WAN. 'Tis a truth, wench, I have gained from my own observations,
and the paradox will be maintained. Take wise men for cuckolds,
and fools to make them: for your wise man draws eyes and
suspicion with his visit, and begets jealous thoughts in the
husband, that his wife may be overcome with his parts; when the
fool is welcome to both, pleaseth both; laughs with the one, and
lies with the other, and all without suspicion. I tell thee, a
fool that has money is the man. The wits and the we's, which is a
distinct parreal of wit bound by itself, and to be sold at
Wit-hall, or at the sign of the King's-head in the butchery:
these wise things will make twenty jealous, ere one man a
cuckold, when the family of fools will head a parish, ere they
are suspected.
BAWD. Well, I see one may live and learn: and if he be but as
good at it now you are his own, as he was when he was your
friend's friend (as they call it), you have got one of the best
hiders of such a business in the town. Lord, how he would sister
you at a play!
WAN. Faith, 'tis as he is used at first; if he gets the bridle
in's teeth, he'll ride to the devil; but if thou be'st true,
we'll make him amble ere we have done. The plot is here, and if
it thrive I'll alter the proverb, _The parson gets the children_,
to, _The parson fathers them_.
BAWD. Anything that may get rule: I love to wear the breeches.
WAN. So do we all, wench. Empire 'tis all our aim; and I'll put
my ranting Roger in a cage but I'll tame him. He loves already,
which is an excellent ring in a fool's nose, and thou shalt hear
him sing--
_Happy only is that family that shows
A cock that's silent, and a hen that crows._
BAWD. Do this, I'll serve you for nothing: the impetuous slave
had wont to taunt me for beating of my husband, and would sing
that song in mockery of me.
WAN. In revenge of which, thou (if thou wilt be faithful) shalt
make him sing,
_Happy is that family that shows
A cock that's silent, and a hen that crows._
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_Enter_ PARSON, LOVEALL, _and_ FAITHFUL.
LOVE. Go, you are a naughty man. Do you come hither to rail
against an honest gentleman? I have heard how you fell out: you
may be ashamed on't, a man of your coat.
PAR. What! to speak truth, and perform my duty? The world cries
out you are a scabbed sheep, and I am come to tar you; that is,
give you notice how your fame suffers i' th' opinion of the
world.
LOVE. My fame, sirrah! 'Tis purer than thy doctrine. Get thee out
of my house.
FAITH. You uncivil fellow, you come hither to tell my lady of her
faults, as if her own Levite could not discern 'em?
LOVE. My own Levite! I hope he's better bred than to tell me of
my faults.
FAITH. He finds work enough to correct his dearly-beloved
sinners.
PAR. And the right worshipful my lady and yourself, they mend at
leisure.
LOVE. You are a saucy fellow, sirrah, to call me sinner in my own
house. Get you gone with your _Madam, I hear_, and _Madam, I
could advise, but I am loth to speak: take heed; the world
talks_;--and thus with dark sentences put my innocence into a
fright, with _You know what you know, good Mistress Faithful_: so
do I, and the world shall know, too, thou hast married a whore.
PAR. Madam, a whore?
FAITH. No, sir, 'tis not so well as a madam-whore; 'tis a poor
whore, a captain's cast whore.
LOVE. Now bless me, marry a whore! I wonder any man can endure
those things. What kind of creatures are they?
PAR. They're like ladies, but that they are handsomer; and though
you take a privilege to injure me, yet I would advise your woman
to tie up her tongue, and not abuse my wife.
LOVE. Fie! art thou not ashamed to call a whore wife? Lord bless
us, what will not these men do when God leaves them? but for a
man of your coat to cast himself away upon a whore! Come, wench,
let's go and leave him! I'll swear[217] 'tis strange the state
doth not provide to have all whores hanged or drowned.
FAITH. Ay, and 'tis time they look into it; for they begin to
spread so, that a man can scarce find an honest woman in a
country. They say they're voted down now; 'twas moved by that
charitable member that got an order to have it but five miles to
Croydon, for ease of the market-women.
LOVE. Ay, ay, 'tis a blessed parliament.
[_Exeunt_ LOVEALL _and_ FAITHFUL.
PAR. That I have played the fool is visible. This comes of
rashness. Something I must do to set this right, or else she'll
hate, and he'll laugh at me. I must not lose him and my revenge
too. Something that's mischief I am resolved to do.
[_Exit_ PARSON.
SCENE V.
_Enter_ WILD _and_ CARELESS.
WILD. Now is the parson's wife so contemptible?
CARE. No; but I'm so full of that resolution to dislike the sex,
that I will allow none honest, none handsome. I tell thee, we
must beat down the price with ourselves; court none of them, but
let their maidenheads and their faces lie upon their hands, till
they're weary of the commodity: then they'll haunt us to find
proper chapmen to deal for their ware.
WILD. I like this, but 'twill be long adoing, and it may be, ere
they be forced to sell, our bank will be exhausted, and we shall
not be able to purchase.
CARE. Ay, but we'll keep a credit, and at three six months thou
and the captain shall be my factors.
WILD. You had best have a partner, else such an undertaking would
break a better back than yours.
CARE. No partners in such commodities: your factor that takes up
maidenheads, 'tis upon his own account still.
WILD. But what course will you take to purchase this trade with
women?
CARE. I am resolved to put on their own silence and modesty,
answer _forsooth_, swear nothing but _God's nigs_, and hold
arguments of their own cold tenets, as if I believed there were
no true love below the line, then sigh when 'tis proper, and with
forced studies betray the enemy who, seeing my eye fixed on her,
her vanity thinks I am lost in admiration, calls and shakes me,
ere I wake out of my design, and being collected, answer out of
purpose, _Love, divinest? yes, who is it that is mortal and does
not? or which amongst all the senate of the gods can gaze upon
those eyes, and carry thence the power he brought?_ This will
start her.
WILD. Yes, and make her think thee mad.
CARE. Why, that's my design; for then I start too, and rub my
eyes as if I waked: then sigh and strangle a yawn, till I have
wrung it into tears, with which I rise as if o'ercome with grief;
then kiss her hands, and let fall those witnesses of faith and
love, bribed for my design. This takes; for who would suspect
such a devil as craft and youth to live together?
WILD. But what kind of women do you think this will take?
CARE. All kind of women. Those that think themselves handsome, it
being probable, conclude it real; and those that are handsome in
their opinion, that small number will believe it, because it
agrees with their wishes.
WILD. And when you are gone, it may be they sigh, and their love
breaks out into paper, and what then?
CARE. What then? why then I'll laugh, and show thee their
letters, and teach the world how easy 'tis to win any woman.
WILD. This is the way: and be sure to dislike all but her you
design for: be scarce civil to any of the sex besides.
CARE. That's my meaning; but to her that I mean my prey, all her
slave: she shall be my deity, and her opinion my religion.
WILD. And while you sad it once to one, I'll talk freer than a
privileged fool, and swear as unreasonably as losing gamesters,
and abuse thee for thinking to reclaim a woman by thy love: call
them all bowls thrown, that will run where they will run, and
lovers like fools run after them, crying, _rub_ and _fly_ for me.
I believe none fair, nor handsome, nor honest, but the kind.
CARE. We must make the captain of our plot, lest he betray us.
This will gain us some revenge upon the lovers to whom I grudge
the wenches, not that I believe they're worth half the cost they
pay for them. And we may talk; but 'tis not our opinion can make
them happier or more miserable.
_Enter_ JOLLY.
WILD. Jolly! Will, where hast thou been? We had such sport with
the parson of our town: he's married this morning to Wanton.
JOLLY. Who? the captain's wench? he's in a good humour then. As
you love mirth, let's find him: I have news to blow his rage
with, and 'twill be mirth to us to see him divided betwixt the
several causes of his anger, and lose himself in his rage, while
he disputes which is the greater. Your opinion, gentlemen: is
this or his wench the greater loss?
CARE. What hast thou there? pearl![218] they're false, I hope.
[_Here he pulls out the pearl._
JOLLY. Why do you hope so?
CARE. Because I am thy friend, and would be loth to have thee
hanged for stealing.
JOLLY. I will not swear they are honestly come by: but I'll be
sworn there's neither force nor theft in't.
WILD. Prythee, speak out of riddles: here's none but your
friends.
JOLLY. Faith, take it. You have heard the captain brag of an old
lady, which he thinks he keeps close in a box; but I know where
hangs a key can let a friend in, or so. From her, my brace of
worthies, whose wits are dulled with plenty this morning, with
three good words and four good deeds I earned this toy.
CARE. The mirth yet we will all share. I am in pain till we find
him, that we may vex his wit, that he presumes so much on.
WILD. Let's go, let's go. I will desire him to let me see his
wench: I will not understand him if he says she's gone.
CARE. I'll beg of him, for old acquaintance' sake, to let me see
his old lady.
JOLLY. Hark! I hear his voice.----
CAPT. [_Within._] Which way?
CARE. The game plays itself. Begin with him, Ned, while we talk
as if we were busy: we'll take our cue.
WILD. When I put off my hat.
_Enter_ CAPTAIN.
CAPT. 'Sblood, I thought you had been sunk: I have been hunting
you these four hours. Death! you might ha' left word where you
went, and not put me to hunt like Tom Fool. 'Tis well you are at
London, where you know the way home.
WILD. Why in choler? We have been all this while searching you.
Come, this is put on to divert me from claiming your promise. I
must see the wench.
CAPT. You cannot, adad: adad, you cannot.
WILD. I did not think you would have refused such a kindness.
CARE. What's that?
WILD. Nothing, a toy. He refuses to show me his wench!
CARE. The devil he does! What! have we been thus long comrades,
and had all things in common, and must we now come to have common
wenches particular? I say, thou shalt see her, and lie with her
too, if thou wilt.
JOLLY. What! in thy dumps, brother? Call to thy aid two-edged
wit. The captain sad! 'tis prophetic: I'd as lieve[219] have
dreamt of pearl, or the loss of my teeth: yet if he be musty,
I'll warrant thee, Ned, I'll help thee to a bout. I know his
cloak, his long cloak that hides her: I am acquainted with the
parson: he shall befriend thee.
CAPT. 'Tis very well, gentlemen; but none of you have seen her
yet?
WILD. Yes, but we have, by thyself--by thy anger, which is now
bigger than thou. By chance we crossed her coming from church,
leading in her hand the parson, to whom she swore she was this
day married.
JOLLY. And our friendships were now guiding us to find thee out,
to comfort thee after the treachery of thy Levite.
CARE. Come, bear it like a man; there are more wenches. What hast
thou spied?
[_He gives no answer, but peeps under_ Jolly's _hat_.
WILD. His pearl, I believe.
CAPT. Gentlemen, I see you are merry: I'll leave you. I must go a
little way to inquire about a business.
WILD. H' has got a sore eye, I think.
CAPT. I will only ask one question, and return.
CARE. No, faith, stay, and be satisfied.
JOLLY. Do, good brother; for I believe there is no question that
you now would ask, but here's an oracle can resolve you.
CAPT. Are those pearl true?
JOLLY. Yes.
CAPT. And did not you steal them?
JOLLY. No.
CARE. Nor he did not buy them with ready money, but took them
upon mortgage of himself to an old lady.
JOLLY. Dwelling at the sign of the Buck in Broad Street. Are you
satisfied, or must I play the oracle still?
CAPT. No, no; I am satisfied.
JOLLY. Like jealous men that take their wives at it, are you not?
CAPT. Well, very well: 'tis visible I am abused on all hands.
But, gentlemen, why all against me?
CARE. To let you see your wit's mortal, and not proof against
all.
WILD. The parson hath shot it through with a jest.
CAPT. Gentlemen, which of you, faith, had a hand in that?
JOLLY. Faith, none; only a general joy to find the captain
overreached.
CAPT. But, do you go sharers in the profit as well as in the
jest?
JOLLY. No, faith, the toy's mine own.
CAPT. They are very fine, and you may afford a good pennyworth.
Will you sell them?
JOLLY. Sell them! ay, where's a chapman?
CAPT. Here; I'll purchase them.
JOLLY. Thou! no, no, I have barred thee, bye and main,[220] for I
am resolved not to fight for them: that excludes thy purchase by
the sword; and thy wench has proved such a loss, in thy last
adventure of wit, that I'm afraid it will spoil thy credit that
way too.
CAPT. Gentlemen, as a friend, let me have the refusal: set your
price.
WILD. He's serious.
CARE. Leave fooling.
JOLLY. Why, if thou couldst buy them, what wouldst thou do with
them?
CAPT. They're very fair ones; let me see them: methinks they
should match very well with these?
JOLLY. These! which?
OMNES. Which?
CARE. They are true.
CAPT. Yes, but not earned with a pair of stol'n verses, of, _I
was not born till now, This my first night, And so forsooth_; nor
given as a charm against lust.
CARE. What means all this?
JOLLY. What! why, 'tis truth, and it means to shame the devil. By
this good day, he repeats the same words with which I gathered
these pearls.
WILD. Why, then, we have two to laugh at.
CARE. And all friends hereafter. Let's fool all together.
CAPT. Gentlemen with the fine wits, and my very good friends, do
you, or you, or he, think I'll keep you company to make you
laugh, but that I draw my honey from you too?
CARE. Come, come, the captain's in the right.
CAPT. Yes, yes, the captain knows it, and dares tell you your
wit, your fortune, and his face, are but my ploughs; and I would
have my fine monsieur know, who, in spite of my counsel, will be
finer than his mistress, and appears before her so curiously
built, she dares not play with him for fear of spoiling him: and
to let him know the truth I speak, to his fair hands I present
this letter, but withal give him to understand the contents
belong to me.
[_He reads the letter._
WILD. The pearl are sent to me.
CAPT. I deny that, unless you prove you sent me: for the letter
begins, "Sir, this noble gentleman, the bearer, whom you are
pleased to make the messenger of your love," and so forth. And
now you should do well to inquire for that noble gentleman, and
take an account of him how he has laid out your love; and it may
be, he'll return you pearl for it. And now, gentlemen, I dare
propose a peace, at least a cessation of wit (but what is
defensive) till such time as the plot which is now in my head be
effected, in which you have all your shares.
WILD. So she knows I have not the pearl, I am content.
CAPT. She'll quickly find that, when she sees you come not
to-night according to my appointment, and hears I have sold the
pearl.
JOLLY. Here then ceaseth our offensive war.
CAPT. I'll give you counsel worth two ropes of pearl.
CARE. But the wench--how came the parson to get her?
CAPT. Faith, 'tis hard to say which laboured most, he or I, to
make that match; but the knave did well. There it is, if you
assist, I mean to lay the scene of your mirth to-night; for I am
not yet fully revenged upon the rogue: for that I know him
miserable, is nothing, till he believe so too. Wanton and I have
laid the plot.
JOLLY. Do you hold correspondence?
CAPT. Correspondence! I tell thee, the plots we laid to draw him
on would make a comedy.
_Enter a_ SERVANT.
SER. Sir, the ladies stay dinner.
JOLLY. And as we go, I'll tell you all the story, and after
dinner be free from all engagements, as we promised thee; and,
follow but our[221] directions, I'll warrant you mirth and a
pretty wench.
OMNES. Agreed; anything that breeds mirth is welcome.
JOLLY. Not a word at the widow's: let them go on quietly, and
steal their wedding too.
CAPT. I heard a bird sing, as if it were concluded amongst the
couples.
WILD. They have been long about: my coz is a girl deserves more
haste to her bed. He has arrived there by carrier's journeys.
CARE. But that I hate wooing, by this good day, I like your aunt
so well and her humour, she should scarce be thrown away upon
pale-face, that has sighed her into a wedding-ring, and will but
double her jointure.
CAPT. Why, ay, thus it should be. Pray let us make them the seat
of the war all dinner, and continue united and true among
ourselves; then we may defy all foreign danger.
Jolly. And with full bowls let us crown this peace, and sing,
_Wit without war no mirth doth bring._
[_Exeunt._
SCENE VI.
_Enter_ PARSON _and_ WANTON.
WAN. Was she deaf to your report?
PAR. Yes, yes.
[_The_ PARSON _walks troubled up and down_.
WAN. And Ugly, her Abigail, she had her say too?
PAR. Yes, yes.
WAN. And do you walk here, biting your nails? do you think I'll
be satisfied with such a way of righting me?
PAR. What wouldst have me do?
WAN. Have you no gall? be abused and laughed at by a dull
captain, that a strict muster would turn fool! You had wit, and
could rail when I offended you; and none so sudden, none so
terrible, none so sure in his revenge, when I displease you.
PAR. Something I'll do.
WAN. Do it, then, or I shall curse that e'er I saw you. Death!
let the sign of my lady, an out-of-fashion whore, that has paid
for sin ever since yellow starch[222] and wheel fardingales were
cried down, let her abuse me, and say nothing: if this passes----
PAR. As Christ bless me, but I did, sweet heart; and if it were
not church livings are mortal, and they are always hitting me in
the teeth with a man of my[223] coat, she should find I am no
churchman within, nor Master Parson but in my coat. Come to
dinner, and after dinner I'll do something.
WAN. I shall do something will vex somebody.
_Enter_ BAWD.
BAWD. Will you please to come to dinner? the company stays.
PAR. Come, let's go in.
WAN. No, I must walk a little to digest this breakfast; the
guests else will wonder to see I am troubled.
PAR. Come, let this day pass in mirth, spite of mischief, for
luck's sake.
[_Exit_ PARSON.
WAN. I'll follow you, and do what I can to be merry.
BAWD. Why, he stands already.
WAN. Peace, let me alone: I'll make him jostle like the miller's
mare, and stand like the dun cow, till thou may'st milk him.
BAWD. Pray break him of his miserableness; it is one of the chief
exceptions I have against him. He reared a puppy once, till it
was ten days old, with three hap'worth of milk, and then with his
own dagger slew it, and made me dress it: blessed myself to see
him eat it, and he bid me beg the litter, and swore it was
sweeter and wholesomer than sucking rabbits or London pigs, which
he called Bellmen's issue.
PAR. [_Within._] Why, sweet heart!
WAN. Hark! he calls me. We must humour him a little, he'll rebel
else.
SCENE VII.
_Enter (at the windows) the_ WIDOW _and_ MASTER CARELESS,
MISTRESS PLEASANT _and_ MASTER WILD, CAPTAIN, MASTER SAD,
CONSTANT, JOLLY, SECRET: _a table and knives ready for
oysters_.
WID. You're welcome all, but especially Master Jolly. No reply
with, _I thank your ladyship_.
PLEA. I beseech you, sir, let us never be better acquainted?
[_She speaks to_ MASTER JOLLY.
JOLLY. I shall endeavour, lady, and fail in nothing that is in my
power to disoblige you; for there is none more ambitious of your
ill opinion than I.
PLEA. I rejoice at it; for the less love, the better welcome
still.
WID. And as ever you had an ounce of love for the widow, be not
friends among yourselves.
WILD. Aunt, though we were at strife when we were alone, yet now
we unite like a politic state against the common enemy.
PLEA. The common enemy! what is that?
WILD. Women, and lovers in general.
WID. Nay, then we have a party, niece: claim quickly, now is the
time, according to the proverb, keep a thing seven years, and
then if thou hast no use on't, throw't away.
PLEA. Agreed, let's challenge our servants: by the love they have
professed, they cannot in honour refuse to join with us. And see
where they come!
_Enter_ SAD _and_ CONSTANT, _and meet_ SECRET; _she whispers
this to_ SAD.
SEC. Sir, 'tis done.
SAD. Be secret and grave, I'll warrant our design will take as we
can wish.
CON. Sweet Mistress Pleasant!
WID. Servant Sad.
SAD. Madam.
WID. We are threatened to have a war waged against us: will you
not second us?
SAD. With these youths we'll do enough, madam.
WID. I'll swear my servant gave hit for hit this morning, as if
he had been a master in the noble science of wit.
PLEA. Mine laid about him with spick and span[224] new arguments,
not like the same man: his old sayings and precedents laid by.
WID. Thus armed, then, we'll stand and defy them.
WILD. Where's your points? sure, aunt, this should be your
wedding-day, for you have taken the man for better for worse.
WID. No, nephew, this will not prove the day, that we shall
either give or take a ring.
CARE. Hang me, if I know you can go back again with your honour.
WILD. Or in justice refuse him liberty that has served out his
time: either marry him, or provide for him, for he is maimed in
your service.
WID. Why, servant Sad, you'll arm? my nephew has thrown the first
dart at you.
CAPT. Hast hit, hast hit?
WILD. No, captain; 'twas too wide.
CAPT. Too wide! marry, he's an ill marksman that shoots wider
than a widow.
JOLLY. We are both in one hole, captain; but I was loth to
venture my opinion, lest her ladyship should think I was angry,
for I have a good mind to fall upon the widow.
PLEA. You're a constant man, Master Jolly; you have been in that
mind this twelvemonth's day.
CON. You are in the right, madam; she has it to show under his
hand, but she will not come in the list with him again: she threw
him the last year.
WID. Come, shall we eat oysters? Who's there? Call for some wine.
Master Jolly, you are not warm yet. Pray, be free, you are at
home.
JOLLY. Your ladyship is merry.
WID. You do not take it ill to have me assure you, you are at
home here?
WILD. Such another invitation (though in jest) will take away
Master Sad's stomach.
[_Oysters not brought in yet._
SAD. No, faith, Ned, though she should take him, it will not take
away my stomach: my love is so fixed, I may wish my wishes, but
she shall never want them to wait upon hers.
PLEA. A traitor! bind him! has pulled down a side. Profess your
love thus public?
JOLLY. Ay, by my faith, continue, Master Sad, [to] give it out
you love; and call it a new love, a love never seen before; we'll
all come to it as your friends.
SAD. Gentlemen, still I love: and if she to whom I thus sacrifice
will not reward it, yet the worst malice can say is, I was
unfortunate; and misfortune, not falsehood, made me so.
JOLLY. In what chapter shall we find this written, and what
verse? you should preach with a method, Master Sad.
WID. Gentlemen, if ever he spoke so much dangerous sense before
(either of love or reason), hang me.
SAD. Madam, my love is no news, where you are: know, your scorn
has made it public; and though it could gain no return from you,
yet others have esteemed me for the faith and constancy I have
paid here.
PLEA. Did not I foretell you of his love? I foresaw this danger.
Shall I never live to see wit and love dwell together?
CAPT. I am but a poor soldier, and yet never reached to the
honour of being a lover; yet from my own observations, Master
Sad, take a truth: 'tis a folly to believe any woman loves a man
for being constant to another; they dissemble their hearts only,
and hate a man in love worse than a wencher.
JOLLY. And they have reason; for if they have the grace to be
kind, he that loves the sex may be theirs.
CARE. When your constant lover, if a woman have a mind to him,
and be blessed with so much grace to discover it, he, out of the
noble mistake of honour hates her for it, and tells it perchance,
and preaches reason to her passion, and cries: Miserable beauty,
to be so unfortunate as to inhabit in so much frailty!
CAPT. This counsel makes her hate him more than she loved before.
These are troubles those that love are subject to; while we look
on and laugh, to see both thus slaved, while we are free.
CARE. My prayers still shall be, Lord deliver me from love.
CAPT. 'Tis plague, pestilence, famine, sword, and sometimes
sudden death.
SAD. Yet I love, I must love, I will love, and I do love.
CAPT. In the present tense.
WID. No more of this argument, for love's sake.
CAPT. By any means, madam, give him leave to love: and you are
resolved to walk tied up in your own arms, with your love as
visible in your face as your mistress's colours in your hat; that
any porter at Charing Cross may take you like a letter at the
carrier's, and having read the superscription, deliver Master Sad
to the fair hands of Mistress or My Lady Such-a-one, lying at the
sign of the Hard Heart.
PLEA. And she, if she has wit (as I believe she hath), will
scarce pay the post for the packet.
WID. Treason! how now, niece? join with the enemy?
[_They give the_ CAPTAIN _wine_.
CAPT. A health, Ned: what shall I call it?
CARE. To Master Sad! he needs it that avows himself a lover.
SAD. Gentlemen, you have the advantage, the time, the place, the
company; but we may meet when your wits shall not have such
advantage as my love.
PLEA. No more of love, I am so sick on't.
CON. By your pardon, mistress, I must not leave love thus
unguarded: I vow myself his follower.
JOLLY. Much good may love do him. Give me a glass of wine here.
Will, let them keep company with the blind boy. Give us his
mother, and let them preach again: Hear that will, he has good
luck persuades me 'tis an ugly sin to lie with a handsome woman.
CAPT. A pox upon your nurse; she frighted me so, when I was
young, with stories of the devil, I was almost fourteen ere I
could prevail with reasons to unbind my reason, it was so slaved
to faith and conscience. She made me believe wine was an evil
spirit, and fornication, like the whore of Babylon, a fine face,
but a dragon under her petticoats, and that made me have a mind
to peep under all I met since.
WID. Fie, fie! for shame, do not talk so: are you not ashamed to
glory in sin, as if variety of women were none?
JOLLY. Madam, we do not glory in fornication; and yet I thank
God, I cannot live without a woman.
CAPT. Why, does your ladyship think it a sin to lie with variety
of handsome women? If it be, would I were the wicked'st man in
the company.
PLEA. You have been marked for an indifferent sinner that way,
captain.
CAPT. Who, I? no, faith, I was a fool; but, and I were to begin
again, I would not do as I have done. I kept one, but if ever I
keep another, hang me; nor would I advise any friend of mine to
do it.
JOLLY. Why, I am sure 'tis a provident and safe way: a man may
always be provided and sound.
PLEA. Fie upon this discourse!
CAPT. Those considerations betrayed me: a pox! it is a dull sin
to travel, like a carrier's horse, always one road.
WID. Fie, captain! repent for shame, and marry.
CAPT. Your ladyship would have said, marry and repent: no, though
it be not the greatest pleasure, yet it is better than marrying;
for when I am weary of her, my inconstancy is termed virtue, and
I shall be said to turn to grace. Beware of women for better, for
worse; for our wicked nature, when her sport is lawful, cloys
straight: therefore, rather than marry, keep a wench.
JOLLY. Faith, he's in the right; for 'tis the same thing in
number and kind, and then the sport is quickened, and made
poignant with sin.
CAPT. Yet 'tis a fault, faith, and I'll persuade all my friends
from it; especially here, where any innovation is dangerous.
'Twas the newness of the sin that made me suffer in the opinion
of my friends, and I was condemned by all sorts of people; not
that I sinned, but that I sinned no more.
CARE. Why, ay, hadst thou been wicked in fashion, and privily
lain with everybody, their guilt would have made them protect
thee: so that to be more wicked is to be innocent, at least safe.
A wicked world, Lord help us!
CAPT. But being particular to her, and not in love, nor subject
to it: taking an antidote every morning, before I venture into
those infectious places where love and beauty dwell; this enraged
the maiden beauties of the time, who thought it a prejudice to
their beauties to see me careless, and securely pass by their
conquering eyes, my name being found amongst none of those that
decked their triumphs. But from this 'tis easy to be safe; for
their pride will not let them love, nor my leisure me. Then the
old ladies that pay for their pleasures,--they, upon the news,
beheld me with their natural frowns, despairing when their money
could not prevail; and hated me when they heard that I for my
pleasure would pay as large as they.
JOLLY. Gentlemen, take warning: a fee from every man; for by this
day, there's strange counsel in this confession.
WILD. Captain, you forgot to pledge Master Careless! Here, will
you not drink a cup of wine? Who's there? Bring the oysters.
CAPT. Yes, madam, if you please.
WILD. Proceed, captain.
PLEA. Fie, Master Wild! are you not ashamed to encourage him to
this filthy discourse?
CAPT. A glass of wine then, and I'll drink to all the new-married
wives that grieve to think at what rate their fathers purchase a
little husband. These, when they lie thirsting for the thing they
paid so dear for----
_Enter a_ SERVANT _with oysters_.
CARE. These, methinks, should be thy friends, and point thee out
as a man for them.
CAPT. Yes, till the faithful nurse cries; Alas, madam! he keeps
such a one, he has enough at home. Then she swells with envy and
rage against us both; calls my mistress ugly, common, unsafe, and
me a weak secure fool.
JOLLY. These are strange truths, madam.
WID. Ay, ay; but those oysters are a better jest.
CAPT. But she's abused that will let such reason tame her desire,
and a fool in love's-school; else she would not be ignorant that
variety is such a friend to love, that he which rises a sunk
coward from the lady's bed, would find new fires at her maid's:
nor ever yet did the man want fire, if the woman would bring the
fuel.
PLEA. For God's sake, leave this discourse.
WID. The captain has a mind we should eat no oysters.
WILD. Aunt, we came to be merry, and we will be merry, and you
shall stay it out. Proceed, captain.
WID. Fie, captain, I am ashamed to hear you talk thus: marry, and
then you'll have a better opinion of women.
CAPT. Marry! yes, this knowledge will invite me: it is a good
encouragement, is it not, think you? What is your opinion? Were
not these marriages made in heaven? By this good day, all the
world is mad, and makes haste to be fooled, but we four: and I
hope there's none of us believes there has any marriages been
made in heaven since Adam.
JOLLY. By my faith, 'tis thought the devil gave the ring there
too.
WID. Nephew, I'll swear I'll be gone.
CAPT. Hold her, Ned [_He points at_ SAD], she goes not yet;
there's a fourth kind of women that concerns her more than all
the rest--_ecce signum_! She is one of those who, clothed in
purple, triumph over their dead husbands; these will be catched
at first sight, and at first sight must be caught. 'Tis a bird
that must be shot flying, for they never sit. If a man delay,
they cool, and fall into considerations of jointure and friends'
opinion; in which time, if she hears thou keep'st a wench, thou
hadst better be a beggar in her opinion; for then her pride, it
may be, would betray her to the vanity of setting up a proper man
(as they call it); but for a wencher no argument prevails with
your widow; for she believes they have spent too much that way to
be able to pay her due benevolence.
WID. As I live, I'll be gone, if you speak one word more of this
uncivil subject.
JOLLY. Captain, let me kiss thy cheek for that, widow. You
understand this, widow? I say no more. Here, captain, here's to
thee! As it goes down, a pox of care!
WID. Jesus! Master Jolly, have you no observations of the court,
that are so affected with this of the town.
CON. Faith, they say, there's good sport there sometimes.
PLEA. Master Jolly is afraid to let us partake of his knowledge.
JOLLY. No, faith, madam.
CAPT. By this drink, if he stay till I have eaten a few more,
I'll describe it.
JOLLY. What should I say? 'Tis certain the court is the bravest
place in the kingdom for sport, if it were well looked to, and
the game preserved fair; but, as 'tis, a man may sooner make a
set in the Strand; and it will never be better whilst your divine
lovers[225] inhabit there.
CARE. Let the king make me master of the game.[226]
CAPT. And admit us laity-lovers.
JOLLY. I would he would; for, as 'tis, there's no hopes amongst
the ladies: besides, 'tis such an example to see a king and queen
good husband and wife, that to be kind will grow out of fashion.
CAPT. Nay, that's not all; for the women grow malicious because
they are not courted: nay, they bred all the last mischiefs, and
called the king's chastity a neglect of them.
JOLLY. Thou art in the right. An Edward or a Harry, with seven
queens in buckram, that haught[227] among the men, and stroked
the women, are the monarchs they wish to bow to; they love no
tame princes, but lions in the forest!
CAPT. Why, and those were properly called the fathers of their
people, that were indeed akin to their nobility: now they wear
out their youth and beauty, without hope of a monumental ballad,
or trophy of a libel that shall hereafter point at such a lord,
and cry, that is the royal son of such a one!
JOLLY. And these were the ways that made them powerful at home:
for the city is a kind of tame beast; you may lead her by the
horns any whither, if you but tickle them in the ear sometimes.
Queen Bess, of famous memory, had the trick on't; and I have
heard them say, in eighty-eight, ere I was born, as well as I can
remember, she rode to Tilbury on that bonny beast, the mayor.
CAPT. I would I might counsel him, I'd so reform the court.
CARE. Never too soon; for now, when a stranger comes in, and
spies a covey of beauties would make a falconer unhood, before
he can draw his leash, he is warned that's a marked partridge;
and that and every he has by their example a particular she.
WILD. By this light, the six fair maids stand like the
working-days in the almanac; one with A scored upon her breast,
that is as much as to say, I belong to such a lord; the next with
B, for an elder brother; C, for such a knight; D, possessed with
melancholy, and at her breast you may knock an hour ere you get
an answer, and then she'll tell you there's no lodging there; she
has a constant fellow-courtier that has taken up all her heart to
his own use: in short, all are disposed of but the good mother,
and she comes in like the Sabbath at the week's end; and I
warrant her to make any one rest that comes at her.
CARE. Ay, marry, if she were like the Jews' Sabbath, it were
somewhat; but this looks like a broken commandment, that has had
more work done upon her than all the week besides.
CAPT. And what think you--is not this finely carried? you, that
are about the king, counsel him, if he will have his sport fair,
he must let the game be free, as it has been in former ages. Then
a stranger that has wit, good means, and handsome clothes, no
sooner enters the privy chamber, and beats about with three
graceful legs,[228] but he springs a mistress that danced as well
as he, sung better: as free as fair. Those at first sight could
speak, for wit is always acquainted: these fools must be akin,
ere they can speak. And now friends make the bargain, and they go
to bed, ere they know why.
JOLLY. Faith, he's in the right: you shall have a buzzard now
hover and beat after a pretty wench, till she is so weary of him
she's forced to take her bed for covert, and find less danger in
being trussed than in flying.
CAPT. And what becomes of all this pudder?[229] after he has made
them sport for one night, to see him touze the quarry, he carries
her into the country; and there they two fly at one another till
they are weary.
CARE. And all this mischief comes of love and constancy. We shall
never see better days till there be an act of parliament against
it, enjoining husbands not to till their wives, but change and
lay them fallow.
JOLLY. A pox, the women will never consent to it: they'll be
tilled to death first.
WILD. Gentlemen, you are very bold with the sex.
CAPT. Faith, madam, it is our care of them. Why, you see they are
married at fourteen, yield a crop and a half, and then die: 'tis
merely their love that destroys 'em; for if they get a good
husbandman, the poor things yield their very hearts.
PLEA. And do you blame their loves, gentlemen?
JOLLY. No, not their love, but their discretion; let them love,
and do, a God's name, but let them do with discretion.
WILD. But how will you amend this?
JOLLY. Instead of two beds and a physician, I'd have the state
prescribe two wives and a mistress.
WILD. Ho! it will never be granted: the state is made up of old
men, and they find work enough with one.
JOLLY. We will petition the lower house; there are young men, and
(if it were but to be factious) would pass it, if they thought
the upper house would cross it; besides, they ought to do it.
Death! they provide against cutting down old trees, and
preserving highways and post-horses, and let pretty wenches run
to decay.
CARE. Why may it not come within the statute of depopulation? As
I live, the state ought to take care of those pretty creatures.
Be you judge, madam: is't not a sad sight to see a rich young
beauty, with all her innocence and blossoms on, subject to some
rough rude fellow, that ploughs her, and esteems and uses her as
a chattel, till she is so lean, a man may find as good grass upon
the common, where it may be she'll sit coughing with sunk eyes,
so weak that a boy (with a dog) that can but whistle, may keep a
score of them?
WID. You are strangely charitable to our sex on a sudden!
CAPT. I know not what they are; but, for my part, I'll be a
traitor, ere I'll look on and see beauty go thus to wreck. It is
enough custom has made us suffer them to be enclosed. I am sure
they were created common, and for the use of man, and not
intended to be subject to jealousy and choler, or to be bought or
sold, or let for term of lives or years, as they are now, or else
sold at outcries:[230] _Oh yes! who'll give most, take her._
WID. Why do not some of you excellent men marry, and mend all
these errors by your good example?
JOLLY. Because we want fortunes to buy rich wives or keep poor
ones, and be loth to get beggars or whores, as well as I love
'em.
PLEA. Why, are all their children so that have no fortune, think
you?
JOLLY. No, not all: I have heard of Whittington and his Cat,[231]
and others, that have made fortunes by strange means, but I
scarce believe my son would rise from _Hop, a halfpenny and a
lamb's-skin_;[232] and the wenches, commonly having more wit and
beauty than money, foreseeing small portions, grow sad and read
romances, till their wit spy some unfortunate merit like their
own, without money too; and they two sigh after one another till
they grow mysterious in colours, and become a proverb for their
constancy: and when their love has worn out the cause, marry in
the end a new couple; then, grown ashamed of the knowledge they
so long hunted, at length part by consent, and vanish into
Abigail and governor.
WID. Well, gentlemen, excuse me for this one time; and if ever I
invite you to dinner again, punish me with such another
discourse. In the meantime, let's go in and dine; meat stays for
us.
CAPT.[233] Faith, madam, we were resolved to be merry: we have
not met these three years till to-day, and at the Bear we meant
to have dined; and since your ladyship would have our company,
you must pardon our humour. Here, Master[234] Sad, here's the
widow's health to you.
[_Exeunt omnes._
ACT III., SCENE 1.
_Enter all from dinner._
WID. Nephew, how do you dispose of yourself this afternoon?
WILD. We have a design we must pursue, which will rid you of all
this troublesome company; and we'll make no excuse, because you
peeped into our privacies to-day.
CARE. Your humble servant, ladies; gentlemen, we'll leave you to
pursue your fortunes.
[_Exit_ CARELESS.
JOLLY. Farewell, widow: may'st thou live unmarried till thou
run'st away with thyself.
[_Exit_ JOLLY.
CAPT. No, no, when that day comes, command the humblest of your
servants.
[_Exit_ CAPTAIN.
WILD. Farewell, aunt: sweet Mistress Pleasant, I wish you good
fortune.
[_Exit_ WILD.
WID. Farewell, farewell, gentlemen. Niece, now, if we could be
rid of these troublesome lovers too, we would go see a play.
[_Aside._
PLEA. Rid of them! why, they are but now in season. As I live, I
would do as little to give mine content as any she in town, and
yet I do not grudge him the happiness of carrying me to a play.
WID. Ay, but the world will talk, because they pretend; and then
we shall be sure to meet my nephew there and his wild company,
and they will laugh to see us together.
PLEA. Who will you have, Tim the butler or Formal your
gentleman-usher? I would take Philip, the foreman of the shop, as
soon.
WID. Let's mask ourselves, and take Secret, and go alone by
water.
PLEA. Yes, and follow her, like one of my aunts of the
suburbs.[235] It is a good way to know what you may yield in a
market; for, I'll undertake, there are those that shall bid for
you before the play will be done.
SEC. As I live, madam, Mistress Pleasant is in the right; I had
such a kindness offered me once, and I came to a price with him
in knavery; and hang me, if the rogue was not putting the earnest
of his affection into my hand.
WID. Let's go to the Glass-House[236] then.
PLEA. I'll go to a play with my servant, and so shall you. Hang
opinion! and we'll go to the Glass-House afterwards: it is too
hot to sup early.
SEC. Pray, madam, go: they say 'tis a fine play, and a knight
writ it.
PLEA. Pray, let Secret prevail; I'll propose it to the lovers. In
the meantime, go you, and bid the coachman make ready the coach.
[SECRET _whispers_ SAD, 'Twill take.
SEC. Alas, madam! he's sick, poor fellow, and gone to bed; he
could not wait at dinner.
WID. Sick?
PLEA. Why, see how all things work for the young men, either
their coach or afoot! Master Constant, what think you of seeing a
play this afternoon? Is it not too hot to venture this infectious
time?
CON. Fie! madam, there's no danger: the bill decreased twenty
last week.[237]
SAD. I swear, they say 'tis a very good play to-day.
WID. Shall we go, niece?
PLEA. Faith, 'tis hot, and there's nobody but we.
SAD. Does that hinder? Pray, madam, grudge us not the favour of
venturing yourself in our company.
WID. Come, leave this ceremony. I'll go in, and put on my mask.
Secret shall bring yours.
PLEA. No, I'll go, and put it on within.
[_Exeunt omnes._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ WILD, CARELESS, CAPTAIN, _and_ JOLLY.
CARE. By this day, you have nettled the widow.
WILD. The captain neglected his dinner for his mirth, as if he
had forgot to eat.
JOLLY. When did he oversee his drinking so?
CAPT. Gentlemen, still it is my fortune to make your worships
merry.
WILD. As I live, captain, I subscribe, and am content to hold my
wit as a tenant to thee; and to-night I'll invite you to supper,
where it shall not be lawful to speak till thou hast victualled
thy man-of-war.
CAPT. Shall's be merry? What shall we have?
WILD. Half a score dishes of meat; choose them yourself.
CAPT. Provide me then the chines fried, and the salmon calvered,
a carp and black sauce, red deer in the blood, and an assembly of
woodcocks and jacksnipes, so fat you would think they had their
winding-sheets on; and upon these, as their pages, let me have
wait your Sussex wheatear, with a feather in his cap; over all
which let our countryman, General Chine of beef, command. I hate
your French pottage, that looks as the cook-maid had more hand in
it than the cook.
WILD. I'll promise you all this.
CARE. And let me alone to cook the fish.
CAPT. You cook it! no, no, I left an honest fellow in town, when
I went into Italy, Signor Ricardo Ligones, one of the ancient
house of the Armenian ambassadors; if he be alive, he shall be
our cook.
WILD. Is he excellent at it?
CAPT. Excellent! you shall try, you shall try. Why, I tell you, I
saw him once dress a shoeing-horn and a joiner's apron, that the
company left pheasant for it.
WILD. A shoeing-horn!
CAPT. Yes, a shoeing-horn. Marry, there was garlic in the sauce.
WILD. Is this all you would have?
CAPT. This, and a bird of paradise, to entertain the rest of the
night, and let me alone to cook her.
WILD. A bird of paradise! What's that?
CAPT. A girl of fifteen, smooth as satin, white as her Sunday
apron, plump, and of the first down. I'll take her with her guts
in her belly, and warm her with a country-dance or two, then
pluck her, and lay her dry betwixt a couple of sheets; there pour
into her so much oil of wit as will make her turn to a man, and
stick into her heart three corns of whole love, to make her taste
of what she is doing; then, having strewed a man all over her,
shut the door and leave us, we'll work ourselves into such a
sauce as you can never surfeit on, so poignant, and yet no haut
goA"t.[238] Take heed of a haut goA"t:[239] your onion and woman
make the worst sauce. This shook together by an English cook (for
your French seasoning spoils many a woman), and there's a dish
for a king.
WILD. For the first part I'll undertake, Captain.
CAPT. But this for supper. No more of this now; this afternoon,
as you are true to the petticoat, observe your instructions, and
meet at Ned's house in the evening.
OMNES. We will not fail.
CAPT. I must write to Wanton, to know how things stand at home,
and to acquaint her how we have thrived with the old lady to-day.
WILD. Whither will you go to write?
CAPT. To thy house, 'tis hard by; there's the Fleece.
JOLLY. Do; and in the meantime I'll go home and despatch a little
business, and meet you.
WILD. Make haste, then.
JOLLY. Where shall I meet you?
WILD. Whither shall we go, till it be time to attend the design?
CARE. Let's go to court for an hour.
JOLLY. Do: I'll meet you at the queen's side.
WILD. No, prythee, we are the monsieurs new come over; and if we
go fine, they will laugh at us, and think we believe ourselves
so: if not, then they will abuse our clothes, and swear we went
into France only to have our cloaks cut shorter.
CARE. Will you go see a play?
CAPT. Do, and thither I'll come to you, if it be none of our
gentlemen poets, that excuse their writings with a prologue that
professes they are no scholars.
JOLLY. On my word, this is held the best penned of the time, and
he has writ a very good play: by this day, it was extremely
applauded.
CAPT. Does he write plays by the day? Indeed, a man would ha'
judged him a labouring poet.
JOLLY. A labouring poet! By this hand, he's a knight. Upon my
recommendation, venture to see it; hang me if you be not
extremely well satisfied.
CARE. A knight, and writes plays! It may be, but 'tis strange to
us; so they say there are other gentlemen poets without land or
Latin; this was not ordinary; prythee, when was he knighted?
JOLLY. In the north, the last great knighting, when 'twas God's
great mercy we were not all knights.
WILD. I'll swear they say, there are poets that have more men in
liveries than books in their studies.
CAPT. And what think you, gentlemen, are not these things to
start a man? I believe 'tis the first time you have found them
lie at the sign of the page, footmen, and gilded coaches. They
were wont to lodge at the thin cloak; they and their muses made
up the family, and thence sent scenes to their patrons, like boys
in at windows; and one would return with a doublet, another with
a pair of breeches, a third with a little ready money, which,
together with their credit with a company, in three terms you
rarely saw a poet repaired.
JOLLY. This truth nobody denies.
WILD. Prythee, let us resolve what we shall do, lest we meet with
some of them; for it seems they swarm, and I fear nothing like a
dedication, though it be but of himself; for I must hear him say
more than either I deserve or he believes. I hate that in a poet;
they must be dull, or all upon all subjects; so that they can
oblige none but their muse.
JOLLY. I perceive by this you will not see the play. What think
you of going to Sim's[240] to bowls, till I come?
CARE. Yes, if you will go to see that comedy. But there is no
reason we should pay for our coming in, and act too, like some
whose interest in the timber robs them of their reason, and they
run as if they had stolen a bias.[241]
WILD. Resolve what you will do; I am contented.
CARE. Let's go walk in Spring Garden.
WILD. I'll do it for company; but I had as lief be rid in the
horse-market as walk in that fool's fair, where neither wit nor
money is, nor sure to take up a wench. There's none but honest
women.
CAPT. A pox on't, what should we do there? Let's go and cross the
field to Pike's; her kitchen is cool, winter and summer.
CARE. I like that motion well; but we have no time, and I hate to
do that business by half. After supper, if you will, we'll go and
make a night on't.
CAPT. Well, I must go write: therefore resolve of somewhat. Shall
I propose an indifferent place, where 'tis probable we shall all
meet?
OMNES. Yes.
CAPT. Go you before to the Devil,[242] and I'll make haste after.
CARE. Agreed. We shall be sure of good wine there, and in fresco;
for he is never without patent snow.
WILD. Patent snow! What, doth that project hold?
JOLLY. Yes, faith; and now there's a commission appointed for
toasts against the next winter.
WILD. Marry, they are wise, and foresaw the parliament, and were
resolved their monopolies should be no grievance to the people.
CAPT. Farewell! You will be sure to meet?
OMNES. Yes, yes.
[_Exeunt omnes._
SCENE III.
_Enter_ WANTON _and her_ MAID, _with her lap full of things_.
WANTON. Bid them ply him close, and flatter him, and rail upon
the old lady and the captain: and, do you hear, give him some
hints to begin the story of his life. Do it handsomely, and you
shall see the sack will clip his tongue.
MAID. I warrant you, I'll fit him.
WAN. When he is in his discourse, leave him, and come down into
the parlour, and steal away his box with the false rings that
stands by his bedside. I have all his little plate here already.
MAID. Make you haste. I'll warrant you, you'll dress him.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_Enter the_ CAPTAIN, _with a letter in his hand, and his_
BOY _to him with a candle: is going to write the
superscription_.
BOY. Sir, the Lady Loveall passed by even now.
CAPT. The Lady Loveall! Which way went she?
BOY. To the rich lady, the widow, where your worship dined.
CAPT. 'Tis no matter. Here, carry this letter, and bring an
answer to the Devil quickly; and tell her we'll stay there till
the time be fit for the design.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE V.
_Enter_ CARELESS, WILD, _and a_ DRAWER, _at the Devil_.
CARE. Jack, how goes the world? Bring us some bottles of the best
wine.
DRAW. You shall, sir. Your worship is welcome into England.
CARE. Why, look you: who says a drawer can say nothing but _Anon,
anon, sir_; score a quart of sack in the half-moon?[243]
DRAW. Your worship is merry; but I'll fetch you that, sir, shall
speak Greek, and make your worship prophesy. You drank none such
in your journey.
WILD. Do it then, and make a hole in this angel thou may'st creep
through. [_Gives him an angel._] Who is't that peeps? a fiddler?
Bring him by the ears.
_Enter the_ TAILOR _that peeps_.
TAI. A tailor, an't like your worship.
CARE. A tailor! Hast thou a stout faith?
TAI. I have had, an't like your worship; but now I am in despair.
CARE. Why, then, thou art damned. Go, go home, and throw thyself
into thine own hell; it is the next way to the other.
TAI. I hope your worship is not displeased.
CARE. What dost do here? A tailor without faith! Dost come to
take measure of ours?
TAI. No; I come to speak with one Master Jolly, a courtier; a
very fine-spoken gentleman and a just counter, but one of the
worst paymasters in the world.
WILD. As thou lov'st me, let's keep him here till he comes, and
make him valiant with sack, that he may urge him till he beats
him. We shall have the sport, and be revenged upon the rogue for
dunning a gentleman in a tavern.
[_Aside_.
CARE. I'll charge him. Here, drink, poor fellow, and stay in the
next room till he comes.
TAI. I thank your worship, but I'm fasting; and if it please your
worship to call for a dozen of manchets, that I may eat a crust
first, then I'll be bold with a glass of your sack.
WILD. Here, here, drink. In the meantime, fetch him some bread.
TAI. Will your worship have me drink all this vessel of sack?
CARE. Yes, yes, off with't: 'twill do you no harm.
[_The_ Tailor _drinks_.
WILD. Why do you not take some order with that Jolly, to make him
pay thee?
TAI. I have petitioned him often, but can do no good.
CARE. A pox upon him! Petition him! his heart is hardened to ill.
Threaten to arrest him: nothing but a sergeant can touch his
conscience.
TAI. Truly, gentlemen I have reason to be angry, for he uses me
ill when I ask him for my money.
JOLLY. [_Speaking within._] Where is Master Wild and Master
Careless?
TAI. I hear his voice.
JOLLY. Let the coach stay. How now, who would he speak with?
_Enter_ JOLLY.
WILD. Do not you know?
JOLLY. Yes, and be you judge, if the rogue does not suffer
deservedly. I have bid him any time this twelvemonth but send his
wife, I'll pay her, and the rogue replies, nobody shall lie with
his wife but himself.
CARE. Nay, if you be such a one--
TAI. No more they shall not. I am but a poor man.
JOLLY. By this hand, he's drunk.
TAI. Nay, then, I arrest you, in mine own name, at his majesty's
suit.
WILD. As I live, thou shalt not beat him.
JOLLY. Beat him! I'll kiss him. I'll pay him, and carry him about
with me, and be at the charge of sack to keep him in the humour.
[_He hugs the quart-pot._
TAI. Help, rescue! I'll have his body: no bail shall serve.
_Enter_ DRAWER.
DRAW. Sir, yonder is a gentleman would speak with you. I do not
like his followers.
JOLLY. What are they? bailiffs?
DRAW. Little better.
JOLLY. Send him up alone, and stand you ready at the stairs'
feet.
CARE. How can that be?[244]
JOLLY. It is the scrivener at the corner. Pick a quarrel with him
for coming into our company. The drawers will be armed behind
them, and we will so rout the rascals! Take your swords, and let
him[245] sleep.
CARE. What scrivener?
JOLLY. Crop the Brownist: he that the ballad was made on.
CARE. What ballad?
JOLLY. Have you not heard of the scrivener's wife, that brought
the blackmoor from the holy land, and made him a Brownist, and in
pure charity lay with him, and was delivered of a magpie, a pied
prophet, which when the elect saw, they prophesied, if it lived,
'twould prove a great enemy to their sect, for the midwife cried
out 'twas born a bishop, with tippet and white sleeves: at which
the zealous mother cried, Down with the idol! So the midwife and
she, in pure devotion, killed it.
WILD. Killed it! what became of them?
JOLLY. Why, they were taken and condemned, and suffered under a
Catholic sheriff, that afflicted them with the litany all the way
from Newgate to the gallows; which in roguery he made to be set
up altarwise, too, and hanged them without a psalm.
WILD. But how took they that breach of privilege?
JOLLY. I know not: Gregory turned them off, and so they descended
and became Brown-martyrs.
WILD. And is the husband at door now?
JOLLY. Yes, yes; but he is married again to a rich widow at
Wapping, a wench of another temper: one that you cannot please
better than by abusing him. I always pick quarrels with him, that
she may reconcile us. The peace is always worth a dinner at
least. Hark! I hear him. [_Enter_ CROP.] Save you, Master Crop:
you are come in the nick to pledge a health.
CROP. No, sir, I have other business. Shall I be paid my money or
no?
[JOLLY _drinks_.
JOLLY. Yes.
CROP. Sir?
JOLLY. You asked whether you should be paid your money, or no,
and I said, yes.
CROP. Pray, sir, be plain.
CARE. And be you so, sir. How durst you come into this room and
company without leave?
CROP. Sir, I have come into good lords' company ere now.
CARE. It may be so; but you shall either fall upon your knees,
and pledge this health, or you come no more into lords'
companies: no, by these hilts!
[_They tug him, and make him kneel._
CROP. 'Tis idolatry! Do, martyr me, I will not kneel, nor join in
sin with the wicked.
JOLLY. Either kneel, or I'll tear thy cloak which, by the age and
looks, may be that which was writ for in the time of the
primitive church.
CROP. Pay me, and I'll wear a better. It would be honestlier
done, than to abuse this, and profane the text; a text that shows
your bishops in those days wore no lawn-sleeves. And you may be
ashamed to protect one that will not pay his debts: the cries of
the widow will come against you for it.
JOLLY. Remember, sirrah, the dinners and suppers, fat venison and
good words, I was fain to give you, christening your children
still by the way of brokage. Count that charge, and how often I
have kept you from fining for sheriff, and thou art in my debt.
Then I am damned for speaking well of thee so often against my
conscience, which you never consider.
CROP. I am an honest man, sir.
JOLLY. Then ushering your wife, and Mistress Ugly, her daughter,
to plays and masques at court. You think these courtesies deserve
nothing in the hundred! 'Tis true, they made room for themselves
with their dagger elbows, and when Spider, your daughter, laid
about her with her breath, the devil would not have sat near her.
CROP. You did not borrow my money with this language.
JOLLY. No, sirrah: then I was fain to flatter you, and endure the
familiarity of your family, and hear (nay, fain sometimes to join
in) the lying praises of the holy sister that expired at Tyburn.
CROP. Do, abuse her, and be cursed. 'Tis well known she died a
martyr, and her blood will be upon some of you. 'Tis her orphan's
money I require, and this is the last time I'll ask it: I'll find
a way to get it.
[_He offers to go, and_ JOLLY _stays him_.
JOLLY. Art serious? By that light, I'll consent, and take it for
an infinite obligation, if thou wilt teach the rest of my
creditors that trick: 'twill save me a world of labour, for hang
me if I know how to do't.
CROP. Well, sir, since I see your resolution, I shall make it my
business.
CARE. Prythee, let's be rid of this fool.
CROP. Fool! Let him pay the fool his money, and he'll be gone.
JOLLY. No, sir, not a farthing. 'Twas my business to borrow it,
and it shall be yours to get it in again. Nay, by this hand, I'll
be feasted too, and have good words. Nay, thou shalt lend me
more, ere thou gett'st this again.
CROP. I'll lay my action upon you.
JOLLY. Your action! You rogue, lay two.
[_They kick him, and thrust him out of the room._[246]
CARE. Lay three for battery.--What have we here? A she-creditor,
too? Who would she speak with?
_Enter_ FAITHFUL. WILD _and_ CARELESS _return and meet her_.
WILD. She looks as if she had trusted in her time.
CARE. Would you speak with any here, old gentlewoman?
FAITH. My business is to Master Jolly.
CARE. From yourself, or are you but a messenger?
FAITH. My business, sir, is from a lady.
CARE. From a lady! From what lady, pray? Why so coy?
FAITH. From a lady in the town.
CARE. Hoh, hoh! from a lady in the town! Is it possible? I should
have guessed you came from a lady in the suburbs or some
country-madam by your riding face.
_Enter_ JOLLY _again_.
JOLLY. I think we have routed the rascals. Faithful! what makes
thy gravity in a tavern?
FAITH. Sport, it seems, for your saucy companions.
JOLLY. Ho, ho, Mull,[247] ho! No fury, Faithful.
FAITH. 'Tis well, sir. My lady presents her service to you, and
hath sent you a letter: there's my business.
CARE. Prythee, who is her lady?
JOLLY. The Lady Loveall.
CARE. O, O, does she serve that old lady? God help her!
FAITH. God help her! Pray for yourself, sir: my lady scorns your
prayers.
JOLLY. Faithful, come hither. Prythee, is thy lady drunk?
FAITH. Drunk, sir?
JOLLY. Ay, drunk or mad? she'd never writ this else. She requires
me here to send back by you the pearl she gave me this morning,
which, sure, she'd never do if she were sober; for, you know, I
earned them hard.
FAITH. I know! What do I know? You will not defame my lady, will
you?
CARE. By no means. This is by way of counsel. Fie! give a thing
and take a thing?[248] If he did not perform, he shall come at
night, and pay his scores.
FAITH. 'Tis well, sir. Is this your return for my lady's favours?
Shall I have the pearl, sir?
JOLLY. No; and tell her, 'tis the opinion of us all, he that
opens her stinking oyster[249] is worthy of the pearl.
FAITH. You are a foul-mouthed fellow, sirrah, and I shall live to
see you load a gallows, when my lady shall find the way to her
own again.
JOLLY. If she miss, there are divers can direct her, you know.
Adieu, Faithful. Do you hear? Steal privately down by the
back-door, lest some knavish boy spy thee, and call thine age
Bawd.
[_Exit_ FAITHFUL.
CARE. Prythee, who is this thing?
JOLLY. 'Tis my lady's waiting-woman, her bawd, her she-confessor,
herself at second-hand. Her beginning was simple and below
stairs, till her lady finding her to be a likely promising bawd,
secret as the key at her girdle, obedient as her thoughts, those
virtues raised her from the flat petticoat and kercher to the
gorget and bumroll. And I remember 'twas good sport at first to
see the wench perplexed with her metamorphosis. She since has
been in love with all the family, and now sighs after the Levite;
and if he forsake her too, I prophesy a waiting-woman's curse
will fall upon her: to die old, despised, poor, and out of
fashion.
_Enter_ CAPTAIN.
CAPT. Why do you not hang out a painted cloth, and take twopence
apiece, and let in all the tame fools at door--those sons of
wonder that now gape, and think you mad?[250]
CARE. 'Tis no matter what they think: madness is proper here. Are
not taverns Bacchus's temples, the place of madness? Does not the
sign of madness hang out at the door?
JOLLY.----while we within possess our joys and cups, as full of
pleasure as weeping Niobe's afflicted eyes were swelled with
grief and tears! Blessing on the cause that made our joys thus
complete: for see Plutus in our pockets, Mars by our sides,
Bacchus in our heads, self-love in our hearts, and change of
virgins in our arms; beauties whose eyes and hearts speak love
and welcome; no rigid thinkers, no niggard beauties, that
maliciously rake up their fire in green sickness to preserve a
spark, that shall flame only in some dull day of marriage: let
such swear and forswear, till (of the whole parish) they love
each other least, whilst we wisely set out our cobwebs in the
most perspicuous places to catch these foolish flies.
CARE. He's in the right. Dost think we retreated hither to beat a
bargain for a score of sheep, or dispute the legality of votes
and weigh the power of prerogative and parliament, and club for
concluding sack, or read the Fathers here, till we grow costive,
like those that have worn their suffering elbows bare, to find a
knowledge to perplex 'em? A pox on such brain-breaking thoughts!
avoid them, and take me into my[251] hand a glass of eternal
sack, and prophesy the restoration of senses and the fall of a
lover from grace; which our dear friend Master Jolly will prove
to whom the Lady Loveall (by Faithful lately departed) sent for
the pearl you wot of.
CAPT. But I hope he had the grace to keep them.
JOLLY. No, no; I'm a fool, I!
CAPT. Was not my boy here?
JOLLY. No, we saw him not.
CAPT. A pox of the rogue! he's grown so lazy.
WILD. Your boy is come in just now, and called for the key of the
back-door. There's women with him.
CAPT. O, that's well! 'tis Wanton: I sent for her to laugh over
the story of the old lady and her pearl.
_Enter_ BOY.
Where have you been all this while, sirrah?
BOY. I could overtake the coach, sir, no sooner.
CAPT. The coach! what coach?
BOY. The Lady Loveall's.
CAPT. The Lady Loveall's! Why, what had you to do with her coach?
BOY. I went to give her the letter your worship sent her.
CAPT. The letter! What letter?
BOY. That your worship gave me.
CAPT. That I writ at Ned's house to Wanton?
BOY. The letter you gave me, sir, was directed to the Lady
Loveall, and she stormed like a mad woman at reading of it.
[_The_ CAPTAIN _threatens to beat him_.
CARE. Why, thou wilt not beat the boy for thy own fault? What
letter was it?
CAPT. 'Twas enough; only a relation of the pearl, wherein she
finds herself sufficiently abused to Wanton.
JOLLY. Now, gentlemen, you have two to laugh at.
CAPT. A pox of fooling! let's resolve what to do. There's no
denying, for she has all the particulars under my hand.
BOY. You must resolve of something, for she's coming, and stayed
only till the back-door was opened.
CAPT. How did she know I was here?
BOY. Your worship bad me tell her you would stay here for her.
CARE. How came this mistake?
CAPT. Why, the devil owed us a shame, it seems. You know I went
home to give Wanton an account how we advanced in our design;
and when I was writing the superscription, I remember the boy
came in and told me the Lady Loveall passed by.
JOLLY. And so it seems you, in pure mistake, directed your letter
to her.
CARE. Well, resolve what you'll do with her when she comes.
CAPT. Faith, bear it like men; 'tis only an old lady lost; let's
resolve to defy her, we are sure of our pearl; but lest we
prolong the war, take the first occasion you can all to avoid the
room. When she's alone, I'll try whether she'll listen to a
composition.
JOLLY. Have you no friends in the close committee?
CAPT. Yes, yes, I am an Essex man.[252]
CARE. Then get some of them to move, it may be voted no letter.
JOLLY. Ay, ay; and after 'tis voted no letter, then vote it
false; scandalous, and illegal, and that is in it: they have a
precedent for it in the Danish packet, which they took from a
foolish fellow who, presuming upon the law of nations, came upon
an embassy to the king without an order or pass from both houses!
CAPT. Hark, I hear her coming.
_Enter_ LOVEALL _and_ FAITHFUL.
LOVE. Sir, I received a letter, but by what accident, I know not;
for I believe it was not intended [to] me, though the contents
concern me.
CAPT. Madam, 'tis too late to deny it; is it peace or war you
bring? without dispute, if war, I hang out my defiance: if
peace, I yield my weapon into your hands.
LOVE. Are you all unworthy? your whole sex falsehood? is it not
possible to oblige a man to be loyal? this is such a treachery no
age can match! apply yourself with youth and wit to gain a lady's
love and friendship, only to betray it? was it not enough you
commanded my fortune, but you must wreck my honour too, and
instead of being grateful for that charity which still assisted
your wants, strive to pay me with injuries, and attempt to make
the world believe I pay to lose my fame; and then make me the
scorned subject of your whore's mirth? Base and unworthy! [_He
smiles._] Do you smile, false one? I shall find a time for you
too, and my vengeance shall find you all.
FAITH. Yea, sir; and you that had such ready wit to proclaim my
lady whore, and me bawd, I hope to see you load a gallows for it.
CAPT. Once again, is it peace or war?
LOVE. Peace! I'll have thy blood first, dog. Where's my pearl?
[_She speaks to_ WILD.] You ought to right me, sir, in this
particular; it was to you I sent them.
WILD. Madam, I sent not for them.
CAPT. No more words: I have them, I earned them, and you paid
them.
FAITH. You are a foul-mouthed fellow, sirrah.
LOVE. Peace, wench, I scorn their slander, it cannot shake my
honour: 'tis too weighty and too fixed for their calumny.
JOLLY. I'll be sworn for my part on't; I think it is a great
honour: I am sure I had as much as I could carry away in ten
nights, and yet there was no miss on't.
CAPT. You! I think so; there's no mark of my work, you see, and
yet I came after thee, and brought away loads would have sunk a
sedan-man.
WILD. By this relation she should be a woman of a great fame.
CARE. Let that consideration, with her condition and her age,
move some reverence, at least to what she was. Madam, I am sorry
I cannot serve you in this particular.
[_Exeunt_ JOLLY _and_ CARELESS.
LOVE. I see all your mean baseness: pursue your scorn. Come,
let's go, wench, I shall find some to right my fame; and though I
have lost my opinion, I have gained a knowledge how to
distinguish of love hereafter; and I shall scorn you and all your
sex, that have not soul enough to value a noble friendship.
WILD. Pray, madam, let me speak with you.
CAPT. We'll have no whispering: I said it, and I'll maintain it
with my sword.
_Enter_ DRAWER.
DRAW. Sir, there's one without would speak with you.
CAPT. With me?
DRAW. No, sir, with Master Wild.
WILD. Madam, I'll wait upon you presently.
[_Exit_ WILD.
CAPT. Madam, I know my company is displeasing to you, therefore
I'll take my leave. Drawer, show me another room.
[_The_ CAPTAIN _makes a turn or two; they look at each other,
then he goes out_.
LOVE. O Faithful, Faithful! I am most miserably abused, and can
find no way to my revenge.
FAITH. Madam, I'll give them ratsbane, and speedily too, ere they
can tell; for that rascal the captain has a tongue else will
proclaim you, and undo your fame for ever.
LOVE. Ay, ay, my fame, my fame, Faithful: and if it were not for
mine honour, which I have kept unstained to this minute, I would
not care.
FAITH. This it is: you will set your affection upon every young
thing: I could but tell you on't.
LOVE. Who could have suspected they would have been so false in
their loves to me, that have been so faithful to them?
_Enter_ DRAWER.
Honest friend, where is Master Wild?
DRAW. The other gentlemen carried him away with them.
LOVE. Are they all gone then?
DRAW. Yes, by this hand. These gentlemen are quickly satisfied:
what an ugly whore they have got! how she states it.[253]
[_Aside._
LOVE. Come, let's go, wench.
[_She offers to go._
DRAW. Mistress, who pays the reckoning?
LOVE. What says he?
FAITH. He asks me who pays the reckoning?
LOVE. Who pays the reckoning! Why, what have we to do with the
reckoning?
DRAW. Shut the door, Dick. [_To_ LOVEALL.] We'll have the
reckoning before you go.
FAITH. Why, goodman sauce-box, you will not make my lady pay for
their reckoning, will you?
DRAW. My lady! a pox of her title, she'd need of something to
make her pass.
FAITH. What do you say, sirrah?
DRAW. I say, the gentlemen paid well for their sport, and I know
no reason why we should lose our reckoning.
LOVE. What do you take me for, my friend?
DRAW. In troth, I take you for nothing; but I would be loth to
take you for that use I think they make shift with you for.
FAITH. Madam, this is that rascally captain's plot.
LOVE. Patience, patience! O, for a bite at the slave's heart.
Friend, mistake me not, my name is Loveall, a lady: send one
along with me, and you shall have your money.
DRAW. You must pardon me, madam, I am but a servant: if you be a
lady, pray sit in an inner room, and send home your woman for the
money: the sum is six pounds, and be pleased to remember the
waiters.
LOVE. Go, Faithful, go fetch the money. O, revenge, revenge!
shall I lose my honour, and have no revenge?
[_Exeunt omnes._
ACT IV., SCENE 1.
_Enter_ WANTON, CAPTAIN, CARELESS, _and_ WILD.
WAN. By all that a longing bride hopes for, which I am not, I am
better pleased with this revenge than mine own plot, which takes
as I could wish. I have so anointed my high priest with sack,
that he would have confuted Baal's priest; and now he does so
slumber in his ale, and calls to bed already--swears the sun is
set.
CAPT. Faith, wench, her abusing of me made me leave her for the
reckoning.
CARE. Yes, faith, they have treated her upsey[254] whore, lain
with her, told, and then pawned her.
WAN. Yes, yes, you are fine things: I wonder women can endure
you; for me, I expect you worse, and am armed for't.
WILD. Faith, let's send and release her; the jest is gone far
enough; as I live, I pity her.
WAN. Pity her! hang her, and rid the country of her. She is a
thing wears out her limbs as fast as her clothes; one that never
goes to bed at all, nor sleeps in a whole skin, but is taken to
pieces like a motion, as if she were too long; she should be
hanged for offering to be a whore.
CAPT. As I live, she's in the right. I peeped once to see what
she did before she went to bed; by this light, her maids were
dissecting her; and when they had done, they brought some of her
to bed, and the rest they either pinned or hung up, and so she
lay dismembered till morning; in which time her chamber was
strewed all over, like an anatomy-school.
WAN. And when she travels anywhere, she is transported with as
great a care and fear of spoiling, as a juggler's motion, when he
removes from fair to fair.
CARE. She is a right broken gamester who, though she lacks
wherewithal to play, yet loves to be looking on.
_Enter_ WANTON'S MAID.
BAWD. He is awake, and calls for you impatiently: he would fain
be in bed; the company is all gone.
WAN. Are you instructed?
BAWD. Let me alone, I'll warrant you for my part.
WAN. Farewell then; you are all ready. Who plays master
constable?
CAPT. I, I; and Ned Jolly the sumner.[255]
WAN. Farewell, farewell then.
[_Exit_ WANTON _and_ BAWD.
WILD. It is a delicate wench.
CARE. She has excellent flesh and a fine face. By this light, we
must depose the captain from his reign here.
[_They whisper this._
WILD. I like her shrewdly; I hate a wench that is all whore and
no company; this is a comedy all day and a fair[256] at night.
CARE. I hope to exalt the parson's horn here.
CAPT. And what think you? is it not a sweet sin, this lying with
another man's wife?
WAN. Is Jolly come?
[WANTON _above_.
CAPT. No, but he'll be here instantly.
WILD. Is he abed?
WAN. Yes, yes; and he sleeps as if he had been put to bed by his
sexton, with _dust to dust_, and _ashes to ashes_.
CAPT. And we'll wake him with that shall be as terrible to him as
the latter day.
WAN. Let him sleep awhile, that he may be fresh, else the jest is
spoiled; for it is his sense of his disgrace must work my ends.
WILD. I'll go home then, and get supper ready, and expect you.
CAPT. Do; our scene lies here.
[_Enter_ JOLLY.]
Who's there? Jolly?
JOLLY. Yes.
CAPT. Are you fitted?
JOLLY. Yes, I have got the Blackfriars music. I was fain to stay
till the last act. And who do you think I saw there?
WILD. I know not.
JOLLY. Guess.
WILD. Prythee: I cannot guess.
JOLLY. Your aunt and Mistress Pleasant, and trusty Secret.
WILD. What, man?
JOLLY. The lovers only, so close in a box!
CAPT. It will be a match, and there's an end. Prythee, let them
go to't: what is't to us? Let's mind our business now, and think
on them hereafter.
WAN. A pox upon them, for a couple of stalk-hounds. Have they
killed at last? Why, this is fool's fortune.[257] It would be
long enough ere one that has wit got such a wife!
CAPT. No more of this now. Have you borrowed the watchmen's
coats?
JOLLY. Yes, and bills, beards, and constable's staff and lantern;
and let me alone to fit him for the sumner. But when this is
done, I expect my fee, a tithe-night at least. Wanton, I will lie
with thee for thy roguery. What! are you dumb? You will not
refuse me, I hope?
WAN. Not if I thought you desiredst it; but I hate to have it
desired indifferently, and but so-so done neither, when 'tis
done.
JOLLY. I hope you will not disgrace my work, will you?
WAN. Faith, they say, thy pleasure lies in thy tongue, and
therefore, though I do not give thee leave to lie with me, yet I
will give thee as good a thing that will please thee as well.
JOLLY. Some [such] roguery I expected.
WAN. No, faith, I am serious: and because I will please you both,
Master Wild shall lie here, and you shall have leave to say you
do, which will please you as well.
JOLLY. Faith, and my part is some pleasure; else _I have loved,
enjoyed, and told_, is mistook.
WAN. Ay, but never to love, seldom enjoy, and always tell--foh!
it stinks, and stains worse than Shoreditch dirt; and women hate
and dread men for't. Why, I, that am a whore professed, cannot
see youth[258] digest it, though it be my profit and interest:
for to be a private whore in this town starves in the nest like
young birds, when the old one's killed.
CARE. Excellent girl! 'tis too true. Jolly, your tongue has kept
many a woman honest.
WAN. Faith, 'tis a truth, this I shall say, you may all better
your pleasures by, if you will observe it: I dare say, the fear
of telling keeps more women honest than Bridewell hemp; and were
you wise men and true lovers of liberty, now were the time to
bring wenching to that perfection no age could ever have hoped.
Now you may sow such seed of pleasure, you may be prayed for
hereafter. Now, in this age of zeal and ignorance, would I have
you four, in old clothes and demure looks, present a petition to
both houses, and say you are men touched in conscience for your
share in that wickedness which is known to their worships by the
pleasure of adultery; and desire it may be death,[259] and that
a law may be passed to that purpose. How the women will pray for
you, and at their own charges rear statues in memory of their
benefactors! The young and kind would then haunt your chambers,
pray and present you, and court the sanguine youth for the sweet
sin secured by such a law. None would lose an occasion, nor
churlishly oppose kind nature, nor refuse to listen to her
summons, when youth and passion calls for those forbidden sweets.
When such security as your lives are at stake, who would fear to
trust? With this law all oaths and protestations are cancelled.
Letters and bawds would grow useless too: by instinct, the kind
will find the kind, and, having one nature, become of one mind.
Now we lose an age to observe and know a man's humour, ere we
dare trust him; but get this law, then 'tis, like and enjoy. And
whereas now, with expense of time and fortune you may glean some
one mistress amongst your neighbours' wives, you shall reap women
whole armfuls, as in the common field. There is one small town,
wise only in this law; and I have heard them say that know it
well, there has been but one execution this hundred years; yet
the same party searched seven years, and could not find an honest
woman in the town.
CARE. An excellent plot! Let's about it. Ink and paper, dear
Wanton: we will draw the petition presently.
WAN. Will Master Jolly consent too? You must not then, as soon as
a handsome woman is named, smile and stroke your beard; tell him
that is next you, you have lain with her. Such a lie is as
dangerous as a truth, and 'twere but justice to have thee hanged
for a sin thou never committedst, for having defamed so many
women.
JOLLY. If all those liars were hanged, I believe the scale would
weigh down with the guilty.
WAN. One rogue, hanged for example, would make a thousand kind
girls. If it take, it shall be called my law, Wanton's law: then
we may go in petticoats again; for women grew imperious, and wore
the breeches only to fright the poor cuckolds, and make the fools
digest their horns. Are you all ready? Shall I open the door?
CAPT. Yes.
WILD. I'll expect you at my house.
[_Exit_ WILD _one way, and the rest of the company another_.
OMNES. We'll come, we'll come.
CAPT. So, knock louder.
[_They knock within, and the_ PARSON _discovered in his bed,
and the_ BAWD _with him_.
PAR. Who's there? What would you have?
CAPT. Here's his majesty's watch, and master constable's worship
must come in. We have a warrant from the lords to search for a
delinquent.
PAR. You come not here. I'll answer your warrant to-morrow.
JOLLY. Break open the door.
PAR. I would you durst.
BAWD. Lord, dear, what shall we do?
PAR. Why, sweet, I'll warrant you. Art thou not my wife, my rib,
bone of my bone? I'll suffer anything ere one hair of thee shall
be touched.
BAWD. Hark! they break open the door!
PAR. They dare not! Why dost thou tremble so? Alas, sweet
innocence, how it shakes!
CAPT. Break open the door.
PAR. I'll complain to the bishop of this insolence.
BAWD. They come, they come, lamb!
PAR. No matter, sweet, they dare not touch thee. What would you
have, master constable? You are very rude.
[_He delivers the warrant._
CAPT. Read our warrant, and our business will excuse us. Do you
know any such person as you find there?
PAR. Yes, sir, but not by this name. Such a woman is my wife, and
no Lindabrides.[260] We were married to-day, and I'll justify her
my wife the next court-day. You have your answer, and may be
gone.
JOLLY. We must take no notice of such excuses now. If she be your
wife, make it appear in court, and she will be delivered unto
you.
PAR. If she be my wife! Sir, I have wedded her and bedded her:
what other ceremonies would you have? Be not afraid, sweetheart.
JOLLY. Sir, we can do no less than execute our warrant. We are
but servants; and, master constable, I charge you in the king's
name to do your duty. Behold the body of the delinquent.
PAR. Touch her that dares: I'll put my dagger in him. [_He takes
his dagger._] Fear nothing, sweetheart. Master constable, you'll
repent this insolence offered to a man of my coat.
BAWD. Help, my dearest, will you let me be haled[261] thus?
[_Here they strive to take her out._
PAR. Villains, what will you do? Murder! Rape!
CAPT. Yes, yes, 'tis likely: I look like a ravisher!
JOLLY. Hold him, and we'll do well enough with her.
[_As they go to pull her out of the bed, they discover the_
BAWD. _When they let him go, he turns to her and holds
her in his arms._
CAPT. What have we here, an old woman?
PAR. Let me go. Slaves and murderers!
CAPT. Let him go.
JOLLY. Do any of you know this woman? This is not she we looked
for.
PAR. No, rascal, that mistake shall not excuse you.
JOLLY. It is old Goodman What-d'ye-call-him his wife.
CAPT. Hold the candle, and let's see her face.
[_When they hold the candle, she lies in his bosom, and his
arms about her. She must be as nastily dressed as they
can dress her. When he sees her, he falls into amaze, and
shoves her from him._
JOLLY. What have we here, adultery? Take them both: here will be
new matter.
PAR. Master constable, a little argument will persuade you to
believe I am grossly abused. Sure, this does not look like a
piece that a man would sin to enjoy: let that then move your pity
and care of my reputation. Consider my calling, and do not bring
me to a public shame for what you're sure I am not guilty of, but
by plot of some villains.[262]
BAWD. Dear, will you disclaim me now?
PAR. O impudence!
JOLLY. Master constable, do your duty. Take them both away, as
you will answer it.
CAPT. Give him his cassock to cover him.
[_They put on his cassock and her coat, and lead them away._
PAR. Why, gentlemen, whither will you carry me?
CAPT. To the next justice, I think it is Master Wild; he is newly
come from travel. It will be a good way, neighbours, to express
our respects to him.
PAR. No, faith, gentlemen, e'en go the next way to Tyburn, and
despatch the business without ceremony, for you'll utterly
disgrace me. This is that damned captain: my wife is abroad too;
I fear she is of the plot.
JOLLY. Come, away with 'em.
BAWD. Whither will they lead us, dear?
PAR. O, O, impudence! Gentlemen, do not lead us together, I
beseech you.
CAPT. Come, come, lead them together: no ceremonies. Your faults
are both alike.
[_Exeunt omnes._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ WANTON _and_ WILD.
WAN. You had best brag now, and use me like my lady
What-d'ye-call; but if you do, I care not.
WILD. Come, y' are a fool. I'll be a faithful friend, and make
good conditions for thee before thy husband be quit.
[WILD _sits down with_ WANTON _in his lap_.
WAN. You must do it now or never.
WILD. Hark, hark! I hear them. What's the news?
_Enter_ CAPTAIN, JOLLY, WATCH, BAWD, _and_ PARSON.
CAPT. We have brought a couple of delinquents before your
worship: they have committed a very foul fault.
JOLLY. And we have brought the fault along too, that your worship
may see it. You will be the better able to judge of the
offenders.
PAR. Ha! what do I see? My wife in master justice's lap!
WAN. What has the poor fellow done?
CAPT. Why, madam, he has been taken in bed with this woman,
another man's wife.
WAN. In bed with her, and do you raise him to punish him? Master
constable, if you would afflict him, command them to lie together
again. Is not the man mad?
PAR. This is fine roguery! I find who rules the roost.
WILD. Well, to the business. You say he was taken in bed with
another man's wife.
CAPT. Yes, and't like your worship.
WILD. Make his mittimus to the Hole at Newgate.
WAN. Sure, I have seen this fellow's face. Friend, have I never
seen your face before?
PAR. If I mistake not, I have seen one very like your ladyship's
too. She was a captain's cast whore in the town. I shall have a
time to be revenged.
WILD. How now, sirrah, are you threatening? Away with him.
CAPT. I'll fetch a stronger watch, sir, and return presently.
WILD. Do, master constable; and give the poor woman something,
and set her free; for I dare say 'twas his wickedness. She looks
like one that ne'er thought on such a thing.
BAWD. God bless your worship, I am innocent. He never left making
love till I consented.
_Enter_ CAPTAIN _in his own shape_.
PAR. O miserable, miserable!
CAPT. How now, what's the news here? My honoured friend and
master parson, what makes you here at this time of night? why, I
should have thought this a time to have envied you for your fair
bride's embraces. Do you give these favours? Are these your
bride-laces? It's a new way.
[_Plays with the cord that binds his arms._
PAR. Is it new to you?
WAN. How now, captain?
CAPT. Wanton, is this your plot to endear your husband to you?
PAR. No, 'tis thy plot, poor beaten captain; but I shall be
revenged.
CAPT. Yes, faith, it was my plot, and I glory in't; to undermine
my Machiavel, which so greedily swallowed that sweet bait that
had this hook.
PAR. 'Tis well.
CAPT. But my anger ends not here. Remember the base language you
gave me--son of a thousand fathers; captain of a tame band; and
one that got my living by the longstaff-speeches--for which and
thy former treacheries I'll ruin thee, slave. I'll have no more
mercy on thee than old women on blind puppies. I'll bring you to
your commendations in Latin epistles again, nor leave thee
anything to live on--no, not bread--but what thou earn'st by
raking gentlewomen's names in anagrams.[263] And, master justice,
if ever you'll oblige me, stand to me now, that I may procure the
whipping of him from the reverend bench.
PAR. I am undone.
WILD. I can do nothing but justice: you must excuse me. I shall
only make it appear how fit it is to punish this kind of sin in
that coat in time, and to crush such serpents in the shells.
PAR. Mercy, O, mercy!
WILD. Officers, away with him.
[_They pull him away._
PAR. No mercy?
WAN. Yes, upon conditions, there may be some mercy.
[_The_ PARSON _looks very dejected_.
WILD. And these they are: let the watch stay in t'other room.
[_Exit_ WATCH.] First, your wife shall have her liberty, and you
yours, as she reports of you; and when you bring her with you,
you shall be welcome. Then you shall not be jealous; that's
another point.
CAPT. That he shall have a cure for.
WAN. Yes, yes, I'll apply something to his eyes shall cure him of
his doubt.
WILD. Then you shall ask the captain pardon, and your wife. To
him you shall allow half your parsonage to maintain her. The
deeds are ready within: if you'll sign them, and deliver your
wife to our use, she shall discharge you.
PAR. I submit, sir; but I hope your worship will desire no
witness to the use of my wife. The sumner, and the watch too, I
hope your worship will enjoin them silence.
WAN. You shall not need to fear; I'll have a care of your credit.
Call in the watch. Do you know these faces?
[_She discovers them._
PAR. Ha! abused.
JOLLY. Nay, no flinching: if you do, I betake me to master sumner
again.
CAPT. And I become severe master constable in a trice.
PAR. No, no, I submit; and I hope we are all friends. I'm sure I
have the hardest part to forgive.
WAN. And I, before all this company, promise to forget, and
forgive thee, and am content to take thee again for my dear and
mortal husband, now you are tame; but you must see you do so no
more; and give yourself to be blind when it is not fit for you to
see; and practise to be deaf, and learn to sleep in time, and
find business to call you away, when gentlemen come that would be
private.
CAPT. Why so; now things are as they should be; and when you will
obey, you shall command; but when you would be imperious, then I
betake me to my constable's staff till you subscribe, _Cedunt
armis togA|_: and if it be false Latin, parson, you must pardon
that too.
JOLLY. By this hand, I must have my tithe-night with thee, thou
art such a wag. Say when? When wilt thou give me leave, ha?
WAN. Never.
JOLLY. Never!
WAN. No, never.
JOLLY. D'ye hear? I am none of them that work for charity. Either
resolve to pay, or I kick down all my milk again.
WAN. What would you have?
JOLLY. Give me leave to lie with you.
WAN. No indeed.
JOLLY. No!
WAN. No; but rather than quarrel, as I said before, I will give
you leave to say you have lain with me.
WILD. I am of opinion she owes you nothing now. So, Mistress
Wanton, take your husband; and, to remove all doubts, this night
I'll be at the charge of a wedding-supper.
PAR. This is better than Newgate-hole yet, Bridewell hemp, brown
bread, and whipcord.
[_Exeunt omnes._
SCENE III.
_Enter the_ WIDOW _and_ MISTRESS PLEASANT, MASTER SAD, _and_
MASTER CONSTANT.
WID. By my troth, it was a good play.
PLEA. And I'm glad I'm come home, for I am e'en a-weary with this
walking. For God's sake, whereabouts does the pleasure of walking
lie? I swear I have often sought it till I was weary, and yet I
ne'er could find it.
SAD. What do these halberds at your door?
[_A_ WATCH _at the_ WIDOW'S _door_.
WID. Halberds! Where?
SAD. There, at your lodging.
CON. Friend, what would those watchmen have?
WATCH. The house is shut up for the sickness[264] this afternoon.
PLEA. The sickness!
WATCH. Yes, forsooth; there's a coachman dead, full of the
tokens.
SAD. Where's the officer?
WATCH. He is gone to seek the lady of the house and some other
company that dined here yesterday, to bring her in, or carry her
to the pest-house.
WID. Ha! What shall we do, niece?
SAD. If you please to command our lodging.
PLEA. It will be too much trouble.
WID. Let's go to Loveall's.
PLEA. Not I, by my faith: it is scarce for our credits to let her
come to us.
WID. Why, is she naught?
CON. Faith, madam, her reputation is not good.
WID. But what shall we do, then?
CON. Dare you adventure to oblige us?
WID. Thank you, sir? we'll go to my nephew's at Covent Garden: he
may shift among his acquaintance.
PLEA. It was well thought on; the Piazza is hard by, too.
WID. We'll borrow your coach thither, and we'll send it you back
again straight.
CON. We'll wait upon you, madam.
WID. This accident troubles me. I am heartily sorry for the poor
fellow.
PLEA. I am sorry too: but pray, aunt, let us not forget
ourselves in our grief. I am not ambitious of a red cross upon
the door.[265]
CON. Mistress Pleasant is in the right; for if you stay, the
officers will put you in.
WID. We shall trouble you, sir, for your coach.
[_Exeunt omnes._
SCENE IV.
_Enter_ PARSON, CAPTAIN, WILD, WANTON, CARELESS, _and_ JOLLY.
PAR. I am reconciled, and will no longer be an uncharitable
churchman. I think this sack is a cooler.
CAPT. What! does it make you to see your error?
PAR. Yes, and consider my man-of-war: nor will I again dispute
his letters of mart, nor call them passes for pirates. I am free.
CAPT. And welcome. Anything but anger is sufferable, and all is
jest, when you laugh; and I will hug thee for abusing me with thy
eyes in their scabbards; but when you rail with drawn eyes, red
and naked, threatening a Levite's second revenge[266] to all that
touches your concubine, then I betake me to a dark lantern and a
constable's staff; and by help of these fathers whom I cite, I
prove my text: _Women that are kind ought to be free._
PAR. But, captain, is it not lawful for us shepherds to reclaim
them?
CAPT. A mere mistake; for sin, like the sea, may be turned out,
but will ne'er grow less: and though you should drain this
Mistress Doll, yet the whore will find a place, and perhaps
overflow some maid, till then honest; and so you prove the author
of a new sin, and the defiler of a pure temple: therefore I say,
while you live, let the whore alone, till she wears out; nor is
it safe to vamp them, as you shall find. Read Ball the first and
the second.[267]
WILD. No more discourse. Strike up, fiddlers.
CAPT. See who's that knocks?
[_A country-dance. When they are merry, singing catches and
drinking healths, the_ WIDOW, MISTRESS PLEASANT, _and the
two Lovers, knock at the door._
SER. Sir, 'tis Mistress Pleasant and the two gentlemen that dined
there to-day.
WILD. My aunt and Mistress Pleasant!
JOLLY. What a pox makes them abroad at this time of night?
CAPT. It may be, they have been a-wenching.
SER. Sir, they were upon alighting out of the coach when I came
up.
WILD. Quickly, Mistress Wanton; you and your husband to bed;
there's the key. Master Parson, you know the way to the old
chamber, and to it quickly; all is friends now.
PAR. Sweetheart, we'll steal away.
WAN. The devil on them, they have spoiled our mirth.
[_Exit_ PARSON.
WILD. Jack, get you and your company down the back-way into the
kitchen, and stay there till we see what this visit means.
[_Exeunt_ FIDDLERS.
CAPT. Means! What should it mean? It is nothing but the
mischievous nature all honest women are endued with, and
naturally given to spoil sport. I wonder what fart blew them
hither to-night.
WILD. Nay, have a little patience, captain, you and Master Jolly
must sit quietly awhile within, till we know the cause.
CAPT. It is but deferring our mirth for an hour or so.
SER. Sir, here's my lady.
WILD. Quickly remove those things there. Captain, step in
there----
_Enter_ WIDOW, PLEASANT, SAD, _and_ CONSTANT.
WID. Nephew, do you not wonder to see me here at this time of
night?
WILD. I know it is not ordinary, therefore I believe 'tis some
design. What is it, Mistress Pleasant? Shall I make one?
PLEA. As I live, sir, pure necessity. Neither mirth nor kindness
hath begot this visit.
CARE. What! is your coach broke?
WID. Faith, nephew, the truth is, the sickness is in my house,
and my coachman died since dinner.
WILD. The sickness!
PLEA. Ay, as I live: we have been walking since the play; and
when we came home, we found the watch at the door, and the house
shut up.
SAD. And a constable gone in search of all those that dined there
to-day, with order to furnish us lodgings in the pest-house.
WID. Are you not afraid to receive us?
WILD. As I live, the accident troubles me; and I am sorry such a
misfortune should beget me this favour; and I could wish myself
free from the honour, if the cause were removed too.
PLEA. As I live, Master Wild, I must have been forced to have
lain with my servant to-night, if you had not received me.
WILD. If I thought so, I would carry you out in my arms, I am so
much Master Constant's friend.
PLEA. But are you more his friend than mine, Master Wild?
WILD. No; but I presume by this he has gained so much interest,
as he would not be very displeasing to you.
CON. O, your humble servant, sir.