shall never find the way out again: my debts, my debts!
I’m like to die i’ th’ Hole[622] now.
FIRST SUIT. We have him fast, old signor, and his
consorts;
Now you may lay action on action on him.
SEC. SUIT. That may I, sir, i’faith.
FIRST SUIT. And I’d not spare him, sir.
SEC. SUIT. Know you me, officers?
FIRST OFF. Your bounteous worship, sir.
RIC. I know the rascal so well, I dare not look upon
him.
SEC. SUIT. Upon my worth, deliver me that gentleman.
FRAN. Which gentleman?
SEC. SUIT. Not you, sir, you’re too hasty;
No, nor you neither, sir, pray, stay your time.
RIC. There’s all but I now, and I dare not think he
means me.
SEC. SUIT. Deliver me Ricardo.
RIC. O, sure he lies,
Or else I do not hear well.
FIRST OFF. Signor Ricardo——
RIC. Well, what’s the matter?
FIRST OFF. You may go; who lets you?[623]
It is his worship’s pleasure, sir, to bail you.
RIC. Bail me?
SEC. SUIT. Ay will I, sir. Look in my face, man;
Thou’st a good cause; thou’lt pay me when thou’rt able?
RIC. Ay, every penny, as I’m a gentleman.
SEC. SUIT. No matter if thou dost not, then I’ll make
thee,
And that’s as good at all times.
FIRST SUIT. But, I pray, sir,—
You go against the hair there.[624]
SEC. SUIT. Against the widow you mean, sir;
Why, ’tis my purpose truly, and 'gainst you too:
I saw your politic combination;
I was thrust out between you. Here stands one
Shall do as much for you, and he stands rightest,
His cause is strong and fair; nor shall he want
Money, or means, or friends, but he shall have her:
I have enough, and I will have my humour.
FIRST SUIT. Hang thee! I have a purse as good as
thine.
RIC. I think they’re much alike, they’re rich knaves
both.—
[_Aside._
Heart, and[625] I take you railing at my patron, sir,
I’ll cramp your joints!
SEC. SUIT. Let him alone, sweet honey;
I thank thee for thy love though.
RIC. This is wonderful!
FRAN. O Ricardo,
’Tis seven struck in my pocket! I lose time now.
RIC. What say’st, Francisco?
FRAN. I ha’ mighty business,
That I ne’er thought on; get me bail’d, I’m spoilt else.
RIC. Why, you know, ’tis such a strange miraculous
courtesy,
I dare not be too forward to ask more of him,
For fear he repent this, and turn me in again.
FRAN. Do somewhat, and[625] you love me!
RIC. I’ll make trial, faith.—
May’t please you, sir,—'life, if I should spoil all now!
SEC. SUIT. What say’st, Ricardo?
RIC. Only a thing by th’ way, sir;
Use your own pleasure.
SEC. SUIT. That I like well from thee.
RIC. 'Twere good, and[625] those two gentlemen were
bail’d too;
They’re both my witnesses.
SEC. SUIT. They’re well, they’re well:
And[625] they were bail’d, we know not where to find
'em.
Let 'em go to prison; they’ll be forthcoming the better:
I have enough, and I will have my humour.
RIC. I knew there was no more good to be done upon
him:
’Tis well I’ve this; heaven knows I never look’d for’t.
FRAN. What plaguy luck had I to be ensnar’d thus!
FIRST OFF. O, patience!
FRAN. Pox o’ your comfortable ignorance!
_Enter_ BRANDINO _and_ MARTINO.
BRAN. Martino, we ride slow.
MAR. But we ride sure, sir;
Your hasty riders often come short home, master.
BRAN. Bless this fair company!
FRAN. Here he’s again too;
I am both sham’d and cross’d.
BRAN. Seest thou who’s yonder, Martino?
MAR. We ride slow, I’ll be sworn now, master.
BRAN. How now, Francisco, art thou got before me?
FRAN. Yes, thank my fortune, I am got before you.
BRAN. What, no, in hold?
RIC. Ay, o’ my troth, poor gentleman!
Your worship, sir, may do a good deed to bail him.
BRAN. Why do not you do’t then?
MAR. La, you, sir, now, my master has that honesty,
He’s loath to take a good deed from you, sir.
RIC. I’ll tell you why, I cannot, else I would, sir.
FRAN. Luck, I beseech thee!
If he should be wrought to bail me now, to go to
His wife, 'twere happiness beyond expression.
[_Aside._
BRAN. A matter but of controversy?
RIC. That’s all, trust me, sir.
BRAN. Francisco shall ne’er lie for’t; he’s my friend,
And I will bail him.
MAR. He’s your secret friend, master;
Think upon that.
BRAN. Give him his liberty, officers;
Upon my peril, he shall be forthcoming.
FRAN. How I am bound to you!
FIRST SUIT. Know you whom you cross, sir?
’Tis at your sister’s suit; be well advis’d, sir.
BRAN. How, at my sister’s suit? take him again then.
FRAN. Why, sir, do you refuse me?
BRAN. I’ll not hear thee.
RIC. This is unkindly done, sir.
FIRST SUIT. ’Tis wisely done, sir.
SEC. SUIT. Well shot, foul malice!
FIRST SUIT. Flattery stinks worse, sir.
RIC. You’ll ne’er leave till I make you stink as bad,
sir.
FRAN. O Martino, have I this for my late kindness?
MAR. Alas, poor gentleman, dost complain to me?
Thou shalt not fare the worse for’t.—Hark you, master,
Your sister’s suit, said you?
BRAN. Ay, sir, my wife’s sister.
MAR. And shall that daunt you, master? think again:
Why, were’t your mother’s suit,—your mother’s suit,
Mark what I say,—the dearest suit of all suits,
You’re bound in conscience, sir, to bail this gentleman.
BRAN. Yea, am I so? how prov’st thou that, Martino?
MAR. Have you forgot so soon what he did lately?
Has he not tried your wife to your hand, master,
To cut the throat of slander and suspicion?
And can you do too much for such a man?
Shall it be said, I serve an ingrateful master?
BRAN. Never, Martino; I will bail him now,
And[626] 'twere at my wife’s suit.
FRAN. ’Tis like to be so. [_Aside._
MAR. And I his friend, to follow your example, master.
FRAN. Precious Martino!
FIRST SUIT. You’ve done wondrous well, sir;
Your sister shall give you thanks.
RIC. This makes him mad, sir.
SEC. SUIT. We’ll follow’t now to th’ proof.
FIRST SUIT. Follow your humour out;
The widow shall find friends.
SEC. SUIT. And so shall he, sir,
Money and means.
RIC. Hear you me that, old huddle!
SEC. SUIT. Mind him not; follow me, and I’ll supply
thee;
[_Exeunt First Suitor and Officers._
Thou shalt give all thy lawyers double fees:
I’ve buried money enough to bury me,
And I will have my humour.
[_Exit with_ RICARDO _and_ ATTILIO.
BRAN. Fare thee well once again, my dear Francisco;
I prithee, use my house.
FRAN. It is my purpose, sir.
BRAN. Nay, you must do’t then; though I’m old, I’m
free.
[_Exit._
MAR. And when you want a warrant, come to me.
[_Exit._
FRAN. That will be shortly now, within this few hours.
This fell out strangely happy. Now to horse;
I shall be nighted: but an hour or two
Never breaks square in love; he comes in time
That comes at all; absence is all love’s crime.
[_Exit._
ACT III. SCENE I.
_The Country._
_Enter_ OCCULTO, SILVIO, STRATIO, FIDUCIO, _and other
Thieves_.
OCC. Come, come, let’s watch th’ event on yonder hill;
If he need help, we can relieve him suddenly.
SIL. Ay, and with safety too, the hill being watch’d,
sir.
OCC. Have you the blue coats[627] and the beards?
SIL. They’re here, sir.
OCC. Come, come away, then; a fine cock-shoot[628]
evening.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ LATROCINIO, _and_ MARTIA _disguised as a man_.
LAT. [_sings_] _Kuck before, and kuck behind, &c._
MARTIA. Troth, you’re the merriest and delightfull’st
company, sir,
That ever traveller was blest withal;
I praise my fortune that I overtook you, sir.
LAT. Pish, I’ve a hundred of 'em.
MARTIA. And believe me, sir,
I’m infinitely taken with such things.
LAT. I see there’s music in you; you kept time,
methought,
Pretty and handsomely with your little hand there.
MARTIA. It only shews desire, but, troth, no skill,
sir.
LAT. Well, while our horses walk down yonder hill,
sir,
I’ll have another for you.
MARTIA. It rids way pleasantly.
LAT. Le’ me see now—one confounds another, sir—
You’ve heard this certainly, _Come, my dainty doxies_?
MARTIA. O, that is all the country over, sir!
There’s scarce a gentlewoman but has that prick’d.
LAT. Well, here comes one I’m sure you never heard,
then.
[_Sings._
_I keep my horse, I keep my whore,
I take no rents, yet am not poor;
I traverse all the land about,
And yet was born to never a foot;
With partridge plump, with woodcock fine,
I do at midnight often dine;
And if my whore be not in case,
My hostess’ daughter has her place:
The maids sit up and watch their turns;
If I stay long, the tapster mourns;
The cookmaid has no mind to sin,
Though tempted by the chamberlin:_[629]
_But when I knock, O how they bustle!
The ostler yawns, the geldings justle;
If maid but sleep, O how they curse her!
And all this comes of, Deliver your purse, sir!_
MARTIA. How, sir?
LAT. Few words: quickly, come, deliver your purse,
sir!
MARTIA. You’re not that kind of gentleman, I hope,
sir,
To sing me out of my money?
LAT. ’Tis most fit
Art should be rewarded: you must pay your music, sir,
Where’er you come.
MARTIA. But not at your own carving.
LAT. Nor am I common in’t: come, come, your purse,
sir!
MARTIA. Say it should prove th’ undoing of a
gentleman?
LAT. Why, sir, do you look for more conscience in us
than in usurers? young gentleman, you’ve small reason
for that, i’faith.
MARTIA. There ’tis, and all I have [_gives purse_];
and, so truth comfort me,
All I know where to have!
LAT. Sir, that’s not written
In my belief yet; search—’tis a fine evening,
Your horse can take no harm—I must have more, sir.
MARTIA. May my hopes perish, if you have not all, sir!
And more, I know, than your compassionate charity
Would keep from me, if you but felt my wants.
LAT. Search, and that speedily: if I take you in hand,
You’ll find me rough; methinks men should be rul’d,
When they’re so kindly spoke to: fie upon’t!
MARTIA. Good fortune and my wit assist me then!
A thing I took in haste, and never thought on’t.
[_Aside._
Look, sir, I’ve search’d; here’s all that I can find,
[_Presents a pistol._
And you’re so covetous, you’ll have all, you say,
And I’m content you shall, being kindly spoke to.
LAT. A pox o’ that young devil of a handful long,
That has fray’d many a tall thief from a rich
purchase![630]
MARTIA. This and my money, sir, keep[631] company;
Where one goes, th’ other must; assure your soul
They vow’d never to part.
LAT. Hold, I beseech you, sir!
MARTIA. You rob a prisoner’s box, and[632] you rob me,
sir.
LAT. There ’tis again. [_Returns purse._
MARTIA. I knew 'twould never prosper with you;
Fie, rob a younger brother? O, take heed, sir!
’Tis against nature that: perhaps your father
Was one, sir, or your uncle; it should seem so,
By the small means was left you, and less manners.
Go, keep you still before me; and, do you hear me?
To pass away the time to the next town,
I charge you, sir, sing all your songs for nothing.
LAT. O horrible punishment! [_A song._[633]
_Re-enter_ STRATIO, _disguised as a servant_.
STRA. Honest gentleman——
MARTIA. How now, what art thou?
STRA. Stand you in need of help?
I made all haste I could, my master charg’d me,
A knight of worship; he saw you first assaulted
From top of yonder hill.
MARTIA. Thanks, honest friend.
LAT. I taste this trick already. [_Aside, and exit._
STRA. Look, he’s gone, sir;
Shall he be stopt? what is he?
MARTIA. Let him go, sir;
He can rejoice in nothing, that’s the comfort.
STRA. You have your purse still then?
MARTIA. Ay, thanks fair fortune
And this grim handful!
STRA. We were all so 'fraid o’ you;
How my good lady cried, O help the gentleman!
’Tis a good woman that. But you’re too mild, sir;
You should ha’ mark’d him for a villain, faith,
Before h’ad gone, having so sound a means too.
MARTIA. Why, there’s the jest, man; he had once my
purse.
STRA. O villain! would you let him ’scape unmassacred?
MARTIA. Nay, hear me, sir, I made him yield it
straight again,
And, so hope bless me, with an uncharg’d pistol.
STRA. Troth, I should laugh at that.
MARTIA. It was discharg’d, sir,
Before I meddled with’t.
STRA. I’m glad to hear’t. [_Seizes her._
MARTIA. Why, how now? what’s your will?
STRA. Ho, Latrocinio,
Occulto, Silvio!
_Re-enter_ LATROCINIO, OCCULTO, SILVIO, FIDUCIO, _and
other Thieves_.
LAT. What, are you caught, sir?
STRA. The pistol cannot speak.
LAT. He was too young,
I ever thought he could not; yet I fear’d him.
MARTIA. You’ve found out ways too merciless to betray,
Under the veil of friendship and of charity.
LAT. Away, sirs, bear him in to th’ next copse, and
strip him.
STRA. Brandino’s copse, the justice?
LAT. Best of all, sir, a man of law; a spider lies
unsuspected in the corner of a buckram-bag, man.
MARTIA. What seek you, sirs? take all, and use no
cruelty.
LAT. You shall have songs enough.
_Song by_ LATROCINIO _and the other Thieves_.
_How round the world goes, and every thing that’s in it!
The tides of gold and silver ebb and flow in a minute:
From the usurer to his sons there[’s] a current swiftly
runs;
From the sons to queans in chief, from the gallant to
the thief;
From the thief unto his host, from the host to
husbandmen;
From the country to the court; and so it comes to us
agen.[634]
How round the world goes, and every thing that’s in it!
The tides of gold and silver ebb and flow in a minute._
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Before_ BRANDINO’S _House_.
_Enter_ PHILIPPA _and_ VIOLETTA _above, at a window_.
PHIL. What time of night is’t?
VIO. Time of night do you call’t?
It is so late, ’tis almost early, mistress.
PHIL. Fie on him! there’s no looking for him then;
Why, sure this gentleman apprehends me not.
VIO. ’Tis happy then you’re rid of such a fool,
mistress.
PHIL. Nay, sure, wench, if he find me not out in this,
Which were a beaten path to any wise man,
I’ll never trust him with my reputation;
Therefore I made this trial of his wit:
If he cannot conceive what’s good for himself,
He will worse understand what’s good for me.
VIO. But suppose, mistress, as it may be likely,
He never saw your letter?
PHIL. How thou pliest me
With suppositions! why, I tell thee, wench,
’Tis equally as impossible for my husband
To keep it from him as to be young again,
Or as his first wife knew him, which he brags on,
For bearing children by him.
VIO. There’s no remedy then;
I must conclude Francisco is an ass.
PHIL. I would my letter, wench, were here again!
I’d know him wiser ere I sent him one,
And travel some five year first.
VIO. So h’ad need, methinks,
To understand the words; methinks the words
Themselves should make him do’t, had he but the
perceiverance[635]
Of a cock-sparrow, that will come at Philip,[636]
And can nor write nor read, poor fool! this coxcomb
He can do both, and your name’s but Philippa;
And yet to see, if he can come when’s call’d!
PHIL. He never shall be call’d again for me,
sirrah.[637]
Well, as hard as the world goes, we’ll have a song,
wench,
We’ll not sit up for nothing.
VIO. That’s poor comfort though.
PHIL. Better than any’s brought, for aught I see yet:
So set to your lute. [_They sing._
PHIL. _If in this question I propound to thee
Be any, any choice,
Let me have thy voice._
VIO. _You shall most free._
PHIL. _Which hadst thou rather be,
If thou might choose thy life,
A fool’s, a fool’s mistress,
Or an old man’s wife?_
VIO. _The choice is hard, I know not which is best;
One ill you’re bound to, and I think that’s
least._
PHIL. _But being not bound, my dearest sweet,
I could shake off the other._
VIO. _Then as you lose your sport by one,
You lose your name by t’other._
PHIL. _You counsel well, but love refuses
What good counsel often chooses._
[_Exeunt above._
_Enter_ MARTIA _in a shirt_.
MARTIA. I ha’ got myself unbound yet; merciless
villains,
I never felt such hardness since life dwelt in me;
’Tis for my sins. That light in yonder window,
That was my only comfort in the woods,
Which oft the trembling of a leaf would lose me,
Has brought me thus far; yet I cannot hope
For succour in this plight, the world’s so pitiless,
And every one will fear or doubt me now:
To knock will be too bold; I’ll to the gate,
And listen if I can hear any stirring.
_Enter_ FRANCISCO.
FRAN. Was ever man so cross’d? no, ’tis but sweat,
sure,
Or the dew dropping from the leaves above me;
I thought 't had bled again. These wenching businesses
Are strange unlucky things and fatal fooleries;
No mar’l[638] so many gallants die ere thirty;
’Tis able to vex out a man’s heart in five year,
The crosses that belong to’t: first, arrested,
That set me back two mangy hours at least;
Yet that’s a thing my heat could have forgiven,
Because arresting, in what kind soever,
Is a most gentleman-like affliction;
But here, within a mile o’ th’ town, forsooth,
And two mile off this place, when a man’s oath
Might ha’ been taken for his own security,
And his thoughts brisk and set upon the business,
To light upon a roguy flight of thieves!
Pox on 'em, here’s the length of one of their
whittles:[639]
But one of my dear rascals I pursu’d so,
The gaol has him, and he shall bring out ’s fellows.
Had ever young man’s love such crooked fortune?
I’m glad I’m so near yet; the surgeon bade me too
Have a great care; I shall ne’er think of that now.
MARTIA. One of the thieves come back again? I’ll stand
close;
He dares not wrong me now, so near the house,
And call in vain ’tis, till I see him offer’t.
FRAN. 'Life, what should that be? a prodigious[640]
thing
Stands just as I should enter, in that shape too
Which always appears terrible.
Whate’er it be, it is made strong against me
By my ill purpose; for ’tis man’s own sin
That puts on armour upon all his evils,
And gives them strength to strike him. Were it less
Than what it is, my guilt would make it serve:
A wicked man’s own shadow has distracted him.
Were this a business now to save an honour,
As ’tis to spoil one, I would pass this then,
Stuck all hell’s horrors i’ thee: now I dare not.
Why may’t not be the spirit of my father,
That lov’d this man so well, whom I make haste
Now to abuse? and I’ve been cross’d about it
Most fearfully hitherto, if I well think on’t;
Scap’d death but lately too, nay, most miraculously.
And what does fond[641] man venture all these ills for,
That may so sweetly rest in honest peace?
For that which being obtain’d, is as he was
To his own sense, but remov’d nearer still
To death eternal. What delight has man
Now at this present for his pleasant sin
Of yesterday’s committing? 'las, ’tis vanish’d,
And nothing but the sting remains within him!
The kind man bail’d me too; I will not do’t now,
And[642] 'twere but only that. How blest were man,
Might he but have his end appear still to him,
That he might read his actions i’ th’ event!
'Twould make him write true, though he never meant.
Whose check soe’er thou art, father’s, or friend’s,
Or enemy’s, I thank thee; peace requite thee!
Light, and the lighter mistress, both farewell!
He keeps his promise best that breaks with hell.
[_Exit._
MARTIA. He’s gone to call the rest, and makes all
speed;
I’ll knock, whate’er befalls, to please my fears,
For no compassion can be less than theirs.
[_Knocks at the door._
_Re-enter_ PHILIPPA _and_ VIOLETTA _above_.
PHIL. He’s come, he’s come!—O, are you come at last,
sir?
Make little noise.—Away, he’ll knock again else.
[_Exit above with_ VIOLETTA.
MARTIA. I should have been at Istria, by daybreak too;
Near to Valeria’s house, the wealthy widow’s,
There waits one purposely to do me good.
What will become of me?
_Enter_ VIOLETTA.
VIO. O, you are a sweet gallant! this your hour?
Give me your hand; come, come, sir, follow me,
I’ll bring you to light presently: softly, softly, sir.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_A Room in_ BRANDINO’S _House_.
_Enter_ PHILIPPA.
PHIL. I should ha’ given him up to all my thoughts
The dullest young man, if he had not found it;
So short of apprehension and so worthless,
He were not fit for woman’s fellowship;
I’ve been at cost too for a banquet for him:
Why, 'twould ha’ kill’d my heart, and most especially
To think that man should ha’ no more conceit;[643]
I should ha’ thought the worse on’s wit for ever,
And blam’d mine own for too much forwardness.
_Enter_ VIOLETTA.
VIO. O mistress, mistress!
PHIL. How now, what’s the news?
VIO. O, I was out of my wits for a minute and a half!
PHIL. Hah!
VIO. They are scarce settled yet, mistress.
PHIL. What’s the matter?
VIO. Do you ask that seriously?[644]
Did you not hear me squeak?
PHIL. How? sure thou art
Out of thy wits indeed.
VIO. O, I’m well now,
To what I was, mistress.
PHIL. Why, where’s the gentleman?
VIO. The gentleman’s forthcoming, and a lovely one,
But not Francisco.
PHIL. What say’st? not Francisco?
VIO. Pish, he’s a coxcomb! think not on him, mistress.
PHIL. What’s all this?
VIO. I’ve often heard you say, ye’d rather have
A wise man in his shirt than a fool feather’d;
And now fortune has sent you one, a sweet young
gentleman,
Robb’d even to nothing, but what first he brought with
him:
The slaves had stript him to the very shirt, mistress;
I think it was a shirt; I know not well,
For gallants wear both[645] now-a-days.
PHIL. This is strange.
VIO. But for a face, a hand, and as much skin
As I durst look upon, he’s a most sweet one;
Francisco is a child of Egypt[646] to him:
I could not but, in pity to th’ poor gentleman,
Fetch him down one of my old master’s suits.
PHIL. ’Twas charitably done.
VIO. You’d say, mistress, if you had seen him as I
did. Sweet youth! I’ll be sworn, mistress, he’s the
loveliest, properest young gentleman, and so you’ll
say yourself, if my master’s clothes do not spoil him,
that’s all the fear now; I would’t had been your luck
to have seen him without 'em, but for scaring on you.
PHIL. Go, prithee, fetch him in, whom thou commend’st
so.
[_Exit_ VIOLETTA.
Since fortune sends him, surely we’ll make much on him;
And better he deserves our love and welcome
Than the respectless fellow ’twas prepar’d for:
Yet if he please mine eye never so happily,
I will have trial of his wit and faith
Before I make him partner with my honour.
'Twas just Francisco’s case, and he deceiv’d me;
I’ll take more heed o’ th’ next for’t: perhaps now,
To furnish his distress, he will appear
Full of fair, promising courtship; but I’ll prove him
then
For a next meeting, when he needs me not,
And see what he performs then when the storm
Of his so rude misfortunes is blown over,
And he himself again. A distrest man’s flatteries
Are like vows made in drink, or bonds in prison;
There’s poor assurance in 'em: when he’s from me,
And in’s own power, then I shall see his love.
'Mass, here he comes.
_Enter_ MARTIA _in_ BRANDINO’S _clothes, and_ VIOLETTA.
MARTIA. Never was star-cross’d gentleman
More happy in a courteous virgin’s love
Than I in yours.
VIO. I’m sorry they’re no better for you;
I wish’d 'em handsomer and more in fashion,
But truly, sir, our house affords it not:
There is a suit of our clerk’s hangs i’ th’ garret,
But that’s far worse than this, if I may judge
With modesty of men’s matters.
MARTIA. I deserve not this,
Dear and kind gentlewoman. Is yond your mistress?
PHIL. Why, trust me, here’s my husband young again!—
It is no sin to welcome you, sweet gentleman.
MARTIA. I am so much indebted, courteous lady,
To the unmatched charity of your house,
My thanks are such poor things they would but shame me.
PHIL. Beshrew thy heart for bringing o’ him! I fear me
I have found wit enough already in him.
If I could truly but resolve[647] myself
My husband was thus handsome at nineteen,
Troth, I should think the better of him at fourscore
now.
VIO. Nay, mistress, what would he be, were he in
fashion—
A hempen curse on those that put him out on’t!—
That now appears so handsome and so comely
In clothes able to make a man an unbeliever,
And good for nothing but for shift, or so,
If a man chance to fall i’ th’ ditch with better?
This is the best that ever I mark’d in 'em,—
A man may make him ready[648] in such clothes
Without a candle.
PHIL. Ay, for shame of himself, wench.
VIO. My master does it oft in winter mornings,
And never sees himself till he be ready.
PHIL. No, nor then neither, as he should do, wench.—
I’m sorry, gentle sir, we cannot shew you
A courtesy in all points answerable
To your undoubted worth: your name, I crave, sir.
MARTIA. Ansaldo, lady.
PHIL. ’Tis a noble name, sir.
MARTIA. The most unfortunate now!
VIO. So do I think truly,
As long as that suit’s on.
PHIL. The most unfitting
And unprovided’st, sir, of all our courtesies,
I do presume is that you’ve pass’d already;
Your pardon but for that, and we’re encourag’d.
MARTIA. My faithful service, lady.
PHIL. Please you, sir, to taste the next,
A poor slight banquet, for sure I think you were
Unluckily prevented of your supper, sir.
MARTIA. My fortune makes me more than amends, lady,
In your sweet kindness, which so nobly shewn to me,
It makes me bold to speak my occasions to you:
I am this morning, that with clearness now
So cheerfully hastens me, to meet a friend
Upon my state’s establishing, and the place
Ten mile from hence: O, I am forc’d unwillingly
To crave your leave for’t, which done, I return
In service plentiful.
PHIL. Is’t so important?
MARTIA. If I should fail, as much as my undoing.
PHIL. I think too well of you, t’ undo you, sir,
Upon this small acquaintance.
MARTIA. My great happiness!
PHIL. But when should I be sure of you here again,
sir?
MARTIA. As fast as speed can possibly return me.
PHIL. You will not fail?
MARTIA. May never wish go well with me then!
PHIL. There’s to bear charges, sir. [_Gives purse._
MARTIA. Courtesy dwells in you:
I brought my horse up with me from the woods,
That’s all the good they left me, 'gainst their wills
too.
May your kind breast never want comfort, lady,
But still supplied as liberally as you give!
PHIL. Farewell, sir, and be faithful.
MARTIA. Time shall prove me. [_Exit._
PHIL. In my opinion, now, this young man’s likeliest
To keep his word; he’s modest, wise, and courteous,
He has the language of an honest soul in him;
A woman’s reputation may lie safe there,
I’m much deceiv’d else; has a faithful eye,
If it be well observ’d.
VIO. Good speed be with thee, sir!—
He puts him to’t, i’faith. [_Looking out._
PHIL. Violetta.
VIO. Mistress?
PHIL. Alas, what have we done, wench?
VIO. What’s the matter, mistress?
PHIL. Run, run, call him again; he must stay, tell
him,
Though it be upon’s undoing; we’re undone else;
Your master’s clothes, they’re known the country over.
VIO. Now, by this light, that’s true, and well
remember’d;
But there’s no calling of him, he’s out of sight now.
PHIL. O, what will people think?
VIO. What can they think, mistress?
The gentleman has the worst on’t: were I he now,
I’d make this ten mile forty mile about,
Before I’d ride through any market-town with 'em.
PHIL. Will he be careful, think’st?
VIO. My life for yours, mistress.
PHIL. I shall long mightily to see him agen.[649]
VIO. And so shall I; I shall ne’er laugh till then.
[_Exeunt._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_Near_ VALERIA’S _House_.
_Enter_ RICARDO _and Second Suitor on one side, and_
VALERIA _and First Suitor on the other_.
RIC. It goes well hitherto, my sweet protector.
SEC. SUIT. Ay, and shall still to th’ end, to th’ end,
my honey:
Wherefore have I enough, but to have’t go well, sir?
FIRST SUIT. My whole state on’t, thou over-throw’st
him, widow.
VAL. I hope well still, sir.
FIRST SUIT. Hope? be certain, wench:
I make no question now but thou art mine,
As sure as if I had thee in thy night-gear.
VAL. Byrlady,[650] that I doubt, sir.
FIRST SUIT. O,’tis clear, wench,
By one thing that I mark’d.
VAL. What’s that, good, sweet sir?
FIRST SUIT. A thing that never fail’d me.
VAL. Good sir, what?
FIRST SUIT. I heard our counsellor speak a word of
comfort,
_Invita voluntate_; ha, that’s he, wench,
The word of words, the precious chief, i’faith!
VAL. _Invita voluntate_; what’s the meaning, sir?
FIRST SUIT. Nay, there I leave you, but assure you
thus much,
I never heard him speak that word i’ my life,
But the cause went on’s side, that I mark’d ever.
SEC. SUIT. Do, do, and spare not: thou wouldst talk
with her?
RIC. Yes, with your leave and liking.
SEC. SUIT. Do, my adoption,
My chosen child; and[651] thou hold’st so obedient,
Sure thou wilt live and cozen all my kindred.
RIC. A child’s part in your love, that’s my ambition,
sir.
SEC. SUIT. Go, and deserve it then; please me well
now;
I love wrangling a’ life,[652] boy, there’s my delight;
I have no other venery but vexation,
That’s all, my honey, now: smartly now to her;
I have enough, and I will have my humour.
RIC. This need not ha’ been, widow.
VAL. You say right, sir;
No, nor your treachery, your close conspiracy
Against me for my wealth, need not ha’ been neither.
RIC. I had you fairly; I scorn treachery
To your woman that I never meant to marry,
Much more to you, whom I reserv’d for wife.
VAL. How, wife?
RIC. Ay, wife, wife, widow; be not asham’d on’t,
It’s the best calling ever woman came to,
And all your grace indeed, brag as you list.
SEC. SUIT. Ha, ha!
VAL. I grant you, sir, but not to be your wife.
FIRST SUIT. O, O!
RIC. Not mine? I think ’tis the best bargain
That e’er thou mad’st i’ thy life, or ever shall again,
When my head’s laid, but that’s not yet this three-score
year;
Let’s talk of nearer matters.
VAL. You’re as near, sir,
As e’er you’re like to be, if law can right me.
RIC. Now, before conscience, you’re a wilful
housewife.
VAL. How?
RIC. Ay, and I fear you spend my goods lavishly.
VAL. Your goods?
RIC. I shall miss much, I doubt me,
When I come to look over the inventory.
VAL. I’ll give you my word you shall, sir.
RIC. Look to’t, widow;
A night may come will call you to account for’t.
VAL. O, if you had me now, sir, in this heat,
I do but think how you’d be reveng’d on me!
RIC. Ay, may I perish else; if I would not get
Three children at a birth, and[653] I could, o’ thee!
FIRST SUIT. Take off your youngster there.
SEC. SUIT. Take off your widow first,
He shall have the last word, I pay for’t dearly.—
To her again, sweet boy, that side’s the weaker:
I have enough, and I will have my humour.
_Enter_ BRANDINO _and_ MARTINO.
VAL. O brother, see I’m up to th’ ears in law here!
Look, copy[654] upon copy.
BRAN. 'Twere grief enough,
If a man did but hear on’t, but I am
In pain to see it.
VAL. What, sore eyes still, brother?
BRAN. Worse and worse, sister; the old woman’s water
Does me no good.
VAL. Why, 't’as help’d many, sir.
BRAN. It helps not me, I’m sure.
MAR. O, O!
VAL. What ails Martino too?
MAR. O, O, the toothache, the toothache!
BRAN. Ah, poor worm! this he endures for me now:
There beats not a more mutual pulse of passion
In a kind husband when his wife breeds child
Than in Martino; I ha’ mark’d it ever;
He breeds all my pains in’s teeth still, and to
quit[655] me,
It is his eye-tooth too.
MAR. Ay, ay, ay, ay.
VAL. Where did I hear late of a skilful fellow,
Good for all kind of maladies? true, true, sir;
His flag hangs out in town here i’ th’ Cross Inn,
With admirable cures of all conditions;
It shews him a great travelling and learn’d empiric.
BRAN. We’ll both to him, Martino.
VAL. Hark you, brother;
Perhaps you may prevail, as one indifferent.
FIRST SUIT. Ay, about that, sweet widow.
VAL. True; speak low, sir.
BRAN. Well, what’s the business? say, say.
VAL. Marry, this, brother;
Call the young man aside from the old wolf there,
And whisper in his ear a thousand dollars,
If he will vanish and let fall the suit,
And never put’s to no more cost and trouble.
FIRST SUIT. Say me those words, good sir, I’ll make
'em worth
A chain of gold to you at your sister’s wedding.
BRAN. I shall do much for that.
_Enter_ VIOLETTA.
VAL. Welcome, sweetheart,
Thou com’st most happily; I’m bold to send for thee
To make a purpose good.
VIO. I take delight, forsooth,
In any such employment.
FIRST SUIT. Good wench, trust me.
RIC. How, sir, let fall the suit? 'life, I’ll go naked
first.
BRAN. A thousand dollars, sir, think upon them.
RIC. Why, they’re but a thousand dollars, when they’re
thought on.
BRAN. A good round sum.
RIC. A good round widow’s better;
There’s meat and money too. I have been bought
Out of my lands, and yielded; but, sir, scorn
To be bought out of my affection.
BRAN. Why, here’s even just my university spirit;
I priz’d a piece of red deer above gold then.
RIC. My patron would be mad, and[656] he should hear
on’t.
MAR. I pray, what’s good, sir, for a wicked tooth?
RIC. Hang’d, drawn, and quartering: is’t a hollow one?
MAR. Ay, ’tis a hollow one.
RIC. Then take the powder
Of a burnt warrant, mix’d with oil of felon.
MAR. Why sure you mock me.
RIC. Troth, I think I do, sir.
SEC. SUIT. Come hither, honey; what’s the news? in
whispers.
BRAN. He will not be bought out.
VAL. No? that’s strange, brother:
Pray take a little pains about this project then,
And try what that effects.
BRAN. I like this better.—
Look you, sweet gentles, see what I produce here
For amity’s sake and peace, to end all controversy;
This gentlewoman, my charge, left by her friends,
Whom for her person and her portion
I could bestow most richly, but in pity
To her affection, which lies bent at you, sir,
I am content to yield to her desire.
RIC. At me?
BRAN. But for this jar, 't had ne’er been offer’d.
I bring you flesh and money, a rich heir,
And a maid too, and that’s a thing worth thanks, sir,
Nay, one that has rid fifteen mile this morning
For your love only.
SEC. SUIT. Honey, hearken after her;
Being rich, I can have all my money there;
Ease my purse well, and never wage law further:
I have enough, yet I will have my humour.
RIC. Do you love me, forsooth?
VIO. O, infinitely!
RIC. I do not ask thee, that I meant to have thee,
But only to know what came in thy head to love me.
VIO. My time was come, sir; that’s all I can say.
RIC. 'Las, poor soul! where didst thou love me first,
prithee?
VIO. In happy hour be’t spoke, out at a window, sir.
RIC. A window? prithee, clap’t to, and call it in
again:
What was I doing then, should make thee love me?
VIO. Twirling your band-string, which, methought,
became you
So generously well.
RIC. 'Twas a good quality to choose a husband for; that
love was likely to be tied in matrimony that begun in a
band-string; yet I ha’ known as much come to pass ere
now upon a tassel. Fare you well, sister; I may be
cozened in a maid, I cannot in a widow.
SEC. SUIT. Art thou come home again? stick’st thou
there still?
I will defend thee still then.
FIRST SUIT. Sir, your malice
Will have enough on’t.
SEC. SUIT. I will have my humour.
FIRST SUIT. Beggary will prove the sponge.
SEC. SUIT. Sponge i’ thy gascoyns,
Thy gally-gascoyns[657] there!
RIC. Ha, brave protector!
BRAN. I thought 'twould come to open wars again:
Let 'em agree as they will, two testy fops!
I’ll have a care of mine eyes.
MAR. I of my chops. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Room in the Cross Inn._
_Enter_ LATROCINIO _disguised as an empiric, and_
OCCULTO _as his man_.
LAT. Away, out with the banner! send’s good luck
to-day!
OCC. I warrant you; your name’s spread, sir, for an
empiric:
[_Hanging up a Banner of Cures and Diseases._
There’s an old mason troubled with the stone
Has sent to you this morning for your counsel,
He would have ease fain.
LAT. Marry, I cannot blame him, sir;
But how he will come by’t, there lies the question.
OCC. You must do somewhat, sir; for he’s swoln most
piteously,
Has urine in him now was brew’d last March.
LAT. 'Twill be rich gear for dyers.
OCC. I would 'twere come to that, sir.
LAT. Le’ me see,
I’ll send him a whole musket-charge of gunpowder.[658]
OCC. Gunpowder? what, sir, to break the stone?
LAT. Ay, by my faith, sir,
It is the likeliest thing I know to do’t;
I’m sure it breaks stone-walls and castles down;
I see no reason but’t should break the stone.
OCC. Nay, use your pleasure, sir.
LAT. Troth, if that do not,
I ha’ nothing else that will.
OCC. I know that too.
LAT. Why then thou’rt a coxcomb to make question on’t.
Go call in all the rest, I’ve employment for them.
[_Exit_ OCCULTO.
When the highways grow thin with travellers,
And few portmanteaus stirring, as all trades
Have their dead time we see, thievery poor takings,
And lechery cold doings, and so forwards still;
Then do I take my inn, and those curmudgeons
Whose purses I can never get abroad,
I take 'em at more ease here i’ my chamber,
And make 'em come to me; it’s more state-like too.
Hang him that has but one way to his trade!
He’s like a mouth that eats but on one side,
And half-cozens his belly, ’specially if he dine 'mong
shavers
And both-handed feeders.—Stratio, Silvio, and Fiducio!
_Enter_ SILVIO, STRATIO, _and_ FIDUCIO.
I will have none left out, there’s parts for you.
SIL. For us? pray let us have 'em.
LAT. Change yourselves
With all speed possible into several shapes,
Far from your own: as, you a farmer, sir;
A grazier you; and you may be a miller.
FID. O no, a miller comes too near a thief;
That may spoil all again.
LAT. Some country tailor then.
FID. That’s near enough, byrlady,[659] yet I’ll
venture that;
The miller’s a white devil, he wears his theft
Like innocence in badges most apparently
Upon his nose, sometimes between his lips;
The tailor modestly between his legs.
LAT. Why, pray, do you 'present that modest thief,
then;
And hark you, for the purpose.
SIL. 'Twill improve you, sir.
LAT. 'Twill get believers, believe that, my masters,
Repute and confidence, and make all things clearer;
When you see any come, repair you to me,
As samples of my skill: there are few arts
But have their shadows, sirs, to set 'em off;
Then where the art itself is but a shadow,
What need is there, my friends! Make haste, away, sirs.
[_Exeunt_ SILVIO, STRATIO, _and_ FIDUCIO.
_Re-enter_ OCCULTO.
OCC. Where are you, sir?
LAT. Not far, man; what’s the news?
OCC. th’ old justice, sir, whom we robb’d once by
moonlight,
And bound his man and he in haycock time
With a rope made of horse-meat, and in pity
Left their mares by 'em, which, I think, ere midnight
Did eat their hay-bound masters both at liberty——
LAT. 'Life, what of him, man?
OCC. He’s inquiring earnestly
For the great man of art, indeed for you, sir:
Therefore withdraw, sweet sir; make yourself dainty now,
And that’s three parts of any profession.
LAT. I have enough on’t. [_Exit._
_Enter_ MARTIA _in_ BRANDINO’S _clothes_.
OCC. How now, what thing’s this?
Now, by this light, the second part o’ th’ justice
Newly reviv’d, with never a hair on’s face.
It should be the first rather by his smoothness,
But I ha’ known the first part written last:[660]
’Tis he, or let me perish, the young gentleman
We robb’d and stript; but I am far from knowledge now.
[_Aside._
MARTIA. One word, I pray, sir.
OCC. With me, gentle sir?
MARTIA. Was there not lately seen about these parts,
sir,
A knot of fellows, whose conditions
Are privily suspected?
OCC. Why do you ask, sir?
MARTIA. There was a poor young gentleman robb’d last
night.
OCC. Robb’d?
MARTIA. Stript of all, i’faith.
OCC. O beastly rascals!
'Las, what was he?
MARTIA. Look o’ me, and know him, sir.
OCC. Hard-hearted villains! strip? troth, when I saw
you,
Methought those clothes were never made for you, sir.
MARTIA. Want made me glad o’ 'em.
OCC. Send you better fortunes, sir!—
That we may have a bout with you once again. [_Aside._
MARTIA. I thank you for your wish of love, kind sir.
OCC. ’Tis with my heart, i’faith; now store of coin
And better clothes be with you!
MARTIA. There’s some honest yet,
And charitably-minded. How, what’s here to do?
[_Reads on the banner._
_Here within this place is cur’d
All the griefs that were ever endur’d._
Nay, there thou liest; I endur’d one last night
Thou canst not cure this morning; a strange promiser!
[_Reads._
_Palsy, gout, hydropic humour,
Breath that stinks beyond perfumer,
Fistula in ano, ulcer, megrim,
Or what disease soe’er beleaguer 'em,
Stone, rupture, squinancy, imposthume;
Yet too dear it shall not cost 'em._
That’s conscionably said, i’faith. [_Reads._
_In brief, you cannot, I assure you,
Be unsound so fast as I can cure you._
Byrlady,[661] you shall pardon me, I’ll not try’t, sir.
_Enter_ BRANDINO _and_ MARTINO.
BRAN. Martino, is not yond my hinder parts?
MAR. Yes, and your fore parts too, sir.
BRAN. I trow so;
I never saw my hind parts in my life else,
No, nor my fore ones neither.—What are you, sir?
Are you a justice, pray?
MARTIA. A justice? no, truly.
BRAN. How came this suit to you, then?
MARTIA. How this suit?
Why, must he needs be a justice, sir, that wears it?
BRAN. You’ll find it so; ’twas made for nobody else:
I paid for’t.
MARTIA. O strange fortune! I’ve undone
The charitable woman. [_Aside._
BRAN. He’ll be gone.
Martino, hold him fast, I’ll call for aid.
MARTIA. Hold me? O curse of fate!
[_Strikes_ MARTINO.
MAR. O master, master!
BRAN. What ails Martino?
MAR. In my conscience,
Has beat out the wrong tooth; I feel it now
Three degrees off.
BRAN. O slave, spoil’d a fine penman!
MARTIA. He lack’d good manners, though; lay hands o’
me?
I scorn all the deserts that belong to it.
_Re-enter_ LATROCINIO.
LAT. Why, how now? what’s the broil?
BRAN. The man of art,
I take you, sir, to be.
LAT. I’m the professor
Of those slight cures you read of in the banner.
BRAN. Our business was to you, most skilful sir;
But in the way to you, right worshipful,
I met a thief.
LAT. A thief?
BRAN. With my clothes on, sir:
Let but the hose[662] be search’d, I’ll pawn my life
There’s yet the tailor’s bill in one o’ th’ pockets,
And a white thimble that I found i’ moonlight—
Thou saw’st me when I put it in, Martino?
MAR. Oy, oy!
BRAN. O, has spoil’d
The worthiest clerk that e’er drew warrant here!
LAT. Sir, you’re a stranger, but I must deal plain
with you;
That suit of clothes must needs come oddly to you.
MARTIA. I dare not say which way, that’s my
affliction. [_Aside._
LAT. Is not your worship’s name signor Brandino, sir?
BRAN. It has been so these threescore year[s] and
upwards.
LAT. I heard there was a robbery done last night
Near to your house.
MARTIA. You heard a truth then, sir,
And I the man was robb’d.
LAT. Ah, that’s too gross!—
Send him away for fear of farther mischief;
I do not like him, he’s a cunning knave.
BRAN. I want but aid.
LAT. Within there!
_Enter Servants._
BRAN. Seize upon
That impudent thief.
MARTIA. Then hear me speak.
BRAN. Away!
I’ll neither hear thee speak, nor wear those clothes
again.—
To prison with the varlet!
MARTIA. How am I punish’d!
BRAN. I’ll make thee bring out all before I leave
thee.
[_Exeunt Servants with_ MARTIA.
LAT. You’ve took an excellent course with this bold
villain, sir.
BRAN. I’m sworn for service to the commonwealth, sir.
_Enter_ SILVIO, STRATIO, _and_ FIDUCIO, _disguised_.
What are these, learned sir?
LAT. O, they’re my patients.—
Good morrow, gout, rupture, and palsy.
STRA. ’Tis farewell gout almost, I thank your worship.
LAT. What, no, you cannot part so soon, I hope?
You came but lately to me.
STRA. But most happily;
I can go near to leap, sir. [_Leaps._
LAT. What, you cannot?
Away, I say! take heed, be not too vent’rous though;
I’ve had you but three days, remember that.
STRA. Those three are better than three hundred, sir.
[_Leaps._
LAT. Yet again?
STRA. Ease takes pleasure to be known, sir.
LAT. You with the rupture there, _hernia in scrotum_,
Pray let me see your space[663] this morning; walk, sir,
I’ll take your distance straight; ’twas F. O. yesterday:
Ah, sirrah, here’s a simple alteration!
_Secundo gradu_, ye F. U. already;
Here’s a most happy change. Be of good comfort, sir;
Your knees are come within three inches now
Of one another; by to-morrow noon,
I’ll make 'em kiss and jostle.
SIL. Bless your worship!
BRAN. You’ve a hundred prayers in a morning, sir.
LAT. Faith, we’ve a few to pass away the day with.—
Tailor, you had a stitch?
FID. O, good your worship,
I have had none since Easter: were I rid
But of this whoreson palsy, I were happy;
I cannot thread my needle.
LAT. No? that’s hard;
I never mark’d so much.
FID. It comes by fits, sir.
LAT. Alas, poor man!—What would your worship say now
To see me help this fellow at an instant?
BRAN. And make him firm from shaking?
LAT. As a steeple,
From the disease on’t.
BRAN. ’Tis to me miraculous.
LAT. You with your whoremaster disease, come hither;
Here, take me this round glass, and hold it stedfast;
[_Gives glass._
Yet more, sir; yet, I say; so.
BRAN. Admirable!
LAT. Go, live, and thread thy needle.
BRAN. Here, Martino:—
Alas, poor fool, his mouth is full of praises,
And cannot utter 'em.
LAT. No? what’s the malady?
BRAN. The fury of a tooth.
LAT. A tooth? ha, ha!
I thought 't had been some gangrene, fistula,
Canker, or ramex.
BRAN. No, it’s enough as ’tis, sir.
LAT. My man shall ease that straight.—Sit you down
there, sir— [MARTINO _seats himself_.
Take the tooth, sirrah, daintily, insensibly—
But what’s your worship’s malady? that’s for me, sir.
BRAN. Marry, pray, look you, sir; your worship’s
counsel
About mine eyes.
LAT. Sore eyes? that’s nothing too, sir.
BRAN. Byrlady,[664] I that feel it think it somewhat.
LAT. Have you no convulsions, pricking aches, sir,
Ruptures, or apostemates?
BRAN. No, by my faith, sir,
Nor do I desire to have 'em.
LAT. Those are cures;
There do I win my fame, sir.—Quickly, sirrah,
Reach me the eye-cup hither.—
[OCCULTO _gives him the eye-cup_.
Do you make water well, sir?
BRAN. I’m all well there.
LAT. You feel no grief i’ th’ kidney?
BRAN. Sound, sound, sound, sir.
LAT. O, here’s a breath, sir, I must talk withal,
One of these mornings.
BRAN. There I think, i’faith,
I am to blame indeed, and my wife’s words
Are come to pass, sir.
MAR. O, O! ’tis not that,’tis not that!
[_While_ OCCULTO _gives a pull at one of his teeth_.
It is the next beyond it; there, there, there!
OCC. The best have their mistakings: now I’ll fit you,
sir.
BRAN. What’s that, sweet sir, that comforts with his
coolness?
LAT. O, sovereign gear: wink hard, and keep it in,
sir.
[_While he applies the eye-cup to_ BRANDINO,
_he picks his pocket_.
MAR. O, O, O!
OCC. Nay, here he goes; one twitch more, and he comes,
sir.
[_While he draws one of_ MARTINO’S _teeth, he
picks his pocket_.
MAR. Auh, ho!
OCC. Spit out; I told you he was gone, sir.
BRAN. How cheers Martino?
MAR. O, I can answer you now, master;
I feel great ease, sir.
BRAN. So do I, Martino.
MAR. I’m rid of a sore burden, for my part, master,
Of a scald[665] little one.
LAT. Please but your worship now
To take three drops of the rich water with you,
I’ll undertake your man shall cure you, sir,
At twice i’ your own chamber.
BRAN. Shall he so, sir?
LAT. I will uphold him in’t.
MAR. Then will I do’t, sir.
LAT. How lively your man’s now!
MAR. O, I’m so light, methinks,
Over I was![666]
BRAN. What is’t contents your worship?
LAT. Even what your worship please; I am not
mercenary.
BRAN. My purse is gone, Martino!
LAT. How, your purse, sir?
BRAN. ’Tis gone, i’faith; I’ve been among some
rascals.
MAR. And that’s a thing
I ever gave you warning of, master; you care not
What company you run into.
BRAN. Lend me some money; chide me anon, I prithee.
A pox on 'em for vipers! they ha’ suck’d blood o’ me.
MAR. O master!
BRAN. How now, man?
MAR. My purse is gone too!
BRAN. How?
I’ll ne’er take warning more of thee while I live then;
Thou art an hypocrite, and art not fit
To give good counsel to thy master, that
Canst not keep from ill company thyself.
LAT. This is most strange, sir; both your purses gone!
MAR. Sir, I’d my hand on mine when I came in.
LAT. Are you but sure of that? O, would you were!
MAR. As I’m of ease.
LAT. Then they’re both gone one way,
Be that your comfort.
BRAN. Ay, but what way’s that, sir?
LAT. That close knave in your clothes has got 'em
both;
’Tis well you’ve clapt him fast.
BRAN. Why, that’s impossible.
LAT. O, tell not me, sir! I ha’ known purses gone,
And the thief stand and look one full i’ th’ face,
As I may do your worship and your man now.
MAR. Nay, that’s most certain, master.
BRAN. I will make
That rascal in my clothes answer all this then,
And all the robberies that have been done
Since the moon chang’d.—Get you home first, Martino,
And know if any of my wife’s things are missing,
Or any more of mine: tell her he’s taken,
And by that token he has took both our purses.
MAR. That’s an ill token, master.
BRAN. That’s all one, sir,
She must have that or nothing; for I’m sure
The rascal has left nothing else for a token.
Begone!
Make haste again, and meet me part o’ th’ way.
MAR. I’ll hang the villain,
And 'twere for nothing but the souse he gave me.
[_Exit._
BRAN. Sir, I depart asham’d of my requital,
And leave this seal-ring with you as a pledge
Of further thankfulness. [_Gives ring._
LAT. No, I beseech you, sir.
BRAN. Indeed you shall, sir.
LAT. O, your worship’s word, sir.
BRAN. You shall have my word too, for a rare gentleman
As e’er I met withal. [_Exit._
LAT. Clear sight be with you, sir;
If conduit-water, and my hostess’ milk,
That comes with the ninth child now, may afford it!
'Life, I fear’d none but thee, my villanous
tooth-drawer.
OCC. There was no fear of me; I’ve often told you
I was bound prentice to a barber once,
But ran away i’ th’ second year.
LAT. Ay, marry,
That made thee give a pull at the wrong tooth,
And me afraid of thee. What have we there, sirs?
OCC. Some threescore dollars i’ the master’s purse,
And sixteen in the clerk’s, a silver seal,
Two or three amber beads, and four blank warrants.
LAT. Warrants! where be they? the best news came yet:
'Mass, here’s his hand, and here’s his seal; I thank
him:
This comes most luckily; one of our fellows
Was took last night, we’ll set him first at liberty,
And other good boys after him; and if he
In th’ old justice’s suit, whom we[667] robb’d lately,
Will come oft 'roundly,[668] we’ll set him free too.
OCC. That were a good deed, faith; we may, in pity.
LAT. There’s nothing done merely for pity now-a-days,
Money or ware must help too.
_Song, in parts, by_ LATROCINIO _and the rest_
_Give me fortune, give me health,
Give me freedom, I’ll get wealth:
Who complains his fate’s amiss,
When he has the wide world his?
He that has the devil in fee
Can have but all, and so have we.
Give us fortune, give us health,
Give us freedom, we’ll get wealth.
In every hamlet, town, and city,
He has lands that was born witty._
[_Exeunt._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ BRANDINO’S _House_.
_Enter_ PHILIPPA _and_ VIOLETTA.
PHIL. How well this gentleman keeps his promise too!
Sure there’s no trust in man.
VIO. They’re all Franciscos,
That’s my opinion, mistress; fools, or false ones.
He might have had the honesty yet, i’faith,
To send my master’s clothes home.
PHIL. Ay, those clothes!
VIO. Colliers come by the door every day, mistress—
Nay, this is market-day too, poulterers, butchers;
They would have lain most daintily in a pannier,
And kept veal from the wind.
PHIL. Those clothes much trouble me.
VIO. Faith, and[669] he were a gentleman, as he seem’d
To be, they would trouble him too, I think;
Methinks he should have small desire to keep 'em.
PHIL. Faith, and less pride to wear 'em, I should
think, wench,
Unless he kept 'em as a testimony
For after-times, to shew what misery
He past in his young days, and then weep o’er 'em.
VIO. Weep, mistress?
Nay, sure, methinks he should not weep for laughing.
_Enter_ MARTINO.
PHIL. Martino? O, we’re spoil’d, wench! are they come
then?
MAR. Mistress, be of good cheer, I’ve excellent news
for you;
Comfort your heart. What have you to breakfast,
mistress?
You shall have all again, I warrant you.
PHIL. What says he, wench?
VIO. I’m loath to understand him.
MAR. Give me a note of all your things, sweet
mistress;
You shall not lose a hair, take’t of my word;
We have him safe enough.
PHIL. O, 'las, sweet wench,
This man talks fearfully!
VIO. And I know not what yet;
That’s the worst, mistress.
MAR. Can you tell me, pray,
Whether the rascal has broke ope my desk or no?
There’s a fine little barrel of pome-citrons
Would have serv’d me this seven year: O, and my
fig-cheese!
The fig[670] of everlasting obloquy
Go with him, if he have eat it! I’ll make haste;
He cannot eat it all yet. He was taken, mistress,
Grossly and beastly; how do you think, i’faith?
PHIL. I know not, sir.
MAR. Troth, in my master’s clothes:
Would any thief but a beast been taken so?
PHIL. Wench, wench!
VIO. I have grief enough of mine own to tend,
mistress.
PHIL. Did he confess the robbery?
MAR. O no, no, mistress;
He’s a young cunning rascal, he confess’d nothing;
While we were examining on him, he took away
My master’s purse and mine, but confess’d nothing still.
PHIL. That’s but some slanderous injury rais’d against
him.—
[_Aside._
Came not your master with you?
MAR. No, sweet mistress:
I must make haste and meet him; pray, despatch me then.
PHIL. I’ve look’d o’er all with special heedfulness;
There’s nothing miss’d, I can assure you, sir,
But that suit of your master’s.
MAR. I’m right glad on’t:
That suit would hang him, yet I would not have
Him hang’d in that suit though; it will disgrace
My master’s fashion for ever, and make it as hateful
As yellow bands.[671] [_Exit._
PHIL. O what shall’s do, wench?
VIO. ’Tis no marvel, mistress,
The poor young gentleman could not keep his promise.
PHIL. Alas, sweet man, has confess’d nothing yet,
wench!
VIO. That shews his constancy and love to you,
mistress:
But you must do’t of force, there is no help for’t,
The truth can neither shame nor hurt you much;
Let 'em make what they can on’t. 'Twere sin and pity,
i’faith,
To cast away so sweet a gentleman
For such a pair of infidel hose[672] and doublet;
I’d not hang a Jew for a whole wardrobe on 'em.
PHIL. Thou say’st true, wench.
_Enter_ MARTIA, _disguised as before_.
VIO. O, O, they’re come again, mistress!
PHIL. Signor Ansaldo?
MARTIA. The same; mightily cross’d, lady,
But, past hope, freed again by a doctor’s means,
A man of art, I know not justly what indeed;
But pity, and the fortunate gold you gave me,
Wrought my release between 'em.
PHIL. Met you not
My husband’s man?
MARTIA. I took such strange ways, lady,
I hardly met a creature.
PHIL. O, most welcome!
VIO. But how shall we bestow him now we have him,
mistress?
PHIL. Alas, that’s true!
VIO. Martino may come back again.
PHIL. Step you into that little chamber speedily,
sir,—
And dress him up in one of my gowns and head-tires,
His youth will well endure it.
VIO. That will be admirable.
PHIL. Nay, do’t, do’t quickly then, and cut that suit
Into a hundred pieces, that it may never
Be known again.
VIO. A hundred? nay, ten thousand at the least,
mistress; for if there be a piece of that suit left as
big as my nail, the deed will come out: ’tis worse than
a murder; I fear 'twill never be hid.
PHIL. Away, do your endeavour, and despatch, wench.
[_Exeunt_ VIOLETTA _and_ MARTIA.
I’ve thought upon a way of certain safety,
And I may keep him while I have him too,
Without suspicion now; I’ve heard o’ th’ like:
A gentleman, that for a lady’s love
Was thought six months her woman, tended on her
In her own garments, and she being a widow,
Lay night by night with her in way of comfort;
Marry, in conclusion, match they did together:
Would I’d a copy of the same conclusion!
_Enter_ BRANDINO _with a writing_.
He’s come himself now. If thou be’st a happy wench,
Be fortunate in thy speed! I’ll delay time
With all the means I can.—O, welcome, sir!
BRAN. I’ll speak to you anon, wife, and kiss you
shortly;
I’m very busy yet: [_reads_] _Cocksey-down, Memberry,
Her manor-house at Well-dun_.
PHIL. What’s that, good sir?
BRAN. The widow’s, your sweet sister’s deed of gift;
Sh’as made all her estate over to me, wench;
She’ll be too hard for 'em all: and now come buss me,
Good luck after thieves’ handsel.
PHIL. O ’tis happy, sir,
You have him fast!
BRAN. I ha’ laid him safe enough, wench.
PHIL. I was so lost in joy at the report on’t,
I quite forgot one thing to tell Martino.
BRAN. What’s that, sweet blood?
PHIL. He and his villains, sir,
Robb’d a sweet gentlewoman last night.
BRAN. A gentlewoman?
PHIL. Nay, most uncivilly and basely stript her, sir.
BRAN. O barbarous slaves!
PHIL. I was even fain, for womanhood’s sake,
Alas, and charity’s, to receive her in,
And clothe her poor wants in a suit of mine.
BRAN. 'Twas most religiously done; I long for her.
Who have I brought to see thee, think’st thou, woman?
PHIL. Nay, sir, I know not.
BRAN. Guess, I prithee, heartily;
An enemy of thine.
PHIL. That I hope you have not, sir.
BRAN. But all was done in jest: he cries thee mercy;
Francisco, sirrah.[673]
PHIL. O, I think not on him!
BRAN. That letter was but writ to try thy constancy;
He confess’d all to me.
PHIL. Joy on him, sir!
_Enter_ FRANCISCO.
So far am I from malice, look you, sir——
Welcome, sweet signor; but I’ll ne’er trust you, sir.
BRAN. Faith, I’m beholding[674] to thee, wife, for
this.
FRAN. Methinks I enter now this house with joy,
Sweet peace, and quietness of conscience;
I wear no guilty blush upon my cheek
For a sin stampt last midnight: I can talk now
With that kind man, and not abuse him inwardly
With any scornful thought made of his shame:
What a sweet being[675] is an honest mind!
It speaks peace to itself and all mankind. [_Aside._
_Re-enter_ MARTINO.
BRAN. Martino!
MAR. Master?
BRAN. There’s another robbery done, sirrah,
By the same party.
MAR. What? your worship mocks,
Under correction.
PHIL. I forgot to tell thee;
He robb’d a lovely gentlewoman.
MAR. O pagan!
This fellow will be ston’d to death with pipkins;
Your women in the suburbs will so maul him
With broken cruises and pitchers without ears,
He’ll never die alive, that’s my opinion.
_Re-enter_ MARTIA _dressed as a woman, and_ VIOLETTA.
PHIL. Look you, your judgments, gentlemen;—yours
especially,
Signor Francisco, whose mere[676] object now
Is woman at these years, that’s the eye-saint, I know,
Amongst young gallants:—husband, you’ve a glimpse too;
You offer half an eye, as old as you are.
BRAN. Byrlady,[677] better, wench; an eye and a half,
I trow;
I should be sorry else.
PHIL. What think you now, sirs,
Is’t not a goodly, manly gentlewoman?
BRAN. Beshrew my heart else, wife.—
Pray, soft a little, signor; you’re but my guest,
remember;
I’m master of the house, I’ll have the first buss.
PHIL. But, husband, ’tis the courtesy of all places
To give a stranger ever the first bit.
BRAN. In woodcock or so; but there’s no heed to be taken
in mutton;[678] we commonly fall so roundly to that, we
forget ourselves.—
I’m sorry for thy fortune, but thou’rt welcome, lady.
[_Kisses_ MARTIA.
MAR. My master kisses as I’ve heard a hackney-man[679]
Cheer up his mare,—chap, chap! [_Aside._
BRAN. I have him fast, lady,
And he shall lie by’t close.
MARTIA. You cannot do me
A greater pleasure, sir.
BRAN. I’m happily glad on’t.
FRAN. [_after kissing_ MARTIA] Methinks there’s
somewhat whispers in my soul,
This is the hour I must begin my acquaintance
With honest love, and banish all loose thoughts;
My fate speaks to me from the modest eye
Of yon sweet gentlewoman. [_Aside._
PHIL. Wench, wench!
VIO. Pish, hold in your breath, mistress;
If you be seen to laugh, you spoil all presently:
I keep it in with all the might I have—puh!
MARTIA. Pray, what young gentleman’s that, sir?
BRAN. An honest boy, i’faith,
And come[680] of a good kind; dost like him, lady?
I would thou hadst him, and[681] thou be’st not
promis’d;
He’s worth ten thousand dollars.
VIO. By this light, mistress,
My master will go near to make a match anon:
Methinks I dream of admirable sport, mistress.
PHIL. Peace; thou’rt a drab.
BRAN. Come hither now, Francisco:
I’ve known the time I’ve had a better stomach;
Now I can dine with looking upon meat.
FRAN. That face deserv’d a better fortune, lady,
Than last night’s rudeness shew’d.
MARTIA. We cannot be
Our choosers, sir, in our own destiny.
FRAN. I return better pleas’d than when I went.
MAR. And could that beastly imp rob you, forsooth?
MARTIA. Most true, forsooth.
I will not altogether, sir, disgrace you,
Because you look half like a gentleman.
MAR. And that’s the mother’s half.
MARTIA. There’s my hand for you.
MAR. I swear you could not give me any thing
I love better, a hand gets me my living:
O sweet lemon-peel! [_Kisses_ MARTIA’S _hand_.
FRAN. May I request a modest word or two,
Lady, in private with you?
MARTIA. With me, sir?
FRAN. To make it sure from all suspect of injury
Or unbeseeming privacy, which heaven knows
Is not my aim now, I’ll entreat this gentleman
For an ear-witness unto all our conference.
MARTIA. Why, so, I am content, sir.
BRAN. So am I, lady.
[_Exeunt_ MARTIA _and_ FRANCISCO.
MAR. O master, here is a rare bedfellow
For my mistress to-night! for you know we must
Both out of town again.
BRAN. That’s true, Martino.
MAR. I do but think how they’ll lie telling of tales
together,
The prettiest!
BRAN. The prettiest[682] indeed.
MAR. Their tongues will never lin[683] wagging,
master.
BRAN. Never,
Martino, never. [_Exeunt_ BRANDINO _and_ MARTINO
_severally_.
PHIL. Take heed you be not heard.
VIO. I fear you most, mistress.
PHIL. Me, fool? ha, ha!
VIO. Why, look you, mistress, faith, you’re faulty;
ha, ha!
PHIL. Well said, i’faith; where lies the fault now,
gossip?
VIO. O for a husband! I shall burst with laughing
else;
This house is able to spoil any maid.
PHIL. I’ll be reveng’d now soundly of Francisco,
For failing me when time was.
VIO. Are you there, mistress? I thought you would not
forget that, however: a good turn disappointed is ever
the last thing that a woman forgives, she’ll scarce do’t
when she’s speechless; nay, though she hold up her whole
hand for all other injuries, she’ll forgive that but
with one finger.
PHIL. I’ll vex his heart as much as he mock’d mine.
VIO. But that may mar your hopes too, if our
gentlewoman
Be known to be a man.
PHIL. Not as I’ll work it;
I would not lose this sweet revenge, methinks,
For a whole fortnight of the old man’s absence,
Which is the sweetest benefit next to this.—
_Re-enter_ MARTIA.
Why, how now, sir? what course take you for laughing?
We are undone for one.
MARTIA. Faith, with great pain
Stifle it, and keep it in; I ha’ no receipt for’t.
But, pray, in sadness,[684] say, what is the gentleman?
I never knew his like for tedious urgings,
He will receive no answer.
PHIL. Would he would not, sir!
MARTIA. Says I’m ordain’d for him, merely for him,
And that his wiving fate speaks in me to him;
Will force on me a jointure speedily
Of some seven thousand dollars.
PHIL. Would thou hadst 'em, sir!
I know he can and[685] he will.
MARTIA. For wonder’s pity,
What is this gentleman?
PHIL. Faith, shall I tell you, sir?
One that would make an excellent, honest husband,
For her that’s a just maid at one and twenty;
For, on my conscience, he has his maidenhead yet.
MARTIA. Fie, out upon him, beast!
PHIL. Sir, if you love me,
Give way but to one thing I shall request of you.
MARTIA. Your courtesies, you know, may lay commands on
me.
PHIL. Then, at his next solicitings, let a consent
Seem to come from you; 'twill make noble sport, sir,
We’ll get jointure and all; but you must bear
Yourself most affable to all his purposes.
MARTIA. I can do that.
PHIL. Ay, and take heed of laughing.
MARTIA. I’ve bide the worst of that already, lady.
PHIL. Peace, set your countenance then, for here he
comes.
_Re-enter_ FRANCISCO.
FRAN. There is no middle continent in this passion;
I feel it, since it must be love or death,
It was ordain’d for one. [_Aside._
PHIL. Signor Francisco,
I’m sorry ’twas your fortune in my house, sir,
To have so violent a stroke come to you;
The gentlewoman’s a stranger; pray, be counsell’d, sir,
Till you hear further of her friends and portion.
FRAN. ’Tis only but her love that I desire;
She comes most rich in that.
PHIL. But be advis’d though;
I think she’s a rich heir, but see the proof, sir,
Before you make her such a generous jointure.
FRAN. ’Tis mine, and I will do’t.
PHIL. She shall be yours too,
If I may rule her then.
FRAN. You speak all sweetness.
PHIL. She likes your person well; I tell you so much,
But take no note I said so.
FRAN. Not a word.
PHIL. Come, lady, come, the gentleman’s desertful,
And, o’ my conscience, honest.
MARTIA. Blame me not;
I am a maid, and fearful.
FRAN. Never truth
Came perfecter from man.
PHIL. Give her a lip-taste,
That she herself may praise it.
[FRANCISCO _kisses_ MARTIA, _and then exit with
her_, PHILIPPA, _and_ VIOLETTA.
_Re-enter_ BRANDINO.
BRAN. Yea, a match, i’faith!
My house is lucky for 'em.—
_Re-enter_ MARTINO.
Now, Martino?
MAR. Master, the widow has the day.
BRAN. The day?
MAR. Sh’as overthrown my youngster.
BRAN. Precious tidings!
Clap down four woodcocks more.
MAR. They’re all at hand, sir.
BRAN. What, both her adversaries too?
MAR. They’re come, sir.
BRAN. Go, bid the cook serve in two geese in a dish.
MAR. I like your conceit, master, beyond utterance.
[_Exit._
_Enter_ VALERIA, RICARDO, _and two Suitors_.
BRAN. Welcome, sweet sister! which is the man must have
you?
I’d welcome nobody else.
FIRST SUIT. Come to me then, sir.
BRAN. Are you he, faith, my chain of gold?[686] I’m
glad on’t.
VAL. I wonder you can have the face to follow me,
That have so prosecuted things against me.
But I ha’ resolv’d[687] myself ’tis done to spite me.
RIC. O dearth of truth!
SEC. SUIT. Nay, do not spoil thy hair;
Hold, hold, I say; I’ll get thee a widow somewhere.
RIC. If hand and faith be nothing for a contract,
What shall man hope?
SEC. SUIT. 'Twas wont to be enough, honey,
When there was honest meaning amongst widows;
But since your bribes came in, ’tis not allow’d
A contract without gifts to bind it fast;
Every thing now must have a feeling[688] first.—
Do I come near you, widow?
VAL. No, indeed, sir,
Nor ever shall, I hope:—and for your comfort, sir,
That sought all means t’ entrap me for my wealth,
Had law unfortunately put you upon me,
You’d lost your labour, all your aim and hopes, sir;
Here stands the honest gentleman, my brother,
To whom I’ve made a deed of gift of all.
BRAN. Ay, that she has, i’faith; I thank her,
gentlemen;
Look you here, sirs. [_Shews writing._
VAL. I must not look for pleasures,
That give more grief if they prove false, or fail us,
Than ever they gave joy.
FIRST SUIT. Ha’ you serv['d] me so, widow?
SEC. SUIT. I’m glad thou hast her not.—Laugh at him,
honey; ha, ha!
VAL. I must take one that loves me for myself:
Here’s an old gentleman looks not after wealth,
But virtue, manners, and conditions.[689]
FIRST SUIT. Yes, by my faith, I must have lordships
too, widow.
VAL. How, sir?
FIRST SUIT. Your manners, virtue, and conditions,
widow,
Are pretty things within doors, I like well on 'em;
But I must have somewhat without, lying or being
In the tenure or occupation of master[690] such a one,
ha?
Those are fine things indeed.
VAL. Why, sir, you swore to me it was for love.
FIRST SUIT. True; but there’s two words to a bargain
ever,
All the world over; and if love be one,
I’m sure money’s the other; ’tis no bargain else:
Pardon me, I must dine as well as sup, widow.
VAL. Cry mercy, I mistook you all this while, sir;
It was this ancient gentleman indeed,
Whom I crave pardon on.
SEC. SUIT. What of me, widow?
VAL. Alas, I’ve wrong’d you, sir! ’twas you that swore
You lov’d me for myself.
SEC. SUIT. By my troth, but I did not;
Come, father not your lies upon me, widow:
I love you for yourself?—Spit at me, gentlemen,
If ever I’d such a thought.—Fetch me in, widow!
You’ll find your reach too short.
VAL. Why, you’ve enough, you say.
SEC. SUIT. Ay, but I’ll have
My humour too; you never think of that;
They’re coach-horses, they go together still.
VAL. Whom should a widow trust? I’ll swear ’twas one
of you
That made me believe so.—Mass, think ’twas you, sir,
Now I remember me.
RIC. I swore too much,
To be believ’d so little.
VAL. Was it you then?
Beshrew my heart for wronging of you!—
RIC. Welcome blessing!
Are you mine faithfully now?
VAL. As love can make one.
FIRST SUIT. Why, this fills the commonwealth so full
of beggars,
Marrying for love, which none of mine shall do.
VAL. But, now I think on’t, we must part again, sir.
RIC. Again?
VAL. You’re in debt, and I, in doubt of all,
Left myself nothing too; we must not hold,
Want on both sides makes all affection cold:
I shall not keep you from that gentleman,
You’ll be his more than mine; and when he list,
He’ll make you lie from me in some sour prison;
Then let him take you now for altogether, sir,
For he that’s mine shall be all mine, or nothing.
RIC. I never felt the evil of my debts
’Till this afflicting minute.
SEC. SUIT. I’ll be mad
Once in my days: I have enough to cure me,
And I will have my humour; they are now
But desperate debts again, I ne’er look for 'em:
And ever since I knew what malice was,
I always held it sweeter to sow mischief
Than to receive money; ’tis the finer pleasure.
I’ll give him in his bonds, as 'twere in pity,
To make the match, and bring 'em both to beggary:
Then will they ne’er agree, that’s a sure point;
He’ll give her a black eye within these three days,
Beat half her teeth out by All-hallowtide,
And break the little household stuff they have
With throwing at one another: O sweet sport!—
[_Aside._
Come, widow, come, I’ll try your honesty:
Here to my honey you’ve made many proffers,
I fear they’re all but tricks.—Here are his debts,
gentlemen;
[_Shews bonds._
How I came by 'em I know best myself.—
Take him before us faithfully for your husband,
And he shall tear 'em all before your face, widow.
VAL. Else may all faith refuse me!
SEC. SUIT. Tear 'em, honey;
’Tis firm in law, a consideration given:
[RICARDO _tears the bonds_.
What, with thy teeth? thou’lt shortly tear her so,
That’s all my hope, thou’dst never had 'em else:
I have enough, and I will have my humour.
RIC. I’m now at liberty, widow.
VAL. I’ll be so too,
And then I come to thee.—Give me this from you, brother.
[_Takes writing._
BRAN. Hold, sister, sister!
VAL. Look you, the deed of gift, sir; I’m as free:
He that has me has all, and thou art he.
BOTH SUIT. How’s that?
VAL. You’re bobb’d; ’twas but a deed in trust,—
And all to prove thee, whom I’ve found most just.
BRAN. I’m bobb’d among the rest too; I’d have sworn
'T had been a thing for me and my heirs for ever;
If I’d but got it up to the black box above,
I[t] had been past redemption.
FIRST SUIT. How am I cheated!
SEC. SUIT. I hope you’ll have the conscience now to
pay me, sir.
RIC. O wicked man, sower of strife and envy,
Open not thy lips!
SEC. SUIT. How, how’s this?
RIC. Thou hast no charge[691] at all, no child of
thine own,
But two thou gott’st once of a scouring-woman,
And they’re both well provided for, they’re i’ th’
hospital:
Thou hast ten thousand pound to bury thee;
Hang thyself when thou wilt, a slave go with thee!
SEC. SUIT. I’m gone, my goodness comes all out
together:
I have enough, but I have not my humour. [_Exit._
_Re-enter_ VIOLETTA.
VIO. O master, gentlemen, and you, sweet widow,—
I think you are no forwarder, yet I know not,—
If ever you be sure to laugh again,
Now is the time!
VAL. Why, what’s the matter, wench?
VIO. Ha, ha, ha!
BRAN. Speak, speak.
VIO. Ha!—a marriage,
A marriage; I cannot tell’t for laughing—ha, ha!
BRAN. A marriage? do you make that a laughing matter?
VIO. Ha!—ay, and you’ll make it so when you know all.
Hee they come,[692] here they come, one man married to
another!
VAL. How? man to man?
VIO. Ay, man to man, i’faith;
There’ll be good sport at night to bring 'em both to
bed:
_Re-enter_ MARTIA, PHILIPPA, _and_ FRANCISCO.
Do you see 'em now? ha, ha, ha!
FIRST SUIT. My daughter Martia!
MARTIA. O my father! your love and pardon, sir!
VAL. ’Tis she indeed, gentlemen.
MARTIA. I have been disobedient, I confess,
Unto your mind, and heaven has punish’d me
With much affliction since I fled your sight;
But finding reconcilement from above
In peace of heart, the next I hope’s your love.
FIRST SUIT. I cannot but forgive thee now I see thee;
Thou fledd’st a happy fortune of an old man,
But Francisco’s of a noble family,
Though he be somewhat spent.
FRAN. I lov’d her not, sir,
As she was yours, for I protest I knew’t not,
But for herself, sir, and her own deservings,
Which, had you been as foul as you’ve been spiteful,
I should have lov’d in her.
FIRST SUIT. Well, hold your prating, sir;
You are not like to lose by’t.
PHIL. O Violetta,
Who shall laugh at us now?
VIO. The child unborn, mistress.
MARTIA. Be good.
FRAN. Be honest.
MARTIA. Heaven will not let you sin, and[693] you’d be
careful.
FRAN. What means it sends to help you, think, and
mend,
You’re as much bound as we to praise that friend.
PHIL. I am so, and I will so.
MARTIA. Marry you speedily;
Children tame you, you’ll die like a wild beast else.
VIO. Ay, by my troth, should I. I’ve much ado
To forbear laughing now, more’s my hard fortune.
_Re-enter_ MARTINO.
MAR. O master, mistress, and you gentles all,
To horse, to horse presently, if you mean to do
Your country any service!
BRAN. Art not asham’d, Martino, to talk of horsing
So openly before young married couples thus?
MAR. It does concern the commonwealth, and me,
And you, master, and all: the thieves are taken.
MARTIA. What say’st, Martino?
MAR. La, here’s commonwealth’s-men!
The man of art, master, that cupp’d your eyes,
Is prov’d an arrant rascal; and his man,
That drew my tooth, an excellent purse-drawer—
I felt no pain in that, it went insensibly.
Such notable villanies confess’d!——
BRAN. Stop there, sir:
We will have time for them.—Come, gentlefolks,
Take a slight meal with us: but the best cheer
Is perfect joy, and that we wish all here.[694]
RIC. Stay, stay, sir; I’m as hungry of my widow,
As you can be upon your maid, believe it;
But we must come to our desires in order;
There’s duties to be paid ere we go further.—
He that without your likings leaves this place,
Is like one falls to meat and forgets grace;
And that’s not handsome, trust me, no:
Our rights being paid, and your loves understood,
My widow and my meat then do[695] me good.—
I ha’ no money, wench, I told thee true,—
For my report, pray let her hear’t from you.
[_Exeunt omnes._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A FAIR QUARREL.
_A Faire Quarrell. As it was Acted before the King and diuers times
publikely by the Prince his Highnes Seruants. Written_
{ _By Thomas Midleton_ }
{ _and William Rowley._ } _Gentl._
_Printed at London for I. T. and are to bee sold at Christ Church Gate._
1617. 4to.
During the same year copies were put forth with a fresh title-page,—_A
Faire Quarrell. With new Additions of Mr. Chaughs and Trimtram’s
Roaring, and the Bauds Song. Neuer before Printed_, &c.; these “new
additions” being contained in three leaves, which the binder is desired
to place “at the latter end of the fourth Act.” Another edition appeared
in 1622, 4to.
On the title-page of the 4tos is a woodcut representing the Colonel and
the Captain in combat, which has been copied into Strutt’s _Dress and
Habits_, &c., Plate cxxxix.
Langbaine says, “The Plot of Fitz-allen, Russel, and Jane, is founded,
as I suppose, on some Italian Novel, and may be read in English in the
_Complaisant Companion_, octavo, p. 280. That part of the Physitian
tempting Jane, and then accusing her, is founded on a Novel of Cynthio
Giraldi: See Dec. 4. Nov. 5.” _Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 372.
TO THE
NOBLY DISPOSED, VIRTUOUS, AND FAITHFUL-BREASTED
ROBERT GREY, ESQUIRE,
ONE OF THE GROOMS OF HIS HIGHNESS’ BED-CHAMBER,
_His poor well-willer wisheth his best wishes, hic et supra_.
WORTHY SIR,
’Tis but a play, and a play is but a butt, against which many shoot many
arrows of envy; ’tis the weaker part, and how much more noble shall it
be in you to defend it: yet if it be (as some philosophers have left
behind 'em), that this megacosm, this great world, is no more than a
stage, where every one must act his part, you shall of necessity have
many partakers, some long, some short, some indifferent, all some;
whilst indeed the players themselves have the least part of it, for I
know few that have lands (which are a part of the world), and therefore
no grounded men; but howsoever they serve for mutes, happily they must
wear good clothes for attendance, yet all have exits, and must all be
stript in the tiring-house (viz. the grave), for none must carry any
thing out of the stock. You see, sir, I write as I speak, and I speak as
I am, and that’s excuse enough for me. I did not mean to write an
epistle of praise to you; it looks so like a thing I know you love not,
flattery, which you exceedingly hate actively, and unpleasingly accept
passively: indeed, I meant to tell you your own, that is, that this
child of the Muses is yours; whoever begat it, ’tis laid to your charge,
and, for aught I know, you must father and keep it too: if it please
you, I hope you shall not be ashamed of it neither, for it has been
seen, though I say it, in good companies, and many have said it is a
handsome, pretty-spoken infant. Now be your own judge; at your leisure
look on it, at your pleasure laugh at it; and if you be sorry it is no
better, you may be glad it is no bigger.
Yours ever,
WILLIAM ROWLEY.[696]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
RUSSELL, _brother to Lady Ager and father to Jane_.
_The Colonel._
CAPTAIN AGER, _son to Lady Ager_.
_Friends of the Colonel._
_Friends of Captain Ager._
FITZALLEN, _privately married to Jane_.
CHOUGH, _a Cornish gentleman_.
TRIMTRAM, _his servant_.
_Physician._
_Surgeon._
_Usher of the Roaring School._
CAPTAIN ALBO, _a pander_.
VAPOUR, _a tobacco-seller_.
_Sergeants, Roarers, Servants._
LADY AGER, _mother to the captain, and sister to
Russell_.
JANE, _daughter to Russell, and privately married to
Fitzallen_.
_The Colonel’s sister._
ANNE, _sister to the Physician_.
_Dutch Nurse._
MEG, _a bawd_.
PRISS, _a harlot_.
Scene, LONDON and its neighbourhood.
A FAIR QUARREL.
ACT I. SCENE I.
_A Court before_ RUSSELL’S _House_.
_Enter_ RUSSELL.
RUS. It must be all my care; there’s all my love,
And that pulls on the other.[697] Had I been left
In a son behind me, while I had been here
He should have shifted as I did before him,
Liv’d on the freeborn portion of his wit;
But a daughter, and that an only one,—O,
We cannot be too careful o’ her, too tender! ’Tis such
A brittle niceness, a mere cupboard of glasses,
The least shake breaks or cracks 'em. All my aim is
To cast her upon riches; that’s the thing
We rich men call perfection; for the world
Can perfect nought without it: ’tis not neatness,
Either in handsome wit or handsome outside,
With which one gentleman, far in debt, has courted her;
Which boldness he shall rue. He thinks me blind
And ignorant: I’ve let him play a long time,
Seem’d to believe his worth, which I know nothing:
He may perhaps laugh at my easy confidence,
Which closely I requite upon his fondness,
For this hour snaps him; and before his mistress,
His saint, forsooth, which he inscribes my girl,
He shall be rudely taken and disgrac’d.
The trick will prove an everlasting scarecrow
To fright poor gallants from our rich men’s daughters.
_Enter_ LADY AGER _and two Servants_.
Sister! I’ve such a joy to make you a welcome of,
Better you never tasted.
LADY AGER. Good, sir, spare it not.
RUS. Colonel’s come, and your son captain Ager.
LADY AGER. My son? [_Weeps._
RUSS. I know your eye would be first serv’d;
That’s the soul’s taster still for grief or joy.
LADY AGER. O, if a mother’s dear suit may prevail with
him,
From England he shall never part again!
RUS. No question he’ll be rul’d, and grant you that.
LADY AGER. I’ll bring all my desires to that request.
[_Exit with servants._
RUS. Affectionate sister! she has no daughter now;
It follows all the love must come to him,
And he has a worth deserves it, were it dearer.
_Enter Friend of the Colonel and Friend of_ CAPTAIN
AGER.
COL.’S FR. I must not give way to’t.
RUS. What’s here to question? [_Aside._
COL.’S FR. Compare young captain Ager with the
Colonel!
CAP.’S FR. Young? why, do you
Make youth stand for an imputation?
That which you now produce for his disgrace
Infers his nobleness, that, being young,
Should have an anger more inclin’d to courage
And moderation than the Colonel;
A virtue as rare as chastity in youth;
And let the cause be good—conscience in him,
Which ever crowns his acts, and is indeed
Valour’s prosperity—he dares then as much
As ever made him famous that you plead for.
COL.’S FR. Then I forbear too long.
CAP.’S FR. His worth for me! [_They fight._
RUS. Here’s noble youths! belike some wench has
cross’d 'em,
And now they know not what to do with their blood.
[_Aside._
_Enter the Colonel and_ CAPTAIN AGER.
COL. How now?
CAP. AGER. Hold, hold! what’s the incitement?
COL. So serious at your game! come, come, the quarrel?
COL.’S FR. Nothing, good faith, sir.
COL. Nothing? and you bleed?
COL.’S FR. Bleed! where? pish, a little scratch by
chance, sir.
COL. What need this niceness,[698] when you know so
well
That I must know these things, and truly know 'em?
Your daintiness makes me but more impatient;
This strange concealment frets me.
COL.’S FR. Words did pass
Which I was bound to answer, as my opinion
And love instructed me;
And should I take in general fame into 'em,
I think I should commit no error in’t.
COL. What words, sir, and of whom?
COL.’S FR. This gentleman
Parallell’d captain Ager’s worth with yours.
COL. With mine?
COL.’S FR. It was a thing I could not listen to
With any patience.
CAP. AGER. What should ail you, sir?
There was little wrong done to your friend i’ that.
COL. How? little wrong to me?
CAP. AGER. I said so, friend,
And I suppose that you’ll esteem it so.
COL. Comparisons!
CAP. AGER. Why, sir, 'twixt friend and friend
There is so even and level a degree,
It will admit of no superlative.
COL. Not in terms of manhood?
RUS. [_coming forward_] Nay, gentlemen——
COL. Good sir, give me leave—in terms of manhood,
What can you dispute more questionable?
You’re a captain, sir; I give you all your due.
CAP. AGER. And you are a colonel, a title
Which may include within it many captains:
Yet, sir, but throwing by those titular shadows,
Which add no substance to the men themselves,
And take them uncompounded, man and man,
They may be so with fair equality.
COL. You’re a boy, sir!
CAP. AGER. And you have a beard, sir:
Virginity and marriage are both worthy;
And the positive purity there are some
Have made the nobler.
COL. How now?
RUS. Nay, good sir——
CAP. AGER. I shrink not; he that goes the foremost may
Be overtaken.
COL. Death, how am I weigh’d!
CAP. AGER. In an even balance, sir; a beard put in
Gives but a small advantage: man and man,
And lift the scales.
COL. Patience shall be my curse,
If it ride me further! [_They draw their swords._
RUS. How now, gallants?
Believe me then, I must give aim[699] no longer:
Can words beget swords, and bring 'em forth, ha?
Come, they’re abortive propagations;
Hide 'em, for shame! I had thought soldiers
Had been musical, would not strike out of time,
But to the consort[700] of drum, trumps, and fife:
’Tis madman-like to dance without music,
And most unpleasing shews to the beholders,
A Lydian ditty to a Doric note.
Friends embrace with steel hands? fie, it meets too
hard!
I must have those encounters here debarr’d.
COL. Shall I lose here what I have safe brought home
Through many dangers?
CAP. AGER. What’s that, sir?
COL. My fame,
Life of the life, my reputation.
Death! I am squar’d and measur’d out;
My heights, depths, breadth, all my dimensions taken!
Sure I have yet beyond your astrolabe
A spirit unbounded.
CAP. AGER. Sir, you might weigh——
RUS. Tush!
All this is weighing fire, vain and fruitless:
The further it runs into argument,
The further plung’d; beseech you, no more on’t.
I have a little claim, sir, in your blood,
As near as the brother to your mother,
If that may serve for power to move your quiet;
The rest I shall make up with courtesy
And an uncle’s love.
CAP. AGER. I have done, sir, but——
RUS. But? I’ll have no more shooting at these
butts.[701]
COL. We’ll to pricks when he please.
RUS. You rove all still.
Sir, I have no motive proof to disgest[702]
Your raised choler back into temperate blood;
But if you’ll make mine age a counsellor,—
As all ages have hitherto allow’d it,
Wisdom in men grows up as years increase,—
You shall make me blessed in making peace,
And do your judgment right.
COL. In peace at home
Grey hairs are senators, but to determine
Soldiers and their actions——
_Enter_ FITZALLEN _and_ JANE.
RUS. ’Tis peace here, sir:
And see, here comes a happy interim;
Here enters now a scene of loving arms;
This couple will not quarrel so.
COL.’S FR. Be advis’d, sir;
This gentleman, Fitzallen, is your kinsman;
You may o’erthrow his long-labour’d fortunes
With one angry minute; ’tis a rich churl,
And this his sole inheritrix; blast not
His hopes with this tempest.
COL. It shall calm me:
All the town’s conjurers and their demons could not
Have laid my spirit so.
FITZ. Worthy coz,
I gratulate your fair return to peace!
Your swift fame was at home long before you.
COL. It meets, I hope, your happy fortunes here,
And I am glad in’t. I must salute your joys, coz,
With a soldier’s encounter. [_Kisses_ JANE.
FITZ. Worthy captain Ager!
I hope, my kinsman shortly.
RUS. You must come short indeed,
Or the length of my device will be ill-shrunk.
[_Aside._
Why, now it shews finely! I’ll tell you, sir,—
Sir?—nay, son, I know i’ th’ end 'twill be so—
FITZ. I hope so, sir.
RUS. Hope? nay,’tis past all hope, son:
Here has been such a stormy encounter 'twixt[703]
My cousin[704] captain and this brave Colonel,
About I know not what—nothing indeed—
Competitions, degrees, and comparatives
Of soldiership; but this smooth passage of love
Has calm’d it all.—Come, I will have it sound;
Let me see your hearts combined in your hands,
And then I will believe the league is good:
It shall be the grape’s, if we drink any blood.
COL. I have no anger, sir.
CAP. AGER. I have had none,
My blood has not yet rose to a quarrel;
Nor have you had cause—
COL. No cause of quarrel?
Death! if my father should tell me so——
RUS. Again?
FITZ. Good sir, for my sake——
COL. Faith, I have done, coz;
You do too hastily believe mine anger:
And yet, to say diminiting[705] valour
In a soldier is no cause of quarrel——
RUS. Nay, then, I’ll remove the cause, to kill th’
effect.
Kinsman, I’ll press you to’t, if either love
Or consanguinity may move you to’t:
I must disarm you; though ye are a soldier,
Pray, grant me your weapon; it shall be safe
[_Takes_ CAPTAIN AGER’S _sword_.
At your regress from my house. Now I know
No words can move this noble soldier’s sword
To a man undefenc’d so: we shall parle,[706]
And safely make all perfect friends again.
COL. To shew my will, sir, accept mine to you;
[_Gives his sword to_ RUSSELL.
As good not wear it as not dare to use it.
COL.’S FR. Nay, then, sir, we will be all exampl’d;
We’ll have no arms here now but lovers’ arms.
[_Gives his sword to_ RUSSELL.
CAP.’S FR. No seconds must begin a quarrel: take mine,
sir.
[_Gives his sword to_ RUSSELL.
RUS. Why, la, what a fine sunshine’s here! these
clouds
My breath has blown into another climate.
I’ll be your armorer;[707] they are not pawn’d.—
These were the fish that I did angle for;
I have caught 'em finely. Now for my trick;
My project’s lusty, and will hit the nick.
[_Exit with weapons._
COL. What, is’t a match, beauty? I would now have
Alliance with my worthy captain Ager,
To knit our loves the faster: here is witness
Enough, if you confirm it now.
JANE. Sir, my voice
Was long since given, since that I gave my hand.
COL. Would you had seal’d too!
JANE. That wish comes too late,
For I too soon fear my delivery.— [_Aside._
My father’s hand sticks yet, sir; you may now
Challenge a lawful interest in his:
He took your hand from your enraged blood,
And gave it freely to your opposite,
My cousin Ager: methinks you should claim from him,
In the less quality of calmer blood,
To join the hands of two divided friends,
Even these two that would offer willingly
Their own embrace.
COL.’S FR.[708] Troth, she instructs you well,
Colonel, and you shall do a lover’s part
Worth one brave act of valour.
COL. Why, I did
Misdoubt no scruple; is there doubt in it?
FITZ. Faith, sir, delays, which at the least are
doubts;
But here’s a constant resolution fix’d,
Which we wish willingly he would accord to.
COL. Tush, he shall do’t, I will not be denied;
He owes me so much in the recompense
Of my reconcilement.—Captain Ager,
You will take our parts against your uncle
In this quarrel?
CAP. AGER. I shall do my best, sir;
Two denials shall not repulse me: I love
Your worthy kinsman, and wish him mine; I know
He doubts it not.
COL. See, he’s return’d.
_Re-enter_ RUSSELL _with Servant_.
RUS. Your cue,
Be sure you keep it; 'twill be spoken quickly,
Therefore watch it. [_Exit Servant._
COL. Let’s set on him all at once.
ALL. Sir, we have a suit to you.
RUS. What, all at once?
ALL. All, all, i’faith, sir.
RUS. One speaker may yet deliver: say, say;
I shall not dare to stand out 'gainst so many.
COL. Faith, sir, here’s a brabbling matter[709] hangs
on demur;
I make the motion for all without a fee;
Pray you, let it be ended this term.
RUS. Ha, ha, ha!—
That is the rascal’s cue, and he has miss’d it.—
[_Aside._
What is’t, what is’t, sir?
COL. Why, sir, here’s a man
And here’s a woman—you’re scholar good enough—
Put 'em together, and tell me what it spells?
RUS. Ha, ha, ha!—
There’s his cue once again:
_Re-enter Servant._
O, he’s come—humph! [_Aside._
SER. My master laughs; that is his cue to mischief.
[_Aside._
COL. What say you, sir?
SER. Sir——
RUS. Ha! what say you, sir?
SER. Sir, there’s a couple desire speedily to speak
with you.
RUS. A couple, sir, of what? hounds or horses?
SER. Men, sir; gentlemen or yeomen, I know not which,
But the one, sure, they are.
RUS. Hast thou no other description of them?
SER. They come with commission, they say, sir, to taste
of your earth; if they like it, they’ll turn it into
gunpowder.
RUS. O, they are saltpetre-men—before me,[710]
And they bring commission, the king’s power indeed!
They must have entrance: but the knaves will be brib’d;
There’s all the hope we have in officers;
They were too dangerous in a commonwealth,
But that they will be very well corrupted;
Necessary varlets.
SER. Shall I enter in,[711] sir?
RUS. By all fair means, sir,
And with all speed, sir: give 'em very good words,
To save my ground unravish’d, unbroke up:
[_Exit Servant._
Mine’s yet
A virgin earth; the worm hath not been seen
To wriggle in her chaste bowels, and I’d be loath
A gunpowder fellow should deflower her now.
COL. Our suit is yet delay’d by this means, sir.
RUS. Alas, I cannot help it! these fellows gone,
As I hope I shall despatch 'em quickly,
A few articles shall conclude your suit:
Who? master Fitzallen? the only man
That my adoption aims at.
COL. There’s good hope then.
_Enter two Sergeants in disguise._
FIRST SERG. Save you, sir.
RUS. You are welcome, sir, for aught I know yet.
SEC. SERG. We come to take a view and taste of your
ground, sir.
RUS. I’d rather feed you with better meat, gentlemen;
But do your pleasures, pray.
FIRST SERG. This is our pleasures:—We arrest you, sir,
In the king’s name. [_They arrest_ FITZALLEN.
FITZ. Ha! at whose suit?
RUS. How’s that?
COL. Our weapons, good sir, furnish us!
JANE. Ay me!
RUS. Stay, stay, gentlemen, let’s inquire the cause:
It may be but a trifle; a small debt
Shall need no rescue here.
SEC. SERG. Sir, betwixt three creditors, master Leach,
master Swallow, and master Bonesuck, the debts are a
thousand pounds.
RUS. A thousand pounds! beshrow[712] me, a good[713]
man’s substance!
COL. Good sir, our weapons! we’ll teach these varlets
to walk
In their own parti-colour’d coats, that they
May be distinguished from honest men.
FIRST SERG. Sir, attempt no rescue; he’s our prisoner:
You’ll make the danger worse by violence.
COL. A plague upon your gunpowder-treason,
Ye quick-damn’d varlets! is this your saltpeter-proving,
Your tasting earth? would you might ne’er feed better,
Nor none of your catchpoll tribe!—Our weapons, good sir!
We’ll yet deliver him.
RUS. Pardon me, sir;
I dare not suffer [any] rescue here,
At least not by so great an accessary
As to furnish you: had you had your weapons—
But to see the ill fate on’t!—My fine trick, i’faith!
Let beggars beware to love rich men’s daughters:
I’ll teach 'em the new morrice; I learnt it myself
Of another careful father. [_Aside._
FITZ. May I not be bail’d?
SEC. SERG. Yes, but not with swords.
COL. Slaves, here are sufficient men!
FIRST SERG. Ay, i’ th’ field,
But not in the city.—Sir, if this gentleman
Will be one, we’ll easily admit the second.
RUS. Who, I? sir, pray, pardon me: I am wrong’d,
Very much wrong’d in this; I must needs speak it.—
Sir, you have not dealt like an honest lover
With me nor my child: here you boast to me
Of a great revenue, a large substance,
Wherein you would endow and state my daughter:
Had I miss’d this, my opinion yet
Thought you a frugal man, to understand
The sure wards against all necessities;
Boldly to defend your wife and family,
To walk unmuffl’d, dreadless of these flesh-hooks,
Even in the daring’st streets through all the city;
But now I find you a loose prodigal,
A large unthrift: a whole thousand pound!—
Come from him, girl, his inside is not sound.
FITZ. Sir, I am wrong’d; these are malicious plots
Of some obscure enemies that I have;
These debts are none of mine.
RUS. Ay, all say so:
Perhaps you stand engag’d for other men;
If so you do, you must then call’t your own:
The like arrearage do I run into
Should I bail you; but I have vow’d against it,
And I will keep my vows; that is religious.
FITZ. All this is nothing so, sir.
RUS. Nothing so?
By my faith, ’tis, sir; my vows are firm.
FITZ. I neither
Owe these debts, nor [am] engag’d for others.
RUS. The easier is your liberty regain’d:
These appear proofs to me.
COL. Liberty, sir?
I hope you will not see him go to prison.
RUS. I do not mean to bear him company
So far, but I will see him out of my doors:
O, sir, let him go to prison! ’tis a school
To tame wild bloods, he’ll be much better for’t.
COL. Better for lying in prison?
RUS. In prison; believe it,
Many an honest man lies in prison, else all
The keepers are knaves; they told me so themselves.
COL. Sir, I do now suspect you have betray’d him
And us, to cause us to be weaponless:
If it be so, you’re a blood-sucking churl,
One that was born in a great frost, when charity
Could not stir a finger; and you shall die
In heat of a burning fever i’ th’ dog-days,
To begin your hell to you: I’ve said your grace for you;
Now get you to supper as soon as you can;
Pluto, the master of the house, is set already.
CAP. AGER. Sir, you do wrong mine uncle.
COL. Pox on your uncle
And all his kin! if my kinsman mingle
No blood with him.
CAP. AGER. You are a foul-mouth’d fellow!
COL. Foul-mouth’d I will be—thou’rt the son of a
whore!
CAP. AGER. Ha! whore? plagues and furies! I’ll thrust
that back,
Or pluck thy heart out after!—son of a whore?
COL. On thy life I’ll prove it.
CAP. AGER. Death, I am naked!—
Uncle, I’ll give you my left hand for my sword
To arm my right with—O this fire will flame me
Into present ashes!
COL. Sir, give us weapons;
We ask our own; you will not rob us of them?
RUS. No, sir, but still restrain your furies here:
At my door I’ll give you them, nor at this time
My nephew’s; a time will better suit you:
And I must tell you, sir, you have spoke swords,
And, 'gainst the law of arms, poison’d the blades,
And with them wounded the reputation
Of an unblemish’d woman: would you were out of my doors!
COL. Pox on your doors, and let it run all your house
o’er!
Give me my sword!
CAP. AGER. We shall meet, Colonel?
COL. Yes, better provided: to spur thee more,
I do repeat my words—son of a whore!
[_Exit with his Friend._
CAP.’S FR. Come, sir; ’tis no worse than it was; you
can
Do nothing now. [_Exit with_ CAPT. AGER.
RUS. No, I’ll bar him now.—Away with that beggar!
[_Exit._
JANE. Good sir,
Let this persuade you for two minutes’ stay;
At this price, I know, you can wait all day.
[_Giving money._
FIRST SERG. You know the remora[714] that stays our
ship always.
JANE. Your ship sinks many when this hold lets go.—
O my Fitzallen! what is to be done?
FITZ. To be still thine is all my part to be,
Whether in freedom or captivity.
JANE. But art thou so engag’d as this pretends?
FITZ. By heaven, sweet Jane, ’tis all a hellish plot!
Your cruel-smiling father all this while
Has candied o’er a bitter pill for me,
Thinking by my remove to plant some other,
And then let go his fangs.
JANE. Plant some other?
Thou hast too firmly stampt me for thine own,
Ever to be ras’d out: I am not current
In any other’s hand; I fear too soon
I shall discover it.
FITZ. Let come the worst;
Bind but this knot with an unloosed line,
I will be still thine own.
JANE. And I’ll be thine.
FIRST SERG. My watch has gone two minutes, master.
FITZ. It shall not be renew’d; I go, sir—Farewell!
JANE. Farewell! we both are prison’d, though not
together;
But here’s the difference in our luckless chance,
I fear mine own, wish thy deliverance.
FITZ. Our hearts shall hourly visit: I’ll send to
thee;
Then ’tis no prison where the mind is free.
[_Exit with Sergeants._
_Re-enter_ RUSSELL.
RUS. So, let him go!—Now, wench, I bring thee joys,
A fair sunshine after this angry storm.
It was my policy to remove this beggar:
What? shall rich men wed their only daughters
To two fair suits of clothes, and perhaps yet
The poor tailor is unpaid? no, no, my girl,
I have a lad of thousands coming in:
Suppose he have more wealth than wit to guide it,
Why, there’s thy gains; thou keep’st the keys of all,
Disposest all; and for generation,
Man does most seldom stamp 'em from the brain;
Wise men beget[715] fools, and fools are the fathers
To many wise children; _hysteron proteron_,
A great scholar may beget an idiot,
And from the plough-tail may come a great scholar;
Nay, they are frequent propagations.
JANE. I am not well, sir.
RUS. Ha! not well, my girl?
Thou shalt have a physician then, [i’faith],
The best that gold can fetch upon his footcloth.[716]
Thou know’st my tender pity to thee ever;
Want nothing that thy wishes can instruct thee
To call for,—'fore me,[717] and thou look’st half-ill
indeed!
But I’ll bring one within a day to thee
Shall rouse thee up, for he’s come up already;
One master Chough, a Cornish gentleman;
Has as much land of his own fee-simple
As a crow can fly over in half a day:
And now I think on’t, at the Crow at Aldgate
His lodging is:—he shall so stir thee up!—
Come, come, be cheer’d! think of thy preferment:
Honour and attendance, these will bring thee health;
And the way to 'em is to climb by wealth. [_Exeunt._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ LADY AGER’S _House_.
_Enter_ CAPTAIN AGER.
CAP. AGER. The son of a whore?
There is not such another murdering-piece[718]
In all the stock of calumny; it kills
At one report two reputations,
A mother’s and a son’s. If it were possible
That souls could fight after the bodies fell,
This were a quarrel for 'em; he should be one, indeed,
That never heard of heaven’s joys or hell’s torments,
To fight this out: I am too full of conscience,
Knowledge, and patience, to give justice to’t;
So careful of my eternity, which consists
Of upright actions, that unless I knew
It were a truth I stood for, any coward
Might make my breast his foot-pace: and who lives
That can assure the truth of his conception,
More than a mother’s carriage makes it hopeful?
And is’t not miserable valour then,
That man should hazard all upon things doubtful?
O, there’s the cruelty of my foe’s advantage!
Could but my soul resolve my cause were just,
Earth’s mountain nor sea’s surge should hide him from
me!
E'en to hell’s threshold would I follow him,
And see the slanderer in before I left him!
But as it is, it fears[719] me; and I never
Appear’d too conscionably just till now.
My good opinion of her life and virtues
Bids me go on, and fain would I be rul’d by’t;
But when my judgment tells me she’s but woman,
Whose frailty[720] let in death to all mankind,
My valour shrinks at that. Certain, she’s good;
There only wants but my assurance in’t,
And all things then were perfect: how I thirst for’t!
Here comes the only she that could resolve[721]—
But ’tis too vild[722] a question to demand indeed.
_Enter_ LADY AGER.
LADY AGER. Son, I’ve a suit to you.
CAP. AGER. That may do well.— [_Aside._
To me, good madam? you’re most sure to speed in’t,
Be’t i’ my power to grant it.
LADY AGER. ’Tis my love
Makes the request, that you would never part
From England more.
CAP. AGER. With all my heart ’tis granted!—
I’m sure I’m i’ the way never to part from’t.
[_Aside._
LADY AGER. Where left you your dear friend the
Colonel?
CAP. AGER. O, the dear Colonel,—I should meet him
soon.
LADY AGER. O fail him not then! he’s a gentleman
The fame and reputation of your time
Is much engag’d to.
CAP. AGER. Yes, and[723] you knew all, mother.
LADY AGER. I thought I’d known so much of his fair
goodness,
More could not have been look’d for.
CAP. AGER. O, yes, yes, madam,
And this his last exceeded all the rest.
LADY AGER. For gratitude’s sake, let me know this, I
prithee!
CAP. AGER. Then thus; and I desire your censure[724]
freely,
Whether it appear’d not a strange noble kindness in him.
LADY AGER. Trust me, I long to hear’t.
CAP. AGER. You know he’s hasty,—
That by the way.
LADY AGER. So are the best conditions;[725]
Your father was the like.
CAP. AGER. I begin now
To doubt me more: why am not I so too then?
Blood follows blood through forty generations,
And I’ve a slow-pac’d wrath—a shrewd dilemma!
[_Aside._
LADY AGER. Well, as you were saying, sir——
CAP. AGER. Marry, thus, good madam:
There was in company a foul-mouth’d villain—
Stay, stay,
Who should I liken him to that you have seen?
He comes so near one that I would not match him with;
Faith, just a’ th’ Colonel’s pitch, he’s ne’er the worse
man;
Usurers have been compar’d to magistrates,
Extortioners to lawyers, and the like;
But they all prove ne’er the worse men for that.
LADY AGER. That’s bad enough; they need not.
CAP. AGER. This rude fellow,
A shame to all humanity or manners,
Breathes from the rottenness of his gall and malice
The foulest stain that ever man’s fame blemish’d;
Part of which fell upon your honour, madam,
Which heighten’d my affliction.
LADY AGER. Mine? my honour, sir?
CAP. AGER. The Colonel, soon enrag’d, as he’s all
touchwood,
Takes fire before me, makes the quarrel his,
Appoints the field; my wrath could not be heard,
His was so high-pitch’d, so gloriously mounted.
Now, what’s the friendly fear that fights within me,
Should his brave noble fury undertake
A cause that were unjust in our defence,
And so to lose him everlastingly
In that dark depth where all bad quarrels sink
Never to rise again, what pity 'twere
First to die here, and never to die there!
LADY AGER. Why, what’s the quarrel—speak, sir—that
should raise
Such fearful doubt, my honour bearing part on’t?
The words, whate’er they were.
CAP. AGER. Son of a whore!
LADY AGER. Thou liest! [_Strikes him._
And were my love ten thousand times more to thee,
Which is as much now as e’er mother’s was,
So thou should’st feel my anger. Dost thou call
That quarrel doubtful? where are all my merits?
Not one stand up to tell this man his error?
Thou might’st as well bring the sun’s truth in question
As thy birth or my honour!
CAP. AGER. Now blessings crown you for’t!
It is the joyfull’st blow that e’er flesh felt.
LADY AGER. Nay, stay, stay, sir; thou art not left so
soon;
This is no question to be slighted off,
And at your pleasure clos’d up fair again,
As though you’d never touch’d it: no, honour doubted
Is honour deeply wounded; and it rages
More than a common smart, being of thy making;
For thee to fear my truth, it kills my comfort:
Where should fame seek for her reward, when he
That is her own by the great tie of blood,
Is farthest off in bounty? O poor goodness!
That only pay’st thyself with thy own works,
For nothing else looks towards thee. Tell me, pray,
Which of my loving cares dost thou requite
With this vild[726] thought, which of my prayers or
wishes?
Many thou ow’st me for: this seven year hast thou known
me
A widow, only married to my vow;
That’s no small witness of my faith and love
To him that in life was thy honour’d father;
And live I now to know that good mistrusted?
CAP. AGER. No; 't shall appear that my belief is
cheerful,
For never was a mother’s reputation
Noblier defended: ’tis my joy and pride
I have a firm [faith] to bestow upon it.
LADY AGER. What’s that you said, sir?
CAP. AGER. 'Twere too bold and soon yet
To crave forgiveness of you; I’ll earn it first:
Dead or alive I know I shall enjoy it.
LADY AGER. What’s all this, sir?
CAP. AGER. My joy’s beyond expression!
I do but think how wretched I had been
Were this another’s quarrel, and not mine.
LADY AGER. Why, is it yours?
CAP. AGER. Mine? think me not so miserable,
Not to be mine; then were I worse than abject,
More to be loath’d than vileness or sin’s dunghill:
Nor did I fear your goodness, faithful madam,
But came with greedy joy to be confirm’d in’t,
To give the nobler onset. Then shines valour,
And admiration from her fix’d sphere draws,
When it comes burnish’d with a righteous cause;
Without which I’m ten fathoms under coward,
That now am ten degrees above a man,
Which is but one of virtue’s easiest wonders.
LADY AGER. But, pray, stay; all this while I
understood you.
The Colonel was the man.
CAP. AGER. Yes, he’s the man,
The man of injury, reproach, and slander,
Which I must turn into his soul again.
LADY AGER. The Colonel do’t? that’s strange!
CAP. AGER. The villain did it;
That’s not so strange:—your blessing and your leave.
LADY AGER. Come, come, you shall not go!
CAP. AGER. Not go? were death
Sent now to summon me to my eternity,
I’d put him off an hour; why, the whole world
Has not chains strong enough to bind me from’t:
The strongest is my reverence to you,
Which if you force upon me in this case,
I must be forc’d to break it.
LADY AGER. Stay, I say!
CAP. AGER. In any thing command me but in this, madam.
LADY AGER. 'Las, I shall lose him! [_Aside._]—
You will hear me first?
CAP. AGER. At my return I will.
LADY AGER. You’ll never hear me more, then.
CAP. AGER. How?
LADY AGER. Come back, I say!
You may well think there’s cause I call so often.
CAP. AGER. Ha, cause! what cause?
LADY AGER. So much, you must not go.
CAP. AGER. How?
LADY AGER. You must not go.
CAP. AGER. