SCENE VI.

_A Room in_ FALSO’S _House_.

_Enter_ FALSO _and two Suitors_.

FIRST SUIT. May it please your good worship, master

justice——

FAL. Please me and please yourself; that’s my word.

FIRST SUIT. The party your worship sent for will by no

means be brought to appear.

FAL. He will not? then what would you advise me to do

therein?

FIRST SUIT. Only to grant your worship’s warrant, which

is of sufficient force to compel him.

FAL. No, by my faith, you shall not have me in that

trap: am I sworn justice of peace, and shall I give my

warrant to fetch a man against his will? why, there the

peace is broken. We must do all quietly: if he come,

he’s welcome; and as far as I can see yet, he’s a fool

to be absent,—ay, by this gold is he—which he gave me

this morning.

[_Aside._

FIRST SUIT. Why, but may it please your good worship—

FAL. I say again, please me and please yourself; that’s

my word still.

FIRST SUIT. Sir, the world esteems it a common favour,

upon the contempt of the party, the justice to grant his

warrant.

FAL. Ay, ’tis so common, ’tis the worse again; ’twere

the better for me ’twere otherwise.

FIRST SUIT. I protest, sir, and this gentleman can say

as much, it lies upon my half undoing.

FAL. I cannot see yet that it should be so,—I see not a

cross ye.[830] [_Aside._

FIRST SUIT. I beseech your worship shew me your

immediate favour, and accept this small trifle but as a

remembrance to my succeeding thankfulness.

FAL. Angels?[831] I’ll not meddle with them; you give

’em to my wife, not to me.

FIRST SUIT. Ay, ay, sir.

FAL. But I pray tell me now, did the party viva voce,

with his own mouth, deliver that contempt, that he would

not appear, or did you but jest in’t?

FIRST SUIT. Jest? no, a’ my troth, sir; such was his

insolent answer.

FAL. And do you think it stood with my credit to put up

such an abuse? Will he not appear, says he? I’ll make

him appear with a vengeance.—Latronello!

_Enter_ LATRONELLO.

LAT. Does your worship call?

FAL. Draw me a strong-limbed warrant for the gentleman

speedily; he will be bountiful to thee.—Go and thank him

within.

FIRST SUIT. I shall know your worship hereafter.

FAL. Ay, I prithee do. [_Exeunt Suitors with_

LATRONELLO.] Two angels one party, four another: and I

think it a great spark of wisdom and policy, if a man

come to me for justice, first to know his griefs by his

fees, which be light, and which be heavy; he may

counterfeit else, and make me do justice for nothing: I

like not that; for when I mean to be just, let me be

paid well for’t: the deed so rare purges the bribe.

_Enter_ FURTIVO.

How now? what’s the news, thou art come so hastily? how

fares my knightly brother?

FUR. Troth, he ne’er fared worse in his life, sir; he

ne’er had less stomach to his meat since I knew him.

FAL. Why, sir?

FUR. Indeed he’s dead, sir.

FAL. How, sir?

FUR. Newly deceased, I can assure your worship: the

tobacco-pipe new dropt out of his mouth before I took

horse; a shrewd sign; I knew then there was no way but

one with him; the poor pipe was the last man he took

leave of in this world, who fell in three pieces before

him, and seemed to mourn inwardly, for it looked as

black i’ th’ mouth as my master.

FAL. Would he die so like a politician, and not once

write his mind to me?

FUR. No, I’ll say that for him, sir, he died in the

perfect state of memory; made your worship his full and

whole executor, bequeathing his daughter, and with her

all his wealth, only to your disposition.

FAL. Did he make such a godly end, sayest thou? did he

die so comfortably, and bequeath all to me?

FUR. Your niece is at hand, sir, the will, and the

witnesses.

FAL. What a precious joy and comfort’s this, that a

justice’s brother can die so well, nay, in such a good

and happy memory, to make me full executor! Well, he was

too honest to live, and that made him die so soon. Now I

beshrew my heart, I am glad he’s in heaven, has left all

his cares and troubles with me, and that great vexation

of telling of money: yet I hope he had so much grace

before he died to turn his white money into gold, a

great ease to his executor.

FUR. See, here comes your niece, my young mistress, sir.

_Enter_ NIECE _and two Gentlemen_.

FAL. Ah, my sweet niece, let me kiss thee, and drop a

tear between thy lips! one tear from an old man is a

great matter; the cocks of age are dry. Thou hast lost a

virtuous father, to gain a notable uncle.

NIECE. My hopes now rest in you next under heaven.

FAL. Let ’em rest, let ’em rest.

FIRST GENT. Sir——

FAL. You’re most welcome ere ye begin, sir.

FIRST GENT. We are both led by oath and dreadful

promise,

Made to the dying man at his last sense,

First to deliver these into your hands,

The sureties and revealers of his state——

[_Giving papers._

FAL. Good.

FIRST GENT. With this his only daughter, and your

niece,

Whose fortunes are at your disposing set;

Uncle and father are in you both met.

FAL. Good, i’faith; a well-spoken gentleman!

You’re not an esquire, sir?

FIRST GENT. Not, sir.

FAL. Not, sir? more’s the pity; by my faith, better men

than you are, but a great many worse: you see I have

been a scholar in my time, though I’m a justice

now.—Niece, you’re most happily welcome: the charge of

you is wholly and solely mine own; and since you are so

fortunately come, niece, I’ll rest a perpetual widower.

NIECE. I take the meaning chaster than the words:

Yet I hope well of both, since it is thus,

His phrase offends least that’s known humorous.

FAL. [_reading the will._] _I make my brother_, says he,

_full and whole executor_: honestly done of him,

i’faith! seldom can a man get such a brother: and here

again says he, very virtuously, _I bequeath all to him

and his disposing_. An excellent fellow, a’ my troth!

Would you might all die no worse, gentlemen!

_Enter_ KNIGHT _and_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.

FIRST GENT. But as much better as might be.

KNIGHT. Bless your uprightness, master justice!

FAL. You’re most soberly welcome, sir.—Daughter, you’ve

that ye kneel for: rise, salute your weeping cousin.

JEW. WIFE. Weeping, cousin?

NIECE. Ay, cousin.

KNIGHT. Eye to weeping is very proper, and so is the

party that spake it; believe me, a pretty, fine,

slender, straight, delicate-knit body:

O, how it moves a pleasure through our senses!

How small are women’s waists to their expenses!

I cannot see her face, that’s under water yet.

JEW. WIFE. News as cold to the heart as an old man’s

kindness; my uncle dead!

NIECE. I have lost the dearest father!

FAL. [_reading the will._] _If she marry by your

consent, choice, and liking, make her dowry five

thousand crowns_: hum, five thousand crowns? therefore

by my consent she shall ne’er marry; I will neither

choose for her, like of it, nor consent to’t.

[_Aside._

KNIGHT. Now, by the pleasure of my blood, a pretty

cousin! I would not care if I were as near kin to her as

I have been to her kinswoman. [_Aside._

FAL. Daughter, what gentleman might this be?

JEW. WIFE. No gentleman, sir; he’s a knight.

FAL. Is he but a knight? troth, I would a’ sworn had

been a gentleman, to see, to see, to see.

JEW. WIFE. He’s my husband’s own brother, I can tell

you, sir.

FAL. Thy husband’s brother? speak certainly, prithee.

JEW. WIFE. I can assure you, father, my husband and he

have[833] lain both in one belly.

FAL. I’ll swear then he is his brother indeed, and by

the surer side.—I crave hearty pardon, sweet kinsman,

that thou hast stood so long unsaluted in the way of

kindred:

Welcome[834] to my board: I have a bed for thee:

My daughter’s husband’s brother shall command

Keys of my chests and chambers:

I have stable for thy horse, chamber for thyself,

And a loft above for thy lousy lackey, all fit.

Away with handkerchers, [and] dry up eyes:

At funeral we must cry; now let’s be wise.

[_Exeunt all but_ KNIGHT _and_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.

JEW. WIFE. I told you his affection.

KNIGHT.[835] It falls sweetly.

JEW. WIFE. But here I bar you from all plots to-night,

The time is yet too heavy to be light.

KNIGHT. Why, I’m content; I’ll sleep as chaste as you,

And wager night by night who keeps most true.

JEW. WIFE. Well, we shall see your temper.

[_Exeunt._

ACT II. SCENE I.

_A Room in an Inn._

_Enter_ PHŒNIX _and_ FIDELIO.

PHŒ. Fear not me, Fidelio: become you that invisible

ropemaker the scrivener, that binds a man as he walks,

yet all his joints at liberty, as well as I’ll fit that

common folly of gentry, the easy-affecting venturer; and

no doubt our purpose will arrive most happily.

FID. Chaste duty, my lord, works powerfully in me; and

rather than the poor lady my mother should fall upon the

common side of rumour to beggar her name, I would not

only undergo all habits, offices, disguised professions,

though e’en opposite to the temper my blood holds; but

in the stainless quarrel of her reputation, alter my

shape for ever.

PHŒ. I love thee wealthier; thou hast a noble

touch:[836] and by this means, which is the only safe

means to preserve thy mother from such an ugly land and

sea monster as a counterfeit captain is, he resigning

and basely selling all his estate, title, right, and

interest in his lady, as the form of the writing shall

testify,

What otherwise can follow but to have

A lady safe deliver’d of a knave?

FID. I am in debt my life to the free goodness of your

inventions.

PHŒ. O, they must ever strive to be so good!

Who sells his vow is stamp’d the slave of blood.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Room in the_ CAPTAIN’S _House_.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN, _and_ CASTIZA _following him_.

CAP. Away!

CAS. Captain, my husband——

CAP. Hence! we’re at a price for thee, at a price;

Wants but the telling and the sealing; then——

CAS. Have you no sense, neither of my good name

Or your own credit?

CAP. Credit? pox of credit,

That makes me owe so much! it had been

Better for me by a thousand royals[837]

I had lost my credit seven year ago.

It has[838] undone me: that’s it that makes me fly:

What need I to sea else, in the spring-time,

When woods have leaves, to look upon bald oak?

Happier that man, say I, whom no man trusts!

It makes him valiant, dares outface the prisons;

Upon whose carcass no gown’d raven jets:[839]

O, he that has no credit owes no debts!

’Tis time I were rid on’t.

CAS. O, why do you

So wilfully cherish your own poison,

And breathe against the best of life, chaste credit?

Well may I call it chaste; for, like a maid,

Once falsely broke, it ever lives decay’d.

O captain, husband! you name that dishonest,

By whose good power all that are honest live:

What madness is it to speak ill of that,

Which makes all men speak well! Take away credit,

By which men amongst men are well reputed,

That man may live, but still lives executed.

O, then, shew pity to that noble title,

Which else you do usurp! you’re no true captain,

To let your enemies lead you: foul disdain

And everlasting scandal, O, believe it!

The money you receive for my good name

Will not be half enough to pay your shame.

CAP. No? I’ll sell thee then to the smock: see, here

comes

My honourable chapman.

_Enter_ PRODITOR _and Lackey_.

CAS. O my poison!

Him whom mine honour and mine eye abhors. [_Exit._

PROD. Lady,—what, so unjovially departed?

CAP. Fine she-policy! she makes my back her bolster; but

before my face she not endures him: tricks!

PROD. Captain, how haps it she remov’d so

strangely?[840]

CAP. O, for modesty’s cause, awhile, my lord,

She must restrain herself; she’s not yours yet.

Beside, it were not wisdom to appear

Easy before my sight.

Faugh! wherefore serves modesty but to pleasure a lady

now and then, and help her from suspect? that’s the best

use ’tis put to.

PROD. Well observed of a captain!

CAP. No doubt you’ll be soon friends, my lord.

PROD. I think no less.

CAP. And make what haste I can to my ship, I durst wager

you’ll be under sail before me.

PROD. A pleasant voyage, captain!

CAP. Ay, a very pleasant voyage as can be. I see the

hour is ripe:

Here comes the prison’s bawd, the bond-maker,

One that binds heirs before they are begot.

PROD. And here are the crowns, captain.

[_Giving him money._

_Enter_ PHŒNIX _and_ FIDELIO, _both disguised_.

Go, attend: let our bay-courser wait.

LACKEY. It shall be obeyed. [_Exit._

CAP. A farmer’s son, is’t true?

FID. Has crowns to scatter.

CAP. I give you your salute, sir.

PHŒ. I take it not unthankfully, sir.

CAP. I hear a good report of you, sir; you’ve money.

PHŒ. I have so, true.

CAP. An excellent virtue.

PHŒ. Ay, to keep from you. [_Aside._

Hear you me, captain? I have a certain generous itch,

sir, to lose a few angels[841] in the way of profit:

’tis but a game at tennis, where, if

The ship keep above line, ’tis three to one;

If not, there’s but three hundred angels gone.

CAP. Is your venture three hundred? you’re very

preciously welcome: here’s a voyage toward[842] will

make us all——

PHŒ. Beggarly fools and swarming knaves. [_Aside._

PROD. Captain, what’s he?

CAP. Fear him not, my lord; he’s a gull: he ventures

with me; some filthy farmer’s son; the father’s a Jew,

and the son a gentleman: faugh!

PROD. Yet he should be a Jew too, for he is new come

from giving over swine.

CAP. Why, that in our country makes him a gentleman.

PROD. Go to; tell your money, captain.

CAP. Read aloft, scrivener.—One, two.

[_Counting the money._

FID. [_reads._] _To all good and honest Christian

people, to whom this present writing shall come: know

you for a certain, that I captain, for and in the

consideration of the sum of five hundred crowns, have

clearly bargained, sold, given, granted, assigned, and

set over, and by these presents do clearly bargain,

sell, give, grant, assign, and set over, all the right,

estate, title, interest, demand, possession, and term of

years to come, which I the said captain have, or ought

to have_——

PHŒ. If I were as good as I should be. [_Aside._

FID. _In and to Madonna Castiza, my most virtuous,

modest, loving, and obedient wife_——

CAP. By my troth, my lord, and so she is.—Three, four,

five, six, seven. [_Counting the money._

PHŒ. The more slave he that says it, and not sees it.

[_Aside._

FID. _Together with all and singular those admirable

qualities with which her noble breast is furnished._

CAP. Well said, scrivener; hast put ’em all in?—You

shall hear now, my lord.

FID. _In primis, the beauties of her mind, chastity,

temperance, and, above all, patience_——

CAP. You have bought a jewel, i’faith, my lord.—Nine and

thirty, forty. [_Counting the money._

FID. _Excellent in the best of music, in voice

delicious, in conference wise and pleasing, of age

contentful, neither too young to be apish, nor too old

to be sottish_——

CAP. You have bought as lovely a pennyworth, my lord, as

e’er you bought in your life.

PROD. Why should I buy her else, captain?

FID. _And which is the best of a wife, a most

comfortable sweet companion._

CAP. I could not afford her so, i’faith, but that I am

going to sea, and have need of money.

FID. _A most comfortable sweet companion._

PROD. What, again? the scrivener reads in passion.[843]

FID. I read as the words move me; yet if that be a

fault, it shall be seen no more:—_which said Madonna

Castiza lying and yet being in the occupation of the

said captain_——

CAP. Nineteen—[_counting the money_]—occupation?

Pox on’t, out with occupation; a captain is of no

occupation, man.

PHŒ. Nor thou of no religion. [_Aside._

FID. Now I come to the _habendum_,—_to have and to hold,

use, and_——

CAP. Use? put out use too, for shame, till we are all

gone, I prithee.

FID. _And to be acquitted of and from all former

bargains, former sales_——

CAP. Former sales?—nine and twenty, thirty—[_counting

the money_]—by my troth, my lord, this is the first time

that ever I sold her.

PROD. Yet the writing must run so, captain.

CAP. Let it run on then,—nine and forty, fifty.

[_Counting the money._

FID. _Former sales, gifts, grants, surrenders, re-

entries_——

CAP. For re-entries I will not swear for her.

FID. _And furthermore, I the said, of and for the

consideration of the sum of five hundred crowns to set

me aboard, before these presents, utterly disclaim for

ever any title, estate, right, interest, demand, or

possession in or to the said Madonna Castiza, my late

virtuous and unfortunate wife_——

PHŒ. Unfortunate indeed! that was well plac’d.

[_Aside._

FID. _As also neither to touch, attempt, molest, or

incumber any part or parts whatsoever, either to be

named or not to be named, either hidden or unhidden,

either those that boldly look abroad, or those that dare

not shew their face[s]_——

CAP. Faces? I know what you mean by faces: scrivener,

there’s a great figure in faces.

FID. _In witness whereof, I the said captain have

interchangeably set to my hand and seal, in presence of

all these, the day and date above written._

CAP. Very good, sir; I’ll be ready for you

presently—four hundred and twenty, one, two, three,

four, five. [_Counting the money._

PHŒ. Of all deeds yet this strikes the deepest wound

Into my apprehension.

Reverend and honourable Matrimony,[844]

Mother of lawful sweets, unshamed mornings,

Dangerless pleasures! thou that mak’st the bed

Both pleasant and legitimately fruitful!

Without thee,[845]

All the whole world were soiled bastardy.

Thou art the only and the greatest form

That put’st a difference between our desires

And the disorder’d appetites of beasts,

Making their mates those that stand next their lusts.

Then,—

With what base injury is thy goodness paid!

First, rare to have a bride commence a maid,

But does beguile joy of the purity,

And is made strict by power of drugs and art,

An artificial maid, a doctor’d virgin,

And so deceives the glory of his bed;

A foul contempt against the spotless power

Of sacred wedlock! But if chaste and honest,

There is another devil haunts marriage—

None fondly loves but knows it—jealousy,

That wedlock’s[846] yellow sickness,

That whispering separation every minute,

And thus the curse takes his effect or progress.

The most of men in their first sudden furies

Rail at the narrow bounds of marriage,

And call’t a prison; then it is most just,

That the disease a’ th’ prison, jealousy,

Should still affect a’m.[847] But O! here I am fix’d,

To make sale of a wife, monstrous and foul,

An act abhorr’d in nature, cold in soul:

Who that has man in him could so resign

To make his shame the posy to the coin?

CAP. Right, i’faith, my lord; fully five hundred.

PROD. I said how you should find it, captain; and with

this competent sum you rest amply contented?

CAP. Amply contented.

FID. Here’s the pen, captain: your name to the sale.

CAP. ’S foot, dost take me to be a penman? I protest I

could ne’er write more than A B C, those three letters,

in my life.

FID. Why, those will serve, captain.

CAP. I could ne’er get further.

PHŒ. Would you have got further than A B C? Ah, base

captain! that’s far enough, i’faith.

FID. Take the seal off, captain.

CAP. It goes on hardly, and comes off easily.

PHŒ. Ay, just like a coward.

FID. Will you write witness, gentleman?

CAP. He? he shall. Prithee, come and set thy hand for

witness, rogue: thou shalt venture with me?

PHŒ. Nay, then I ha’ reason, captain, that commands me.

[_Writes._

CAP. What a fair fist the pretty whorson writes, as if

he had had manners and bringing up! A farmer’s son! his

father damns himself to sell musty corn, while he

ventures the money: ’twill prosper well at sea, no

doubt; he shall ne’er see’t again.

FID. So, captain, you deliver this as your deed?

CAP. As my deed; what else, sir?

PHŒ. The ugliest deed that e’er mine eye did witness.

[_Aside._

CAP. So, my lord, you have her; clip[848] her, enjoy

her; she’s your own: and let me be proud to tell you

now, my lord, she’s as good a soul if a man had a mind

to live honest and keep a wench, the kindest, sweetest,

comfortablest rogue——

PROD. Hark in thine ear,—

The baser slave art thou; and so I’ll tell her:

I love the pearl thou sold’st, hate thee the seller.

Go to sea; the end of thee—is lousy.

CAP. This [is] fine work! a very brave end, hum——

PROD. Well thought upon, this scrivener may furnish

me. _Whispers_ FIDELIO.

PHŒ. Why should this fellow be a lord by birth,

Being by blood a knave, one that would sell

His lordship if he lik’d her ladyship? [_Aside._

FID. Yes, my lord.

PHŒ. What’s here now?

PROD. I have employment for a trusty fellow,

Bold, sure,—

FID. What if he be a knave, my lord?

PROD. There thou com’st to me: why, he should be so;

And men of your quill are not unacquainted.

FID. Indeed all[849] our chief living, my lord, is by

fools and knaves; we could not keep open shop else;

fools that enter into bonds, and knaves that bind ’em.

PROD. Why, now we meet.

FID. And, as my memory happily leads me, I know a fellow

of a standing estate, never flowing:

I durst convey treason into his bosom,

And keep it safe nine years.

PROD. A goodly time.

FID. And if need were, would press to an attempt,

And cleave to desperate action.

PROD. That last fits me;

Thou hast the measure right: look I hear from thee.

FID. With duteous speed.

PROD. Expect a large reward.—

I will find time of her to find regard. [_Exit._

CAP. The end of me is lousy!

FID. O my lord, I have strange words to tell you!

PHŒ. Stranger yet?

I’ll choose some other hour to listen to thee;

I am yet sick of this. Discover quickly.[850]

FID. Why, will you make yourself known, my lord?

PHŒ. Ay:

Who scourgeth sin let him do’t dreadfully.

CAP. Pox of his dissemblance! I will to sea.

PHŒ. Nay, you shall to sea, thou wouldst poison the

whole land else. [_Aside._]—Why, how now, captain?

CAP. In health.

FID. What, drooping?

PHŒ. Or ashamed of the sale of thine own wife?

CAP. You might count me an ass then, i’faith.

PHŒ. If not ashamed of that, what can you be ashamed of

then?

CAP. Prithee ha’ done; I am ashamed of nothing.

PHŒ. I easily believe that. [_Aside._

CAP. This lord sticks in my stomach.

PHŒ. How? take one of thy feathers down, and fetch him

up.

FID. I’d make him come.

PHŒ. But what if the duke should hear of this?

FID. Ay, or your son-in-law Fidelio know[851] of the

sale of his mother?

CAP. What and[852] they did? I sell none but mine own.

As for the duke, he’s abroad by this time; and for

Fidelio, he’s in labour.

PHŒ. He in labour?

CAP. What call you travelling?

PHŒ. That’s true: but let me tell you, captain, whether

the duke hear on’t, or Fidelio know on’t, or both, or

neither, ’twas a most filthy, loathsome part——

FID. A base, unnatural deed——

[_They discover themselves, and lay hands on him._

CAP. Slave, and fool——Ha, who? O!——

PHŒ. Thou hateful villain! thou shouldst choose to

sink,

To keep thy baseness shrouded.

_Enter_ CASTIZA.

FID. Ugly wretch!

CAS. Who hath laid violence upon my husband,

My dear sweet captain? Help!

PHŒ. Lady, you wrong your value:

Call you him dear that has sold you so cheap?

CAS. I do beseech your pardon, good my lord.

[_Kneels._

PHŒ. Rise.

FID. My abused mother!

CAS. My kind son!

Whose liking I neglected in this match.

FID. Not that alone, but your far happier fortunes.

CAP. Is this the scrivener and the farmer’s son?

Fire on his lordship! he told me they travell’d.

PHŒ. And see the sum told out to buy that jewel,

More precious in a woman than her eye,

Her honour.—

Nay, take it to you, lady; and I judge it

Too slight a recompense for your great wrong,

But that his riddance helps it.

CAP. ’S foot, he undoes me! I’m[853] a rogue and a

beggar:

The Egyptian plague creeps over me already;

I begin to be lousy.

PHŒ. Thus happily prevented, you’re set free,

Or else made over to adultery.

CAS. To heaven and to you my modest thanks.

PHŒ. Monster, to sea! spit thy abhorred foam

Where it may do least harm; there’s air and room;

Thou’rt dangerous in a chamber, virulent venom

Unto a lady’s name and her chaste breath.

If past this evening’s verge the dukedom hold thee,

Thou art reserv’d for abject punishment.

CAP. I do beseech your good lordship, consider the state

of a poor downcast captain.

PHŒ. Captain? off with that noble title! thou becomest

it vildly;[854] I ne’er saw the name fit worse: I’ll

sooner allow a pander a captain than thee.

CAP. More’s the pity.

PHŒ. Sue to thy lady for pardon.

CAS. I give it without suit.

CAP. I do beseech your ladyship not so much for

pardon, as to bestow a few of those crowns upon a

poor unfeathered rover, that will as truly pray

for you,—and wish you hanged, [_aside_]—as any man

breathing.

CAS. I give it freely all.

PHŒ. Nay, by your favour;

I will contain[855] you, lady.—Here, be gone:

Use slaves like slaves: wealth keeps their faults

unknown.

CAP. Well, I’m yet glad I’ve liberty and these:

The land has plagu’d me, and I’ll plague the seas.

[_Exit._

PHŒ. The scene is clear’d, the bane of brightness

fled;

Who sought the death of honour is struck dead.—

Come, modest lady.

FID. My most honest mother!

PHŒ. Thy virtue shall live safe from reach of shames:

That act ends nobly preserves ladies’ fames.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A Room in_ FALSO’s _House_.

_Enter_ FALSO, KNIGHT, _and_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.

FAL. Why, this is but the second time of your coming,

kinsman; visit me oftener.—Daughter, I charge you bring

this gentleman along with you:—gentleman! I cry ye

mercy, sir; I call you gentleman still; I forget you’re

but a knight; you must pardon me, sir.

KNIGHT. For your worship’s kindness—worship! I cry you

mercy, sir; I call you worshipful still; I forget you’re

but a justice.

FAL. I am no more, i’faith.

KNIGHT. You must pardon me, sir.

FAL. ’Tis quickly done, sir: you see I make bold with

you, kinsman, thrust my daughter and you into one

chamber.

KNIGHT. Best of all, sir: kindred you know may lie any

where.

FAL. True, true, sir.—Daughter, receive your blessing:

take heed the coach jopper not too much; have a care to

the fruits of your body.—Look to her, kinsman.

KNIGHT. Fear it not, sir.

JEW. WIFE. Nay, father, though I say it, that should not

say it, he looks to me more like a husband than a

kinsman.

FAL. I hear good commendations of you, sir.

KNIGHT. You hear the worst of me, I hope, sir: I salute

my leave, sir.

FAL. You’re welcome all over your body, sir. [_Exeunt_

KNIGHT _and_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.]—Nay, I can behave myself

courtly, though I keep house i’ th’ country. What, does

my niece hide herself? not present, ha?—Latronello.

_Enter_ LATRONELLO.

LAT. Sir.

FAL. Call my niece to me.

LAT. Yes, sir. [_Exit._

FAL. A foolish, coy, bashful thing it is; she’s afraid

to lie with her own uncle: I’d do her no harm, i’faith.

I keep myself a widower a’ purpose, yet the foolish girl

will not look into’t: she should have all, i’faith; she

knows I have but a time, cannot hold long. See, where

she comes.

_Enter_ NIECE.

Pray, who[856] am I, niece?

NIECE. I hope you’re yourself,

Uncle to me, and brother to my father.

FAL. O, am I so? it does not appear so, for

surely you would love your father’s brother for

your father’s sake, your uncle for your own sake.

NIECE. I do so.

FAL. Nay, you do nothing, niece.

NIECE. In that love which becomes you best I love you.

FAL. How should I know that love becomes me best?

NIECE. Because ’tis chaste and honourable.

FAL. Honourable? it cannot become me then, niece,

For I’m scarce worshipful. Is this an age

To entertain bare love without the fruits?

When I receiv’d thee first, I look’d

Thou shouldst have been a wife unto my house,

And sav’d me from the charge of marriage.

Do you think your father’s five thousand pound would

ha’ made me take you else? no, you should ne’er ha’[857]

been a charge to me. As far as I can perceive yet by

you, I’ve as much need to marry as e’er I had: would not

this be a great grief to your friends, think you, if

they were alive again?

NIECE. ’Twould be a grief indeed.

FAL. You have[858] confess’d,

All about house, that young Fidelio,

Who in his travels does attend the prince,

Is your vow’d love.

NIECE. Most true, he’s my vow’d husband.

FAL. And what’s a husband? Is not a husband a stranger

at first? and will you lie with a stranger before you

lie with your own uncle? Take heed what ye do, niece: I

counsel you for the best. Strangers are drunken fellows,

I can tell you; they will come home late a’ nights, beat

their wives, and get nothing but girls: look to’t; if

you marry, your stubbornness is your dowry: five

thousand crowns were bequeathed to you, true, if you

marry with my consent; but if e’er you go to marrying by

my consent, I’ll go to hanging by yours: go to, be wise,

and love your uncle.

NIECE. I should have cause then to repent indeed.

Do you so far forget the offices

Of blushing modesty? Uncles are half fathers;

Why, they come so near our bloods, they’re e’en part of

it.

FAL. Why, now you come to me, niece: if your uncle be

part of your own flesh and blood, is it not then fit

your own flesh and blood should come nearest to you?

answer me to that, niece.

NIECE. You do allude all to incestuous will,

Nothing to modest purpose. Turn me forth;

Be like an uncle of these latter days,

Perjur’d enough, enough unnatural;

Play your executorship in tyranny,

Restrain my fortunes, keep me poor,—I care not.

In this alone most women I’ll excel,

I’ll rather yield to beggary than to hell. [_Exit._

FAL. Very good; a’ my troth, my niece is valiant: sh’as

made me richer by five thousand crowns, the price of her

dowry. Are you so honest? I do not fear but I shall have

the conscience to keep you poor enough, niece, or else I

am quite altered a’ late.

_Enter_ LATRONELLO.

The news, may it please you, sir?

LAT. Sir, there’s an old fellow, a kind of law-driver,

entreats conference with your worship.

FAL. A law-driver? prithee, drive him hither.

[_Exit_ LATRONELLO.

_Enter_ TANGLE.

TAN. No, no, I say; if it be for defect of

apparance,[859] take me out a special _significavit_.

SUITOR[860] [_within._] Very good, sir.

TAN. Then if he purchase an _alias_ or _capias_,

which are writs of custom, only to delay time, your

_procedendo_ does you knight’s service—that’s nothing at

all; get your _distringas_ out as soon as you can for a

jury.

SUIT. [_within_] I’ll attend your good[861] worship’s

coming out.

TAN. Do, I prithee, attend me; I’ll take it kindly, _a

voluntate_.

FAL. What, old signior Tangle!

TAN. I am in debt to your worship’s remembrance.

FAL. My old master of fence! come, come, come, I have

not exercised this twelve moons; I have almost forgot

all my law-weapons.

TAN. They are under fine and recovery; your worship

shall easily recover them.

FAL. I hope so.—When,[862] there?

_Enter_ LATRONELLO.

LAT. Sir?

FAL. The rapier and dagger foils instantly.—[_Exit_

LATRONELLO.]—And what’s thy suit to me, old Tangle?

I’ll grant it presently.

TAN. Nothing but this, sir; to set your worship’s hand

to the commendation of a knave whom nobody speaks well

on.

FAL. The more shame for ’em: what was his offence, I

pray?

TAN. _Vestras deducite culpas_; nothing but robbing a

vestry.

FAL. What, what? alas, poor knave! Give me the paper. He

did but save the churchwardens a labour: come, come, he

has done a better deed in’t than the parish is aware of,

to prevent[863] the knaves; he robs but seldom, they

once a quarter: methinks ’twere a part of good justice

to hang ’em at year’s end, when they come out of their

office, to the true terrifying of all collectors and

sidemen.[864]

TAN. Your worship would make a fruitful commonwealth’s

man: the constable lets ’em alone, looks on, and says

nothing.

FAL. Alas, good man! he lets ’em alone for quietness-

sake, and takes half a share with ’em: they know well

enough too he has an impediment in his tongue; he’s

always drunk when he should speak.

TAN. Indeed, your worship speaks true in that, sir: they

blind him with beer, and make him so narrow-eyed, that

he winks naturally at all their knaveries.

FAL. So, so; here’s my hand to his commendations.

[_Signs the paper._

TAN. _A caritate_, you do a charitable deed in’t, sir.

FAL. Nay, if it be but a vestry matter, visit me at any

time, old Signior Law-thistle.

_Re-enter_ LATRONELLO _with rapier and dagger foils, and

then exit_.

O well done! here are the foils: come, come, sir;

I’ll try a law-bout with you.

TAN. I am afraid I shall overthrow you, sir, i’faith.

FAL. ’Tis but for want of use then, sir.

TAN. Indeed, that same odd word, use, makes a man a good

lawyer, and a woman an arrant——tuh, tuh, tuh, tuh, tuh!

Now am I for you, sir: but first to bring you into form;

can your worship name all your weapons?

FAL. That I can, I hope. Let me see: Longsword, what’s

Longsword? I am so dulled with doing justice, that I

have forgot all, i’faith.

TAN. Your Longsword, that’s _a writ of delay_.

FAL. Mass, that sword’s long enough, indeed; I ha’ known

it reach the length of fifteen terms.

TAN. Fifteen terms? that’s but a short sword.

FAL. Methinks ’tis long enough: proceed, sir.

TAN. _A writ of delay_, Longsword; _scandala

magnatum_,[865] Backsword.

FAL. Scandals are backswords indeed.

TAN. _Capias cominus_, Case of Rapiers.

FAL. O desperate!

TAN. A _latitat_, Sword and Dagger; _a writ of

execution_, Rapier and Dagger.[866]

FAL. Thou art come to our present weapon: but what call

you Sword and Buckler, then?

TAN. O, that’s out of use now! Sword and Buckler was

called _a good conscience_, but that weapon’s left long

ago: that was too manly a fight, too sound a weapon for

these our days. ’Slid, we are scarce able to lift up a

buckler now, our arms are so bound to the pox; one good

bang upon a buckler would make most of our gentlemen fly

a’ pieces: ’tis not for these linty times: our lawyers

are good rapier and dagger men; they’ll quickly despatch

your—money.

FAL. Indeed, since sword and buckler time, I have

observed there has been nothing so much fighting: where

be all our gallant swaggerers? there are no good frays

a’ late.

TAN. O, sir, the property’s altered; you shall see less

fighting every day than other; for every one gets him a

mistress, and she gives him wounds enow; and you know

the surgeons cannot be here and there too: if there were

red wounds too, what would become of the Reinish[867]

wounds?

FAL. Thou sayst true, i’faith; they would be but ill-

favouredly looked to then.

TAN. Very well, sir.

FAL. I expect you, sir.

TAN. I lie in this court for you, sir; my Rapier is my

attorney, and my Dagger his clerk.

FAL. Your attorney wants a little oiling, methinks; he

looks very rustily.

TAN. ’Tis but his proper colour, sir; his father was an

ironmonger; he will ne’er look brighter, the rust has so

eat into him; has never any leisure to be made clean.

FAL. Not in the vacation?

TAN. _Non vacat exiguis rebus adesse Jovi._[868]

FAL. Then Jove will not be at leisure to scour him,

because he ne’er came to him before.

TAN. You’re excellent at it, sir: and now you least

think on’t, I arrest you, sir.

FAL. Very good, sir.

TAN. Nay, very bad, sir, by my faith: I follow you

still, as the officers will follow you, as long as you

have a penny.

FAL. You speak sentences, sir: by this time have I tried

my friends, and now I thrust in bail.

TAN. This bail will not be taken, sir; they must be two

citizens that are no cuckolds.

FAL. Byrlady,[869] then I’m like to lie by it; I had

rather ’twere a hundred that were.

TAN. Take heed I bring you not to an _nisi prius_, sir.

FAL. I must ward myself as well as I may, sir.

TAN. ’Tis court-day now; _declarat atturnatus_, my

attorney gapes for money.

FAL. You shall have no advantage yet; I put in my

answer.

TAN.[870] I follow the suit still, sir.

FAL. I like not this court, byrlady: I take me out a

writ of remove; a writ of remove, do you see, sir?

TAN. Very well, sir.

FAL. And place my cause higher.

TAN. There you started me, sir: yet for all your demurs,

_pluries_, and _sursurraras_,[871] which are all

Longswords,[872] that’s delays, all the comfort is, in

nine years a man may overthrow you.

FAL. You must thank your good friends then, sir.

TAN. Let nine years pass, five hundred crowns cast away

a’ both sides, and the suit not twenty, my counsellor’s

wife must have another hood, you know, and my attorney’s

wife will have a new forepart; yet see at length law, I

shall have law: now, beware, I bring you to a narrow

exigent, and by no means can you avoid the proclamation.

FAL. O!

TAN. Now follows a writ of execution; a _capias

utlagatum_ gives you a wound mortal, trips up your

heels, and lays you i’ th’ counter. [_Overthrows him._

FAL. O villain!

TAN. I cry your worship heartily mercy, sir; I thought

we had been in law together, _adversarius contra

adversarium_, by my troth.

FAL. O, reach me thy hand! I ne’er had such an overthrow

in my life.

TAN. ’Twas ’long of your attorney there; he might a’

stayed the execution of _capias utlagatum_, and removed

you, with a _supersedeas non molestandum_, into the

court of equity.

FAL. Pox on him, he fell out of my hand when I had most

need of him.

TAN. I was bound to follow the suit, sir.

FAL. Thou couldst do no less than overthrow me, I must

needs say so.

TAN. You had recovered cost else, sir.

FAL. And now, by th’[873] mass, I think I shall hardly

recover without cost.

TAN. Nay, that’s _certo scio_, an execution is very

chargeable.

FAL. Well, it shall teach me wit as long as I am a

justice. I perceive by this trial, if a man have a sound

fall in law, he[874] shall feel it in his bones all his

life after.

TAN. Nay, that’s _recto_ upon record; for I myself was

overthrown in 88 by a tailor, and I have had a stitch in

my side ever since,—O! [_Exeunt._[875]

ACT III. SCENE I.

_A Hall in_ FALSO’s _House_.

_Enter_ FALSO _untrussed_.

FAL. Why, Latronello! Furtivo! Fucato! Where be these

lazy knaves that should truss me?[876] not one stirring

yet?

[_A Cry within._] Follow, follow, follow!

FAL. What news there?

[_A Cry within._] This way, this way; follow, follow!

FAL. Hark, you sluggish soporiferous villains! there’s

knaves abroad when you are a-bed: are ye not ashamed

on’t? a justice’s men should be up first, and give

example to[877] all knaves.

_Enter_ LATRONELLO _and_ FUCATO, _tumbling in, in false

beards_.

LAT. O, I beseech your good worship!

FUC. Your worshipful worship!

FAL. Thieves! my two-hand sword! I’m robbed i’ th’ hall.

Latronello, knaves, come down! my two-hand sword, I say!

LAT. I am Latronello, I beseech your worship.

FAL. Thou Latronello? thou liest; my men scorn to have

beards.

LAT. We forget our beards. [_They take off their false

beards._]—Now, I beseech your worship quickly remember

us.

FAL. How now?

FUC. Nay, there’s no time to talk of _how now_; ’tis

done.

[_A Cry within._] Follow, follow, follow!

LAT. Four mark and a livery is not able to keep life and

soul together: we must fly out once a quarter; ’tis for

your worship’s credit to have money in our purse. Our

fellow Furtivo is taken in the action.

FAL. A pox on him for a lazy knave! would he be taken?

FUC. They bring him along to your worship; you’re the

next justice. Now or never shew yourself a good master,

an upright magistrate, and deliver him out of their

hands.

FAL. Nay, he shall find me—apt enough to do him good, I

warrant him.

LAT. He comes in a false beard, sir.

FAL. ’S foot, what should he do here else? there’s no

coming to me in a true one, if he had one. The slave to

be taken! do not I keep geldings swift enough?

LAT. The goodliest geldings of any gentleman in the

shire.

FAL. Which did the whorson knave ride upon?

LAT. Upon one of your best, sir.

FUC. Stand-and-deliver.

FAL. Upon Stand-and-deliver? the very gelding I choose

for mine own riding; as nimble as Pegasus the flying

horse yonder. Go shift yourselves into your coats; bring

hither a great chair and a little table.

FUC. With all present speed, sir.

FAL. And, Latronello——

LAT. Ay, sir.

FAL. Sit you down, and very soberly take the

examination.

LAT. I’ll draw a few horse-heads in a paper; make a

shew. I hope I shall keep my countenance.

[_Exeunt_ LATRONELLO _and_ FUCATO.

FAL. Pox on him again! would he be taken? he frets me. I

have been a youth myself: I ha’ seen the day I could

have told money out of other men’s purses,—mass, so I

can do now,—nor will I keep that fellow about me that

dares not bid a man stand; for as long as drunkenness is

a vice, stand is a virtue: but I would not have ’em

taken. I remember now betimes in a morning, I would have

peeped through the green boughs, and have had the party

presently, and then to ride away finely in fear: ’twas

e’en venery[878] to me, i’faith, the pleasantest course

of life! one would think every woodcock a constable, and

every owl an officer. But those days are past with me;

and, a’ my troth, I think I am a greater thief now, and

in no danger. I can take my ease, sit in my chair, look

in your faces now, and rob you; make you bring your

money by authority, put off your hat, and thank me for

robbing of you. O, there is nothing to a thief under

covert barn![879]

_Enter_ PHŒNIX _and_ FIDELIO; _Constable and Officers

with_ FURTIVO; _and_ LATRONELLO _and_ FUCATO

_bringing in a chair and table_.

CON. Come, officers, bring him away.

FAL. Nay, I see thee through thy false beard, thou

midwind-chined rascal, [_Aside._]—How now, my masters,

what’s he? ha?

CON. Your worship knows I never come but I bring a thief

with me.

FAL. Thou hast left thy wont else, constable.

PHŒ. Sir, we understand you to be the only uprightness

of this place.

FAL. But I scarce understand you, sir.

PHŒ. Why, then, you understand not yourself, sir.

FAL. Such another word, and you shall change places with

the thief.

PHŒ. A maintainer of equal causes, I mean.

FAL. Now I have you; proceed, sir.

PHŒ. This gentleman and myself, being led hither by

occasion of business, have been offered the discourtesy

of the country, set upon by three thieves, and robbed.

FAL. What are become of the other two?—Latronello.[880]

LAT. Here, sir.

PHŒ. They both made away from us; the cry pursues ’em,

but as yet none but this taken.

FAL. Latronello.

LAT. Sir?

FAL. Take his examination.

LAT. Yes, sir.

FAL. Let the knave stand single.

FUR. Thank your good worship.

FAL. Has been a suitor at court, sure; he thanks me for

nothing.

PHŒ. He’s a thief now, sure.

FAL. That we must know of him.—What are ye, sir?

FUR. A piece next to the tail, sir, a servingman.

FAL. By my troth, a pretty phrase, and very cleanly

handled! Put it down, Latronello; thou mayst make use

on’t.—Is he of honour or worship whom thou servest?

FUR. Of both, dear sir; honourable in mind, and

worshipful in body.

FAL. Why, would one wish a man to speak better?

PHŒ. O, sir, they most commonly speak best that do

worst.

FAL. Say you so, sir? then we’ll try him farther.—Does

your right worshipful master go before you as an

ensample of vice, and so encourage you to this

slinking[881] iniquity? He is not a lawyer, is he?

FUR. Has the more wrong, sir; both for his conscience

and honesty he deserves to be one.

FAL. Pity he’s a thief, i’faith; I should entertain him

else.

PHŒ. Ay, if he were not as he is, he would be better

than himself.

FUR. No, ’tis well known, sir, I have a master the very

picture of wisdom——

LAT. For indeed he speaks not one wise word.

[_Aside._

FUR. And no man but will admire to hear of his virtues——

LAT. Because he ne’er had any in all his life.

[_Aside._

FAL. You write all down, Latronello?

LAT. I warrant you, sir.

FUR. So sober, so discreet, so judicious——

FAL. Hum.

FUR. And above all, of most reverend gravity.

FAL. I like him for one quality; he speaks well of his

master; he will fare the better.—Now, sir, let me touch

you.

FUR. Ay, sir.

FAL. Why, serving a gentleman of such worship and

wisdom, such sobriety and virtue, such discretion and

judgment, as your master is, do you take such a

beastly course, to stop horses, hinder gentlewomen

from their meetings, and make citizens never ride but

a’ Sundays, only to avoid morning prayer and you? Is

it because your worshipful master feeds you with lean

spits, pays you with Irish money, or clothes you in

northern dozens?[882]

FUR. Far be it from his mind, or my report. ’Tis well

known he kept worshipful cheer the day of his wife’s

burial; pays our four marks a-year as duly by twelve

pence a-quarter as can be——

PHŒ. His wisdom swallows it. [_Aside._

FUR. And for northern dozens—fie, fie, we were ne’er

troubled with so many.

FAL. Receiving then such plenteous blessings from your

virtuous and bountiful master, what cause have you to be

thief now? answer me to that gear.[883]

FUR. ’Tis e’en as a man gives his mind to’t, sir.

FAL. How, sir?

FUR. For, alas, if the whole world were but of one

trade, traffic were nothing! if we were all true

men,[884] we should be of no trade: what a pitiful world

would here be! heaven forbid we should be all true men!

Then how should your worship’s next suit be made? not a

tailor left in the land: of what stuff would you have it

made? not a merchant left to deliver it: would your

worship go in that suit still? You would ha’ more

thieves about you than those you have banished, and be

glad to call the great ones home again, to destroy the

little.

PHŒ. A notable rogue!

FAL. A’ my troth, a fine knave, and has answered me

gloriously.—What wages wilt thou take after thou art

hanged?

FUR. More than your worship’s able to give: I would

think foul scorn to be a justice then.

FAL. He says true too, i’faith; for we are all full of

corruption here. [_Aside._]—Hark you, my friends.

PHŒ. Sir?

FAL. By my troth, if you were no crueller than I, I

could find in my heart to let him go.

PHŒ. Could you so, sir? the more pitiful justice you.

FAL. Nay, I did but to try you; if you have no pity,

I’ll ha’ none.—Away! he’s a thief; to prison with him!

FUR. I am content, sir.

FAL. Are you content?—Bring him back.—Nay then, you

shall not go.—I’ll be as cruel as you can wish.—You’re

content? belike you have a trick to break prison, or a

bribe for the officers.

CON. For us, sir?

FAL. For you, sir! what colour’s silver, I pray? you

ne’er saw money in your life: I’ll not trust you with

him.—Latronello and Fucato, lay hold upon him; to your

charge I commit him.

FUR. O, I beseech you, sir!

FAL. Nay, if I must be cruel, I will be cruel.

FUR. Good sir, let me rather go to prison.

FAL. You desire that? I’ll trust no prison with you:

I’ll make you lie in mine own house, or I’ll know why I

shall not.

FUR. Merciful sir!

FAL. Since you have no pity, I will be cruel.

PHŒ. Very good, sir; you please us well.

FAL. You shall appear to-morrow, sirs.

FUR. Upon my knees, sir!

FAL. You shall be hanged out a’ th’ way.—Away with him,

Latronello and Fucato!—Officers, I discharge you my

house; I like not your company.

Report me as you see me, fire and fuel;

If men be Jews, justices must be cruel.

[_Exeunt all but_ PHŒNIX _and_ FIDELIO.

PHŒ. So, sir, extremes set off all actions thus,

Either too tame, or else too tyrannous:

He being bent to fury, I doubt now

We shall not gain access unto your love,

Or she to us.

FID. Most wishfully here she comes.

_Enter_ NIECE.

PHŒ. Is that she?

FID. This is she, my lord.

PHŒ. A modest presence.

FID. Virtue bless you, lady!

NIECE. You wish me well, sir.

FID. I’d first in charge this kiss, and next this

paper;

You’ll know the language; ’tis Fidelio’s.

NIECE. My ever-vowed love! how is his health?

FID. As fair as is his favour with the prince.

NIECE. I’m sick with joy: does the prince love him so?

FID. His life cannot requite it.

Not to wrong the remembrance of his love,

I had a token for you, kept it safe,

Till by misfortune of the way this morning,

Thieves set upon this gentleman and myself,

And with the rest robb’d that.

NIECE. Was it your loss?[885]

O me, I’m dearly sorry for your chance!

They boldly look you in the face that robb’d you;

No farther villains than my uncle’s men.

PHŒ. What, lady?

NIECE. ’Tis my grief I speak so true.

FID. Why, my lord[886]——

PHŒ. But give me pausing, lady; was he one

That took th’ examination?

NIECE. One, and the chief.

PHŒ. Henceforth hang him that is no way a thief;

Then I hope few will suffer.

Nay, all the jest was, he committed him

To the charge of his fellows, and the rogue

Made it lamentable, cried to leave ’em:

None live so wise but fools may once deceive ’em.

FID. An uncle so insatiate!

PHŒ. Ay, is’t not strange too,

That all should be by nature vicious,

And he bad against nature?

NIECE. Then you have heard the sum of all my wrongs?

PHŒ. Lady, we have, and desire rather now

To heal ’em than to hear ’em:

For by a letter from Fidelio

Direct to us, we are intreated jointly

To hasten your remove from this foul den

Of theft and purpos’d incest.

NIECE. I rejoice

In his chaste care of me: I’ll soon be furnish’d.

FID. He writes that his return cannot be long.

NIECE. I’m chiefly glad,—but whither is the place?

PHŒ. To the safe seat of his late wronged mother.

NIECE. I desire it;

Her conference will fit mine: well you prevail.

PHŒ. At next grove we’ll expect you.

NIECE. I’ll not fail. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Street._

_Enter_ KNIGHT _and_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.

KNIGHT. It stands upon the frame of my reputation, I

protest, lady.

JEW. WIFE. Lady? that word is worth an hundred

angels[887] at all times, for it cost more: if I live

till to-morrow night, my sweet Pleasure, thou shalt have

them.

KNIGHT. Could you not make ’em a hundred and fifty,

think you?

JEW. WIFE. I’ll do my best endeavour to multiply, I

assure you.

KNIGHT. Could you not make ’em two hundred?

JEW. WIFE. No, by my faith——

KNIGHT. Peace; I’ll rather be confined in the hundred

and fifty.

JEW. WIFE. Come e’en much about this time, when taverns

give up their ghosts, and gentlemen are in their first

cast[888]——

KNIGHT. I’ll observe the season.

JEW. WIFE. And do but whirl the ring a’ th’ door once

about: my maid-servant shall be taught to understand the

language.

KNIGHT. Enough, my sweet Revenue.

JEW. WIFE. Good rest, my effectual Pleasure.

[_Exeunt._[889]

ACT IV. SCENE I.

_A Street: before the Jeweller’s House, and the Court of

Law._

_Enter_ PRODITOR _and_ PHŒNIX.

PROD. Come hither, Phœnix.[890]

PHŒ. What makes your honour break so early?

PROD. A toy, I have a toy.[891]

PHŒ. A toy, my lord?

PROD. Before thou lay’st thy wrath upon the duke,

Be advis’d.

PHŒ. Ay, ay, I warrant you, my lord.

PROD. Nay, give my words honour; hear me.

I’ll strive to bring this act into such form

And credit amongst men, they shall suppose,

Nay, verily believe, the prince, his son,

To be the plotter of his father’s murder.

PHŒ. O that were infinitely admirable!

PROD. Were’t not? it pleaseth me beyond my bliss.

Then if his son meet death as he returns,

Or by my hired instruments turn up,

The general voice will cry, O happy vengeance!

PHŒ. O blessed vengeance!

PROD. Ay, I’ll turn my brain

Into a thousand uses, tire my inventions,

Make my blood sick with study, and mine eye

More hollow than my heart, but I will fashion,

Nay, I will fashion it. Canst counterfeit?

PHŒ. The prince’s hand most[892] truly, most direct;

You shall admire it.

PROD. Necessary mischief,

Next to a woman, but more close in secrets!

Thou’rt all the kindred that my breast vouchsafes.

Look into me anon: I must frame, and muse,

And fashion. [_Exit._

PHŒ. ’Twas time to look into thee, in whose heart

Treason grows ripe, and therefore fit to fall:

That slave first sinks whose envy threatens all.

Now is his venom at full height. [_Voices within._

FIRST VOICE. [_within_] Lying or being in the said

county, in the tenure and occupation aforesaid.

SECOND VOICE. [_within_] No more then; a writ of course

upon the matter of——

THIRD VOICE. [_within_] Silence!

FOURTH VOICE. [_within_] O-o-o-o-yes! Carlo Turbulenzo,

appear, or lose twenty mark in the suits.

PHŒ. Hah, whither have my thoughts conveyed me?

I am now

Within the dizzy murmur of the law.

FIRST VOICE. [_within_] So that then, the cause being

found clear, upon the last citation——

FOURTH VOICE. [_within_] Carlo Turbulenzo, come into the

court.

_Enter_ TANGLE _and two Suitors after him_.

TAN. Now, now, now, now, now, upon my knees I praise

Mercury, the god of law! I have two suits at issue, two

suits at issue.

FIRST SUIT. Do you hear, sir?

TAN. I will not hear; I’ve other business.

FIRST SUIT. I beseech you, my learned counsel——

TAN. Beseech not me, beseech not me; I am a mortal man,

a client as you are; beseech not me.

FIRST SUIT. I would do all by your worship’s direction.

TAN. Then hang thyself.

SECOND SUIT. Shall I take out a special _supplicavit_?

TAN. Mad me not, torment me not, tear me not; you’ll

give me leave to hear mine own cause, mine own cause.

FIRST VOICE. [_within_] Nay, moreover and farther——

TAN. Well said, my lawyer, well said, well said!

FIRST VOICE. [_within_] All the opprobrious speeches

that man could invent, all malicious invectives, called

wittol[893] to his face.

TAN. That’s I, that’s I: thank you, my learned counsel,

for your good remembrance. I hope I shall overthrow him

horse and foot.[894]

FIRST SUIT. Nay but, good sir——

TAN. No more, sir: he that brings me happy news first

I’ll relieve first.

BOTH SUIT. Sound executions rot thy cause and thee!

[_Exeunt._

TAN. Ay, ay, ay, pray so still, pray so still; they’ll

thrive the better.

PHŒ. I wonder how this fellow keeps out madness;

What stuff his brains are made on.

TAN. I suffer, I suffer, till I hear a judgment!

PHŒ. What, old signior?

TAN. Prithee, I will not know thee now; ’tis a busy

time, a busy time with me.

PHŒ. What, not me, signior?

TAN. O, cry thee mercy! give me thy hand—fare thee

well.—Has no relief again[895] me then; his demurs will

not help him; his sursurraras[896] will but play the

knaves with him.

_Enter_ FALSO.

PHŒ. The justice? ’tis he.

FAL. Have I found thee, i’faith? I thought where I

should smell thee out, old Tangle.

TAN. What, old signior justicer? embrace me another time

and[897] you can possible:—how do[898] all thy wife’s

children,—well? that’s well said, i’faith.

FAL. Hear me, old Tangle.

TAN. Prithee, do not ravish me; let me go.

FAL. I must use some of thy counsel first.

TAN. Sirrah, I ha’ brought him to an exigent: hark!

that’s my cause, that’s my cause yonder: I twinged him,

I twinged him.

FAL. My niece is stolen away.

TAN. Ah, get me a _ne exeat regno_ quickly! nay, you

must not stay upon’t; I’d fain have you gone.

FAL. A _ne exeat regno_? I’ll about it presently: adieu.

[_Exit._

PHŒ. You seek to catch her, justice; she’ll catch you.

_Re-enter_ FIRST SUITOR.

FIRST SUIT. A judgment, a judgment!

TAN. What, what, what?

FIRST SUIT. Overthrown, overthrown, overthrown!

TAN. Ha?—ah, ah!——

_Re-enter_ SECOND SUITOR.

SECOND SUIT. News, news, news!

TAN. The devil, the devil, the devil!

SECOND SUIT. Twice Tangle’s overthrown, twice Tangle’s

overthrown!

TAN. Hold!

PHŒ. Now, old cheater of the law——

TAN. Pray, give me leave to be mad.

PHŒ. Thou that hast found such sweet pleasure[899] in

the vexation of others——

TAN. May I not be mad in quiet?

PHŒ. Very marrow, very manna to thee to be in law——

TAN. Very syrup of toads and preserved adders!

PHŒ. Thou that hast vexed and beggared the whole parish,

and made the honest churchwardens go to law with the

poor’s money——

TAN. Hear me, do but hear me! I pronounce a terrible,

horrible curse upon you all, and wish you to my

attorney. See where a _præmunire_ comes, a _dedimus

potestatem_, and that most dreadful execution,

_excommunicato capiendo_! There’s no bail to be taken; I

shall rot in fifteen jails: make dice of my bones, and

let my counsellor’s son play away his father’s money

with ’em; may my bones revenge my quarrel! A _capias

cominus_? here, here, here, here; quickly dip your

quills in my blood, off with my skin, and write fourteen

lines of a side. There’s an honest conscionable fellow;

he takes but ten shillings of a bellows-mender: here’s

another deals all with charity; you shall give him

nothing, only his wife an embroidered petticoat, a gold

fringe for her tail, or a border for her head. Ah,

sirrah, you shall catch me no more in the springe of

your knaveries! [_Exit._

FIRST SUIT. Follow, follow him still; a little thing

now sets him forward. [_Exeunt_ SUITORS.

PHŒ. None can except against him; the man’s mad,

And privileg’d by the moon, if he say true:

Less madness ’tis to speak sin than to do.

This wretch, that lov’d before his food his strife,

This punishment falls even with his life.

His pleasure was vexation, all his bliss

The torment of another;

Their hurt[900] his health, their starved hopes his

store:

Who so loves law dies either mad or poor.

_Enter_ FIDELIO.

FID. A miracle, a miracle!

PHŒ. How now, Fidelio?

FID. My lord, a miracle!

PHŒ. What is’t?

FID. I have found

One quiet, suffering, and unlawyer’d man;

An opposite, a very contrary

To the old turbulent fellow.

PHŒ. Why, he’s mad.

FID. Mad? why, he is in his right wits: could he be

madder than he was? if he be any way altered from what

he was, ’tis for the better, my lord.

PHŒ. Well, but where’s this wonder?

FID. ’Tis coming,[901] my lord: a man so truly a man, so

indifferently a creature, using the world in his right

nature but to tread upon; one that would not bruise the

cowardliest enemy to man, the worm, that dares not shew

his malice till we are dead: nay, my lord, you will

admire his temper: see where he comes.

_Enter_ QUIETO.

I promis’d your acquaintance, sir: yon is

The gentleman I did commend for temper.

QUI. Let me embrace you simply,

That’s perfectly, and more in heart than hand:

Let affectation keep at court.

PHŒ. Ay, let it.

QUI. ’Tis told me you love quiet.

PHŒ. Above wealth.

QUI. I above life: I have been wild and rash,

Committed many and unnatural crimes,

Which I have since repented.

PHŒ. ’Twas well spent.

QUI. I was mad, stark mad, nine years together.

PHŒ. I pray, as how?

QUI. Going to law, i’faith, it made me mad.

PHŒ. With the like frenzy, not an hour since,

An aged man was struck.

QUI. Alas, I pity him!

PHŒ. He’s not worth pitying, for ’twas still his

gladness

To be at variance.

QUI. Yet a man’s worth pity:

My quiet blood has blest me with this gift:

I have cur’d some; and if his wits be not

Too deeply cut, I will assay to help ’em.

PHŒ. Sufferance does teach you pity.

_Enter_ BOY.

BOY. O master, master! your abominable next neighbour

came into the house, being half in drink, and took away

your best carpet.[902]

QUI. Has he it?

BOY. Alas, sir!

QUI. Let him go; trouble him not: lock the door quietly

after him, and have a safer care who comes in next.

PHŒ. But, sir, might I advise you, in such a cause as

this a man might boldly, nay, with conscience, go to

law.

QUI. O, I’ll give him the table too first! Better endure

a fist than a sharp sword: I had rather they should pull

off my clothes than flay off my skin, and hang that on

mine enemy’s hedge.

PHŒ. Why,

For such good causes was the law ordain’d.

QUI. True,

And in itself ’tis glorious and divine;

Law is the very masterpiece of heaven:

But see yonder,

There’s many clouds between the sun and us;

There’s too much cloth before we see the law.

PHŒ. I’m content with that answer; be mild still:

’Tis honour to forgive those you could kill.

QUI. There do I keep.

PHŒ. Reach me your hand: I love you,

And you shall know me better.

QUI. ’Tis my suit.

PHŒ. The night grows deep, and——

_Enter two Officers._

FIRST OFF. Come away, this way, this way.

PHŒ. Who be those? stand close a little.

[_As they retire_, PHŒNIX _happens to jar the ring

of the Jeweller’s door; the Maid enters from the

house and catches hold of him_.

MAID. O, you’re come as well as e’er you came in your

life! my master’s new gone to bed. Give me your knightly

hand: I must lead you into the blind parlour; my

mistress will be down to you presently.

[_Takes in_ PHŒNIX.

FIRST OFF. I tell you our safest course will be to

arrest him when he comes out a’ th’ tavern, for then he

will be half drunk, and will not stand upon his weapon.

SECOND OFF. Our safest course indeed, for he will draw.

FIRST OFF. That he will, though he put it up again,

which is more of his courtesy than of our deserving.

[_Exeunt Officers._

QUI. The world is nothing but vexation,

Spite, and uncharitable action.

FID. Did you see the gentleman?

QUI. Not I.

FID. Where should he be? it may be he’s past by:

Good sir, let’s overtake him. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Room in the Jeweller’s House._

_Enter_ PHŒNIX _and Maid_.

MAID. Here, sir: now you are there, sir, she’ll come

down to you instantly. I must not stay with you; my

mistress would be jealous: you must do nothing to me; my

mistress would find it quickly. [_Exit._

PHŒ. ’S foot, whither am I led? brought in by th’ hand?

I hope it can be no harm to stay for a woman, though

indeed they were never more dangerous: I have ventured

hitherto and safe, and I must venture to stay now. This

should be a fair room, but I see it not: the blind

parlour calls she it?

_Enter_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.

JEW. WIFE. Where art thou, O my knight?

PHŒ. Your knight? I am the duke’s knight.

JEW. WIFE. I say you’re my knight, for I’m sure I paid

for you.

PHŒ. Paid for you?—hum.—’S foot, a light!

[_Snatches in a light, and then extinguishes it._

JEW. WIFE. Now out upon the marmoset![903] Hast thou

served me so long, and offer to bring in a candle?

PHŒ. Fair room, villanous face, and worse woman! I ha’

learnt something by a glimpse a’ th’ candle.

[_Aside._

JEW. WIFE. How happened it you came so soon? I looked

not for you these two hours; yet, as the sweet chance

is, you came as well as a thing could come, for my

husband’s newly brought a-bed.

PHŒ. And what has Jove sent him?

JEW. WIFE. He ne’er sent him any thing since I knew him:

he’s a man of a bad nature to his wife; none but his

maids can thrive under him.

PHŒ. Out upon him!

JEW. WIFE. Ay, judge whether I have a cause to be a

courtesan or no? to do as I do? An elderly fellow as he

is, if he were married to a young virgin, he were able

to break her heart, though he could break nothing else.

Here, here; there’s just a hundred and fifty [_giving

money_]; but I stole ’em so hardly from him, ’twould

e’en have grieved you to have seen it.

PHŒ. So ’twould, i’faith.

JEW. WIFE. Therefore, prithee, my sweet Pleasure, do not

keep company so much. How do you think I am able to

maintain you? Though I be a jeweller’s wife, jewels are

like women, they rise and fall; we must be content to

lose sometimes, to gain often; but you’re content always

to lose, and never to gain. What need you ride with a

footman before you?

PHŒ. O, that’s the grace!

JEW. WIFE. The grace? ’tis sufficient grace that you’ve

a horse to ride upon. You should think thus with

yourself every time you go to bed,—if my head were laid,

what would become of that horse? he would run a bad race

then, as well as his master.

PHŒ. Nay, and[904] you give me money to chide me——

JEW. WIFE. No, if it were as much more, I would think it

foul scorn to chide you. I advise you to be thrifty, to

take the time now, while you have it: you shall seldom

get such another fool as I am, I warrant you. Why,

there’s Metreza[905] Auriola keeps her love with half

the cost that I am at: her friend can go a’ foot like a

good husband, walk in worsted stockings, and inquire for

the sixpenny ordinary.[906]

PHŒ. Pox on’t, and would you have me so base?

JEW. WIFE. No, I would not have you so base neither: but

now and then, when you keep your chamber, you might let

your footman out for eighteenpence a-day; a great relief

at year’s end, I can tell you.

PHŒ. The age must needs be foul when vice reforms it.

[_Aside._

JEW. WIFE. Nay, I’ve a greater quarrel to you yet.

PHŒ. I’faith, what is’t?

JEW. WIFE. You made me believe at first the prince had

you in great estimation, and would not offer to travel

without you, nay, that he could not travel without your

direction and intelligence.

PHŒ. I’m sorry I said so, i’faith; but sure I was

overflown[907] when I spoke it, I could ne’er ha’ said

it else.

JEW. WIFE. Nay more; you swore to me that you were the

first that taught him to ride a great horse, and

tread[908] the ring with agility.

PHŒ. By my troth, I must needs confess I swore a great

lie in that, and I was a villain to do it, for I could

ne’er ride great horse in my life.

JEW. WIFE. Why, lo, who would love you now but a

citizen’s wife? so inconstant, so forsworn! You

say women are false creatures; but, take away men,

and they’d be honester than you. Nay, last of all,

which offends me most of all, you told me you could

countenance me at court; and you know we esteem a friend

there more worth than a husband here.

PHŒ. What I spake of that, lady, I’ll maintain.

JEW. WIFE. You maintain? you seen at court?

PHŒ. Why, by this diamond——

JEW. WIFE. O, take heed! you cannot have that; ’tis

always in the eye of my husband.

PHŒ. I protest I will not keep it, but only use it for

this virtue, as a token to fetch you, and approve[909]

my power, where you shall not only be received, but made

known to the best and chiefest.

JEW. WIFE. O, are you true?

PHŒ. Let me lose my revenue[910] else.

JEW. WIFE. That’s your word, indeed! and upon that

condition take it, this kiss, and my love for ever.

[_Giving the diamond._

PHŒ. Enough.

JEW. WIFE. Give me thy hand, I’ll lead thee forth.

PHŒ. I’m sick of all professions; my thoughts burn:

He travels best that knows when to return. [_Aside._

[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A Street: before the Jeweller’s House._

_Enter_ KNIGHT, _two Officers watching for him_.

KNIGHT. Adieu, farewell;[911] to bed you; I to my sweet

city-bird, my precious Revenue: the very thought of a

hundred and fifty angels[912] increases oil and spirit,

ho!

FIRST OFF. I arrest you. sir.

KNIGHT. O!

FIRST OFF. You have made us wait a goodly time for you,

have you not, think you? You are in your rouses[913] and

mullwines,[914] a pox on you! and have no care of poor

officers staying for you.

KNIGHT. I drunk but one health, I protest; but I could

void it now. At whose suit, I pray?

FIRST OFF. At the suit of him that makes suits, your

tailor.

KNIGHT. Why, he made me the last; this, this that I

wear.

FIRST OFF. Argo,[915]—nay, we have been scholars, I can

tell you,—we could not have been knaves so soon else;

for as in that notable city called London stand two most

famous universities, Poultry and Wood-street,[916] where

some are of twenty years’ standing, and have took all

their degrees, from the Master’s side down to the

Mistress’ side, the Hole,[917] so in like manner——

KNIGHT. Come, come, come, I had quite forgot the hundred

and fifty angels.

SECOND OFF. ’Slid, where be they?

KNIGHT. I’ll bring you to the sight of’em presently.

FIRST OFF. A notable lad, and worthy to be arrested!

We’ll have but ten for waiting; and then thou shalt

choose whether thou wilt run away from us, or we from

thee.

KNIGHT. A match at running! come, come, follow me.

SECOND OFF. Nay, fear not that.

KNIGHT. Peace; you may happen to see toys,[918] but do

not see ’em.

FIRST OFF. Pah!

KNIGHT. That’s the door.

FIRST OFF. This? [_Knocks._

KNIGHT. ’S foot, officer, you have spoiled all already.

FIRST OFF. Why?

KNIGHT. Why? you shall see: you should have but whirled

the ring once about, and there’s a maidservant brought

up to understand it.

MAID. [_opening the door_] Who’s at door?

KNIGHT. All’s well again.—Phist, ’tis I, ’tis I.

MAID. You? what are you?

KNIGHT. Pooh! where’s thy mistress?

MAID. What of her?

KNIGHT. Tell her one—she knows who—her Pleasure’s here,

say.

MAID. Her pleasure? my mistress scorns to be without her

pleasure at this time of night. Is she so void of

friends, think you? take that for thinking so.

_Gives him a box on the ear, and shuts the door._

FIRST OFF. The hundred and fifty angels are locked up in

a box; we shall not see ’em tonight.

KNIGHT. How’s this? am I used like a hundred-pound

gentleman? does my Revenue forsake me? Damn me, if ever

I be her Pleasure again!—Well, I must to prison.

FIRST OFF. Go prepare his room; there’s no remedy: I’ll

bring him along; he’s tame enough now. [_Exit Second

Officer._

KNIGHT. Dare my tailor presume to use me in this sort?

He steals, and I must lie in prison for’t.

FIRST OFF. Come, come, away, sir!

_Enter a Gentleman and a Drawer._

GENT. Art sure thou sawest him arrested, drawer?

DRA. If mine eyes be sober.

GENT. And that’s a question. Mass, here he goes! he

shall not go to prison; I have a trick shall bail him:

away! [_Exit Drawer._

[_Blinds the First Officer, while the_ KNIGHT _escapes_.

FIRST OFF. O!

GENT. Guess, guess! who am I? who am I?

FIRST OFF. Who the devil are you? let go: a pox on you!

who are you? I have lost my prisoner.

GENT. Prisoner? I’ve mistook; I cry you heartily mercy;

I have done you infinite injury; a’ my troth, I took you

to be an honest man.

FIRST OFF. Where were your eyes? could you not see I was

an officer?—Stop, stop, stop, stop!

GENT. Ha, ha, ha, ha! [_Exeunt severally._

ACT V. SCENE I.

_The Presence-Chamber in the Duke of Ferrara’s Palace._

_Enter_ PRODITOR _and_ PHŒNIX.

PROD. Now, Phœnix.[919]

PHŒ. Now, my lord.

PROD. Let princely blood Nourish our hopes; we bring

confusion now.

PHŒ. A terrible sudden blow.

PROD. Ay: what day Is this hangs over us?

PHŒ. By th’ mass, Monday.

PROD. As I could wish; my purpose will thrive best:

’Twas first my birth-day, now my fortune’s day. I see

whom fate will raise needs never pray.

PHŒ. Never.

PROD. How is the air?

PHŒ. O, full of trouble!

PROD. Does not the sky look piteously black?

PHŒ. As if ’twere hung with rich men’s consciences.

PROD. Ah, stuck not a comet, like a carbuncle, Upon the

dreadful brow of twelve last night?

PHŒ. Twelve? no, ’twas about one.

PROD. About one? most proper, For that’s the duke.

PHŒ. Well shifted from thyself! [_Aside._

PROD. I could have wish’d it between one and two,

His son and him.

PHŒ. I’ll give you comfort then.

PROD. Prithee.

PHŒ. There was a villanous raven seen last night

Over the presence-chamber, in hard justle

With a young eaglet.

PROD. A raven? that was I: what did the raven?

PHŒ. Marry, my lord, the raven—to say truth,

I left the combat doubtful.

PROD. So ’tis still,

For all is doubt till the deed crown the will.

Now bless thy loins with freedom, wealth, and honour;

Think all thy seed young lords, and by this act

Make a foot-cloth’d[920] posterity; now imagine

Thou see’st thy daughters with their trains borne up,

Whom else despisèd want may curse to whoredom,

And public shames which our state never threat:

She’s never lewd that is accounted great.

PHŒ. I’ll alter that court axiom, thus renew’d,

She’s never great that is accounted lewd. [_Aside._

_Enter several Nobles._

PROD. Stand close; the presence fills. Here, here the

place;

And at his rising, let his fall be base,

Beneath thy foot.

PHŒ. How for his guard, my lord?

PROD. My gold and fear keep[921] with the chief of

them.

PHŒ. That’s rarely well.

PROD. Bold, heedless slave, that dares attempt a deed

Which shall in pieces rend him! [_Aside._

_Enter_ LUSSURIOSO _and_ INFESTO.

My lords both!

LUS. The happiness of the day!

PHŒ. Time my returning;

Treasons have still the worst, yet still are spurning.

[_Aside._

_Enter the_ DUKE _attended_.

PROD. The duke!

PHŒ. I ne’er was gladder to behold him.

ALL. Long live your grace!

DUKE. I do not like that strain:

You know my age affords not to live long.

PROD. Spoke truer than you think for. [_Aside._

DUKE. Bestow that wish upon the prince our son.

PHŒ. Nay, he’s not to live long neither. [_Aside._

PROD. Him as the wealthy treasure of our hopes,

You as possession of our present comfort,

Both in one heart we reverence in one.

PHŒ. O treason of a good complexion! [_Aside._

[_Horn winded within._

DUKE. How now? what fresher news fills the court’s ear?

_Enter_ FIDELIO.

PROD. Fidelio!

FID. Glad tidings to your grace!

The prince is safe return’d, and in your court.

DUKE. Our joy breaks at our eyes; the prince is come!

PROD. Soul-quicking[922] news!—pale vengeance to my

blood! [_Aside._

FID. By me presenting to your serious view

A brief of all his travels. [_Delivers a paper._

DUKE. ’Tis most welcome;

It shall be dear and precious to our eye.

PROD. He reads; I’m glad he reads.—

Now take thy opportunity, leave that place.

PHŒ. At his first rising let his fall be base.[923]

PROD. That must be alter’d now.

PHŒ. Which? his rising or his fall?

PROD. Art thou dull now?

Thou hear’st the prince is come.

DUKE. What’s here?[924]

PROD. My lord?

DUKE [_reads_]. _I have got such a large portion of

knowledge, most worthy father, by the benefit of my

travel_——

PROD. And so he has, no doubt, my lord.

DUKE [_reads_]. _That I am bold now to warn you of Lord

Proditor’s insolent treason, who has irreligiously

seduced a fellow, and closely conveyed him e’en in the

presence-chair to murder you._

PHŒ. O guilty, guilty!

DUKE. What was that fell? what’s he?

PHŒ. I am the man.

PROD. O slave!

PHŒ. I have no power to strike.

PROD. I’m gone, I’m gone!

DUKE. Let me admire heaven’s wisdom in my son.

PHŒ. I confess it, he hir’d me——

PROD. This is a slave:

’Tis forg’d against mine honour and my life;

For in what part of reason can’t appear,

The prince being travell’d should know treasons here?

Plain counterfeit.

DUKE. Dost thou make false our son?

PROD. I know the prince will not affirm’t.[925]

FID. He can

And will, my lord.

PHŒ. Most just, he may.

DUKE. A guard!

LUS. We cannot but in loyal zeal ourselves

Lay hands on such a villain.

DUKE. Stay you; I find you here too.

[_Attendants secure_ PRODITOR.

LUS. Us, my lord?

DUKE [_reads_]. _Against Lussurioso and Infesto, who

not only most riotously consume their houses in vicious

gaming, mortgaging their livings to the merchant,

whereby he with his heirs enter upon their lands; from

whence this abuse comes, that in short time the son of

the merchant has more lordships than the son of the

nobleman, which else was never born to inheritance: but

that which is more impious, they most adulterously train

out young ladies to midnight banquets, to the utter

defamation of their own honours, and ridiculous abuse of

their husbands._

LUS. How could the prince hear that?

PHŒ. Most true, my lord:

My conscience is a witness ’gainst itself;

For to that execution of chaste honour

I was both hir’d and led.

LUS. I hope the prince, out of his plenteous wisdom,

Will not give wrong to us: as for this fellow,

He’s poor, and cares not to be desperate.

_Enter_ FALSO.

