A COMEDY.

* * * * *

Persons Represented in the Play.

Valentine, _a Gallant that will not be perswaded to keep his Estate_.

Francisco, _his younger Brother_.

_Master_ Lovegood _their Uncle_.

_A_ Merchant, _Friend to Master_ Lovegood.

Fountain, }

Bellamore,} _companions of_ Valentine, _and Sutors to the_ Widow.

Hairbrain,}

Lance, _a Falkner, and an ancient servant to_ Valentines _Father_.

Shorthose, _the Clown, and servant to the_ Widow.

Roger, Ralph, _and_ Humphrey, _three servants to the_ Widow.

_Three Servants_.

_Musicians_.

Lady Hartwel, a _Widow_.

Isabel, _her Sister_.

Luce, _a waiting Gentlewoman to the Widow_.

* * * * *

_Actus primus. Scena prima._

* * * * *

_Enter_ Uncle _and_ Merchant.

_Merc._ When saw you _Valentine_?

_Uncle._ Not since the Horse-race, he's taken up with those that

woo the Widow.

_Mer._ How can he live by snatches from such people? he bore a

worthy mind.

_Uncle._ Alas, he's sunk, his means are gone, he wants, and which

is worse,

Takes a delight in doing so.

_Mer._ That's strange.

_Unc._ Runs Lunatick, if you but talk of states, he cannot be

brought (now he has spent his own) to think there's inheritance, or

means, but all a common riches, all men bound to be his Bailiffs.

_Mer._ This is something dangerous.

_Uncle._ No Gentleman that has estate to use it in keeping house,

or followers, for those wayes he cries against, for Eating sins, dull

Surfeits, cramming of Serving-men, mustering of Beggars, maintaining

Hospitals for Kites, and Curs, grounding their fat faiths upon old

Country proverbs, God bless the Founders; these he would have ventured

into more manly uses, Wit, and carriage, and never thinks of state, or

means, the ground-works: holding it monstrous, men should feed their

bodies, and starve their understandings.

_Mer._ That's most certain.

_Uncle._ Yes, if he could stay there.

_Mer._ Why let him marry, and that way rise again.

_Uncle._ It's most impossible, he will not look with any

handsomeness upon a Woman.

_Mer._ Is he so strange to Women?

_Uncle._ I know not what it is, a foolish glory he has got, I know

not where, to balk those benefits, and yet he will converse and flatter

'em, make 'em, or fair, or foul, rugged, or smooth, as his impression

serves, for he affirms, they are only lumps, and undigested pieces,

lickt over to a form by our affections, and then they show. The Lovers

let 'em pass.

_Enter_ Fountain, Bellamore, Hairbrain.

_Mer._ He might be one, he carries as much promise; they are

wondrous merry.

_Uncle._ O their hopes are high, Sir.

_Fount._ Is _Valentine_ come to Town?

_Bella._ Last night, I heard.

_Fount._ We miss him monstrously in our directions, for this Widow

is as stately, and as crafty, and stands I warrant you--

_Hair._ Let her stand sure, she falls before us else, come let's go

seek _Valentine_.

_Mer._ This Widow seems a Gallant.

_Uncle._ A goodly Woman, and to her handsomness she bears her

state, reserved, and great Fortune has made her Mistress of a full

means, and well she knows to use it.

_M[e]r._ I would _Valentine_ had her.

_Uncle._ There's no hope of that, Sir.

_Mer._ O' that condition, he had his Mortgage in again.

_Uncle._ I would he had.

_Mer._ Seek means, and see what I'le do, however let the Money be

paid in, I never sought a Gentlemans undoing, nor eat the bread of other

mens vexations, you told me of another Brother.

_Uncle._ Yes Sir, more miserable than he, for he has eat him, and

drunk him up, a handsome Gentleman, and fine Scholar.

_Enter three_ Tenants.

_Mer._ What are these?

_Unc._ The Tenants, they'll do what they can.

_Mer._ It is well prepared, be earnest, honest friends, and loud

upon him, he is deaf to his own good.

_Lance._ We mean to tell him part of our minds an't please you.

_Mer._ Do, and do it home, and in what my care may help, or my

perswasions when we meet next.

_Unc._ Do but perswade him fairly; and for your money, mine, and

these mens thanks too, and what we can be able.

_Mer._ Y'are most honest, you shall find me no less, and so I leave

you, prosper your business my friends. [_Ex._ Mer.

_Unc._ Pray Heaven it may, Sir.

_Lance._ Nay if he will be mad, I'le be mad with him, and tell him

that I'le not spare him, his Father kept good Meat, good Drink, good

Fellows, good Hawks, good Hounds, and bid his Neighbours welcome; kept

him too, and supplied his prodigality, yet kept his state still; must

we turn Tenants now, after we have lived under the race of Gentry, and

maintained good Yeomantry, to some of the City, to a great shoulder of

Mutton and a Custard, and have our state turned into Cabbidge Gardens,

must it be so?

_Unc._ You must be milder to him.

_Lance._ That's as he makes his game.

_Unc._ Intreat him lovingly, and make him feel.

_Lance._ I'le pinch him to the bones else.

[_Valen._ _Within_.] And tell the Gentleman, I'le be with him

presently, say I want money too, I must not fail boy.

_Lance._ You'l want Cloaths, I hope.

_Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Bid the young Courtier repair to me anon, I'le read to him.

_Unc._ He comes, [b]e diligent, but not too rugged, start him, but

affright him not.

_Val._ Phew, are you there?

_Unc._ We come to see you Nephew, be not angry.

_Val._ Why do you dog me thus, with these strange people? why, all

the world shall never make me rich more, nor master of these troubles.

_Tenants._ We beseech you for our poor Childrens sake.

_Val._ Who bid you get 'em? have you not threshing work enough, but

Children must be bang'd out o'th' sheaf too? other men with all their

delicates, and healthful diets, can get but wind eggs: you with a clove

of Garlick, a piece of Cheese would break a Saw, and sowre Milk, can

mount like Stallions, and I must maintain these tumblers.

_Lance._ You ought to maintain us, we have maintained you, and when

you slept provided for you; who bought the Silk you wear? I think our

labours; reckon, you'll find it so: who found your Horses perpetual

pots of Ale, maintain'd your Taverns, and who extol'd you in the

Half-crown-boxes, where you might sit and muster all the Beauties?

we had no hand in these; no, we are all puppies? Your Tenants base

vexations.

_Val._ Very well, Sir.

_Lance._ Had you Land, Sir, and honest men to serve your purposes,

honest and faithful, and will you run away from 'em, betray your self,

and your poor Tribe to misery; mortgage all us, like old Cloaks; where

will you hunt next? you had a thousand Acres, fair and open: The

Kings-Bench is enclos'd, there's no good riding, the Counter is full

of thorns and brakes, take heed Sir, and boggs, you'l quickly find what

broth they're made of.

_Val._ Y'are short and pithy.

_Lance._ They say y'are a fine Gentleman, and of excellent

judgement, they report you have a wit; keep your self out o'th' Rain,

and take your Cloak with you, which by interpretation is your State,

Sir, or I shall think your fame belied you, you have money, and may

have means.

_Val._ I prethee leave prating, does my good lye within thy brain

to further, or my undoing in thy pity? go, go, get you home, there

whistle to your Horses, and let them edifie; away, sow Hemp to hang your

selves withal: what am I to you, or you to me; am I your Landlord,

puppies?

_Unc._ This is uncivil.

_Val._ More unmerciful you, to vex me with these Bacon

Broth and Puddings, they are the walking shapes of all my

sorrows.

_3 Tenants._ Your Fathers Worship would have used us better.

_Val._ My Fathers Worship was a Fool.

_Lance._ Hey, hey boys, old _Valentine_ i'faith, the old boy still.

_Unc._ Fie Cousin.

_Val._ I mean besotted to his state, he had never left me the

misery of so much means else, which till I sold, was a meer meagrim to

me: If you will talk, turn out these Tenants, they are as killing to my

nature Uncle, as water to a Feaver.

_Lance._ We will go, but it is like Rams, to come again the

stronger, and you shall keep your state.

_Val._ Thou lyest, I will not.

_Lance._ Sweet Sir, thou lyest, thou shalt, and so good morrow.

[_Exeunt_ Tenants.

_Val._ This was my man, and of a noble breeding: now to your

business Uncle.

_Unc._ To your state then.

_Val._ 'Tis gone, and I am glad on't, name it no more, 'tis that

I pray against, and Heaven has heard me, I tell you, Sir, I am more

fearful of it, I mean, of thinking of more lands, or livings, than

sickly men are travelling o' Sundays, for being quell'd with Carriers;

out upon't, _caveat emptor_, let the fool out-sweat it, that thinks

he has got a catch on't.

_Unc._ This is madness to be a wilful begger.

_Val._ I am mad then, and so I mean to be, will that content you?

How bravely now I live, how jocund, how near the first inheritance,

without fears, how free from title-troubles!

_Unc._ And from means too.

_Val._ Means? why all good men's my means; my wit's my Plow, the

Town's my stock, Tavern's my standing-house, and all the world knows

there's no want; all Gentlemen that love Society, love me; all Purses

that wit and pleasure opens, are my Tenants; every mans Cloaths fit me,

the next fair lodging is but my next remove, and when I please to be

more eminent, and take the Air, a piece is levied, and a Coach prepared,

and I go I care not whither, what need state here?

_Unc._ But say these means were honest, will they last, Sir?

_Val._ Far longer than your jerkin, and wear fairer, should I take

ought of you, 'tis true, I beg'd now, or which is worse than that, I

stole a kindness, and which is worst of all, I lost my way in't; your

mind's enclosed, nothing lies open nobly, your very thoughts are Hinds

that work on nothing but daily sweat and trouble: were my way so full of

dirt as this, 'tis true I'd shift it; are my acquaintance Grasiers? but

Sir, know, no man that I am allied to, in my living, but makes it equal,

whether his own use, or my necessity pull first, nor is this forc'd, but

the meer quality and poisure of goodness, and do you think I venture

nothing equal?

_Unc._ You pose me Cousin.

_Val._ What's my knowledge Uncle, is't not worth mony? what's my

understanding, travel, reading, wit, all these digested, my daily making

men, some to speak, that too much flegm had frozen up, some that spoke

too much, to hold their peace, and put their tongues to pensions, some

to wear their cloaths, and some to keep 'em, these are nothing Uncle;

besides these wayes, to teach the way of nature, a manly love, community

to all that are deservers, not examining how much, or what's done for

them, 'tis wicked, and such a one like you, chews his thoughts [double],

making 'em only food for his repentance.

_Enter two_ Servants.

_1 Ser._ This cloak and hat Sir, and my Masters love.

_Val._ Commend's to thy Master, and take that, and leave 'em at my

lodging.

_1 Ser._ I shall do it Sir.

_Val._ I do not think of these things.

_2 Ser._ Please you Sir, I have gold here for you.

_Val._ Give it me, drink that and commend me to thy Master; look

you Uncle, do I beg these?

_Unc._ No sure, 'tis your worth, Sir.

_Val._ 'Tis like enough, but pray satisfie me, are not these ways

as honest as persecuting the starved inheritance, with musty Corn, the

very rats were fain to run away from, or felling rotten wood by the

pound, like spices, which Gentlemen do after burn by th' ounces? do not

I know your way of feeding beasts with grains, and windy stuff, to blow

up Butchers? your racking Pastures, that have eaten up as many singing

Shepherds, and their issues, as _Andeluzia_ breeds? these are

authentique, I tell you Sir, I would not change ways with you, unless it

were to sell your state that hour, and if it were possible to spend it

then too, for all your Beans in _Rumnillo_, now you know me.

_Unc._ I would you knew your self, but since you are grown such a

strange enemy to all that fits you, give me leave to make your Brothers

fortune.

_Val._ How?

_Unc._ From your mortgage, which yet you may recover, I'le find the

means.

_Val._ Pray save your labour Sir, my Brother and my self will run

one fortune, and I think what I hold a meer vexation, cannot be safe

for him, I love him better, he has wit at will, the world has means,

he shall live without this trick of state, we are heirs both, and all

the world before us.

_Unc._ My last offer, and then I am gone.

_Val._ What is't, and then I'le answer.

_Unc._ What think you of a wife yet to restore you, and tell me

seriously without these trifles.

_Val._ And you can find one, that can please my fancy, you shall

not find me stubborn.

_Unc._ Speak your Woman.

_Val._ One without eyes, that is, self commendations, for when they

find they are handsom, they are unwholsome; one without ears, not giving

time to flatterers, for she that hears her self commended, wavers, and

points men out a way to make 'em wicked; one without substance of her

self; that woman without the pleasure of her life, that's wanton; though

she be young, forgetting it, though fair, making her glass the eyes of

honest men, not her own admiration, all her ends obedience, all her

hours new blessings, if there may be such a woman.

_Unc._ Yes there may be.

_Val._ And without state too.

_Unc._ You are disposed to trifle, well, fare you well Sir, when

you want me next, you'l seek me out a better sence.

_Val._ Farewell Uncle, and as you love your estate, let not me hear

on't. [_Exit._

_Unc._ It shall not trouble you, I'le watch him still,

And when his friends fall off then bend his will. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Isabella, _and_ Luce.

_Luce._ I know the cause of all this sadness now, your sister has

ingrost all the brave Lovers.

_Isab._ She has wherewithall, much good may't do her, prethee speak

softly, we are open to mens ears.

_Luce._ Fear not, we are safe, we may see all that pass, hear all,

and make our selves merry with their language, and yet stand

undiscovered, be not melancholy, you are as fair as she.

_Isab._ Who I? I thank you, I am as haste ordain'd me, a thing

slubber'd, my sister is a goodly portly Lady, a woman of a presence, she

spreads sattens, as the Kings ships do canvas every where, she may spare

me her misen, and her bonnets, strike her main Petticoat, and yet

outsail me, I am a Carvel to her.

_Luce._ But a tight one.

_Isab._ She is excellent, well built too.

_Luce._ And yet she's old.

