocrite."
Mr Reed altered it as it stands in the text, and although he was
probably right, the change ought to have been noticed. _Collier._
[124] [Allayed, diluted. Mr Collier altered the word to _allayed_.]
[125] [In allusion to the proverb, "After kissing comes greater
kindness."]
[126] [Old copy, _them_].
ACT II.
_A bed thrust out. +Lodvico+ sleeping in his clothes;
+Dorothea+ in bed. Enter +Clown+ leading in
+Francisco+._
+Fran.+ Softly, sweet Pambo: are we in the chamber yet?
+Clown.+ Within a yard of my lady, and ye can be quiet.
+Fran.+ Art sure my lord's asleep?
+Clown.+ I know not; I'll go and ask him.
+Fran.+ No, no, no, do not wake him; we are undone then, man.
+Clown.+ Ha, ha, ha! now do I see cuckold-making is as ticklish
a profession as coneycatching. My lord was so paid with healths
at Court, he's fast enough.
+Fran.+ But still I pursue wonder why my lady should prescribe
this strange, nay wondrous desperate, way to her desires.
+Clown.+ Is that a question to ask now? would you would grope
out the bed; for I sleep in my talk, I am sure of that.
[_+Lodvico+ coughs._
+Fran.+ We are lost for ever! did he not cough?
+Clown.+ 'Tis nothing but the last cup comes up in stewed
broth. If ever you make true whore-master, I'll be bound to
resign my place up to my lord's page; sea-sick, before you come
to th' salt water! let me go in your stead.
+Fran.+ No, I'll venture, stood a gulf between,
Belching up a tempest. O valiant lust!
How resolute thou go'st to acts unjust!
Pambo, good night.
Desire drowns fear in presuppos'd delight.
+Clown.+ Turn of your left hand, 'twill lead you to the
devil--to my lady, I should say, presently. [_Exit._
+Fran.+ Let me [see]:
Four steps on the left hand. I have the bed,
And on this side she lies. 'Sfoot, there's a beard!
But all's well yet, she lies on this side, sure.
I have her: 'tis her hand, I know the touch.
It melts me into passion. I have much ado
To contain my wild desires. As the wind strains
In caverns lock'd, so through my big-swoll'n veins
My blood cuts capers.
+Dor.+ Who's there?
+Fran.+ 'Tis I.
+Dor.+ Francis!
+Fran.+ Fortunate Francis, that was wrapped in's mother's smock.
+Dor.+ Give me your hand, Francis.
+Fran.+ There 'tis. I melt already!
+Dor.+ My lord! Count Lodovico, awake!
+Fran.+ I am lost for ever, madam.
+Dor.+ My lord! my lord!
+Fran.+ If I pull too hard, I shall pull her out o' th' bed too.
+Dor.+ My lord, will ye not wake?
+Lod.+ What's the matter? what's the matter?
+Fran.+ How I do dwindle!
+Dor.+ Pray, hear me, sir; I cannot sleep, till you
Have resolv'd me one thing.
+Lod.+ What is't, sweetheart?
+Dor.+ Of all your men, which do you love best?
+Lod.+ That's a strange question to ask at midnight! Francisco.
+Dor.+ And that same false Francisco in your absence
Most lewdly tempted me to wrong your bed.
+Fran.+ Was ever woodcock catch'd thus!
+Lod.+ O rogue, I'll go cut his throat sleeping.
+Dor.+ Nay, I have fitted him most daintily.
+Fran.+ Now, now, now, now, I am spitted.
+Dor.+ I seem'd, sweetheart, to consent to him----
+Fran.+ A plague of seemings. I were best confess,
And beg pardon.
+Dor.+ And to make him sure for your revenge, I appointed
About this hour, the door left ope on purpose----
+Fran.+ Ah!
+Dor.+ To meet me in the garden.
+Fran.+ All's well again.
+Dor.+ Now, sweetheart,
If thou wouldst but steal down thither, thou might'st
Catch him, and snap the fool very finely.
+Lod.+ O my sweet birds-nie! what a wench have I
Of thee! _Crede quod habes, et habes_ still.
And I had thought it possible to have been
Cuckolded, I had been cuckolded.
I'll take my rapier as I go, sirrah;
And the night being dark, I'll speak like thee,
As if thou hadst kept thy word. O villain!
Nothing vexes me, but that he should think
I can be a cuckold, and have such a lady.
Do thou lie still, and I'll bring thee his heart
For thy monkey's breakfast.
+Dor.+ And would you part unkindly, and not kiss me?
+Lod.+ I have no more manners than a goose. Farewell,
My chaste, delicious Doll. What may his life
Be compar'd to that meets with such a wife! [_Exit._
_Enter +Clown+._
+Fran.+ Pish, Pambo!
+Clown.+ Here, boy.
+Fran.+ Go meet him in the garden, and hark.
+Clown.+ Excellent! I'll play my lady, I warrant ye.
+Fran.+ Do't daintily.
+Clown.+ Well, I may hope for a 'squire's place; my father
was a costermonger.[127] [_Exit._
+Fran.+ Well, now I see, as he who fain would know
The real strain of goodness, may in her read it,
Who can seem chaste, but not be what she seems:
So, who would see hell's craft, in her may read it,
Who can seem too, but not be what she seems.
In brief, put him to school (would cheat the de'il of's right)
To a dainty, smooth-fac'd, female hypocrite. [_Exit._
_Enter +Lodovico+ and +Clown+._
+Lod.+ Here's a wife, Pambo!
+Clown.+ Now, _Crede quod habes, et habes_, sir.
+Lod.+ Why, right, man; let him believe he has horns, and he
has 'em.
+Clown.+ To discover upon the pinch to ye!
+Lod.+ O you kind loving husbands, like myself,
What fortunes meet ye, fall[128] but with such wives.
+Clown.+ Fortune's i' th' fashion of hay-forks.
+Lod.+ Sirrah Pambo, thou shalt seldom see a harsh fellow have
such a wife, such a fortunate wedding.
+Clown.+ He will go to hanging as soon.
+Lod.+ No, no; we loving souls have all the fortunes.
There's Count Lorenzo, for example, now;
There's a sweet coil to-morrow 'bout his wife.
He has two servants, that will take their oaths
They saw her dishonest with his friend Count Philippo;
Nay, in the very act. Now what was't brought her to't,
But his dogged usage of her?
+Clown.+ Nay, she never lived a good day with him.
+Lod.+ How she goes flaunting too! she must have a
Feather in her head and a cork in her heel.
+Clown.+ Ay, that shows her light from head to heel, sir; and
who have heavier heads than those whose wives have light heels?
that feather confounds her.
+Lod.+ I shall so laugh to hear the comical history of the
great Count Lorenzo's horns: but as I have such a wife now,
what a villain did I entertain to teach her music? H' has done
her no good since he came, that I saw.
+Clown.+ Hang him, h' has made her a little perfect in
prick-song, that's all; and it may be, she had skill in that
before you married her too.
+Lod.+ She could sing at the first sight, by this hand, Pambo.
But hark! I hear somebody.
_Enter +Francisco+._
+Clown.+ 'Tis he, sure; h' has a dreaming whoremaster's pace.
Pray, let me practise my lady's part, and counterfeit for her.
+Lod.+ Can'st thou imitate to th' life?
+Clown.+ Can I? O wicked Francis!
+Lod.+ Admirable! Thou shalt do't.
+Clown.+ Pray, be you ready with your rapier to spit him then,
and I'll watch him a good turn, I warrant ye.
+Fran.+ Here they are. If Pambo now comes off with his part
neatly, the comedy passes bravely. Who's there? madam?
+Clown.+ Francis?
+Fran.+ The same.
+Clown.+ I think this place lies too open to the air, Francis?
+Lod.+ Delicate Pambo. [_Aside._
+Clown.+ And truly there's a great dew fallen to-night;
The grass is wondrous wet.
+Lod.+ Sweet rogue! [_Aside._
+Clown.+ Come, Francis,
And let us sport ourselves in yonder rushes,
And being set, I'll smother thee with busses.
+Lod.+ O villain! [_Aside._
+Fran.+ Hear me, lady:
It is enough, my lord hath now a friend
In these dishonest days, that dares be honest.
+Lod.+ How is this?
+Clown.+ Nay, for thy lord, he's a mere coxcomb, Francis.
+Lod.+ Out, rogue!
+Fran.+ 'Tis but your bad desires that tell you so.
Can I contain a heart, or can that heart
Harbour a thought of injury 'gainst him
Under whose wing I safely stretch my pinions?
Has he not nobly entertain'd me? stand I not
Next neighbour, save yourself, unto his heart?
+Lod.+ Ay, by this hand, dost thou.
+Fran.+ And should I quit him thus? No, lady, no.
+Lod.+ Brave Frank!
+Fran.+ I am too wise to fall in love with woe,
Much less with wo-man. I but took advantage
Of my lord's absence for your trial, lady.
For fear some fellow (far hotter rein'd than I)
Might have sought [her] and sped: and I'd be loth
A lord so loving----
+Lod.+ Shalt have five leases, by these fingers.
+Fran.+ Should have a lady false.
Back, lady, to your yet unblemish'd bed:
Preserve your honour and your lord's----calf's head.
+Clown.+ Well, Francis, you had been better--if I do not tell
my lord of this!
+Lod.+ He has put him to't now.
+Fran.+ Then I am lost for ever:
You'll turn it all on me, I know; but ere
I'll live to wrong so good a lord, or stand
The mark unto your malice, I will first
Fall on my sword and perish.
+Lod.+ Hold, hold, hold, man!
+Fran.+ Ha, who are you?
+Lod.+ One that has more humanity in him, than to see a proper
fellow cast himself away, I warrant thee. 'Tis I, 'tis I, man:
I have heard all.
+Clown.+ And 'twas I played my lady to have snapped ye.
+Fran.+ Has she been then so good to tell your honour?
Now am I worse afflicted than before,
That she should thus outrun me in this race
Of honesty.
+Lod.+ Nay, sh' has bobb'd thee bravely.
Sh' has a thousand of these tricks, i' faith, man:
But howsoever, what I have found thee, I have found thee.
Hark in thine ear, shalt have five leases
And mine own nag, when th' hast a mind to ride.
+Fran.+ Let me deserve, sir, first.
+Lod.+ Shalt have them. I know what I do, I warrant thee.
+Fran.+ I joy in such a lady.
+Lod.+ Nay, there's a couple of you, for a wife and a friend.
Shalt be no more my servant. I had thought to have made thee
my steward, but thou'rt too honest for the place, that's the
truth on't.
+Clown.+ His superfluity is my necessity. Pray, let me ha't,
sir.
+Lod.+ I will talk with thee to-morrow, Pambo: thou shalt have
something too: but I'll go to bed. Honest Francis, the dearest
must part, I see. I will so hug the sweet rascal, that thinks
every hour ten, till I come yonder! Good night, Frank.
To bed, Pambo. What delight in life
Can equal such a friend and such a wife?
So, my dainty Doll, I come to thee. [_Exit._
+Clown.+ So a city nightcap go with thee! But shall I not be
thought on for my night's service?
+Fran.+ O, look ye, pray forget not ye had something.
+Clown.+ Well, and pray do you remember I had nothing.
+Fran.+ Nothing! what's that?
+Clown.+ Nothing, before I had something, I mean. So you are
well-returned from Utopia.
+Fran.+ You're very nimble, sir: good-morrow. [_Exeunt._
_A bar set out. Enter the +Duke of Verona+, +Pandulpho+,
+Spinoso+, +Jaspro+, +Jovani+, +Lorenzo+,
+Philippo+, +Abstemia+, a guard and two slaves._
+Ver.+ Call the accus'd to th' bar.
+Phil.+ We appear
With acknowledg'd reverence to the presence.
+Ver.+ We meet not
To build on circumstances, but to come plainly
To the business that here plac'd us. Cousin Lorenzo,
You have free leave to speak your griefs; but this
Desire the senate to observe, and nearly:
I come here not your kinsman; neither, madam,
Looking unto the greatness of your blood,
As you are sister to the Duke of Venice;
But as an equal judge, I come to doom,
As circumstance[129] and proof informs.
+Lor.+ Thus then,
(Great sir, grave lords, and honourable auditors
Of my dishonour) I affirm 'tis known
To th' signory of Verona, the whole city;
Nay, the great multitude without, that come
This day to hear unwilling truth, can witness,
How, since my marriage with that woman--weep'st thou?
O truth, who would not look thee in a woman's tears!
But showers that fall too late, produce dear years--
All know that, since our marriage, I have perform'd
So fairly all judicial wedlock-offices,
That malice knew not how at my whole actions
To make one blow, and to strike home. I did rather
Honour her as a saint, sir, than respect her,
As she was my wife. On pilgrimage I sent
All my endeavours to the fair-seeming shrine
Of their desires, where they did offer daily
A plenal satisfaction, which she seem'd
Reciprocally to return, paid back
As much obedience as I lent of love:
But then the serpent stings, when like a dove
Opinion feathers him: women's sweet words
As far are from their hearts, though from their breasts
They fly, as lapwings' cries are from their nests.
+Pan.+ O, you inveigh.
+Lor.+ I would appear no satire.
And for this man (how fain I would call him friend!)
I appeal to the whole state, if at the fight
Betwixt Biserta galleys and your grace,
Wherein you pleas'd to send me general there,
That he deserv'd (let me not take from him
His merit's meet confession) but I was there,
The man (the erring man) that crown'd his merit
With approbation and reward; brought him home,
Preferr'd him to those graces you heap'd on him:
Wore him a neighbour to my heart, as lovers
Wear jewels, left by their dead friends. I lock'd him
Into my heart, and double-barr'd him there
With reason and opinion: his extremities
Fasten'd me more unto him, whilst, like an arch
Well-built, by how much the more weight I bore,
I stood[130] the stronger under him; so lov'd him,
That in his absence still mine ear became
A sanctuary to his injur'd name.
+Ver.+ And what from hence infer you?
+Lor.+ That 'twas base,
Base in the depth of baseness, for this wife
So honour'd and this smooth friend so belov'd
To conspire betwixt them my dishonour.
+Ver.+ How?
+Lor.+ To stain my sheets with lust, a minute's theft;
To brand perpetually three faces: a husband's,
A wife's, and friend's.
+Abs.+ O good my lord,
Cast out this devil from you.
+Lor.+ O good my lady,
Keep not the devil within you, but confess.
+Phil.+ Hear me, great sir; I will confess, Lorenzo,
And print thee down the fool of passion.
+Spin.+ Speak, sir.
+Phil.+ 'Tis true, this boasting man did thus erect me
In his opinion, plac'd me in his love,
Grac'd me with courtesies: O the craft of jealousy!
As boys, to take the bird, about the pit
Cast wheat and chaff, contriving a neat train
To entice her to her ruin--so this friend,
Falser than city-oaths, it is not doubted,
Having so far endear'd me, when he came
To enjoy a fair wife, guess'd it impossible
For me to share with him in all things else,
And not in her; for fair wives oft, we see,
Strike the discord in sweet friendship's harmony:
And having no way to ensnare me so,
To separate our loves, he seriously
Woo'd me to try his wife.
+Lor.+ 'Tis false.
+Phil.+ 'Tis true,
By all that honest men may be believed by.
Three several times I tried her, by him urg'd to't,
Yet still my truth not started, kept so constant,
That till this hour this lady thus much knew not.
I bore her brave reproofs. O, when she spake,
The saints (sure) listen'd, and at every point
She got th' applause of angels! Now, upon this,
This jealous lord infers (and it may be
But to shun futurity) that I,
His betray'd friend, could not hold the cup,
But I must drink the poison. No, Lorenzo,
An honest man is still an unmov'd rock,
Wash'd whiter, but not shaken with the shock
Whose heart conceives no sinister device:
Fearless he plays with flames, and treads on ice.
+Ver.+ Cousin, did you, as your friend here affirms,
Counsel him to these trials?
+Lor.+ I?
+Phil.+ You did.
+Lor.+ Philippo, thou art fallen from a good man,
And hast ta'en leave of modesty. Let these my servants--
That incredulity should be induction
To my more certain shame--let these speak
And relate what they saw: they grew so public,
My servants could discover them.
+Pan.+ Speak, friends, be fearless;
And what you know, even to a syllable,
Boldly confess.
+1st Slave.+ Then know, great sir, as soon
As e'er my lord was gone to meet your grace,
Signor Philippo and my lady privately
Went up to her bed-chamber: we two, suspecting
What afterwards we found, stole softly up,
And through the key-hole (for the door was lock'd)
We saw my lady and Count Philippo there
Upon the bed, and in the very act,
As my lord before affirm'd.
+Abs.+ Canst thou hear, heaven,
And withhold thy thunder?
+Phil.+ My lords, one devil, ye know,
May possess three bodies.
+Ver.+ Will you swear this, sir?
+1st Slave.+ I will, my lord.
+Spin.+ And you?
+2d Slave.+ I will, and dare, sir.
+Lor.+ Brave rascals!
+Ver.+ Reach them the book.
+Abs.+ Ye poor deluded men, O, do not swear!
+Lor.+ Think of the chain of pearl. [_Aside._
+1st Slave.+ Give us the book:
That we affirm the truth, the whole truth,
And nothing but the truth, we swear.
+Pan.+ Believe me, I am sorry for the lady.
+Phil.+ How soon
Two souls, more precious than a pair of worlds,
Are levell'd below death!
+Abs.+ O, hark! did you not hear it?
+Omnes.+ What, lady?
+Abs.+ This hour a pair of glorious towers are fallen;
Two goodly buildings beaten with a breath
Beneath the grave. You all have seen this day,
A pair of souls both cast and kiss'd away.
+Spin.+ What censure gives your grace?
+Ver.+ In that I am a kinsman
To the accuser, that I might not appear
Partial in judgment, let it seem no wonder
If unto your gravities I leave
The following sentence: but as Lorenzo stands
A kinsman to Verona, so forget not,
Abstemia still is sister unto Venice.
+Phil.+ Misery of goodness!
+Abs.+ O Lorenzo Medico![131]
Abstemia's lover once, when he did vow
And when I did believe; then when Abstemia
Denied so many princes for Lorenzo,
Then when you swore. O maids! how men can weep,
Print protestations on their breasts and sigh,
And look so truly, and then weep again,
And then protest again, and again dissemble!
When once enjoy'd, like strange sights we grow stale,
And find our comforts, like their wonder, fail.
+Phil.+ O Lorenzo!
Look upon tears, each one of which, well-valued,
Is worth the pity of a king; but thou
Art harder far than rocks, and can'st not prize
The precious waters of truth's injur'd eyes.
+Lor.+ Please your grace, proceed to censure.
+Ver.+ Thus 'tis decreed, as these lords have set down
Against all contradiction. Signor Philippo,
In that you have thus grossly, sir, dishonour'd
Even our blood itself in this rude injury
Lights on our kinsman, his prerogative
Implies death on your trespass; but your merit,
Of more antiquity is than your trespass,
That death is[132] blotted out, and in the place
Banishment writ, perpetual banishment
(On pain of death, if you return) for ever,
From Verona and her signories.
+Phil.+ Verona is kind.
+Pan.+ Unto you, madam,
This censure is allotted. Your high blood
Takes off the danger of the law, nay, from
Even banishment itself. This lord your husband
Sues only for a legal fair divorce,
Which we think good to grant, the church allowing:
And in that the injury chiefly reflects
On him, he hath free licence to marry, when
And whom he pleases.
+Abs.+ I thank ye,
That you are favourable unto my love,
Whom yet I love and weep for.
+Phil.+ Farewell, Lorenzo.
This breast did never yet harbour a thought
Of thee, but man was in it, honest man:
There's all the words that thou art worth. Of your grace,
I humbly thus take leave: farewell, my lords:
And lastly farewell thou, fairest of many,
Yet by far more unfortunate. Look up
And see a crown held for thee; win it, and die
Love's martyr, the sad map of injury:
And so remember, sir, your injur'd lady
Has a brother yet in Venice.
+Abs.+ Farewell, Lorenzo,
Whom my soul doth [yet] love: if you e'er marry,
May you meet a good wife: so good, that you
May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy
Of your suspicion: and if you hear hereafter,
That I am dead, inquire but my last words,
And you shall know that to the last I lov'd you:
And when you walk forth with your second choice
Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me,
Imagine that you see me lean and pale,
Strewing your paths with flowers: and when in bed
You cast your arms about her happy side[s],
Think you see me stand with a patient look,
Crying, All hail, you lovers, live and prosper.
But may she never live to pay my debts.
If but in thought she wrong you, may she die
In the conception of the injury.
Pray, make me wealthy with one kiss. Farewell, sir.
Let it not grieve you, when you shall remember
That I was innocent: nor this forget--
Though innocence here suffer, sigh, and groan,
She walks but thorough thorns to find a throne. [_Exit._
+Ver.+ Break up the court; and, cousin, learn this rede;
Who stabs truth's bosom, makes an angel bleed.
+Lor.+ The storm upon my breast, sir. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[127] A _costermonger_ is a seller of apples; and an _apple-squire_ was
formerly a cant term for a _pimp_.
So in Erasmus's "Praise of Folly," translated by Chaloner, 1549, sig.
P.: "Or doo you judge peradventure they coulde easily fynde in their
hertes, that so many scriveners, so many registrers, so manie notaries,
so many advocates, so many promoters, so many secretaries, so many
moyleters, so many horsekeepers, so many gentlemen of householde, so
many _apple-squires_, so many baudes, I had almost spoken a softer
worde," &c.
Again, in "Faults, Faults, and Nothing but Faultes," by Barnaby Rich,
1606, p. 24: "Shee shall not want the assistance of her ruffians,
her _apple-squires_, and of those brothell queanes that lodge, that
harbour, and that retain her."
Again, in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour," iv. 10--
"Well, good wife bawd, Cob's wife, and you,
That make your husband such a hoddy doddy;
And you, young _apple-squire_, and old cuckold-maker,
I'll ha' you every one before a justice."
See also "Dekker's Belman of London," sig. H 2.
And in Bale's "Actis of Englishe Votaries," 1550, Part I., fol. 27:
"Women in those dayes might sore have distained their newlie risen
opinion of holines, if they had chaunced to haue bene with childe by
the prelates, and therefore other spiritual remedies were sought out
for them by their good providers and proctors; ye may if ye will call
them _apple-squires_."--_Gilchrist._
[128] [Old copy, _full_.]
[129] [Old copy, _circumstances_.]
[130] [Old copy, _stand_.]
[131] [A not unusual form of De Medici.]
[132] [Old copy, _than is_.]
ACT III.
_Enter +Lodovico+, +Jaspro+, +Jovani+, and +Clown+._
+Lod.+ Did chronicle ever match this couple, gentlemen?
+Jas.+ You make us wonder,
That both should seem to yield to the temptation,
And both so meet in one resolved goodness,
Unknown to one another!
+Lod.+ There lies the jest on't. Sirrah Pambo, I do but think,
an' she had met him in the garden, how she would have rattled
him.
+Clown.+ And ruffled him too, sir: the camomile[133] would have
been better for it many a day after.
+Jov.+ Such an honest-minded servant where shall one find?
+Lod.+ Servant! my sworn brother, man; he's too honest for an
office, he'll never thrive in't: ye have few servants will deal
so mercifully with their lords.
+Jas.+ A wife! why, she's a saint; one that ever bears a good
sound soul about her.
+Clown.+ Yes, when she wears her new shoes.
+Jov.+ Shall we see her, my lord?
+Lod.+ Where is she, Pambo?
+Clown.+ Walking a turn or two i' th' garden with Francisco,
sir; I'll go call her.
+Lod.+ No, no, no; let her alone: 'tis pity indeed to part
them, they are so well-matched. Was he not reading to her?
+Clown.+ No, sir, she was weeping to him: she heard this
morning that her confessor, father Jacomo, was dead.
+Jas.+ Father Jacomo dead?
+Lod.+ Why, now shall not we have her eat one bit this five
days.
+Clown.+ She'll munch the more in a corner: that's the
puritan's fast.
+Lod.+ Nay, do but judge of her, my lords, by one thing:
whereas most of our dames go to confession but once a month,
some twice a quarter, and some but once a year, and that upon
constraint too, she never misses twice a week.
+Jas.+ 'Tis wonderful!
+Jov.+ 'Tis a sign she keeps all well at home: they are even
With the whole world, that so keep touch with heaven.
+Lod.+ Nay, I told ye, ye should find no Philippo of Francisco.
+Clown.+ And I remember I told your honour you should find no
Abstemia of my lady.
+Lod.+ Nor no Lorenzo of myself: he was ever a melancholy
stubborn fellow. He kept her in too much, and see what comes
on't! I give my wife her will, and see what comes on't too!
+Clown.+ Nay, sir, there is two come on't, an' a man could
discover 'em.
+Lod.+ Two what, I prythee?
+Clown.+ It may be two babies, sir: for they come commonly with
giving a woman her will.
+Lod.+ I'd laugh at that, i' faith, boy. But who has she now
for her confessor?
+Clown.+ She looks for one, they call him father Antony, sir;
and he's wished[134] to her by Madonna Lussuriosa.
_Enter +Dorothea+ and +Francisco+._
+Lod.+ There's another modest soul too, never without a holy
man at her elbow! But here comes one outweighs them all. Why,
how now, chick, weeping so fast? This is the fault of most of
our ladies; painting--weeping for their sins I should say,
spoils their faces.
+Fran.+ Sweet madam.
+Lod.+ Look, look, look! loving soul, he weeps for company!
+Clown.+ And I shall laugh outright by and by.
+Dor.+ O that good man!
+Lod.+ Why, bird?
+Jas.+ Be patient, lady.
+Dor.+ Would he go to heaven without his zealous pupil?
+Clown.+ It may be he knew not your mind, forsooth.
+Dor.+ He knew my mind well enough.
+Clown.+ Why then, it may be, he knew you could not hold out
for the journey. Pray, do not set us all a-crying. [_Weeps._
+Lod.+ Prythee, sweet birds-nie, be content.
+Dor.+ Yes, yes, content! when you two leave my company!
No one comes near me; so that were it not
For modest simple Francis here----
+Clown.+ As modest as a gib-cat at midnight. [_Aside._
+Dor.+ That sometimes reads
Virtuous books to me; were it not for him,
I might go look content.[135] But 'tis no matter,
Nobody cares for me.
+Lod.+ Nay, prythee, Doll. Pray, gentlemen, comfort her. [_Weeps._
+Clown.+ Now is the devil writing an encomium upon cunning
cuckold-makers.
+Fran.+ You have been harsh to her of late, I fear, sir.
+Lod.+ By this hand, I turned not from her all last night. What
should a man do?
+Jas.+ Come, this is but a sweet obedient shower,
To bedew the lamented grave of her old father.
+Clown.+ He thinks the devil's dead too.[136]
+Dor.+ But 'tis no matter; were I such a one
As the Count Lorenzo's lady, were I so graceless
To make you wear a pair of wicked horns,
You would make more reckoning of me---- [_Weeps._
+Lod.+ Weep again? She'll cry out her eyes, gentlemen.
+Clown.+ No, I warrant you: remember the two lines your honour
read last night--
_A woman's eye,
'S April's dust, no sooner wet but dry._
+Lod.+ Good pigs-nie! Frank, prythee, walk her t'other turn i'
th' garden, and get her a stomach to her supper. We'll be with
ye presently, wench.
+Dor.+ Nay, when ye please; but why should I go from ye?
+Lod.+ Loving soul! Prythee, Frank, take her away.
+Dor.+ Pray, let me kiss ye first. Come, Francis, Nobody cares
for us.
[_At the door +Francis+ kisses her. Exeunt._
+Lod.+ Well, there goes a couple: where shall a man match you,
indeed? Hark, Pambo!
+Jas.+ Did you observe?
+Jov.+ They kissed!
+Jas.+ Peace.
+Lod.+ And entreat Madonna Lussuriosa to sup with us: as you
go, tell her my lady's never well but in her company.
+Clown.+ What, if your honour invited the Count Lorenzo? he'll
be so melancholy, now his lady and he are parted.
+Lod.+ Pray do as you are bid, kind sir, and let him alone:
I'll have no cuckold sup in my house to-night.
+Clown.+ 'Tis a very hot evening; your honour will sup in the
garden then.
+Lod.+ Yes, marry, will I, sir; what's that to you?
+Clown.+ Why, your honour was ever as good as your word. Keep
the cuckolds out of door, and lay a cloth for my lord in the
arbour, gentlemen. [_Exit._
+Lod.+ I have been this three months about a project.
+Jov.+ What is't, my lord?
+Lod.+ Why, I intend to compose a pamphlet of all my wife's
virtues, put them in print, and dedicate them to the duke, as
orthodoxal directions against he marries.
+Jas.+ 'Twill give him apt instructions, when he does marry, to
pick out such a woman.
+Lod.+ Pick her! where will he pick her? as the English proverb
says, _He may as soon find a needle in a bottle of hay._ Would
I knew what sins she has committed, I would set them down all
one with another; they would serve as foils to her virtues: but
I do think she has none: d'ye think she has any, gentlemen?
+Jov.+ O, none, sir, but has some.
+Lod.+ Ay, piddling ones, it may be; as when a pin pricks her
finger to cry at sight on't, and throw't away; but for other
matters----
+Jas.+ Now I think on't, sir, I have a device newly begotten
that, if you be so desirous to be resolved of her perfections,
'twill be an apt means for your intelligence.