FAL. Justice, my lord! I have my niece stol’n from me:

Sh’as left her dowry with me, but she’s gone:

I’d rather have had her love than her money, I.

This, this is one of them. Justice, my lord!

I know him by his face; this is the thief.

PROD. Your grace may now in milder sense perceive

The wrong done to us by this impudent wretch,

Who has his hand fix’d at the throat of law,

And therefore durst be desperate of his life.

DUKE. Peace, you’re too foul; your crime is in excess:

One spot of him makes not your ulcers less.

PROD. O!

DUKE. Did your violence force away his niece?

PHŒ. No, my good lord; I’ll still confess what’s

truth;

I did remove her from her many wrongs,

Which she was pleas’d to leave, they were so vild.[926]

DUKE. What are you nam’d?

FAL. Falso, my lord, Justice Falso;

I’m known by that name.

DUKE. Falso? you came fitly;

You are the very next that follows here.

FAL. I hope so, my lord; my name is in all the records,

I can assure your good grace.

_Enter_ NIECE _and_ CASTIZA _behind_.

DUKE [_reads_]. _Against Justice Falso_——

FAL. Ah!

DUKE [_reads_]. _Who, having had the honest charge of

his niece committed to his trust by the last will and

testament of her deceased father, and with her all the

power of his wealth, not only against faith and

conscience detains her dowry, but against nature and

humanity assays to abuse her body._

NIECE [_coming forward_]. I’m present to affirm it, my

lov’d lord.

FAL. How? what make I here?[927]

NIECE. Either I must agree

To loathed lust, or despis’d beggary.

DUKE. Are you the plaintiff here?

FAL. Ay, my good lord,

For fault of a better.

DUKE. Seldom comes a worse.—[_Reads_] _And moreover, not

contained in[928] this vice only, which is odious too

much, but, against the sacred use of justice, maintains

three thieves to his men._

FAL. Cuds me!

DUKE [_reads_]. _Who only take purses in their master’s

liberty, where if any one chance to be taken, he appears

before him in a false beard, and one of his own fellows

takes his examination._

FAL. By my troth, as true as can be; but he shall not

know on’t. [_Aside._

DUKE [_reads_]. _And in the end will execute justice so

cruelly upon him, that he will not trust him in a

prison, but commit him to his fellows’ chamber._

FAL. Can a man do nothing i’ the country but ’tis told

at court? there’s some busy informing knave abroad, a’

my life. [_Aside._

PHŒ. That this is true, and these, and more, my lord,

Be it, under pardon, spoken for mine own;

He the disease of justice, these of honour,

And this of loyalty and reverence,

The unswept venom of the palace.

PROD. Slave!

PHŒ. Behold the prince to approve it!

[_Discovers himself._[929]

PROD. O, where?

PHŒ. Your eyes keep with your actions, both look

wrong.

PROD. An infernal to my spirit!

ALL. My lord, the prince!

PROD. Tread me to dust, thou in whom wonder

keeps![930]

Behold the serpent on his belly creeps.

PHŒ. Rankle not my foot; away!

Treason, we laugh at thy vain-labouring stings,[931]

Above the foot thou hast no power o’er kings!

DUKE. I cannot with sufficient joy receive thee,

And yet my joy’s too much.

PHŒ. My royal father,

To whose unnatural murder I was hir’d,

I thought it a more natural course of travel,

And answering future expectation,

To leave far countries, and inquire mine own.

DUKE. To thee let reverence all her powers engage,

That art in youth a miracle to age!

State is but blindness; thou hadst piercing art:

We only saw the knee, but thou the heart.

To thee, then, power and dukedom we resign:

He’s fit to reign whose knowledge can refine.

PHŒ. Forbid it my obedience!

DUKE. Our word’s not vain:

I know thee wise, canst both obey and reign.

The rest of life we dedicate to heaven.

ALL. A happy and safe reign to our new duke!

PHŒ. Without your prayers safer and happier.—

Fidelio.

FID. My royal lord.

PHŒ. Here, take this diamond:[932]

You know the virtue on’t; it can fetch vice.

Madam Castiza——

FID. She attends, my lord. [_Exit._

PHŒ. Place a guard near us.—

Know you yon fellow, lady?

CAS. [_coming forward_] My honour’s evil!

PROD. Torment again![933]

PHŒ. So ugly are thy crimes,

Thine eye cannot endure ’em:

And that thy face may stand perpetually

Turn’d so from ours, and thy abhorred self

Neither to threaten wrack[934] of state or credit,

An everlasting banishment seize on thee!

PROD. O fiend!

PHŒ. Thy life is such it is too bad to end.

PROD. May thy rule, life, and all that’s in thee glad,

Have as short time as thy begetting had!

PHŒ. Away! thy curse is idle. [_Exit_ PRODITOR.

The rest are under reformation,

And therefore under pardon.

LUS. &c. Our duties shall turn edge upon our crimes.

FAL. ’Slid, I was afraid of nothing, but that for my

thievery and bawdery I should have been turned to an

innkeeper. [_Aside._

_Re-enter_ FIDELIO _with_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.

My daughter! I am ashamed her worship should see me.

JEW. WIFE. Who would not love a friend at court? what

fine galleries and rooms am I brought through! I had

thought my Knight durst not have shewn his face here, I.

PHŒ. Now, mother of pride and daughter of lust, which is

your friend now?

JEW. WIFE. Ah me!

PHŒ. I’m sure you are not so unprovided to be without a

friend here: you’ll pay enough for him first.

JEW. WIFE. This is the worst room that ever I came in.

PHŒ. I am your servant, mistress;[935] know you not me?

JEW. WIFE. Your worship is too great for me to know: I’m

but a small-timbered woman, when I’m out of my apparel,

and dare not venture upon greatness.

PHŒ. Do you deny me then? know you this purse?

JEW. WIFE. That purse? O death, has the Knight serv’d

me so?

Given away my favours?

PHŒ. Stand forth, thou one of those

For whose close lusts the plague ne’er[936] leaves the

city.

Thou worse than common! private, subtle harlot!

That dost deceive three with one feigned lip,

Thy husband, the world’s eye, and the law’s whip.

Thy zeal is hot, for ’tis to lust and fraud,

And dost not dread to make thy book thy bawd.

Thou’rt curse enough to husband’s ill-got gains,

For whom the court rejects his gold maintains.

How dear and rare was freedom wont to be!

Now few but are by their wives’ copies free,

And brought to such a head, that now we see

City and suburbs wear one livery!

JEW. WIFE. ’Tis ’long of those,[937] an’t like your

grace, that come in upon us, and will never leave

marrying of our widows till they make ’em all as free as

their first husbands.

PHŒ. I perceive you can shift a point well.

JEW. WIFE. Let me have pardon, I beseech your grace, and

I’ll peach ’em all, all the close women that are; and,

upon my knowledge, there’s above five thousand within

the walls and the liberties.

PHŒ. A band! they shall be sent against the

Turks;[938]

Infidels against infidels.

JEW. WIFE. I will hereafter live so modestly, I will not

lie with mine own husband, nor come near a man in the

way of honesty.

FAL. I’ll be her warrant, my lord.

PHŒ. You are deceiv’d; you think you’re still a

justice.

FAL. ’S foot, worse than I was before I kneeled!

I am no justice now; I know I shall be some innkeeper

at last.

JEW. WIFE. My father? ’tis mine own father.

PHŒ. I should have wonder’d else, lust being so like.

NIECE. Her birth was kin to mine; she may prove

modest:

For my sake I beseech you pardon her.

PHŒ. For thy sake I’ll do more.—Fidelio, hand her.

My favours on you both; next, all that wealth

Which was committed to that perjur’d’s trust.

FAL. I’m a beggar now; worse than an innkeeper.

_Enter_ TANGLE _mad_.

TAN. Your _mittimus_ shall not serve: I’ll set myself

free with a _deliberandum_; with a _deliberandum_, mark

you.

DUKE. What’s he? a guard!

PHŒ. Under your sufferance,

Worthy father, his harm is to himself;

One that has lov’d vexation so much,

He cannot now be rid on’t:

Has been so long in suits, that he’s law-mad.

TAN. A judgment, I crave a judgment, yea! _nunc pro

tunc, corruptione alicujus_. I peeped me a raven in the

face, and I thought it had been my solicitor: O, the

pens prick me!

_Enter_ QUIETO.

PHŒ. And here comes he (wonder for temperance)

Will take the cure upon him.

QUI. A blessing to this fair assembly!

TAN. Away! I’ll have none on’t: give me an _audita

querela_, or a _testificandum_, or a despatch in twelve

terms: there’s a blessing, there’s a blessing!

PHŒ. You see the unbounded rage of his disease.

QUI. ’Tis the foul fiend, my lord, has got within him.

The rest are fair to this: this breeds in ink,

And to that colour turns the blood possess’d:

For instance, now your grace shall see him dress’d.

TAN. Ah ha! I rejoice then he’s puzzled, and muzzled

too:

Is’t come to a _cepi corpus_?

QUI. Ah, good sir,

This is for want of patience!

TAN. That’s a fool:

She never saw the dogs and the bears fight;[939]

A country thing.

QUI. This is for lack of grace.

TAN. I’ve other business, not so much idle time.

QUI. You never say your prayers.

TAN. I’m advised by my learned counsel.

QUI. The power of my charm come o’er thee,

Place by degrees thy wits before thee!

With silken patience here I bind thee,

Not to move till I unwind thee.

TAN. Yea! is my cause so muddy? do I stick, do I stick

fast?

Advocate, here’s my hand, pull; art made of flint?

Wilt not help out? alas, there’s nothing in’t!

PHŒ. O, do you sluice the vein now?

QUI. Yes, my honour’d lord.

PHŒ. Pray, let me see the issue.

QUI. I therefore seek to keep it.—Now burst out,

Thou filthy stream of trouble, spite, and doubt!

TAN. O, an extent, a proclamation, a summons, a

recognisance, a tachment, and injunction! a writ, a

seizure, a writ of ’praisement, an absolution, a

_quietus est_!

QUI. You’re quieter, I hope, by so much dregs.—Behold,

my lord!

PHŒ. This! why, it outfrowns ink.

QUI. ’Tis the disease’s nature, the fiend’s drink.

TAN. O sick, sick, signior Ply-fee, sick! lend me thy

nightcap, O!

QUI. The balsam of a temperate brain

I pour into this thirsty vein,

And with this blessed oil of quiet,

Which is so cheap, that few men buy it,

Thy stormy temples I allay:

Thou shalt give up the devil, and pray;

Forsake his works, they’re foul and black,

And keep thee bare in purse and back.

No more shalt thou in paper quarrel,

To dress up apes in good apparel.

He throws his stock and all his flock

Into a swallowing gulf,

That sends his goose unto his fox,

His lamb unto his wolf.

Keep thy increase,

And live at peace,

For war’s[940] not equal to this battle:

That eats but men; this men and cattle:

Therefore no more this combat choose,

Where he that wins does always lose;

And those that gain all, with this curse receive it,

From fools they get it, to their sons they leave it.

TAN. Hail, sacred patience! I begin to feel

I have a conscience now; truth in my words,

Compassion in my heart, and, above all,

In my blood peace’s music. Use me how you can,

You shall find me an honest, quiet man.

O, pardon, that I dare behold that face!

Now I’ve least[941] law I hope I have most grace.

PHŒ. We both admire the workman and his piece.

Thus when all hearts are tun’d to honour’s strings,

There is no music to the quire of kings.

[_Exeunt omnes._

------------------------------------------------------------------------

MICHAELMAS TERM.

_Michaelmas Terme. As it hath been sundry times

acted by the Children of Paules. At London,

Printed for A. I. and are to be sould at the signe

of the white horse in Paules Churchyard. An.

1607._ 4to. Another ed., _newly corrected_,

appeared 1630. 4to.

This play was licensed by Sir George Bucke, 15th

May, 1607: see Chalmers’s _Suppl. Apol._ p. 200.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

EASY, }

REARAGE, } _gentlemen_.

SALEWOOD, }

COCKSTONE, }

QUOMODO, _a woollen-draper_.

SHORTYARD, } _his attendants_.

FALSELIGHT, }

SIM, _son to_ QUOMODO.

ANDREW LETHE, _an adventurer, son to_ MOTHER

GRUEL.

HELLGILL, _a pander_.

_Father to the Country Wench._

_Judge._

DUSTBOX, _a scrivener_.

_Tailor._

_Drawer._

_Boy._

_Beadle._

_Liverymen, Officers, &c._

THOMASINE, _wife to_ QUOMODO, _afterwards

married to_ EASY.

SUSAN, _her daughter_.

THOMASINE’s _mother_.

MOTHER GRUEL.

_Country Wench, seduced by_ LETHE.

MISTRESS COMINGS, _a tire-woman_.

WINEFRED, _maid to_ THOMASINE.

INDUCTION.

_Michaelmas Term._

_The other Three Terms._

_Boy, &c._

SCENE, LONDON.

MICHAELMAS TERM.

--------------

INDUCTION.

_Enter Michaelmas Term in a whitish cloak, new come up

out of the country, a Boy bringing his gown after him._

MICH. T. Boy.

BOY. Here, sir.

MICH. T. Lay by my conscience;

Give me my gown; that weed is for the country:

We must be civil now, and match our evil:

Who first made civil black, he pleas’d the devil.

So:

Now know I where I am: methinks already

I grasp best part of the autumnian blessing

In my contentious fathom;[942] my hand’s free:

From wronger and from wronged I have fee;

And what by sweat from the rough earth they draw

Is to enrich this silver harvest, law;

And so through wealthy variance and fat brawl,

The barn is made but steward to the hall.

Come they up thick enough?

BOY. O, like hops and harlots, sir. MICH. T. Why dost

thou couple them? BOY. O very aptly; for as the hop well

boiled will make a man not stand upon his legs, so the

harlot in time will leave a man no legs to stand upon.

MICH. T. Such another, and be my heir! I have no

child,

Yet have I wealth would redeem beggary.

I think it be a curse both here and foreign,

Where bags are fruitful’st there the womb’s most barren:

The poor has all our children, we their wealth.

Shall I be prodigal when my life cools,

Make those my heirs whom I have beggar’d, fools?

It would be wondrous; rather beggar more;

Thou shalt have heirs enow, thou keep’st a whore:

And here comes kindred too with no mean purses,

Yet strive to be still blest with clients’ curses.

_Music playing, enter the other three Terms, the

first bringing in a fellow poor, which the other

two advance,[943] giving him rich apparel, a page,

and a pander: he then goes out._

MICH. T. What subtilty have we here? a fellow

Shrugging for life’s kind benefits, shift and heat,

Crept up in three terms, wrapt in silk and silver,

So well appointed too with page and pander!

It was a happy gale that blew him hither.

FIRST T. Thou father of the Terms, hail to thee!

SEC. T. May much contention still keep with thee!

THIRD T. Many new fools come up and fee thee!

SEC. T. Let ’em pay dear enough that see thee!

FIRST T. And like asses use such men;

When their load’s off, turn ’em to graze agen.[944]

SEC. T. And may our wish have full effect,

Many a suit, and much neglect!

THIRD T. And as it hath been often found,

Let the clients’ cups come round!

SEC. T. Help your poor kinsmen, when you ha’ got ’em;

You may drink deep, leave us the bottom.

THIRD T. Or when there is a lamb fall’n in,

Take you the lamb, leave us the skin.

MICH. T. Your duty and regard hath mov’d us;

Never till now we thought you lov’d us.

Take comfort from our words, and make no doubt

You shall have suits come sixteen times about.

ALL THREE. We humbly thank the patron of our hopes.

[_Exeunt._

MICH. T. With what a vassal-appetite they gnaw

On our reversions, and are proud

Coldly to taste our meats, which eight returns

Serve in to us as courses!

One day our writs, like wild-fowl, fly abroad,

And then return o’er cities, towns, and hills,

With clients, like dried straws, between their bills;

And ’tis no few birds pick to build their neasts,[945]

Nor no small money that keeps drabs and feasts!

But, gentlemen, to spread myself open unto you, in

cheaper terms I salute you; for ours have but sixpenny

fees all the year long; yet we despatch you in two

hours, without demur; your suits hang not long here

after candles be lighted. Why we call this play by such

a dear and chargeable title, _Michaelmas Term_, know it

consents happily to our purpose, though perhaps faintly

to the interpretation of many; for he that expects any

great quarrels in law to be handled here will be fondly

deceived; this only presents those familiar accidents

which happened in town in the circumference of those six

weeks whereof Michaelmas Term is lord. _Sat sapienti_: I

hope there’s no fools i’ th’ house. [_Exit with Boy._

ACT I. SCENE I.

_The Middle[946] Aisle of St. Paul’s._

_Enter_ REARAGE _meeting_ SALEWOOD.

SALE. What, master Rearage?

REAR. Master Salewood? exceedingly well met in town.

Comes your father up this term?

SALE. Why, he was here three days before the Exchequer

gaped.

REAR. Fie, such an early termer?

SALE. He’s not to be spoke withal; I dare not ask him

blessing till the last of November.

REAR. And how looks thy little venturing cousin?

SALE. Faith, like a lute that has all the strings broke;

nobody will meddle with her.

REAR. Fie, there are doctors enow in town will string

her again, and make her sound as sweet as e’er she did.

Is she not married yet?

SALE. Sh’as no luck; some may better steal a horse than

others look on: I have known a virgin of five bastards

wedded. Faith, when all’s done, we must be fain to marry

her into the north, I’m afraid.

REAR. But will she pass so, think you?

SALE. Pooh, any thing that is warm enough is good enough

for them: so it come in the likeness, though the devil

be in’t, they’ll venture the firing.

REAR. They’re worthy spirits, i’faith. Heard you the

news?

SALE. Not yet.

REAR. Mistress Difficult is newly fallen a widow.

SALE. Say true; is master Difficult, the lawyer, dead?

REAR. Easily dead, sir.

SALE. Pray, when died he?

REAR. What a question’s that! when should a lawyer die

but in the vacation? he has no leisure to die in the

term-time; beside, the noise there would fetch him

again.

SALE. Knew you the nature of his disease?

REAR. Faith, some say he died of an old grief he had,

that the vacation was fourteen weeks long.

SALE. And very likely: I knew ’twould kill him at last;

’t’as troubled him a long time. He was one of those that

would fain have brought in the heresy of a fifth term;

often crying, with a loud voice, O why should we lose

Bartholomew week?

REAR. He savours; stop your nose; no more of him.

_Enter_ COCKSTONE _meeting_ EASY.

COCK. Young master Easy, let me salute you, sir.

When came you?

EASY. I have but inn’d my horse since, master

Cockstone.

COCK. You seldom visit London, master Easy;

But now your father’s dead, ’tis your only course:

Here’s gallants of all sizes, of all lasts;

Here you may fit your foot, make choice of those

Whom your affection may rejoice in.

EASY. You’ve[947] easily possess’d[948] me, I am free:

Let those live hinds that know not liberty!

COCK. Master Rearage?

EASY. Good master Salewood, I am proud of your society.

REAR. What gentleman might that be?

COCK. One master Easy; has good land in Essex;

A fair, free-breasted gentleman, somewhat

Too open—bad in man, worse in woman,

The gentry-fault at first:—he is yet fresh,

And wants the city powdering. But what news?