_Isab._ She never saw above one voyage _Luce_, and credit me

after another, her Hull will serve again, a right good Merchant: she

plaies, and sings too, dances and discourses, comes very near Essays, a

pretty Poet, begins to piddle with Philosophic, a subtil Chymick Wench,

and can extract the Spirit of mens Estates, she has the light before

her, and cannot miss her choice for me, 'tis reason I wait my mean

fortune.

_Luce._ You are so bashfull.

_Isab._ It is not at first word up and ride, thou art cozen'd,

that would shew mad i' faith: besides, we lose the main part of our

politick government: if we become provokers, then we are fair, and fit

for mens imbraces, when like towns, they lie before us ages, yet not

carried, hold out their strongest batteries, then compound too without

the loss of honour, and march off with our fair wedding, Colours flying.

Who are these?

_Enter_ Franc, _and_ Lance.

_Luce._ I know not, nor I care not.

_Isab._ Prethee peace then, a well built Gentleman.

_Luce._ But poorly thatcht.

_Lance._ Has he devour'd you too?

_Fran._ H'as gulp'd me down _Lance_.

_Lance._ Left you no means to study?

_Fran._ Not a farthing: dispatcht my poor annuity I thank him,

here's all the hope I have left, one bare ten shillings.

_Lan._ You are fit for great mens services.

_Fran._ I am fit, but who'le take me thus? mens miseries are now

accounted stains in their natures. I have travelled, and I have studied

long, observed all Kingdoms, know all the promises of Art and manners,

yet that I am not bold, nor cannot flatter, I shall not thrive, all

these are but vain Studies, art thou so rich as to get me a lodging

_Lance_?

_Lan._ I'le sell the titles of my house else, my Horse, my Hawk,

nay's death I'le pawn my wife: Oh Mr. _Francis_, that I should see

your Fathers house fall thus!

_Isab._ An honest fellow.

_Lan._ Your Fathers house, that fed me, that bred up all my name!

_Isab._ A gratefull fellow.

_Lan._ And fall by--

_Fran._ Peace, I know you are angry _Lance_, but I must not

hear with whom, he is my Brother, and though you hold him slight, my

most dear Brother: A Gentleman, excepting some few rubs, he were too

excellent to live here else, fraughted as deep with noble and brave

parts, the issues of a noble and manly Spirit, as any he alive. I must

not hear you; though I am miserable, and he made me so, yet still he

is my Brother, still I love him, and to that tye of blood link my

affections.

_Isab._ A noble nature! dost thou know him _Luce_?

_Luce._ No, Mistress.

_Isab._ Thou shouldest ever know such good men, what a fair body

and mind are married! did he not say he wanted?

_Luce._ What's that to you?

_Isab._ 'Tis true, but 'tis great pity.

_Luce._ How she changes! ten thousand more than he, as handsom men too.

_Isab._ 'Tis like enough, but as I live, this Gentleman among ten

thousand thousand! is there no knowing him? why should he want? fellows

of no merit, slight and puft souls, that walk like shadows, by leaving

no print of what they are, or poise, let them complain.

_Luce._ Her colour changes strangely.

_Isab._ This man was made, to mark his wants to waken us; alas poor

Gentleman, but will that keep him from cold and hunger, believe me he is

well bred, and cannot be but of a noble linage, mark him, mark him well.

_Luce._ 'Is a handsom man.

_Isab._ The sweetness of his sufferance sets him off, O _Luce_, but

whither go I?

_Luce._ You cannot hide it.

_Isab._ I would he had what I can spare.

_Luce._ 'Tis charitable.

_Lance._ Come Sir, I'le see you lodg'd, you have tied my tongue

fast, I'le steal before you want, 'tis but a hanging.

_Isab._ That's a good fellow too, an honest fellow, why, this would

move a stone, I must needs know; but that some other time.

[_Exit_ Lance, _and_ Franc.

_Luce._ Is the wind there? that makes for me.

_Isab._ Come, I forgot a business.

_Actus [Secundus]. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Widow, _and_ Luce.

_Wid._ My sister, and a woman of so base a pity! what was the

fellow?

_Luce,_ Why, an ordinary man, Madam.

_Wid._ Poor?

_Luce._ Poor enough, and no man knows from whence neither.

_Wid._ What could she see?

_Luce._ Only his misery, for else she might behold a hundred handsomer.

_Wid._ Did she change much?

_Luce._ Extreamly, when he spoke, and then her pity, like an

Orator, I fear her love framed such a commendation, and followed it so

far, as made me wonder.

_Wid._ Is she so hot, or such a want of lovers, that she must doat

upon afflictions? why does she not go romage all the prisons, and there

bestow her youth, bewray her wantonness, and flie her honour, common

both to beggery: did she speak to him?

_Luce._ No, he saw us not, but ever since, she hath been mainly

troubled.

_Wid._ Was he young?

_Luce._ Yes, young enough.

_Wid._ And looked he like a Gentleman?

_Luce._ Like such a Gentleman, that would pawn ten oaths for twelve

pence.

_Wid._ My sister, and sink basely! this must not be, does she use

means to know him?

_Luce._ Yes Madam, and has employed a Squire called _Shorthose_.

_Wid._ O that's a precious Knave: keep all this private, but still

be near her lodging: _Luce_, what you can gather by any means, let

me understand: I'le stop her heat, and turn her charity another way, to

bless her self first; be still close to her counsels; a begger and a

stranger! there's a bless'dness! I'le none of that; I have a toy yet,

sister, shall tell you this is foul, and make you find it, and for your

pains take you the last gown I wore; this makes me mad, but I shall

force a remedy.

_Enter_ Fountain, Bellamore, Harebrain, Valentine.

_Fount._ Sirra, we have so lookt for thee, and long'd for thee;

this widow is the strangest thing, the stateliest, and stands so much

upon her excellencies.

_Bel._ She hath put us off, this month now, for an answer.

_Hare._ No man must visit her, nor look upon her, no, not say, good

morrow, nor good even, till that's past.

_Val._ She has found what dough you are made of, and so kneads you:

are you good at nothing, but these after-games? I have told you often

enough what things they are, what precious things, these widows--

_Hare._ If we had 'em.

_Val._ Why the Devil has not craft enough to wooe 'em, there be three

kinds of fools, mark this note Gentlemen, mark it, and understand it.

_Fount._ Well, go forward.

_Val_ An Innocent, a knave fool, a fool politick: the last of which

are lovers, widow lovers.

_Bell._ Will you allow no fortune?

_Val._ No such blind one.

_Fount._ We gave you reasons, why 'twas needful for us.

_Val._ As you are those fools, I did allow those reasons, but as my

Scholars and companions damn'd 'em: do you know what it is to wooe a

widow? answer me coolely now, and understandingly.

_Hare._ Why to lie with her, and to enjoy her wealth.

_Val._ Why there you are fools still, crafty to catch your selves,

pure politick fools, I lookt for such an answer; once more hear me, it

is, to wed a widow, to be doubted mainly, whether the state you have be

yours or no, or those old boots you ride in. Mark me, widows are long

extents in Law upon news, livings upon their bodies winding-sheets, they

that enjoy 'em, lie but with dead mens monuments, and beget only their

own ill Epitaphs: Is not this plain now?

_Bell._ Plain spoken.

_Val._ And plain truth; but if you'le needs do things of danger, do

but lose your selves, not any part concerns your understandings, for

then you are Meacocks, fools, and miserable march off amain, within an

inch of a Fircug, turn me o'th' toe like a Weather-cock, kill every day

a Sergeant for a twelve month, rob the Exchequer, and burn all the

Rolls, and these will make a shew.

_Hare._ And these are trifles.

_Val._ Considered to a Widow, empty nothings, for here you venture

but your persons, there the varnish of your persons, your discretions;

why 'tis a monstrous thing to marry at all, especially as now 'tis made;

me thinks a man, an understanding man, is more wise to me, and of a

nobler tie, than all these trinkets; what do we get by women, but our

senses, which is the rankest part about us, satisfied, and when that's

done, what are we? Crest-fallen Cowards. What benefit can children be,

but charges and disobedience? What's the love they render at one and

twenty years? I pray die Father: when they are young, they are like

bells rung backwards, nothing but noise and giddiness; and come to years

once, there drops a son by th' sword in his Mistresses quarrel, a great

joy to his parents: A Daughter ripe too, grows high and lusty in her

blood, must have a heating, runs away with a supple ham'd Servingman:

his twenty Nobles spent, takes to a trade, and learns to spin mens hair

off; there's another, and most are of this nature, will you marry?

_Fount._ For my part yes, for any doubt I feel yet.

_Val._ And this same widow?

_Fount._ If I may, and me thinks, however you are pleased to

dispute these dangers, such a warm match, and for you, Sir, were not

hurtfull.

_Val._ Not half so killing as for you, for me she cannot with all

the Art she has, make me more miserable, or much more fortunate, I have

no state left, a benefit that none of you can brag of, and there's the

Antidote against a Widow, nothing to lose, but that my soul inherits,

which she can neither law nor claw away; to that, but little flesh, it

were too much else; and that unwholsom too, it were too rich else; and

to all this contempt of what she do's I can laugh at her tears, neglect

her angers, hear her without a faith, so pity her as if she were a

Traytour, moan her person, but deadly hate her pride; if you could do

these, and had but this discretion, and like fortune, it were but an

equal venture.

_Fount._ This is malice.

_Val._ When she lies with your land, and not with you, grows great

with joyntures, and is brought to bed with all the state you have,

you'le find this certain; but is it come to pass you must marry, is

there no buff will hold you?

_Bel._ Grant it be so.

_Val._ Then chuse the tamer evil, take a maid, a maid not worth a

penny; make her yours, knead her, and mould her yours, a maid worth

nothing, there's a vertuous spell in that word nothing; a maid makes

conscience of half a Crown a week for pins and puppits, a maid will be

content with one Coach and two Horses, not falling out because they are

not matches; with one man satisfied, with one rein guided, with one

faith, one content, one bed, aged she makes the wise, preserves the fame

and issue; a widow is a Christmas-box that sweeps all.

_Fount._ Yet all this cannot sink us.

_Val._ You are my friends, and all my loving friends, I spend your

mony, yet I deserve it too, you are my friends still, I ride your

horses, when I want I sell 'em; I eat your meat, help to wear her

linnen, sometimes I make you drunk, and then you seal, for which I'le do

you this commodity, be ruled, and let me try her, I will discover her,

the truth is, I will never leave to trouble her, till I see through her,

then if I find her worthy.

_Hare._ This was our meaning _Valentine_.

_Val._ 'Tis done then, I must want nothing.

_Hare._ Nothing but the woman.

_Val._ No jealousie; for when I marry, the Devil must be wiser than

I take him; and the flesh foolisher: come let's to dinner, and when I am

well whetted with wine, have at her. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Isabella, _and_ Luce.

_Isab._ But art thou sure?

_Luce._ No surer than I heard.

_Hare._ That it was that flouting fellows Brother?

_Luce._ Yes, _Shorthose_ told me so.

_Hare._ He did searc[h] out the truth?

_Luce._ It seems he did.

_Har._ Prethee _Luce_ call him hither, if he be no worse, I

never repent my pity, now sirra, what was he we sent you after, the

Gentleman i'th' black?

_Enter_ Shorthose.

_Short._ I'th' torn black?

_Isab._ Yes, the same Sir.

_Short._ What would your Worship with him?

_Isab._ Why, my Worship would know his name, and what he is.

_Short._ 'Is nothing, he is a man, and yet he is no man.

_Isab._ You must needs play the fool.

_Short._ 'Tis my profession.

_Isab._ How is he a man, and no man?

_Short._ He's a begger, only the sign of a man, the bush pull'd

down, which shows the house stands emptie.

_Isab._ What's his calling?

_Short._ They call him begger.

_Isab._ What's his kindred?

_Short._ Beggers.

_Isab._ His worth?

_Short._ A learned begger, a poor Scholar.

_Isab._ How does he live?

_Short._ Like worms, he eats old Books.

_Isab._ Is _Valentine_ his Brother.

_Short._ His begging Brother.

_Isab._ What may his name be?

_Short._ _Orson_.

_Isab._ Leave your fooling.

_Short._ You had as good say, leave your living.

_Isab._ Once more tell me his name directly.

_Short._ I'le be hang'd first, unless I heard him Christned, but I

can tell what foolish people call him.

_Isab._ What?

_Short._ _Francisco_.

_Isab._ Where lies this learning, Sir?

_Short._ In _Pauls_ Church yard forsooth.

_Isab._ I mean the Gentleman, fool.

_Short._ O that fool, he lies in loose sheets every where, that's

no where.

_Luce._ You have glean'd since you came to _London_: in the

Country, _Shorthose_, you were an arrant fool, a dull cold

coxcombe, here every Tavern teaches you, the pint pot has so belaboured

you with wit, your brave acquaintance that gives you Ale, so fortified

your mazard, that now there's no talking to you.

_Isab._ 'Is much improved, a fellow, a fine discourser.

_Short._ I hope so, I have not waited at the tail of wit so long to

be an Ass.

_Luce._ But say now, _Shorthose_, my Lady should remove into

the Country.

_Short._ I had as lieve she should remove to Heaven, and as soon I

would undertake to follow her.

_Luce._ Where no old Charnico is, nor no Anchoves, nor Master

such-a-one, to meet at the Rose, and bring my Lady, such-a-ones chief

Chamber-maid.

_Isab._ No bouncing healths to this brave Lad, dear

_Shorthose_, nor down o'th' knees to that illustrious Lady.

_Luce._ No fiddles, nor no lusty noise of drawer, carry this pottle

to my Father _Shorthose_.

_Isab._ No plays, nor gaily foists, no strange Embassadors to run

and wonder at, till thou beest oyl, and then come home again, and lye

byth' Legend.

_Luc._ Say she should go.

_Short._ If I say, I'le be hang'd, or if I thought she would go.

_Luce._ What?

_Short._ I would go with her.

_Luce._ But _Shorthose_, where thy heart is?

_Isab._ Do not fright him.

_Luce._ By this hand Mistris 'tis a noise, a loud one too, and from

her own mouth, presently to be gone too, but why, or to what end?

_Short._ May not a man die first? she'l give him so much time.

_Isab._ Gone o'th' sudden? thou dost but jest, she must not mock

the Gentlemen.

_Luce._ She has put them off a month, th[e]y dare not see her,

believe me Mistris, what I hear I tell you.

_Isab._ Is this true, wench? gone on so short a warning! what trick

is this? she never told me of it, it must not be, sirra, attend me

presently, you know I have been a carefull friend unto you, attend me in

the Hall, and next be faithful, cry not, we shall not go.

_Short._ Her Coach may crack.

_Enter_ Valentine, Francisco, _and_ Lance.

_Val._ Which way to live! how darest thou come to town, to ask such

an idle question?

_Fran._ Me thinks 'tis necessary, unless you could restore that

Annuitie you have tipled up in Taverns.

_Val._ Where hast thou been, and how brought up _Francisco_,

that thou talkest thus out of _France_? thou wert a pretty fellow,

and of a handsom knowledge; who has spoiled thee?

_Lan._ He that has spoil'd himself, to make him sport, and by

Copie, will spoil all comes near him: buy but a Glass, if you be yet so

wealthy, and look there who?

_Val._ Well said, old Copihold.

_Lan._ My heart's good Freehold Sir, and so you'l find it, this

Gentleman's your Brother, your hopeful Brother, for there is no hope of

you, use him thereafter.

_Val._ E'ne as well as I use my self, what would'st thou have _Frank_?

_Fran._ Can you procure me a hundred pound?

_Lan._ Hark what he saies to you, O try your wits, they say you are

excellent at it, for your Land has lain long bedrid, and unsensible.

_Fran._ And I'le forget all wrongs, you see my state, and to what

wretchedness your will has brought me; but what it may be, by this

benefit, if timely done, and like a noble Brother, both you and I may

feel, and to our comforts.

_Val._ (A hundred pound!) dost thou know what thou hast said Boy?

_Fran._ I said a hundred pound.

_Val._ Thou hast said more than any man can justifie, believe it:

procure a hundred pounds! I say to thee there's no such sum in nature,

forty shillings there may be now i'th' Mint and that's a Treasure,

I have seen five pound, but let me tell it, and 'tis as wonderful as

Calves with five Legs; here's five shillings, _Frank_, the harvest

of five weeks, and a good crop too, take it, and pay thy first fruits,

I'le come down and eat it out.

_Fran._ 'Tis patience must meet with you Sir, not love.

_Lanc._ Deal roundly, and leave these fiddle faddles.

_Val._ Leave thy prating, thou thinkest thou art a notable wise

fellow, thou and thy rotten Sparrow Hawk; two of the reverent.

_Lanc._ I think you are mad, or if you be not, will be, with the

next moon, what would you have him do?

_Val._ How?

_Lanc._ To get money first, that's to live, you have shewed him how

to want.

_Val._ 'Slife how do I live? why, what dull fool would ask that

question? three hundred three pilds more, I and live bravely: the better

half o'th' Town live most gloriously, and ask them what states they

have, or what Annuities, or when they pray for seasonable Harvests: thou

hast a handsome Wit, stir into the world, _Frank_, stir, stir for

shame, thou art a pretty Scholar: ask how to live? write, write, write

any thing, the World's a fine believing World, write News.

_Lan._ Dragons in _Sussex_, Sir, or fiery Battels seen in the

Air at _Aspurge_.

_Val._ There's the way _Frank_, and in the tail of these,

fright me the Kingdom with a sharp Prognostication, that shall scowr

them, Dearth upon Dearth, like leven Taffaties, predictions of

Sea-breaches, Wars, and want of Herrings on our Coast, with bloudy

Noses.

_Lan._ Whirl-winds, that shall take off the top of _Grantham_

Steeple, and clap it on _Pauls_, and after these, a Lenvoy to the

City for their sins.

_Val._ _Probatum est_, thou canst not want a pension, go

switch me up a Covey of young Scholars, there's twenty nobles, and two

loads of Coals, are not these ready wayes? Cosmography thou art deeply

read in, draw me a Map from the Mermaid, I mean a midnight Map to scape

the Watches, and such long sensless examinations, and Gentlemen shall

feed thee, right good Gentlemen, I cannot stay long.

_Lan._ You have read learnedly, and would you have him follow these

Megera's, did you begin with Ballads?

_Fran._ Well, I will leave you, I see my wants are grown

ridiculous, yours may be so, I will not curse you neither; you may

think, when these wanton fits are over, who bred me, and who ruined me,

look to your self, Sir, a providence I wait on.

_Val._ Thou art passionate, hast thou been brought up with Girls?

_Enter_ Shorthose _with a bag_.

_Short._ Rest you merry, Gentlemen.

_Val._ Not so merry as you suppose, Sir.

_Short._ Pray stay a while, and let me take a view of you, I may

put my Spoon into the wrong Pottage-pot else.

_Val._ Why, wilt thou muster us?

_Short._ No, you are not he, you are a thought too handsome.

_Lan._ Who wouldst thou speak withal, why dost thou peep so?

_Short._ I am looking birds nests, I can find none in your bush

beard, I would speak with you, black Gentleman.

_Fran._ With me, my friend?

_Short._ Yes sure, and the best friend, Sir, it seems you spake

withal this twelve-month, Gentleman, there's money for you.

_Val._ How?

_Short._ There's none for you, Sir, be not so brief, not a penny;

law how he itches at it, stand off, you stir my colour.

_Lan._ Take it, 'tis money.

_Short._ You are too quick too, first be sure you have it, you seem

to be a Faulkoner, but a foolish one.

_Lan._ Take it, and say nothing.

_Short._ You are cozen'd too, 'tis take it, and spend it.

_Fran._ From whom came it, Sir?

_Short._ Such another word, and you shall have none on't.

_Fran._ I thank you, Sir, I doubly thank you.

_Short._ Well, Sir, then buy you better Cloaths, and get your Hat

drest, and your Laundress to wash your Boots white.

_Fran._ Pray stay Sir, may you not be mistaken.

_Short._ I think I am, give me the money again, come quick, quick,

quick.

_Fran._ I would be loth to render, till I am sure it be so.

_Short._ Hark in your ear, is not your name _Francisco_?

_Fran._ Yes.

_Short._ Be quiet then, it may Thunder a hundred times, before such

stones fall: do you not need it?

_Fran._ Yes.

_Short._ And 'tis thought you have it.

_Fran._ I think I have.

_Short._ Then hold it fast, 'tis not fly-blown, you may pay for the

poundage, you forget your self, I have not seen a Gentleman so backward,

a wanting Gentleman.

_Fran._ Your mercy, Sir.

_Short._ Friend, you have mercy, a whole bag full of mercy, be

merry with it, and be wise.

_Fran._ I would fain, if it please you, but know--

_Short._ It does not please me, tell over your money, and be not

mad, Boy.

_Val._ You have no more such bags?

_Short._ More such there are, Sir, but few I fear for you, I have

cast your water, you have wit, you need no money. [_Exit._

_Lan._ Be not amazed, Sir, 'tis good gold, good old gold, this is

restorative, and in good time, it comes to do you good, keep it and use

it, let honest fingers feel it, yours be too quick Sir.

_Fran._ He named me, and he gave it me, but from whom.

_Lan._ Let 'em send more, and then examine it, this can be but a

Preface.

_Fran._ Being a stranger, of whom can I deserve this?

_Lan._ Sir, of any man that has but eyes, and manly understanding

to find mens wants, good men are bound to do so.

_Val._ Now you see, _Frank_, there are more wayes than

certainties, now you believe: What Plough brought you this Harvest, what

sale of Timber, Coals, or what Annuities? These feed no Hinds, nor wait

the expectation of Quarterdaies, you see it showers in to you, you are

an Ass, lie plodding, and lie fooling, about this Blazing Star, and that

bo-peep, whining, and fasting, to find the natural reason why a Dog

turns twice about before he lie down, what use of these, or what joy in

Annuities, where every man's thy study, and thy Tenant, I am ashamed on

thee.

_Lan._ Yes, I have seen this fellow, there's a wealthy Widow hard

by.

_Val._ Yes marry is there.

_Lan._ I think he's her servant, or I am couzen'd else, I am sure

on't.

_Fran._ I am glad on't.

_Lan._ She's a good Woman.

_Fran._ I am gladder.

_Lan._ And young enough believe.

_Fran._ I am gladder of all, Sir.

_Val_. _Frank_, you shall lye with me soon.

_Fran._ I thank my money.

_Lan._ His money shall lie with me, three in a Bed, Sir, will be

too much this weather.

_Val._ Meet me at the Mermaid, and thou shalt see what things--

_Lan._ Trust to your self Sir. [_Exeunt_ Fran. _and_ Val.

_Enter_ Fount. Bella. _and_ Valentine.

_Fount._ O _Valentine_!

_Val._ How now, why do you look so?

_Bella._ The Widow's going, man.

_Val._ Why let her go, man.

_Hare._ She's going out o'th' Town.

_Val._ The Town's the happier, I would they were all gone.

_Fount._ We cannot come to speak with her.

_Val._ Not to speak to her?

_Bel._ She will be gone within this hour, either now _Val._

_Fount._ _Hare._ Now, now, now, good _Val._

_Val._ I had rather march i'th' mouth o'th' Cannon, but adiew, if

she be above ground, go, away to your prayers, away I say, away, she

shall be spoken withall. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Shorthose _with one boot on_, Roger,_and_ Humphrey.

_Rog._ She will go, _Shorthose_.

_Short._ Who can help it _Roger_?

_Raph._ [_within._] Help down with the hangings.

_Rog._ By and by _Raph._ I am making up o'th' trunks here.

_Raph._ _Shorthose_.

_Short._ Well.

_Raph._ Who looks to my Ladys wardrobe? _Humphrey_.

_Hum._ Here.

_Raph._ Down with the boxes in the gallery, and bring away the

Coach cushions.

_Short._ Will it not rain, no conjuring abroad, nor no devices to

stop this journey?

_Rog._ Why go now, why now, why o'th' sudden now? what preparation,

what horses have we ready, what provision laid in i'th' Country?

_Hum._ Not an egge I hope.

_Rog._ No nor one drop of good drink boyes, there's the devil.

_Short._ I heartily pray the malt be musty, and then we must come

up again.

_Hum._ What sayes the Steward?

_Rog._ He's at's wits end, for some four hours since, out of his

haste and providence, he mistook the Millars mangie mare, for his own

nagge.

_Short._ And she may break his neck, and save the journy. Oh

_London_ how I love thee!

_Hum._ I have no boots nor none I'le buy: or if I had, refuse me if

I would venture my ability, before a Cloak-Bag, men are men.

_Short._ For my part, if I be brought, as I know it will be aimed

at, to carry any durty dairy Cream-pot, or any gentle Lady of the

Laundry, Chambring, or wantonness behind my Gelding, with all her

Streamers, Knapsacks, Glasses, Gugawes, as if I were a running flippery,

I'le give 'em leave to cut my girts, and slay me. I'le not be troubled

with their Distibations, at every half miles end, I understand my self,

and am resolved.

_Hum._ To morrow night at _Olivers_! who shall be there boys,

who shall meet the wenches?

_Rog._ The well brew'd stand of Ale, we should have met at!

_Short._ These griefs like to another Tale of _Troy_, would

mollifie the hearts of barbarous people, and Tom Butcher weep,

_Aeneas_ enters, and now the town's lost.

_Raph._ Well whither run you, my Lady is mad.

_Short._ I would she were in Bedlam.

_Raph._ The carts are come, no hands to help to load 'em? the stuff

lies in the hall, the plate. [_Within Widow._] Why knaves there,

where be these idle fellows?

_Short._ Shall I ride with one Boot?

_Wid._ Why where I say?

_Raph._ Away, away, it must be so.

_Short._ O for a tickling storm, to last but ten days. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Isabella, _and_ Luce.

_Luc._ By my troth Mistris I did it for the best.

_Isab._ It may be so, but _Luce_, you have a tongue, a dish of

meat in your mouth, which if it were minced _Luce_, would do a

great deal better.

_Luce._ I protest Mistress.

_Isab._ It will be your own one time or other: _Walter_.

_Walter_ [_within._] Anon forsooth.

_Isab._ Lay my hat ready, my fan and cloak, you are so full of

providence; and _Walter_, tuck up my little box behind the Coach,

and bid my maid make ready, my sweet service to your good Lady Mistress;

and my dog, good let the Coachman carry him.

_Luce._ But hear me.

_Isab._ I am in love sweet _Luce_, and you are so skilfull,

that I must needs undo my self; and hear me, let _Oliver_ pack up

my Glass discreetly, and see my Curles well carried. O sweet

_Luce_, you have a tongue, and open tongues have open you know

what, _Luce._

_Luce._ Pray you be satisfied.

_Isab._ Yes and contented too, before I leave you: there's a

_Roger_, which some call a Butcher, I speak of certainties, I do

not fish _Luce_, nay do not stare, I have a tongue can talk too:

and a Green Chamber _Luce_, a back door opens to a long Gallerie;

there was a night _Luce_, do you perceive, do you perceive me yet?

O do you blush _Luce_? a Friday night I saw your Saint, _Luce_:

for t'other box of Marmalade, all's thine sweet _Roger_, this I heard

and kept too.

_Luce._ E'ne as you are a woman Mistress.

_Isab._ This I allow as good and Physical sometime, these meetings,

and for the cheering of the heart; but _Luce_, to have your own

turn served, and to your friend to be a dog-bolt.

_Luce._ I confess it Mistress.

_Isab._ As you have made my sister jealous of me, and foolishly,

and childishly pursued it, I have found out your haunt, and traced your

purposes; for which mine honour suffers; your best waies must be applied

to bring her back again, and seriously and suddenly, that so I may have

a means to clear my self, and she a fair opinion of me, else you

peevish--

_Luce._ My power and prayers Mistress.

_Isab._ What's the matter?

_Enter_ Shorthose, _and_ Widow.

_Short._ I have been with the Gentleman, he has it, much good may

do him with it.

_Wid._ Come, are you ready? you love so to delay time, the day

grows on.

