LELIO, SULPITIA.
LEL. The hopeful issue of thy counsel, Cricca,
Brightens this ev'ning, and makes it more excel
The clearest day, than a grey morning doth
The blindest midnight, raising my amorous thoughts
To such a pitch of joy, that riches, honour,
And other pleasures, to Sulpitia's love
Appear like mole-hills to the moon.
SUL. Lelio!
LEL. O, there's the voice that in one note contains
All chords of music: how gladly she'll embrace
The news I give her and the messenger!
SUL. Soft, soft, y' are much mistaken; for in earnest,
I am angry, Lelio, and with you.
LEL. Sweetest, those flames
Rise from the fire of love, and soon will quench
I' th' welcome news I bring you.
SUL. Stand still, I charge you
By th' virtue of my lips; speak not a syllable,
As you expect a kiss should close my choler;
For I must chide you.
LEL. O my Sulpitia!
Were every speech a pistol charg'd with death,
I'd stand them all in hope of that condition.
SUL. First, sir, I hear you teach Eugenio
Too grave a wariness in your sister's love,
And kill his honest forwardness of affection
With your far-fet[343] respects, suspicions, fears:
You have your maybes--"This is dangerous:
That course were better; for if so, and yet
Who knows? the event is doubtful; be advis'd,
'Tis a young rashness: your father is your father;
Take leisure to consider." Thus y' have consider'd
Poor Flavia almost to her grave. Fie, Lelio!
Had this my smallness undertook the business,
And done no more in four short winter's days
Than you in four months, I'd have vowed my maidenhead
To th' living tomb of a sad nunnery;
Which for your sake I loathe.
LEL. Sweet, by your favour----
SUL. Peace, peace: now y' are so wise, as if ye had eaten
Nothing but brains and marrow of Machiavel:
You tip your speeches with Italian _motti_,[344]
Spanish _refranes_,[345] and English _quoth he's_. Believe me,
There's not a proverb salts your tongue, but plants
Whole colonies of white hairs. O, what a business
These hands must have when you have married me,
To pick out sentences that over-year you!
LEL. Give me but leave.
SUL. Have I a lip? and you
Made sonnets on't? 'tis your fault, for otherwise
Your sister and Eugenio had been sure
Long time ere this.
LEL. But----
SUL. Stay, your cue's not come yet.
I hate as perfectly this grey-green of yours,
As Old Antonio's green-grey. Fie! wise lovers
Are most absurd. Were I not full resolved,
I should begin to cool mine own affection.
For shame, consider well your sister's temper.
Her melancholy may much hurt her. Respect her,
Or, spite of mine own love, I'll make you stay
Six months before you marry me. [LELIO _whispers_.
This your so happy news? return'd, and safe?
Antonio yet alive? [LELIO _whispers_.
And what then? [LELIO _whispers_.
Well; all your business must be compassed
With winding plots and cunning stratagems.
Look to't; for if we be not married ere next morning,
By the great love that's hid in this small compass,
Flavia and myself will steal you both away,
To your eternal shame and foul discredit. [_Exit._
LEL. How prettily this lovely littleness
In one breath pleads her own cause and my sister's!
Chides me, and loves. This is that pleasing temper
I more admire than a continued sweetness
That over-satisfies: 'tis salt I love, not sugar. [_Exit._
FOOTNOTES:
[327] _Threatens_ in both the editions. Pegge suggested _sweetens_.
[328] See note to "The Spanish Tragedy," [v. 95.]
[329] The quartos read _this word_.
[330] The whole of what follows, to the word _away_, is given in the
4º of 1615 as part of the speech of Antonio.--_Collier._
[331] A parody on the speech of the Ghost of Andrea, in "The Spanish
Tragedy."
[332] _i.e._, Owns. See note to "Cornelia," [v. 232.]
[333] [Edits., _Of_.]
[334] It appears from Segar ("Honour, Military and Civil," fol. 1602,
p. 122), that a person of superior birth might not be challenged by an
inferior, or, if challenged, might refuse the combat. Alluding to this
circumstance, Cleopatra says--
"These hands do lack nobility, that they strike
A meaner than myself."
--Act ii. sc. 5.
[335] This seems intended to ridicule some of the punctilios of
duelling, and probably the author had in his mind the following
passage in Ferne's "Blazon of Gentrie," 1586, p. 319: "But if it so
happen that the defendour is lame of a legge, or of an arme, or that
hee bee blinde of an eye, he may take such armes and weapons, as be
most fitte for his owne bodye; and he shall offer such to the
approover as shall impeache the like member, or part of the approovers
bodye from his dutye and office in the combate, so that he shall be
deprived of the use of that member in the combate, even as wel as the
defender is through his infirmity of lamenes, or other defect of
nature."
[336] Duellists being punished by law in England, it has been usual
for them to go over to _Calais_, as one of the nearest ports of
France, to decide their quarrel out of the reach of justice. Trincalo
is pleasant on this subject.--_Steevens._
This custom is mentioned in an epigram in Samuel Rowlands's "Good
Newes and Bad Newes," 1622, sig. F 2--
"Gilbert, this glove I send thee from my hand,
And challenge thee to meet on _Callis sand:_
On this day moneth resolve I will be there,
Where thou shalt finde my flesh I will not feare.
My cutler is at work," &c.
[337] _i.e._, Three. A metaphor taken from the game at cards called
_Gleek_, where a _gleek_ of knaves is three.--_Pegge._
[338] It is observed by Mr Steevens, that "it was formerly the fashion
to kiss the eyes, as a mark of extraordinary tenderness." See note to
"The Winter's Tale," act iv. sc. 3, where several instances are
produced.
Again, in Marston's "Dutch Courtesan," act ii. sc. 1--
"Your onely voice
Shall cast a slumber on my listning sense
_You with soft lip shall only ope mine eyes,
And suck their lids asunder_, only you
Shall make me wish to live, and not feare death."
[339] Hitherto printed by Mr Reed--
"Be brought to bed of a _fair_ Trincalo;"
a reading not supported by the old copies, which have it
_young_.--_Collier._
[340] It must be supposed that Armellina brings a looking-glass, as
desired.--_Collier._
[341] Dr Grey observes from Tackius, that a toad, before she engages
with a spider, will fortify herself with some of this plant; and that
if she comes off wounded, she cures herself afterwards with it. Mr
Steevens says it is a blood-stauncher, and was formerly applied to
green wounds. See note on "Romeo and Juliet," act i. sc. 2.
[342] See note [at p. 364 _suprâ_.]
[343] _i.e._, Far-fetched. See note to "Gammer Gurton's Needle," [iii.
223.]
[344] Shrewd or witty sayings. See Florio's "Dictionary."
[345] _i.e._, Proverbs; a _referendo_, because it is often repeated.
See Stevens's "Spanish Dictionary," 1705.
ACT V., SCENE I.
ALBUMAZAR, RONCA, FURBO, HARPAX.
ALB. How? not a single share of this great prize,
That have deserv'd the whole? was't not my plot
And pains, and you mere instruments and porters?
Shall I have nothing?
RON. No, not a silver spoon.
FUR. Nor cover of a trencher-salt.[346]
HAR. Nor table-napkin.
ALB. Friends, we have kept an honest truth and faith
Long time amongst us: break not the sacred league,
By raising civil theft: turn not your fury
'Gainst your own bowels. Rob your careful master!
Are you not asham'd?
RON. 'Tis our profession,
As yours astrology. "And in the days of old,
_Good morrow, thief_, as welcome was receiv'd,
As now _Your worship_." 'Tis your own instruction.[347]
FUR. "The Spartans held it lawful, and th' Arabians,
So grew Arabia happy, Sparta valiant."
HAR. "The world's a theatre of theft: great rivers
Rob smaller brooks; and them the ocean."
ALB. Have not I wean'd you up from petty larceny,
Dangerous and poor, and nurs'd you to full strength
Of safe and gainful theft? by rules of art
And principles of cheating made you as free
From taking as you went invisible;
And do ye thus requite me? this the reward
For all my watchful care?
RON. We are your scholars,
Made by your help and our own aptness able
To instruct others. 'Tis the trade we live by.
You that are servant to divine astrology,
Do something worth her livery: cast figures,
Make almanacs for all meridians.
FUR. Sell perspicils and instruments of hearing:
Turn clowns to gentlemen; buzzards to falcons,
'ur-dogs to greyhounds; kitchen-maids to ladies.
HAR. Discover more new stars and unknown planets:
Vent them by dozens, style them by the names
Of men that buy such ware. Take lawful courses,
Rather than beg.
ALB. Not keep your honest promise?
RON. "Believe none, credit none: for in this city
No dwellers are but cheaters and cheatees."
ALB. You promis'd me the greatest share.
RON. Our promise!
If honest men by obligations
And instruments of law are hardly constrain'd
T' observe their word, can we, that make profession
Of lawless courses, do't?
ALB. Amongst ourselves!
Falcons, that tyrannise o'er weaker fowl,
Hold peace with their own feathers.
HAR. But when they counter
Upon one quarry,[348] break that league, as we do.
ALB. At least restore the ten pound in gold I lent you.
RON. "'Twas lent in an ill second, worser third,
And luckless fourth:" 'tis lost, Albumazar.
FUR. Saturn was in ascension, Mercury
Was then combust, when you delivered it.
'Twill never be restor'd.
RON. "Hali, Abenezra,
Hiarcha, Brachman, Budda Babylonicus,"
And all the Chaldees and the Cabalists,
Affirm that sad aspect threats loss of debts.
HAR. Frame by your azimuth Almicantarath,
An engine like a mace, whose quality
Of strange retractive virtue may recall
Desperate debts, and with that undo serjeants.
ALB. Was ever man thus baited by's own whelps?
Give me a slender portion, for a stock
To begin trade again.
RON. 'Tis an ill course,
And full of fears. This treasure hath enrich'd us,
And given us means to purchase and live quiet
Of th' fruit of dangers past. When I us'd robbing,
All blocks before me look'd like constables,
And posts appear'd in shape of gallowses;
Therefore, good tutor, take your pupil's counsel:
'Tis better beg than steal; live in poor clothes
Than hang in satin.
ALB. Villains, I'll be reveng'd,
And reveal all the business to a justice!
RON. Do, if thou long'st to see thy own anatomy.
ALB. This treachery persuades me to turn honest.
FUR. Search your nativity; see if the Fortunates
And Luminaries be in a good aspect,
And thank us for thy life. Had we done well,
We had cut thy throat ere this.
ALB. Albumazar,
Trust not these rogues: hence, and revenge.
RON. Fellows, away; here's company. Let's hence. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
CRICCA, PANDOLFO.
CRI. Now, Cricca, mask thy countenance in joy;
Speak welcome language of good news, and move
Thy master, whose desires are credulous,
To believe what thou giv'st him. If thy design
Land at the haven 'tis bound for, then Lelio,
Eugenio, and their mistresses, are oblig'd
By oath t' assure a state of forty pounds
Upon thee for thy life.
PAN. I long to know
How my good farmer speeds; how Trincalo
Hath been receiv'd by Lelio.
CRI. Where shall I find him?
What we most seek still flies us; what's avoided,
Follows or meets us full. I am emboss'd[349]
With trotting all the streets to find Pandolfo,
And bless him with good news.
PAN. This haste of Cricca
Abodes some good: doubtless my Trincalo,
Receiv'd for Antonio, hath given me Flavia.
Cricca!
CRI. Neither in Paul's,[350] at home, nor in the Exchange,
Nor where he uses to converse! he's lost,
And must be cried.
PAN. Turn hither, Cricca; Cricca,
Seest me not?
CRI. Sir, the news, and haste to tell it,
Had almost blinded me. 'Tis so fortunate,
I dare not pour it all at once upon you,
Lest you should faint, and swoon away with joy:
Your transform'd Trincalo----
PAN. What news of him?
CRI. Enter'd as owner in Antonio's house----
PAN. On.
CRI. Is acknowledg'd by his daughter Flavia
And Lelio for their father.
PAN. Quickly, good Cricca!
CRI. And hath sent me in haste to bid you----
PAN. What?
CRI. Come with your son Eugenio----
PAN. And then?
CRI. That he may be a witness of your marriage.
But, sir, I see no signs of so large gladness
As I expected and this news deserv'd.
PAN. 'Tis here, 'tis here, within: all outward symptoms
And characters of joy are poor expressions
Of my great inward happiness. My heart's full,
And cannot vent the passions. Run, Cricca, run:
Run, as thou lov'st me; call Eugenio,
And work him to my purpose: thou canst do it.
Haste, call him instantly.
CRI. I fly, sir. [_Exit._
SCENE III.[351]
PANDOLFO.
How shall I recompense this astrologer,
This great Albumazar, through whose learned hands
Fortune hath prov'd[352] th' effect of my best wishes,
And crown'd my hopes? Give him this chain?
Alas!
'Tis a poor thanks, short by a thousand links
Of his large merit. No, he must live with me
And my sweet Flavia at his ease and pleasure,
Wanting for nothing: and this very night
I'll get a boy, and he erect a figure
To calculate his fortunes. So, there's Trincalo
Antoniated, or Antonio Intrinculate.
SCENE IV.
ANTONIO, PANDOLFO, LELIO, EUGENIO.
ANT. Signior Pandolfo! welcome.
LEL. Your servant, sir.
PAN. Well-met, Antonio; my prayers and wishes
Have waited on you ever.
ANT. Thanks, dearest friend.
To speak my danger pass'd were to discourse
Of dead men at a feast. Such sad relations
Become not marriages. Sir, I am here
Return'd to do you service. Where's your son?
PAN. He'll wait upon you presently.
EUG. Signior Antonio!
Happily welcome.
ANT. Thanks, Eugenio.
How think you, gentlemen: were it amiss
To call down Flavia and Sulpitia,
That what we do may with a full consent
Be entertain'd of all?
PAN. 'Tis well-remember'd.
Eugenio, call your sister.
ANT. Lelio, call my daughter. [_Exeunt_ LELIO _and_ EUGENIO.
SCENE V.
PANDOLFO, ANTONIO.
PAN. Wisely consider'd, Trincalo; 'tis a fair prologue
To the comedy ensuing. Now I confess
Albumazar had equal power to change
And mend thy understanding with thy body.
Let me embrace and hug thee for this service:
'Tis a brave onset: O my sweet Trincalo!
ANT. How like you the beginning?
PAN. 'Tis o' th' further side
All expectation.
ANT. Was't not right, and spoken
Like old Antonio?
PAN.[353] 'Tis most admirable!
Were't he himself that spoke, he could not better't.
And for thy sake I wish Antonio's shape
May ever be thy house, and's wit thy inmate.
But where's my plate and cloth of silver?
ANT. Safe.
PAN. They come. Keep state, keep state, or all's discover'd.
SCENE VI.
ANTONIO, PANDOLFO, EUGENIO, LELIO, FLAVIA, SULPITIA.
ANT. Eugenio, Flavia, Lelio, and Sulpitia,
Marriages, once confirm'd and consummate,
Admit of no repentance. Therefore 'tis fitting
All parties with full freedom speak their pleasure,
Before it be too late.
PAN. Good! excellent!
ANT. Speak boldly, therefore. Do you willingly
Give full authority, that what I decree
Touching these businesses, you'll all perform?
EUG. I rest as you dispose: what you determine,
With my best power I ratify; and Sulpitia,
I dare be bold to promise, says no less.
SUL. Whate'er my father, brother, and yourself
Shall think convenient, pleaseth me.
LEL. In this,
As in all other service, I commit myself
To your commands; and so, I hope, my sister.
FLA. With all obedience: sir, dispose of me
As of a child that judgeth nothing good,
But what you shall approve.
ANT. And you, Pandolfo?
PAN. I, most of all. And for you know[354] the minds
Of youth are apt to promise, and as prone
To repent after, 'tis my advice they swear
T' observe, without exception, your decree.
FLA. Content.
SUL. Content.
PAN. By all the powers that hear
Oaths, and rain vengeance upon broken faith,
I promise to confirm and ratify
Your sentence.
LEL. Sir, I swear no less.
EUG. Nor I.
FLA. The selfsame oath binds me.
SUL. And me the same.
PAN. Now, dear Antonio, all our expectation
Hangs at your mouth. None of us can appeal
From you to higher courts.
ANT. First, for preparative
Or slight præludium to the greater matches,
I must entreat you, that my Armellina
Be match'd with Trincalo. Two hundred crowns
I give her for her portion.
PAN. 'Tis done. Some relics
Of his old clownery and dregs o' th' country
Dwell in him still. How careful he provides
For himself first. [_Aside._] Content: and more, I grant him
A lease for twenty pounds a year.
ANT. I thank you.
Gentlemen, since I feel myself much broken
With age and my late miseries, and too cold
To entertain new heat, I freely yield
Sulpitia, whom I lov'd, to my son Lelio.
PAN. How cunningly hath the farmer provided
T' observe the 'semblance of Antonio's person,
And keep himself still free for Armellina!
ANT. Signior Pandolfo, y' are wise, and understand
How ill hot appetites of unbridled youth
Become grey hairs. How grave and honourable
Were't for your age to be enamour'd
With the fair shape of virtue and the glory
Of our forefathers! Then would you blush to think
How by this dotage and unequal love
You stain their honour and your own. Awake!
Banish those wild affections, and by my example
Turn t' your reposed self.
PAN. To what purpose, pray you,
Serves this long proem? on to th' sentence.
ANT. Sir,
Conformity of years, likeness of manners,
Are Gordian knots that bind up matrimony:
Now, betwixt seventy winters and sixteen
There's no proportion, nor least hope of love.
Fie! that a gentleman of your discretion,
Crown'd with such reputation in your youth,
Should in your western days[355] lose th' good opinion
Of all your friends, and run to th' open danger
Of closing the weak remnant of your days
With discontentment[356] unrecoverable.
PAN. Rack me no more; pray you, let's hear the sentence.
Note how the ass would fright me, and endear
His service: intimating that his pow'r
May overthrow my hopes. [_Aside._] Proceed to th' sentence.
ANT. These things consider'd, I bestow my daughter
Upon your son Eugenio, whose constant love,
With his so modest carriage, hath deserv'd her;
And, that you freeze not for a bed-fellow,
I marry you with patience.
PAN. Treacherous villain!
Accursed Trincalo! [_Aside._] I'll---- But this no place;
He's too well back'd; but shortly, when the date
Of his Antonioship's expir'd, revenge
Shall sweeten this disgrace.
ANT. Signior Pandolfo,
When you recover yourself, lost desperately
In disproportion'd dotage, then you'll thank me
For this great favour. Be not obstinate:
Disquiet not yourself.
PAN. I thank you, sir. [_Exeunt all but_ PANDOLFO.
SCENE VII.
PANDOLFO.
_And that you freeze not for a bed-fellow,
I marry you with patience!_ Traitorous villain!
Is't not enough to wrong me and betray me,
But 't must be done with scoffs? accursed Trincalo!
And me most miserable that, when I thought
T' embrace young Flavia, see her before my face
Bestow'd upon my son! my son--my rival!
This is Eugenio's plot and his friend Lelio's;
Who, with my servant Cricca, have conspir'd,
And suborn'd Trincalo to betray his master.
Why do I rage 'gainst any but myself,
That have committed such a serious business
To th' hands of a base clown and ignorant?
I see mine error, but no means to help it.
Only the sweetness of revenge is left me,
Which I must execute: th' hours of's gentry
Are now clean spent. I'll home, and there attend him. [_Exit._
SCENE VIII.
TRINCALO _drunk, but something recovered_.
TRIN. Welcome, old trusty Trincalo; good farmer, welcome! Give me thy
hand; we must not part hereafter. Fie, what a trouble 'tis to be out of
a man's self! If gentlemen have no pleasure but what I felt to-day, a
team of horses shall not drag me out of my profession. There's nothing
amongst them but borrowing, compounding for half their debts, and have
their purse cut for the rest; cozened by whores, frighted with husbands,
washed in wet hogsheads, cheated of their clothes, and falling in
cellars for conclusion.
SCENE IX.
PANDOLFO _at the window_, TRINCALO.
PAN. O precious piece of villany! are you unchang'd?
How confident the rogue dares walk the streets!
TRIN. And then such quarrelling! never a suit I wore to-day but hath
been soundly basted: only this faithful country-case 'scaped fist-free;
and, be it spoken in a good hour, was never beaten yet, since it came
from fulling.
PAN. Base, treacherous villain! [_Beats him._
TRIN. Is this the recompense of my day's work?
PAN. You marry me to patience! there's patience,
And that you freeze not, there's warm patience,
She's a good bed-fellow: have patience.
TRIN. You'll beat me out on't, sir. How have
I wrong'd you?
PAN. So as deserves th' expression of my fury,
With th' cruel'st tortures I can execute.
TRIN. You kill me, sir.
PAN. Have patience.
TRIN. Pray you, sir!
PAN. Seek not by humble penitence t' appease me:
Nothing can satisfy.
TRIN. Farewell, humility;
Now am I beaten sober. [_Takes away_ PANDOLFO's _staff_.
Shall age and weakness master my youth and strength?
Now speak your pleasure: what's my fault?
PAN. Dar'st deny
Thy own act, done before so many witnesses,
Suborn'd by others, and betray my confidence
With such a stony impudence?
TRIN. I have been faithful
In all you trusted me.
PAN. To them, not me.
O, what a proem, stuff'd with grave advice
And learned counsel, you could show'r upon me
Before the thunder of your deadly sentence!
And give away my mistress with a scoff!
TRIN. I give your mistress?
PAN. Didst not thou decree,
Contrary t' our compact, against my marriage?
TRIN. Why, when was I your judge?
PAN. Just now here.
TRIN. See your error!
Then was I fast lock'd in Antonio's cellar:
Where, making virtue of necessity,
I drank stark drunk, and waking, found myself
Cloth'd in this farmer's suit, as in the morning.
PAN. Didst not thou swear to enter Antonio's house,
And give me Flavia for my wife, and after,
Before my own face, gav'st her to my son?
TRIN. Ha, ha, ha!
[_Whilst_ TRINCALO _laughs and lets fall the staff_,
PANDOLFO _recovers it, and beats him_.
PAN. Canst thou deny it?
TRIN. Ha, ha, ha!
Have you got Mistress Patience? Ha, ha, ha!
PAN. Is not this true?
TRIN. Ha, ha, ha!
PAN. Answer me.
TRIN. Ha, ha, ha wan!
PAN. Was't not thus?
TRIN. I answer: first,
I never was transform'd,
But gull'd, as you were, by th' astrologer,
And those that called me Antonio. To prove
This true, the gentleman you spoke with was Antonio--
The right Antonio, safely return'd from Barbary.
PAN. O me, what's this?
TRIN. Truth itself.
PAN. Was't not thou that gav'st the sentence?
TRIN. Believe me, no such matter:
I ne'er was gentleman, nor otherwise
Than what I am, unless 'twere when I was drunk.
PAN. How have I been deceiv'd! good Trincalo,
Pardon me, I have wrong'd thee.
TRIN. Pardon you?
When you have beaten me to paste, _Good Trincalo,
Pardon me!_
PAN. I am sorry for't; excuse me.
TRIN. I am sorry I can't[357] excuse you. But I pardon you.
PAN. Now tell me, where's the plate and cloth of silver,
The gold and jewels, that the astrologer
Committed to thy keeping?
TRIN. What plate, what jewels?
He gave me none. But, when he went to change me,
After a thousand circles and ceremonies,
He binds me fast upon a form, and blinds me
With a thick table-napkin. Not long after
Unbinds my head and feet, and gives me light;
And then I plainly saw that I saw nothing:
The parlour was clean swept of all was in't.
PAN. O me! O me!
TRIN. What ails you, sir? what ails you?
PAN. I am undone! I have lost my love, my plate,
My whole estate, and with the rest myself.
TRIN. Lose not your patience too. Leave this lamenting,
And lay the town; you may recover it.
PAN. 'Tis to small purpose. In, and hold thy peace.
[_Exit_ TRINCALO.
SCENE X.
CRICCA, PANDOLFO.
CRI. Where shall I find my master, to content him
With welcome news? he's here. News, news?
News of good fortune, joy, and happiness!
PAN. Cricca, my sadness is uncapable
Of better tidings: I am undone! most miserable!
CRI. Offend not your good luck, y' are now more fortunate
Than when you rose this morning: be merry, sir,
Cheer up yourself; y' have what you wish'd, fear nothing.
PAN. Maybe, Antonio newly repents himself,
With purpose to restore my Flavia.
Cricca, what is't? where's all this happiness?
CRI. Lock'd in Antonio's closet.
PAN. All alone?
Sure, that's my Flavia. Is not Eugenio
Suffer'd to enter?
CRI. Antonio keeps the key:
No creature enters but himself: all's safe,
And shall be so restor'd.
PAN. O my sweet Cricca!
CRI. And they that wrong'd you most extremely sorry,
Ready to yield you any satisfaction.
PAN. Is't possible they should so soon repent them,
That injur'd me so lately? tell me the manner
That caus'd them see their error.
CRI. I'll tell you, sir:
Being just now at old Antonio's house,
One thunders at the back-door, enters, presses
To speak in private with young Lelio;
Was instantly admitted: and think you, who?
'Twas your astrologer Albumazar.
When he had spoke awhile, Lelio and Antonio
In haste command me fetch a constable.
PAN. How can this story touch my happiness?
CRI. I up and down, through slimy ale-houses,
Cloudy tobacco-shops and vapouring taverns,
My mouth full of inquiry, at last found one.
PAN. What of all this? Is't possible a constable
Concerns my good?
CRI. And, following my directions,
Went to a tippling-house, where we took drinking
Three handsome fellows with a great chest, attach'd them,
And brought all to Antonio.
PAN. Well, what then?
CRI. These were the astrologer's intelligences that
Robb'd you through the south window.
PAN. I thought thou hadst spoke
Of Flavia's restoring.
CRI. I mean your plate
And treasure. Pray you, sir, is't not great happiness
To reobtain three thousand pounds in value,
Desperately lost? and you still doat and dream
Of Flavia who, by your own consent
And oath, is promised to your son Eugenio.
PAN. Forward.
CRI. Within this chest Antonio found your plate,
Gold jewels, cloth of silver, nothing perish'd,
But all safe lock'd, till you acknowledge it.
And since Albumazar of his own accord
Freely confess'd, and safe restor'd your treasure;
Since 'tis a day of jubilee and marriage,
Antonio would entreat you to release
And pardon the astrologer: thanking your fortune,
That hath restor'd you to your wealth and self.
Both which were lost i' th' foolish love of Flavia.
PAN. Reason hath clear'd my sight, and drawn the veil,
Of dotage, that so dark'd my understanding.
I clearly see the slavery of affections;
And how unsuitable my declining years
Are for the dawning youth of Flavia.
Let the best joys of Hymen compass her
And her young husband (my Eugenio),
With full content. And since Albumazar
By accident caus'd all this happiness,
I freely pardon him and his companions;
And haste to assist the marriages and feasts.
CRI. Why, now you show yourself a worthy gentleman.
[_Exit_ PANDOLFO.
SCENE XI.
TRINCALO, CRICCA.
TRI. Cricca, I overheard your news: all parts are pleas'd
Except myself. Is there no news for Trincalo?
CRI. Know'st it not? in and see: Antonio
Hath given thee Armellina with a portion--
Two hundred crowns; and old Pandolfo bound
By oath t' assure thee twenty pounds a year
For three lives.
TRIN. Ha!
CRI. Come in.
TRIN. I'll follow.
FOOTNOTES:
[346] The salt-cellar which used to be set on tables was generally
large. Sometimes, however, a smaller sort would be used, and then
several were employed, which were set nearer the trenchers, and
therefore called _trencher-salts_, as here.--_Pegge._
[347] [Compare p. 302.]
[348] A term of falconry. Latham says, "It is taken for the fowle
which is flowne at and slaine at any time."
[349] This is a term of the chase. Gascoigne, in his book of hunting,
1575, p. 242, enumerates it among "other generall termes of the hart
and his properties. When he (the hart) is foamy at the mouth, we saye
that _he is embost_." So in "The Shoemakers' Holiday; or, The Gentle
Craft," 1610, sig. C 3--
"Besides, the miller's boy told me even now,
He saw him take soile, and he hallowed him,
Affirming him so _embost_,
That long he could not hold."
See also Mr Steevens's note to "All's Well that Ends Well," act iii.
sc. 6.
[350] St Paul's, at this time, was constantly open, and the resort
equally of the busy and the idle. A contemporary writer thus describes
_Paul's Walke:_ It "is the land's epitome, or you may call it the
lesser ile of Great Brittaine. It is more than this, the whole world's
map, which you may here discerne in it's perfect'st motion, justling
and turning. It is a heape of stones and men, with a vast confusion of
languages; and, were the steeple not sanctified, nothing liker Babel.
The noyse in it is like that of bees, a strange humming or buzze, mixt
of walking, tongues, and feet. It is a kind of still roare, or loud
whisper. It is the great exchange of all discourse, and no busines
whatsoever but is here stirring and afoot. It is the synod of all
pates politicke, joynted and laid together in the most serious
posture; and they are not halfe so busie at the Parliament. It is the
anticke of tailes to tailes, and backes to backes, and for vizards,
you need goe no further than faces. It is the market of young
lecturers, whom you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the
generall mint of all famous lies, which are here, like the legends
popery first coyned and stampt in the church. All inventions are
emptyed here, and not few pockets. The best signe of a temple in it
is, that it is the theeves sanctuary, which robbe more safely in the
croud then a wildernesse, whilst every searcher is a bush to hide
them. It is the other expence of the day, after playes, taverne, and a
baudy house, and men have still some oathes left to sweare here. It is
the eares brothell, and satisfies their lust and ytch. The visitants
are all men, without exceptions; but the principall inhabitants and
possessors are stale knights, and captaines out of service; men of
long rapiers and breeches, which after all turne merchants here, and
trafficke for newes. Some make it a preface to their dinner, and
travell for a stomacke: but thriftier men make it their ordinarie, and
boord here verie cheape. Of all such places it is least haunted with
hobgoblins, for if a ghost would walke more, he could not."--_Earle's
"Microcosmographie_," 1628.
[351] The division of this scene is not marked in the old copies, but
it is decidedly right, and the numbers of the scenes in the quartos
are from two to four, omitting three.--_Collier._
[352] [Old copy, _powr'd._]
[353] Pandolfo's name is omitted in the quartos before the following
lines, which are certainly meant to be spoken by him.--_Collier._
[354] _i.e._, Because you know--a very common mode of expression.
[355] _i.e._, When you are declining like the sun, which sets in the
west.--_Steevens._
[356] The instances are very numerous throughout this play where Mr
Dodsley, and after him Mr Reed, omitted syllables, and thereby spoiled
the measure: thus this line ran till now--
"With discontent unrecoverable,"
instead, of _discontentment_.
[357] Old copy, _must_.
EPILOGUE
[_Spoken by Trincalo_].
Two hundred crowns? and twenty pound a year
For three good lives? Cargo[358] hai, Trincalo!
My wife's extremely busy, dressing the supper
For these great marriages, and I not idle,
So that I cannot entertain you here,
As I would elsewhere. But if you come to Totnam
Some four days hence, and ask for Trincalo,
At th' sign o' th' Hogshead, I'll mortgage all my lives
To bid you welcome. You that love Trincalo,
And mean to meet, clap hands, and make 't a bargain.[359]
[358] A corruption of _corragio!_ Ital. courage! a hortatory
exclamation.--_Steevens._
A cant word, meaning a good round sum of money. "Canting Dictionary,"
_in voce_.--_Pegge._
[359] Thus in "A Woman Kill'd with Kindness," 1607, the first scene we
have, on a wager being laid--
"What, _clap ye hands_,
Or is't no bargain?"
--_Collier._
THE HOG HATH LOST HIS PEARL.
_EDITION._
_The Hogge hath lost his Pearle. A Comedy. Divers times
Publicely acted, by certaine London Prentices. By Robert Tailor.
London, Printed for Richard Redmer, and are to be solde at the
West-dore of Paules at the of the Starre._ 1614. 4º.
INTRODUCTION.
Robert Tailor, the author of this play, is entirely unknown[360]. The
title-page of it says it was divers times publicly acted by certain
London Prentices; and Sir Henry Wotton[361], in a letter to Sir Edmund
Bacon, dated 1612-13, gives the following account of its first
performance: "On Sunday last at night, and no longer, some sixteen
Apprentices (of what sort you shall guess by the rest of the Story),
having secretly learnt a new play without book, intituled, _The Hog hath
lost His Pearl;_ took up the _White Fryers_ for their Theater: and
having invited thither (as it should seem) rather their Mistresses than
their Masters, who were all to enter _per buletini_ for a note of
distinction from ordinary Comedians. Towards the end of the Play, the
sheriffs (who by chance had heard of it) came in (as they say) and
carried some six or seven of them to perform the last Act at _Bridewel;_
the rest are fled. Now it is strange to hear how sharp-witted the City
is, for they will needs have Sir _John Swinerton_, the Lord Major, be
meant by the _Hog_, and the late Lord Treasurer by the _Pearl_." [362]
FOOTNOTES:
[360] In addition to this play, Robert Tailor was author of "Sacred
Hymns," 4º, 1615.--_Gilchrist._ [No. This was a different person. But
the author of the present play has some complimentary lines before
Taylor the Water-poet's "Whipping and Snipping of Abuses," 1614.]
[361] "Reliquiæ Wottonianæ," fourth edit., 1685, p. 402.
[362] [A story perhaps originating in Swinnerton's name.
W. Smith dedicates his "Hector of Germaine; or, The Palsgrave Prince
Elector," 1615, "To the right worshipfull the great Favourer of the
Muses, Syr John Swinnerton, Knight, sometimes Lord Mayor of this
honourable Cittie of London." He adds that the play was expressly
written for citizens.--_Collier._
THE ACTORS' NAMES.
OLD LORD WEALTHY.
YOUNG LORD, _his son_.
MARIA, _his daughter_.
CARRACUS, }
} _two gentlemen, near friends_.
ALBERT, }
LIGHTFOOT, _a country gentleman_.
HADDIT, _a youthful gallant_.
HOG, _an usurer_.
REBECCA, _his daughter_.
PETER SERVITUDE, _his man_.
ATLAS, _a porter_.
_A Priest._
_A Player._
_A Serving-man._
_A Nurse._
PROLOGUE
Our long-time-rumour'd Hog, so often cross'd
By unexpected accidents, and toss'd
From one house to another: still deceiving
Many men's expectations, and bequeathing
To some lost labour: is at length got loose,
Leaving his servile yoke-stick to the goose;
Hath a knight's license, and may range at pleasure,
Spite of all those that envy our Hog's treasure.
And thus much let me tell you, that our swine
Is not, as divers critics did define,
Grunting at state-affairs, or invecting
Much at our city vices; no, nor detecting
The pride or fraud in it; but, were it now
He had his first birth, wit should teach him how
To tax these times' abuses, and tell some
How ill they did in running oft from home;
For to prevent (O men more hard than flint!)
A matter, that shall laugh at them in print.
Once to proceed in this play we were mindless,
Thinking we liv'd 'mongst Jews, that lov'd no swine's flesh:
But now that trouble's past, if it deserve a hiss
(As questionless it will through our amiss),
Let it be favour'd by your gentle sufferance:
Wise men are still indu'd with patience:
We are not half so skill'd as strolling players,
Who could not please here, as at country fairs:
We may be pelted off, for aught we know,
With apples, eggs, or stones, from thence below;
In which we'll crave your friendship, if we may,
And you shall have a dance worth all the play:
And if it prove so happy as to please,
We'll say 'tis fortunate, like Pericles.[363]
[363] _i.e._, The play of that name attributed to Shakespeare.
Perhaps a sneer was designed. To say that a dramatic piece was
_fortunate_, is not to say that it was _deserving;_ and why of all the
pieces supposed to be written by our great author was this
particularised?--_Steevens._
There is good reason to dispute this interpretation of the word
_fortunate_, but Mr Steevens seems to have discovered many sneers at
Shakespeare that were never intended. Mr Malone, quoting the two last
lines from the above prologue, observes: "By _fortunate_ I understand
_highly successful_," and he is warranted in this understanding by the
following passage directly in point, which he might have quoted from
lines prefixed by Richard Woolfall to Lewis Sharpe's "Noble Stranger,"
1640--
"Yet do not feare the danger
Of critick readers, since thy 'Noble Stranger,'
With pleasing strains has smooth'd the rugged fate
Of oft cram'd Theatres, and prov'd _fortunate_."
--_Collier._
Malone, after quoting a passage from "Pymlico or Runne Red-cap," 1609,
disputes the notion that a sneer at "Pericles" was intended by Tailor.
It appears that "Pericles" drew crowds, and that it was as successful
as a play called "Shore." See Malone's Shakespeare, xxi. p. 4, edit.
1821.--_Idem_ (_additional notes to Dodsley_).
THE HOG HATH LOST HIS PEARL.
ACTUS PRIMI, SCENA PRIMA.
_Enter_ LIGHTFOOT, _a country gentleman, passing over the stage, and
knocks at the other door_.
LIGHT. Ho! who's within here?
_Enter_ ATLAS, _a porter_.
ATLAS. Ha' ye any money to pay, you knock with such authority, sir?
LIGHT. What if I have not? may not a man knock without money, sir?
ATLAS. Seldom; women and servants will not put it up so, sir.
LIGHT. How say you by that, sir? but, I prythee, is not this one Atlas's
house, a porter?
ATLAS. I am the rent-payer thereof.
LIGHT. In good time, sir.
ATLAS. Not in good time neither, sir, for I am behind with my landlord a
year and three-quarters at least.
LIGHT. Now, if a man would give but observance to this fellow's prating,
he would weary his ears sooner than a barber. Do y' hear, sir? lies
there not one Haddit, a gentleman, at this house?
ATLAS. Here lies such a gentleman, sir, whose clothes (were they not
greasy) would bespeak him so.
LIGHT. Then I pray, sir, when your leisure shall permit, that you would
vouchsafe to help me to the speech of him.
ATLAS. We must first crave your oath, sir, that you come not with intent
to molest, perturb, or endanger him; for he is a gentleman, whom it hath
pleased fortune to make her tennis-ball of, and therefore subject to be
struck by every fool into hazard.
LIGHT. In that I commend thy care of him, for which friendship here's a
slight reward; tell him a countryman of his, one Lightfoot, is here,
and[364] [he] will not any way despair of his safety.
ATLAS. With all respect, sir; pray, command my house. [_Exit_ ATLAS.
LIGHT. So now I shall have a sight of my cousin gallant: he that hath
consumed £800 a year in as few years as he hath ears on his head: he
that was wont never to be found without three or four pair of red
breeches running before his horse or coach: he that at a meal hath had
more several kinds than, I think, the ark contained: he that was admired
by niters[365] for his robes of gallantry, and was indeed all that an
elder brother might be--prodigal; yet he, whose unthriftiness kept many
a house, is now glad to keep house in a house that keeps him, the poor
tenant of a porter. And see his appearance! I'll seem strange to him.
_Enter_ HADDIT, _in poor array_.
HAD. Cousin Lightfoot, how dost? welcome to the city.
LIGHT. Who calls me cousin? where's my cousin Haddit? he's surely
putting on some rich apparel for me to see him in. I ha' been thinking
all the way I came up, how much his company will credit me.
HAD. My name is Haddit, sir, and your kinsman, if parents may be
trusted; and therefore you may please to know me better when you see me
next.
LIGHT. I prythee, fellow, stay: is it possible thou shouldst be he? why,
he was the generous spark of men's admiration.
HAD. I am that spark, sir, though now raked up in ashes;
Yet when it pleaseth fortune's chaps to blow
Some gentler gale upon me, I may then
From forth of embers rise and shine again.
LIGHT. O, by your versifying I know you now, sir: how dost? I knew thee
not at first, thou'rt very much altered.
HAD. Faith, and so I am, exceeding much since you saw me last--about
£800 a year; but let it pass, for passage[366] carried away the most
part of it: a plague of fortune.
LIGHT. Thou'st more need to pray to Fortune than curse her: she may be
kind to thee when thou art penitent: but that, I fear, will be never.
HAD. O, no, if she be a woman, she'll ever love those that hate her.
But, cousin, thou art thy father's firstborn; help me but to some means,
and I'll redeem my mortgag'd lands, with a wench to boot.
LIGHT. As how, I pray thee?
HAD. Marry thus: Hog the usurer hath one only daughter.
LIGHT. Is his name Hog? It fits him exceeding well; for as a hog in his
lifetime is always devouring, and never commodious in aught till his
death; even so is he, whose goods at that time may be put to many good
uses.
HAD. And so I hope they shall before his death. This daughter of his
did, and I think doth, love me; but I, then thinking myself worthy of an
empress, gave but slight respect unto her favour, for that her parentage
seemed not to equal my high thoughts, puffed up----
LIGHT. With tobacco, surely.
HAD. No; but with as bad a weed--vainglory.
LIGHT. And you could now be content to put your lofty spirits into the
lowest pit of her favour. Why, what means will serve, man? 'Sfoot, if
all I have will repair thy fortune, it shall fly at thy command.
HAD. Thanks, good coz, the means shall not be great, only that I may
first be clad in a generous outside, for that is the chief attraction
that draws female affection. Good parts, without habiliments of
gallantry, are no more set by in these times than a good leg in a
woollen stocking. No, 'tis a glistering presence and audacity brings
women into fool's felicity.
LIGHT. You've a good confidence, coz; but what do ye think your brave
outside shall effect?
HAD. That being had, we'll to the usurer, where you shall offer some
slight piece of land to mortgage, and if you do it to bring ourselves
into cash, it shall be ne'er the farther from you, for here's a project
will not be frustrate of this purpose.
LIGHT. That shall be shortly tried. I'll instantly go seek for a habit
for thee, and that of the richest too; that which shall not be subject
to the scoff of any gallant, though to the accomplishing thereof all my
means go. Alas! what's a man unless he wear good clothes?
[_Exit_ LIGHTFOOT.
HAD. Good speed attend my suit! Here's a never-seen nephew kind in
distress; this gives me more cause of admiration than the loss of
thirty-five settings together at passage. Ay, when 'tis performed--but
words and deeds are now more different than puritans and players.
_Enter_ ATLAS.
ATLAS. Here's the player would speak with you.
HAD. About the jig I promised him. My pen and ink! I prythee, let him
in, there may be some cash rhymed out of him.
_Enter_ PLAYER.
PLAYER. The Muses assist you, sir: what, at your study so early?
HAD. O, chiefly now, sir: for _Aurora Musis amica_.
PLAYER. Indeed, I understand not Latin, sir.
HAD. You must then pardon me, good Master Change-coat; for I protest
unto you, it is so much my often converse that, if there be none but
women in my company, yet cannot I forbear it.
PLAYER. That shows your more learning, sir; but, I pray you, is that
small matter done I entreated for?
HAD. A small matter! you'll find it worth Meg of Westminster,[367]
although it be but a bare jig.
PLAYER. O Lord, sir, I would it had but half the taste of garlic.[368]
HAD. Garlic stinks to this; if it prove that you have not more whores
than e'er garlic had, say I am a boaster of my own works, disgrace me on
the open stage, and bob me off with ne'er a penny.
PLAYER. O Lord, sir, far be it from us to debar any worthy writer of his
merit; but I pray you, sir, what is the title you bestow upon it?
HAD. Marry, that which is full as forcible as garlic: the name of it is,
_Who buys my four ropes of hard onions?_ by which four ropes is meant,
four several kind of livers; by the onions, hangers-on--as at some
convenient time I will more particularly inform you in so rare a hidden
and obscure mystery.
PLAYER. I pray, let me see the beginning of it. I hope you have made no
dark sentence in't; for, I'll assure you, our audience commonly are very
simple, idle-headed[369] people, and if they should hear what they
understand not, they would quite forsake our house.
HAD. O, ne'er fear it; for what I have writ is both witty to the wise,
and pleasing to the ignorant: for you shall have those laugh at it far
more heartily that understand it not, than those that do.
PLAYER. Methinks the end of this stave is a foot too long.
HAD. O no, sing it but in tune, and I dare warrant you.
PLAYER. Why, hear ye. [_He sings._
_And you that delight in trulls and minions,
Come buy my four ropes of hard St Thomas's onions_.[370]
Look ye there, _St Thomas_ might very well have been left out; besides,
_hard_ should have come next the _onions_.
HAD. Fie! no; the dismembering of a rhyme to bring in reason shows the
more efficacy in the writer.
PLAYER. Well, as you please; I pray you, sir, what will the gratuity be?
I would content you as near hand as I could.
HAD. So I believe. [_Aside._] Why, Master Change-coat, I do not suppose
we shall differ many pounds; pray, make your offer: if you give me too
much, I will, most doctor-of-physic-like, restore.
PLAYER. You say well; look you, sir, there's a brace of angels, besides
much drink of free-cost, if it be liked.
HAD. How, Master Change-coat! a brace of angels, besides much drink of
free-cost, if it be liked! I fear you have learned it by heart; if you
have powdered up my plot in your sconce, you may home, sir, and instruct
your poet over a pot of ale the whole method on't. But if you do so
juggle, look to't. Shrove-Tuesday[371] is at hand, and I have some
acquaintance with bricklayers and plasterers.
PLAYER. Nay, I pray, sir, be not angry; for as I am a true
stage-trotter, I mean honestly; and look ye, more for your love than
otherwise, I give you a brace more.
HAD. Well, good words do much; I cannot now be angry with you, but see
henceforward you do like him that would please a new-married wife, show
your most at first, lest some other come between you and your desires;
for I protest, had you not suddenly shown your good-nature, another
should have had it, though it had been for nothing.
PLAYER. Troth, I'm sorry I gave you such cause of impatiency; but you
shall see hereafter, if your invention take, I will not stand off for a
brace more or less, desiring I may see your works before another.
HAD. Nay, before all others; and shortly expect a notable piece of
matter, such a jig whose tune, with the natural whistle of a carman,
shall be more ravishing to the ears of shopkeepers than a whole consort
of barbers at midnight.
PLAYER. I am your man for't; I pray you, command all the kindness
belongs to my function, as a box for your friend at a new play, although
I procure the hate of all my company.
HAD. No, I'll pay for it rather; that may breed a mutiny in your whole
house.
PLAYER. I care not, I ha' played a king's part any time these ten years;
and if I cannot command such a matter, 'twere poor, faith.
HAD. Well, Master Change-coat, you shall now leave me, for I'll to my
study; the morning hours are precious, and my Muse meditates most upon
an empty stomach.
PLAYER. I pray, sir, when this new invention is produced, let me not be
forgotten.
HAD. I'll sooner forget to be a jig-maker. [_Exit_ PLAYER.] So, here's
four angels I little dreamt of. Nay, and there be money to be gotten by
foolery, I hope fortune will not see me want. Atlas, Atlas!
_Enter_ ATLAS.
What, was my country coz here since?
ATLAS. Why, did he promise to come again, seeing how the case stood wi'
ye?
HAD. Yea, and to advance my downfallen fortunes, Atlas.
ATLAS. But ye are not sure he meant it ye, when he spake it.
HAD. No, nor is it in man to conjecture rightly the thought by the
tongue.
ATLAS. Why, then, I'll believe it when I see it. If you had been in
prosperity when he had promised you this kindness----
HAD. I had not needed it.
ATLAS. But being now you do, I fear you must go without it.
HAD. If I do, Atlas, be it so: I'll e'en go write this rhyme over my
bed's head--
_Undone by folly; fortune, lend me more.
Canst thou, and wilt not? pox on such a whore!_
and so I'll set up my rest. But see, Atlas, here's a little of that that
damns lawyers; take it in part of a further recompense.
ATLAS. No, pray keep it; I am conceited of your better fortunes, and
therefore will stay out that expectation.
HAD. Why, if you will, you may; but the surmounting of my fortunes is as
much to be doubted as he whose estate lies in the lottery--desperate.
ATLAS. But ne'er despair. 'Sfoot, why should not you live as well as a
thousand others that wear change of taffata, whose means were never
anything?
HAD. Yes, cheating, theft and panderising, or, maybe, flattery: I have
maintained some of them myself. But come, hast aught to breakfast?
ATLAS. Yes, there's the fag-end of a leg of mutton.
HAD. There cannot be a sweeter dish; it has cost money the dressing.
ATLAS. At the barber's, you mean. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ ALBERT _solus_.
ALB. This is the green, and this the chamber-window:
And see, the appointed light stands in the casement,
The ladder of ropes set orderly; yet he
That should ascend, slow in his haste, is not
As yet come hither.
Were't any friend that lives but Carracus,
I'd try the bliss which this fine time presents.
Appoint to carry hence so rare an heir,
And be so slack! 'sfoot, it doth move my patience.
Would any man, that is not void of sense,
Not have watch'd night by night for such a prize?
Her beauty's so attractive that, by heav'n,
My heart half grants to do my friend a wrong.
Forego these thoughts; for,[372] Albert, be not slave
To thy affection; do not falsify
Thy faith to him, whose only friendship's worth
A world of women. He is such a one,
Thou canst not live without his good:
A' is and was ever as thine own heart's blood.
[MARIA _beckons him in the window_.
'Sfoot, see, she beckons me for Carracus:
Shall my base purity cause me neglect
This present happiness? I will obtain it,
Spite of my timorous conscience. I am in person,
Habit, and all so like to Carracus,
It may be acted, and ne'er call'd in question.
MARIA _calls_. Hist! Carracus, ascend:
All is as clear as in our hearts we wish'd.
ALB. Nay, if I go not now, I might be gelded, i' faith!
[ALBERT _ascends; and, being on the top of the ladder,
puts out the candle_.
MAR. O love, why do you so?
ALB. I heard the steps of some coming this way.
Did you not hear Albert pass by as yet?
MAR. [No;] nor any creature pass this way this hour.
ALB. Then he intends, just at the break of day,
To lend his trusty help to our departure.
'Tis yet two hours' time thither, till when, let's rest.
For that our speedy flight will not yield any.
MAR. But I fear,
We, possessing of each other's presence,
Shall overslip the time. Will your friend call?
ALB. Just at the instant: fear not of his care.
MAR. Come then, dear Carracus, thou now shalt rest
Upon that bed, where fancy oft hath thought thee;
Which kindness until now I ne'er did grant thee,
Nor would I now, but that thy loyal faith
I have so often tried; even now
Seeing thee come to that most honour'd end,
Through all the dangers which black night presents,
For to convey me hence and marry me.
ALB. If I do not do so, then hate me ever.
MAR. I do believe thee, and will hate thee never. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ CARRACUS.
How pleasing are the steps we lovers make,
When in the paths of our content we pace,
To meet our longings! What happiness it is
For man to love! But O, what greater bliss
To love and be belov'd! O, what one virtue
E'er reign'd in me, that I should be enrich'd
With all earth's good at once! I have a friend,
Selected by the heavens as a gift
To make me happy, whilst I live on earth:
A man so rare of goodness, firm of faith,
That earth's content must vanish in his death.
Then for my love and mistress of my soul,
A maid of rich endowments, beautifi'd[373]
With all the virtues nature could bestow
Upon mortality, who this happy night
Will make me gainer of her heav'nly self.
And see, how suddenly I have attain'd
To the abode of my desired wishes!
This is the green; how dark the night appears!
I cannot hear the tread of my true friend.
Albert! hist, Albert!--he's not come as yet,
Nor is th' appointed light set in the window.
What, if I call Maria? it may be
She fear'd to set a light, and only hark'neth
To hear my steps; and yet I dare not call,
Lest I betray myself, and that my voice,
Thinking to enter in the ears of her,
Be of some other heard: no, I will stay,
Until the coming of my dear friend Albert.
But now think, Carracus, what the end will be
Of this thou dost determine: thou art come
Hither to rob a father of that wealth,
That solely lengthens his now drooping years,
His virtuous daughter, and all of that sex left,
To make him happy in his aged days:
The loss of her may cause him to despair,
Transport his near-decaying sense to frenzy,
Or to some such abhorred inconveniency,
Whereto frail age is subject. I do too ill in this,
And must not think, but that a father's plaint
Will move the heavens to pour forth misery
Upon the head of disobediency.
Yet reason tells us, parents are o'erseen,
When with too strict a rein they do hold in
Their child's affections, and control that love,
Which the high pow'rs divine inspire them with,
When in their shallowest judgments they may know,
Affection cross'd brings misery and woe.
But whilst I run contemplating on this,
I softly pace to my desired bliss.
I'll go into the next field, where my friend
Told me the horses were in readiness. [_Exit._
ALBERT _descending from_ MARIA.
MARIA. But do not stay. What, if you find not Albert?
ALB. I'll then return alone to fetch you hence.
MARIA. If you should now deceive me, having gain'd
What you men seek for----
ALB. Sooner I'll deceive
My soul--and so, I fear, I have. [_Aside._
MARIA. At your first call, I will descend.
ALB. Till when this touch of lips be the true pledge
Of Carracus' constant true devoted love.
MARIA. Be sure you stay not long; farewell;
I cannot lend an ear to hear you part. [_Exit_ MARIA.
ALB. But you did lend a hand unto my entrance. [_He descends._
How have I wrong'd my friend, my faithful friend!
Robb'd him of what's more precious than his blood,
His earthly heaven, the unspotted honour
Of his soul-joying mistress! the fruition of whose bed
I yet am warm of; whilst dear Carracus
Wanders this cold night through th' unshelt'ring field,
Seeking me, treacherous man; yet no man neither,
Though in an outward show of such appearance,
But am a devil indeed; for so this deed
Of wronged love and friendship rightly makes me.
I may compare my friend to one that's sick,
Who, lying on his deathbed, calls to him
His dearest-thought friend, and bids him go
To some rare-gifted man, that can restore
His former health: this his friend sadly hears,
And vows with protestations to fulfil
His wish'd desires with his best performance;
But then, no sooner seeing that the death
Of his sick friend would add to him some gain,
Goes not to seek a remedy to save,
But, like a wretch, hies[374] him to dig his grave;
As I have done for virtuous Carracus.
Yet, Albert, be not reasonless, to endanger
What thou may'st yet secure; who can detect
The crime of thy licentious appetite?--
I hear one's pace! 'tis surely Carracus.
_Enter_ CARRACUS.
CAR. Not find my friend! sure, some malignant planet
Rules o'er this night, and, envying the content
Which I in thought possess, debars me thus
From what is more than happy, the lov'd presence
Of a dear friend and love.
ALB. 'Tis wronged Carracus by Albert's baseness:
I have no power now to reveal myself.
CAR. The horses stand at the appointed place,
And night's dark coverture makes firm our safety.
My friend is surely fall'n into a slumber
On some bank hereabouts; I will call him.
Friend Albert, Albert!
ALB. Whate'er you are that call, you know my name.
CAR. Ay, and thy heart, dear friend.
ALB. O Carracus, you are a slow-pac'd lover!
Your credit had been touch'd, had I not been.
CAR. As how, I prythee, Albert?
ALB. Why, I excus'd you to the fair Maria;
Who would have thought you else a slack performer.
For coming first under her chamber-window,
She heard me tread, and call'd upon your name;
To which I answer'd with a tongue like yours,
And told her I would go to seek for Albert,
And straight return.
CAR. Whom I have found; thanks to thy faith and heav'n.
But had not she a light when you came first?
ALB. Yes, but hearing of some company,
She at my warning was forc'd to put it out.
And had I been so too, you and I too
Had still been happy. [_Aside._
CAR. See, we are now come to the chamber-window.
ALB. Then you must call, for so I said I would.
CAR. Maria.
MARIA. My Carracus, are you so soon return'd?
I see you'll keep your promise.
CAR. Who would not do so, having pass'd it thee,
Cannot be fram'd of aught but treachery:
Fairest, descend, that by our hence departing
We may make firm the bliss of our content.
MARIA. Is your friend Albert with you?
ALB. Yes, and your servant, honoured lady.
MARIA. Hold me from falling, Carracus. [_She descends._
CAR. I will do now so, but not at other times.
MARIA. You are merry, sir:
But what d' y' intend with this your scaling-ladder,
To leave it thus, or put it forth of sight?
CAR. Faith, 'tis no great matter which:
Yet we will take it hence, that it may breed
Many confus'd opinions in the house
Of your escape. Here, Albert, you shall bear it;
It may be you may chance to practise that way;
Which when you do, may your attempts so prove,
As mine have done--most fortunate in love.
ALB. May you continue ever so!
But it's time now to make some haste to horse;
Night soon will vanish. O, that it had power
For ever to exclude day from our eyes,
For my looks, then, will show my villany. [_Aside._
CAR. Come, fair Maria, the troubles of this night
Are as forerunners to ensuing pleasures.
And, noble friend, although now Carracus
Seems, in the gaining of this beauteous prize,
To keep from you so much of his lov'd treasure,
Which ought not to be mixed; yet this heart
Shall so far strive in your wish'd happiness,
That if the loss and ruin of itself
Can but avail your good----
ALB. O friend! no more; come, you are slow in haste;
Friendship ought never be discuss'd in words,
Till all her deeds be finish'd. Who, looking in a book,
And reads but some part only, cannot judge
What praise the whole deserves, because his knowledge
Is grounded but on part. As thine, friend, is
Ignorant of that black mischief I have done thee. [_Aside._
MAR. Carracus, I am weary; are the horses far?
CAR. No, fairest, we are now even at them:
Come, do you follow, Albert?
ALB. Yes, I do follow; would I had done so ever,
And ne'er had gone before. [_Aside. Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[364] The pronoun _he_ seems wanting here, but the old 4º omits
it.--_Collier._
[365] If this be not a corrupted, it must be an affected, word, coined
from the Latin word _niteo_, to shine or be splendid. He was admired
by those who _shone_ most in the article of dress.--_Steevens._
So in Marston's "Satires," printed with "Pygmalion," 1598--
"O dapper, rare, compleat, sweet _nittie_ youth!
Jesu Maria! how his clothes appeare
Crost and re-crost with lace," &c.
_Niters_, however, may be a corruption of _niflers_. Chaucer uses
_nifles_ for _trifles_. See "Sompnour's Tale," Tyrwhitt's edit. v.
7342--
"He served him with _nifles_ and with fables."
[_Knights_ would be a bold emendation, and perhaps not very
successful.]
[366] "Passage is a game at dice to be played at but by two, and it is
performed with three dice. The caster throws continually till he hath
thrown dubblets under ten, and then he is out and loseth; or dubblets
above ten, and then he _passeth_ and wins."--_Compleat Gamester_,
1680, p. 119.
[367] A play called "Long Meg of Westminster," according to Henslowe,
was performed at Newington by the Lord Admiral's and Lord
Chamberlain's men, the 14th February 1594; and a ballad on the same
subject was entered on the Stationers' books in the same year. Meg of
Westminster is mentioned in "The Roaring Girl."--_Gilchrist._
The play of "Long Meg" is mentioned in Field's "Amends for Ladies,"
1618, with another called "The Ship," as being played at the Fortune
theatre. Feesimple says, "Faith, I have a great mind to see 'Long Meg'
and 'The Ship' at the Fortune," which would seem to show in opposition
to Mr Malone's opinion (see Malone's Shakespeare by Boswell, iii.
304), that more than one piece was played on the same occasion. Long
Meg of Westminster's "pranks" were detailed in a tract published in
[1582], and reprinted in the "Miscellanea Antiqua Anglicana." The
introduction contains some further notices of this conspicuous
damsel.--_Collier._
[368] Perhaps this was the title of some play or ballad that was very
successful, though it is not easy to explain the allusion. Dekker, in
his "If it be not good, the Devil is in it," seems to refer to the
same piece to nearly the same purpose. Scumbroth observes, "No, no, if
fortune favoured me, I should be full; but fortune favours nobody but
garlick, nor garlick neither now, yet she hath strong reason to love
it; for though garlick made her smell abominably in the nostrils of
the gallants, yet she had smelt and stunk worse but for garlick." It
may be, that such a play was produced at the Fortune theatre, and met
with general approbation.
This conjecture is supported by the following passage from "The
World's Folly; or, A Warning-Peece Discharged upon the Wickedness
thereof," by I.H., 1615: "I will not particularize those _blitea
dramata_, (as Laberius tearmes another sort), those _Fortune_-fatted
fooles and Times Ideots, whose garbe is the Tootheache of witte, the
Plague-sore of Judgement, the Common-sewer of Obscoenities, and the
very Traine-powder that dischargeth the roaring _Meg_ (not _Mol_) of
all scurrile villainies upon the Cities face; who are faine to produce
blinde * _Impudence_ ['Garlicke' inserted in the margin, against the
asterisk] to personate himselfe upon their stage, behung with chaynes
of garlicke, as an antidote against their owne infectious breaths,
lest it should kill their Oyster-crying Audience."--_Collier._
[369] [So in old copy, but query, _addle-headed_.]
[370] This was one of the cries of London at the time: "_Buy my rope
of onions--white Sir Thomas's onions_." It was also liable to the
hypercriticism of the player. What St Thomas had to do with onions
does not appear; but the saint here meant was perhaps St Thomas of
Trunnions--
"Nay, softe, my maisters, by _Saincte Thomas of Trunions_,
I am not disposed to buy of your _onions_."
--"Apius and Virginia," 1575, sig. E 2. These lines are spoken by
Haphazard, the Vice, and are used as if the expression were
proverbial.
[371] Shrove-Tuesday was a holiday for apprentices and working people,
as appears by several contemporary writers. So in Dekker's "Seven
Deadly Sinnes of London," 1606, p. 35: "They presently (like prentises
upon _Shrove-Tuesday_) take the lawe into their owne handes, and doe
what they list."
[372] The omission of the preposition by Mr Reed spoiled the metre of
the line.--_Collier._
[373] So in "Hamlet," act ii. sc. 2: "To the celestial, and my soul's
idol, the most _beautified_ Ophelia." See the notes of Mr Theobald, Dr
Johnson, and Mr Steevens, thereon. [See also Dyce's "Shakespeare
Glossary," 1868, _in voce_.]
[374] [Old copy, _hides_.]
ACTUS SECUNDUS.
_Enter_ HOG _the usurer; with_ PETER SERVITUDE, _trussing his points_.
HOG. What, hath not my young Lord Wealthy been here this morning?
P. SER. No, in very deed, sir; he is a towardly young gentleman; shall
he have my young mistress, your daughter, I pray you, sir?
HOG. Ay, that he shall, Peter; she cannot be matched to greater honour
and riches in all this country: yet the peevish girl makes coy of it,
she had rather affect a prodigal; as there was Haddit, one that by this
time cannot be otherwise than hanged, or in some worse estate; yet she
would have had him: but I praise my stars she went without him, though I
did not without his lands. 'Twas a rare mortgage, Peter.
P. SER. As e'er came in parchment: but see, here comes my young lord.
_Enter_ YOUNG LORD WEALTHY.
Y. LORD W. Morrow, father Hog; I come to tell you strange news; my
sister is stol'n away to-night, 'tis thought by necromancy. What
necromancy is, I leave to the readers of the "Seven Champions of
Christendom."[375]
HOG. But is it possible your sister should be stolen? sure, some of the
household servants were confederates in't.
Y. LORD W. Faith, I think they would have confessed, then; for I am sure
my lord and father hath put them all to the bastinado twice this morning
already: not a waiting-woman, but has been stowed, i' faith.
P. SER. Trust me, he says well for the most part.
HOG. Then, my lord, your father is far impatient.
Y. LORD W. Impatient! I ha' seen the picture of Hector[376] in a
haberdasher's shop not look half so furious; he appears more terrible
than wildfire at a play. But, father Hog, when is the time your daughter
and I shall to this wedlock-drudgery?
HOG. Troth, my lord, when you please; she's at your disposure, and I
rest much thankful that your lordship will so highly honour me. She
shall have a good portion, my lord, though nothing in respect of your
large revenues. Call her in, Peter; tell her my most respected Lord
Wealthy is here, to whose presence I will now commit her [_Exit_ PETER];
and I pray you, my lord, prosecute the gain of her affection with the
best affecting words you may, and so I bid good morrow to your lordship.
[_Exit_ HOG.
Y. LORD W. Morrow,[377] father Hog. To prosecute the gain of her
affection with the best affecting words; as I am a lord, a most rare
phrase! well, I perceive age is not altogether ignorant, though many an
old justice is so.
_Enter_ PETER SERVITUDE.
How now, Peter, is thy young mistress up yet?
P. SER. Yes, indeed, she's an early stirrer; and I doubt not hereafter
but that your lordship may say, she's abroad before you can rise.
Y. LORD W. Faith, and so she may, for 'tis long ere I can get up, when I
go foxed to bed. But, Peter, has she no other suitors besides myself?
P. SER. No, and it like your lordship; nor is it fit she should.
Y. LORD W. Not fit she should? I tell thee, Peter, I would give away as
much as some knights are worth, and that's not much, only to wipe the
noses of some dozen or two of gallants, and to see how pitifully those
parcels of men's flesh would look, when I had caught the bird which they
had beaten the bush for.
P. SER. Indeed, your lordship's conquest would have seemed the greater.
Y. LORD W. Foot, as I am a lord, it angers me to the guts, that nobody
hath been about her.
P. SER. For anything I know, your lordship may go without her.
Y. LORD W. An' I could have enjoyed her to some pale-faced lover's
distraction, or been envied for my happiness, it had been somewhat.
_Enter_ REBECCA, HOG'S _daughter_.
But see where she comes! I knew she had not power enough to stay another
sending for. O lords! what are we? our names enforce beauty to fly,
being sent for. [_Aside._] Morrow, pretty Beck: how dost?
REB. I rather should enquire your lordship's health, seeing you up at
such an early hour. Was it the toothache, or else fleas disturbed you?
Y. LORD W. Do you think I am subject to such common infirmities? Nay,
were I diseased, I'd scorn but to be diseased like a lord, i' faith. But
I can tell you news, your fellow virgin-hole player,[378] my sister, is
stolen away to-night.
REB. In truth. I am glad on't; she is now free from the jealous eye of a
father. Do not ye suspect, my lord, who it should be that has carried
her away?
Y. LORD W. No, nor care not; as she brews, so let her bake; so said the
ancient proverb. But, lady, mine that shall be, your father hath
wished[379] me to appoint the day with you.
REB. What day, my lord?
Y. LORD W. Why, of marriage; or as the learned historiographer[380]
writes, Hymen's holidays, or nuptial ceremonious rites.
REB. Why, when would you appoint that, my lord?
Y. LORD W. Why, let me see, I think the tailor may despatch all our
vestures in a week: therefore, it shall be directly this day se'ennight.
P. SER. God give you joy!
REB. Of what, I pray, you impudence? This fellow will go near to take
his oath that he hath seen us plight faiths together; my father keeps
him for no other cause than to outswear the truth. My lord, not to hold
you any longer in a fool's paradise, nor to blind you with the hopes I
never intend to accomplish, know, I neither do, can, or will love you.
Y. LORD W. How! not love a lord? O indiscreet young woman! Indeed, your
father told me how unripe I should find you: but all's one, unripe fruit
will ask more shaking before they fall than those that are; and my
conquest will seem the greater still. [_Aside._]
P. SER. Afore God, he is a most unanswerable lord, and holds her to't,
i' faith.
Y. LORD W. Nay, you could not have pleased me better, than seeing you so
invincible, and of such difficult attaining to. I would not give a pin
for the society of a female that should seem willing; but give me a
wench that hath disdainful looks;
For 'tis denial whets an appetite,
When proffer'd service doth allay delight.
REB. The fool's well-read in vice. [_Aside._] My lord, I hope you
hereafter will no farther insinuate in the course of your affections;
and, for the better withdrawing from them, you may please to know, I
have irrevocably decreed never to marry.
Y. LORD W. Never to marry! Peter, I pray bear witness of her words that,
when I have attained her, it may add to my fame and conquest.
REB. Yes, indeed, an't like your lordship.
Y. LORD W. Nay, ye must think, Beck, I know how to woo; ye shall find no
bashful university-man of me.
REB. Indeed, I think y' had ne'er that bringing up. Did you ever study,
my lord?
Y. LORD W. Yes, faith, that I have, and, the last week too, three days
and a night together.
REB. About what, I pray?
Y. LORD W. Only to find out why a woman, going on the right side of her
husband in the daytime, should lie on his left side at night; and, as I
am a lord, I never knew the meaning on't till yesterday. Malapert, my
father's butler, being a witty jackanapes, told me why it was.
REB. By'r Lady, my lord, 'twas a shrewd study, and I fear hath altered
the property of your good parts; for, I'll assure you, I loved you a
fortnight ago far better.
Y. LORD W. Nay, 'tis all one, whether you do or no: 'tis but a little
more trouble to bring ye about again; and no question, but a man may
do't, I am he. 'Tis true, as your father said, the black ox hath not
trod upon that foot of yours.
REB. No, but the white calf hath; and so I leave your lordship.
[_Exit_ REBECCA.
Y. LORD W. Well, go thy ways, th' art as witty a marmalade-eater as ever
I conversed with. Now, as I am a lord, I love her better and better;
I'll home and poetise upon her good parts presently. Peter, here's a
preparative to my farther applications; and, Peter, be circumspect in
giving me diligent notice what suitors seem to be peeping.
P. SER. I'll warrant you, my lord, she's your own; for I'll give out to
all that come near her that she is betrothed to you; and if the worst
come to the worst, I'll swear it.
Y. LORD W. Why, godamercy;
And if ever I do gain my request,
Thou shalt in braver clothes be shortly dress'd. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ OLD LORD WEALTHY, _solus_.
Have the fates then conspir'd, and quite bereft
My drooping years of all the bless'd content
That age partakes of, by the sweet aspect
Of their well-nurtur'd issue; whose obedience,
Discreet and duteous 'haviour, only lengthens
The thread of age; when on the contrary,
By rude demeanour and their headstrong wills,
That thread's soon ravell'd out. O, why, Maria,
Couldst thou abandon me now at this time,
When my grey head's declining to the grave?
Could any masculine flatterer on earth
So far bewitch thee to forget thyself,
As now to leave me? did nature solely give thee me,
As my chief, inestimable treasure,
Whereby my age might pass in quiet to rest;
And art thou prov'd to be the only curse,
Which heav'n could throw upon mortality?
Yet I'll not curse thee, though I fear the fates
Will on thy head inflict some punishment,
Which I will daily pray they may withhold.
Although thy disobediency deserves
Extremest rigour, yet I wish to thee
Content in love, full of tranquillity.
_Enter_ YOUNG LORD WEALTHY.
But see where stands my shame, whose indiscretion
Doth seem to bury all the living honours
Of all our ancestors; but 'tis the fates' decree,
That men might know their weak mortality.
Y. LORD W. Sir, I cannot find my sister.
O. LORD W. I know thou canst not: 'twere too rare to see
Wisdom found out by ignorance.
Y. LORD W. How, father! is it not possible that wisdom should be found
out by ignorance? I pray, then, how do many magnificoes come by it?
O. LORD W. They buy it, son, as you had need to do.
Yet wealth without that may live more content
Than wit's enjoyers can, debarr'd of wealth.
All pray for wealth, but I never heard yet
Of any but one that e'er pray'd for wit.
He's counted wise enough in these vain times,
That hath but means enough to wear gay clothes,
And be an outside of humanity. What matters it a pin,
How indiscreet soe'er a natural be,
So that his wealth be great? that's it doth cause
Wisdom in these days to give fools applause.
And when gay folly speaks, how vain soe'er,
Wisdom must silent sit, and speech forbear.
Y. LORD W. Then wisdom must sit as mute as learning among many
courtiers. But, father, I partly suspect that Carracus hath got my
sister.
O. LORD W. With child, I fear, ere this.
Y. LORD W. By'r Lady, and that may be true. But, whether he has or no,
it's all one: if you please, I'll take her from under his nose, in spite
on's teeth, and ask him no leave.
O. LORD W. That were too headstrong, son;
We'll rather leave them to the will of heaven,
To fall or prosper; and though young Carracus
Be but a gentleman of small revenues,
Yet he deserves my daughter for his virtues:
And, had I thought she could not be withdrawn
From th' affecting of him, I had, ere this,
Made them both happy by my free consent;
Which now I wish I had granted, and still pray,
If any have her, it may be Carracus.
Y. LORD W. Troth, and I wish so too; for, in my mind, he's a gentleman
of a good house, and speaks true Latin.
O. LORD W. To-morrow, son, you shall ride to his house,
And there inquire of your sister's being.
But, as you tender me and your own good,
Use no rough language savouring of distaste,
Or any uncivil terms.
Y. LORD W. Why, do you take me for a midwife?
O. LORD W. But tell young Carracus these words from me,
That if he hath, with safeguard of her honour,
Espons'd my daughter, that I then forgive
His rash offence, and will accept of him
In all the fatherly love I owe a child.
Y. LORD W. I am sure my sister will be glad to hear it, and I cannot
blame her; for she'll then enjoy that with quietness which many a wench
in these days does scratch for.
O. LORD W. Come, son, I'll write
To Carracus, that my own hand may witness,
How much I stand affected to his worth. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ HADDIT, _in his gay apparel, making him ready, and with him_
LIGHTFOOT.
HAD. By this light, coz, this suit does rarely! The tailor that made it
may hap to be saved, an't be but for his good works: I think I shall be
proud of 'em, and so I was never yet of any clothes.
LIGHT. How! not of your clothes? why then you were never proud of
anything, for therein chiefly consisteth pride; for you never saw pride
pictured but in gay attire.
HAD. True; but, in my opinion, pride might as well be portrayed in any
other shape, as to seem to be an affecter of gallantry, being the causes
thereof are so several and divers. As, some are proud of their strength,
although that pride cost them the loss of a limb or two by over-daring;
likewise, some are proud of their humour, although in that humour they
be often knocked for being so; some are proud of their drink, although
that liquid operation cause them to wear a nightcap three weeks after;
some are proud of their good parts, although they never put them to
better uses than the enjoying of a common strumpet's company, and are
only made proud by the favour of a waiting-woman; others are proud----
LIGHT. Nay, I prythee, coz, enough of pride; but when do you intend to
go yonder to Covetousness the usurer, that we may see how near your plot
will take for the releasing of your mortgaged lands?
HAD. Why, now presently; and, if I do not accomplish my projects to a
wished end, I wish my fortunes may be like some scraping tradesman, that
never embraceth true pleasure till he be threescore and ten.
LIGHT. But say Hog's daughter, on whom all your hopes depend, by this be
betrothed to some other.
HAD. Why, say she were; nay more, married to another, I would be ne'er
the farther from effecting my intents. No, coz, I partly know her inward
disposition; and, did I but only know her to be womankind, I think it
were sufficient.
LIGHT. Sufficient for what?
HAD. Why, to obtain a grant of the best thing she had, chastity. Man,
'tis not here as 'tis with you in the country, not to be had without
father's and mother's goodwill; no, the city is a place of more
traffic, where each one learns by example of their elders to make the
most of their own, either for profit or pleasure.
LIGHT. 'Tis but your misbelieving thoughts make you surmise so: if women
were so kind, how haps you had not by their favours kept yourself out of
the claws of poverty?
HAD. O, but, coz, can a ship sail without water? had I had but such a
suit as this to set myself afloat, I would not have feared sinking. But
come, no more of need; now to the usurer: and though
All hopes do fail, a man can want no living,
So long as sweet desire reigns in women.
LIGHT. But then yourself must able be in giving. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ ALBERT, _solus_.
Conscience, thou horror unto wicked men,
When wilt thou cease thy all-afflicting wrath,[381]
And set my soul free from the labyrinth
Of thy tormenting terror? O, but it fits not!
Should I desire redress, or wish for comfort,
That have committed an act so inhumane,
Able to fill shame's spacious chronicle?
Who but a damn'd one could have done like me?
Robb'd my dear friend, in a short moment's time,
Of his love's high-priz'd gem of chastity:
That which so many years himself hath stay'd for?
How often hath he, as he lay in bed,
Sweetly discours'd to me of his Maria?
And with what pleasing passions did he suffer
Love's gentle war-siege? Then he would relate,
How he first came unto her fair eyes' view;
How long it was ere she could brook affection;
And then how constant she did still abide.
I then, at this, would joy, as if my breast
Had sympathis'd in equal happiness
With my true friend: but now, when joy should be,
Who but a damn'd one would have done like me?
He hath been married now, at least, a month;
In all which time I have not once beheld him.
This is his house--
I'll call to know his health, but will not see him,
My looks would then betray me; for, should he ask
My cause of seeming sadness or the like,
I could not but reveal, and so pour'd on
Worse unto ill, which breeds confusion. [_He knocks._
_Enter_ SERVINGMAN.
SER. To what intent d'ye knock, sir?
ALB. Because I would be heard, sir: is the master of this house within?
SER. Yes, marry is he, sir: would you speak with him?
ALB. My business is not so troublesome:
Is he in health, with his late espoused wife?
SER. Both are exceeding well, sir.
ALB. I'm truly glad on't: farewell, good friend.
SER. I pray you, let's crave your name, sir; I may else have anger.
ALB. You may say one Albert, riding by this way, only inquired their
health.
SER. I will acquaint so much. [_Exit_ SERVINGMAN.
ALB. How like a poisonous doctor have I come,
To inquire their welfare, knowing that myself
Have given the potion[382] of their ne'er recovery;
For which I will afflict myself with torture ever.
And, since the earth yields not a remedy
Able to salve the sores my lust hath made,
I'll now take farewell of society
And th' abode of men, to entertain a life
Fitting my fellowship in desert woods,
Where beasts like me consort; there may I live
Far off from wronging virtuous Carracus.
There's no Maria that shall satisfy
My hateful lust: the trees shall shelter
This wretched trunk of mine, upon whose barks
I will engrave the story of my sin.
And there this short breath of mortality
I'll finish up in that repentant state,
Where not th' allurements of earth's vanities
Can e'er o'ertake me: there's no baits for lust,
No friend to ruin; I shall then be free
From practising the art of treachery:
Thither then, steps, where such content abides,
Where penitency, not disturb'd, may grieve,
Where on each tree and springing plant I'll carve
This heavy motto of my misery,
_Who but a damn'd one could have done like me?_
Carracus, farewell, if e'er thou see'st me more,
Shalt find me curing of a soul-sick sore. [_Exit._
FOOTNOTES:
[375] A very popular book, which is still reprinted.
[376] Hector is one of the Seven Worthies. He appears as such in
"Love's Labour's Lost." Nothing was once more common than the
portraits of these heroes; and therefore they might have found their
way occasionally into shops which we know to have been anciently
decorated with pictures for the amusement of some customers whilst
others were served. Of the Seven Worthies, the Ten Sibyls, and the
Twelve Cæsars, I have seen many complete sets in old halls and on old
staircases.--_Steevens._
[377] The 4º reads _Moreover_. The alteration was made by Mr
Reed.--_Collier._
[378] A designed play on the word _virginal_, a spinnet.--_Steevens._
[379] Desired or recommended.
[380] This was Samuel Daniel, who was an historian as well as a poet.
The work above alluded to is probably "Hymen's Triumph," a pastoral
tragi-comedy, acted at the Queen's Court in the Strand, at the
nuptials of Lord Roxburgh.
[381] The 4º has it _all-afflicted wrath_.--_Collier._
[382] The old copy has it _portion_, which is most likely
wrong.--_Collier._
ACTUS TERTIUS.
_Enter_ CARRACUS, _driving his man before him_.
CAR. Why, thou base villain! was my dearest
Friend here, and couldst not make him stay?
SER. 'Sfoot, sir, I could not force him 'gainst his will:
An' he had been a woman----
CAR. Hence, thou untutor'd slave! [_Exit_ SERVANT.
But couldst thou, Albert, come so near my door,
And not vouchsafe the comfort of thy presence?
Hath my good fortune caus'd thee to repine?
And, seeing my state so full replete with good,
Canst thou withdraw thy love to lessen it?
What could so move thee? was't because I married?
Didst thou imagine I infring'd my faith,
For that a woman did participate
In equal share with thee? cannot my friendship
Be firm to thee because 'tis dear to her?
Yet no more dear to her than firm to thee.
Believe me, Albert, thou dost little think
How much thy absence gives cause of discontent.
But I'll impute it only to neglect:
It is neglect indeed when friends neglect
The sight of friends, and say 'tis troublesome:
Only ask how they do, and so farewell,
Showing an outward kind of seeming duty,
Which in the rules of manhood is observ'd,
And think full well they have perform'd their task,
When of their friend's health they do only ask;
Not caring how they are, or how distress'd--
It is enough they have their loves express'd
In bare inquiry; and, in these times, too,
Friendship's so cold, that few so much will do.
And am not I beholden then to Albert?
He, after knowledge of our being well,
Said he was truly glad on't: O rare friend!
If he be unkind, how many more may mend?
But whither am I carried by unkindness?
Why should not I as well set light by friendship,
Since I have seen a man, whom I late thought
Had been compos'd of nothing but of faith,
Prove so regardless of his friend's content?
_Enter_ MARIA.
MARIA. Come, Carracus, I have sought you all about:
Your servant told me you were much disquieted
Prythee, love, be not so; come, [come,] walk in;
I'll charm thee with my lute from forth disturbance.
CAR. I am not angry, sweet; though, if I were,
Thy bright aspect would soon allay my rage.
But, my Maria, it doth something move me
That our friend Albert so forgets himself.
MARIA. It may be, 'tis nothing else; and there's no doubt
He'll soon remember his accustom'd friendship.
He thinks as yet, peradventure, that his presence
Will but offend, for that our marriage rites
Are but so newly pass'd.
CAR. I will surmise so too, and only think
Some serious business hinders Albert's presence.
But what ring's that, Maria, on your finger?
MARIA. 'Tis one you lost, love, when I did bestow
A jewel of far greater worth on you.
CAR. At what time, fairest?
MARIA. As if you knew not! why d'ye make't so strange?
CAR. You are dispos'd to riddle; pray, let's see't.
I partly know it: where was't you found it?
MARIA. Why, in my chamber, that most gladsome night,
When you enrich'd your love by my escape.
CAR. How! in your chamber?
MARIA. Sure, Carracus, I will be angry with you,
If you seem so forgetful. I took it up,
Then when you left my lodge, and went away,
Glad of your conquest, for to seek your friend,
Why stand you so amaz'd, sir? I hope that kindness,
Which then you reap'd, doth not prevail
So in your thoughts, as that you think me light.
CAR. O, think thyself, Maria, what thou art!
This is the ring of Albert, treacherous man!
He that enjoy'd thy virgin chastity.
I never did ascend into thy chamber.
But all that cold night, through the frozen field,
Went seeking of that wretch, who ne'er sought me;
But found what his lust sought for, dearest thee.
MARIA. I have heard enough, my Carracus, to bereave
Me of this little breath. [_She swoons._
CAR. All breath be first
Extinguished. Within there, ho!
_Enter_ NURSE _and_ SERVANTS.
O nurse! see here, Maria says she'll die.
NURSE. Marry, God forbid! O mistress, mistress, mistress! she has breath
yet; she's but in a trance: good sir, take comfort, she'll recover by
and by.
CAR. No, no, she'll die, nurse, for she said she would, an' she had not
said so, 't had been another matter; but you know, nurse, she ne'er told
a lie: I will believe her, for she speaks all truth.
NURSE. His memory begin's to fail him. Come, let's bear
This heavy spectacle from forth his presence;
The heavens will lend a hand, I hope, of comfort. [_Exeunt._
CARRACUS _manet_.