+Lod.+ That will be excellent; and then my book, grounded upon
mine own experience, the report of my judgment in the choice of
a woman, will sell them off faster than the compositor can set
the letters together.
+Jas.+ We will discourse it as we go: meantime, sir,
Let this prepare the path to your construction,
Conceit and confidence are jugglers born;
One grafts in air, t'other hides the real horn.
+Lod.+ Well, he that believes he has horns, has horns; and
_Crede quod habes, et habes_, shall be my motto. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Pandulpho+ and +Spinoso+._
+Spin.+ The powers of Venice upon our confines?
+Pan.+ Yes: Signor Philippo, it seems, having possess'd him[137]
With the passages that pass'd upon his sister,
Embassadors were despatch'd to Bergamo,
Where then his forces lay; who thus return'd,
That he came not a public foe unto Verona,
But to require justice against Count Lorenzo,
To approve his sister innocent.
+Spin.+ What witness,
Proof, or apparent circumstance builds he
His bold attempt upon?
+Pan.+ He says, besides
The honour of Philippo, he has proof
So unresistible to affirm the plot
Of Count Lorenzo, that he only crav'd
(Hostages being render'd for their safe returns)
Here in the senate-chamber the fair trial
Might publicly be censur'd. And by this
They are at hand.
_Enter at one door +Duke of Venice+, +Philippo+, and +Lords+:
at the other, +Duke+ of +Verona+, +Jaspro+, +Jovani+;
+Lorenzo+ guarded. A bar set out. The +1st Slave+._
+Ver.+ Fair sir, the presence is levell'd for your grievances.
+Ven.+ First summon to the bar the Count Lorenzo.
+Pan.+ Lorenzo Medico, stand to the bar.
+Lor.+ I do stand to the bar.
+Ven.+ I come not here, witness the good man's comfort,
To add one step unto my territories; and though I burden
The neighbour-bosom of my confines with
The weight of armour, or do wound your breast
(My dukedom's near next neighbour) with the hoofs
Of war-apparell'd horses, 'tis not to seek
For martial honours, but for civil justice.
Conceive mine honour wounded: a sister's shame
Is an unpleasant spot upon our arms;
Yet that we come not here to sanctify
A sister's sin; for if she be so prov'd,
Shame sleep within her epitaph, and brand her;
Let bears and wolves that angel's face confound,
Gives goodness such a foul, unfriendly wound:
But if she chaste be prov'd, what balm can cure
A wounded name? As he that not inflicts
The bitter stroke of law upon the strumpet
Fattens the sad afflictions of a thousand;
So who but stains an honest woman's name
Plagues are yet kept for him: steel is no defence
For the unclean tongue injures innocence.
I affirm my sister wrong'd, wrong'd by this man--
This, that has wrong'd pure judgment, and thrown poison
Upon the face of truth; and upon him
I seek a satisfaction.
+Lor.+ I reply,
The law must give you satisfaction,
That justly did divorce us: I appeal
To the whole consiliadory, if equal law
In her progression went a step astray,
Either by proof or information.
Let the duke speak (not as he is my kinsman)
If I produc'd not legally in court,
Besides mine own assertion, which even reason
Grounded on probability, two of my servants,
That upon oath affirm'd they saw your sister
Even in the very act of sin and shame
With that Philippo there. Blame me not then, sir,
If I return an error to your cause.
Reason, the base whereon we build the laws
You injure in this action, gives her the lie.
Who dares not build his faith upon his eye?
They swore what they did see; and men still fear
(Reason concludes) what they not see, to swear.
+Ver.+ You hear my kinsman's answer?
+Pan.+ And 'tis requisite
That you produce your author: it is held
Mere madness on a hill of sand to build.
+Phil.+ The foundation-work is mine,
And that I answer: he builds on truth,
The good man's mistress, and not in the sanctuary
Of this injur'd brother's power, but the integrity
And glory of the cause. I throw the pawn
Of my afflicted honour, and on that
I openly affirm your absent lady
Chastity's well-knit abstract: snow in the fall,
Purely refin'd by the bleak northern blast,
Not freer from a soil; the thoughts of infants
But little nearer heaven: and if these princes
Please to permit, before their guilty thoughts
Injure another hour upon the lady,
My right-drawn sword shall prove it.
+Lor.+ Upon my knee, sir,
(How my soul dances!) humbly I entreat
Your grant to his request: fight with Philippo
I' th' midst of flame or pestilence; in a cave,
Where basilisks do breed.
+Ver.+ We must take counsel:
The price of blood is precious.
+Lor.+ Blood desires burthen:
The price of truth is precious. For all the fights
I have fought for you on land: the feats[138] at sea,
Where I have tugg'd with tempests, stood storms at midnight,
Out-star'd the flaring lightning, and the next morning
Chas'd the unruly stubborn Turk with thunder;
For all the bullets I have bravely shot,
And sent death singing to the slaughter, sir----
+Ver.+ Peace!
+Lor.+ What should a soldier do with peace? remember
Mine honour lies a-bleeding, and in mine yours;
Her wide wound inward bleeds; and while you cry peace,
Shame wars upon my name. O, rather kill me,
Than cast me to this scandal!
+Spin.+ The doubtful cause,
With such a dare approv'd, you may permit it.
+Ver.+ Your request is granted, coz.
+Lor.+ You have now, sir, breath'd
Fresh air in the face of fainting honour.
Rapiers of fair equality.
+Ven.+[139] Look with what cunning
The spider, when she would snare the fly, doth weave
With neater art appearance [to] deceive.
Stay!--as you said, sir, blood is a precious price:
Let me but see the men produc'd who swore
They saw them in the shameful act, and then
Farewell a sister and her honour.
+Pan.+ Produce your servants, sir. [_+Venice+ sends off a Lord._
+Lor.+ Plague of this change! here's one of them; the t'other,
In that I threaten'd him for some neglect,
The next day ran away.
+Ven.+ Did you, sir, swear
You saw our sister and this gentleman
In this base act of sin?
+Lor.+ Fear nothing.
+1st Slave.+ To deny truth
Is more dangerous than to displease a duke.
I saw it, and did swear it.
_Enter +Lord+, and +2d Slave+._
+Ven.+ But here comes one
Will swear you saw it not, and are forsworn.
+1st Slave.+ 'Sfoot, Stratzo!
+Spin.+ This is the other fellow took his oath.
+Ver.+ What come you here to say, sir?
+2d Slave.+ That we swore falsely, may it please your grace;
Hir'd by my lord with gifts and promises:
And as I now have spoke the truth, so Heaven
Forgive my former perjury!
+Ver.+ Hear you, cousin?
+1st Slave.+ Would you would say something:
I have nettles in my breeches.
+Lor.+ Now, now, I hope, your eyes are open, lords;
The bed of snakes is broke, the trick's come out,
And here's the knot i' th' rush. Good Heaven, good Heaven!
That craft, in seeking to put on disguise,
Should so discover herself!
+Ver.+ Explain yourself!
+Lor.+ Now see, sir, where this scorpion lurks, to sting
Mine honour unto death. This noble duke
By nature is engaged to defend a sister;
And to this duke so engag'd this malicious lord--
For sin still hates her scourger--makes repair,
And prepossesses him with that suppos'd innocence
Of an injur'd sister, which he had hir'd this slave
To follow him and affirm, and lays the cause
To scruple and to conscience: they did consent
To steal belief by seeming accident.
Sin, juggler-like, casts sin before our eyes:
Craft sometimes steals the wonder of the wise.
With an equal hand now weigh me, and if I want
A grain of honour, tear me from your blood,
And cast me to contempt.
+1st Slave.+ My lord would have made an excellent state-sophister.
[_Aside._
+Ver.+ In what a strange dilemma judgment sits,
Charm'd to her chair with wonder!
+Ven.+ Shall I have justice?
+Pan.+ Yes, in that this fellow swears for the duke:
Reach him the book; you shall see him again
Take the former oath.
+Ver.+ This doubt must be so ended:
If it give not satisfaction, send back our hostage;
You have fair regress to your forces: but
The blood remains on you; and still remember,
The price of blood is precious.
+Phil.+ Let us end it.
+Ven.+ O, what a combat honour holds with conscience!
Reach him the book; and if thou false dost say,
May thine own tongue thine own foul heart betray.
+1st Slave.+ Amen, say I:
Give me the book. My oath must end all, then?
+Spin.+ It must.
+Lor.+ Now you shall hear him swear
He saw them both in the base act.
+1st Slave.+ Nay, I swear
They are now both seen in the base act.
+Omnes.+ How's this?
+Pan.+ 'Tis a strange oath.
+1st Slave.+ 'Tis true, though.
+Lor.+ True, villain! are both now seen in the
base act?
+1st Slave.+ Yes, both.
+Lor.+ Which both?
+1st Slave.+ You and I, sir.
+Omnes.+ How?
+1st Slave.+ Both you and I are seen in the base act,
Slandering spotless honour, an act so base
The barbarous Moor would blush at.
+Phil.+ D'ye hear him now?
+Lor.+ Out, slave! wilt thou give ground too? fear works upon 'em:
Did you not both here swear i' th' senate-chamber,
You saw them both dishonest?
+1st Slave.+ Then we swore true, sir.
+Lor.+ I told you 'twas but fear.
+Ver.+ Swore ye true then, sir, when ye swore
Ye both saw them dishonest?
+1st Slave.+ Yes, marry, did we, sir;
For we were both two villains when we saw them,
So we saw them dishonest.
+Ven.+ Heaven, thou art equal!
+1st Slave.+ This is a jealous lord, his lady chaste.
A rock of crystal not more clear, this gentleman
Basely abus'd; this great prince dishonour'd;
And so we kneel for mercy.
+Ver.+ You have redeem'd it;
Depart, prove honest men. That I should bear
Dishonour in my blood!
+Omnes.+ Much-injur'd lady!
+Ven.+ What justice, sir, belongs unto the injur'd?
+Ver.+ First, witness Heaven, I tear thee from my blood,
And cast thee off a stranger. Assume you, sir,
Since the great cause is yours, my seat of justice,
And sentence this foul homicide: it must be,
And suddenly; he will infect the air else.
Proceed, great sir, with rigour, whilst I stand by,
And do adore the sentence.
+Ven.+ Answer, Lorenzo,
Art thou not guilty?
+Lor.+ Give me my merit--death.
Princes can build and ruin with one breath.
+Ven.+ The cause may seem to merit death, in that
Two souls were hazarded, a princess' fame,
A duke dishonour'd, and a noble lord
Wounded in reputation; but since she lives,
And that no blood was spilt (though something dearer)
Mercy thus far stretches her silver wings
Over your trespass. We do banish you
Both from our dukedom's limits and your own:
If you but set a daring foot upon them,
Whilst life lends you ability to stand,
You fall into the pit of death, unless
You shall find out our most unfortunate sister,
And bring her to our court.
+Lor.+ You, sir, are merciful!
+Ver.+ This let me add,
In that you have had[140] impartial justice, sir,
Princes should punish vice in their own blood:
Until you find that excellent injur'd lady,
Upon this gentleman, who hath suffer'd for you,
We confer your lands, revenues, and your place:
That, during three days' stay within our confines,
It shall be death to any that relieves you,
But, as they do a beggar at their door,
So cast you from their presence.[141]
+Lor.+ Your dooms are just!
O love, thy first destruction is distrust!
[_Exeunt +Lorenzo+_,[142] +Jaspro+, _and +Jovani+._
+Ver.+ For you, fair sir, until we shall hear tidings
Of your most-injur'd sister, please you to call
My court your own--conceive it so--where live.
Two partners in one passion we will be,
And sweeten sorrow with a sympathy. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Lodovico+ like a friar, +Jaspro+, and +Jovani+._
+Lod.+ What, am I fitted, gallants? am I fitted?
+Jas.+ To th' life, able to cheat suspicion; and so like
Father Antony the confessor, that I protest
There's not more semblance in a pair of eggs.
+Jov.+ An apple cut in half is not so like.
+Lod.+ Well, lords,[143] you're mad lords to counsel me to
this. But now, in this habit, shall I know the very core of her
heart and her little piddling sins, which will show in my book
as foils to her giant-bodied virtues.
+Jas.+ That will be admirable!
+Jov.+ We'll step aside: by this she's upon coming!
+Jas.+ We shall know all.
+Lod.+ Reveal, confession! but go your ways: as much as may
lawfully be revealed, we'll laugh at at next meeting.
+Jas.+ Come, let's be gone. But once upon a time, sir,
A beggar found a lark's nest; and, o'erjoy'd
At his sudden glut, for he thought 'twas full of young ones,
Looking, they were all gone: he was forc'd again to beg,
For he found in the lark's nest a serpent's egg.
So much good d'ye, sir. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Dorothea+._
+Lod.+ Well, thou surpassest all the courtiers in these pretty
ones, if a man had the wit to understand them. Yonder she
comes: I can hardly forbear blushing, but that for discovering
myself.
Right reverend habit, I honour thee
With a son's obedience, and do but borrow thee,
As men would play with flies who, i' th' midst
Of modest mirth, with care preserve themselves.
+Dor.+ Hail, holy father!
+Lod.+ Welcome, my chaste daughter!
+Dor.+ Death having taken good father Jacomo,
Upon the plenal and approv'd report
Of your integrity and upright dealing----
+Lod.+ Delicate Doll! [_Aside._
+Dor.+ I have made a modest choice of you, grave sir,
To be my ghostly father: and to you I fall
For absolution.
+Lod.+ Empty then, my daughter,
That vessel of your flesh of all the dregs
Which, since your last confession clear'd you, have
Taken a settled habitation in you;
And with a powerful sweet acknowledgment
Hunt out those spirits which haunt that house of flesh.
Tears make dry branches flourish green and fresh.
+Dor.+ Since last I confess'd, then I do confess
My first sin was, that my tailor bringing home
My last new gown, having made the sleeves too flanting,
In an unchristian passion I did bid
The devil take him.
+Lod.+ That was something harsh, dear daughter,
Yet the more pardonable, for it may be your tailor
Lies in hell night by night. Pray, to your second.
+Dor.+ Next, in a more savage rage, my chambermaid
Putting a little saffron in her starch,[144]
I most unmercifully broke her head.
+Lod.+ 'Twas rashly done too. But are you sure, dear daughter,
The maid's head was not broke before?
+Dor.+ No, no, sir; she came to me with ne'er a crack about her.
+Lod.+ These will be brave sins to mix with her virtues! Why,
they will make no more show than three or four bailiffs amongst
a company of honest men. [_Aside._] These sins, my dove-like
daughter, are out of contradiction venial, trivial, and light.
Have you none of greater growth?
+Dor.+ O yes, sir, one!
+Lod.+ One! What should that be, I wonder?
+Dor.+ One yet remains behind
Of weight and consequence. The same order
Heralds prescribe in shows, I now observe
In placing of my sins; as there inferiors
Fare 'fore the persons of great note,[145] so last,
Because the last lives freshest in our memories,[146]
My great sin comes to obliterate those pass'd.
+Lod.+ Sh' has trod some chicken to death, I warrant her. [_Aside._
+Dor.+ Hear me, and let a blush make you look red.
Unseemly I have abus'd my husband's bed.
+Lod.+ You did ill to drink too hard ere you went to bed.
+Dor.+ Alas, sir! you mistake me: I have lain
With another man besides my husband.
+Lod.+ How?
+Dor.+ Nay, the same way I use to lie with him,
But not altogether so often.
+Lod.+ Why then, _Crede quod habes, et habes_, I will believe
I have horns, for I have 'em. 'Sfoot, a woman, I perceive,
is a neat herald; she can quarter her husband's coat with
another's[147] arms at pleasure. But I have a penance for your
pure whoreship. [_Aside._] You are somewhat broad: are you not
with child, daughter?
+Dor.+ Yes, yes; sure, 'twas that night's work.
+Lod.+ How know you that?
+Dor.+ Alas! by experience, sir. The kind fool my husband
Wishes all well; but, like a light piece of gold,
He's taken for more than he weighs.
+Lod.+ With child! there's charges too: o' th' other side,
there should follow
A zealous exhortation: but great affairs
That brook no stay make me be brief, rememb'ring
Lawful necessity may dispense with ceremony.
You are ingenuously sorry?
+Dor.+ Yes, indeed, sir.
+Lod.+ And resolve to fall no more so?
+Dor.+ No, in truth, sir.
+Lod.+ I then pronounce you here absolv'd. Now for your penance.
+Dor.+ Anything.
+Lod.+ As the fact in you seems strange, so blame me not
If your penance be as strange. You may wonder at it,
But it is wonderous easy in performance;
But as your penance I enjoin it. Nay, now I remember
In an old French authentic author, his book
'Titled, _De Satisfactione_, I read the same
Enjoin'd a lady of Dauphin. 'Tis no holy fast,
No devout prayer, nor no zealous pilgrimage;
'Tis out of the prescrib'd road.
+Dor.+ Let it be
So strange [that] story ne'er match'd the injunction,
I do vow the plenal strict performance.
+Lod.+ Listen to me.
Soon at night (so rumour spreads it through the city)
The two great dukes of Venice and Verona
Are feasted by your lord, where a masque's intended.
+Dor.+ That's true, sir.
+Lod.+ Now, when ye all are set round about the table,
In depth of silence, you shall confess these words
Aloud to your husband, _You are not this child's father_:
And, 'cause my order bars[148] me such inquisition,
You shall say, Such a man lay with me,
Naming the party was partner in your sin.
+Dor.+ Good sir!
+Lod.+ This is your penance I enjoin you: keep it,
You are absolv'd; break it, you know the danger of it. Good-bye!
+Dor.+ O good sir, stay! never was penance of more shame than this.
+Lod.+ You know the danger of the breach as to us:
'Tis the shameful loss of our religious orders,
If we reveal.
+Dor.+ For Heaven's sake,
Enjoin me first upon my knees to creep
From Verona to Loretto.
+Lod.+ That's nothing.
+Dor.+ Nothing indeed to this. Is this your penance,
So wondrous easy in performance?
+Lod.+ 'Tis irrevocable.
+Dor.+ I am silent: your new penance may meet
A new performance. Farewell, sir.
You are the cruell'st e'er confess'd me before.
+Lod.+ And this the trick to catch a right pure whore. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[133] The camomile is said to grow faster the more it is pressed or
trodden upon, and to this circumstance the Clown here alludes. Frequent
notice is taken of this property in the plant by our ancient writers.
As in Tofte's "Honours Academie, or the Famous Pastorall of the Faire
Shepheardesse Julietta," 1610, p. 204, 5th part: "But as gold taken
out of the burning furnace, is farre more bright and fierce, than when
it was first flung in; and as _Camomell, the more it is trod upon, the
thicker and better it groweth_: even so we see this faire Archeresh to
shew more cleare and beautifull, when the flame was once past and gone
then she had bene before."
And in the "First Part of King Henry IV.," act ii. sc. 4: "For though
_the camomile the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows_, yet
youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears."
See other instances in the notes of Mr Steevens and Dr Farmer on the
last passage.
[134] [Recommended.]
[135] [I might go in search of it.]
[136] [A proverbial expression, by which the Clown ironically suggests
that the world is going to be good at last.]
[137] That is, acquainted, or informed him. [See note at vol. ix., p.
483.]
[138] [Old copy, _fears_.]
[139] The speech following has hitherto very mistakenly been assigned
to Verona. The sense, even without comparison with the old copy, shows
the error.--_Collier._
[140] [Old copy, _made_.]
[141] [Old copy, _So cast him from our presence._]
[142] The 4º reads, _Exeunt Lord_, &c., but Lorenzo is
meant.--_Collier._
[143] [Old copy, _of lords_.]
[144] See note on "Albumazar," [xi. 328.]
[145] _i.e._, Go before. Old copy, _Far more._--_Pegge._
[146] [In the former edits, this line precedes the one before it, to
the prejudice of the sense.]
[147] [Old copy, _butcher's_.]
[148] [Old copy, _orders bar_. Mr Collier's correction. He alludes, as
Mr Collier suggests, to the religious order to which he pretends to
belong.]
ACT IV.
_Enter +Abstemia+._
+Abs.+ Here, miserable, despis'd Abstemia,
In Milan let thy misery take breath,
Wearied with many sufferings. O Lorenzo!
How far in love I am with my affliction,
Because it calls thee father! Unto this house,
Where gentlewomen lodge, I was directed;
But I here discover
Strange actions closely carried in this house.
Great persons (but not good) here nightly revel
In surfeits and in riots, yet so carried,
That the next day the place appears a sanctuary
Rather than sin's foul receptacle. These ways
Have to me still been strangers; but, Lorenzo,
Thou couldst not, though, believe it. O jealousy!
[O] love's eclipse! Thou art, in thy disease,
A wild mad patient, wondrous hard to please.
_Enter +Timpania+ and +Morbo+._
+Mor.+ Yonder she walks, mumbling to herself. The Prince
Antonio has blessed her with's observation; and ye win her but
to him, your house bears the bell away. Accost her quaintly.
+Tim.+ I warrant thee, Morbo; Madonna Timpania has effected
wonders of more weight than a maidenhead. Have I ruined so
many city-citadels to let in court-martialists; and shall this
country-cottage hold out? I were more fit for a cart than a
coach then, i' faith. How now, Millicent, how d'ye this morning?
+Abs.+ Well, I do thank so good a landlady.
+Tim.+ But hark you, Mill. Is the door close, Morbo?
+Mor.+ As a usurer's conscience. Grace was coming in, till she
saw the door shut upon her.
+Tim.+ I'll set Grace about her business, and I come to her. Is
here any work for Grace, with a wanion to her?[149] We shall
have eavesdroppers, shall we?
+Abs.+ Chastity guard me! how I tremble.
+Tim.+ Come hither, Mistress Millicent. Fie, how you let your
hair hang about your ears too! How do you like my house, Mill?
+Abs.+ Well indeed, well.
+Tim.+ Nay, I know a woman may rise here in one month, and she
will herself. But truth's truth: I know you see something, as
they say, and so forth. Did you see the gallant was here last
till twelve?
+Abs.+ Which of them mean you? Here was many.
+Tim.+ Which? he in the white feather, that supped in the
gallery: was't not white, Morbo?
+Mor.+ As a lady's hand; by these five fingers.
+Tim.+ White? No, no, 'twas a tawny, now I remember.
+Mor.+ As a gipsy, by this hand: it looked white by
candle-light, though.
+Tim.+ That lusty springal,[150] Millicent, is no worse man
Than the Duke of Milan's son.
+Abs.+ His excellent carriage spoke him of noble birth.
+Tim.+ And this same duke's son loves you, Millicent.
+Abs.+ Now Heaven defend me!
+Tim.+ What, from a duke's son? marry, come up with a murrain,
from whence came you, trow, ha?
+Mor.+ Thus nice Grace was at first, and you remember.
+Tim.+ I would have ye know, housewife, I could have taken my
coach, and fetched him one of the best pieces in Milan, and her
husband should have looked after me, that's neighbours might
have noted, and cried, _Farewell, naunt,[151] commend me to
mine uncle._
+Mor.+ And yet from these perfumed fortunes Heaven defend you!
+Abs.+ Perfumed, indeed.
+Mor.+ Perfumed! I am a pander, a rogue, that hangs together
like a beggar's rags, by geometry, if there were not three
ladies swore yesterday that my mistress perfumed the coach! so
they were fain to unbrace all the side-parts, to take in fresh
air.
+Tim.+ He tells you true; I keep no common company, I warrant
ye. We vent no breathed ware here.
+Abs.+ But have ye so many several women to answer so many men
that come?
+Mor.+ I'll answer that by demonstration. Have ye not observed
the variation of a cloud? sometimes it will be like a lion,
sometimes like a horse, sometimes a castle, and yet still a
cloud.
+Abs.+ True.
+Mor.+ Why, so can we make one wench one day look like a
country wench, another day like a citizen's wife, another day
like a lady, and yet still be a punk.
+Abs.+ What shall become of me? O, the curse
Of goodness, to leave one woe for a worse!
+Phil.+ Morrow, sweet madam.
O, look how, like the sun behind a cloud,
The beams do give intelligence it is there!
+Tim.+ You're reciprocal welcome, sir.
+Phil.+ What, have ye not brought this young wild haggard[152]
to the lure yet?
+Tim.+ Faith, sir, she's a little irregular yet: but time, that
turns citizens' caps into court-periwigs, will bring the wonder
about.
+Phil.+ Bless you, sweet mistress!
_Enter +Antonio+ and +Slave+._
+Mor.+ 'Sfoot! here's the prince: I smell thunder.
+Tim.+ Your grace is most methodically welcome. You must pardon
my variety of phrase: the courtiers e'en cloy us with good
words.
+Ant.+ What's he?
+Mor.+ A gentleman of Ferrara, sir; one Pedro Sebastiano.
+Ant.+ And do ye set her out to sale? I charged ye reserve for
me alone.
+Tim.+ Indeed, sir----
+Ant.+ Pox of your deeds! [_Kicks her._
+Tim.+ O my sciatica!
+Ant.+ Sirrah, you perfumed rascal!
[_Kicks +Philippo+. They draw._
+Tim.+ Nay, good my lord.
+Mor.+ Good sir, 'tis one of the duke's chamber.
+Phil.+ Let him be of the devil's chamber.
+Ant.+ Sirrah, leave the house, or I will send thee out with
thunder.
+Slave.+ Good sir, 'tis madness here to stand him.
+Phil.+ 'Sfoot, kicked! Pray that we meet no more again, sir:
still keep heaven about you.[153]
+Abs.+ Whate'er thou art, a good man still go with thee.
+Ant.+ Will you bestow a cast of your professions?
+Mor.+ We are vanished, sir.
+Tim.+ This 'tis to dream of rotten glasses, Morbo.
+Abs.+ O, what shall become of me? In his eye murder and lust
contend.
+Ant.+ Nay, fly not, you sweet,
I am not angry with you; indeed, I am not.
Do you know me?
+Abs.+ Yes, sir, report hath given intelligence
You are the prince, the duke's son.
+Ant.+ Both in one.
+Abs.+ Report, sure,
Spoke but her native language: you are none of either.
+Ant.+ How?
+Abs.+ Were you the prince, you would not, sure, be slav'd
To your blood's passion. I do crave your pardon
For my rough language: truth hath a forehead free,
And in the tow'r of her integrity
Sits an unvanquish'd virgin. Can you imagine
'Twill appear possible you are the prince?
Why, when you set your foot first in this house,
You crush'd obedient duty unto death,
And even then fell from you your respect.
Honour is like a goodly old house, which
If we repair not still with virtue's hand,
Like a citadel being madly rais'd on sand,
It falls, is swallow'd, and not found [again].
+Ant.+ If you rail upon the place, prythee,
How cam'st thou hither?
+Abs.+ By treacherous intelligence. Honest men so
In the way ignorant, through thieves' purlieus go.
Are you [the] son to such a noble father?
[And would you] send him to's grave then,
Like a white almond-tree, full of glad days,
With joy that he begot so good a son.
O sir, methinks I see sweet majesty
Sit with a mourning sad face full of sorrows,
To see you in this place. This is a cave
Of scorpions and of dragons. O, turn back:
Toads here engender; 'tis the steam of death:
The very air poisons a good man's breath.
+Ant.+ Within there!
_Enter +Timpania+ and +Morbo+._
+Mor.+ Sir.
+Ant.+ Is my caroch at door?
+Tim.+ And your horses too, sir. Ye found her pliant?
+Ant.+ Y' are rotten hospitals hung with greasy satin!
+Tim.+ Ah!
+Mor.+ Came this nice piece from Naples, with a pox to her?
+Tim.+ And she has not Neapolitanised him, I'll be flea'd
for't. [_Exeunt +Bawd+ and +Pander+._
+Ant.+ Let me borrow goodness from thy lip. Farewell.
Here's a new wonder: I have met heaven in hell. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Venice+, +Verona+, +Lodovico+, +Pandulpho+,
+Jaspro+._
+Ver.+ Is this your chaste, religious lady?
+Lod.+ Nay, good my lord, let it be carried with a silent
reputation, for the credit of the conclusion. As all here are
privy to the passage, I do desire not to be laughed at till
after the masque, and we are all ready. I have made bold with
some of your grace's gentlemen, that are good dancers.
+Ver.+ 'Tis one of my greatest wonders, credit me,
To think what way she will devise here openly
To perform her so strict penance.
+Ven.+ It busies me, believe me, too.
+Jas.+ Ye may see now, sir, how possible it is for a cunning
lady to make an ass of a lord too confident.
+Lod.+ An ass! I will prove a contented cuckold the wisest man
in's company.
+Ver.+ How prove you that, sir?
+Lod.+ Because he knows himself.
+Ver.+ Very well brought in.
Is all our furniture fit, against the morning,
To go for Milan?
+Jas.+ Ready, and like your grace.
+Ver.+ We are given to understand, the injur'd princess,
Whom Count Lorenzo and noble Philippo
Are, unknown to one another, gone in search of,
Hath been seen there disguis'd. Strict inquisition
From the duke himself shall, ere many days,
Give our hopes satisfaction.
_Enter +Dorothea+, +Ladies+, +Francisco+, and +Clown+._
+Jas.+ The ladies, sir. Francisco keeps before, sir,
And Pambo keeps all well behind.
+Lod.+ Yes, there's devout lechery between hawk and buzzard.
But, please ye, set the ladies: the masque attends your grace.
[_Exit._
+Ver.+ Come, ladies, sit. Madonna Dorothea,
Your ingenious lord hath suddenly prepar'd us
For a conceited masque, and himself, it seems,
Plays the presenter.
+Dor.+ Now, fie upon this vanity!
A profane masque? Chastity keep us, ladies.
+Ven.+ What, from a masque? Whereon grounds your wish?
+Dor.+ Marry, my lord, upon experience.
I heard of one once brought his wife to a masque
As chaste as a cold night; but, poor unfortunate fellow,
He lost her in the throng; and she, poor soul,
Came home so crush'd next morning!
+Ven.+ 'Las, that was ill:
But women will be lost against their will.
+Ver.+ Silence, the masquers enter.
_Enter +Lodovico+, +Clown+, and +Masquers+: a stag,
a ram, a bull, and a goat._
+Clown.+ Look to me, master.
+Lod.+ Do not shake: they'll think th' art out. A
masque[154]----
+Clown.+ A masque, or no masque; no masque but a by-clap;
And yet a masque yclep'd _A City Nightcap._
+Lod.+ And conve----
+Clown.+ And conveniently for to keep off scorns.
Considerately the cap is hedg'd with horns.
+Lod.+ We insinuate.
+Clown.+ Speak a little louder.
+Lod.+ We insinuate.
+Clown.+ We insinuate, by this stag and ram so pretty,
With goat and bull, court, country, camp, and city.
+Lod.+ Cuckold.
+Clown.+ Cuckold, my lord?
+Lod.+ 'Tis the first word of your next line.
+Clown.+ O---- Cuckold begins with C. And is't not sport?
The C begins with country, camp, and court:
But here's the fine figary of our poet,
That one may wear this nightcap, and not know it.
+Dor.+ Why, chicken, shall they make such an ass of thee? Good
your grace, can a woman endure to see her loving husband wear
horns in's own house?
+Ver.+ Pray, lady, 'tis but in jest.
+Dor.+ In jest? Nay, for the jest sake, keep then on, sweet
bird.
+Clown.+ Now to our masque's name: but first, be it known-a
When I name a city, I only mean Verona.
Those two lines are extempore, I protest, sir; I brought them
in, because here are some of other cities in the room, that
might snuff pepper else.[155]
+Ven.+ You have fairly ta'en that fear off; pray, proceed.
+Lod.+ Your kindest men----
+Clown.+ Your kindest men most cuckolds are, O pity!
And where have women most their will? i'th'[156] city!
Seek[157] for a nightcap, go to cuckolds' luck;
Who thrives like him who hath the daintiest duck
To deck his stall? nay, at the time of rapping,
When you may take the watch at corners napping;
Take it, forsooth--it is a wondrous hap,
If you find master constable without his cap:
So a city nightcap, for whilst he doth roam
And fights abroad, his wife commits at home.
+Ven.+ A Verona constable.
+Clown.+ A constable of Verona; we will not meddle with your
city of Venice, sir.
Therefore 'tis fit the city, wise men say,
Should have a cap called Cornucopia.
+Lod.+ To con----
+Clown.+ To conclude our cap, and stretch it on the tenter,
'Tis known a city is the whole land's centre:
So that a city nightcap ours we call
By a conclusion philosophical.
Heavy bodies tend to th' centre, so (the more the pity)
The heaviest heads do butt upon the city:
And to our dance this title doth redound,
_A city nightcap_, alias, _cuckolds' round_.
+Dor.+ Cuckolds' round! and my sweet bird leads the dance!
+Ver.+ Be patient, madam, 'tis but honest mirth:
From good construction pleasure finds full birth. [_Dance._
+Ver.+ Jaspro, fill some wine.
+Jas.+ 'Tis here, sir.
+Ver.+ Count Lodovico!
+Lod.+ Sir.
+Ver.+ I'll instantly give you a fair occasion to produce
The performance of her penance.
+Lod.+ I'll catch occasion by the lock,[158] sir.
+Ver.+ Here, a health to all; it shall go round.
+Lod.+ 'Tis a general health, and leads the rest into the field.
+Clown.+ Your honour breaks jests as servingmen do glasses--by
chance.
+Ver.+ As I was drinking, I was thinking, trust me,
How fortunate our kind host was to meet with
So chaste a wife. Troth, tell me, good Count Lodowick,
Admit Heaven had her----
+Lod.+ O good your grace, do not wound me--
Admit Heaven had her! 'las, what should Heaven do with her?
+Ver.+ Your love makes you thus passionate; but admit so:
Faith, what wife would you choose?
+Lod.+ Were I to choose then, as I would I were, so this were at Japan,
I would wish, my lord, a wife so like my lady,
That once a week she should go to confession;
And to perform the penance she should run,
Nay, should do nought but dream on't, till 'twere done.
+Jas.+ A delicate memento to put her in mind of her penance. [_Aside._
+Dor.+ Now you talk of dreams, sweetheart, I'll tell ye a very
unhappy one: I was a-dreamed last night of Francis there.
+Lod.+ Of Frank?
+Dor.+ Nay, I have done with him.
+Lod.+ Now your grace shall see the devil outdone.
+Ver.+ Pray, let us hear your dream.
+Dor.+ Bless me! I am e'en asham'd to tell it: but 'tis no
matter, chick,
A dream is a dream, and this it was.
Methought, sweet husband, Francis lay with me.
+Lod.+ The best friend still at home, Francisco.
Could the devil, sir, perform a penance neater,
And save his credit better? On, chick; a dream is but a dream.
+Dor.+ Methought I prov'd with child, sweetheart.
+Lod.+ Ay, bird?
+Fran.+ Pox of these dreams!
+Dor.+ Methought I was brought to bed; and one day sitting
I' th' gallery, where your masquing-suits and vizards hang,
Having the child, methought, upon my knee,
Who should come thither, as to play at foils,
But thou, sweetheart, and Francis?
+Lod.+ Frank and I! Does your grace mark that?
+Ver.+ I do, and wonder at her neat conveyance on't.
+Dor.+ Ye had not play'd three veneys,[159] but methought
He hit thee such a blow upon the forehead,
It swell'd so, that thou couldst not see.
+Lod.+ See, see!
+Dor.+ At which the child cried, so that I could not still it;
Whereat, methought, I pray'd thee to put on
The hat thou wor'st but now before the duke, thinking thereby
To still the child: but, being frighted with't,
He cried the more.
+Lod.+ He! Frank, thou gett'st boys.
+Fran.+ In dreams, it seems, sir.
+Dor.+ Whereat I cried, methought, pointing to thee--
Away, thou naughty man, you are not this child's father!
+Lod.+ Meaning the child Francisco got.
+Dor.+ The same: and then I wak'd and kiss'd thee.
+Omnes.+ A pretty merry dream!
+Jas.+ Your servant tells me,
Count Lodowick, that one Father Antony,
A holy man, stays without to speak with you.
+Lod.+ With me or my lady?
+Jas.+ Nay, with you, and about earnest business.
+Lod.+ I'll go send up, and he shall interpret my lady's dream.
Hist, Jaspro. [_Exeunt._
+Dor.+ Why, husband! my lord!
+Fran.+ Didst mark? He must interpret.[160]
+Clown.+ I smell wormwood and vinegar. [_Aside._
+Ven.+ She changes colour.
+Dor.+ He will not, sure, reveal confession!
+Ver.+ We'll rise, and to our lodgings: I think your highness
Keeps better hours in Venice?
+Ven.+ As all do, sir:
We many times make modest mirth a necessity
To produce ladies' dreams.
+Fran.+ How they shoot at us! Would I were in Milan!
These passages fry me.
_Enter +Jaspro+ and +Lodovico+._[161]
+Jas.+ Here's strange juggling come to light.
+Ver.+ Ha; juggling!
+Jas.+ This friar hath confess'd unto Count Lodowick,
That this lady here, being absolv'd, confess'd
This morning to him here, in her own house,
Her man Francisco here had lain with her.
At which her lord runs up and down the garden
Like one distracted, crying, _Ware horns, ho!_
+Dor.+ Art mad? Deny it yet; I am undone else.
+Clown.+ Father Tony!
+Lod.+ I confess it, I deny it--ay, anything. I do everything;
I do nothing.
+Ver.+ The friar's fallen frantic; and being mad,
Depraves a lady of so chaste a breast,
A bad thought never bred there.
+Dor.+ 'Tis my misfortune still to suffer, sir.
+Lod.+ Did you not see one slip out of a cloak-bag i' th'
fashion of a flitch of bacon, and run under the table amongst
the hogs?
+Ven.+ He's mad, he's mad.
+Clown.+ Ay, ay, a tithe-pig: 'twas overlaid last night, and he
speaks nonsense all the day after----
+Dor.+ Shall I, sir, suffer this--in mine own house too?
+Clown.+ I'd scratch out his eyes first.
+Ver.+ Since, lady, you and your man Francisco
Are the two injur'd persons, here disrobe
This irregular son of his religious mother,
Expose him to th' apparent blush of shame,
And tear those holy weeds off.
+Fran.+ Now you, my frantic brother,
Had you not been better spar'd your breath?
+Dor.+ And ye keep counsel, sir, no better,
We'll ease you of your orders.
+Clown.+ Nay, let me have a hand in't: I'll tear the coat with
more zeal than a puritan would tear a surplice.
+Fran.+ See what 'tis to accuse when you're mad.
+Dor.+ I confess again to you now, sir, this man did lie with
me.
+Clown.+ And I brought him to her chamber, too: but come, turn
out here.
+Duke.+ Who's this?
+Omnes.+ 'Tis Count Lodowick.
+Lod.+ How dreams, sweet wife, do fall out true!
+Clown.+ I was a-dream'd, now I remember, I was whipped through
Verona.
+Lod.+ I was your confessor:
Did not I enjoin your chaste nice ladyship
A dainty penance?
+Jas.+ And she perform'd it
As daintily, sir, we'll be sworn for that.
+Dor.+ O good sir, I crave your pardon!
+Lod.+ And what say you, Francis?
+Fran.+ You have run best, sir: vain 'tis to defend;
Craft sets forth swift, but still fails in the end.
+Lod.+ You brought him to her chamber, Pambo.
+Clown.+ Good my lord, I was merely inveigled to't.
+Lod.+ I have nothing to do with ye; I take no notice of ye; I
have played my part off to th' life, and your grace promised to
perform yours.
+Ver.+ And publicly we will still raise their fame:
Who e'er knew private sin 'scape public shame?
You, sir, that do appear a gentleman,
Yet are within slave to dishonest passions,
You shall through Verona ride upon an ass
With your face towards his back-part, and in
Your hand his tail 'stead of a bridle.
+Clown.+ Snails! upon an ass? an't 'ad been upon a horse, it
had been worthy, gramercy.
+Ver.+ Peace, sirrah:
After that, you shall be branded in the forehead,
And after banish'd. Away with him!
+Fran.+ Lust is still
Like a midnight meal: after our violent drinkings,
'Tis swallow'd greedily; but, the course being kept,
We are sicker when we wake than ere we slept. [_Exit._
+Clown.+ He must be branded! if the whoremaster be burnt, what
shall become of the procurer?
+Ver.+ You, madam, in that you have cosen'd sanctity,
To promise her the vows you never paid,
You shall unto the monastery of matrons,
And spend your days reclusive: for we conceive it
Her greatest plague, who her days in lust hath pass'd
And soil'd, against[162] her will to be kept chaste.
+Dor.+ Your doom is just: no sentence can be given
Too hard for her plays fast and loose[163] with Heaven.
+Lod.+ I will buss thee, and bid fair weather after thee. But
for you, sirrah----
+Clown.+ Nay, sir, 'tis but _crede quod habes, et habes_, at
most; believe I have a halter, and I have one.
+Ver.+ You, sirrah, we are possess'd, were their pander.
+Clown.+ I brought but flesh to flesh, sir, and your grace does
as much when you bring your meat to your mouth.
+Ver.+ You, sirrah, at a cart's tail shall be whipped through
the city.
+Clown.+ There's my dream out already! but, since there is no
remedy but that whipping-cheer must close up my stomach, I
would request a note from your grace to the carman, to entreat
him to drive apace; I shall never endure it else.
+Ver.+ I hope, Count Lodowick, we have satisfied ye.
+Lod.+ To th' full; and I think the cuckold catch'd the
cuckold-makers.
+Ver.+ 'Twas a neat penance; but, O the art of woman in the
performance!
+Lod.+ Pshaw, sir, 'tis nothing: had she been in her gran'am's place--
Had not the devil first begun the sin,
And cheated her, she would have cheated him.
+Ver.+ Let all to rest: and, noble sir, i' th' morning
With a small private train we are for Milan.
Vice for a time may shine, and virtue sigh;
But truth, like heaven's sun, plainly doth reveal,
And scourge or crown, what darkness did conceal.
FOOTNOTES:
[149] This expression occurs in "Pericles, Prince of Tyre," act ii. sc,
1--
"Look how thou stirrest now:
Come away, I'll fetch thee with a _wannion_."
Again, in Ben Jonson's "Devil is an Ass"--
"And a cuckold is,
Where'er he put his head with a _wannion_,
If his horns be forth, the devil's companion!"
[And in a thousand other places.]
[150] _Springal_ (adolescens), a youth.--_Skinner._ So in Spenser's
"Faery Queene," bk. v. c. x. s. 6--
"Amongst the rest which in that space befel,
There came two _springals_ of full tender yeers."
And in "Wily Beguiled," 1606: "Pray ye, maid, bid him welcome, and make
much of him, for by my vay, he's a good proper _springold_."
[151] [_i.e._, Aunt, a phrase already explained.]
[152] "A haggard goshawke" is one that is wild and hard to reclaim. See
Latham's "Book of Faulconry," 1633.
And Massinger's "Maid of Honour," act ii. sc. 2--
"A proud _haggard_,
And not to be reclaim'd!"
[153] Philippo here makes his _Exit_, which is not marked in the
old copy, and, under the circumstances, is not very creditable to
him.--_Collier._
[154] Lodovico stands by, and prompts the Clown as he speaks the
prologues.--_Collier._
[155] _i.e._, Might take offence, or be affronted. To _take pepper in
the nose_, was formerly a cant phrase for being affronted or irritated;
as in Tarlton's "Newes out of Purgatory," 1630, p. 10: "Myles hearing
him name the Baker, _tooke straight pepper in the nose_, and starting
up, threw off his cardinals roabes."
[156] Old copy, _on_.
[157] Old copy, _Sick_.
[158] As we should say, _by the forelock_.
[159] _i.e._, Says Mr Steevens (note to "Merry Wives of Windsor," act
i. sc. 1), "three _venues_, Fr. three different set-to's, _bouts_, a
technical term." Several instances are there produced, to which may be
added the following:--
Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour," act i. sc. 5--
"+Mat.+ But one _venue_, sir.
+Bob.+ _Venue!_ fie, a most gross denomination as ever I heard."
"The Old Law," by Massinger, &c., act iii. sc. 2--
"To give your perfum'd worship _three venues_.
A sound old man puts his thrust better home
Than a spic'd young man."
Greene's "Historie of Fryer Bacon and Fryer Bungay," Sig. G 4, edit.
1630--
"Why stand'st thou, Serlsby, doubt'st thou of thy life.
A _veney_, man! faire Margaret craves so much."
Fennor's "Compter's Commonwealth," 1617, p. 21: "Thus are my young
novices strucke to the heart at the first _venny_, and dares come no
more for feare of as sharp a repulse."
[160] [Old copy reads,] _I must interpret._ Francisco seems to allude
to Lodovico's last words.--_Pegge._
[161] Lodovico is disguised like a friar, as is evident from the rest
of the scene.--_Collier._
[162] [Old copy, _is against_.]
[163] "_Fast and loose_," says Sir John Hawkins (note to "Antony and
Cleopatra," act iv. sc. 10), "is a term to signify a cheating game, of
which the following is a description. A leathern belt is made up into
a number of intricate folds, and placed edgewise upon a table. One
of the folds is made to represent the middle of the girdle, so that
whoever should thrust a skewer into it would think he held it fast to
the table; whereas, when he has so done, the person with whom he plays
may take hold of both ends and draw it away. The trick is now known to
the common people by the name of pricking at the belt or girdle." The
Gipsies, so early as the reign of Queen Elizabeth, were great adepts in
these practices. See Scot's "Discoverie of witchcraft," 1584, p. 336;
where in the 29th chapter is described the manner of playing at _fast
and loose_ with handkerchiefs, &c.
ACT V.
_Enter +Antonio+ and a +Slave+, one in the
other's habit_
+Slave.+ But faith, sir, what's your device in this?
This change insinuates some project.
+Ant.+ Shall I tell thee?
Thou art my slave; I took thee (then a Turk)
In the fight thou know'st we made before Palermo:
Thou art not in stricter bondage unto me
Than I am unto Cupid.
+Slave.+ O, then you are going, sir,
To your old rendezvous; there are brave rogues there:
But the duke observes you narrowly, and sets spies
To watch if you step that way.
+Ant.+ Why therefore, man,
Thus many times I have chang'd habits with thee,
To cheat suspicion: and prejudicate Nature
(Mistress of inclinations), sure, intended
To knit thee up so like me for this purpose;
For th' hast been taken in my habit for me.
+Slave.+ Yes, and have had many a French cringe,
As I have walk'd i' th' park; and, for fear of discovery,
I have crown'd it only with a nod.
_Enter a +Lord+._
+Ant.+ Th' art a mad villain.
But, sirrah, I am wondrously taken
With a sweet face I saw yonder; thou know'st where.
+Slave.+ At Venus College, the court bawdy-house.
+Ant.+ But this maid, howsoever she came there,
Is acquainted so with Heaven, that when I thought
To have quench'd my frantic blood, and to have pluck'd
The fruit a king would leap at: even then
She beat me with such brave thunder off, as if
Heaven had lent her the artillery of angels.
+Slave.+ She was coy then?
+Ant.+ Coy, man! she was honest--left coyness to court ladies:
She spake the language of the saints, methought.
Holy spectators sat on silver clouds,
And clapp'd their white wings at her well-plac'd words.
She piecemeal pull'd the frame of my intentions,
And so join'd it again, that all the tempest
Of blood can never move it.
+Slave.+ Some rare phœnix! what's her name?
+Ant.+ 'Tis Millicenta, and wondrous aptly,
For she is mistress of a hundred thousand holy heavenly thoughts.
Chastely I love her now, and she must know it:
Such wondrous wealth is virtue, it makes the woman
Wears it about her worthy of a king,
Since kings can be but virtuous: farewell.
A crown is but the care of deceiv'd life;
He's king of men is crown'd with such a wife.
[_Exit +Antonio+, and the +Lord+ after him._
+Slave.+ Are your thoughts levell'd at that white, then?[164]
This shall to th' duke your dad, sir. He can never talk with me,[165]
But he twits me still with, _I took thee at that fight
We made before Palermo_! I did command
Men as he did there, Turks and valiant men:
And though to wind myself up for his ruin,
That I may fall and crush him, I appear
To renounce Mahomet, and seem a Christian,
'Tis but conveniently to stab this Christian,
Or any way confound him, and 'scape cleanly.
Ere[166] one expects the deed: to hasten it,
This letter came even now, which likewise certifies
He waits me three leagues off, with a horse for flight
Of a Turkish captain, commander of a galley.
He keeps me as his slave, because indeed
I play'd the devil at sea with him; but having
Thus wrought myself into him, I intend
To give him but this day to take his leave
Of the whole world. He will come back by twilight:
I'll wait him with a pistol. O sweet revenge!
Laugh, our great prophet, he shall understand,
When we think death farthest off, he's nearest hand.
_Enter +Philippo+._
+Phil.+ You and I must meet no more, sir: there's your kick again.
[_Kicks him._
+Slave.+ Hold, hold! what mean you, sir?
+Phil.+ I have brought your kick back, sir---- [_Shoots him._
+Slave.+ Hold, man, I am not---- [_Falls._
+Phil.+ Thou hast spoken true, thou art not---- What art thou?
But I am for Verona. [_Exit._
+Slave.+ Mine own words catch me: 'tis I now understand,
When we think death farthest off, he's nearest hand. [_Dies._
_Enter +Lorenzo+._
+Lor.+ She lives not, sure, in Milan! report but wore
Her usual habit when she told in Verona
She met Abstemia here. O Abstemia,
How lovely thou look'st now! now thou appearest
Chaster than is the morning's modesty,
That rises with a blush, over whose bosom
The western wind creeps softly. Now I remember
How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye
Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well,
Unless it look'd where I look'd. O, how proud
She was, when she could cross herself to please me!
But where now is this fair soul? like a silver cloud,
She hath wept herself, I fear, into th' dead sea,
And will be found no more: this makes me mad,
To rave and call on death; but the slave shrinks,[167]
And is as far to find as she. Abstemia,
If thou not answer or appear to knowledge,
That here with shame I sought thee in this wood,
I'll leave the blushing witness of my blood. [_Exit._
_Enter the +Duke of Milan+, +Sebastiano+, +Sanchio+,
and the +Lord+._
+Mil.+ Followed you him thus far?
+Lord.+ Just to this place, sir:
The slave he loves left him; here they parted.
+Mil.+ Certain, he has some private haunt this way.
+Seb.+ Ha! private indeed, sir: O, behold and see
Where he lies full of wounds!
+Lord.+ My lord.
+Mil.+ My son Antonio! who hath done this deed?
+San.+ My Lord Antonio!
+Mil.+ He's gone, he's gone! warm yet? bleeds fresh? and whilst
We here hold passion play, we but advantage
The flying murderer. Bear his body gently
Unto the lodge. O, what hand hath so hid
That sunlike face behind a crimson cloud!
Use all means possible for life: but I fear
Charity will arrive too late. To horse!
Disperse through the wood: run, ride, make way,
The sun in Milan is eclips'd this day!
+Omnes.+ To horse, and raise more pursuit! [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Lorenzo+ with his sword drawn._
+Lor.+ Abstemia! O, take her name, you winds, upon your wings,
And through the wanton region of the air
Softly convey it to her. There's no sweet sufferance,
Which bravely she pass'd through, but is a thorn
Now to my sides: my will the centre stood
To all her chaste endeavours: all her actions,
With a perfection perpendicular,
Pointed upon it. She is lost! O she,
The well-built fort of virtue's victory!
For still she conquer'd: since she is lost, then,
My friendly sword, find thou my heart.
+With.+ Follow, follow!
_Enter +Duke of Milan+, +Sanchio+, and +Sebastiano.+_
+Mil.+ This way. What's he? lay hands on him.
+Seb.+ The murd'rer, on my life, my lord, here in the wood
Was close beset; he would have slain himself.
+Mil.+ Speak, villain, art thou the bloody murderer?
+Lor.+ Of whom?
+San.+ His dissembled ignorance speaks him the man.
+Seb.+ Of the duke's son, the Prince Antonio, sir:
'Twas your hand that kill'd him.
+Lor.+ Your lordship lies; it was my sword.
+Mil.+ Out, slave!
Ravens shall feed upon thee: speak, what cause
Hadst thou with one unhappy wound to cloud
That star of Milan?
+Lor.+ Because he was an erring star,
Not fix'd nor regular. I will resolve nothing:
I did it, do not repent it; and were it
To do again, I'd do't.
+Omnes.+ Bloodthirsty villain!
+Mil.+ Lead[168] him to swift destruction, tortures, and death.
O my Antonio! how did thy youth stray,
To meet wild winter in the midst of May?
+Lor.+ O my Abstemia! who cast thy fate so bad,
To clip[169] affliction, like a husband clad? [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Antonio+ and +Abstemia+._
+Abs.+ Good sir, the prince makes known his wisdom,
To make you speaker in his cause.
+Ant.+ Me? know, mistress,
I have felt love's passions equal with himself,
And can discourse of love's cause: had you seen him
When he sent me to ye, how truly he did look;
And when your name slipp'd through his trembling lips,
A lover's lovely paleness straight possess'd him.
+Abs.+ Fie, fie!
+Ant.+ Go, says he, to that something more than woman--
And he look'd as if by something he meant saint;
Tell her I saw heaven's army in her eyes,
And that from her chaste heart such excellent goodness
Came, like full rivers flowing, that there wants nothing
But her soft yielding will to make her wife
Unto the Prince Antonio. O, will you fly
A fortune, which great ladies would pursue
Upon their knees with prayers?
+Abs.+ No, Lorenzo,
Had law to this new love made no denial:
A chaste wife's truth shines through the greatest trial.
+Mor.+ How now, what make you i' th' wood here?
Where's my old lady?
+Abs.+ I know not.
+Mor.+ All the country's in an uproar yonder: the Prince
Antonio's slain.
+Ambo.+ How!
+Mor.+ Nay, no man can tell how; but the murd'rer with's sword
in's hand is taken.
+Ant.+ Is he of Milan?
+Mor.+ No, of Verona: I heard his name, and I have forgot it.
+Ant.+ I am all wonder; 'tis the slave, sure!
+Mor.+ Lor--Lor--Lorenzo.
+Abs.+ Ha, Lorenzo! What, I pray?
+Mor.+ Lorenzo Me--Medico has run him in the eye, some
thirty-three inches, two barleycorns: they could scarce know
him for the blood, but by his apparel. I must find out my
lady; he used our house; intelligence has been given of his
pilgrimage thither. I am afraid I shall be singed to death with
torches, and my lady stewed between two dishes.
+Ant.+ Why hath this thus amazed you, mistress?
+Abs.+ O, leave me, leave me: I am all distraction;
Struck to the soul with sorrow.
_Enter +Milan+, +Lords+, and +Lorenzo+ guarded._
+Ant.+ See where they come!
My father full of tears, too. I'll stand by:
Strange changes must have strange discovery.
+Abs.+ 'Tis he: heart, how thou leap'st! O ye deluded,
And full of false rash judgment! why do ye lead
Innocence like a sacrifice to slaughter?
Get garlands rather: let palm and laurel round[170]
Those temples, where such wedlock-truth is found.
+Lor.+ Ha!
+Omnes.+ Wedlock!
+Abs.+ O Lorenzo! thou hast suffer'd bravely,
And wondrous far: look on me, here I come,
Hurried by conscience to confess the deed.
Thy innocent blood will be too great a burthen
Upon the judge's soul.
+Lor.+ Abstemia!
+Abs.+ Look, look,
How he will blind ye! by and by, he'll tell ye
We saw not one another many a day;
In love's cause we dare make our lives away.
He would redeem mine: 'tis my husband, sir;
Dearly we love together; but I, being often
By the dead prince, your son, solicited
To wrong my husband's bed, and still resisting,
Where you found him dead he met me, and the place
Presenting opportunity, he would there
Have forc'd me to his will; but prizing honesty
Far above proffer'd honour, with my knife,
In my resistance, most unfortunately
I struck him in the eye. He fell, was found,
The pursuit rais'd, and ere I could get home
My husband met me; I confess'd all to him.
He, excellent in love as the sea-inhabitant,
Of whom 'tis writ that, when the flatt'ring hook
Has struck his female, he will help her off,
Although he desperately put on himself,
But if he fail, and see her leave his eye,
He swims to land, will languish, and there die--
Such is his love to me; for, pursu'd closely,
He bid me save myself, and he would stay
With his drawn sword there about the place, on purpose
To requite my loyalty, though with his death.
Fear forc'd my acceptance then; but conscience
Hath brought me back to preserve innocence.
+Seb.+ The circumstances produce probability.
+Lor.+ By truth herself she slanders truth: she and I
Have not met these many months. O my Abstemia!
Thou wouldst be now too excellent.
+Ant.+ These are strange turns.
+Mil.+ Let not love strangle justice. Speak: on thy soul,
Was it her hand that slew the prince?
+Lor.+ Not, on my life;
'Tis I have deserv'd death.
+Abs.+ Love makes him desperate,
Conscience is my accuser. O Lorenzo!
[_The +Duke+ and +Lords+ whisper._
Live thou, and feed on my remembrance:
When thou shalt think how ardently I love thee,
Drop but a pair of tears from those fair eyes,
Thou offer'st truth a wealthy sacrifice.
+Lor.+ Did ye hear, sir?
+Mil.+ No, what said she?
+Lor.+ She ask'd me, why I would cast myself away thus,
When she in love devis'd this trick to save me.
+San.+ There may be juggling, sir, in this: it may be
They have both hands i' th' deed, and one in love
Would suffer for't.
_Enter a +Lord+._
+Mil.+ What news?
+Lord.+ The Dukes of Venice and Verona,
With some small train of gentlemen, are privately
This hour come to the court.
+Mil.+ Bear them to prison,
Until we have given such entertainment sorrow
Will give us leave to show: until that time,
The satisfaction of my lost son's life
Must hover 'twixt a husband and a wife. [_Exeunt. Manet +Antonio+._
+Ant.+ How strangely chance to-day runs! the slave kill'd
In my apparel, and this fellow taken for't,
Whom to my knowledge I never saw. She loves him
Past all expression dearly. I have a trick,
In that so infinitely dear she loves him,
Has seal'd her mine already; and I'll put
This wondrous love of woman to such a nonplus,
Time hath produc'd none stranger. I will set
Honour and Love to fight for life and death.
Beauty (as castles built of cards) with a breath
Is levell'd and laid flat.
_Enter +Philippo+, putting on a disguise, lays down
a pistol._
+Phil.+ Misery of ignorance!
It was the Prince Antonio I have slain.
+Ant.+ Ha! the clue of all this error is unravell'd,
This is the valiant gentleman so threaten'd me:
He met the slave, doubtless, in my habit,
And seal'd upon him his mistaken spleen.
If it be so, there hangs some strange intent
In those accuse themselves for't.
+Phil.+ It seems some other had laid the plot to kill him.
This paper I found with him speaks as much,
And, sent to the intended murderer,
Happen'd (it seems) to his hands. It concurs;
For they say, there is one taken for the fact,
And will do me the courtesy to be hang'd for me.
There's comfort yet in that. So, so: I am fitted;
And will set forward. [_+Antonio+ takes up the pistol._
+Ant.+ Goose, there's a fox in your way.
+Phil.+ Betrayed!
+Ant.+ Come, I have another business afoot: I have no time
to discover 'em now, sir. See, I can enforce you; but by
this hand, go but with me, and keep your own counsel.
Garden-houses[171] are not truer bawds to cuckold-making, than
I will be to thee and thy stratagem.
+Phil.+ Th' art a mad knave: art serious?
+Ant.+ As a usurer when he's telling interestmoney.
+Phil.+ Whate'er thou art, thy bluntness begets belief. Go on,
I trust thee.
+Ant.+ But I have more wit than to trust you behind me, sir;
pray, get you before. I have a friend shall keep you in custody
till I have passed a project; and if you can keep your own
counsel, I will not injure you. And this for your comfort--the
prince lives.
+Phil.+ Living! Thou mak'st my blood dance.
But prythee, let's be honest one to another.
+Ant.+ O sir, as the justices' clerk and the constable, when
they share the crowns that drunkards pay to the poor. Pray,
keep fair distance, and take no great strides. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Lorenzo+ and +Abstemia+, as in prison._
+Lor.+ Can then Abstemia forgive Lorenzo?
+Abs.+ Yes, if Lorenzo can but love Abstemia,
She can hang thus upon his neck, and call
This prison true love's palace.
+Lor.+ O, let kings
Forget their crowns that know what 'tis to enjoy
The wondrous wealth of one so good. Now
Thou art lovely as young[172] spring, and comely
As is the well-spread cedar; the fair fruit,
Kiss'd by the sun so daily, that it wears
The lovely blush of maids, seems but to mock
Thy soul's integrity. Here let me fall,
And with pleading sighs beg pardon.
_Enter +Antonio+._
+Abs.+ Sir, it meets you,
Like a glad pilgrim, whose desiring eye
Longs for the long-wish'd altar of his vow.
But you are far too prodigal in praise,
And crown me with the garlands of your merit.
As we meet barks on rivers, the strong gale
(Being best friends to us), our own swift motion
Makes us believe that t'other nimbler rows:
Swift virtue thinks small goodness fastest goes.
+Lor.+ Sorrow hath bravely sweeten'd thee! What are you?
+Ant.+ A displeasant black cloud! though I appear dismal,
I am wondrous fruitful. What cause soever
Mov'd you to take this murder on yourself,
Or you to strike yourself into the hazard
For his redemption, 'tis to me a stranger!
But I conceive you are both innocent.
+Lor.+ As newborn virtue. I did accuse
My innocence, to rid me of a life
Look'd uglier than death upon an injury
I had done this virtuous wife.
+Abs.+ And I accus'd
My innocence, to save the belov'd life
Of my most noble husband.
+Ant.+ Why, then, now 'twould grieve you
Death should unkindly part ye.
+Lor.+ O, but that, sir,
We have no sorrow. Now to part from her,
Since Heaven hath new-married and new-made us,
I had rather leap into a den of lions,
Snatch from a hungry bear her bleeding prey:
I would attempt desperate impossibilities
With hope, rather than now to leave her.
+Ant.+ This makes for me. [_Aside._
+Abs.+ And rather than leave you, sir, I would eat
Hot coals with Portia, or attempt a terror
Nature would, snail-like, shrink her head in at,
And tremble but to think on.
+Ant.+ Better and better. [_Aside._
If you so love him, what can you conceive
The greatest kindness can express that love?
+Abs.+ To save his life, since there is no hope,
Seeing he so strongly has confess'd the murder,
We shall meet the happiness to die together.
+Ant.+ Fire casts the bravest heat in coldest weather:
I'll try how ardently you burn; for know,
Upon my faith, and as I am a gentleman,
I have in the next room, and in the custody
Of a true friend, the man that did the deed
You stand accus'd for.
+Abs.+ Hark there, Lorenzo!
+Lor.+ Will you not let him go, sir?
+Ant.+ That's in suspense. But, mistress, you did say,
You durst eat coals with Portia, to redeem
The infinitely lov'd life of your husband.
+Abs.+ And still [do] strongly protest it.
+Lor.+ O my Abstemia!
+Ant.+ You shall redeem him at an easier rate:
I have the murderer, you see, in hold.
+Lor.+ And we are bless'd in your discovery of him.
+Ant.+ If you will give consent that I shall taste
That sense-bereaving pleasure so familiar
Unto your happy husband----
+Abs.+ How?
+Ant.+ Pray, hear me:
Then I will give this fellow up to the law.
If you deny, horses stand ready for us,
A bark for transportation; where we will live,
Till law by death hath sever'd ye.
+Lor.+ But we will call for present witness.
+Ant.+ Look ye---- [_Shows the pistol._
Experienc'd navigators still are fitted
For every weather. 'Tis almost past call
To reach the nimblest ear: yet but offer it,
I part ye presently for ever. Consider it:
The enjoying him thou so entirely lov'st
All thy life after; that when mirth-spent time
Hath crown'd your heads with honour, you may sit
And tell delightful stories of your loves;
And when ye come to that poor minute's 'scape
Crowns my desire, ye may let that slip by,
Like water that ne'er meets the miller's eye.
Compare but this to th' soon-forgotten pleasure
Of a pair of wealthy minutes. The thriftiest[173] lapidary
Knows the most curious jewel takes no harm
For one day's wearing. Could you, sir (did your eye
Nor see it worn), your wife having lent your cloak
(If secretly return'd and folded up)--
Could you conceive, when you next look'd upon't,
It had neatly furnish'd out a poor friend's want?
Be charitable, and think on't.
+Lor.+ Dost hear, Abstemia?
O, shall we part for ever, when a price
So poor might be our freedom?
+Abs.+ Now, goodness guard ye!
Where learn't you, sir, this language?
+Lor.+ Of true love.
You did but now profess that you would die
To save my life; and now, like a forward chapman,
Catch'd at thy word, thou givest back, asham'd
To stand this easy proffer.
+Abs.+ Could you live,
And know yourself a cuckold?
+Ant.+ What a question's that!
Many men cannot live without the knowledge.
How can ye tell
Whether she seems thus to respect your honour,
But to stay till the law has chok'd you?
It may be then she will do't with less entreaty.
+Lor.+ Ay, there, there 'tis.
+Abs.+ 'Tis your old fit of jealousy so judges.
A foul devil talks within him.
+Lor.+ O, the art,
The wondrous art of woman! ye would do it daintily;
You would juggle me to death; you would persuade me
I should die nobly to preserve your honour;
That (dead) ignobly you might prove dishonourable,
Forget me in a day, and wed another.
+Abs.+ Why then would I have died for you?
+Ant.+ That was but a proffer,
That, dying, you might idolise her love:
'Twould have put her off the better.
+Lor.+ O, you have builded
A golden palace, strew'd with palm and roses,
To let me bleed to death in! How sweetly
You would have lost me. Abstemia, you have learn'd
The cunning fowler's art, who pleasantly
Whistles the bird into the snare. Good Heaven!
How you had strew'd the enticing top o' th' cup
With Arabian spices! But you had laid i' th' bottom
Ephesian aconite. You are love's hypocrite;
A rotten stick, in the night's darkness born,
And a fair poppy in a field of corn.
+Abs.+ O sir! hear me---- [_Kneels._
+Lor.+ Away! I will no more
Look pearl in mud. O sly hypocrisy! Durst ye
But now die for me? Good Heaven! die for me!
The greatest act of pain, and dare not buy me
With a poor minute's pleasure?
+Abs.+ No, sir, I dare not: there is little pain in death;
But a great death in very little pleasure.
I had rather, trust me, bear your death with honour,
Than buy your life with baseness. As I am expos'd
To th' greatest battery beauty ever fought,
O, blame me not if I be covetous
To come off with greatest honour. If I do this
To let you live, I kill your name, and give
My soul a wound; I crush her from sweet grace,
And change her angel's to a fury's face.
Try me no more, then; but, if you must bleed, boast,
To preserve honour, life is nobly lost.
+Lor.+ Thou wealth worth more than kingdoms! I am now
Confirm'd past all suspicion, thou art far
Sweeter in thy sincere truth, than a sacrifice
Deck'd up for death with garlands. The Indian winds,[174]
That blow off from the coast, and cheer the sailor
With the sweet savour of their spices, want
The delight flows in thee. Look here, look here,
O man of wild desires! We will die the martyrs
Of marriage; and, 'stead of the loose ditties
With which they stab sweet modesty, and engender
Desires in the hot-room, thy noble story [_To +Abstemia+._
Shall, laurel-like, crown honest ears with glory.
+Ant.+ Murder, murder, murder!
_Enter the three +Dukes+, with +Lords+._
+Mil.+ Ha! who cries murder?
+Phil.+ As y' are a gentleman, now be true to me.
+Abs.+ Sir!
+Ven.+ Sister!
+Ver.+ My shame! art thou there?
+Ven.+ O sister, can it be
A prince's blood should stain that white hand?
+Ambo.+ Hear us.
+Ant.+ No, no, no, hear me: 'twas I cried murder;
Because I have found them both stain'd with the deed
They would have throttled me.
+Lor.+ Hear us: by all----
+Mil.+ Upon your lives, be silent. Speak on, sir:
Had they both hands in our son's blood?
+Ant.+ Two hands apiece, sir.
I have sifted it: they both have kill'd the prince;
But this is the chief murderer. Please you, give me audience;
Ye shall wonder at the manner how they kill'd him.
+Mil.+ Silence!
+Ant.+ He came first to this woman, and (truth's truth)
He would have lain with her.
+Mil.+ Her own confession.
+Ant.+ Nay, good your grace.
+Mil.+ We are silent.
+Ant.+ Coming to seize upon her, with the first blow
She struck his base intent so brave a buffet,
That there it bled to death. She said, his horse
Would teach him better manners: there he died once.
+Ver.+ What does this fellow talk?
+Abs.+ I understand him.
+Ant.+ He met her next i' the wood, where he was found dead:
Then he came noblier up to her, and told her
Marriage was his intent; but she as nobly
(Belike, to let him know she was married)
Told him, in an intelligible denial,
A chaste wife's truth shin'd through the greatest trial:
There the prince died again.
+Lod.+ There's twice; beware the third time.
+Ant.+ The third time, he came here to them both in prison,
Brought a pistol with him, would have forc'd her again;
But had ye seen how fairly then she slew him,
You would have shot applauses from your eyes:
O, she came up so bravely to that prince
Hot potent Lust (for she slew no prince else),
With such a valiant discipline she destroy'd
That debosh'd[175] prince, Bad Desire; and then, by him
So bravely too fetch'd off, that (to conclude)
Betwixt them they this wonder did contrive,
They kill'd the prince, but kept your son alive. [_Discovers himself._
+Mil.+ Antonio!
+Omnes.+ The prince!
+Ven.+ Come home, my sister, to my heart.
+Ver.+ And now Lorenzo is again my belov'd kinsman.
+Ant.+ O sir, here dwells virtue epitomis'd,
Even to an abstract, and yet that so large
'Twill swell a book in folio.
+Lod.+ She swells beyond my wife then:
A pocket-book, bound in _decimo sexto_,
Will hold her virtues, and as much spare paper left
As will furnish five tobacco-shops.
+Mil.+ But here's the wonder; who is it was slain
In your apparel?
+Phil.+ I will give them all the slip. [_Offers to go._
+Ant.+ Here's a gentleman of Ferrara----
+Phil.+ As you are noble----
+Ant.+ That saw them fight: it was the slave was slain, sir,
I took before Palermo: he that kill'd him,
Took him but for a gentleman his equal;
And as this eye-witness says, he in my apparel
Did kick the t'other first.
+Phil.+ Nay, upon my life, sir,
He in your apparel gave the first kick: I saw them fight,
And I dare swear the t'other honest gentleman
Little thought he had slain anything like the prince,
For I heard him swear, but half an hour before,
He never saw your grace.
+Mil.+ Then he kill'd him fairly?
+Phil.+ Upon my life, my lord.
+Ven.+ T'other had but his merit then: who dies
And seeks his death, seldom wets others' eyes.
+Ant.+ Let this persuade you: I believe you noble.
I have kept my word with you.
+Phil.+ You have outdone me, sir,
In this brave exercise of honour: but let me,
In mine own person, thank you.
+Omnes.+ Philippo!
+Phil.+ Unwittingly I did an ill--as't happened,
To a good end: that slave I for you kill'd
Wanted but time to kill you: read that paper,
Which I found with him, I thinking by accident
You had intercepted it. We all have happily
Been well deceived; you are noble, just, and true;
My hate was at your clothes, my heart at you.
+Ver.+ An accident more strange hath seldom happen'd.
+Lor.+ Philippo, my best friend, 'twixt shame and love,
Here let me lay thee now for ever.
+Abs.+ Heaven
Hath now plan'd all our rough woes smooth and
even.
+Mil.+ At court [a] large relation in apt form
Shall tender pass'd proceedings; but to distinguish,
Excellent lady, your unparallel'd praises
From those but seem, let this serve: bad women
Are nature's clouds, eclipsing her fair shine:
The good, all-gracious, saint-like and divine. [_Exeunt +Omnes+._
FOOTNOTES:
[164] To _levell at_, or _to hit the white_, were phrases taken from
archery, and often used by our ancient writers. _The white_ was _the
mark_ at which archers practised when they learned to shoot. So in
Massinger's "Emperor of the East," act iv. sc. 3--
"The immortality of my fame _is the white_ I shoot at;"
in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Four [Plays in One" (Dyce's edit.), ii.
512]--
"And let your thoughts flee higher; aim them right,
Sir, you may hit, you have _the fairest white_;"
in Lyly's "Euphues and his England," 1582--"Vertue _is the white_ we
shoot at, not vanitie" (p. 11). Again, "He glaunced from the marke
Euphues shot at, and hit at last _the white_ which Philautus set up"
(p. 18).
Again, "An archer saye you, is to be knowen by his aime, not by his
arrowe: but your aime is so ill, that if you knewe howe farre wide
_from the white_ your shaft sticketh, you would hereafter rather breake
your bowe then bend it."--_Ibid._ 57.
[165] In this speech are to be found the outlines of the character of
_Zanga_, so admirably drawn by Dr Young. The plot of the _Revenge_ is,
however, said to have been taken from Mrs Behn's play of "Abdelazar,"
which was borrowed from "Lust's Dominion; or, The Lascivious Queen."
[166] [Old copy, _and_.]
[167] So in "Cymbeline," act v. sc. 3--
"I in mine own woe charm'd,
Could not find death, where I did hear him groan;
Nor feel him, where he struck: being an ugly monster,
'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
That draw his knives i' th' war."
[168] [Mr Collier's correction. Old copy, _leave_.]
[169] Embrace.
[170] [_i.e._, Surround, crown.]
[171] See note to "The Miseries of Enforced Marriage" [ix. 538.]
[172] [Old copy, _a young_.]
[173] Old copy reads _thirstiest_.
[174] So Milton, in "Paradise Lost," bk. iv. 1. 159--
"As when to them who sail
Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past
Mozambique, off at sea north-east winds blow
Sabean odours from the spicy shore
Of Araby the blest: with such delay
Well pleas'd they slack their course, and many a league
Cheer'd with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles."
[175] [Debauched.]
THE CITY-MATCH.
_EDITIONS._
_The Citye Match. A Comœdye. Presented to the King and Qveene,
at White-Hall. Acted since at Black-Friers, by his Maiesties
Servants. Horat. de Arte Poet._ Versibus exponi Tragicis res
Comica non vult. _Oxford, Printed by Leonard Lichfield, Printer
to the University. Anno Dom. +M.DC.XXXIX.+ Folio._
_Two Plaies: The City Match, a Comœdy; and the Amorous Warre, a
Tragy Comœdy: both long since written. By J. M. of Ch. Ch. in
Oxon. Oxford: Printed by Hen. Hall, for Ric. Davis_, 1658. 4º.
_The City Match: a Comœdy. Presented to the King and Queene at
White-Hall. Acted since at Black Friers, by his Majesties
Servants. Horat. de Arte Poet._ Versibus exponi Tragicis res
Comica non vult. _By J. M. St. of Ch. Ch. in Oxon. Oxford:
printed by Henry Hall, Printer to the University, for Rich.
Davis._ 1659. 8º.
INTRODUCTION.
Jasper Mayne was born at Hatherley, in Devonshire, in the year 1604;
and being sent to Westminster School, he continued there until the age
of nineteen years, without obtaining a King's scholarship. At that
time he met with a patron in Dr Bryan Duppa; by whose recommendation,
in 1623, he entered himself a servitor of Christ Church, Oxford,
and commenced M.A. June 18, 1631. He afterwards took holy orders,
and distinguished himself in the pulpit by that quaint manner of
preaching which was then in vogue. His first preferment was the
vicarage of Cassington, near Woodstock,[176] to which was afterwards
added the living of Pyrton, near Watlington, both by the presentation
of his college. These preferments lying at a small distance from the
university, he continued to reside there, and was much admired for
his wit and humour. In 1638 he completed a translation of Lucian's
Dialogues;[177] and in the next year appeared his comedy of "The
City-Match." On the breaking out of the civil war, he sided with the
royal party, to which he remained ever after firmly attached. He was
appointed in 1642 one of the divines to preach before the king and
Parliament, in that year proceeded Bachelor of Divinity, and was
created D.D. on June 7, 1646. The decline of the king's affairs caused
a very great alteration in those of our author: he was ejected from his
student's place in 1648, and soon after deprived of both his vicarages.
In the midst of these sufferings he still preserved a warm zeal for
the old establishment. In September 1652, he held a public disputation
with a noted Anabaptist preacher, in Watlington Church. He afterwards
had the good fortune to meet with a friend in the Earl of Devonshire,
who received him into his family in the character of chaplain, and
with that nobleman he resided until the Restoration. On that event he
returned back to his livings, was appointed chaplain-in-ordinary to the
king, promoted to a canon's stall at Christ Church, and raised to the
dignity of Archdeacon of Chichester.
Thus replaced in his favourite seat of the Muses, he continued to
reside there during the rest of his life, happy in the full enjoyment
of his promotions. He died December 6, 1672, and his corpse was
interred in the aisle adjoining to the choir of Christ Church, where a
monument was erected to his memory at the charge of Dr Robert South and
Dr John Lamphire, the executors of his will.
Besides the translation of Lucian (before mentioned) and "The
City-Match,"[178] he published several sermons and poems,[179] and "The
Amorous War:" a tragi-comedy. 4º, 1648.
["The City-Match" is an excellent comedy of intrigue and counter-plot,
with many amusing and lively situations, and frequent illustrations of
manners. The character of Dorcas, however, is forced, and her sudden
metamorphosis is wanting in probability.]
TO THE READER.
The Author of this Poem, knowing how hardly the best things protect
themselves from censure, had no ambition to make it this way public,
holding works of this light nature to be things which need an apology
for being written at all, nor esteeming otherwise of them, whose
abilities in this kind are most passable, than of masquers who spangle
and glitter for the time, but 'tis th[o]rough tinsel. As it was merely
out of obedience that he first wrote it, so when it was made, had it
not been commanded from him, it had died upon the place where it took
life. Himself being so averse from raising fame from the stage, that at
the presentment he was one of the severest spectators there, nor ever
showed other sign whereby it might be known to be his but his liberty
to despise it. Yet he hath at length consented it should pass the
press; not with an aim to purchase a new reputation, but to keep that
which he hath already from growing worse; for understanding that some
at London, without his approbation or allowance, were ready to print a
false, imperfect copy, he was loth to be libelled by his own work, or
that his play should appear to the world with more than its own faults.
Farewell.
FOOTNOTES:
[176] 8th of October 1638. Rymer's "Fœd." xx. 317.--_Gilchrist._
[177] It was not published till 1664, but the title-page expresses that
it was "made English from the original in the year 1638." This fact
also appears from the dedication to the Marquis of Newcastle, which
is a masterpiece of solid reasoning and critical acumen, where the
author mentions that "these pieces were translated for your private
entertainment above five-and-twenty years since." He adds that he
was then only a student of Christ Church, and that he should have
translated more "if the late barbarous times had not broke my study."
In the course of this preface (for the epistle is to be so considered)
Mayne very severely lashes the republicans for their ignorance and
presumptuousness.--_Collier_ (note altered).
[178] From the Prologue and Epilogue it appears that this play was
acted by command of the king, both at Whitehall and at the Blackfriars
Theatre.--_Collier._
[179] Among others he has a poem prefixed to Cartwright's "Plays and
Poems," and another "Jonsonius Virbius."--_Gilchrist._ [The late Mr
Bolton Corney thought that to Mayne ought to be attributed the verses
before the second folio of Shakespeare, signed J. M. S., _quasi_ Jasper
Mayne, Student.]
THE PROLOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN.
The Author, royal sir, so dreads this night,
As if for writing he were doom'd to th' sight;
Or else, unless you do protect his fame,
Y' had sav'd his play, and sentenc'd him to th' flame.
For though your name or power were i' th' reprieve,
Such works, he thinks, are but condemn'd to live.
Which for this place, being rescu'd from the fire,
Take ruin from th' advancement, and fall higher.
Though none, he hopes, sit here upon his wit,
As if he poems did, or plays commit;
Yet he must needs fear censure that fears praise,
Nor would write still, were't to succeed i' th' bays:
For he is not o' th' trade, nor would excel
In this kind, where 'tis lightness to do well.
Yet, as the gods refin'd base things, and some
Beasts foul i' th' herd grew pure i' th' hecatomb;
And as the ox prepar'd and crowned bull
Are offerings, though kept back, and altars full;
So, mighty sir, this sacrifice being near
The knife at Oxford, which y' have kindled here,
He hopes 'twill from you and the Queen grow clean,
And turn t' oblation, what he meant a scene.
THE PROLOGUE AT BLACKFRIARS.
Were it his trade, the Author bid me say,
Perchance he'd beg you would be good to th' play;
And I, to set him up in reputation,
Should hold a basin forth for approbation.
But praise so gain'd, he thinks, were a relief
Able to make his comedy a brief;
For where your pity, must your judgment be,
'Tis not a play, but you fir'd houses see.
Look not his quill, then, should petitions run;
No gatherings here into a Prologue spun.
Whether their sold scenes be dislik'd, or hit,
Are cares for them who eat by th' stage and wit.
He's one whose unbought Muse did never fear
An empty second day or a thin share;
But can make th' actors, though you come not twice,
No losers, since we act now at the king's price,
Who hath made this play public; and the same
Power that makes laws redeem'd this from the flame:
For th' Author builds no fame, nor doth aspire
To praise from that which he condemn'd to th' fire.
He's thus secure then, that he cannot win
A censure sharper than his own hath been.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
+Warehouse+, _an old merchant_.
+Frank Plotwell+, _his nephew_.
+Cypher+, _his factor_.
+Bannswright+, _old Plotwell disguised_.
+Aurelia+, _Penelope Plotwell disguised_.
+Seathrift+, _a merchant_.
+Timothy+, _his son_.
+Dorcas+, _Susan Seathrift disguised_.
+Bright+, }
+Newcut+, } _two Templars_.
+Mistress Scruple+, _a Puritan schoolmistress_.
+Mistress Holland+, _a sempstress on the Exchange_.
+Quartfield+, _a captain_.
+Salewit+, _a poet_.
+Roseclap+, _one that keeps an ordinary_.
+Millicent+, _his wife_.
+'Prentice.+
+Two Footmen.+
+Boy+ _that sings_.
_The Scene, London._
THE CITY-MATCH.[180]
ACT I., SCENE I.
_+Warehouse+, +Seathrift+._
+Sea.+ I promise you 'twill be a most rare plot.
+Ware.+ The city, Master Seathrift, never yet
Brought forth the like: I would have them that have
Fin'd twice for sheriff, mend it.
+Sea.+ Mend it! why,
'Tis past the wit o' th' court of aldermen.
Next merchant-tailor, that writes chronicles,[181]
Will put us in.
+Ware.+ For, since I took him home,
Though, sir, my nephew, as you may observe,
Seem quite transfigur'd, be as dutiful
As a new 'prentice, in his talk declaim
'Gainst revelling companions, be as hard
To be entic'd from home as my door-posts,
This reformation may but be his part,
And he may act his virtues. I have not
Forgot his riots at the Temple. You know, sir----
+Sea.+ You told me, Master Warehouse.
+Ware.+ Not the sea,
When it devour'd my ships, cost me so much
As did his vanities. A voyage to the Indies
Has been lost in a night: his daily suits
Were worth more than the stock that set me up;
For which he knew none but the silk-man's book,
And studied that more than the law. He had
His loves, too, and his mistresses; was enter'd
Among the philosophical madams;[182] was
As great with them as their concerners; and, I hear,
Kept one of them in pension.
+Sea.+ My son too
Hath had his errors: I could tell the time
When all the wine which I put off by wholesale
He took again in quarts; and at the day
Vintners have paid me with his large scores: but
He is reformed too.
+Ware.+ Sir, we now are friends
In a design.
+Sea.+ And hope to be in time
Friends in alliance, sir.
+Ware.+ I'll be free;
I think well of your son.
+Sea.+ Who? Timothy?
Believe't, a virtuous boy; and for his sister,
A very saint.
+Ware.+ Mistake me not, I have
The like opinion of my nephew, sir;
Yet he is young, and so is your son; nor
Doth the church-book say they are past our fears.
Our presence is their bridle now; 'tis good
To know them well whom we do make our heirs.
+Sea.+ It is most true.
+Ware.+ Well; and how shall we know
How they will use their fortune, or what place
We have in their affection, without trial?
Some wise men build their own tombs; let us try,
If we were dead, whether our heirs would cry,
Or wear[183] long cloaks. This plot will do't.
+Sea.+ 'Twill make us
Famous upon the Exchange for ever. I'll home,
And take leave of my wife and son.
+Ware.+ And I'll
Come to you at your garden-house.[184] Within there.
[_Exit +Seathrift+._
SCENE II.
_Enter +Cypher+._
+Ware.+ Now, Cypher, where's my nephew?
+Cyph.+ In the hall,
Reading a letter which a footman brought
Just now to him from a lady, sir.
+Ware.+ A lady!
+Cyph.+ Yes, sir, a lady in distress; for I
Could overhear the fellow say she must
Sell her coach-horses, and return again
To her needle, if your nephew don't supply her
With money.
+Ware.+ This is some honourable sempstress.
I am now confirm'd: they say he keeps a lady,
And this is she. Well, Cypher, 'tis too late
To change my project now. Be sure you keep
A diary of his actions; strictly mark
What company comes to him; if he stir
Out of my house, observe the place he enters:
Watch him, till he come out: follow him (disguis'd)
To all his haunts.
+Cyph.+ He shall not want a spy, sir.
But, sir, when you are absent, if he draw not
A lattice to your door, and hang a bush out----
+Ware.+ I hope he will not make my house a tavern.
+Cyph.+ Sir, I am no Sybil's son.
+Ware.+ Peace, here he comes.
SCENE III.
_Enter +Plotwell+, in a sad posture. +Warehouse+,
+Plotwell+, +Cypher+._
+Ware.+ Good morrow, nephew. How now? sad? how comes
This melancholy?
+Plot.+ Can I choose but wear
Clouds in my face, when I must venture, sir,
Your reverend age to a long-doubtful voyage,
And not partake your dangers?
+Ware.+ Fie! these fears,
Though they become you, nephew, are ominous.
When heard you from your father?
+Plot.+ Never since
He made the escape, sir.
+Ware.+ I hear he is in Ireland:
Is't true he took your sister with him?
+Plot.+ So
Her mistress thinks, sir: one day she left th' Exchange,
And has not since been heard of.
+Ware.+ And, nephew,
How like you your new course; which place prefer you--
The Temple or Exchange? Where are, think you,
The wealthier mines--in the Indies or
Westminster Hall?
+Plot.+ Sir, my desires take measure
And form from yours.
+Ware.+ Nay, tell me your mind plainly
I' th' city-tongue. I'd have you speak like Cypher:
I do not like quaint figures, they do smell
Too much o' th' inns-of-court.
+Plot.+ Sir, my obedience
Is ready for all impressions which----
+Ware.+ Again!
+Plot.+ Sir, I prefer your kind of life, a merchant.
+Ware.+ 'Tis spoken like my nephew; now I like you,
Nor shall I e'er repent the benefits
I have bestow'd; but will forget all errors [_Exit +Cypher+._
As mere seducements, and will not only be
An uncle, but a father to you; but then
You must be constant, nephew.
+Plot.+ Else I were blind
To my good fortune, sir.
+Ware.+ Think, man, how it may
In time make thee o' th' city-senate, and raise thee
To the sword and cap of maintenance.
+Plot.+ Yes, and make me
Sentence light bread and pounds of butter on horseback. [_Aside._
+Ware.+ Have gates and conduits dated from thy year;
Ride to the 'spital on thy free beast.
+Plot.+ Yes,
Free of your company. [_Aside._
+Ware.+ Have the people vail
As low to his trappings, as if he thrice had fin'd
For that good time's employment.
+Plot.+ Or as if
He had his rider's wisdom. [_Aside._
+Ware.+ Then the works
And good deeds of the city to go before thee,
Besides a troop of varlets.[185]
+Plot.+ Yes, and I
To sleep the sermon in my chain and scarlet. [_Aside._
+Ware.+ How say you? Let's hear that!
+Plot.+ I say, sir, I
To sit at sermon in my chain and scarlet.
+Ware.+ 'Tis right; and be remembered at the Cross.[186]
+Plot.+ And then at sessions, sir, and all times else,
Master Recorder to save me the trouble,
And understand things for me. [_Aside._
+Ware.+ All this is possible,
And in the stars and winds: therefore, dear nephew,
You shall pursue this course; and, to enable you,
In this half-year that I shall be away,
Cypher shall teach you French, Italian, Spanish,
And other tongues of traffic.
+Plot.+ Shall I not learn
Arithmetic too, sir, and shorthand?
+Ware.+ 'Tis well-remembered; yes, and navigation.
_Enter +Cypher+._
+Cyph.+ Sir, Master Seathrift says you will lose the tide;
The boat stays for you.
+Ware.+ Well, nephew, at my return,
As I hear of your carriage, you do know
What my intentions are; and, for a token
How much I trust your reformation,
Take this key of my counting-house, and spend
Discreetly in my absence. Farewell. Nay,
No tears; I'll be here sooner than you think on't.
Cypher, you know what you have to do.
+Cyph.+ I warrant you, sir. [_Exit +Warehouse+._
+Plot.+ Tears! yes, my melting eyes shall run; but it
Shall be such tears as shall increase the tide
To carry you from hence.
+Cyph.+ Come, Master Plotwell, shall I
Read to you this morning?
+Plot.+ Read! what? how the price
Of sugar goes; how many pints of olives
Go to a jar; how long wine works at sea;
What difference is in gain between fresh herrings
And herrings red?
+Cyph.+ This is fine: ha' you
Forgot your uncle's charge?
+Plot.+ Prythee, what was't?
+Cyph.+ To learn the tongues and mathematics.
+Plot.+ Troth,
If I have tongue enough to say my prayers
I' th' phrase o' th' kingdom, I care not: otherwise,
I'm for no tongues but dried ones, such as will
Give a fine relish to my backrag;[187] and for mathematics,
I hate to travel by the map; methinks
'Tis riding post.
+Cyph.+ I knew 'twould come to this.
Here be his comrades. [_Aside._
+Plot.+ What, my Fleet Street friends? [_Exit +Cypher+._
SCENE IV.
_Enter +Bright+ and +Newcut+._
+Bright.+ Save you, merchant Plotwell!
+New.+ Master Plotwell, citizen and merchant, save you!
+Bright.+ Is thy uncle
Gone the wish'd voyage?
+Plot.+ Yes, he's gone; and, if
He die by th' way, hath bequeath'd me but some
Twelve hundred pound a year in Kent; some three-
Score thousand pound in money, besides jewels, bonds,
And desperate debts.
+New.+ And dost not thou fall down,
And pray to th' winds to sacrifice him to
Poor John and mackarel?
+Bright.+ Or invoke some rock
To do thee justice?
+New.+ Or some compendious cannon
To take him off i' th' middle?
+Plot.+ And why, my tender,
Soft-hearted friends?
+Bright.+ What, to take thee from the Temple,
To make thee an old juryman, a Whittington?
+New.+ To transform thy plush to penny-stone; and scarlet
Into a velvet jacket, which hath seen
Aleppo twice, is known to the great Turk,
Hath 'scap'd three shipwrecks to be left off to thee,
And knows the way to Mexico as well as the map?
+Bright.+ This jacket surely was employed in finding
The north-east passage out, or the same jacket
That Coriat[188] died in.
+Plot.+ Very good.
+New.+ In Ovid
There is not such a metamorphosis
As thou art now. To be turned into a tree
Or some handsome beast, is courtly to this.
But for thee, Frank, O transmutation!
Of satin chang'd to kersey hose I sing.[189]
'Slid, his shoes shine too.[190]
+Bright.+ They have the Gresham dye.
Dost thou not dress thyself by 'em? I can see
My face in them hither.
+Plot.+ Very pleasant, gentlemen.
+Bright.+ And faith, for how many years art thou bound?
+Plot.+ Do you take me for a 'prentice?
+New.+ Why, then, what office
Dost thou bear in the parish this year? Let's feel:
No batteries[191] in thy head, to signify
Th' art a constable?
+Bright.+ No furious jug broke on it
In the king's name?
+Plot.+ Did you contrive this scene
By the way, gentlemen?
+New.+ No; but the news
Thou shouldst turn tradesman, and this pagan dress,
In which if thou shouldst die, thou wouldst be damn'd
For an usurer, is comical at the Temple.
We were about to bring in such a fellow
For an apostate in our antimasque.
Set one to keep the door, provide half-crown rooms,
For I'll set bills up of thee. What shall I
Give thee for the first day?
+Bright.+ Ay, or second?
For thou'lt endure twice or thrice coming in.
+Plot.+ Well, my conceited Orient friends, bright offspring
O' th' female silkworm and tailor male, I deny not
But you look well in your unpaid-for glory;
That in these colours you set out the Strand,
And adorn Fleet Street; that you may laugh at me,
Poor working-day o' th' city, like two festivals
Escap'd out of the Almanac.
+New.+ Sirrah Bright,
Didst look to hear such language beyond Ludgate?
+Bright.+ I thought all wit had ended at Fleetbridge;
But wit that goes o' th' score, that may extend,
If't be a courtier's wit, into Cheapside.
+Plot.+ Your mercer lives there, does he? I warrant you,
He has the patience of a burnt heretic.
The very faith that sold to you these silks,
And thinks you'll pay for 'em, is strong enough
To save the infidel part o' th' world or Antichrist.
+Bright.+ W' are most mechanically abused.
+New.+ Let's tear his jacket off.
+Bright.+ A match! take that side.
+Plot.+ Hold, hold!
+Bright.+ How frail a thing old velvet is! it parts
With as much ease and willingness as two cowards.
[_They tear off his jacket._
+New.+ The tend'rest weed that ever fell asunder.
+Plot.+ Ha' you your wits? What mean you?
+Bright.+ Go, put on
One of thy Temple suits, and accompany us,
Or else thy dimity breeches will be mortal.
+Plot.+ You will not strip me, will you?
+New.+ By thy visible ears, we will.
+Bright.+ By this two-handed beaver, which is so thin
And light, a butterfly's wings put to't would make it
A Mercury's flying hat, and soar aloft.
+Plot.+ But do you know, to how much danger
You tempt me? Should my uncle know I come
Within the air of Fleet Street----
+New.+ Will you make
Yourself fit for a coach again, and come
Along with us?
+Plot.+ Well, my two resolute friends,
You shall prevail. But whither now are your
Lewd motions bent?
+New.+ We'll dine at Roseclap's: there
We shall meet Captain Quartfield and his poet;
They shall show us another fish.
+Bright.+ But, by the way, we have agreed to see
A lady, you mechanic.
+Plot.+ What lady?
+New.+ Hast not thou heard of the new-sprung lady?
+Bright.+ One
That keeps her coachman, footboy, woman, and spends
A thousand pounds a year by wit.
+Plot.+ How? wit!
+New.+ That is her patrimony, sir. 'Tis thought
The fortune she is born to will not buy
A bunch of turnips.
+Plot.+ She is no gamester, is she? Nor carries false dice?
+Bright.+ No, but has a tongue,
Were't in a lawyer's mouth, would make him buy
All young heirs near him.
+Plot.+ But does no man know from whence she came?
+Bright.+ As for her birth, she may
Choose her own pedigree: it is unknown
Whether she be descended of some ditch
Or duchess.
+New.+ She's the wonder of the court
And talk o' th' town.
+Plot.+ Her name?
+New.+ Aurelia.
+Plot.+ I've heard of her. They say she does fight duels,
And answers challenges in wit.
+Bright.+ She has been thrice in the field.
+Plot.+ I' th' field?
+New.+ Yes, in Spring Garden;
Has conquer'd, with no second but her woman,
A Puritan, and has return'd with prizes.
+Plot.+ And no drum beat before her?
+New.+ No, nor colours
Flourish'd. She has made a vow never to marry,
'Till she be won by stratagem.
+Plot.+ I long to see her.
+Bright.+ I' th' name of Guildhall, who comes here?
SCENE V.
_Enter +Timothy+._
+Tim.+ By your leave, gentlemen.
+Plot.+ Master Timothy!
Welcome from the new world. I look'd you should
Ha' past through half the signs in heaven by this,
And ha' convers'd with the dolphins. What! not gone
To sea with your father?
+Tim.+ No, faith, I do not love
To go to sea; it makes one lousy, lays him
In wooden sheets, and lands him a preservative
Against the plague: besides, my mother was
Afraid to venture me.
+Plot.+ Believe't, she's wise
Not to trust such a wit to a thin frail bark,
Where you had sail'd within three inches of
Becoming a Jonas. Besides the tossing, to have
All the fierce blust'ring faces in the map
Swell more tempestuously upon you than
Lawyers preferr'd or trumpeters. And whither
Were you bound now?
+Tim.+ I only came to have
Your judgment of my suit.
+Plot.+ Surely the tailor
Has done his part.
+Tim.+ And my mother has done hers;
For she has paid for't. I never durst be seen
Before my father out of duretta[192] and serge:
But if he catch me in such paltry stuffs,
To make me look like one that lets out money,
Let him say, "Timothy was born a fool."
Before he went, he made me do what he list;
Now he's abroad, I'll do what I list. What
Are these two? Gentlemen?
+Plot.+ You see they wear
Their heraldry.
+Tim.+ But I mean, can they roar,
Beat drawers, play at dice, and court their mistress?
I mean forthwith to get a mistress?
+Plot.+ But
How comes this, Master Timothy? you did not
Rise such a gallant this morning.
+Tim.+ All's one for that.
My mother lost her maidenhead that I
Might come first into the world; and, by God's lid,
I'll bear myself like the elder brother, I.
D'you think, I'll all days of my life frequent
Saint Antlins, like my sister? Gentlemen,
I covet your acquaintance.
+Bright.+ Your servant, sir.
+New.+ I shall be proud to know you.
+Tim.+ Sir, my knowledge
Is not much worth. I'm born to a small fortune;
Some hundred thousand pound, if once my father
Held up his hands in marble, or kneel'd in brass.
What are you? inns-of-court men?
+New.+ The catechism
Were false, should we deny it.
+Tim.+ I shall shortly
Be one myself; I learn to dance already,
And wear short cloaks. I mean in your next masque
To have a part: I shall take most extremely.
+Bright.+ You will inflame the ladies, sir: they'll strive,
Who shall most privately convey jewels
Into your hand.
+New.+ This is an excellent fellow.
Who is't?
+Plot.+ Rich Seathrift's son, that's gone to sea
This morning with my uncle.
+Bright.+ Is this he
Whose sister thou shouldst marry? The wench that brings
Ten thousand pound?
+Plot.+ My uncle would fain have me [marry her];
But I have cast her off.
+Bright.+ Why?
+Plot.+ Faith, she's handsome,
And had a good wit; but her schoolmistress
Has made her a rank Puritan.
+New.+ Let's take him
Along with us, and Captain Quartfield shall show him.
+Plot.+ 'Twill be an excellent comedy; and afterwards
I have a project on him.
+Tim.+ Gentlemen,
Shall we dine at an ordinary? You
Shall enter me among the wits.
+Plot.+ Sir, I
Will but shift clothes, then we'll associate you,
But first you shall with us, and see a lady
Rich as your father's chests and odd holes,[193] and
Fresh as Pygmalion's mistress, newly waken'd
Out of her alabaster.
+Tim.+ Lead on:
I long to see a lady, and to salute her. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[180] In the year 1755, a gentleman of great eminence in his profession
made a few alterations in this play, and presented it to the
governors of the Lock Hospital, near Hyde Park Corner, who obtained a
representation of it at Drury Lane for the benefit of that charity.
It was at the same time printed in 8º, under the title of "The
Schemers; or, The City-Match."
Mr Bromfield, the surgeon, as Mr Davies, who acted in it, told
me.--_Reed._
[181] The merchant-tailor here alluded to was John Stowe, author of
the "Chronicles of England," who was of that company, and a tailor by
profession.
[182] See Ben Jonson's "Silent Woman."--_Pegge._
[183] All the editions read _their_.
[184] See extract from Stubbes, quoted in note to "The Miseries of
Enforced Marriage" [ix., 538.]
[185] [An allusion to the Lord Mayor's Show, into which were generally
introduced symbolical representations of the civic virtues.]
[186] At St Paul's Cross, where [the Lord Mayor heard his inauguration
sermon.]
[187] This was a wine which was brought from Baccarach, in Germany, as
appears from Heywood's "Philo-cothonista," 1635, p. 48. It is there
mentioned along with Rhenish.
Ray, in his "Travels," vol. i. p. 64, says: "Next we came to Baccarach,
a walled town on the right hand, having many towers, subject to the
Prince Elector Palatine, _famous for the goodness of its wine_, as is
also Rhincow, a town not far from Mentz."--_Reed._
[188] See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 227.]
[189] [A sort of playful parody on the exordium to Ovid's
"Metamorphoses."]
[190] The citizens of Charles I.'s time, and earlier, were as famous
for the brightness of their shoes as some particular professions at
present. In "Every Man in his Humour," act ii. sc. 1, Kitely says--
"Whilst they, sir, to relieve him in the fable,
Make their loose comments upon every word,
Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all over,
From my flat cap _unto my shining shoes_."
[191] [Bruises or contusions occasioned by assaults.]
[192] [Probably some strong, coarse sort of substance like corduroy.]
[193] [Apparently this word means the secret pigeon-holes in a desk or
secretary.]
ACT II., SCENE I.
_+Aurelia+, +Dorcas+._
+Aur.+ Why, we shall have you get in time the turn-
Up of your eyes, speak in the nose, draw sighs
Of an ell long, and rail at discipline.
Would I could hear from Bannswright! Ere I'll be tortur'd
With your preciseness thus, I'll get dry palms
With starching, and put on my smocks myself.
+Dor.+ Surely you may, and air 'em too: there have been
Very devout and holy women that wore
No shift at all.
+Aur.+ Such saints, you mean, as wore
Their congregations, and swarm'd with Christian vermin.
You'll hold clean linen heresy?
+Dor.+ Surely, yes,
Clean linen in a surplice: that and powders
Do bring dry summers, make the sickness rage,
And the enemy prevail. It was reveal'd
To Mistress Scruple and her husband, who
Do verily ascribe the German war
And the late persecutions to curling,
False teeth, and oil of talc.[194]
+Aur.+ Now she is in,
A lecturer will sooner hold his peace
Than she.
+Dor.+ And surely, as Master Scruple says----
+Aur.+ That was her schoolmaster; one that cools a feast
With his long grace, and sooner eats a capon,
Than blesses it.
+Dor.+ And proves it very well,
Out of a book that suffer'd martyrdom[195]
By fire in Cheapside; since amulets and bracelets,
And love-locks, were in use, the price of sprats,
Jerusalem artichokes, and Holland cheese,
Is very much increased: so that the brethren--
Botchers I mean, and such poor zealous saints
As earn five groats a week under a stall,
By singing psalms, and drawing up of holes,
Can't live in their vocation, but are fain
To turn----
+Aur.+ Old breeches.
+Dor.+ Surely, teachers and prophets.
SCENE II.
_Enter +Bannswright+._
+Aur.+ O Master Bannswright, are you come!
My woman
Was in her preaching fit: she only wanted
A table's end.
+Ban.+ Why, what's the matter?
+Aur.+ Never
Poor lady had so much unbred holiness
About her person; I am never dress'd
Without a sermon; but am forc'd to prove
The lawfulness of curling-irons, before
She'll crisp me in a morning. I must show
Text for the fashions of my gowns. She'll ask
Where jewels are commanded? or what lady
I' th' primitive times wore ropes of pearl or rubies?
She will urge councils for her little ruff,
Call'd in Northamptonshire;[196] and her whole service
Is a mere confutation of my clothes.
+Ban.+ Why, madam, I assure you, time hath been,
However she be otherwise, when she had
A good quick wit, and would have made to a lady
A serviceable sinner.
+Aur.+ She can't preserve
The gift, for which I took her; but, as though
She were inspir'd from Ipswich,[197] she will make
The _Acts and Monuments_ in sweetmeats, quinces
Arraign'd and burnt at a stake: all my banquets
Are persecutions; Dioclesian's days
Are brought for entertainment, and we eat martyrs.
+Ban.+ Madam, she is far gone.
+Aur.+ Nay, sir, she is a Puritan at her needle too.
+Ban.+ Indeed!
+Aur.+ She works religious petticoats;[198] for flowers
She'll make church-histories. Her needle doth
So sanctify my cushionets; besides,
My smock-sleeves have such holy embroideries,
And are so learned, that I fear in time
All my apparel will be quoted by
Some pure instructor.[199] Yesterday I went
To see a lady that has a parrot: my woman,
While I was in discourse, converted the fowl;
And now it can speak nought but Knox's works;[200]
So there's a parrot lost.
+Ban.+ Faith, madam, she
Was earnest to come to you. Had I known
Her mistress had so bred her, I would first
Have preferred her to New England.[201]
+Dor.+ Surely, sir,
You promised me, when you did take my money,
To help me to a faithful service, a lady
That would be saved, not one that loves profane,
Unsanctified fashions.
+Aur.+ Fly my sight,
You goody Hofman,[202] and keep your chamber, till
You can provide yourself some cure, or I
Will forthwith excommunicate your zeal,
And make you a silent waiting-woman.
+Ban.+ Mistress Dorcas,
If you'll be usher to that holy, learned woman
That can heal broken shins, scald heads and th' itch,
Your schoolmistress; that can expound, and teaches
To knit in Chaldee, and work Hebrew samplers,
I'll help you back again.
+Dor.+ The motion, sure, is good,
And I will ponder of it. [_Exit +Dorcas+._
+Aur.+ From thy zeal,
The frantic ladies' judgments, and Histriomastix,[203]
Deliver me! This was of your preferring;
You must needs help me to another.
+Ban.+ How
Would you desire her qualified? deformed
And crooked? like some ladies who do wear
Their women like black patches, to set them off?
+Aur.+ I need no foil, nor shall I think I'm white
Only between two Moors; or that my nose
Stands wrong, because my woman's doth stand right.
+Ban.+ But you would have her secret, able to keep
Strange sights from th' knowledge of your knight, when you
Are married, madam; of a quick-feigning head?
+Aur.+ You wrong me, Bannswright: she whom I would have
Must to her handsome shape have virtue too.
+Ban.+ Well, madam, I shall fit you. I do know
A choleric lady which, within these three weeks,
Has, for not cutting her corns well, put off
Three women; and is now about to part
With the fourth--just one of your description.
Next change o' th' moon or weather, when her feet
Do ache again, I do believe I shall
Pleasure your ladyship.
+Aur.+ Expect your reward. [_Exit +Bannswright+._
SCENE III.
_Enter +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Timothy+, +Plotwell+._
+Tim.+ Lady, let me taste the Elysium of your lips.
+Aur.+ Why, what are you? You will not leap me, sir?
Pray, know your distance.
+Tim.+ What am I, sweet lady?
My father is an alderman's fellow; and I
Hope to be one in time.
+Aur.+ Then, sir, in time
You may be remembered at the quenching of
Fir'd houses, when the bells ring backward,[204] by
Your name upon the buckets.[205]
+Tim.+ Nay, they say
You have a good wit, lady, and I can find it
As soon as another. I in my time have been
O' th' university, and should have been a scholar.
+Aur.+ By the size of your wit, sir, had you kept
To that profession, I can foresee
You would have been a great persecutor of nature
And great consumer of rush candles, with
As small success as if a tortoise should
Day and night practise to run races. Having
Contemplated yourself into ill-looks,
In pity to so much affliction,
You might ha' pass'd for learned; and't may be,
If you had fallen out with the Muses, and
'Scap'd poetry, you might have risen to scarlet.
+Tim.+ Here's a rare lady with all my heart. By this
Light, gentlemen, now have I no more language
Than a dumb parrot. A little more, she'll jeer me
Into a fellow that turns upon his toe
In a steeple, and strikes quarters![206]
+Bright.+ And why should you
Be now so dainty of your lips? Verily,
They are not virgins: they have tasted man.
+Aur.+ And may again; but then I'll be secur'd
For the sweet air o' th' parties. If you
Will bring it me confirm'd under the hands
Of four sufficient ladies, that you are
Clean men, you may chance kiss my woman.
+New.+ Lady,
Our lips are made of the same clay that yours [are,]
And have not been refused.
+Aur.+ 'Tis right, you are
Two inns-of-court men.
+Bright.+ Yes, what then?
+Aur.+ Known Cladders[207]
Through all the town.
+Bright.+ Cladders?
+Aur.+ Yes, catholic lovers,
From country madams to your glover's wife,
Or laundress;[208] will not let poor gentlewomen
Take physic quietly, but disturb their pills
From operation with your untaught visits;
Or, if they be employ'd, contrive small plots
Below stairs with the chambermaid; commend
Her fragrant breath, which five yards off salutes,
At four deflow'rs a rose, at three kills spiders.
+New.+ What dangerous truths these are!
+Aur.+ Ravish a lock
From the yellow waiting-woman; use stratagems
To get her silver whistle, and waylay
Her pewter-knots or bodkin.
+New.+ Pretty, pretty!
+Bright.+ You think you have abus'd us now?
+Aur.+ I'll tell you:
Had I in all the world but forty mark,
And that got by my needle, and making socks,
And were that forty mark mill'd sixpences,
Spur-royals, Harry-groats,[209] or such odd coin
Of husbandry, as in the king's reign now
Would never pass, I would despise you.
+New.+ Lady,
Your wit will make you die a wither'd virgin.
+Bright.+ We shall in time, when your most tyrant tongue
Hath made this house a wilderness, and you
As unfrequented as a statesman fallen;
When you shall quarrel with your face and glass,
Till from your pencil you have rais'd new cheeks--
See you beg suitors, write bills o'er your door:
"Here is an ancient lady to be let."
+New.+ You think you are handsome now, and that your eyes
Make star-shooting, and dart.[210]
+Aur.+ 'T may be I do.
+New.+ May I not prosper if I have not seen
A better face in signs or gingerbread.
+Tim.+ Yes, I for twopence oft have bought a better.
+Bright.+ What a sweet, innocent look you have!
+Plot.+ Fie, gentlemen,
Abuse a harmless lady thus! I can't
With patience hear your blasphemies. Make me
Your second, madam.
+Tim.+ And make me your third.
+Aur.+ O prodigy, to hear an image speak!
Why, sir, I took you for a mute i' th' hangings.
I'll tell the faces.
+Tim.+ Gentlemen, do I
Look like one of them Trojans?[211]
+Aur.+ 'tis So; Your Face
Is missing here, sir; pray, step back again,
And fill the number. You, I hope, have more
Truth in you than to filch yourself away,
And leave my room unfurnish'd.
+Plot.+ By this light
She'll send for a constable straight, and apprehend him
For thievery.
+Tim.+ Why, lady, do you think me
Wrought in a loom, some Dutch piece weav'd at Mortlake?[212]
+Aur.+ Surely You Stood So Simply, Like a Man
Penning of recantations, that I suspected
Y' had been a part of the monopoly.
But now I know you have a tongue, and are
A very man, I'll think you only dull,
And pray for better utterance.
+Plot.+ Lady, you make
Rash judgment of him; he was only struck
With admiration of your beauty.
+Tim.+ Truly, and so I was.
+Aur.+ Then you can wonder, sir?
+Plot.+ Yes, when he sees such miracles as you.
+Aur.+ And love me, can't you?
+Tim.+ Love you! By this hand,
I'd love a dog of your sweet looks: I am
Enamour'd of you, lady.
+Aur.+ Ha, ha, ha! now surely
I wonder you wear not a cap: your case
Requires warm things! I'll send you forth a caudle. [_Exit._
+Bright.+ The plague of rotten teeth, wrinkles, loud lungs,
Be with you, madam.
+Tim.+ Had I now pen and ink,
If I were urg'd, I'd fain know whether I
In conscience ought not to set down myself
No wiser than I should be?
+Plot.+ Gentlemen, how like you her wit?
+Tim.+ Wit! I verily
Believe she was begotten by some wit;
And he that has her may beget plays on her.
+New.+ Her wit had need be good, it finds her house.
+Tim.+ Her house! 'tis able to find the court: if she
Be chaste to[213] all this wit, I do not think
But that she might be shown.
+Bright.+ She speaks with salt,
And has a pretty scornfulness, which now
I've seen, I'm satisfied.
+New.+ Come then away to Roseclap's.
+Tim.+ Lead on; let us dine. This lady
Runs in my head still.
_Enter a +Footman+._
+Foot.+ Sir, my lady prays
You would dismiss your company; she has
Some business with you.
+Plot.+ Gentlemen, walk softly; I'll overtake you.
+Bright.+ Newcut, 'slight! her wit
Is come to private meetings!
+New.+ Ay, I thought
She had some other virtues. Well, make haste,
We'll stay without; when thou hast done, inform us
What the rate is: if she be reasonable,
We'll be her customers.
+Plot.+ Y' are merry, sir. [_Exit +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Timothy+._
SCENE IV.
_Enter +Aurelia+._
+Plot.+ Nay, sister, you may enter; they are gone.
I did receive your ticket this morning. What!
You look the mine should run still?
+Aur.+ O, you are
A careful brother to put me on a course
That draws the eyes o' th' town upon me, and makes me
Discourse for ordinaries, then leave me in't.
I will put off my ladyship, and return
To Mistress Holland, and to making shirts
And bands again.
+Plot.+ I hope you will not.
+Aur.+ I repent I left th' Exchange.
+Plot.+ Faith, I should laugh
To see you there again, and there serve out
The rest of your indentures, by managing
Your needle well, and making nightcaps by
A chafing-dish in winter mornings, to keep
Your fingers pliant. How rarely 'twould become you
To run over all your shop to passengers
In a fine sale-tune!
+Aur.+ What would you have me do?
D'ye think I'm the Dutch virgin, that could live
By th' scent of flowers?[214] Or that my family
Are descended of cameleons,
And can be kept with air? Is this the way
To get a husband; to be in danger to be
Shut up for house-rent, or to wear a gown
Out a whole fashion, or the same jewels twice?
Shortly my neighbours will commend my clothes
For lasting well, give them strange dates, and cry,
"Since your last gorget and the blazing star."
+Plot.+ Prythee, excuse me, sister, I can now
Rain showers of silver into thy lap again.
My uncle's gone to sea, and has left me
The key to th' golden fleece. Thou shalt be still
A madam, Pen; and to maintain thy honour,
And to new-dub thee, take this. [_Gives her a purse._
But, sister, I
Expected you ere this, out of the throng
Of suitors that frequent you, should have been
Made a true lady--not one in type or show.
I fear you are too scornful, look too high.
+Aur.+ Faith, brother, 'tis no age to be put off
With empty education; few will make jointures
To wit or good parts. I may die a virgin,
When some old widow, which at every cough
Resigns some of her teeth, and every night
Puts off her leg as duly as French hood,
Scarce wears her own nose, hath no eyes but such
As she first bought in Broad Street, and every morning
Is put together like some instrument,
Having full coffers, shall be woo'd, and thought
A youthful bride.
+Plot.+ Why, sister, will you like
A match of my projection? You do know
How ruinous our father's fortunes are.
Before he broke, you know, there was a contract
Between you and young Seathrift. What if I
Make it a wedding?
+Aur.+ Marry a fool, in hope
To be a Lady Mayoress?
+Plot.+ Why, sister, I
Could name good ladies that are fain to find
Wit for themselves and knights too.
+Aur.+ I have heard
Of one, whose husband was so meek, to be
For need her gentleman-usher; and, while she
Made visits above stairs, would patiently
Find himself business at trey-trip[215] i' th' hall.
+Plot.+ He's only city-bred; one month of your
Sharp conversation will refine him; besides,
How long will't be ere your dissembled state
Meet such another offer?
+Aur.+ Well, brother, you shall dispose of my affections.
+Plot.+ Then some time
This afternoon I'll bring him hither: do you
Provide the priest: your dining-room will serve
As well as the church.
+Aur.+ I will expect you. [_Exeunt several ways._
SCENE V.
_Enter +Captain Quartfield+ beating +Roseclap+;
+Salewit+ and +Millicent+ labouring to part them._
+Quart.+ Sirrah, I'll beat you into air.
+Rose.+ Good captain!
+Quart.+ I will, by Hector.
+Rose.+ Murder, murder, help!
+Quart.+ You needy, shifting, cosening, breaking slave.
+Mil.+ Nay, Master Salewit, help to part 'em.
+Sale.+ Captain!
+Quart.+ Ask me for money? dog!
+Rose.+ O, I am kill'd!
+Mil.+ Help, help!
+Sale.+ Nay, captain.
+Quart.+ Men of my coat pay!
+Mil.+ I'll call in neighbours. Murder, murder!
+Quart.+ Rascal,
I'll make you trust, and offer me petitions
To go o' th' score.
+Rose.+ Good: 'tis very good.
+Mil.+ How does thy head, sweetheart?
+Rose.+ Away, be quiet, Millicent.
+Sale.+ Roseclap, you'll never leave this: I did tell you,
Last time the captain beat you, what a lion
He is, being ask'd for reckonings.
+Mil.+ So you did,
Indeed, good Master Salewit; yet you must
Ever be foolish, husband.
+Sale.+ What if we
Do owe you money, sir; is't fit for you
To ask it?
+Rose.+ Well, Sir, There Is Law. I Say
No more, but there is law.
+Quart.+ What law, you cur?
The law of nature, custom, arms, and nations,
Frees men of war from payments.
+Rose.+ Yes, your arms, captain; none else.
+Quart.+ No soldiers ought to pay.
+Sale.+ Nor poets:
All void of money are privileged.
+Mil.+ What would you have?
Captains and poets, Master Salewit says,
Must never pay.
+Sale.+ No, nor be ask'd for money.
+Rose.+ Still, I say, there is law.
+Quart.+ Say that again,
And, by Bellona, I will cut thy throat.
+Mil.+ You long to see your brains out.
+Quart.+ Why, you mongrel,
You John-of-all-trades, have we been your guests
Since you first kept a tavern; when you had
The face and impudence to hang a bush
Out to three pints of claret, two of sack,
In all the world?
+Sale.+ After that, when you broke,
Did we here find you out, custom'd your house,
And help'd away your victuals, which had else
Lain mouldy on your hands?
+Rose.+ You did indeed,
And never paid for't. I do not deny,
But you have been my customers these two years;
My jack went not, nor chimney smok'd without you.
I will go farther; your two mouths have been
Two as good eating mouths as need to come
Within my doors; as curious to be pleased,
As if you still had eaten with ready money;
Had still the meats in season; still drank more
Than your ordinary came to.
+Sale.+ And your conscience now
Would have this paid for?
+Rose.+ Surely, so I take it.
+Sale.+ Was ever the like heard?
+Quart.+ 'Tis most unreasonable;
He has a harden'd conscience. Sirrah cheater,
You would be question'd for your reckonings, rogue.
+Rose.+ Do you inform?
+Quart.+ I hear one o' th' sheriffs
Paid for the boiling of a carp a mark.
+Sale.+ Most unheard-of exactions!
+Rose.+ Yet surely, captain,
No man had cheaper reckonings than yourself
And Master Salewit here.
+Quart.+ How cheap?
+Rose.+ I say
No more, good captain; not to pay is cheap,
A man would think.
+Quart.+ Sir, don't you reckon air,
And make it dear to breathe in your house, and put
The nose to charges?
+Rose.+ Right; perfum'd air, captain.
+Quart.+ Is not the standing of the salt an item,
And placing of the bread?
+Rose.+ A new way, captain.
+Quart.+ Is not the folding of your napkins brought
Into the bill?
+Rose.+ Pinch'd napkins, captain, and laid
Like fishes, fowls, or faces.
+Sale.+ Then remember
How you rate salads, Roseclap; one may buy
Gardens as cheap.
+Rose.+ Yes, Master Salewit, salads
Taken from Euclid, made in diagrams,
And to be eaten in figures.
+Quart.+ And we must pay for your inventions, sir?
+Rose.+ Or you are damn'd:
Good captain, you have sworn to pay this twelvemonth.
+Quart.+ Peace! you loud, bawling cur; do you disgrace me
Before these gallants? See if I don't kill you.
SCENE VI.
_Enter +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Timothy+, +Plotwell+._
+Bright.+ Save you, Captain Quartfield, and my brave wit,
My man of Helicon. Salute this gentleman,
He is a city wit.
+New.+ A corporation went to the bringing of him forth.
+Quart.+ I embrace him.
+Sale.+ And so do I.
+Tim.+ You are a poet, sir,
And can make verses, I hear?
+Sale.+ Sir, I am
A servant to the Muses.
+Tim.+ I have made
Some speeches, sir, in verse, which have been spoke
By a green Robin Goodfellow from Cheapside conduit,[216]
To my father's company, and mean this afternoon
To make an epithalamium upon my wedding.
A lady fell in love with me this morning:
Ask Master Francis here.
+Plot.+ Heart! you spoil all.
Did not I charge you to be silent?
+Tim.+ That's true;
I had forgot. You are a captain, sir?
+Quart.+ I have seen service, sir.
+Tim.+ Captain, I love
Men of the sword and buff; and if need were,
I can roar too, and hope to swear in time,
Do you see, captain?
+Plot.+ Nay, captain, we have brought you
A gentleman of valour, who has been
In Moorfields often: marry, it has been
To 'squire his sisters, and demolish custards
At Pimlico.[217] [_+Timothy+ walks aside._
+Quart.+ Afore me, Master Plotwell;
I never hop'd to see you in silk again.
+Sale.+ I look'd the next Lord Mayor's day to see you o' th' livery,
Or one o' th' bachelor whifflers.[218]
+Quart.+ What, is your uncle dead?
+Plot.+ He may in time: he's gone
To sea this morning, captain; and I am come
Into your order again. But hark you, captain,
What think you of a fish now?
+Quart.+ Mad wags, mad wags.
+Bright.+ By Heaven, it's true. Here we have brought one with us.
+New.+ Rich Seathrift's son: he'll make a rare sea-monster.
+Quart.+ And shall's be merry, i' faith?
+Bright.+ Salewit shall make a song upon him.
+New.+ And Roseclap's boy shall sing it.
+Sale.+ We have the properties of the last fish.[219]
+Quart.+ And if I
At dinner do not give him sea enough,
And afterwards, if I and Salewit do not
Show him much better than he that shows the Tombs,
Let me be turned into a sword-fish myself.
+Plot.+ A natural change for a captain! How now, Roseclap,
Pensive, and cursing the long vacation?
Thou look'st as if thou mean'st to break shortly.
+Rose.+ Ask the captain why I am sad?
+Quart.+ Faith, gentlemen,
I disciplin'd him for his rudeness.
+Plot.+ Why, these
Are judgments, Roseclap, for dear reckonings.
+Tim.+ Art thou the half-crown fellow of the house?
+Rose.+ Sir, I do keep the ordinary.
+Tim.+ Let's have wine enough;
I mean to drink a health to a lady.
+Plot.+ Still
Will you betray your fortune? One of them
Will go and tell her who you are, and spoil
The marriage.
+Tim.+ No; peace! Gentlemen, if you'll
Go in, we'll follow.
+Rose.+ Please you enter, dinner
Shall straight be set upon the board.
+Bright.+ We'll expect you. Come, gentlemen.
[_Exeunt +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Salewit+, +Quartfield+,
and +Roseclap+._
+Tim.+ But, Master Francis, was that
The business, why she call'd you back?
+Plot.+ Believe it;
Your mother's smock shin'd at your birth, or else
You wear some charm about you.
+Tim.+ Not I, truly.
+Plot.+ It cannot be she should so strangely doat
Upon you else. 'Slight! had you stay'd, I think
She would have woo'd you herself.
+Tim.+ Now I remember,
One read my fortune once, and told my father,
That I should match a lady.
+Plot.+ How things fall out!
+Tim.+ And did she ask you who I was?
+Plot.+ I told her you were a young knight.
+Tim.+ Good.
+Plot.+ Scarce come to th' years of your discretion yet.
+Tim.+ Good still.
+Plot.+ And that a great man
Did mean to beg you[220]----for his daughter.
+Tim.+ Most rare: this afternoon's the time.
+Plot.+ Faith, she
Looks you should use a little courtship first;
That done, let me alone to have the priest
In readiness.
+Tim.+ But were I not best ask my friends' consent?
+Plot.+ How! Friends' consent? that's fit
For none but farmers' sons and milkmaids. You shall not
Debase your judgment. She takes you for a wit,
And you shall match her like one.
+Tim.+ Then I will.
+Plot.+ But no more words to th' gallants.
+Tim.+ Do you think I am a sieve, and cannot hold?
_Enter +Roseclap+._
+Rose.+ Gentlemen, the company are sat.
+Tim.+ It shall be yours.
+Plot.+ Nay, sir, your fortune claims precedency. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VII.
_+Warehouse+, +Seathrift+, +Cypher+._
+Ware.+ Fetch'd abroad by two gallants, say you?
+Cyph.+ Yes, sir,
As soon as you were gone: he only stay'd
To put on other clothes.
+Sea.+ You say, my son went with 'em too?
+Cyph.+ Yes, sir.
+Ware.+ And whither went they?
+Cyph.+ I follow'd 'em to Roseclap's ordinary.
+Ware.+ And there you left 'em?
+Cyph.+ Yes, sir, just before
I saw some captains enter.
+Sea.+ Well, I give
My son for lost, undone past hope.
+Ware.+ There is
No more but this; we'll thither straight: you, Cypher,
Have your instructions.
+Cyph.+ Sir, let me alone
To make the story doleful.
+Ware.+ Go, make you ready then. [_Exit +Cypher+._
Now, Master Seathrift, you may see what these
Young men would do, left to themselves.
+Sea.+ My son shall know he has a sister.
+Ware.+ And my nephew
That once he had an uncle. To leave land
Unto an unthrift, is to build on sand. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[194] "_Talc_, in natural history, is a shining, squamous, fissile
species of stone, easily separable into thin, transparent scales
or leaves."--Chambers's "Dictionary." It was anciently found only
in Spain, but since, in several parts of Europe, Asia, and Africa.
"Some chemists," says the same writer, "and other empirics, have held
that talc might be used for many important purposes, and pretend to
draw from it that precious oil so much boasted of by the ancients,
particularly the Arabs, called _oil of talc_, which is supposed a
wonderful cosmetic, and preserver of the complexion; but the truth
is, the word _talc_, among them, signified no more than an equal
disposition of the humours, which keeps the body in good temperament
and perfect health. Now, as nothing contributes more than health to the
preserving of beauty, this has given occasion to the chemists to search
this _oil of talc_, which is to maintain the body in this disposition,
and to engage the ladies to be at the expense of the search."
["_Talc_ is a cheap kind of mineral, which this county (Sussex)
plentifully affords, though not so fine as that which is fetched from
Venice. It is white and transparent like crystal, full of strekes or
veins, which prettily scatter themselves. Being calcined, and variously
prepared, it maketh a curious _white-wash_, which some justify lawful,
because clearing, not changing, the complexion."--Fuller's "Worthies,"
quoted by Gifford (Ben Jonson, iv. 94).]
[195] This was Prynne's celebrated work, entitled, "Histriomastix,"
&c., which was, by the sentence of the Star Chamber, ordered to be
burnt.
[196] The county in which the celebrated Robert Browne (who may be
esteemed the head of the Puritans) was beneficed, and afterwards died
in gaol, at a very advanced age.
[197] Alluding to the second publication for which Prynne was
prosecuted, and sentenced to lose the remainder of his ears. It was
entitled, "News from Ipswich, and the Divine Tragedy, recording God's
fearful Judgments against Sabbath-Breakers. 4º, 1636." [He published it
under the name of Matthew White.]
[198] It appears to have been the custom at this time to work religious
and other stories in different parts of the dress then worn. In
Beaumont and Fletcher's "Custom of the Country," ii. 3, [Dyce's edit.
iv. 422,] Rutilio says--
"Having a mistress, sure you should not be
Without _a neat historical shirt_."
[199] [This passage is quoted in the editions of Beaumont and Fletcher,
to illustrate a passage in the "Custom of the Country," (see below) but
it is questionable, perhaps, whether the allusions here are to be taken
quite seriously.]
[200] See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 300.]
[201] See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 316.]
[202] [An allusion which I cannot explain. It has no connection with
Chettle's play.]
[203] Prynne's book, mentioned before.
[204] [See a note in Hazlitt's "Popular Poetry," ii. 153.]
[205] [A curious little illustration of contemporary civic usages.]
[206] Alluding to an automaton, like those at St Dunstan's, Fleet
Street. See notes on Shakespeare's "King Richard III.," edit. 1778, p.
113, vol. vii.--_Steevens._
[207] [Nares, in his "Glossary," 1859, in _v._, seems to say that
this is the only passage where this phrase occurs. Fortunately it is
explained for us. But its origin is obscure.]
[208] [The name given to the women who attended on the chambers in the
inns-of-court. It is not obsolete.]
[209] In the third year of James I., rose-_rials_ (or _royals_) of
gold were coined at 30s. apiece, and _spur-rials_ at 15s. each. For
_Harry-groats_, see note to "The Antiquary," _post_.
[210] So Chapman, in his "Hymn to Hymen," at the end of the "Masque of
the Middle Temple and Lincoln's Inn," 1613--
"Let such glances fly,
As make stars shoot to imitate her eye."
--_Collier._
[211] [Probably the arras in the room represented some scene in the
siege of Troy.]
[212] The art of weaving tapestry was brought into England by William
Sheldon, Esq., about the end of the reign of Henry VIII. (See Dugdale's
"Warwickshire," p. 584.) In the time of James I., a manufacture of
tapestry was set up at Mortlake, in Surrey, and soon arrived at a high
degree of excellence. King James gave £2000 towards the undertaking;
and Sir Francis Crane erected the house to execute the design in.
Francis Cleyn painted for the workmen, and to such a pitch of
perfection had the art been carried, that Archbishop Williams paid for
the four seasons, worked, I suppose, for hangings, £2500.--(Walpole's
"Anecdotes," ii. 21-128.) _Mortlake tapestry_ continued long in repute,
and is mentioned in Oldham's Satire in imitation of the Third Satire of
Juvenal--
"Here some rare piece
Of Rubens or Vandyke presented is:
There a rich suit of _Mortlack tapestry_,
A bed of damask or embroidery."
[213] [_i.e._, Added to.]
[214] The following seems to be the story here alluded to: "But the
strangest I have met with in this kinde, is the historie of Eve
Fleigen, out of the _Dutch_ translated into English, and printed at
London, Anno 1611: who being borne at Meurs, is said to have taken no
kinde of sustenance by the space of fourteen yeeres together; that is,
from the yeere of her age twenty-two to thirty-six, and from the yeere
of our Lord, 1597 to 1611; and this we have confirmed by the testimony
of the magistrate of the towne of Meurs, as also by the minister, who
made tryall of her in his house thirteene days together, by all the
meanes he could devise, but could detect no imposture. Over the picture
of this maiden, set in the front of the Dutch copie, stand these Latin
verses--
'Meursæ hæc quem cernis decies ter sexque peregit
Annos, bis septem prorsus non vescitur annis
Nec potat, sic sola sedet, sic pallida vitam
Ducit, et _exigui se oblectat floribus horti_."
Thus rendred in the English copie--
"This maid of Meurs thirty-six yeares spent,
Fourteene of which she tooke no nourishment:
Thus pale and wan shee sits, sad and alone,
_A garden's all shee loves to looke upon_."
--Hakewill's "Apologie," fol. 1635, p. 440.
In Davenant's "News from Plymouth," act i. sc. 1, the same person is
mentioned--
"How? Do you think I bring you tidings of
The Maid of Brabant, that liv'd by her smell;
That din'd on a rose, and supp'd on a tulip?"
[The narrative of Eve Fleigen, above referred to, is appended to an
excessively rare tract of eight 4º leaves, printed in 1611, and noticed
in Hazlitt's "Handbook," 1867, p. 277.]
[215] Or, as it was more frequently written, _tray-trip_. This game is
mentioned very frequently in our ancient writers, but it is by no means
clear what the nature of it was. Mr Steevens considers it as a _game at
cards_; and Mr Tyrwhitt, as a _game at tables_. In opposition to both,
Mr Hawkins was of opinion that it was the same play which is now called
"Scotch Hop," the amusement at present of the lower class of young
people. In support of this idea, the above passage was quoted by that
gentleman. See notes on "Twelfth Night," act ii. sc. 5.
The truth of Mr Tyrwhitt's conjecture will be established by the
following extract from "Machiavell's Dogge," 1617, 4º, sig. B.
"But leaving cardes, lett's goe to dice a while,
To passage, _trei-trippe_, hazarde, or mum-chance,
But subtill mates will simple mindes beguile,
And blinde their eyes with many a blinking glaunce.
"Oh cogges and stoppes, and such like devilish trickes,
Full many a purse of golde and silver pickes.
"And therefore, first for hazard, hee that list,
And passeth not, puts many to a blancke;
And _trippe without a treye_ makes hard, I wist,
To sitte and mourne among the sleepers ranke.
And for mum-chance howe'er the chance doe fall,
You must be mum for fear of marring all."
[See also "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," 1870, ii. 340.]
[216] Alluding to the quaint speeches anciently delivered by fantastic
characters during pageants and processions, such as that of the Lord
Mayor, those at the entry of foreign princes, &c. The speakers were
usually placed on _conduits_, _market crosses_, and other elevated
situations.--_Steevens._
[217] [According to some, a person who kept a tavern at or near Hoxton,
but according to others, a place in that neighbourhood remarkable for
selling ale. This is a doubtful matter. The ales of Pimlico, near
London, are still famous.] See "Pimlyco, or Runne Red cap, 'tis a mad
world at Hogsden," 1609. [As only one copy of it is known, it might be
rather difficult to _see_ it.]
[218] [See Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," in _v._ A _whiffler_ was
originally a player on a _whiffle_ or fife in a procession, and hence
was a name applied to the boys who walked (generally with flags) in the
procession on Lord Mayor's Day.]
_Bachelors whifflers_ should properly be _young men_ free of the
company. They attend on the Lord Mayor's Day, and are supposed to be
out of their apprenticeships the preceding year. They are considered by
the company they belong to pretty nearly in the same point of view as a
gentleman considers the upper servants he keeps _out of livery_.--_N._
In some companies, I am well informed, the children are named _The
Whiflers_.--_Reed_ (note altered).
[219] See note p. 248 to this play.
[220] [A piece of wit on the part of Plotwell, who meant slyly to
insinuate that Timothy was fit to be begged for a fool, a custom which
was once common, and does not require explanation.]
ACT III., SCENE I.
_+Bright+, +Newcut+, +Plotwell+, +Roseclap+, hanging
out the picture of a strange fish._[221]
+Bright.+ 'Fore Jove, the captain fox'd[222] him rarely.
+Rose.+ O sir,
He is used to it: this is the fifth fish now
That he hath shown thus. One got him twenty pound.
+New.+ How, Roseclap?
+Rose.+ Why the captain kept him, sir,
A whole week drunk, and show'd him twice a-day.
+New.+ It could not be like this.
+Rose.+ Faith, I do grant
This is the strangest fish. Yon I have hung
His other picture in the fields, where some
Say 'tis an o'ergrown porpoise; others say
'Tis the fish caught in Cheshire; one, to whom
The rest agree, said 'twas a mermaid.
+Plot.+ 'Slight!
Roseclap shall have a patent of him. The birds
Brought from Peru, the hairy wench,[223] the camel,
The elephant, dromedaries, or Windsor Castle,
The woman with dead flesh, or she that washes,
Threads needles, writes, dresses her children, plays
O' th' virginals with her feet, could never draw
People like this.
+New.+ O, that his father were
At home to see him!
+Plot.+ Or his mother come,
Who follows strange sights out of town, and went
To Brentford to a motion.
+Bright.+ Bid the captain hasten,
Or he'll recover, and spoil all.
+Rose.+ They're here!
SCENE II.
_Enter +Quartfield+ and +Salewit+, dressed like two trumpeters,
keeping the door; +Mistress Seathrift+ and +Mistress
Holland+, with a 'prentice before 'em, as comers-in._
+Quart.+ Bear back there!
+Sale.+ Pray you, do not press so hard.
+Quart.+ Make room for the two gentlewomen.
+Mis. Sea.+ What is't?
+Sale.+ Twelvepence apiece.
+Mis. Hol.+ We will not give't.
+Quart.+ Make room for them that will, then.
+Plot.+ O fortune, here's his mother!
+Bright.+ And who's the other?
+Plot.+ One Mistress Holland, the
Great sempstress on the Exchange.
+Mis. Hol.+ We gave but a groat
To see the last fish.
+Quart.+ Gentlewoman, that
Was but an Irish sturgeon.
+Sale.+ This came from
The Indies, and eats five crowns a day in fry,
Ox-livers, and brown paste.
+Mis. Sea.+ Well, there's three shillings.
Pray, let us have good places now.
+Quart.+ Bear back there!
+Mis. Hol.+ Look, Mistress Seathrift, here be gentlemen.
Sure, 'tis a rare fish.
+Mis. Sea.+ I know one of 'em.
+Mis. Hol.+ And so do I; his sister was my 'prentice.
+Mis. Sea.+ Let's take acquaintance with him.
+Plot.+ Mistress Seathrift,
Hath the sight drawn you hither?
+Mis. Sea.+ Yes, sir, I
And Mistress Holland here, my gossip, pass'd
This way, and so call'd in. Pray, Master Plotwell,
Is not my son here? I was told he went
With you this morning.
+Plot.+ You shall see him straight.
+Mis. Hol.+ When will the fish begin, sir?
+Bright.+ Heart! she makes him a puppet-play.
+Plot.+ Why, now, they only stay
For company, 't has sounded twice.[224]
+Mis. Sea.+ Indeed
I long to see this fish. I wonder whether
They will cut up his belly; they say a tench
Will make him whole again.
+Mis. Hol.+ Look, Mistress Seathrift, what claws he has!
+Mis. Sea.+ For all the world like crabs.
+Mis. Hol.+ Nay, mark his feet too.
+Mis. Sea.+ For all the world like plaice.
+Bright.+ Was ever better sport heard?
+New.+ Prythee, peace.
+Mis. Hol.+ Pray, can you read that? Sir, I warrant
That tells where it was caught, and what fish 'tis.
+Plot.+ _Within this place is to be seen
A wondrous fish. God save the queen._
+Mis. Hol.+ Amen! she is my customer, and I
Have sold her bone-lace often.
+Bright.+ Why, the queen? 'Tis writ _the king_.
+Plot.+ That was to make the rhyme.
+Bright.+ 'Slid, thou didst read it, as 'twere some picture of
An Elizabeth-fish.[225]
+Quart.+ Bear back there!
+Sale.+ Make room! you
Friend, that were going to cut a purse there, make
Way for the two old gentlemen to pass.
_Enter +Warehouse+ and +Seathrift+ disguised._
+Ware.+ What must we give?
+Quart.+ We take a shilling, sir.
+Sale.+ It is no less.
+Sea.+ Pray God your fish be worth it.
What, is't a whale, you take so dear?
+Quart.+ It is a fish taken in the Indies.
+Ware.+ Pray despatch then, and show't us quickly.
+Sale.+ Pray, forbear: you'd have your head broke, cobbler.
+Ware.+ Yonder is my nephew in his old gallantry.
+Sea.+ Who's there too? my wife
And Mistress Holland! Nay, I look'd for them.
But where's my wise son?
+Ware.+ Mass, I see not him.
+Quart.+ Keep out, sir.
+Sale.+ Waterman, you must not enter.
[_+Cypher+ presses in like a waterman._
+Quart.+ This is no place for scullers.
+Cyph.+ I must needs speak
With one Master Plotwell----
+Quart.+ You must stay.
+Sale.+ Thrust him out.
+Cyph.+ ----and one Master Seathrift
On urgent business.
+Sale.+ They are yet employ'd
In weightier affairs. Make fast the door.
[_They thrust him out._
+Quart.+ There shall no more come in. Come in, boy.
+Sea.+ Don't they speak as if my son were in the room?
+Ware.+ Yes, pray observe and mark them.
+Quart.+ Gentlemen
And gentlewomen, you now shall see a sight
Europe never show'd the like. Behold this fish!
[_Draws a curtain; behind it +Timothy+ asleep
like a strange fish._
+Mis. Hol.+ O Strange! Look How It Sleeps!
+Bright.+ Just like a salmon upon a stall in Fish
Street.
+Mis. Sea.+ How it snorts too! just like my husband.
+Ware.+ 'Tis very like a man.
+Sea.+ 'T has such a nose and eyes.
+Sale.+ Why, 'tis, a man-fish;
An ocean centaur, begot between a siren
And a he stock-fish.
+Sea.+ Pray, where took ye him?
+Quart.+ We took him strangely in the Indies, near
The mouth of Rio de la Plata, asleep
Upon the shore, just as you see him now.
+Mis. Hol.+ How say ye, asleep!
+Ware.+ How! Would he come to land?
+Sea.+ 'Tis strange a fish should leave his element!
+Quart.+ Ask him what things the country told us.
+Sale.+ You
Will scarce believe it now. This fish would walk you
Two or three mile o' th' shore sometimes; break houses,
Ravish a naked wench or two (for there
Women go naked), then run to sea again.
+Quart.+ The country has been laid,[226] and warrants granted
To apprehend him.
+Ware.+ I do suspect these fellows:
They lie as if they had patent for it.
+Sea.+ The company,
Should every one believe his part, would scarce
Have faith enough among us.
+Ware.+ Mark again.
+Sale.+ The States of Holland would have bought him of us,
Out of a great design.
+Sea.+ Indeed!
+Sale.+ They offer'd a thousand dollars.
+Quart.+ You cannot enter yet. [_Some knock._
+Ware.+ Indeed! so much! Pray, what to do?
+Sale.+ Why, sir,
They were in hope, in time, to make this fish
Of faction 'gainst the Spaniard, and do service
Unto the state.
+Sea.+ As how?
+Sale.+ Why, sir, next plate-fleet,
To dive, bore holes i'th' bottom of their ships,
And sink them. You must think a fish like this
May be taught Machiavel, and made a state-fish.
+Plot.+ As dogs are taught to fetch.
+New.+ Or elephants to dance on ropes.
+Bright.+ And, pray, what honour would
The states have given him for the service?
+Quart.+ That, sir, is uncertain.
+Sale.+ Ha' made him some sea-count; or, 't may be, admiral.
+Plot.+ Then, sir, in time,
Dutch authors, that writ _Mare Liberum_,[227]
Might dedicate their books to him?
+Sale.+ Yes, being
A fish advanc'd, and of great place. Sing, boy!
You now shall hear a song upon him.
+Bright.+ Listen.
+New.+ Do they not act it rarely?
+Plot.+ If 'twere their trade, they could not do it better.
+Sea.+ Hear you that, sir?
+Ware.+ Still I suspect.
+Mis. Hol.+ I warrant you, this fish
Will shortly be in a ballad.
+Sale.+ Begin, boy.
+Song.+
_We show no monstrous crocodile,
Nor any prodigy of Nile;
No Remora that stops your fleet,[228]
Like serjeants gallants in the street;
No sea-horse which can trot or pace,
Or swim false galop, post, or race:
For crooked dolphins we not care,
Though on their back a fiddler were:
The like to this fish, which we show,
Was ne'er in Fish Street, old or new;
Nor ever serv'd to th' sheriff's board,
Or kept in souse for the Mayor Lord.
Had old astronomers but seen
This fish, none else in heaven had been._
+Mis. Hol.+ The song has waken'd him; look, he stirs!
+Tim.+ O captain, pox--take--you--captain.
+Mis. Sea.+ Hark, he speaks!
+Tim.+ O--my--stomach----
+Ware.+ How's this?
+Sea.+ I'll pawn my life, this is imposture.
+Tim.+ O, O----
+Plot.+ Heart! the captain did not give him his full load.
+Ware.+ Can your fish
Speak, friends? The proverb says they're mute.
+Quart.+ I'll tell you,
You will admire how docile he is, and how
He'll imitate a man: tell him your name,
He will repeat it after you; he has heard me
Call'd captain, and my fellow[s] curse sometimes,
And now you heard him say, pox-take-you, captain.
+Sale.+ And yesterday, I but complain'd my stomach
Was overcharg'd, and how he minds it!
+New.+ Strange!
+Bright.+ Ay, is it not?
+Plot.+ The towardness of a fish!
+Sale.+ Would you think, when we caught him, he should speak
_Drake, Drake_?[229]
+Bright.+ And did he?
+Quart.+ Yes, and _Hawkins_;[230]
A sign he was a fish that swam there when
These two compass'd the world.
+New.+ How should he learn their names, I wonder?
+Sale.+ From the sailors.
+New.+ That may be.
+Quart.+ He'll call for drink, like me, or anything
He lacks.
+Tim.+ O Gad, my head----
+Quart.+ D'you hear him?
+Tim.+ O hostess, a basin----
+Plot.+ 'Slid, he'll spew.
+Bright.+ No matter.
+Quart.+ Nay, I have seen him fox'd, and then maintain
A drunken dialogue.
+Mis. Hol.+ Lord, how I long
To hear a little! Pray try him with some questions;
Will you, my friend?
+Quart.+ Sometimes he will be sullen,
And make no answers.
+Sale.+ That is when he's anger'd,
Or kept from drink long.
+Quart.+ But I'll try him.
+Mis. Sea.+ To see what creatures may be brought to!
+Quart.+ Tim, you are drunk.
+Tim.+ Plague take you, captain. O--Lord, you made me----
+Sea.+ 'Sdeath, my son's name! Tim do you call him?
+Sale.+ He'll answer to no name but that.
+Quart.+ And, Tim, what think you of a wench now?
+Tim.+ O, I am sick; where is she? O----
+Sea.+ I'll lay my life, this fish is some confederate rogue.
+Quart.+ I drink to you, Timothy, in sack.
+Tim.+ O, O!
+Quart.+ A health, Tim.
+Tim.+ I can drink no more,--O!
+Sale.+ What, not pledge your mistress!
+Tim.+ O, let me alone.
+Sale.+ He is not in the mood now;
Sometimes you'd wonder at him.
+Quart.+ He is tired
With talking all this day. That, and the heat
Of company about him, dull him.
+Ware.+ Surely,
My friends, it is to me a miracle
To hear a fish speak thus.
+Quart.+ So, sirs, 't has been
To thousands more.
+Sale.+ Come now next Michaelmas,
'Tis five year we have shown him in most courts
In Christendom; and you will not believe,
How with mere travelling and observation
He has improved himself, and brought away
The language of the country.
+Sea.+ May not I ask him
Some questions?
+Quart.+ Sir, you may; but he
Will answer none but one of us.
+Mis. Sea.+ He's used, and knows their voices.
[_Knocking at door._
+Sale.+ He is so, mistress. Now, we'll open door.
+Ware.+ Well, my belief doth tell me
There is a mist before our eyes.
+Mis. Sea.+ I mar'l
My wise son miss'd this show.
+Quart.+ Good people, we
Do show no more to-day: if you desire
[_They draw the curtain before him._
To see, come to us in King Street to-morrow.
+Mis. Hol.+ Come, gossip, let us go; the fish is done.
+Mis. Sea.+ By your leave, gentlemen. Truly, 'tis a dainty fish.[231]
[_Exit +Mistress Seathrift+, +Mistress Holland+,
and +'Prentice+._
SCENE III.
_Enter +Cypher+, like a Waterman._
+Cyph.+ Pray, which is Master Plotwell?
+Plot.+ I am he, friend;
What is your business?
+Cyph.+ Sir, I should speak
With young Master Seathrift too.
+Plot.+ Sir, at this time,
Although no crab, like you, to swim backward, he is
Of your element.
+Cyph.+ Upon the water?
+Plot.+ No,
But something that lives in't. If you but stay
Till he have slept himself a land-creature, you may
Chance see him come ashore here.
+Tim.+ O--my head--
O--Captain--Master Francis--Captain--O----
+Plot.+ That is his voice, sir.
+Sea.+ Death o' my soul! my son!
+Cyph.+ He is in drink, sir, is he?
+Plot.+ Surely, friend, you are a witch;[232] he is so.
+Cyph.+ Then I must tell the news to you: 'tis sad.
+Plot.+ I'll hear't as sadly.
+Cyph.+ Your uncle, sir, and Master Seathrift are
Both drown'd, some eight miles below Greenwich.
+Plot.+ Drown'd!
+Cyph.+ They went i' th' tilt-boat, sir, and I was one
O' th' oars that rowed him: a coal-ship did o'errun us.
I 'scaped by swimming; the two old gentlemen
Took hold of one another, and sunk together.
+Bright.+ How some men's prayers are heard!
We did invoke
The sea this morning, and see, the Thames has took 'em.
+Plot.+ It cannot be: such good news, gentlemen,
Cannot be true.
+Ware.+ 'Tis very certain, sir.
'Twas talk'd upon th' Exchange.
+Sea.+ We heard it too
In Paul's now, as we came.
+Plot.+ There, friend, there is
A fare for you. I'm glad you 'scap'd; I had
Not known the news so soon else. [_Gives him money._
+Cyph.+ Sir, excuse me.
+Plot.+ Sir, it is conscience; I do believe you might
Sue me in Chancery.
+Cyph.+ Sir, you show the virtues of an heir.
+Ware.+ Are you rich Warehouse's heir, sir?
+Plot.+ Yes, sir, his transitory pelf,
And some twelve hundred pound a year in earth,
Is cast on me. Captain, the hour is come,
You shall no more drink ale, of which one draught
Makes cowards, and spoils valour; nor take off
Your moderate quart-glass. I intend to have
A musket for you, or glass-cannon, with
A most capacious barrel, which we'll charge
And discharge with the rich valiant grape
Of my uncle's cellar. Every charge shall fire
The glass, and burn itself i' th' filling, and look
Like a piece going off.
+Quart.+ I shall be glad
To give thanks for you, sir, in pottle-draughts,
And shall love Scotch coal for this wreck the better,
As long as I know fuel.
+Plot.+ Then my poet
No longer shall write catches or thin sonnets,
Nor preach in verse, as if he were suborn'd
By him that wrote the Whip,[233] to pen lean acts,
And so to overthrow the stage for want
Of salt or wit. Nor shall he need torment
Or persecute his Muse; but I will be
His god of wine t' inspire him. He shall no more
Converse with the five-yard butler who, like thunder,
Can turn beer with his voice, and roar it sour;
But shall come forth a Sophocles, and write
Things for the buskin. Instead of Pegasus,
To strike a spring with's hoof, we'll have a steel
Which shall but touch a butt, and straight shall flow
A purer, higher, wealthier Helicon.
+Sale.+ Frank, thou shalt be my Phœbus. My next poem
Shall be thy uncle's tragedy, or the life
And death of two rich merchants.
+Plot.+ Gentlemen,
And now, i' faith, what think you of the fish?
+Ware.+ Why as we ought, sir, strangely.
+Bright.+ But do you think it is a very fish?
+Sale.+ Yes.
+New.+ 'Tis a man.
+Plot.+ This valiant captain and this man of wit
First fox'd him, then transformed him. We will wake him,
And tell him the news. Ho, Master Timothy!
+Tim.+ Plague take you, captain!
+Plot.+ What, does your sack work still?
+Tim.+ Where am I?
+Plot.+ Come, y' have slept enough.
+Bright.+ Master Timothy!
How, in the name of fresh cod, came you chang'd
Into a sea-calf thus?
+New.+ 'Slight, sir, here be
Two fishmongers to buy you; bate the price,
Now y' are awake, yourself.
+Tim.+ How's this? my hands
Transmuted into claws? my feet made flounders?
Array'd in fins and scales? Aren't you
Asham'd to make me such a monster? Pray,
Help to undress me.
+Plot.+ We have rare news for you.
+Tim.+ No letter from the lady, I hope.
+Plot.+ Your father
And my grave uncle, sir, are cast away.
+Tim.+ How?
+Plot.+ They by this have made a meal
For jacks and salmon: they are drown'd.
+Bright.+ Fall down,
And worship sea-coals; for a ship of them
Has made you, sir, an heir.
+Plot.+ This fellow here
Brings the auspicious news: and these two friends
Of ours confirm it.
+Cyph.+ 'Tis too true, sir.
+Tim.+ Well,
We are all mortal; but in what wet case
Had I been now, if I had gone with him!
Within this fortnight I had been converted
Into some pike; you might ha' cheapen'd me
In Fish Street; I had made an ordinary,
Perchance, at the Mermaid.[234] Now could I cry
Like any image in a fountain, which
Runs lamentations. O my hard misfortune! [_He feigns to weep._
+Sea.+ Fie, sir! good truth, it is not manly in you
To weep for such a slight loss as a father.
+Tim.+ I do not cry for that.
+Sea.+ No?
+Tim.+ No, but to think,
My mother is not drown'd too.
+Sea.+ I assure you,
And that's a shrewd mischance.
+Tim.+ For then might I
Ha' gone to th' counting-house, and set at liberty
Those harmless angels, which for many years
Have been condemn'd to darkness.
+Plot.+ You'd not do
Like your penurious father, who was wont
To walk his dinner out in Paul's, whilst you
Kept Lent at home, and had, like folk in sieges,
Your meals weigh'd to you.
+New.+ Indeed they say he was
A monument of Paul's.
+Tim.+ Yes, he was there
As constant as Duke Humphrey.[235] I can show
The prints where he sat holes i' th' logs.
+Plot.+ He wore
More pavement out with walking than would make
A row of new stone-saints, and yet refused
To give to th' reparation.[236]
+Bright.+ I've heard
He'd make his jack go empty to cosen neighbours.
+Plot.+ Yes, when there was not fire enough to warm
A mastich-patch t' apply to his wife's temples,
In great extremity of toothache. This is
True, Master Timothy, is't not?
+Tim.+ Yes: then linen
To us was stranger than to Capuchins.
My flesh is of an order with wearing shirts
Made of the sacks that brought o'er cochineal,
Copperas, and indigo. My sister wears
Smocks made of currant-bags.
+Sea.+ I'll not endure it:
Let's show ourselves. [_Aside._
+Ware.+ Stay: hear all first. [_Aside._
+New.+ Thy uncle was such another.
+Plot.+ I have heard
He still last left th' Exchange; and would commend
The wholesomeness o' th' air in Moorfields, when
The clock struck three sometimes.
+Plot.+ Surely myself,
Cypher, his factor, and an ancient cat
Did keep strict diet, had our Spanish fare,
Four olives among three. My uncle would
Look fat with fasting; I ha' known him surfeit
Upon a bunch of raisins, swoon at sight
Of a whole joint, and rise an epicure
From half an orange. [_They undisguise._
+Ware.+ Gentlemen, 'tis false.
Cast off your cloud. D'ye know me, sir?
+Plot.+ My uncle!
+Sea.+ And do you know me, sir?
+Tim.+ My father!
+Ware.+ Nay,
We'll open all the plot; reveal yourself.
+Plot.+ Cypher, the waterman!
+Quart.+ Salewit, away!
I feel a tempest coming.
[_Exit +Quartfield+ and +Salewit+._
+Ware.+ Are you struck
With a torpedo, nephew?
+Sea.+ Ha' you seen too
A Gorgon's head, that you stand speechless? or
Are you a fish in earnest?
+Bright.+ It begins to thunder.
+New.+ We will make bold to take our leaves.
+Ware.+ What, is your captain fled?
+Sea.+ Nay, gentlemen, forsake your company!
+Bright.+ Sir, we have business. [_Exeunt +Bright+ and +Newcut+._
+Sea.+ Troth, it is not kindly done.
+Ware.+ Now, Master Seathrift,
You see what mourners we had had, had we
Been wreck'd in earnest. My griev'd nephew here
Had made my cellar flow with tears; my wines
Had charg'd glass-ordnance; our funerals had been
Bewail'd in pottle-draughts.
+Sea.+ And at our graves
Your nephew and my son had made a panegyric,
And open'd all our virtues.
+Ware.+ Ungrateful monster!
+Sea.+ Unnatural villain!
+Ware.+ Thou enemy to my blood!
+Sea.+ Thou worse than parricide!
+Ware.+ Next my sins, I do repent I am thy uncle.
+Sea.+ And I thy father.
+Ware.+ Death o' my soul! Did I, when first thy father
Broke in estate, and then broke from the compter,
Where Master Seathrift laid him in the hole
For debt, among the ruins of the city
And trades like him blown up, take thee from dust,
Give thee free education, put thee in
My own fair way of traffic--nay, decree
To leave thee jewels, land, my whole estate;
Pardon'd thy former wildness; and couldst thou sort
Thyself with none but idle gallants, captains,
And poets, who must plot before they eat,
And make each meal a stratagem? Then could none
But I be subject of thy impious scoffs?
I swoon at sight of meat! I rise a glutton
From half an orange! Wretch, forgetful wretch!
'Fore Heaven, I count it treason in my blood
That gives thee a relation. But I'll take
A full revenge. Make thee my heir! I'll first
Adopt a slave brought from some galley; one
Which laws do put into the inventory,
And men bequeath in wills with stools and brasspots;
One who shall first be household-stuff, then my heir;
Or, to defeat all thy large aims, I'll marry.
Cypher, go, find me Bannswright; he shall straight
Provide me a wife: I will not stay to let
My resolution cool. Be she a wench
That every day puts on her dowry, wears
Her fortunes, has no portion, so she be
Young, and likely to be fruitful, I'll have her:
By all that's good, I will: this afternoon!
I will about it straight.
+Sea.+ I follow you. [_Exeunt +Warehouse+, +Cypher+._
And as for you, Tim, mermaid, triton, haddock,
The wondrous Indian fish caught near Peru,
Who can be of both elements, your sight
Will keep you well. Here I do cast thee off,
And in thy room pronounce to make thy sister
My heir: it would be most unnatural
To leave a fish land. 'Las! sir, one of your
Bright fins and gills must swim in seas of sack,
Spout rich canaries up like whales in maps:[237]
I know you'll not endure to see my jack
Go empty, nor wear shirts of copperas-bags,
Nor fast in Paul's, you! I do hate thee now
Worse than a tempest, quicksand, pirate, rock,
Or fatal lake, ay, or a privy-seal.[238]
Go, let the captain make you drunk, and let
Your next change be into some ape--'tis stale
To be a fish twice--or some active baboon:
And, when you can find money out, betray
What wench i' th' room has lost her maidenhead;
Can mount to the king, and can do all your feats,
If your fine chain and yellow coat come near
Th' Exchange, I'll see you. So I leave you. [_Exit +Seathrift+._
+Plot.+ Now,
Were there a dext'rous beam and twopence hemp,
Never had man such cause to hang himself.
+Tim.+ I have brought myself to a fine pass too. Now
Am I fit only to be caught, and put
Into a pond to leap carps, or beget
A goodly race of pick'rel.
SCENE IV.
_Enter +Quartfield+ and +Salewit+._
+Quart.+ How now, mad lads; what! is the storm broke up?
+Sale.+ What, sad, like broken gamesters! Master Timothy,
'Slight, who would think your father should lay wheels[239]
To catch you thus?
+Tim.+ If ever I be drunk with captains more----
+Plot.+ Where's Bright and Newcut?
+Sale.+ They were sent for to the Temple, but left word
They would be here at supper.
+Plot.+ They are sure friends to leave us in distress.
+Quart.+ What a mad plot
These two old merchants had contriv'd, to feign
A voyage, then to hunt you out disguised,
And hear themselves abused?
+Sale.+ We heard all.
+Quart.+ If I had stay'd, they had paid me for a captain.
+Sale.+ They had a fling at me. But do you think
Your uncle in this furious mood will marry?
+Plot.+ He deeply swore it: if he do, the sleight
Upon the cards, the hollow die, Park Corner
And Shooter's Hill, are my revenue.
+Tim.+ Yes: and as for me, my destiny will be
To fight by th' day, carry my kitchen and
Collation at my back, wear orderly
My shirt in course, after't has been the shift
Of a whole regiment in the low countries;
And, after all, return with half a leg,
One arm, perchance my nose shot off, to move
Compassion in my father who, in pity
To so much ruin, may be brought to buy
Some place for me in an hospital, to keep me
From bridges, hill-tops, and from selling switches.
+Rose.+ Yonder's your uncle at the field-door, talking
With Bannswright, as hot and earnest for a wench
As a recover'd Monsieur.
+Quart.+ What is this Bannswright?
+Sale.+ A fellow much employed about the town,
That contrives matches: one that brings together
Parties that never saw or never met,
Till't be for good and all; knows to a penny
Estates and jointures: I'll undertake he has
Now lying by him (unprovided) some twenty
Widows of all fortunes that want husbands,
And men that want wives; and, at an hour's warning,
Can make things ready for the priest.
+Quart.+ Let us
Devise to get him hither, and cross the match.
+Plot.+ I have great interest in him; the fellow loves me.
Could I speak with him, and draw him to be
An actor in't, I have a stratagem
That can redeem all, and turn the plot
Upon these sage heads.
_Enter +Bannswright+._
+Sale.+ By Minerva, look! here's Bannswright!
+Plot.+ Master Bannswright!
+Ban.+ Save you, gallants.
+Plot.+ You are employed, I hear, to find a wife out
For my young sprightly uncle.
+Ban.+ Sir, he has
Retain'd me to that purpose: I just now
Came from him.
+Plot.+ And do you mean the match
Shall then proceed?
+Ban.+ I have a lieger[240] wench
In readiness: he's gone to put himself
Into fit ornaments for the solemnity.
I'm to provide the priest and licence: we go
Some two hours hence to church.
+Quart.+ Death! you pander,
Forbid the banns, or I will cut your wizzel,[241]
And spoil your squiring in the dark. I've heard
Of your lewd function, sirrah! You prefer
Wenches to bawdy-houses, rascal!
+Ban.+ Good sir,
Threaten me not in my vocation.
+Plot.+ Why, Bannswright, you can be but paid. Say I
Procure the wench, a friend of mine, and double
Your bargain. Such a fair reward, methinks,
Should make thee of my project. Thou dost know
My fortunes are engaged, and thou may'st be
The happy instrument to recover 'em.
Be my good angel once! I have a plot
Shall make thee famous.
+Quart.+ By Mars, deny, and I
Will act a tragedy upon thee.
+Ban.+ Gentlemen,
I am a friend to wit, but more to you, sir,
Of whose misfortunes I will not be guilty.
Though, then, your uncle has employ'd me, and
Has deeply sworn to wed this afternoon
A wife of my providing, if you can
O'erreach the angry burgess, sir, and bring
His wisdom to the gin, show me the way;
I'll help to lay the trap.
+Quart.+ Now thou art
An honest-hearted pimp: thou shalt for this
Be drunk in Vine-dee,[242] rascal; I'll begin
A runlet to thee.
+Ban.+[243] Gentlemen, let's in,
I'll tell you my design. You, Salewit, must
Transform yourself to a French deacon: I
Have parts for Bright and Newcut too. Mischief
Upon their absence!
+Sale.+ We'll send for 'em.
+Ban.+ And for Master Timothy, I have a project
Shall make his father everlastingly
Admire his wit, and ask him blessing.
+Quart.+ Come,
Let's in and drink a health to our success.
+Tim.+ I'm for no healths, unless the glass be less. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[221] Mr Steevens observes (note to "The Tempest," act ii. sc. 2)
that it was formerly very common to exhibit fishes, either real or
imaginary, in this manner, and that it appears from the books of
Stationers' Hall, that in 1604 was published, "A strange reporte of a
monstrous _fish_, that appeared in the form of a woman from her waist
upward, seene in the sea."
The Italians use _Nuovo Pesce_ in much the same manner as we employ the
phrase "a strange fish." "Nuovo pesce era questo ru-Marco"--Domenichi's
"Facetie," 1565, p. 268.
[222] Made him drunk, or intoxicated him.
[223] Probably the same mentioned by Sir Kenelm Digby. See note to "The
Ordinary" [xii., 245.]
[224] Meaning that the trumpet has been sounded twice, in imitation
of the theatres, where, before the play begins by the entrance of the
prologue, there were what were called three soundings. See Malone's
"Shakespeare," by Boswell, iii. 114.--_Collier._
[225] [See Mr Huth's "Ancient Ballads and Broadsides," 1867, p. 213.]
[226] _The country has been laid_, means that the country has been
_way-laid_ for the purpose of catching him. This was the common mode
of expression at the time, as appears from Middleton's "Chaste Maid in
Cheapside," 1630, and other authorities--
"_Lay_ the water-side--she's gone for ever else!"
Again, in the same play--
"My mother's gone to _lay_ the common staires."
--_Collier._
[227] "Mare Liberum," was the title of a book written by the celebrated
Grotius, to prove that the sea was free to every nation, in opposition
to those who wished to circumscribe the Dutch trade. It was printed in
1609, and among other answers which appeared to it, was one by Selden,
which he entitled "Mare Clausum."
[228] The _echineis_, a fish which by adhering to the bottoms of ships,
was supposed to retard their course. So Lucan, lib. vi. v. 674--
"Puppim retinens, Euro tendente rudentes,
In mediis _echineis_ aquis."
--_Steevens._
[229] Sir Francis Drake.
[230] There were two of that name, father and son, in the time of Queen
Elizabeth, both eminent navigators. See their lives in "Biographia
Britannica."
[231] There is an incident of this kind, where a man is shown for a
fish against his will, and thrust under water whenever he attempts to
speak, in the "Vida de Lazarillo de Tormes."--_Collier._
[232] [This word was applied formerly to both sexes. See "Gesta
Romanorum," edit. Madden, p. 456.]
[233] Prynne and his "Histriomastix," so often noticed in this play.
[234] A tavern which used to be frequented by Ben Jonson, Beaumont and
Fletcher, and other wits of the times, and often mentioned in their
works. From the following enumeration of taverns, in an old poem called
"Newes from Bartholmew Fayre" [by Richard West, 1607], the title-page
of which is lost, we find it was situate in Cornhill:--
"There hath beene great sale and utterance of wine,
Besides beere and ale, and ipocras fine,
In every country, region, and nation;
Chefely at Billingsgate, at _the Salutation_,
And _Bores Head_, neere London Stone,
_The Swan_ at Dowgate, a taverne well knowne,
_The Miter_ in Cheape, and then _the Bull Head_,
And many like places that make noses red;
_The Bores Head_ in Old Fish Street, _three Cranes_ in the Vintree,
And now of late, St Martin's in the Sentree:
_The Windmill_ in Lothbury, _the Ship_ at the Exchange,
_King's Head_ in New Fish Streete, where roysters do range;
+The Mermaid in Cornhill+; _Red Lion_ in the Strand,
_Three Tuns_ in Newgate Market, Old Fish Street, at _the Swan_."
[235] [An allusion which has been often explained.]
[236] About the year 1631, Archbishop Laud, under the patronage of
Charles I., undertook the repairing and rebuilding of St Paul's.
On this occasion the king went to the cathedral, and, after divine
service was performed, solemnly promised to exert his best endeavours
to repair the ruins which time, or the casualties of weather, had made
therein. In consequence of this scheme, many applications were made to
noblemen and gentlemen for their assistance, and, on their refusal to
contribute, some were very severely censured, and even fined.
[237] Most of our ancient maps will sufficiently illustrate this image.
The vacant spaces, occasioned by tracts of sea, are usually ornamented
with these monsters spouting water.--_Steevens._
[238] Among the illegal modes of raising money adopted by Charles I.,
after he determined to govern without a parliament; the borrowing of
money by writs of privy-seal was one not the least burdensome and
oppressive. The manner was to direct these writs to particular persons
by name, requiring the loan of money, or plate to the amount of the
money, to be paid or delivered to a particular person, for the king's
use. The form of the writs may be seen in "The Parliamentary History,"
xiii., 84, where one of them is printed. [But in this passage this
speaker also intends a play on the double meaning of _seal_.]
[239] Alluding to a method of catching pikes.--_Pegge._
[240] [Probably, nimble, sprightly, Fr. _leger_; unless it should be in
the sense indicated by Nares in his "Glossary" under Liedger, _i.e._,
resident; but Bannswright is not described as a pander.]
[241] A corruption, probably, of _wizand_, or _weazon_.--_Steevens._
[242] Perhaps he means to say _Vin de Dieu_; _i.e._, _Lacrymæ
Christi_.--_Steevens._
[243] [The old copy here, and again just below, has improperly
Plotwell, for Bannswright must be supposed to maintain his disguise at
present.]
ACT IV., SCENE I.
_+Seathrift+, +Mistress Seathrift+, +Mistress
Holland+, +Mistress Scruple+._
+Sea.+ I did commit her to your charge, that you
Might breed her, Mistress Scruple, and do require
Her at your hand. Here be fine tricks, indeed!
My daughter Susan to be stol'n a week,
And you conceal it. You were of the plot,
I do suspect you.
+Mis. Scr.+ Sir, will you but hear me meekly?
+Sea.+ No, I'll never trust again
A woman with white eyes, that can take notes,
And write a comment on the catechism:
All your devotion's false. Is't possible
She could be gone without your knowledge?
+Mis. Scr.+ Will you
Attend me, Mistress Seathrift? If my husband,
To wean her from love-courses, did not take
More pains with her than with his Tuesday lectures,
And if I did not every day expound
Some good things to her 'gainst the sin o' th' flesh,
For fear of such temptations, to which frail girls
Are very subject, let me never more
Be thought fit t' instruct young gentlewomen
Or deal in tent-stitch. Whoe'er 'twas that seduced her,
She took my daughter Emlin's gown and ruff,
And left her own clothes; and my scholars say,
She often would write letters.
+Sea.+ Why, 'tis right:
Some silenc'd minister has got her. That I
Should breed my daughter in a conventicle!
+Mis. Sea.+ Pray, husband, be appeas'd.
+Sea.+ You are a fool.
+Mis. Sea.+ You hear her mistress could not help it.
+Sea.+ Nor your son help being a fish.
+Mis. Hol.+ Why, sir, was he
The first that was abus'd by captains?
+Sea.+ Go: you talk like prating gossips.
+Mis. Hol.+ Gossips! 'slight, what gossips, sir?
+Mis. Sea.+ What gossips are we? speak.
+Sea.+ I'll tell you, since you'd know. My wife and you,
Shrill Mistress Holland, have two tongues, that when
They're in conjunction, are busier, and make
More noise than country fairs, and utter more tales
Than blind folks, midwifes, nurses. Then no show,
Though't be a juggler, 'scapes you: you did follow
The Elephant so long, and King of Sweden,
That people at last came in to see you. Then
My son could not be made a fish, but who
Should I find there, much taken with the sight,
But you two! I may now build hospitals,
Or give my money to plantations. [_Exit +Seathrift+._
+Mis. Sea.+ Let's follow him. Come, Mistress Scruple,.
+Mis. Hol.+ Just as your Sue left her schoolmistress,
My Pen left me.
+Mis. Scr.+ They'll come again, I warrant you. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_+Plotwell+, +Aurelia+._
+Plot.+ Sister, 'tis so projected, therefore make
No more demurs: the life of both our fortunes
Lies in your carriage of things well. Think therefore
Whether you will restore me, and advance
Your own affairs; or else within this week
Fly this your lodging, like uncustom'd sinners,
And have your coach-horses transform'd to rent;
Have your apparel sold for properties,[244]
And you return to cut-work. By this hand,
If you refuse, all this must happen.
+Aur.+ Well, sir,
Necessity, which hath no law, for once
Shall make me o' th' conspiracy; and since
We are left wholly to our wits, let's show
The power and virtue of 'em. If your Bannswright
Can but persuade my uncle, I will fit
Him with a bride.
+Plot.+ The scene is laid already:
I have transform'd an English poet into
A fine French teacher, who shall join your hands
With a most learned legend out of Rab'lais.
+Aur.+ But for my true groom who, you say, comes hither
For a disguis'd knight, I shall think I wed
His father's counting-house, and go to bed
To so much bullion of a man. Faith, I've
No mind to him: brother, he hath not wit enough
To make't a lawful marriage.
+Plot.+ Y' are deceiv'd:
I'll undertake, by one week's tutoring,
And carrying him to plays and ordinaries,
Engaging him in a quarrel or two, and making
Some captain beat him, to render him a most
Accomplish'd gallant. Or say he be born, sister,
Under the city-planet, pray, what wise lady
Desires to match a wise knight? You'd marry some
Philosopher now, that should every night
Lie with you out of Aristotle, and loose
Your maidenhead by demonstration.
Or some great statesman, before whom you must sit
As silent and reserv'd, as if your looks
Had plots on foreign princes; and must visit
And dress yourself by Tacitus. What he wants
In naturals, his fortunes will make up
In honours, Pen. When he's once made a lord,
Who'll be so saucy as to think he can
Be impotent in wisdom? She that marries
A fool is an Hermaphrodite; the man
And wife too, sister. Besides, 'tis now too late;
He'll be here presently, and comes prepar'd
For Hymen. I took up a footman for him,
And left him under three tiremen's hands, besides
Two barbers.
+Aur.+ Well, sir, I must then accept him
With all his imperfections. I have
Procured a Sir John yonder.
+Plot.+ Who is't?
+Aur.+ One that preaches the next parish once a week
Asleep for thirty pounds a year.
_Enter a +Footman+._
+Foot.+ Here is a knight
Desires your ladyship will give him audience.
+Aur.+ 'Tis no knight ambassador?
+Foot.+ He rather looks like a Knight o' th' Sun.
+Plot.+ 'Tis he.
+Aur.+ Let him come in.
+Plot.+ If you be coy now, Pen, [_Exit +Footman+._
You spoil all.
+Aur.+ Well, sir, I'll be affable.
SCENE III.
_Enter +Timothy+ fantastically dressed, and a
+Footman+._
+Plot.+ Here he comes!
+Tim.+ Sirrah, wait me in the hall,
And let your feet stink there: your air's not fit
To be endured by ladies.
+Plot.+ What! quarrel with your footman, sir?
+Tim.+ Hang him, he casts a scent
That drowns my perfumes, and is strong enough
To cure the mother of palsy. Do I act
A knight well?
+Plot.+ This imperiousness becomes you,
Like a knight newly dubb'd, sir.
+Tim.+ What says the lady?
+Plot.+ Speak lower. I have prepar'd her; show yourself
A courtier: now she's yours!
+Tim.+ If that be all,
I'll court her as if some courtier had begot me
I' th' gallery at a masque.
+Plot.+ Madam, this gentleman
Desires to kiss your hands.
+Tim.+ And lips too, lady.
+Aur.+ Sir, you much honour both.
+Tim.+ I know that,
Else I'd not kiss you. Yesterday I was
In company with ladies, and they all
Long'd to be touch'd by me.
+Aur.+ You cannot cure
The evil, sir; nor have your lips the virtue
To restore ruins, or make old ladies young?
+Tim.+ Faith, all the virtue that they have is, that
My lips are knighted. I am born, sweet lady,
To a poor fortune, that will keep myself
And footman, as you see, to bear my sword
In cuerpo[245] after me. I can at court,
If I would, show my gilt[246] i' th' presence; look
After the rate of some five thousands
Yearly in old rents; and, were my father once
Well wrapp'd in sear-cloth, I could fine for sheriff.
+Plot.+ Heart! you spoil all. [_Aside._
+Tim.+ Why?
+Plot.+ She verily believ'd y' had ne'er a father. [_Aside._
+Aur.+ Lives your father then, sir?
That gentleman told me he was dead.
+Tim.+ 'Tis true,
I had forgot myself: he was drowned, lady,
This morning, as he went to take possession
Of a summer-house and land in the Canaries.
+Plot.+ Now y' have recovered all.
+Tim.+ D' you think I have
Not wit enough to lie? [_Aside._
+Plot.+ Break your mind to her;
She does expect it.
+Tim.+ But, lady, this is not
The business which I came for.
+Aur.+ I'm at leisure
To hear your business, sir.
+Plot.+ Mark that!
+Tim.+ Indeed,
Sweet lady, I've a motion which was once
Or twice this morning in my mouth, and then
Slipp'd back again for fear.
+Aur.+ Cowards ne'er won
Ladies or forts, sir.
+Tim.+ Say then I should feel
Some motions, lady, of affection, might
A man repair Paul's with his heart, or put it
Into a tinder-box?
+Aur.+ How mean you, sir?
+Tim.+ Why, is your heart a stone or flint?
+Aur.+ Be plain, sir, I understand you not.
+Tim.+ Not understand me?
Y'are the [first] lady that e'er put a man
To speak plain English: some would understand
Riddles and signs. Say, I should love you, lady!
+Aur.+ There should be no love lost, sir.
+Tim.+ Say you so?
Then, by this air, my teeth e'en water at you:
I long to have some offspring by you. We
Shall have an excellent breed of wits:
I mean my youngest son shall be a poet; and
My daughters, like their mother, every one
A wench o' th' game. And for my eldest son,
He shall be like me, and inherit. Therefore
Let's not defer our joys, but go to bed
And multiply.
+Aur.+ Soft, sir, the priest must first
Discharge his office. I do not[247] mean to marry,
_Enter +Dorcas+ out of her Puritan dress._
Like ladies in New England, where they couple
With no more ceremony than birds choose their mate
Upon St Valentine's day.
+Dor.+ Madam, the preacher
Is sent for to a churching, and doth ask
If you be ready: he shall lose, he says,
His chrysome[248] else.
+Aur.+ O miracle! out of
Your little ruff, Dorcas, and in the fashion!
Dost thou hope to be saved?
+Dor.+ Pray, madam, do not
Abuse me; I will tell you more anon.
+Plot.+ Tell him she's coming.
+Aur.+ Sir, please you, partake
Of a slight banquet? [_Exit +Dorcas+._
+Plot.+ Just as you are sat,
I'll steal the priest in.
+Tim.+ Do.
+Plot.+ When you are join'd,
Be sure you do not oversee, but straight
Retire to bed: she'll follow.
'Tis not three o'clock i' th' afternoon.
+Tim.+ 'Tis but drawing
Your curtains, and you do create your night.
All times to lovers and new-married folks
May be made dark.
+Tim.+ I will, then. By this room,
She's a rare lady! I do almost wish
I could change sex, and that she might beget
Children on me.
+Plot.+ Nay, will you enter?
+Tim.+ Lady,
Pray, will you show the way?
+Plot.+ Most city-like!
'Slid, take her by the arm, and lead her in.
+Tim.+ Your arm, sweet lady. [_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_+Bright+, +Newcut+._
+Bright.+ But are you sure they're they?
+New.+ I'll not believe
My treacherous eyes again, but trust some dog
To guide me, if I did not see his uncle
Coming this way, and Bannswright with him.
+Bright.+ Who?
The fellow that brings love to banns, and banns
To bare thighs 'bout the town?
+New.+ The very same, sir;
The City-Cupid, that shoots arrows betwixt
Party and party. All the difference is,
He has his eyes, but they he brings together
Sometimes do not see one another, till
They meet i' th' church.
+Bright.+ What say you now, if Warehouse
Should in displeasure marry?
+New.+ 'Tis so; this fellow
In's company confirms me. 'Tis the very business,
Why Plotwell has sent for us.
+Bright.+ Here they come:
Prythee, let's stand and overhear 'em.
+New.+ Stand close, then.
SCENE V.
_Enter +Warehouse+, +Bannswright+._
+Ware.+ Madam Aurelia is her name?
+Ban.+ Her father
Was, sir, an Irish baron, that undid
Himself by housekeeping.
+Ware.+ As for her birth,
I could wish it were meaner: as many knights
And justices of peace as have been of
The family are reckoned into the portion.
She'll still be naming of her ancestors,
Ask jointure by the herald's book, and I,
That have no coat, nor can show azure lions
In fields of argent, shall be scorn'd; she'll think
Her honour wrong'd to match a man that hath
No 'scutcheons but them of his company,
Which once a year do serve to trim a lighter
To Westminster and back again.
+Ban.+ You are mistaken, sir. This lady, as she is
Descended of a great house, so she hath
No dowry but her arms: she can bring only
Some libbards'[249] heads or strange beasts which, you know,
Being but beasts, let them derive themselves
From monsters in the globe, and lineally
Proceed from Hercules' labours, they will never
Advance her to a husband equal to
Herself in birth, that can give beasts too. She
Aims only to match one that can maintain
Her some way to her state. She is possess'd,
What streams of gold you flow in, sir.
+Ware.+ But can she
Affect my age?
+Ban.+ I ask'd her that, and told her
You were about some threescore, sir, and ten;
But were as lusty as one of twenty, or [_Aside._
An aged eunuch.
+Ware.+ And what replied she?
+Ban.+ She,
Like a true Lucrece, answer'd it was fit
For them to marry by the church-book, who
Came there to cool themselves; but to a mind
Chaste, and endued with virtue, age did turn
Love into reverence.
+Bright.+ Or sir-reverence. [_Aside._
+New.+ Prythee, observe.
+Ware.+ Is she so virtuous, then?
+Ban.+ 'Tis all the fault she has: she will outpray
A preacher at St Antlin's, and divides
The day in exercise. I did commend
A great precisian to her for her woman,
Who tells me that her lady makes her quilt
Her smocks before for kneeling.
+Ware.+ Excellent creature!
+Ban.+ Then, sir, she is so modest.
+Ware.+ Too?
+Ban.+ The least
Obscene word shames her; a lascivious figure
Makes her do penance, and she maintains the law,
Which forbids fornication, doth extend
To kissing too.
+Ware.+ I think the time an age,
Till the solemnity be pass'd.
+Ban.+ I have
Prepar'd her, sir, and have so set you out!
Besides, I told her how you had cast off
Your nephew; and, to leave no doubt that you
Would e'er be reconcil'd, before she went
To church, would settle your estate on her
And on the heirs of her begotten.
+Ware.+ To make all sure,
We'll call upon my lawyer by the way,
And take him with us.
+Ban.+ You must be married, sir,
At the French church: I have bespoke the priest;
One that will join you i' th' right Geneva form,
Without a licence.
+Ware.+ But may a man
Wed in a strange tongue?
+Ban.+ I have brought together
Some in Italian, sir; the language doth
Not change the substance of the match; you know
No licence will be granted; all the offices
Are beforehand brib'd by your nephew.
+Ware.+ Well,
Let's to the lady straight. To cross him, I
Would marry an Arabian, and be at charge
To keep one to interpret, or be married
In China language, or the tongue that's spoke
By the Great Cham. [_Exeunt +Warehouse+ and +Bannswright+._
+Bright.+ Now, Newcut, you perceive
My divination's true; this fellow did
Portend a wedding.
+New.+ Plague o' th' prognostication!
Who'd think that madam were the party?
+Bright.+ O sir,
She'll call this wit, to wed his bags and lie
With some Platonic servant.
+New.+ What if we,
Before we go to Plotwell, went to her,
And strived to dissuade her?
+Bright.+ Let's make haste,
They'll be before us, else. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VI.
_Enter +Timothy+ unbuttoning himself; +Aurelia+,
+Plotwell+, +Dorcas+, +Footman+._
+Tim.+ By this hand, lady, you shall not deny me:
Since we are coupled, I shall think the priest
Has not done all, as long as I'm a virgin.
+Aur.+ Will you not stay till night, sir?
+Tim.+ Night! No, faith;
I've sworn to get my first child by day: you may
Be quick by night.
+Plot.+ Madam, your knight speaks reason.
+Tim.+ I will both speak and do it.
+Aur.+ Well, sir, since
There is no remedy, your bed's prepar'd;
By that time you are laid, I'll come. Meantime,
I'll pray that gentleman to conduct you. There's
My footman to pluck off your stockings.
+Plot.+ Come, sir.
+Tim.+ Sweet lady, stay not long.
+Plot.+ I'll promise for her.
[_Exeunt +Timothy+, +Plotwell+, and +Footman+._
+Dor.+ Faith, I admire your temperance, to let
Your bridegroom go to bed, and you not follow.
Were I in your case, I should ha' gone first,
And warm'd his place.
+Aur.+ Well, wench; but that thou hast
Reveal'd thyself unto me, I'd admire
To hear a saint talk thus. To one that knows not
The mystery of thy strange conversion, thou
Wouldst seem a legend.
+Dor.+ Faith, I've told you all,
Both why I left my schoolmistress, who taught me
To confute curling-irons, and why I put
Myself on this adventure.
+Aur.+ Well, wench, my brother
Has had his plots on me, and I'll contribute
My help to work thy honest ones on him:
Do but perform thy task well, and thou winn'st
him.
+Dor.+ Let me alone; never was man so fitted
With a chaste bride, as I will fit his uncle.
_Enter +Footman+._
+Foot.+ Madam, your knight doth call most fiercely for you. [_Exit._
+Aur.+ [+to Dorc.+] Prythee, go tell him some business keeps me yet,
And bid him stay himself with this kiss.
SCENE VII.
_As they kiss, enter +Bright+, +Newcut+._
+Bright.+ By your leave, madam! What, for practice' sake,
Kissing your woman? Lord, how a lady's lips
Hate idleness, and will be busied when
The rest lies fallow! and rather than want action,
Be kind within themselves, an't be t' enjoy
But the poor pleasure of contemplation.
+New.+ And how do you find her, madam?
+Aur.+ Stay, wench.
+New.+ Lord!
Does it not grieve you now, and make you sigh,
And very passionately accuse nature,
And say she was too hard to make your woman
Able to kiss you only, and do no more?
+Bright.+ Is it not pity, but, besides the gift
Of making caudles, and using of her pencil,
She had the trick o' th' other sex?
+Aur.+ Methinks
Your own good breeding might instruct you that
My house is not a new foundation, where
You might, paying the rate, approach, be rude,
Give freedom to your unwash'd mouths.
+Dor.+ My lady
Keeps no poor nuns, that sin for victuals, for you,
With whom this dead vacation[250] you may trade
For old silk stockings and half-shirts. They say
You do offend o' th' score, and sin in chalk,[251]
And the dumb walls complain you are behind
In pension;[252] so that your distressed vestals
Are fain to foot their stockings, pay the brewer
And landlord's rent in woman-kind, and long
More earnestly for the term than Norfolk lawyers.
+Bright.+ Why, you have got a second, lady: your woman
Doth speak good country language.
+New.+ Offers at wit, and shows teeth for a jest.
+Bright.+ We hear you are to marry an old citizen.
+Aur.+ Then surely you were not deaf.
+New.+ And do you mean his age--
Which hath seen all the kingdom buried thrice,
To whom the heat of August is December. [_Exit +Dorcas+._
Who, were he but in Italy, would save
The charge of marble vaults, and cool the air
Better than ventiducts--shall freeze between
Your melting arms? Do but consider, he
But marries you as he would do his furs,
To keep him warm.
+Aur.+ But he is rich, sir.
+Bright.+ Then,
In wedding him you wed more infirmities
Than ever Galen wrote of: he has pains
That put the doctors to new experiments.
Half his diseases in the city bill
Kill hundreds weekly: alone [an] hospital
Were but enough for him.
+New.+ Besides,
He has a cough that nightly drowns the bellman;
Calls up his family; all his neighbours rise,
And go by it, as by the chimes and clock.
Not four loam walls, nor sawdust put between,
Can dead it.
+Aur.+ Yet he is still rich.
+Bright.+ If this
Cannot affright you, but that you will needs
Be blind to wholesome counsel, and will marry
One who, by th' course of nature, ought t' have been
Rotten before the queen's time, and in justice
Should now have been some threescore years a ghost,
Let pity move you. In this match you quite
Destroy the hopes and fortunes of a gentleman,
For whom, had his penurious uncle starv'd,
And pin'd himself his whole life, to increase
The riches he deserves t' inherit, it
Had been his duty.
+Aur.+ You mean his nephew Plotwell?
A prodigal young man: one whom the good
Old man, his uncle, kept to th' inns-of-court,
And would in time ha' made him barrister,
And rais'd him to his satin cap and biggon,[253]
In which he might ha' sold his breath far dearer,
And let his tongue out at a greater price
Than some their manors. But he did neglect
These thriving means, followed his loose companions,
His Brights and Newcuts--two, they say, that live
By the new heresy, Platonic love;
Can take up silks upon their strengths, and pay
Their mercer with an infant.[254]
+Bright.+ Newcut!
+New.+ Ay, I do observe her character. Well, then,
You are resolved to marry?
+Aur.+ Were the man
A statue, so it were a golden one,
I'd have him.
+Bright.+ Pray, then, take along to church
These few good wishes. May your husband prove
So jealous to suspect that, when you drink
To any man, you kiss the place where his
Lips were before, and so pledge meetings: let him
Think you do cuckold him by looks; and let him
Each night, before you go to rest, administer
A solemn oath, that all your thoughts were chaste
That day, and that you sleep with all your hairs.
+New.+ And, which is worse, let him forget he lay
With you himself; before some magistrate
Swear 'twas some other, and have it believ'd
Upon record.
_Enter +Plotwell+._
+Plot.+ Sister, I've left your bridegroom
Under this key lock'd in, t' embrace your pillow.
Sure, he has ate eringoes, he's as hot--
He was about to fetch you in his shirt.
+Bright.+ How's this? His sister!
+New.+ I conceive not this.
+Plot.+ My noble friends, you wonder now to hear
Me call her sister.
+Bright.+ Faith, sir, we wonder more
She should be married.
+New.+ If't be your sister, we
Have labour'd her she should not match her uncle,
And bring forth riddles: children that should be
Nephews to their father, and to their uncle sons.
+Plot.+ I laugh now at your ignorance: why, these
Are projects, gentlemen: fine gins and projects.
Did Roseclap's boy come to you?
+Bright.+ Yes.
+Plot.+ I have
A rare scene for you.
+New.+ The boy told us you were
Upon a stratagem.
+Plot.+ I've sent for Roseclap
And Captain Quartfield to be here: I have
Put Salewit into orders; he's inducted
Into the French Church: you must all have parts.
+Bright.+ Prythee, speak out of clouds.
+Plot.+ By this good light,
'Twere justice now to let you both die simple
For leaving us so scurvily.
+New.+ We were
Sent for in haste by th' benchers to contribute
To one of 'em that's Reader.[255]
+Plot.+ Come with me;
I'll tell you then. But first I'll show you a sight
Much stranger than the fish.
_Enter +Dorcas+._
+Dor.+ Madam, here's Bannswright
And an old merchant to desire access.
+Aur.+ Bid 'em come in. [_Exit +Dorcas+._
+Plot.+ Gentlemen, fall off:
If we be seen, the plot is spoil'd. Sister,
Now look you do your part well.
+Aur.+ I am perfect. [_Exeunt +Plotwell+, +Bright+, +Newcut+._
SCENE VIII.
_Enter +Bannswright+, +Warehouse+, +Dorcas+._
+Ban.+ Madam, this is the gentleman I mention'd,
I've brought him here, according to my function,
To give you both an interview: if you
Be ready, the church and priest are.
+Aur.+ Is this, sir,
The wealthy merchant?
+Ban.+ Madam, this is he
That, if you'll wear the price of baronies,
Or live at Cleopatra's rate, can keep you.
+Aur.+ Come you a suitor, sir, to me?
+Ware.+ Yes, lady,
I did employ my speaker there, who hath,
I hope, inform'd you with my purpose.
+Aur.+ Surely
Your speaker then hath err'd; I understood
Him for my woman: if you can like her, sir,
It being, for aught I hear, all one to you,
I've woo'd her for you. But, for myself, could you
Endow me with the stream that ebbs and flows
In waves of gold, I hope you do not think
I'd so much stain my birth, as to be bought
To match into a company. Sir, plainly,
I'm match'd already.
+Ware.+ Bannswright, did not you
Tell me she'd have me?
+Ban.+ Faith, sir, I have ears
That might deceive me; but I did dream waking,
If she were not the party. Madam, pray you,
One word in private.
+Aur.+ I'll prevent you. 'Tis true,
My brother laid the scene for me; but since
We've chang'd the plot, and 'tis contriv'd my woman
Shall undertake my part. [_Aside._
+Ban.+ I am instructed
I was mistaken, sir; indeed the lady
Spoke to me for her gentlewoman. How
Do you affect her, sir? you see she is
As handsome as her lady; and, her birth
Not being so high, she will more size with you.
+Ware.+ I say, I like her best. Her lady has
Too much great house in her.
+Ban.+ 'Tis right; this you
May govern as you list. I'll motion't. Lady,
Pray, pardon our mistake; indeed our errand
Was chiefly to your gentlewoman.
+Aur.+ Sir,
She's one, whose fortune I so much intend;
And yours, sir, are so fair that, though there be
Much disproportion in your age, yet I
Will overrule her, and she shall refer
Herself to be dispos'd by me.
+Ware.+ You much oblige me, madam.
+Aur.+ Dorcas, this is the merchant
I have provided for you: he is old,
But he has that will make him young, much gold.
+Dor.+ Madam, but that I should offend against
Your care, as well as my preferment, I'd
Have more experience of the man I mean
To make my husband. At first sight to marry,
Must argue me of lightness.
+Aur.+ Princes, Dorcas,
Do woo by pictures and ambassadors,
And match in absent ceremonies.
+Dor.+ But
You look for some great portion, sir?
+Ware.+ Fair mistress,
Your virtues are to me a wealthy dowry;
And if you love me, I shall think you bring
More than the Indies.
+Dor.+ But, sir, 't may be,
You'll be against my course of life. I love
Retirement, must have times for my devotion,
Am little us'd to company, and hate
The vanity of visits.
+Ware.+ This makes me
Love you the more.
+Dor.+ Then I shall never trust you
To go to sea, and leave me: I shall dream
Of nought but storms and pirates; every wind
Will break my sleep.
+Ware.+ I'll stay at home.
+Dor.+ Sir, there
Is one thing more: I hear you have a nephew
You mean to make your heir; I hope you will
Settle some jointure on me.
+Ware.+ He's so lost
In my intents that, to revenge myself,
I take this course. But, to remove your doubts,
I've brought my lawyer with blank deeds:
He shall put in your name; and I, before
We go to church, will seal 'em.
+Dor.+ On these terms,
Where is your priest, sir?
+Ware.+ He expects me at
The French Church, mistress.
+Aur.+ Come, when you have seal'd, sir:
I'll bear a part in the solemnity. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[244] _i.e._, To make some of the lesser necessaries of a theatre,
_properties_ being the usual term for them. So Bottom, in the
"Midsummer Night's Dream"--
"I will draw a bill of _properties_."
See a note on this passage.--_Steevens._
Mr Steevens, in his note upon "Midsummer Night's Dream," (Malone's
Shakespeare, by Boswell, v. 198), says that _dresses_ were not
included in the _properties_ of theatres. Maine's authority is to the
contrary, if Aurelia's apparel were to be used for the apparel of the
actors.--_Collier._
[245] _Cuerpo_ is an undress: the Spaniards, from whom we borrowed
the word, apply it to a person in a light jacket without his cabot or
cloak.--Mr Gifford's note on the "Fatal Dowry," iii. 390. Cuerpo is the
_body_, and _in cuerpo_ means in body clothing.--_Collier._
[246] _i.e._, The gold on my apparel. So in "King Henry V."
"Our gayness and our _gilt_ are all besmerch'd."
See a note on this passage, vi., 128, edit. 1778.--_Steevens._
[247] [Omitted in former edit.]
[248] [The christening-fee.] The chrysome was the white cloth thrown
over the new-baptized child. This perhaps was the perquisite of the
officiating clergyman. The child itself, however, was sometimes
called a _chrysome_. See a note on "King Henry V.," vi., 52, edit.
1778.--_Steevens._
[249] _i.e._, Leopards, animals often introduced into heraldic devices.
[250] [Former edit., _vocation_.]
[251] [Run into debt. Scores used to be chalked up at taverns. Hence
the proverb, "The tapster is undone by chalk!" From being a particular
phrase, it became general.]
[252] [The allowance to a kept mistress.]
[253] A _biggon_ was a kind of coif formerly worn by men. It is now
only in use for children.
[254] [Granting _infant_ to be the right word, we are perhaps to
suppose that illegitimate children were surreptitiously deposited on
mercers' counters, occasionally, wrapped up as parcels. _Upon their
strengths_ appears to mean _upon their credit_.]
[255] From Dugdale's "Origines Juridiciales," p. 207, &c., we learn
that the office of a Reader at the Middle Temple was held at a great
charge to the person who executed it. "His expences," says that author,
"during this time of _reading_, are very great; insomuch, as some have
spent above six hundred pounds in two dayes less than a fortnight,
which now is the usual time of _reading_." It appears also that many
gentlemen, who were put by their _reading_, were removed from the
Bar-table unto a table called, The Auncients Table; "And it is no
disgrace," says the same author, "for any man to be removed hither; for
by reason of the excessive chardge of _readings_, many men of great
learning and competent practise, as well as others of less learning,
but great estates, have refused to Read, and are here placed." To
relieve the gentlemen who undertook this expensive office, it seems to
have been usual to call upon the students for their assistance; and
this circumstance is alluded to in the text. [The Ancients' Table is
the same as the Benchers', and at Gray's Inn the Benchers are still
called _Ancients_.]
ACT V., SCENE I.
_+Plotwell+, +Aurelia+, +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Quartfield+,
+Roseclap+, two +Footmen+, +Cypher+._
+Plot.+ Well, sister, by this hand, I was afraid
You had marr'd all; but I am well content
You have outreach'd me. If she do act it well now,
By Jove, I'll have her.
+Aur.+ She hath studied all
Her cues already.
+Plot.+ Gentlemen, how do
You like the project?
+Bright.+ Theirs was dull and cold,
Compar'd to ours.
+New.+ Some poet will steal from us,
And bring't into a comedy.
+Quart.+ The jest
Will more inspire than sack.
+Plot.+ I have got Cypher
Over to our side too: he has been up and down
To invite guests to th' wedding.
_Enter +Salewit+ like a Curate._
How now, Salewit, are they gone home?
+Sale.+ Yes, faith, for better for worse.
I've read a fiction out of Rab'lais to 'em
In a religious tone, which he believes
For good French liturgy. When I had done,
There came a christening.
+Plot.+ And didst thou baptize
Out of thy Rab'lais too?
+Sale.+ No, faith; I left 'em
In expectation of their pastor.
+Bright.+ Newcut,
Who does he look like in that dress?
+New.+ Hum! why
Like a Geneva weaver in black, who left[256]
The loom, and enter'd into th' ministry
For conscience' sake.
+Plot.+ Well, gentlemen, you all
Do know your parts: you, Captain and Bannswright,
Go, get your properties. For you two, these
Two mules shall carry you in greater state
And more ease than the fistula. You, sister,
We'll leave unto your knight, to come anon.
Roseclap and I will thither straight. You, Cypher,
Know what you have to do.
+Sale.+ And as for me,
I'm an invited guest, and am to bless
The venison in French, or in a grace
Of broken English.
+Quart.+ Before we do divide
Our army, let us dip our rosemaries[257]
In one rich bowl of sack to this brave girl,
And to the gentleman that was my fish.
+All.+ Agreed, agreed.
+Plot.+ Captain, you shall dip first. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_+Warehouse+, +Dorcas+._
+Ware.+ My dearest Dorcas, welcome. Here you see
The house you must be mistress of, which with
This kiss I do confirm unto you.
+Dor.+ Forbear, sir.
+Ware.+ How! wife, refuse to kiss me?
+Dor.+ Yes, unless
A sweeter air came from you; y' have turned my stomach.
I wonder you can be so rude to ask me,
Knowing your lungs are perish'd.
+Ware.+ This is rare,
That I should live to this great age, and never
Till now know I was rotten!
+Dor.+ I shall never
Endure your conversation: I hope you have
Contriv'd two beds, two chambers, and two tables.
It is an article, that I should live
Retir'd--that is, apart.
+Ware.+ But pray you, wife, are you in earnest?
+Dor.+ D'you think I'll jest with age?
+Ware.+ Will you not lie with me, then?
+Dor.+ Did ever man
Of your hairs ask such questions? I do blush
At your unreasonableness.
+Ware.+ Nay, then----
+Dor.+ Is't fit I should be buried?
+Ware.+ I reach you not.
+Dor.+ Why, to lie with you were a direct emblem
Of going to my grave.
+War.+ I understand you.
+Dor.+ I'll have your picture set in my weddingring
For a Death's head.
+Ware.+ I do conceive you.
+Dor.+ I'd
Rather lie with an ancient tomb, or embrace
An ancestor than you. D'you think I'll come
Between your winding-sheets? For what? To hear you
Depart all night, and fetch your last groan; and
I' th' morning find a deluge on the floor;
Your entrails floating, and half my husband spit
Upon the arras.
+Ware.+ I am married----
+Dor.+ Then,
For your abilities, should twelve good women
Sit on these reverend locks, and on your heat
And natural appetite, they would just find you
As youthful as a coffin, and as hot
As the sultry winter that froze o'er the Thames--
They say the hard time did begin from you.
+Ware.+ Good, I am made the curse of watermen.
+Dor.+ Your humours come frost from you, and your nose
Hath icicles in June.
+Ware.+ Assist me, patience!
Why, hear you, mistress--you that have a fever
And dog-days in your blood--if you knew this,
Why did you marry me?
+Dor.+ Ha, ha, ha!
+Ware.+ She laughs.
+Dor.+ That your experienc'd age,[258] that hath felt springs
And falls this forty years, should be so dull
To think I have not them that shall supply
Your cold defects!
+Ware.+ You have your servants, then,
And I am fork'd? hum!
+Dor.+ Do you think
A woman young, high in her blood----
+Ware.+ And hot
As goats or marmosites----
+Dor.+ Apt to take flame at
Every temptation----
+Ware.+ And to kindle at
The picture of a man----
+Dor.+ Would wed dust, ashes,
A monument, unless she were----
+Ware.+ Crack'd, tried, and broken up?
+Dor.+ Right, sir, or lack'd a cloak?
+Ware.+ Mischief and hell! and was there none to make
Your cloak but I?
+Dor.+ Not so well-lin'd!
+Ware.+ O, you
Stay'd for a wealthy cuckold; your tame beast
Must have his gilded horns?
+Dor.+ Yes, sir; besides,
Your age being impotent, you would, I knew,
In conscience wink at my stol'n helps, if I
Took comfort from abroad.
+Ware.+ Yes, yes; yes, yes!
You shall be comforted: I will maintain
A stallion for you.
+Dor.+ I will have friends come to me.
So you'll conceal----
+Ware.+ Alas! I'll be your pander;
Deliver letters for you, and keep the door.
+Dor.+ I'll have a woman shall do that.
+Ware.+ O impudence!
Unheard-of impudence!
+Dor.+ Then, sir, I'll look
Your coffers shall maintain me at my rate.
+Ware.+ How's that?
+Dor.+ Why, like a lady; for I do mean
To have you knighted.
+Ware.+ I shall rise to honour.
+Dor.+ D'you think I'll have your factor move before me,
Like a device stirr'd by a wire, or like
Some grave clock wound up to a regular pace?
+Ware.+ No, you shall have your usher, dame, to stalk
Before you, like a buskin'd prologue,[259] in
A stately, high, majestic motion, bare.
+Dor.+ I do expect it: yes, sir, and my coach,
Six horses and postillion; four are fit
For them that have a charge of children: you
And I shall never have any.
+Ware.+ If we have,
All Middlesex is father.
+Dor.+ Then I'll have
My footman to run by me when I visit,
Or take the air sometimes in Hyde Park.
+Ware.+ You,
Besides being chaste, are good at races too:
You can be a jockey for a need?
+Dor.+ Y' are pleasant, sir.
+Ware.+ Why, hark you, hark you, mistress; you told me
You lov'd retirement, loved not visits, and bargain'd
I should not carry you abroad.
+Dor.+ You! no.
Is't fit I should be seen at court with you?
Such an odd sight as you would make the ladies
Have melancholy thoughts.
+Ware.+ You bound me, too,
I should not go to sea: you lov'd me so,
You could not be without me.
+Dor.+ Not if you stay'd
Above a year; for should I, in a long voyage,
Prove fruitful, I should want a father to
The infant.
+Ware.+ Most politicly kind,
And, like a whore, perfect i' th' mystery!
It is beyond my sufferance.
+Dor.+ Pray, sir, vex [not]:
I'll in and see your jewels, and make choice
Of some for every day; and some to wear
At masques. [_Exit._
+Ware.+ 'Tis very good. Two days
Of this I shall grow mad; or, to redeem
Myself, commit some outrage. O--O--O!