_Isab._ I have sent for a few trifles, when those are come; And now

I know your reason.

_Wid._ Know your own honour then, about your business, see the

Coach ready presently, I'le tell you more then.

[_Ex._ Luce, _and_ Shorthose.

And understand it well, you must not think your sister so tender eyed as

not to see your follies, alas I know your heart, and must imagine, and

truly too; 'tis not your charitie can coin such sums to give away as you

have done, in that you have no wisdom _Isabel_, no nor modesty,

where nobler uses are at home; I tell you, I am ashamed to find this in

your years, far more in your discretion, none to chuse but things for

pity, none to seal your thoughts on, but one of no abiding, of no name;

nothing to bring you to but this, cold and hunger: A jolly Joynture

sister, you are happy, no mony, no not ten shillings.

_Isab._ You search nearly.

_Wid._ I know it as I know your folly, one that knows not where he

shall eat his next meal, take his rest, unless it be i'th' stocks; what

kindred has he, but a more wanting Brother, or what vertues.

_Isab._ You have had rare intelligence, I see, sister.

_Wid._ Or say the man had vertue, is vertue in this age a full

inheritance? what Joynture can he make you, _Plutarchs Morals_, or

so much penny rent in the small Poets? this is not well, 'tis weak, and

I grieve to know it.

_Isab._ And this you quit the town for?

_Wid._ Is't not time?

_Isab._ You are better read in my affairs than I am, that's all I

have to answer, I'le go with you, and willingly, and what you think most

dangerous, I'le sit laugh at. For sister 'tis not folly but good

discretion governs our main fortunes.

_Wid._ I am glad to hear you say so.

_Isa._ I am for you.

_Enter_ Shorthose, _and_ Humphrey, _with riding rods._

_Hum._ The Devil cannot stay her, she'l on't, eat an egg now, and

then we must away.

_Short._ I am gaul'd already, yet I will pray, may _London_

wayes from henceforth be full of holes, and Coaches crack their wheels,

may zealous Smiths so housel all our Hackneys, that they may feel

compunction in their feet, and tire at _High-gate_, may it rain

above all Almanacks till Carriers sail, and the Kings Fish-monger ride

like _Bike Arion_ upon a Trout to _London_.

_Hum._ At S. _Albanes_, let all the Inns be drunk, not an Host

sober to bid her worship welcom.

_Short._ Not a Fiddle, but all preach't down with Puritans; no meat

but Legs of Beef.

_Hum._ No beds but Wool-Packs.

_Short._ And those so crammed with Warrens of starved Fleas that

bite like Bandogs; let _Mims_ be angry at their S. _Bel-Swagger_,

and we pass in the heat on't and be beaten, beaten abominably, beaten

horse and man, and all my Ladies linnen sprinkled with suds and

dish-water.

_Short._ Not a wheel but out of joynt.

_Enter_ Roger _laugh-ing._

_Hum._ Why dost thou laugh?

_Rog._ There's a Gentleman, and the rarest Gentleman, and makes the

rarest sport.

_Short._ Where, where?

_Rog._ Within here, h'as made the gayest sport with _Tom_ the

Coachman, so tewed him up with Sack that he lies lashing a But of

Malmsie for his Mares.

_Short._ 'Tis very good.

_Rog._ And talks and laughs, and sings the rarest songs, and

_Shorthose_, he has so maul'd the Red Deer pies, made such an alms

i'th' butterie.

_Short._ Better still.

_Enter_ Val. Widow.

_Hum._ My Lady in a rage with the Gentleman?

_Short._ May he anger her into a feather. [_Exeunt._

_Wid._ I pray tell me, who sent you hither? for I imagine it is not

your condition, you look so temperately, and like a Gentleman, to ask me

these milde questions.

_Val._ Do you think I use to walk of errands, gentle Lady, or deal

with women out of dreams from others?

_Wid._ You have not know[n] me sure?

_Val._ Not much.

_Wid._ What reason have you then to be so tender of my credit, you

are no kinsman?

_Val._ If you take it so, the honest office that I came to do you,

is not so heavy but I can return it: now I perceive you are too proud,

not worth my visit.

_Wid._ Pray stay, a little proud.

_Val._ Monstrous proud, I griev'd to hear a woman of your value,

and your abundant parts stung by the people, but now I see 'tis true,

you look upon me as if I were a rude and saucie fellow that borrowed all

my breeding from a dunghil, or such a one, as should now fall and

worship you in hope of pardon: you are cozen'd Lady, I came to prove

opinion a loud liar, to see a woman only great in goodness, and Mistress

of a greater fame than fortune, but--

_Wid._ You are a strange Gentleman, if I were proud now, I should be

monstrous angry, which I am not, and shew the effects of pride; I should

despise you, but you are welcom Sir: To think well of our selves, if we

deserve it, it is a lustre in us, and every good we have, strives to

shew gracious, what use is it else? old age like Seer-trees, is seldom

seen affected, stirs sometimes at rehearsal of such acts as his daring

youth endeavour'd.

_Val._ This is well, and now you speak to the purpose, you please

me, but to be place proud?

_Wid._ If it be our own, why are we set here with distinction else,

degrees, and orders given us? In you men, 'tis held a coolness, if you

lose your right, affronts and loss of honour: streets, and walls, and

upper ends of tables, had they tongues could tell what blood has

followed, and what feud about your ranks; are we so much below you, that

till you have us, are the tops of nature, to be accounted drones without

a difference? you will make us beasts indeed.

_Val._ Nay worse than this too, proud of your cloaths, they swear

a Mercers Lucifer, a tumour tackt together by a Taylour, nay yet worse,

proud of red and white, a varnish that butter-milk can better.

_Wid._ Lord, how little will vex these poor blind people! if my

cloaths be sometimes gay and glorious, does it follow, my mind must be

my Mercers too? or say my beauty please some weak eyes, must it please

them to think, that blows me up, that every hour blows off? this is an

Infants anger.

_Val._ Thus they say too, what though you have a Coach lined

through with velvet, and four fair _Flanders_ mares, why should the

streets be troubled continually with you, till Carmen curse you? can

there be ought in this but pride of shew Lady, and pride of bum-beating,

till the learned lawyers with their fat bags, are thrust against the

bulks till all their causes crack? why should this Lady, and t'other

Lady, and the third sweet Lady, and Madam at _Mile-end_, be daily

visited, and your poorer neighbours, with course napfes neglected,

fashions conferr'd about, pouncings, and paintings, and young mens

bodies read on like Anatomies.

_Wid._ You are very credulous, and somewhat desperate, to deliver

this Sir, to her you know not, but you shall confess me, and find I will

not start; in us all meetings lie open to these lewd reports, and our

thoughts at Church, our very meditations some will swear, which all

should fear to judge, at least uncharitably, are mingled with your

memories, cannot sleep, but this sweet Gentleman swims in our fancies,

that scarlet man of war, and that smooth senior; not dress our heads

without new ambushes, how to surprize that greatness, or that glorie;

our very smiles are subject to constructions; nay Sir, it's come to this

we cannot pish, but 'tis a favour for some fool or other: should we

examine you thus, wer't not possible to take you without Perspectives?

[_Val._] It may be, but these excuse not.

_Wid._ Nor yours force no truth Sir, what deadly tongues you have,

and to those tongues what hearts, and what inventions? O' my conscience,

and 'twere not for sharp justice, you would venture to aim at your own

mothers, and account it glorie to say you had done so: all you think are

counsels, and cannot erre, 'tis we still that shew double, giddy, or

gorg'd with passion; we that build Babels for mens conclusions, we that

scatter, as day does his warm light; our killing curses over Gods

creatures, next to the devils malice: lets intreat your good words.

_Val._ Well, this woman has a brave soul.

_Wid._ Are not we gaily blest then, and much beholding to you for

your substance? you may do what you list, we what beseems us, and

narrowly do that too, and precisely, our names are served in else at

Ordinaries, and belcht abroad in Taverns.

_Val._ O most brave Wench, and able to redeem an age of women.

_Wid._ You are no Whoremasters? Alas, no, Gentlemen, it were an

impudence to think you vicious: you are so holy, handsome Ladies fright

you, you are the cool things of the time, the temperance, meer Emblems

of the Law, and veils of Vertue, you are not daily mending like Dutch

Watches, and plastering like old Walls; they are not Gentlemen, that

with their secret sins increase our Surgeons, and lie in Foraign

Countries, for new sores; Women are all these Vices; you are not

envious, false, covetous, vain-glorious, irreligious, drunken,

revengeful, giddie-eyed like Parrots, eaters of others honours.

_Val._ You are angry.

_Wid._ No by my troth, and yet I could say more too, for when men

make me angry, I am miserable.

_Val._ Sure 'tis a man, she could not bear it thus bravely else, it

may be I am tedious.

_Wid._ Not at all, Sir, I am content at this time you should

trouble me.

_Val._ You are distrustful.

_Wid._ Where I find no truth, Sir.

_Val._ Come, come, you are full of passion.

_Wid._ Some I have, I were too near the nature o' God else.

_Val._ You are monstrous peevish.

_Wid._ Because they are monstrous foolish, and know not how to use

that should try me.

_Val._ I was never answered thus; were you never drunk Lady?

_Wid._ No sure, not drunk, Sir; yet I love good Wine, as I love

health and joy of heart, but temperately, why do you ask that question?

_Val._ For that sin that they most charge you with, is this sin's

servant, they say you are monstrous--

_Wid._ What, Sir, what?

_Pal._ Most strangely.

_Wid._ It has a name sure?

_Pal._ Infinitely lustful, without all bounds, they swear you

kill'd your Husband.

_Wid._ Let us have it all for Heavens sake, 'tis good mirth, Sir.

_Val._ They say you will have four now, and those four stuck in

four quarters, like four winds to cool you: will she not cry nor curse?

_Wid._ On with your story.

_Val._ And that you are forcing out of dispensations with sums of

money to that purpose.

_Wid._ Four Husbands! should not I be blest, Sir, for example?

Lord, what should I do with them? turn a Malt-mill, or Tithe them out

like Town-bulls to my Tenants, you come to make me angry, but you

cannot.

_Val._ I'le make you merry then, you are a brave Woman, and in

despite of envy a right one, go thy wayes, truth thou art as good a

Woman, as any Lord of them all can lay his Leg over, I do not often

commend your Sex.

_Wid._ It seems so, your commendations are so studied for.

_Val._ I came to see you and sift you into Flowr to know your

pureness, and I have found you excellent, I thank you; continue so, and

shew men how to tread, and women how to follow: get an Husband, an

honest man, you are a good woman, and live hedg'd in from scandal, let

him be too an understanding man, and to that stedfast; 'tis pity your

fair Figure should miscarry, and then [you] are fixt: farewel.

_Wid._ Pray stay a little, I love your company now you are so

pleasant, and to my disposition set so even.

_Val._ I can no longer. [_Exit._

_Wid._ As I live a fine fellow, this manly handsome bluntness shews

him honest; what is he, or from whence? bless me, four Husbands! how

prettily he fooled me into Vices, to stir my jealousie, and find my

nature; a proper Gentleman: I am not well o'th' sudden, such a companion

I could live and dye with, his angers are meer mirth.

_Enter_ Isabella.

_Isa._ Come, come, I am ready.

_Wid._ Are you so?

_Isa._ What ails she? the Coach stales, and the people, the day

goes on, I am as ready now as you desire, Sister: fie, who stays now,

why do you sit and pout thus?

_Wid._ Prethee be quiet, I am not well.

_Isa._ For Heav'us sake let's not ride staggering in the night,

come, pray you take some Sweet-meats in your pocket, if your stomach--

_Wid._ I have a little business.

_Isab._ To abuse me, you shall not find new dreams, and new

suspicions, to horse withal.

_Wid._ Lord who made you a Commander! hey ho, my heart.

_Isab._ Is the wind come thither, and Coward like, do you lose your

Colours to 'em? are you sick o'th' _Valentine_? sweet Sister, come

let's away, the Country will so quicken you, and we shall live so

sweetly: _Luce_, my Ladies Cloak; nay, you have put me into such a

gog of going, I would not stay for all the world; if I live here, you

have so knock'd this love into my head, that I shall love any body, and

I find my body, I know not how, so apt--pray let's be gone, Sister,

I stand on thorns.

_Wid._ I prethee _Isabella_, i'faith I have some business that

concerns me, I will suspect no more, here, wear that for me, and I'le

pay the hundred pound you owe your Taylor.

_Enter_ Shorthose, Roger, Humphrey, Ralph.

_Isab._ I had rather go, but--

_Wid._ Come walk in with me, we'll go to Cards, unsaddle the

Horses.

_Short._ A Jubile, a Jubile, we stay, Boys.

_Enter_ Uncle, Lan. Foun. Bella. Harebrain _following_.

_Unc._ Are they behind us?

_Lan._ Close, close, speak aloud, Sir.

_Unc._ I am glad my Nephew has so much discretion, at length to

find his wants: did she entertain him?

_Lance._ Most bravely, nobly, and gave him such a welcome!

_Unc._ For his own sake do you think?

_Lance._ Most certain, Sir, and in his own cause bestir'd himself

too, and wan such liking from her, she dotes on him, h'as the command of

all the house already.

_Unc._ He deals not well with his friends.

_Lance._ Let him deal on, and be his own friend, he has most need

of her.

_Unc._ I wonder they would put him--

_Lan._ You are in the right on't, a man that must raise himself, I

knew he would couzen 'em, and glad I am he has: he watched occasion, and

found it i'th' nick.

_Unc._ He has deceived me.

_Lan._ I told you howsoever he wheel'd about, he would charge home

at length: how I could laugh now, to think of these tame fools!

_Unc._ 'Twas not well done, because they trusted him, yet.

_Bel._ Hark you Gentlemen.

_Unc._ We are upon a business, pray excuse us, they have it home.

_Lane._ Come let it work good on Gentlemen.

[_Exeunt_ Uncle, Lance.

_Font._ 'Tis true, he is a knave, I ever thought it.

_Hare._ And we are fools, tame fools.

_Bell._ Come let's go seek him, he shall be hang'd before he colt

us basely. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Isabella, Luce.

_Isab._ Art sure she loves him?

_Luce._ Am I sure I live? and I have clapt on such a commendation

on your revenge.

_Isab._ Faith, he is a pretty Gentleman.

_Luce._ Handsome enough, and that her eye has found out.

_Isa._ He talks the best they say, and yet the maddest.

_Luce._ H'as the right way.

_Isa._ How is she?

_Luce._ Bears it well, as if she cared not, but a man may see with

half an eye through all her forced behaviour, and find who is her

_Valentine_.

_Isa._ Come let's go see her, I long to prosecute.

_Luce._ By no means Mistress, let her take better hold first.

_Isab._ I could burst now. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Valentine, Fountain, Bellamore, Harebrain.

_Val._ Upbraid me with your benefits, you Pilchers, you shotten,

sold, slight fellows? was't not I that undertook you first from empty

barrels, and brought those barking mouths that gaped like bung-holes to

utter sence? where got you understanding? who taught you manners and apt

carriage to rank your selves? who filled you in fit Taverns? were those

born with your worships when you came hither? what brought you from the

Universities of moment matter to allow you, besides your small base

sentences?

_Bell._ 'Tis well, Sir.

_Val._ Long Cloaks with two-hand-rapiers, boot-hoses with

penny-poses, and twenty fools opinions, who looked on you but piping

rites that knew you would be prizing, and Prentices in Paul's

Church-yard, that scented your want of _Britains_ Books.

_Enter_ Widow, Luce, Hairbrain.

_Font._ This cannot save you.

_Val._ Taunt my integrity you Whelps?

_Bell._ You may talk the stock we gave you out, but see no further.

_Hair._ You tempt our patience, we have found you out, and what

your trust comes to, ye're well feathered, thank us, and think now of an

honest course, 'tis time; men now begin to look, and narrowly into your

tumbling tricks, they are stale.

_Wid._ Is not that he?

_Luce._ 'Tis he.

_Wid._ Be still and mark him.

_Val._ How miserable will these poor wretches be when I forsake

'em! but things have their necessities, I am sorry, to what a vomit must

they turn again, now to their own dear Dunghil breeding; never hope

after I cast you off, you men of _Motley_, you most undone things

below pity, any that has a soul and six-pence dares relieve you, my name

shall bar that blessing, there's your Cloak, Sir, keep it close to you,

it may yet preserve you a fortnight longer from the fool; your Hat, pray

be covered, and there's the Sattin that your Worship sent me, will serve

you at a Sizes yet.

_Fount._ Nay, faith Sir, you may e'ne rub these out now.

_Val._ No such relique, nor the least rag of such a sordid weakness

shall keep me warm, these Breeches are mine own, purchased, and paid

for, without your compassion, a Christian Breeches founded in

Black-Friers, and so I'le maintain 'em.

_Hare._ So they seem, Sir.

_Val._ Only the thirteen shillings in these Breeches, and the odd

groat, I take it, shall be yours, Sir, a mark to know a Knave by, pray

preserve it, do not displease more, but take it presently, now help me

off with my Boots.

_Hare._ We are no Grooms, Sir.

_Val._ For once you shall be, do it willingly, or by this hand I'le

make you.

_Bell._ To our own, Sir, we may apply our hands.

_Val._ There's your Hangers, you may deserve a strong pair, and a

girdle will hold you without buckles; now I am perfect, and now the

proudest of your worships tell me I am beholding to you.

_Fount._ No such matter.

_Val._ And take heed how you pity me, 'tis dangerous, exceeding

dangerous, to prate of pity; which are the poorer? you are now puppies;

I without you, or you without my knowledge? be Rogues, and so be gone,

be Rogues and reply not, for if you do--

_Bell._ Only thus much, and then we'll leave you: the Air is far

sharper than our anger, Sir, and these you may reserve to rail in

warmer.

_Hare._ Pray have a care, Sir, of your health. [_Ex. Lovers._

_Val._ Yes Hog-hounds, more than you can have of your wits; 'tis

cold, and I am very sensible, extreamly cold too, yet I will not off,

till I have shamed these Rascals; I have indured as ill heats as

another, and every way if one could perish my body, you'll bear the

blame on't; I am colder here, not a poor penny left.

_Enter_ Uncle _with a Bag_.

_Unc._ 'Thas taken rarely, and now he's flead he will be ruled.

_Lan._ To him, tew him, abuse him, and nip him close.

_Unc._. Why how now, Cousin, sunning your self this weather?

_Val._ As you see, Sir, in a hot fit, I thank my friends.

_Unc._ But Cousin, where are your Cloaths man? those are no

inheritance, your scruple may compound with those I take it, this is no

fashion, Cousin.

_Val._ Not much followed, I must confess; yet Uncle I determine to

try what may be done next Term.

_Lance._ How came you thus, Sir, for you are strangely moved.

_Val._ Rags, toys and trifles, fit only for those fools that first

possessed 'em, a[n]d to those Knaves they are rendred. Freemen, Uncle,

ought to appear like innocents, old _Adam_, a fair Fig-leaf sufficient.

_Unc._ Take me with you, were these your friends, that clear'd you

thus?

_Val._ Hang friends, and even reckonings that make friends.

_Unc._ I thought till now, there had been no such living, no such

purchase, for all the rest is labour, as a list of honourable friends;

do such men as you, Sir, in lieu of all your understandings, travels,

and those great gifts of nature, aim at no more than casting off your

Coats? I am strangely cozen'd.

_Lance._ Should not the Town shake at the cold you feel now, and

all the Gentry suffer interdiction, no more sense spoken, all things

_Goth_ and _Vandal_, till you be summed again, Velvets and Scarlets,

anointed with gold Lace, and Cloth of silver turned into _Spanish_

Cottens for a penance, wits blasted with your Bulls and Taverns withered,

as though the Term lay at _St. Albans_?

_Val._ Gentlemen, you have spoken long and level, I beseech you

take breath a while and hear me; you imagine now, by the twirling of

your strings, that I am at the last, as also that my friends are flown

like Swallows after Summer.

_Unc._ Yes, Sir.

_Val._ And that I have no more in this poor Pannier, to raise me up

again above your rents, Uncle.

_Unc._ All this I do believe.

_Val._ You have no mind to better me.

_Unc._ Yes, Cousin, and to that end I come, and once more offer you

all that my power is master of.

_Val._ A match then, lay me down fifty pounds there.

_Unc._ There it is, Sir.

_Val._ And on it write, that you are pleased to give this, as due

unto my merit, without caution of land redeeming, tedious thanks, or

thrift hereafter to be hoped for.

_Unc._ How? [Luce _lays a Suit and Letter at the door._

_Val._ Without daring, when you are drunk, to relish of revilings,

to which you are prone in Sack, Uncle.

_Unc._ I thank you, Sir.

_Lance._ Come, come away, let the young wanton play a while, away I

say, Sir, let him go forward with his naked fashion, he will seek you

too morrow; goodly weather, sultry hot, sultry, how I sweat!

_Unc._ Farewel, Sir. [_Exeunt_ Uncle _and_ Lance.

_Val._ Would I sweat too, I am monstrous vext, and cold too; and

these are but thin pumps to walk the streets in; clothes I must get,

this fashion will not fadge with me; besides, 'tis an ill winter

wear,--What art thou? yes, they are clothes, and rich ones, some fool

has left 'em: and if I should utter--what's this paper here? Let these

be only worn by the most noble and deserving Gentleman _Valentine,_--dropt

out o'th' clouds! I think they are full of gold too; well, I'le leave

my wonder, and be warm again, in the next house I'le shift. [_Exit._

_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Francisco, Uncle, _and_ Lance.

_Fran._ Why do you deal thus with him? 'tis unnobly.

_Unc._ Peace Cousin peace, you are too tender of him, he must be

dealt thus with, he must be cured thus, the violence of his disease

_Francisco,_ must not be jested with, 'tis grown infectious, and

now strong Corrosives must cure him.

_Lance._ H'as had a stinger, has eaten off his clothes, the next

his skin comes.

_Unc._ And let it search him to the bones, 'tis better, 'twill make

him feel it.

_Lance._ Where be his noble friends now? will his fantastical

opinions cloath him, or the learned Art of having nothing feed him?

_Unc._ It must needs greedily, for all his friends have flung him

off, he is naked, and where to skin himself again, if I know, or can

devise how he should get himself lodging, his Spirit must be bowed, and

now we have him, have him at that we hoped for.

_Lance._ Next time we meet him cracking of nuts, with half a cloak

about him, for all means are cut off, or borrowing sixpence, to shew his

bounty in the pottage Ordinary?

_Fran._ Which way went he?

_Lance._ Pox, why should you ask after him, you have been trimm'd

already, let him take his fortune, [he] spun it out himself, Sir,

there's no pitie.

_Unc._ Besides some good to you now, from this miserie.

_Fran._ I rise upon his ruines! fie, fie, Uncle, fie honest

_Lance._ Those Gentlemen were base people, that could so soon take

fire to his destruction.

_Unc._ You are a fool, you are a fool, a young man.

_Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Morrow Uncle, morrow _Frank_, sweet _Frank_, and

how, and how d'ee, think now, how shew matters? morrow Bandog.

_Unc._ How?

_Fran._ Is this man naked, forsaken of his friends?

_Val._ Th'art handsom, _Frank_, a pretty Gentleman, i'faith

thou lookest well, and yet here may be those that look as handsom.

_Lance._ Sure he can conjure, and has the Devil for his Tailor.

_Unc._ New and rich! 'tis most impossible he should recover.

_Lan._ Give him this luck, and fling him into the Sea.

_Unc._ 'Tis not he, imagination cannot work this miracle.

_Val._ Yes, yes, 'tis he, I will assure you Uncle, the very he, the

he your wisdom plaid withall, I thank you for't, neighed at his

nakednesse, and made his cold and poverty your pastime; you see I live,

and the best can do no more Uncle, and though I have no state, I keep

the streets still, and take my pleasure in the Town, like a poor

Gentleman, wear clothes to keep me warm, poor things they serve me, can

make a shew too if I list, yes uncle, and ring a peal in my pockets,

ding dong, uncle, these are mad foolish wayes, but who can help 'em?

_Unc._ I am amazed.

_Lan._ I'le sell my Copyhold, for since there are such excellent

new nothings, why should I labour? is there no Fairy haunts him, no Rat,

nor no old woman?

_Unc._ You are _Valentine_.

_Val._ I think so, I cannot tell, I have been call'd so, and some

say Christened, why do you wonder at me, and swell, as if you had met a

Sergeant fasting, did you ever know desert want? y'are fools, a little

stoop there may be to allay him, he would grow too rank else, a small

eclipse to shadow him, but out he must break, glowingly again, and with

a great lustre, look you uncle, motion and majesty.

_Unc._ I am confounded.

_Fran._ I am of his faith.

_Val._ Walk by his careless kinsman, and turn again and walk, and

look thus Uncle, taking some one by the hand, he loves best, leave them

to the mercy of the hog-market, come _Frank_, Fortune is now my

friend, let me instruct thee.

_Fran._ Good morrow Uncle, I must needs go with him.

_Val._ Flay me, and turn me out where none inhabits, within two

hours I shall be thus again, now wonder on, and laugh at your own

ignorance. [_Ex._ Val. _and_ Franc.

_Unc._ I do believe him.

_Lan._ So do I, and heartily upon my conscience, burie him stark

naked, he would rise again, within two hours imbroidered: sow

mustard-seeds, and they cannot come up so thick as his new sattens do,

and clothes of silver, there's no striving.

_Unc._ Let him play a while then, and let's search out what hand:--

_Lan._ I, there the game lies. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Fountain, Bellamore, _and_ Harebrain.

_Foun._ Come, let's speak for our selves, we have lodg'd him sure

enough, his nakedness dare no[t] peep out to cross us.

_Bel._ We can have no admittance.

_Hare._ Let's in boldly, and use our best arts, who she deigns to

favour, we are all content.

_Foun._ Much good may do her with him, no civil wars.

_Bel._ By no means, now do I wonder in what old tod Ivie he lies

whistling for means, nor clothes he hath none, nor none will trust him,

we have made that side sure, teach him a new wooing.

_Hare._ Say it is his Uncles spite.

_Foun._ It is all one Gentlemen, 'thas rid us of a fair

incumbrance, and makes us look about to our own fortunes. Who are these?

_Enter_ Isabel _and_ Luce.

_Isab._ Not see this man yet! well, I shall be wiser: but

_Luce_, didst ever know a woman melt so? she is finely hurt to

hunt.

_Luce._ Peace, the three Suitors.

_Isab._ I could so titter now and laugh, I was lost _Luce_,

and I must love, I know not what; O _Cupid_, what pretty gins thou

hast to halter Woodcocks! and we must into the Country in all haste,

_Luce_.

_Luce._ For Heaven's sake, Mistris.

_Isab._ Nay, I have done, I must laugh though; but Scholar, I shall

teach you.

_Foun._ 'Tis her sister.

_Bel._ Save you Ladies.

_Lab._ Fair met Gentlemen, you are visiting my sister, I assure my

self.

_Hare._ We would fain bless our eyes.

_Isab._ Behold and welcom, you would see her?

_Foun._ 'Tis our business.

_Isab._ You shall see her, and you shall talk with her.

_Luce._ She will not see 'em, nor spend a word.

_Isab._ I'le make her fr[e]t a thousand, nay now I have found the

s[c]ab, I will so scratch her.

_Luce._ She cannot endure 'em.

_Isab._ She loves 'em but too dearly, come follow me, I'le bring

you toth' party Gentlemen, then make your own conditions.

_Luce._ She is sick you know.

_Isab._ I'le make her well, or kill her, and take no idle answer,

you are fools then, nor stand off for her state, she'I scorn you all

then, but urge her still, and though she fret, still follow her, a widow

must be won so.

_Bel._ She speaks bravely.

_Isab._ I would fain have a Brother in law, I love mens company,

and if she call for dinner to avoid you, be sure you stay; follow her

into her chamber, if she retire to Pray, pray with her, and boldly, like

honest lovers.

_Luce._ This will kill her.

_Foun._ You have shewed us one way, do but lead the tother.

_Isab._ I know you stand o'thorns, come I'le dispatch you.

_Luce._ If you live after this.

_Isab._ I have lost my aim.

_Enter_ Valentine, _and_ Francisco.

_Fran._ Did you not see 'em since.

_Val._ No hang 'em, hang 'em.

_Fran._ Nor will you not be seen by 'em?

_Val._ Let 'em alone _Frank_, I'le make 'em their own justice,

and a jerker.

_Fran._ Such base discourteous Dog-whelps.

_Val._ I shall dog 'em, and double dog 'em, ere I have done.

_Fran._ Will you go with me, for I would fain find out this piece

of bountie, it was the Widows man, that I am certain of.

_Val._ To what end would you go?

_Fran._ To give thanks.

_Val._ Hang giving thanks, hast not thou parts deserve it? it

includes a further will to be beholding, beggars can do no more at door,

if you will go, there lies your way.

_Fran._ I hope you will go.

_Val._ No not in ceremony, and to a woman, with mine own Father,

were he living _Frank_; I would toth' Court with Bears first, if it

be that wench, I think it is, for t'other's wiser, I would not be so

lookt upon, and laught at, so made a ladder for her wit, to climb upon,

for 'tis the tartest tit in Christendom, I know her well _Frank_,

and have buckled with her, so lickt, and stroaked, flear'd upon, and

flouted, and shown to Chambermaids, like a strange beast, she had

purchased with her penny.

_Fran._ You are a strange man, but do you think it was a woman?

_Val._ There's no doubt on't, who can be there to do it else?

besides the manner of the circumstances.

_Fran._ Then such courtesies, who ever does 'em sir, saving your

own wisdom, must be more lookt into, and better answered, than with

deserving slights, or what we ought to have conferred upon us, men may

starve else, means are not gotten now with crying out I am a gallant

fellow, a good Souldier, a man of learning, or fit to be employed,

immediate blessings cease like miracles, and we must grow by second

means, I pray go with me, even as you love me Sir.

_Val._ I will come to thee, but _Frank_, I will not stay to

hear your fopperies, dispatch those e're I come.

_Fran._ You will not fail me.

_Val._ Some two hours hence expect me.

_Fran._ I thank you, and will look for you. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Widow, Shorthose, _and_ Roger.

_Wid._ Who let in these puppies? you blind rascals, you drunken

Knaves several.

_Short._ Yes forsooth, I'le let 'em in presently,--Gentlemen.

_Wid._ Sprecious, you blown Pudding, bawling Rogue.

_Short._ I bawl as loud as I can, would you have me fetch 'em upon

my back.

_Wid._ Get 'em out rascal, out with 'em, out, I sweat to have 'em

near me.

_Short._ I should sweat more to carry 'em out.

_Roger._ They are Gentlemen Madam.

_Short._ Shall we get 'em into th' butterie, and make'em drunk?

_Wid._ Do any thing, so I be eased.

_Enter_ Isabel, Fount, Bella, Hare.

_Isab._ Now to her Sir, fear nothing.

_Rog._ Slip aside boy, I know she loves 'em, howsoever she carries

it, and has invited 'em, my young Mistress told me so.

_Short._ Away to tables then. [_Exeunt._

_Isab._ I shall burst with the sport on't.

_Fount._ You are too curious Madam, too full of preparation, we

expect it not.

_Bella._ Me thinks the house is handsom, every place decent, what

need you be vext?

_Hare._ We are no strangers.

_Fount._ What though we come e're you expected us, do not we know

your entertainments Madam are free, and full at all times?

_Wid._ You are merry, Gentlemen.

_Bel._ We come to be merry Madam, and very merry, men love to laugh

heartily, and now and then Lady a little of our old plea.

_Wid._ I am busie, and very busie too, will none deliver me.

_Hare._ There is a time for all, you may be busie, but when your

friends come, you have as much power Madam.

_Wid._ This is a tedious torment.

_Foun._ How hansomly this little piece of anger shews upon her!

well Madam well, you know not how to grace your self.

_Bel._ Nay every thing she does breeds a new sweetness.

_Wid._ I must go up, I must go up, I have a business waits upon me,

some wine for the Gentlemen.

_Hare._ Nay, we'l go with you, we never saw your chambers yet.

_Isab._ Hold there boyes.

_Wid._ Say I go to my prayers?

_Foun._ We'l pray with you, and help your meditations.

_Wid._ This is boysterous, or say I go to sleep, will you go to

sleep with me?

_Bel._ So suddenly before meat will be dangerous, we know your

dinner's ready Lady, you will not sleep.

_Wid._ Give me my Coach, I will take the air.

_Hare._ We'l wait on you, and then your meat after a quickned

stomach.

_Wid._ Let it alone, and call my Steward to me, and bid him bring

his reckonings into the Orchard, these unmannerly rude puppies--

[_Exit Widow._

_Foun._ We'l walk after you and view the pleasure of the place.

_Isab._ Let her not rest, for if you give her breath, she'l scorn

and flout you, seem how she will, this is the way to win her, be bold

and prosper.

_Bel._ Nay if we do not tire her.--

[_Exeunt._

_Isab._ I'le teach you to worm me, good Lady sister, and peep into

my privacies to suspect me, I'le torture you, with that you hate, most

daintily, and when I have done that, laugh at that you love most.

_Enter_ Luce.

_Luce._ What have you done, she chafes and fumes outragiously, and

still they persecute her.

_Isab._ Long may they do so, I'le teach her to declaim against my

pities, why is she not gone out o'th' town, but gives occasion for men

to run mad after her?

_Luc._ I shall be hanged.

_Isab._ This in me had been high treason, three at a time, and

private in her Orchard! I hope she'l cast her reckonings right now.

_Enter_ Widow.

_Wid._ Well, I shall find who brought 'em.

_Isab._ Ha, ha, ha.

_Wid._ Why do you laugh sister? I fear me 'tis your trick, 'twas

neatly done of you, and well becomes your pleasure.

_Isab._ What have you done with 'em?

_Wid._ Lockt 'em i'th' Orchard, there I'le make 'em dance and caper

too, before they get their liberty, unmannerly rude puppies.

_Isab._ They are somewhat saucy, but yet I'le let 'em out, and once

more sound 'em, why were they not beaten out?

_Wid._ I was about it, but because they came as suiters.

_Isab._ Why did you not answer 'em?

_Wid._ They are so impudent they will receive none: More yet! how

came these in?

_Enter_ Francisco _and_ Lance.

_Lan._ At the door, Madam.

_Isab._ It is that face.

_Luce._ This is the Gentleman.

_Wid._ She sent the money to?

_Luce._ The same.

_Isab._ Fie leave you, they have some business.

_Wid._ Nay, you shall stay, Sister, they are strangers both to me;

how her face alters!

_Isab._ I am sorry he comes now.

_Wid._ I am glad he is here now though. Who would you speak with,

Gentlemen?

_Lan._ You Lady, or your fair Sister there, here's a Gentleman that

has received a benefit.

_Wid._ From whom, Sir?

_Lan._ From one of you, as he supposes, Madam, your man delivered

it.

_Wid._ I pray go forward.

_Lan._ And of so great a goodness, that he dares not, without the

tender of his thanks and service, pass by the house.

_Wid._ Which is the Gentleman?

_Lan._ This, Madam.

_Wid._ What's your name, Sir?

_Fran._ They that know me call me _Francisco_, Lady, one not

so proud to scorn so timely a benefit, nor so wretched to hide a

gratitude.

_Wid._ It is well bestowed then.

_Fran._ Your fair self, or your Sister as it seems, for what desert

I dare not know, unless a handsome subject for your charities, or

aptness in your noble will to do it, have showred upon my wants a timely

bounty, which makes me rich in thanks, my best inheritance.

_Wid._ I am sorry 'twas not mine, this is the Gentlewoman, fie, do

not blush, go roundly to the matter, the man is a pretty man.

_Isab._ You have three fine ones.

_Fran._ Then to you, dear Lady?

_Isab._ I pray no more, Sir, if I may perswade you, your only

aptness to do this is recompence, and more than I expected.

_Fran._ But good Lady.

_Isab._ And for me further to be acquainted with it besides the

imputation of vain glory, were greedy thankings of my self, I did it not

to be more affected to; I did it, and if it happened where I thought it

fitted, I have my end; more to enquire is curious in either of us, more

than that suspicious.

_Fran._ But gentle Lady, 'twill be necessary.

_Isab._ About the right way nothing, do not fright it, being to

pious use and tender sighted, with the blown face of Complements, it

blasts it; had you not come at all, but thought thanks, it had been too

much, 'twas not to see your person.

_Wid._ A brave dissembling Rogue, and how she carries it!

_Isa._ Though I believe few handsomer; or hear you, though I affect

a good tongue well; or try you, though my years desire a friend, that I

relieved you.

_Wid._ A plaguie cunning quean.

_Isab._ For so I carried it, my end's too glorious in mine eyes,

and bettered the goodness I propounded with opinion.

_Wid._ Fear her not, Sir.

_Isa._ You cannot catch me, Sister.

_Fran._ Will you both teach, and tie my tongue up Lady?

_Isa._ Let it suffice you have it, it was never mine, whilest good

men wanted it.

_Lan._ This is a Saint sure.

_Isa._ And if you be not such a one, restore it.

_Fran._ To commend my self, were more officious than you think my

thanks are, to doubt I may be worth your gift a treason, both to mine

own good and understanding, I know my mind clear, and though modesty

tells me, he that intreats intrudes; yet I must think something, and of

some season, met with your better taste, this had not been else.

_Wid._ What ward for that, wench?

_Isa._ Alas, it never touched me.

_Fran._ Well, gentle Lady, yours is the first money I ever took

upon a forced ill manners.

_Isa._ The last of me, if ever you use other.

_Fran._ How may I do, and your way to be thought a grateful taker?

_Isa._ Spend it, and say nothing, your modesty may deserve more.

_Wid._ O Sister will you bar thankfulness?

_Isa._ Dogs dance for meat, would ye have men do worse? for they

can speak, cry out like Wood-mongers, good deeds by the hundreds, I did

it that my best friend should not know it, wine and vain glory does as

much as I else, if you will force my merit, against my meaning, use it

in well bestowing it, in shewing it came to be a benefit, and was so;

and not examining a Woman did it, or to what end, in not believing

sometimes your self, when drink and stirring conversation may ripen

strange perswasions.

_Fran._ Gentle Lady, I were a base receiver of a courtesie, and you

a worse disposer, were my nature unfurnished of these fore-sights.

Ladies honours were ever in my thoughts, unspotted Crimes, their good

deeds holy Temples, where the incense burns not; to common eyes your

fears are vertuous, and so I shall preserve 'em.

_Isa._ Keep but this way, and from this place to tell me so, you

have paid me; and so I wish you see all fortune. [_Exit._

_Wid._ Fear not, the Woman will be thanked, I do not doubt it. Are

you so crafty, carry it so precisely? this is to wake my fears, or to

abuse me, I shall look narrowly: despair not Gentlemen, there is an hour

to catch a Woman in, if you be wise, so, I must leave you too; Now will

I go laugh at my Suitors. [_Exit._

_Lan._ Sir, what courage?

_Fran._ This Woman is a founder, and cites Statutes to all her

benefits.

_Lan._ I never knew yet, so few years and so cunning, yet believe

me she has an itch, but how to make her confess it, for it is a crafty

Tit, and plays about you, will not bite home, she would fain, but she

dares not; carry your self but so discreetly, Sir, that want or

wantonness seem not to search you, and you shall see her open.

_Fran._ I do love her, and were I rich, would give two thousand

pound to wed her wit but one hour, oh 'tis a Dragon, and such a spritely

way of pleasure, ha _Lance_.

_Lan._ Your ha _Lance_ broken once, you would cry, ho, ho,

_Lance_.

_Fran._ Some leaden landed Rogue will have this wench now, when

all's done, some such youth will carry her, and wear her, greasie out

like stuff, some Dunce that knows no more but Markets, and admires

nothing but a long charge at Sizes: O the fortunes!

_Enter_ Isabel _and_ Luce.

_Lan._ Comfort your self.

_Luce._ They are here yet, and alone too, boldly upon't; nay,

Mistress, I still told you, how 'twould find your trust, this 'tis to

venture your charity upon a boy.

_Lan._ Now, what's the matter? stand fast, and like your self.

_Isa._ Prethee no more Wench.

_Luce._ What was his want to you?

_Isa._ 'Tis true.

_Luce._ Or misery, or say he had been i'th' Cage, was there no

mercy to look abroad but yours?

_Isa._ I am paid for fooling.

_Lu._ Must every slight companion that can purchase a shew of

poverty and beggerly planet fall under your compassion?

_Lane._ Here's a new matter.

_Luce._ Nay, you are served but too well, here he staies yet, yet

as I live.

_Fran._ How her face alters on me!

_Luce._ Out of a confidence I hope.

_Isab._ I am glad on't.

_Fran._ How do you gentle Lady?

_Isab._ Much ashamed Sir, (but first stand further off me, y'are

infectious) to find such vanitie, nay almost impudence, where I believ'd

a worth: is this your thanks, the gratitude you were so mad to make me,

your trim counsel Gentlemen?

_Lane._ What, Lady?

_Isab._ Take your device again, it will not serve Sir, the woman

will not bite, you are finely cozened, drop it no more for shame.

_Luce._ Do you think you are here Sir amongst your wast-coateers,

your base wenches that scratch at such occasions? you are deluded: This

is a Gentlewoman of a noble house, born to a better fame than you can

build her, and eyes above your pitch.

_Fran._ I do acknowledge--

_Isab._ Then I beseech you Sir, what could 'see, (speak boldly, and

speak truly, shame the Devil,) in my behaviour of such easiness that you

durst venture to do this?

_Fran._ You amaze me, this Ring is none of mine, nor did I drop it.

_Luce._ I saw you drop it, Sir.

_Isab._ I took it up too, still looking when your modesty should

miss it, why, what a childish part was this?

_Fran._ I vow.

_Isab._ Vow me no vowes, he that dares do this, has bred himself to

boldness, to forswear too; there take your gew-gaw, you are too much

pampered, and I repent my part, as you grow older grow wiser if you can,

and so farewel Sir.

[_Exeunt_ Isabella, _and_ Luce.

_Lan._ Grow wiser if you can? she has put it to you, 'tis a rich

Ring, did you drop it?

_Fran._ Never, ne're saw it afore, _Lance_.

_Lan._ Thereby hangs a tail then: what slight she makes to catch

her self! look up Sir, you cannot lose her if you would, how daintily

she flies upon the Lure, and cunningly she makes her stops! whistle and

she'l come to you.

_Fran._ I would I were so happy.

_Lan._ Maids are Clocks, the greatest Wheel they show, goes slowest

to us, and make's hang on tedious hopes; the lesser, which are

concealed, being often oyl'd with wishes, flee like desires, and never

leave that motion, till the tongue strikes; she is flesh, blood and

marrow, young as her purpose, and soft as pity; no Monument to worship,

but a mould to make men in, a neat one, and I know how e're she appears

now, which is near enough, you are stark blind if you hit not soon at

night; she would venture forty pounds more but to feel a Flea in your

shape bite her: drop no more Rings forsooth, this was the prettiest

thing to know her heart by.

_Fran._ Thou putst me in much comfort.

_Lan._ Put your self in good comfort, if she do not point you out

the way, drop no more Rings, she'l drop her self into you.

_Fran._ I wonder my Brother comes not.

_Lan._ Let him alone, and feed your self on your own fortunes; come

be frolick, and let's be monstrous wise and full of counsel, drop no

more Rings. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Widow, Fountain, Bellamore, Harebrain.

_Wid._ If you will needs be foolish you must be used so: who sent

for you? who entertained you Gentlemen? who bid you welcom hither? you

came crowding, and impudently bold; press on my patience, as if I kept a

house for all Companions, and of all sorts: will 'have your wills, will

vex me and force my liking from you I ne're ow'd you?

_Fount._ For all this we will dine with you.

_Bel._ And for all this will have a better answer from you.

_Wid._ You shall never, neither have an answer nor dinner, unless

you use me with a more staid respect, and stay your time too.

_Enter_ Isabella, Shorthose, Roger, Humphrey, Ralph, _with dishes

of meat_.

_Isab._ Forward with the meat now.

_Rog._ Come Gentlemen, march fairly.

_Short._ _Roger_, you are a weak Serving-man, your white

broath runs from you; fie, how I sweat under this Pile of Beef; an

Elephant can do more! Oh for such a back now, and in these times, what

might a man arrive at! Goose, grase you up, and Woodcock march behinde

thee, I am almost foundred.

_Wid._ Who bid you bring the meat yet? away you knaves, I will not

dine these two hours: how am I vext and chafed! go carry it back and

tell the Cook, he's an arrant Rascal, to send before I called.

_Short._ Face about Gentlemen, beat a mournfull march then, and

give some supporters, or else I perish--

[_Exeunt_ Servants.

_Isab._ It does me much good to see her chafe thus.

_Hare._ We can stay Madam, and will stay and dwell here, 'tis good

Air.

_Fount._ I know you have beds enough, and meat you never want.

_Wid._ You want a little.

_Bel._ We dare to pretend no. Since you are churlish, we'l give you

Physick, you must purge this anger, it burns you and decays you.

_Wid._ If I had you out once, I would be at the charge of a

portcullis for you.

_Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Good morrow noble Lady.

_Wid._ Good morrow Sir. How sweetly now he looks, and how full

manly! what slaves were these to use him so!

_Val._ I come to look a young man I call Brother.

_Wid._ Such a one was here Sir, as I remember your own Brother, but

gone almost an hour agoe.

_Val._ Good ee'n then.

_Wid._ You must not so soon Sir, here be some Gentlemen, it may be

you are acquainted with 'em.

_Hare._ Will nothing make him miserable?

_Fount._ How glorious!

_Bel._ It is the very he, does it rain fortunes, or has he a

familiar?

_Hare._ How doggedly he looks too?

_Fount._ I am beyond my faith, pray let's be going.

_Val._ Where are these Gentlemen?

_Wid._ Here.

_Val._ Yes I know 'em, and will be more familiar.

_Bel._ Morrow Madam.

_Wid._ Nay stay and dine.

_Val._ You shall stay till I talk with you, and not dine neither,

but fastingly my fury, you think you have undone me, think so still, and

swallow that belief, till you be company for Court-hand Clarks, and

starved Atturnies, till you break in at playes like Prentices for three

a groat, and crack Nuts with the Scholars in peny Rooms again, and fight

for Apples, till you return to what I found you, people betrai'd into

the hands of Fencers, Challengers, Tooth-drawers Bills, and tedious

Proclamations in Meal-markets, with throngings to see Cutpurses: stir

not, but hear, and mark, I'le cut your throats else, till Water works,

and rumours of New Rivers rid you again and run you into questions who

built Thames, till you run mad for Lotteries, and stand there with your

Tables to glean the golden Sentences, and cite 'em secre[t]ly to

Servingmen for sound Essayes, till Taverns allow you but a Towel room to

Tipple Wine in, that the Bell hath gone for twice, and Glasses that look

like broken promises, tied up with wicker protestations, English Tobacco

with half Pipes, nor in half a year once burnt, and Bisket that Bawds

have rubb'd their gums upon like Corals to bring the mark again, tell

these hour Rascals so, this most fatal hour will come again, think I sit

down the looser.

_Wid._ Will you stay Gentlemen, a piece of Beef and a cold Capon,

that's all, you know you are welcom.

_Hum._ That was cast to abuse us.

_Bel._ Steal off, the Devil is in his anger.

_Wid._ Nay I am sure you will not leave me so discourteously, now I

have provided for you.

_Val._ What do you here? why do ye vex a woman of her goodness, her

state and worth? can you bring a fair certificate that you deserve to be

her footmen? husbands, you puppies? husbands for Whores and Bawds, away

you wind suckers; do not look big, nor prate, nor stay, nor grumble and

when you are gone, seem to laugh at my fury, and slight this Lady, I

shall hear, and know this: and though I am not bound to fight for women,

as far they are good I dare preserve 'em: be not too bold, for if you

be, I'le swinge you monstrously without all pity, your honours now goe,

avoid me mainly. [_Exeunt._

_Wid._ Well Sir, you have delivered me, I thank you, and with your

nobleness prevented danger, their tongues might utter, we'll all go and

eat Sir.

_Vol._ No, no, I dare not trust my self with women, go to your

meat, eat little, take less ease, and tie your body to a daily labour,

you may live honestly, and so I thank you. [_Exit._

_Wid._ Well go thy ways, thou art a noble fellow, and some means I

must work to have thee know it. [_Exit._

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Uncle, _and_ Merchant.

_Unc._ Most certain 'tis her hands that hold him up, and her sister

relieves _Frank_.

_Mer._ I am glad to hear it: but wherefore do they not pursue this

fortune to some fair end?

_Unc._ The women are too craftie, _Valentine_ too coy, and

_Frank_ too bashfull, had any wise man hold of such a blessing,

they would strike it out o'th' flint but they would form it.

_Enter_ Widow, _and_ Shorthose.

_Mer._ The Widow sure, why does she stir so early?

_Wid._ 'Tis strange, I cannot force him to understand me, and make

a benefit of what I would bring him: tell my sister I'le use my

devotions at home this morning, she may if she please go to Church.

_Short._ Hey ho.

_Wid._ And do you wait upon her with a torch Sir.

_Short._ Hey ho.

_Wid._ You lazie Knave.

_Short._ Here is such a tinkle tanklings that we can ne're lie

quiet, and sleep our prayers out. _Ralph_, pray emptie my right

shooe that you made your Chamber-pot, and burn a little Rosemarie in't,

I must wait upon my Lady. This morning Prayer has brought me into a

consumption, I have nothing left but flesh and bones about me.

_Wid._ You drousie slave, nothing but sleep and swilling!

_Short._ Had you been bitten with Bandog fleas, as I have been, and

haunted with the night Mare.

_Wid._ With an Ale-pot.

_Short._ You would have little list to morning Prayers, pray take

my fellow _Ralph_, he has a Psalm Book, I am an ingrum man.

_Wid._ Get you ready quickly, and when she is ready wait upon her

handsomely; no more, be gone.

_Short._ If I do snore my part out-- [_Exit_ Short.

_Unc._ Now to our purposes.

_Mer._ Good morrow, Madam.

_Wid._ Good morrow, Gentlemen.

_Unc._ Good joy and fortune.

_Wid._ These are good things, and worth my thanks, I thank you Sir.

_Mer._ Much joy I hope you'l find, we came to gratulate your new

knit marriage-band.

_Wid._ How?

_Unc._ He's a Gentleman, although he be my kinsman, my fair Niece.

_Wid._ Niece, Sir?

_Unc._ Yes Lady, now I may say so, 'tis no shame to you, I say a

Gentleman, and winking at some light fancies, which you most happily may

affect him for, as bravely carried, as nobly bred and managed.

_Wid._ What's all this? I understand you not, what Niece, what

marriage-knot?

_Unc._ I'le tell plainly, you are my Niece, and _Valentine_

the Gentleman has made you so by marriage.

_Wid._ Marriage?

_Unc._ Yes Lady, and 'twas a noble and vertuous part, to take a

falling man to your protection, and buoy him up again to all his

glories.

_Wid._ The men are mad.

_Mer._ What though he wanted these outward things, that flie away

like shadows, was not his mind a full one, and a brave one? You have

wealth enough to give him gloss and outside, and he wit enough to give

way to love a Lady.

_Unc._ I ever thought he would do well.

_Mer._ Nay, I knew how ever he wheel'd about like a loose Cabine,

he would charge home at length, like a brave Gentleman; Heavens blessing

o' your heart Lady, we are so bound to honour you, in all your service

so devoted to you.

_Unc._ Do not look so strange Widow, it must be known, better a

general joy; no stirring here yet, come, come, you cannot hide 'em.

_Wid._ Pray be not impudent, these are the finest toyes, belike I

am married then?

_Mer._ You are in a miserable estate in the worlds account else, I

would not for your wealth it come to doubting.

_Wid._ And I am great with child?

_Unc._ No, great they say not, but 'tis a full opinion you are with

child, and great joy among the Gentlemen, your husband hath bestirred

himself fairly.

_Mer._ Alas, we know his private hours of entrance, how long, and

when he stayed, could name the bed too, where he paid down his

first-fruits.

_Wid._ I shall believe anon.

_Unc._ And we consider for some private reasons, you would have it

private, yet take your own pleasure; and so good morrow, my best Niece,

my sweetest.

_Wid._ No, no, pray stay.

_Unc._ I know you would be with him, love him, and love him well.

_Mer._ You'l find him noble, this may beget--

_Unc._ It must needs work upon her.

[_Exit_ Uncle, _and_ Mer.

_Wid._ These are fine bobs i'faith, married, and with child too!

how long has this been, I trow? they seem grave fellows, they should not

come to flout; married, and bedded, the world takes notice too! where

lies this May-game? I could be vext extreamly now, and rail too, but

'tis to no end, though I itch a little, must I be scratcht I know not

how, who waits there?

_Enter_ Humphrey, _a_ Servant.

_Hum._ Madam.

_Wid._ Make ready my Coach quickly, and wait you only, and hark you

Sir, be secret and speedy, inquire out where he lies.

_Hum._ I shall do it, Madam.

_Wid._ Married, and got with child in a dream! 'tis fine i'faith,

sure he that did this, would do better waking. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Valentine, Fran. Lance, _and a Boy with a Torch_.

_Val._ Hold thy Torch handsomely: how dost thou _Frank_?

_Peter Bassel_, bear up.

_Fran._ You have fried me soundly, Sack do you call this drink?

_Val._ A shrewd dog, _Frank_, will bite abundantly.

_Lan._ Now could I fight, and fight with thee.

_Val._ With me, thou man of _Memphis_?

_Lan._ But that thou art mine own natural master, yet my sack says

thou art no man, thou art a Pagan, and pawnest thy land, which a noble

cause.

_Val._ No arms, nor arms, good _Lancelot_, dear _Lance_,

no fighting here, we will have Lands boy, Livings, and Titles, thou

shalt be a Vice-Roy, hang fighting, hang't 'tis out of fashion.

_Lan._ I would fain labour you into your lands again, go to, it is

behoveful.

_Fran._ Fie _Lance_, fie.

_Lan._ I must beat some body, and why not my Master, before a

stranger? charity and beating begins at home.

_Val._ Come, thou shalt beat me.

_Lan._ I will not be compel'd, and you were two Masters, I scorn

the motion.

_Val._ Wilt thou sleep?

_Lan._ I scorn sleep.

_Val._ Wilt thou go eat?

_Lan._ I scorn meat, I come for rompering, I come to wait upon my

charge discreetly; for look you, if you will not take your Mortgage

again, here do I lie S' George, and so forth.

_Val._ And here do I S' George, bestride the Dragon, thus with my

Lance.

_Lan._ I sting, I sting with my tail.

_Val._ Do you so, do you so, Sir? I shall tail you presently.

_Fran._ By no means, do not hurt him.

_Val._ Take this _Nelson_, and now rise, thou Maiden Knight of

Malllgo, lace on thy Helmet of inchanted Sack, and charge again.

_Lan._ I'le play no more, you abuse me, will you go?

_Fran._ I'le bid you good morrow, Brother, for sleep I cannot, I

have a thousand fancies.

_Val._ Now thou art arrived, go bravely to the matter, and do

something of worth, _Frank_.

_Lan._ You shall hear from us. [_Exeunt_ Lance _and_

Frank.

_Val._ This Rogue, if he had been sober, sure had beaten me, is the

most tettish Knave.

_Enter_ Uncle _and_ Merchant, _Boy with a Torch_.

_Unc._ 'Tis he.

_Mer._ Good morrow.

_Val._ Why, Sir, good morrow to you too, and you be so lusty.

_Unc._ You have made your Brother a fine man, we met him.

_Val._ I made him a fine Gentleman, he was a fool before, brought up

amongst the midst of Small-Beer-Brew-houses, what would you have with me?

_Mer._ I come to tell you, your latest hour is come.

_Val._ Are you my sentence?

_Mer._ The sentence of your state.

_Val._ Let it be hang'd then, and let it be hang'd high enough, I

may not see it.

_Unc._ A gracious resolution.

_Val._ What would you have else with me, will you go drink, and let

the world slide, Uncle? Ha, ha, ha, boyes, drink Sack like Whey, boyes.

_Mer._ Have you no feeling, Sir?

_Val._ Come hither Merchant: make me a supper, thou most reverent

Land-catcher, a supper of forty pounds.

_Mer._ What then, Sir?

_Val._ Then bring thy Wife along, and thy fair Sisters, thy

Neighbours and their Wives, and all their trinkets, let me have forty

Trumpets, and such Wine, we'll laugh at all the miseries of Mortgage,

and then in state I'le render thee an answer.

_Mer._ What say you to this?

_Unc._ I dare not say, nor think neither.

_Mer._ Will you redeem your state, speak to the point, Sir?

_Pal._ Not, not if it were mine heir in the _Turks_ Gallies.

_Mer._ Then I must take an order?

_Val._ Take a thousand, I will not keep it, nor thou shalt not have

it, because thou camest i'th' nick, thou shalt not have it, go take

possession, and be sure you hold it, hold fast with both hands, for

there be those hounds uncoupled, will ring you such a knell, go down in

glory, and march upon my land, and cry, All's mine; cry as the Devil

did, and be the Devil, mark what an Echo follows, build fine

March-panes, to entertain Sir Silk-worm and his Lady, and pull the

Chappel down, and raise a Chamber for Mistress Silver-pin, to lay her

belly in, mark what an Earthquake comes. Then foolish Merchant my

Tenants are no Subjects, they obey nothing, and they are people too

never Christened, they know no Law nor Conscience, they'll devour thee;

and thou mortal, the stopple, they'll confound thee within three days;

no bit nor memory of what thou wert, no not the Wart upon thy Nose

there, shall be e're heard of more; go take possession, and bring thy

Children down, to rost like Rabbets, they love young Toasts and Butter,

_Bow-bell_ Suckers; as they love mischief, and hate Law, they are

Cannibals; bring down thy kindred too, that be not fruitful, there be

those Mandrakes that will mollifie 'em, go take possession. I'le go to

my Chamber, afore Boy go. [_Exeunt._

_Mer._ He's mad sure.

_Unc._ He's half drunk sure: and yet I like this unwillingness to

lose it, this looking back.

_Mer._ Yes, if he did it handsomely, but he's so harsh and strange.

_Unc._ Believe it 'tis his drink, Sir, and I am glad his drink has

thrust it out.

_Mer._ Cannibals? if ever I come to view his Regiment, if fair

terms may be had.

_Unc._ He tells you true, Sir, they are a bunch of the most

boisterous Rascals disorder ever made, let 'em be mad once, the power of

the whole Country cannot cool 'em, be patient but a while.

_Mer._ As long as you will, Sir, before I buy a bargain of such

Runts, I'le buy a Colledge for Bears, and live among 'em.

_Enter_ Francisco, Lance, _Boy with a Torch_.

_Fran._ How dost thou now?

_Lan._ Better than I was, and straighter, but my head's a Hogshead

still, it rowls and tumbles.

_Fran._ Thou wert cruelly paid.

_Lan._ I may live to requite it, put a Snaffle of Sack in my mouth

and then ride me very well.

_Fran._ 'Twas all but sport, I'le tell thee what I mean now, I mean

to see this Wench.

_Lan._ Where a Devil is she? and there were two, 'twere better.

_Fran._ Dost thou hear the Bell ring?

_Lan._ Yes, yes.

_Fran._ Then she comes to prayers, early each morning thither: Now

if I could but meet her, for I am of another mettle now.

_Enter_ Isabel, _and_ Shorthose _with a Torch_.

_Lan._ What light's yon?

_Fran._ Ha, 'tis a light, take her by the hand and court her.

_Lan._ Take her below the girdle, you'l never speed else, it comes

on this way still, oh that I had but such an opportunity in a Saw-pit,

how it comes on, comes on! 'tis here.

_Fran._ 'Tis she: fortune I kiss thy hand--Good morrow Lady.

_Isa._ What voice is that, Sirra, do you sleep as you go, 'tis he,

I am glad on't. Why, _Shorthose_?

_Short._ Yes forsooth, I was dreamt, I was going to Church.

_Lan._ She sees you as plain as I do.

_Isab._ Hold the torch up.

_Short._ Here's nothing but a stall, and a Butcher's Dog asleep

in't, where did you see the voice?

_Fran._ She looks still angry.

_Lan._ To her and meet Sir.

_Isab._ Here, here.

_Fran._ Yes Lady, never bless your self, I am but a man, and like

an honest man, now I will thank you--

_Isab._ What do you mean, who sent for you, who desired you?

_Short._ Shall I put out the Torch forsooth?

_Isab._ Can I not go about my private meditations, Ha, but such

companions as you must ruffle me? you had best go with me Sir?

_Fran._ 'Twas my purpose.

_Isab._ Why, what an impudence is this! you had best, being so near

the Church, provide a Priest, and perswade me to marry you.

_Fran._ It was my meaning, and such a husband, so loving, and so

carefull, my youth, and all my fortunes shall arrive at--Hark you?

_Isab._ 'Tis strange you should be thus unmannerly, turn home again

sirra, you had best now force my man to lead your way.

_Lan._ Yes marry shall he Lady, forward my friend.

_Isab._ This is a pretty Riot, it may grow to a rape.

_Fran._ Do you like that better? I can ravish you an hundred times,

and never hurt you.

_Short._ I see nothing, I am asleep still, when you have done tell

me, and then I'le wake Mistris.

_Isab._ Are you in earnest Sir, do you long to be hang'd?

_Fran._ Yes by my troth Lady in these fair Tresses.

_Isab._ Shall I call out for help?

_Fran._ No by no means, that were a weak trick Lady, I'le kiss, and

stop your mouth.

_Isab._ You'l answer all these?

_Fran._ A thousand kisses more.

_Isab._ I was never abused thus, you had best give out too, that

you found me willing, and say I doted on you?

_Fran._ That's known already, and no man living shall now carry you

from me.

_Isab._ This is fine i'faith.

_Fran._ It shall be ten times finer.

_Isab._ Well, seeing you are so valiant, keep your way, I will to

Church.

_Fran._ And I will wait upon you.

_Isab._ And it is most likely there's a Priest, if you dare venture

as you profess, I would wish you look about you, to do these rude

tricks, for you know the recompences, and trust not to my mercy.

_Fran._ But I will Lady.

_Isab._ For I'le so handle you.

_Fran._ That's it I look for.

_Lan._ Afore thou dream.

_Shor._ Have you done?

_Isab._ Go on Sir, and follow if you dare.

_Fran._ If I do not, hang me.

_Lan._ 'Tis all thine own boy, an 'twere a million, god a mercy

Sack, when would small Beer have done this?

_Knocking within. Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Whose that that knocks and bounces, what a Devil ails you,

is hell broke loose, or do you keep an Iron mill?

_Enter a_ Servant.

_Ser._ 'Tis a Gentlewoman Sir that must needs speak with you.

_Val._ A Gentlewoman? what Gentlewoman, what have I to do with

Gentlewomen?

_Ser._ She will not be answered Sir.

_Val._ Fling up the bed and let her in, I'le try how gentle she is--

[_Exit_ Servant.

This Sack has fill'd my head so full of babies, I am almost mad; what

Gentlewoman should this be? I hope she has brought me no butter print

along with her to lay to my charge, if she have 'tis all one, I'le

forswear it.

_Enter_ Widow.

_Wid._ O you're a noble Gallant, send off your Servant pray.

[_Exit_ Servant.

_Val._ She will not ravish me? by this light she looks as sharp set

as a Sparrow hawk, what wouldst thou woman?

_Wid._ O you have used me kindly, and like a Gentleman, this is to

trust to you.

_Val._ Trust to me, for what?

_Wid._ Because I said in jest once, you were a handsom man, one I

could like well, and fooling, made you believe I loved you, and might be

brought to marrie.

_Val._ The widow is drunk too.

_Wid._ You out of this, which is a fine discretion, give out the

matter's done, you have won and wed me, and that you have put, fairly

put for an heir too, these are fine rumours to advance my credit: i'th'

name of mischief what did you mean?

_Val._ That you loved me, and that you might be brought to marrie

me? why, what a Devil do you mean, widow?

_Wid._ 'Twas a fine trick too, to tell the world though you had

enjoyed your first wish you wished, the wealth you aimed at, that I was

poor, which is most true, I am, have sold my lands, because I love not

those vexations, yet for mine honours sake, if you must be prating, and

for my credits sake in the Town.

_Val._ I tell thee widow, I like thee ten times better, now thou

hast no Lands, for now thy hopes and cares lye on thy husband, if e're

thou marryest more.

_Wid._ Have not you married me, and for this main cause, now as you

report it, to be your Nurse?

_Val._ My Nurse? why, what am I grown to, give me the Glass, my

Nurse.

_Wid._ You n'er said truer, I must confess I did a little favour

you, and with some labour might have been perswaded, but when I found I

must be hourly troubled, with making broths, and dawbing your decayes

with swadling, and with stitching up your ruines, for the world so

reports.

_Val._ Do not provoke me.

_Wid._ And half an eye may see.

_Val._ Do not provoke me, the world's a lying world, and thou shalt

find it, have a good heart, and take a strong faith to thee, and mark

what follows, my Nurse, yes, you shall rock me: Widow I'le keep you

waking.

_Wid._ You are disposed Sir.

_Val._ Yes marry am I Widow, and you shall feel it, nay and they

touch my freehold, I am a Tiger.

_Wid._ I think so.

_Val._ Come.

_Wid._ Whither?

_Val._ Any whither. [_Sings._

The fit's upon me now, the fit's upon me now,

Come quickly gentle Ladie, the fit's upon me now,

The world shall know they're fools,

And so shalt thou do too,

Let the Cobler meddle with his tools,

The fit's upon me now.

Take me quickly, while I am in this vein, away with me, for if I have

but two hours to consider, all the widows in the world cannot recover

me.

_Wid._ If you will, go with me Sir.

_Val._ Yes marrie will I, but 'tis in anger yet, and I will marrie

thee, do not cross me; yes, and I will lie with thee, and get a whole

bundle of babies, and I will kiss thee, stand still and kiss me

handsomely, but do not provoke me, stir neither hand nor foot, for I am

dangerous, I drunk sack yesternight, do not allure me: Thou art no widow

of this world, come in pitie, and in spite I'le marrie thee, not a word

more, and I may be brought to love thee. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Merchant, _and_ Uncle, _at several doors_.

_Mer._ Well met again, and what good news yet?

_Unc._ Faith nothing.

_Mer._ No fruits of what we sowed?

_Unc._ Nothing I hear of.

_Mer._ No turning in this tide yet?

_Unc._ 'Tis all flood, and till that fall away, there's no expecting.

_Enter_ Fran. Isab. Lance, Shorthose, _a torch_.

_Mer._ Is not this his younger Brother?

_Unc._ With a Gentlewoman the widow's sister, as I live he smiles,

he has got good hold, why well said _Frank_ i'faith, let's stay and

mark.

_Isab._ Well, you are the prettiest youth, and so you have handled

me, think you ha' me sure.

_Fran._ As sure as wedlock.

_Isab._ You had best lie with me too.

_Fran._ Yes indeed will I, and get such black ey'd boyes.

_Unc._ God a Mercy, _Frank_.

_Isab._ This is a merrie world, poor simple Gentlewomen that think

no harm, cannot walk about their business, but they must be catcht up I

know not how.

_Fran._ I'le tell you, and I'le instruct ye too, have I caught you,

Mistress?

_Isab._ Well, and it were not for pure pity, I would give you the

slip yet, but being as it is.

_Fran._ It shall be better.

_Enter_ Valentine, Widow, _and_ Ralph, _with a torch_.

_Isab._ My sister, as I live, your Brother with her! sure, I think

you are the Kings takers.

_Unc._ Now it works.

_Val._ Nay, you shall know I am a man.

_Wid._ I think so.

_Val._ And such proof you shall have.

_Wid._ I pray speak softly.

_Val._ I'le speak it out Widow, yes and you shall confess too, I am

no Nurse-child, I went for a man, a good one, if you can beat me out

o'th' pit.

_Wid._ I did but jest with you.

_Val._ I'le handle you in earnest, and so handle you: Nay, when my

credit calls.

_Wid._ Are you mad?

_Val._ I am mad, I am mad.

_Fran._ Good morrow, Sir, I like your preparation.

_Val._ Thou hast been at it, _Frank_.

_Fran._ Yes faith, 'tis done Sir.

_Val._ Along with me then, never hang an arse, widow.

_Isab._ 'Tis to no purpose, sister.

_Val._ Well said Black-brows, advance your torches Gentlemen.

_Unc._ Yes, yes Sir.

_Val._ And keep your ranks.

_Mer._ _Lance_, carrie this before him.

_Unc._ Carrie it in state.

_Enter_ Musicians, Fount. Hare. Bel.

_Val._ What are you, Musicians? I know your coming, and what are

those behind you?

_Musi._ Gentlemen that sent us to give the Lady a good morrow.

_Val._ O I know them, come boy sing the song I taught you,

And sing it lustily, come forward Gentlemen, you're welcom,

Welcom, now we are all friends, go get the Priest ready,

And let him not be long, we have much business:

Come _Frank_, rejoyce with me, thou hast got the start boy,

But I'le so tumble after, come my friends lead,

Lead cheerfully, and let your Fiddles ring boyes,

My follies and my fancies have an end here,

Display the morgage _Lance_, Merchant I'le pay you,

And every thing shall be in joynt again.

_Unc._ Afore, afore.

_Val._ And now confess, and know, _Wit without Money, sometimes

gives the blow_. [_Exeunt._