Is’t yet a match ’twixt master Quomodo’s

The rich draper’s daughter and yourself?

REAR. Faith, sir, I am vildly[949] rivall’d.

COCK. Vildly? by whom?

REAR. One Andrew Lethe, crept to a little warmth,

And now so proud that he forgets all storms;

One that ne’er wore apparel, but, like ditches,

’Twas cast before he had it; now shines bright

In rich embroideries. Him master Quomodo affects,

The daughter him, the mother only me:

I rest most doubtful, my side being weakest.

COCK. Yet the mother’s side

Being surer than the father’s, it may prove,

Men plead for money best, women for love.

REAR. ’Slid, master Quomodo!

COCK. How then? afraid of a woollen-draper!

REAR. He warned me his house, and I hate he should see

me abroad.

[_They all retire._

_Enter_ QUOMODO, SHORTYARD,[950] _and_ FALSELIGHT.

QUO. O my two spirits, Shortyard and Falselight, you

that have so enricht me! I have industry for you both.

SHO. Then do you please us best, sir.

QUO. Wealthy employment.

SHO. You make me itch, sir.

QUO. You, Falselight, as I have directed you—

FAL. I am nimble.

QUO. Go, make my coarse commodities look sleek;[951]

With subtle art beguile the honest eye:

Be near to my trap-window, cunning Falselight.

FAL. I never fail’d it yet.

QUO. I know thou didst not.— [_Exit_ FALSELIGHT.

But now to thee, my true and secret Shortyard,

Whom I dare trust e’en with my wife;

Thou ne’er didst mistress harm, but master good:

There are too few of thy name gentlemen,

And that we feel, but citizens abundance:

I have a task for thee, my pregnant spirit,

To exercise thy pointed wits upon.

SHO. Give it me, for I thirst.

QUO. Thine ear shall drink it.

Know, then, I have not spent this long vacation

Only for pleasure’s sake:—give me the man

Who out of recreation culls advantage,

Dives into seasons, never walks but thinks,

Ne[952] rides but plots:—my journey was toward Essex——

SHO. Most true.

QUO. Where I have seen what I desire.

SHO. A woman?

QUO. Pooh, a woman! yet beneath her,

That which she often treads on, yet commands her;

Land, fair neat land.

SHO. What is the mark you shoot at?

QUO. Why, the fairest to cleave the heir in twain,

I mean his title; to murder his estate,

Stifle his right in some detested prison:

There are means and ways enow to hook in gentry,

Besides our deadly enmity, which thus stands,

They’re busy ’bout our wives, we ’bout their lands.

SHO. Your revenge is more glorious.

To be a cuckold is but for one life;

When land remains to you, your heir, or wife.

QUO. Ah, sirrah, do we sting ’em? This fresh gallant

Rode newly up before me.

SHO. I beseech his name.

QUO. Young master Easy.

SHO. Easy? it may fall right.

QUO. I have inquired his haunt—stay,—hah! ay, that ’tis,

that’s he, that’s he!

SHO. Happily!

QUO. Observe, take surely note of him; he’s fresh

and free: shift thyself speedily into the shape of

gallantry:[953] I’ll swell thy purse with angels.[954]

Keep foot by foot with him, outdare his expenses,

flatter, dice, and brothel to him; give him a sweet

taste of sensuality; train him to every wasteful sin,

that he may quickly need health, but especially money;

ravish him with a dame or two,—be his bawd for once,

I’ll be thine for ever;—drink drunk with him, creep into

bed to him, kiss him, and undo him, my sweet spirit.

SHO. Let your care dwell in me; soon shall it shine:

What subtilty’s[955] in man that is not mine?

QUO. O my most cheerful spirit! go, despatch.

[_Exit_ SHORTYARD.

Gentry is the chief fish we tradesmen catch. [_Exit._

EASY. What’s here?

SALE. O, they are bills[956] for chambers.

EASY [_reads_]. _Against St. Andrew’s, at a painter’s

house, there’s a fair chamber ready furnished to be let;

the house not only endued with a new fashion forepart,

but, which is more convenient for a gentleman, with a

very provident back door._

SALE. Why, here’s virtue still: I like that thing that’s

necessary as well as pleasant.

COCK. What news in yonder paper?

REAR. Hah! seek you for news? there’s for you!

_Enter_ LETHE, _who remains behind reading the bills_.

SALE. Who’s this?[957]

In the name of the black angels, Andrew Gruel!

REAR. No, Andrew Lethe.

SALE. Lethe?

REAR. Has forgot[958] his father’s name,

Poor Walter Gruel, that begot him, fed him,

And brought him up.

SALE. Not hither.

REAR. No;

’Twas from his thoughts; he brought him up below.

SALE. But does he pass for Lethe?

REAR. ’Mongst strange eyes,

That no more know him than he knows himself,

That’s nothing now; for master Andrew Lethe,

A gentleman of most received parts,

Forgetfulness, lust, impudence, and falsehood,

And one especial courtly quality,

To wit, no wit at all. I am his rival

For Quomodo’s daughter; but he knows it not.

SALE. Has spied us o’er his paper.

REAR. O, that’s a warning

To make our duties ready.

COCK. Salute him? hang him!

REAR. Pooh, wish his health awhile; he’ll be laid

shortly:

Let him gorge venison for a time, our doctors

Will bring him to dry mutton. Seem respective,[959]

To make his pride swell like a toad with dew.

[LETHE _comes forward_.

SALE. Master Lethe.

REAR. Sweet master Lethe.

LET. Gentlemen, your pardon; I remember you not.

SALE. Why, we supt with you last night, sir.

LET. O, cry you mercy! ’tis so long ago,

I’d[960] quite forgot you; I must be forgiven.

Acquaintance, dear society, suits, and things,

Do so flow to me,

That had I not the better memory,

’Twould be a wonder I should know myself.

Esteem is made of such a dizzy metal;

I have receiv’d of many gifts o’er night,

Whom I’ve[961] forgot ere morning: meeting the men,

I wish’d ’em to remember me agen:[962]

They do so; then if I forget agen,

I know what help’d before, that will help then:

This is my course; for memory I’ve been told

Twenty preserves; the best I find is gold;

Ay, truly! Are you not knights yet, gentlemen?

SALE. Not yet.

LET. No? that must be looked into; ’tis your own fault.

I have some store of venison: where shall we devour it,

gentlemen?

SALE. The Horn were a fit place.

LET. For venison fit:

The horn having chas’d it,

At the Horn we’ll——

Rhyme to that?

COCK. Taste it.

SALE. Waste it.

REAR. Cast it.

LET. That’s the true rhyme indeed! we hunt our venison

twice, I tell you; first out a’ th’ park, next out a’

th’ belly.

COCK. First dogs take pains to make it fit for men,

Then men take pains[963] to make it fit for dogs.

LET. Right.

COCK. Why, this [is] kindness; a kind gallant you,

And love to give the dogs more than their due:

We shall attend you, sir.

LET. I pray do so.

SALE. The Horn.

LET. Easily remember’d that, you know.

[_Exeunt all except_ LETHE.

But now unto my present business. The daughter yields,

and Quomodo consents; only my mistress Quomodo, her

mother, without regard runs full against me, and sticks

hard. Is there no law for a woman that will run upon a

man at her own apperil?[964] Why should not she consent,

knowing my state, my sudden fortunes? I can command a

custard, and other bake-meats, death of sturgeon:[965] I

could keep house with nothing. What friends have I! how

well am I beloved! e’en quite throughout the scullery.

Not consent? ’tis e’en as I have writ: I’ll be hanged,

and[966] she love me not herself, and would rather

preserve me, as a private friend, to her own pleasures,

than any way advance her daughter upon me to beguile

herself. Then how have I relieved her in that point? let

me peruse this letter. [_Reads_]—_Good mistress Quomodo,

or rather, as I hope ere the term end, mother Quomodo,

since only your consent keeps aloof off,[967] and

hinders the copulation of your daughter, what may I

think, but that it is a mere affection in you, doating

upon some small inferior virtue of mine, to draw me in

upon yourself? If the case stand so, I have comfort for

you; for this you may well assure yourself, that by the

marriage of your daughter I have the better means

and opportunity to yourself, and without the least

suspicion._—This is moving stuff, and that works best

with a citizen’s wife: but who shall I get to convey

this now? My page I ha’ lent forth; my pander I have

employed about the country to look out some third

sister, or entice some discontented gentlewoman from her

husband, whom the laying out of my appetite shall

maintain. Nay, I’ll deal like an honourable gentleman,

I’ll be kind to women; that which I gather i’ th’ day,

I’ll put into their purses at night. You shall have no

cause to rail at me; no, faith: I’ll keep you in good

fashion, ladies; no meaner men than knights shall ransom

home your gowns and recover your smocks: I’ll not dally

with you.—Some poor[968] widow woman would come as a

necessary bawd now! and see where fitly comes—

_Enter_ MOTHER GRUEL.

my mother! Curse of poverty! does she come up to shame

me, to betray my birth, and cast soil upon my new suit?

Let her pass me; I’ll take no notice of her,—scurvy

murrey kersey![969]

MOTH. G. By your leave, and[970] like your worship——

LET. Then I must proudly venture it.—To me, good woman?

MOTH. G. I beseech one word with your worship.

LET. Prithee, be brief then.

MOTH. G. Pray, can your worship tell me any tidings of

one Andrew Gruel, a poor son of mine own?

LET. I know a gallant gentleman of the name, one master

Andrew Gruel, and well received amongst ladies.

MOTH. G. That’s not he, then: he is no gentleman that I

mean.

LET. Good woman, if he be a Gruel, he’s a gentleman i’

th’ mornings, that’s a gentleman a’ th’ first; you

cannot tell me.

MOTH. G. No, truly; his father was an honest, upright

tooth-drawer.

LET. O my teeth!

MOTH. G. An’t please your worship, I have made a sore

journey out, all this vacant time, to come up and see my

son Andrew. Poor Walter Gruel, his father, has laid his

life, and left me a lone woman; I have not one husband

in all the world: therefore my coming up is for relief,

an’t like your worship, hoping that my son Andrew is in

some place about the kitchen.

LET. Kitchen! pooh, faugh!

MOTH. G. Or a serving-man to some knight of worship.

LET. O, let me not endure her! [_Aside._]—Know you not

me, good woman?

MOTH. G. Alas, an’t please your worship, I never saw

such a glorious suit since the hour I was kersened.[971]

LET. Good, she knows me not; my glory does

disguise[972] me;

Beside, my poorer name being drench’d in Lethe,

She’ll hardly understand me. What a fresh air can do!

I may employ her as a private drudge,

To pass my letters and secure my lust;

And ne’er be noted mine, to shame my blood,

And drop my staining birth upon my raiment.— [_Aside._

Faith, good woman, you will hardly get to the speech of

master Andrew, I tell you.

MOTH. G. No? marry, hang him! and[973] like your

worship, I have known the day when nobody cared to speak

to him.

LET. You must take heed how you speak ill of him, I can

tell you, now; he’s so employed.

MOTH. G. Employed? for what?

LET. For his ’haviour, wisdom, and other virtues.

MOTH. G. He, virtues? no, ’tis well known his father was

too poor a man to bring him up to any virtues; he can

scarce write and read.

LET. He’s the better regarded for that amongst

courtiers, for that’s but a needy quality.

MOTH. G. If it be so, then he’ll be great shortly, for

he has no good parts about him.

LET. Well, good woman, or mother, or what you will——

MOTH. G. Alack the day! I know your worship scorns to

call me mother; ’tis not a thing fit for your worship

indeed, such a simple old woman as I am.

LET. In pity of thy long journey, there’s sixpence

British: tend upon me; I have business for you.

MOTH. G. I’ll wait upon your worship.

LET. Two pole off at least.

MOTH. G. I am a clean old woman, an’t like your worship.

LET. It goes not by cleanness here, good woman; if you

were fouler, so you were braver,[974] you might come

nearer. [_Exit._

MOTH. G. Nay, and[975] that be the fashion, I hope I

shall get it shortly; there’s no woman so old but she

may learn: and as an old lady delights in a young page

or monkey, so there are young courtiers will be hungry

upon an old woman, I warrant you. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_A Street._

_Enter_ HELLGILL[976] _and_ COUNTRY WENCH.

HELL. Come, leave your puling and sighing.

COUN. W. Beshrew you now, why did you entice me from my

father?

HELL. Why? to thy better advancement. Wouldst thou, a

pretty, beautiful, juicy squall, live in a poor

thrummed[977] house i’ th’ country, in such servile

habiliments, and may well pass for a gentlewoman i’ th’

city? does not five hundred do so, thinkest thou, and

with worse faces? O, now in these latter days, the devil

reigning, ’tis an age for cloven creatures! But why sad

now? yet indeed ’tis the fashion of any courtesan to be

sea-sick i’ th’ first voyage; but at next she proclaims

open wars, like a beaten soldier. Why, Northamptonshire

lass, dost dream of virginity now? remember a loose-

bodied gown,[978] wench, and let it go; wires and tires,

bents and bums,[979] felts and falls, thou that shalt

deceive the world, that gentlewomen indeed shall not be

known from others. I have a master, to whom I must

prefer thee after the aforesaid deckening; Lethe by

name, a man of one most admired property; he can both

love thee, and for thy better advancement, be thy pander

himself; an excellent spark of humility.

COUN. W. Well, heaven forgive you! you train me up to’t.

HELL. Why, I do acknowledge it, and I think I do you a

pleasure in’t.

COUN. W. And if I should prove a harlot now, I should be

bound to curse you.

HELL. Bound? nay, and[980] you prove a harlot, you’ll be

loose enough.

COUN. W. If I had not a desire to go like a gentlewoman,

you should be hanged ere you should get me to’t, I

warrant you.

HELL. Nay, that’s certain, nor a thousand more of you; I

know you are all chaste enough till one thing or other

tempt you: deny[981] a satin gown and[982] you dare now?

COUN. W. You know I have no power to do’t, and that

makes you so wilful; for what woman is there such a

beast that will deny any thing[983] that is good?

HELL. True; they will not, most[984] dissembler.

COUN. W. No; and[985] she bear a brave mind, she will

not, I warrant you.

HELL. Why, therefore take heart, faint not at all;

Women ne’er rise but when they fall:

Let a man break, he’s gone, blown up;

A woman’s breaking sets her up:

Virginity is no city trade,

You’re out a’ th’ freedom when you’re a maid:

Down with the lattice, ’tis but thin;

Let coarser beauties work within,

Whom the light mocks; thou art fair and fresh;

The gilded flies will light upon thy flesh.

COUN. W. Beshrew your sweet enchantments, you have

won!

HELL. How easily soft women are undone!

So farewell wholesome weeds, where treasure pants;[986]

And welcome silks, where lie[987] disease and wants!

[_Aside._

Come, wench; now flow thy fortunes in to bless thee;

I’ll bring thee where thou shalt be taught to dress

thee.

COUN. W. O, as soon as may be! I am in a swoon till I be

a gentlewoman; and you know what flesh is man’s meat

till it be dressed?

HELL. Most certain, no more; a woman. [_Exeunt._

ACT II. SCENE I.

_An Ordinary._[988]

REARAGE, SALEWOOD, LETHE, EASY, _and_ SHORTYARD,

_discovered at dice: Boy attending_.

REAR. Gentlemen, I ha’ sworn I’ll change the room.

Dice? devils!

LET. You see I’m patient, gentlemen.

SALE. Ay, the fiend’s in’t! you’re patient; you put up

all.

REAR. Come, set me, gentlemen!

SHO. An Essex gentleman, sir.

EASY. An unfortunate one, sir.

SHO. I’m bold to salute you, sir: you know not master

Alsup there?

EASY. O, entirely well.

SHO. Indeed, sir?

EASY. He’s second to my bosom.

SHO. I’ll give you that comfort then, sir, you must not

want money as long as you are in town, sir.

EASY. No, sir?

SHO. I am bound in my love to him to see you furnished;

and in that comfort I recover my salute again, sir.

EASY. Then I desire to be more dear unto you.

SHO. I rather study to be dear unto you. [_Aside._]—Boy,

fill some wine.—I knew not what fair impressure[989] I

received at first, but I began to affect your society

very speedily.

EASY. I count myself the happier.

SHO. To master Alsup, sir; to whose remembrance I could

love to drink till I were past remembrance. [_Drinks._

EASY. I shall keep Christmas with him, sir, where your

health shall likewise undoubtedly be remembered; and

thereupon I pledge you. [_Drinks._] I would sue for your

name, sir.

SHO. Your suit shall end in one term, sir; my name is

Blastfield.

EASY. Kind master Blastfield, your dearer acquaintance.

[_Drinks._

REAR. Nay, come, will ye draw in, gentlemen? set me.

EASY. Faith, I’m scattered.

SHO. Sir, you shall not give out so meanly of yourself

in my company for a million: make such privy to your

disgrace! you’re a gentleman of fair fortunes; keep me

your reputation: set ’em all; there’s crowns for you.

[_Giving him money._

EASY. Sir, you bind me infinitely in these courtesies.

SHO. You must always have a care of your reputation here

in town, master Easy: although you ride down with

nothing, it skills[990] not.

EASY. I’m glad you tell me that yet, then I’m

indifferent.—Well, come; who throws? I set all these.

SHO. Why, well said.

SALE. This same master Lethe here begins to undo us

again.

LET. Ah, sir, I came not hither but to win!

SHO. And then you’ll leave us; that’s your fashion.

LET. He’s base that visits not his friends.

SHO. But he’s more base that carries out his winnings;

None will do so but those have base beginnings.

LET. It is a thing in use, and ever was.

I pass this time.

SHO. I wonder you should pass,

And that you’re suffer’d.

LET. Tut, the dice are ours;

Then wonder not at those that have most powers.

REAR. The devil and his angels!

LET. Are these they?

Welcome, dear angels![991] where you’re curs’d ne’er

stay.

SALE. Here’s luck!

EASY. Let’s search him, gentlemen; I think he wears a

smock.[992]

SHO. I knew the time he wore not half a shirt,

Just like a pea.

EASY. No? how did he for the rest?

SHO. Faith, he compounded with a couple of napkins at

Barnet, and so trussed up the lower parts.

EASY. ’Twas a pretty shift, i’faith!

SHO. But master Lethe has forgot that too.

EASY. A mischief on’t, to lose all! I could——

SHO. Nay, but, good master Easy, do not do yourself that

tyranny, I beseech you; I must not ha’ you alter your

body now for the purge of a little money: you undo me,

and[993] you do.

EASY. ’Twas all I brought up with me, I protest, master

Blastfield; all my rent till next quarter.

SHO. Pox of money! talk not on’t, I beseech you,—what

said I to you? mass, I am out of cash myself too.—Boy.

BOY. Anon, sir.

SHO. Run presently to master Gum the mercer, and

will[994], him to tell out two or three hundred pound

for me, or more, according as he is furnished: I’ll

visit him i’ th’ morning, say.

BOY. It shall be said, sir. [_Going._

SHO. Do you hear, boy?

BOY. Yes, sir.

SHO. If master Gum be not sufficiently ready, call upon

master Profit the goldsmith.

BOY. It shall be done, sir. [_Going._

SHO. Boy.

BOY. I knew[995] I was not sent yet; now is the time.

[_Aside._

SHO. Let them both rest till another occasion; you shall

not need to run so far at this time; take one nigher

hand; go to master Quomodo the draper, and will him to

furnish me instantly.

BOY. Now I go, sir. [_Exit._

EASY. It seems you’re well known, master Blastfield, and

your credit very spacious here i’ th’ city.

SHO. Master Easy, let a man bear himself portly, the

whorsons will creep to him a’ their bellies, and their

wives a’ their backs: there’s a kind of bold grace

expected throughout all the parts of a gentleman. Then

for your observances, a man must not so much as spit but

within line and fashion. I tell you what I ha’ done:

sometimes I carry my water all London over only to

deliver it proudly at the Standard;[996] and do I pass

altogether unnoted, think you? no, a man can no sooner

peep out his head but there’s a bow bent at him out of

some watch-tower or other.

EASY. So readily, sir?

SHO. Push,[997] you know a bow’s quickly ready, though a

gun be long a-charging, and will shoot five times to his

once. Come, you shall bear yourself jovially: take heed

of setting your looks to your losses, but rather smile

upon your ill luck, and invite ’em to-morrow to another

breakfast of bones.

EASY. Nay, I’ll forswear dicing.

SHO. What? peace, I am ashamed to hear you: will you

cease in the first loss? shew me one gentleman that e’er

did it. Fie upon’t, I must use you to company, I

perceive; you’d be spoiled else. Forswear dice! I would

your friends heard you, i’faith!

EASY. Nay, I was but in jest, sir.

SHO. I hope so: what would gentlemen say of you? there

goes a gull that keeps his money! I would not have such

a report go on you for the world, as long as you are in

my company. Why, man, fortune alters in a minute; I ha’

known those have recovered so much in an hour, their

purses were never sick after.

REAR. O, worse than consumption of the liver!

consumption of the patrimony!

SHO. How now? Mark their humours, master Easy.

REAR. Forgive me, my posterity yet ungotten!

SHO. That’s a penitent maudlin dicer.

REAR. Few know the sweets that the plain life allows:

Vild[998] son that surfeits of his father’s brows!

SHO. Laugh at him, master Easy.

EASY. Ha, ha, ha!

SALE. I’ll be damned, and[999] these be not the bones of

some quean that cozened me in her life, and now consumes

me after her death.

SHO. That’s the true wicked, blasphemous, and soul-

shuddering dicer, that will curse you all service-time,

and attribute his ill luck always to one drab or other!

_Enter_ HELLGILL.

LET. Dick Hellgill? the happy news.

HELL. I have her for you, sir.

LET. Peace: what is she?

HELL. Young, beautiful, and plump; a delicate piece of

sin.

LET. Of what parentage?

HELL. O, a gentlewoman of a great house.

LET. Fie, fie.

HELL. She newly came out of a barn—yet too good for a

tooth-drawer’s son. [_Aside._

LET. Is she wife or maid?

HELL. That which is daintiest, maid.

LET. I’d rather she’d been a wife.

HELL. A wife, sir? why?

LET. O, adultery is a great deal sweeter in my mind.

HELL. Diseases gnaw thy bones! [_Aside._

I think she has deserv’d to be a wife, sir.

LET. That will move well.

HELL. Her firstlings shall be mine:

Swine look but for the husks; the meat be thine.

_Re-enter Boy._

SHO. How now, boy?

BOY. Master Quomodo takes your worship’s greeting

exceeding kindly, and in his commendations returns this

answer, that your worship shall not be so apt to receive

it as he willing to lend it.

SHO. Why, we thank him, i’faith.

EASY. Troth, and you ha’ reason to thank him, sir; ’twas

a very friendly answer.

SHO. Push,[1000] a gentleman that keeps his days even

here i’ th’ city, as I myself watch to do, shall have

many of those answers in a twelvemonth, master Easy.

EASY. I promise you, sir, I admire your carriage, and

begin to hold a more reverend respect of you.

SHO. Not so, I beseech you; I give my friends leave to

be inward[1001] with me.—Will you walk, gentlemen?

LET. We’re for you.—

Present her with this jewel, my first token.

[_Giving jewel to_ HELLGILL.

_Enter Drawer._

DRA. There are certain countrymen without, inquiring

for master Rearage and master Salewood.

REAR. Tenants?

SALE. Thou revivest us, rascal.

REAR. When’s our next meeting, gentlemen?

SHO. To-morrow night;

This gentleman, by me, invites you all.—

Do you not, master Easy?

EASY. Freely, sir.

SALE. We do embrace your love.—A pure, fresh gull.

[_Aside._

SHO. Thus make you men at parting dutiful,

And rest beholding[1002] to you; ’tis the slight,[1003]

To be remember’d when you’re out of sight.

EASY. A pretty virtue! [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Street._

_Enter the Country Wench’s Father._

FATH. Where shall I seek her now? O, if she knew

The dangers that attend on women’s lives,

She’d[1004] rather lodge under a poor thatch’d roof

Than under carved ceilings! She was my joy,

And all content that I receiv’d from life,

My dear and only daughter.

What says the note she left? let me again

With staider grief peruse it.

[_Reads._] _Father, wonder not at my so sudden

departure, without your leave or knowledge. Thus, under

pardon, I excuse it: had you had knowledge of it, I know

you would have sought to restrain it, and hinder me from

what I have long desired. Being now happily preferred to

a gentleman’s service in London, about Holborn, if you

please to send, you may hear well of me._

As false as she is disobedient!

I’ve made larger inquiry, left no place

Where gentry keeps[1005] unsought, yet cannot hear;

Which drives me most into a shameful fear.

Woe worth th’ infected cause that makes me visit

This man-devouring city! where I spent

My unshapen youth, to be my age’s curse,

And surfeited away my name and state

In swinish riots, that now, being sober,

I do awake a beggar: I may hate her:

Whose youth voids wine, his age is curs’d with water.

O heavens, I know the price of ill too well!

What the confusions are in whom they dwell,

And how soon maids are to their ruins won,

One minute, and eternally undone;

So in mine may it: may it not be thus!

Though she be poor, her honour’s precious.

May be my present form, and her fond[1006] fear,

May chase her from me, if her eye should get me;

And therefore, as my love and wants advise,

I’ll serve, until I find her, in disguise.

Such is my care to fright her from base evils,

I leave calm state to live amongst you, devils.

[_Exit._

SCENE III.

QUOMODO’S _Shop_.

_Enter_ THOMASINE[1007] _and_ MOTHER GRUEL.

THO. Were these fit words, think you, to be sent to any

citizen’s wife,—to enjoy the daughter, and love the

mother too for a need? I would foully scorn that man

that should love me only for a need, I tell you. And

here the knave writes again, that by the marriage of my

daughter, ’a has the better means and opportunity to

myself: he lies in his throat, like a villain; he has no

opportunity of me for all that; ’tis for his betters to

have opportunity of me, and that he shall well know. A

base, proud knave! ’a has forgot how he came up and

brought two of his countrymen to give their words to my

husband for a suit of green kersey; ’a has forgot all

this: and how does he appear to me when his white satin

suit’s on, but like a maggot crept out of a nutshell—a

fair body and a foul neck: those parts that are covered

of him look[1008] indifferent well, because we cannot

see ’em; else, for all his cleansing, pruning, and

paring, he’s not worthy a broker’s daughter; and so tell

him.

MOTH. G. I will indeed, forsooth.

THO. And as for my child, I hope she’ll be ruled in

time, though she be foolish yet, and not be carried away

with a cast of manchets,[1009] a bottle of wine, or a

custard:[1010] and so, I pray, certify him.

MOTH. G. I’ll do your errand effectually.

THO. Art thou his aunt,[1011] or his——

MOTH. G. Alas, I am a poor drudge of his!

THO. Faith, and[1012] thou wert his mother, he would

make thee his drudge, I warrant him.

MOTH. G. Marry, out upon him! sir-reverence[1013] of

your mistress-ship.

THO. Here’s somewhat for thy pains: fare thee well.

[_Giving money._

MOTH. G. ’Tis more than he gave me since I came to him.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ QUOMODO _and_ SUSAN.

QUO. How now? what prating have we here? whispers?

dumbshows? Why, Thomasine, go to: my shop is not

altogether so dark[1014] as some of my neighbours’,

where a man may be made cuckold at one end, while he’s

measuring with his yard at t’other.

THO. Only commendations sent from master Lethe, your

worshipful son-in-law that should be.

QUO. O, and that you like not! he that can make us rich

in custom, strong in friends, happy in suits; bring us

into all the rooms a’ Sundays, from the leads to the

cellar; pop us in with venison till we crack again, and

send home the rest in an honourable napkin: this man you

like not, forsooth.

SUS. But I like him, father.

QUO. My blessing go with thy liking!

SUS. A number of our citizens hold our credit by’t, to

come home drunk, and say, we ha’ been at court: then how

much more credit is’t to be drunk there indeed!

QUO. Tut, thy mother’s a fool.—Pray, what’s master

Rearage, whom you plead for so?

THO. Why, first, he is a gentleman.

QUO. Ay, he’s often first a gentleman that’s last a

beggar.

SUS. My father tells you true: what should I do with a

gentleman? I know not which way to lie with him.

QUO. ’Tis true, too. Thou knowest, beside, we undo

gentlemen daily.

THO. That makes so few of ’em marry with our daughters,

unless it be one green fool or other. Next, master

Rearage has land and living; t’other but his walk i’ th’

street, and his snatching diet: he’s able to entertain

you in a fair house of his own; t’other in some nook or

corner, or place us behind the cloth,[1015] like a

company of puppets: at his house you shall be served

curiously, sit down and eat your meat with leisure;

there we must be glad to take it standing, and without

either salt, cloth, or trencher, and say we are

befriended too.

QUO. O, that gives a citizen a better appetite than his

garden.

SUS. So say I, father; methinks it does me most good

when I take it standing: I know not how all women’s

minds are.

_Enter_ FALSELIGHT.

QUO. Faith, I think they are all of thy mind for that

thing.—How now, Falselight?

FAL. I have descried my fellow Shortyard, alias

Blastfield, at hand with the gentleman.

QUO. O my sweet Shortyard!—Daughter, get you up to your

virginals.[1016] [_Exit_ SUSAN.]—By your leave, mistress

Quomodo——

THO. Why, I hope I may sit i’ th’ shop, may I not?

QUO. That you may, and welcome, sweet honey-thigh, but

not at this season; there’s a buck to be struck.

THO. Well, since I’m so expressly forbidden, I’ll watch

above i’ th’ gallery, but I’ll see your knavery.

[_Aside, and exit._

QUO. Be you prepared as I tell you.

FAL. You ne’er feared me. [_Retires._[1017]

QUO. O that sweet, neat, comely, proper, delicate,

parcel of land! like a fine gentlewoman i’ th’ waist,

not so great as pretty, pretty; the trees in summer

whistling, the silver waters by the banks harmoniously

gliding. I should have been a scholar; an excellent

place for a student; fit for my son that lately

commenced at Cambridge, whom now I have placed at inns

of court. Thus we that seldom get lands honestly, must

leave our heirs to inherit our knavery: but, whist; one

turn about my shop, and meet with ’em.

_Enter_ EASY _and_ SHORTYARD.

EASY. Is this it, sir?

SHO. Ay; let me see; this is it; sign of Three Knaves;

’tis it.

QUO. Do you hear, sir? what lack you,[1018] gentlemen?

see good kerseys or broadcloths here; I pray come

near—master Blastfield!

SHO. I thought you would know me anon.

_Enter_ THOMASINE _above_.

QUO. You’re exceeding welcome to town, sir: your

worship must pardon me; ’tis always misty weather in our

shops here; we are a nation the sun ne’er shines upon.

Came this gentleman with you?

SHO. O, salute him fairly; he’s a kind gentleman, a very

inward[1019] of mine.

QUO. Then I cry you mercy, sir; you’re especially

welcome.

EASY. I return you thanks, sir.

QUO. But how shall I do for you now, master Blastfield?

SHO. Why, what’s the matter?

QUO. It is my greatest affliction at this instant, I am

not able to furnish you.

SHO. How, master Quomodo? pray, say not so; ’slud, you

undo me then.

QUO. Upon my religion, master Blastfield, bonds lie

forfeit in my hands; I expect the receipt of a thousand

every hour, and cannot yet set eye of a penny.

SHO. That’s strange, methinks.

QUO. ’Tis mine own pity that plots against me, master

Blastfield; they know I have no conscience to take the

forfeiture, and that makes ’em so bold with my mercy.

EASY. I am sorry for this.

QUO. Nevertheless, if I might entreat your delay but the

age of three days, to express my sorrow now, I would

double the sum, and supply you with four or five

hundred.

SHO. Let me see; three days?

QUO. Ay, good sir, and[1020] it may be possible.

EASY. Do you hear, master Blastfield?

SHO. Hah?

EASY. You know I’ve already invited all the gallants to

sup with me to-night.

SHO. That’s true, i’faith.

EASY. ’Twill be my everlasting shame if I have no money

to maintain my bounty.

SHO. I ne’er thought upon that.—I looked still when that

should come from him. [_Aside._]—We have strictly

examined our expenses; it must not be three days, master

Quomodo.

QUO. No? then I’m afraid ’twill be my grief, sir.

EASY. Master Blastfield, I’ll tell you what you may do

now.

SHO. What, good sweet bedfellow?[1021]

EASY. Send to master Gum,[1022] or master Profit, the

mercer and goldsmith.

SHO. Mass, that was well remembered of thee.—I perceive

the trout will be a little troublesome ere he be

catched. [_Aside._]—Boy.

_Enter Boy._

BOY. Here, sir.

SHO. Run to master Gum, or master Profit, and carry my

present occasion of money to ’em.

BOY. I run, sir. [_Exit._

QUO. Methinks, master Blastfield, you might easily

attain to the satisfaction of three days: here’s a

gentleman, your friend, I dare say will see you

sufficiently possessed till then.

EASY. Not I, sir, by no means: master Blastfield knows

I’m further in want than himself: my hope rests all upon

him; it stands upon the loss of my credit to-night, if I

walk[1023] without money.

SHO. Why, master Quomodo, what a fruitless motion have

you put forth! you might well assure yourself this

gentleman had it not, if I wanted it: why, our purses

are brothers; we desire but equal fortunes: in a word,

we’re man and wife; they can but lie together, and so do

we.

EASY. As near as can be, i’faith.

SHO. And, to say truth, ’tis more for the continuing of

this gentleman’s credit in town, than any incitement

from mine own want only, that I covet to be so

immediately furnished: you shall hear him confess as

much himself.

EASY. ’Tis most certain, master Quomodo.

_Re-enter Boy._

ᚩSHO. O, here comes the boy now.—How now, boy? what says

master Gum or master Profit?

BOY. Sir, they’re both walked forth this frosty morning

to Brainford,[1024] to see a nurse-child.

SHO. A bastard be it! spite and shame!

EASY. Nay, never vex yourself, sweet master Blastfield.

SHO. Bewitched, I think.

QUO. Do you hear, sir? you can persuade with him?

EASY. A little, sir.

QUO. Rather than he should be altogether destitute, or

be too much a vexation to himself, he shall take up a

commodity[1025] of cloth of me, tell him.

EASY. Why, la! by my troth, ’twas kindly spoken.

QUO. Two hundred pounds’ worth, upon my religion, say.

SHO. So disastrously!

EASY. Nay, master Blastfield, you do not hear what

master Quomodo said since, like an honest, true citizen,

i’faith; rather than you should grow diseased[1026]

upon’t, you shall take up a commodity of two hundred

pounds’ worth of cloth.

SHO. The mealy moth consume it! would he ha’ me turn

pedlar now? what should I do with cloth?

QUO. He’s a very wilful gentleman at this time, i’faith:

he knows as well what to do with it as I myself, i-

wis.[1027] There’s no merchant in town but will be

greedy upon’t, and pay down money upo’ th’ nail; they’ll

despatch it over to Middleburgh presently, and raise

double commodity by exchange: if not, you know ’tis

term-time, and Michaelmas term too, the drapers’ harvest

for foot-cloths,[1028] riding-suits, walking-suits,

chamber-gowns, and hall-gowns.

EASY. Nay, I’ll say that, it comes in as fit a time as

can be.

QUO. Nay, take me with you[1029] again ere you go, sir:

I offer him no trash, tell him, but present money, say:

where[1030] I know some gentlemen in town ha’ been glad,

and are glad at this time, to take up commodities in

hawks’ hoods and brown paper.[1031]

EASY. O horrible! are there such fools in town?

QUO. I offer him no trash, tell him; upon my religion,

you may say.—Now, my sweet Shortyard; now the hungry

fish begins to nibble; one end of the worm is in his

mouth, i’faith. [_Aside._

THO. Why stand I here (as late our graceless

dames,[1032]

That found no eyes), to see that gentleman

Alive, in state and credit, executed,

Help to rip up himself does all he can?

Why am I wife to him that is no man?

I suffer in that gentleman’s confusion. [_Aside._

EASY. Nay, be persuaded in that, master Blastfield; ’tis

ready money at the merchant’s: beside, the winter season

and all falls in as pat as can be to help it.

SHO. Well, master Easy, none but you could have

persuaded me to that.—Come, would you would despatch

then, master Quomodo: where’s this cloth?

QUO. Full and whole within, all of this piece, of my

religion, master Blastfield. Feel’t; nay, feel’t, and

spare not, gentlemen, your fingers and your judgment.

SHO. Cloth’s good.

EASY. By my troth, exceeding good cloth; a good

wale[1033] ’t’as.

QUO. Falselight.

FAL. I’m ne’er out a’ the shop, sir.

QUO. Go, call in a porter presently, to carry away the

cloth with the star-mark.—Whither will you please to

have it carried, master Blastfield?

SHO. Faith, to master Beggarland, he’s the only merchant

now; or his brother, master Stilliarddown; there’s

little difference.

QUO. You’ve happened upon the money-men, sir; they and

some of their brethren, I can tell you, will not stick

to offer thirty thousand pound to be cursed still:

great monied men, their stocks lie in the poors’

throats. But you’ll see me sufficiently discharged,

master Blastfield, ere you depart?

SHO. You have always found me righteous in that.

QUO. Falselight.

FAL. Sir?

QUO. You may bring a scrivener along with you.

FAL. I’ll remember that, sir. [_Exit._

QUO. Have you sent for a citizen, master Blastfield?

SHO. No, faith, not yet.—Boy.

EASY. What must you do with a citizen, sir?

SHO. A custom they’re bound to a’ late by the default of

evil debtors; no citizen must lend money without two be

bound in the bond; the second man enters but for custom

sake.

EASY. No? and must he needs be a citizen?

SHO. By th’ mass, stay; I’ll learn that.—Master

Quomodo——

QUO. Sir?

SHO. Must the second party, that enters into bond only

for fashion’s sake, needs be a citizen? what say you to

this gentleman for one?

QUO. Alas, sir! you know he’s a mere stranger to me: I

neither am sure of his going or abiding; he may inn here

to-night, and ride away to-morrow: although I grant the

chief burden lies upon you, yet we are bound to make

choice of those we know, sir.

SHO. Why, he’s a gentleman of a pretty living, sir.

QUO. It may be so; yet, under both your pardons, I’d

rather have a citizen.

EASY. I hope you will not disparage me so: ’tis well

known I have three hundred pound a-year in Essex.

SHO. Well said; to him thyself, take him up roundly.

EASY. And how doubtfully soe’er you account of me, I do

not think but I might make my bond pass for a hundred

pound i’ th’ city.

QUO. What, alone, sir?

EASY. Alone, sir? who says so? perhaps I’d send down for

a tenant or two.

QUO. Ay, that’s another case, sir.

EASY. Another case let it be then.

QUO. Nay, grow not into anger, sir.

EASY. Not take me into a bond! as good as you shall,

goodman goosecap.

QUO. Well, master Blastfield, because I will not

disgrace the gentleman, I’m content for once; but we

must not make a practice on’t.

EASY. No, sir, now you would, you shall not.

QUO. Cuds me, I’m undone! he’s gone again. [_Aside._

SHO. The net’s broke. [_Aside._

THO. Hold there, dear gentleman! [_Aside._

EASY. Deny me that small courtesy! ’S foot, a very Jew

will not deny it me.

THO. Now must I catch him warily. [_Aside._

EASY. A jest indeed! not take me into a bond, quo’[1034]

they.

SHO. Master Easy, mark my words: if it stood not upon

the eternal loss of thy credit against supper——

EASY. Mass, that’s true.

SHO. The pawning of thy horse for his own victuals——

EASY. Right, i’faith.

SHO. And thy utter dissolution amongst gentlemen for

ever——

EASY. Pox on’t!

SHO. Quomodo should hang, rot, stink——

QUO. Sweet boy, i’faith! [_Aside._

SHO. Drop, damn.

QUO. Excellent Shortyard! [_Aside._

EASY. I forgot all this: what meant I to swagger before

I had money in my purse?—How does master Quomodo? is the

bond ready?

QUO. O sir!

_Enter_ DUSTBOX.

EASY. Come, we must be friends; here’s my hand.

QUO. Give it the scrivener: here he comes.

DUST. Good day, master Quomodo; good morrow, gentlemen.

QUO. We must require a little aid from your pen, good

master Dustbox.

DUST. What be the gentlemen’s names that are bound, sir?

QUO. [_while_ DUSTBOX _writes_.] Master John Blastfield,

esquire, i’ th’ wold[1035] of Kent: and—what do they

call your bedfellow’s[1036] name?

SHO. Master Richard Easy; you may easily hit on’t.

QUO. Master Richard Easy, of Essex, gentleman, both

bound to Ephestian Quomodo, citizen and draper, of

London; the sum, two hundred pound.—What time do you

take, master Blastfield, for the payment?

SHO. I never pass my month, you know.

QUO. I know it, sir: October sixteenth to-day; sixteenth

of November, say.

EASY. Is it your custom to return so soon, sir?

SHO. I never miss you.

_Enter_ FALSELIGHT, _disguised as a Porter, sweating_.

FAL. I am come for the rest of the same price,[1037]

master Quomodo.

QUO. Star-mark; this is it: are all the rest gone?

FAL. They’re all at master Stilliarddown’s by this time.

EASY. How the poor rascal’s all in a froth!

SHO. Push,[1038] they’re ordained to sweat for

gentlemen: porters’ backs and women’s bellies bear up

the world.

[_Exit_ FALSELIGHT _with the remainder of the cloth_.

EASY. ’Tis true, i’faith; they bear men and money, and

that’s the world.

SHO. You’ve found it, sir.

DUST. I’m ready to your hands, gentlemen.

SHO. Come, master Easy.

EASY. I beseech you, sir.

SHO. It shall be yours, I say.

EASY. Nay, pray, master Blastfield.

SHO. I will not, i’faith.

EASY. What do you mean, sir?

SHO. I should shew little bringing up, to take the way

of a stranger.

EASY. By my troth, you do yourself wrong though, master

Blastfield.

SHO. Not a whit, sir.

EASY. But to avoid strife, you shall have your will of

me for once.

SHO. Let it be so, I pray.

QUO. [_while_ EASY _signs the bond_.] Now I begin to set

one foot upon the land: methinks I am felling of trees

already: we shall have some Essex logs yet to keep

Christmas with,[1039] and that’s a comfort.

THO. Now is he quartering out; the executioner

Strides over him: with his own blood he writes:

I am no dame that can endure such sights.

[_Aside, and exit above._

SHO. So, his right wing is cut; will not fly far

Past the two city hazards, Poultry and Wood-

street.[1040] [_Aside._

EASY. How like you my Roman hand, i’faith?

DUST. Exceeding well, sir, but that you rest too much

upon your R, and make your ease too little.

EASY. I’ll mend that presently.

DUST. Nay, ’tis done now, past mending. [SHORTYARD

_signs the bond_.]—You both deliver this to master

Quomodo as your deed?

SHO. We do, sir.

QUO. I thank you, gentlemen.

SHO. Would the coin would come away now! we have

deserved for’t.

_Re-enter_ FALSELIGHT _disguised as before_.[1041]

FAL. By your leave a little, gentlemen.

SHO. How now? what’s the matter? speak.

FAL. As fast as I can, sir: all the cloth’s come back

again.

QUO. How?

SHO. What’s the news?

FAL. The passage to Middleburgh is stopt, and therefore

neither master Stilliarddown nor master Beggarland, nor

any other merchant, will deliver present money upon’t.

QUO. Why, what hard luck have you, gentlemen!

[_Exit_ FALSELIGHT.

EASY. Why, master Blastfield!

SHO. Pish!

EASY. You’re so discontented too presently, a man cannot

tell how to speak to you.

SHO. Why, what would you say?

EASY. We must make somewhat on’t now, sir.

SHO. Ay, where? how? the best is, it lies all upon my

neck.—Master Quomodo, can you help me to any money

for’t? speak.

QUO. Troth, master Blastfield, since myself is so

unfurnished, I know’ not the means how: there’s one i’

th’ street, a new setter up; if any lay out money

upon’t, ’twill be he.

SHO. His name?

QUO. Master Idem: but you know we cannot give but

greatly to your loss, because we gain and live by’t.

SHO. ’S foot, will he give any thing?

EASY. Ay, stand upon that.

SHO. Will he give any thing? the brokers will give

nothing: to no purpose.

QUO. Falselight.

_Re-enter_ FALSELIGHT _above_.

FAL. Over your head, sir.

QUO. Desire master Idem to come presently, and look upo’

th’ cloth.

FAL. I will, sir. [_Exit above._

SHO. What if he should offer but a hundred pound?

EASY. If he want twenty on’t, let’s take it.

SHO. Say you so?

EASY. Master Quomodo, he[1042] will have four or five

hundred pound for you of his own within three or four

days.

_Enter_ THOMASINE.

SHO. ’Tis true, he said so indeed.

EASY. Is that your wife, master Quomodo?

QUO. That’s she, little Thomasine.

EASY. Under your leave, sir, I’ll shew myself a

gentleman.

QUO. Do, and welcome, master Easy.

EASY. I have commission for what I do, lady, from your

husband. [_Kisses her._

THO. You may have a stronger commission for the next,

an’t please you, that’s from myself.

_Enter_ SIM.

EASY. You teach me the best law, lady.

THO. Beshrew my blood, a proper springall[1043] and a

sweet gentleman. [_Aside, and exit._

QUO. My son, Sim Quomodo:—here’s more work for you,

master Easy; you must salute him too,—for he’s like to

be heir of thy land, I can tell thee. [_Aside._

SIM. _Vim, vitam, spemque salutem._

QUO. He shews you there he was a Cambridge man, sir; but

now he’s a Templar: has he not good grace to make a

lawyer?

EASY. A very good grace to make a lawyer.

SHO. For indeed he has no grace at all. [_Aside._

QUO. Some gave me counsel to make him a divine——

EASY. Fie, fie.

QUO. But some of our livery think it an unfit thing,

that our own sons should tell us of our vices: others to

make him a physician; but then, being my heir, I’m

afraid he would make me away: now, a lawyer they’re all

willing to, because ’tis good for our trade, and

increaseth the number of cloth gowns; and indeed ’tis

the fittest for a citizen’s son, for our word is, What

do ye lack?[1044] and their word is, What do you give?

EASY. Exceeding proper.

_Re-enter_ FALSELIGHT _disguised as_ IDEM.

QUO. Master Idem, welcome.

FAL. I have seen the cloth, sir.

QUO. Very well.

FAL. I am but a young setter up; the uttermost I dare

venture upon’t is threescore pound.

SHO. What?

FAL. If it be for me so, I am for it; if not, you have

your cloth, and I have my money.

EASY. Nay, pray, master Blastfield, refuse not his kind

offer.

SHO. A bargain then, master Idem, clap hands.—He’s

finely cheated! [_Aside._]—Come, let’s all to the next

tavern, and see the money paid.

EASY. A match.

QUO. I follow you, gentlemen; take my son along with

you. [_Exeunt all but_ QUOMODO.]—Now to my keys: I’m

master Idem, he[1045] must fetch the money. First have I

caught him in a bond for two hundred pound, and my two

hundred pounds’ worth a’ cloth again for threescore

pound. Admire me, all you students at inns of cozenage.

[_Exit._

ACT III. SCENE I.

_The Country Wench’s Lodging._

_The Country Wench[1046] discovered, dressed gentlewoman-

like, in a new-fashioned gown: the Tailor points[1047]

it; while_ MISTRESS COMINGS, _a tirewoman,[1048] is

busy about her head_: HELLGILL _looking on_.

HELL. You talk of an alteration: here’s the thing

itself. What base birth does not raiment make glorious?

and what glorious births do not rags make infamous? Why

should not a woman confess what she is now, since the

finest are but deluding shadows, begot between tirewomen

and tailors? for instance, behold their parents!

MIS. C. Say what you will, this wire becomes you

best.—How say you, tailor?

TAI. I promise you ’tis a wire would draw me from my

work seven days a-week.

COUN. W. Why, do you work a’ Sundays, tailor?

TAI. Hardest of all a’ Sundays, because we are most

forbidden.

COUN. W. Troth, and so do most of us women; the better

day the better deed, we think.

MIS. C. Excellent, exceeding, i’faith! a narrow-eared

wire sets out a cheek so fat and so full: and if you be

ruled by me, you shall wear your hair still like a mock-

face behind: ’tis such an Italian world, many men know

not before from behind.

TAI. How like you the sitting of this gown now, mistress

Comings?

MIS. C. It sits at marvellous good ease and comely

discretion.

HELL. Who would think now this fine sophisticated squal

came out of the bosom of a barn, and the loins of a hay-

tosser?

COUN. W. Out, you saucy, pestiferous pander! I scorn

that, i’faith.

HELL. Excellent! already the true phrase and style of a

strumpet. Stay; a little more of the red, and then I

take my leave of your cheek for four and twenty

hours.—Do you not think it impossible that her own

father should know her now, if he saw her?

COUN. W. Why, I think no less: how can he know me, when

I scarce know myself?

HELL. ’Tis right.

COUN. W. But so well you lay wait for a man for me!

HELL. I protest I have bestowed much labour about it;

and in fit time, good news I hope.

_Enter_ HELLGILL’s _Servant[1049] bringing in the

Country Wench’s Father disguised_.

SER. I’ve found one yet at last, in whose preferment I

hope to reap credit.

COUN. W. Is that the fellow?

SER. Lady, it is.

COUN. W. Art thou willing to serve me, fellow?

FATH. So please you, he that has not the heart to serve

such a mistress as your beautiful self, deserves to be

honoured for a fool, or knighted for a coward.

COUN. W. There’s too many of them already.

FATH. ’Twere sin then to raise the number.

COUN. W. Well, we’ll try both our likings for a month,

and then either proceed or let fall the suit.

FATH. Be it as you have spoke, but ’tis my hope A longer

term.

COUN. W. No, truly; our term ends once a-month: we

should get more than the lawyers, for they have but four

terms a-year, and we have twelve, and that makes ’em run

so fast to us in the vacation.

FATH. A mistress of a choice beauty! Amongst such

imperfect creatures I ha’ not seen a perfecter. I

should have reckoned the fortunes of my daughter

amongst the happiest, had she lighted into such a

service; whereas now I rest doubtful whom or where she

serves. [_Aside._

COUN. W. There’s for your bodily advice, tailor; and

there’s for your head-counsel [_giving money to the

Tailor and to_ MISTRESS COMINGS]; and I discharge you

both till to-morrow morning again.

TAI. At which time our neatest attendance.

MIS. C. I pray, have an especial care, howsoever you

stand or lie, that nothing fall upon your hair to batter

your wire.

COUN. W. I warrant you for that. [_Exit_ MIS. C. _with

Tailor_.]—Which gown becomes me best now, the purple

satin or this?

HELL. If my opinion might rule over you——

_Enter_ LETHE, REARAGE, _and_ SALEWOOD.

LET. Come, gallants, I’ll bring you to a beauty shall

strike your eyes into your hearts: what you see, you

shall desire, yet never enjoy.

REAR. And that’s a villanous torment.

SALE. And is she but your underput, master Lethe?

LET. No more, of my credit; and a gentlewoman of a great

house, noble parentage, unmatchable education, my plain

pung. I may grace her with the name of a courtesan, a

backslider, a prostitution, or such a toy;[1050] but

when all comes to all, ’tis but a plain pung. Look you,

gentlemen, that’s she; behold her!

COUN. W. O my beloved strayer! I consume in thy absence.

LET. La, you now! You shall not say I’ll be proud to

you, gentlemen; I give you leave to salute her.—I’m

afraid of nothing now, but that she’ll utterly disgrace

’em, turn tail to ’em, and place their kisses behind

her. No, by my faith, she deceives me; by my troth,

sh’as kissed ’em both with her lips. I thank you for

that music, masters. ’Slid, they both court her at once;

and see, if she ha’ not the wit to stand still and let

’em! I think if two men were brewed into one, there is

that woman would drink ’em up both. [_Aside._

REAR. A coxcomb! he a courtier?

COUN. W. He says he has a place there.

SALE. So has the fool, a better place than he, and can

come where he dare not shew his head.

LET. Nay, hear you me, gentlemen——

SALE. I protest you were the last man we spoke on: we’re

a little busy yet; pray, stay there awhile; we’ll come

to you presently.

LET. This is good, i’faith: endure this, and be a slave

for ever! Since you neither savour of good breeding nor

bringing up, I’ll slice your hamstrings, but I’ll make

you shew mannerly. [_Aside._]—Pox on you, leave

courting: I ha’ not the heart to hurt an Englishman,

i’faith, or else——

SALE. What else?

LET. Prithee, let’s be merry; nothing else.—Here, fetch

some wine.

COUN. W. Let my servant go for’t.

LET. Yours? which is he?

FATH.[1051] This, sir.—But I scarce like my mistress

now: the loins can ne’er be safe where the flies be so

busy.

Wit, by experience bought, foils wit at school:

Who proves a deeper knave than a spent fool? [_Aside._

I am gone for your worship’s wine, sir. [_Exit._

HELL. Sir, you put up too much indignity; bring company

to cut your own throat. The fire is not yet so hot, that

you need two screens before it; ’tis but new kindled

yet: if ’twere risse[1052] to a flame, I could not blame

you then to put others before you; but, alas, all the

heat yet is comfortable; a cherisher, not a defacer!

LET. Prithee, let ’em alone; they’ll be ashamed on’t

anon, I trow, if they have any grace in ’em.

HELL. I’d fain have him quarrel, fight, and be assuredly

killed, that I might beg his place, for there’s ne’er a

one void yet. [_Aside._

_Enter_ SHORTYARD _and_ EASY.

COUN. W. You’ll make him mad anon.

SALE. ’Tis to that end.

SHO. Yet at last master Quomodo is as firm as his

promise.

EASY. Did I not tell you still he would?

SHO. Let me see; I am seven hundred pound in bond now to

the rascal.

EASY. Nay, you’re no less, master Blastfield; look to’t.

By my troth, I must needs confess, sir, you ha’ been

uncommonly kind to me since I ha’ been in town: but

master Alsup shall know on’t.

SHO. That’s my ambition, sir.

EASY. I beseech you, sir,—

Stay, this is Lethe’s haunt; see, we have catch’d him.

LET. Master Blastfield and master Easy? you’re kind

gentlemen both.

SHO. Is that the beauty you famed so?

LET. The same.

SHO. Who be those so industrious about her?

LET. Rearage and Salewood: I’ll tell you the

unmannerliest trick of ’em that ever you heard in your

life.

SHO. Prithee, what’s that?

LET. I invited ’em hither to look upon her; brought ’em

along with me; gave ’em leave to salute her in kindness:

what do they but most saucily fall in love with her,

very impudently court her for themselves, and, like two

crafty attorneys, finding a hole in my lease, go about

to defeat me of my right?

SHO. Ha’ they so little conscience?

LET. The most uncivilest part that you have seen! I know

they’ll be sorry for’t when they have done; for there’s

no man but gives a sigh after his sin of women; I know

it by myself.

SHO. You parcel of a rude, saucy, and unmannerly

nation——

LET. One good thing in him, he’ll tell ’em on’t roundly.

[_Aside._

SHO. Cannot a gentleman purchase a little fire to thaw

his appetite by, but must you, that have been daily

singed in the flame, be as greedy to beguile him on’t?

How can it appear in you but maliciously, and that you

go about to engross hell to yourselves? heaven forbid

that you should not suffer a stranger to come in! the

devil himself is not so unmannerly. I do not think but

some of them rather will be wise enough to beg offices

there before you, and keep you out; marry, all the spite

will be, they cannot sell ’em again.

EASY. Come, are you not to blame? not to give place,—

To us, I mean.

LET. A worse and[1053] worse disgrace!

COUN. W. Nay, gentlemen, you wrong us both then: stand

from me; I protest I’ll draw my silver bodkin upon you.

SHO. Clubs, clubs![1054]—Gentlemen, stand upon your

guard.

COUN. W. A gentlewoman must swagger a little now and

then, I perceive; there would be no civility in her

chamber else. Though it be my hard fortune to have my

keeper there a coward, the thing that’s kept is a

gentlewoman born.

SHO. And, to conclude, a coward, infallible of your

side: why do you think, i’faith, I took you to be a

coward? do I think you’ll turn your back to any man

living? you’ll be whipt first.

EASY. And then indeed she turns her back to some man

living.

SHO. But that man shews himself a knave, for he dares

not shew his own face when he does it; for some of the

common council in Henry the Eighth’s days thought it

modesty at that time that one vizzard should look upon

another.

EASY. ’Twas honestly considered of ’em, i’faith.

_Enter_ MOTHER GRUEL.

SHO. How now? what piece of stuff comes here?

LET. Now, some good news yet to recover my repute, and

grace me in this company. [_Aside._]—Gentlemen, are we

friends among ourselves?

SHO. United.

_Re-enter Father with wine._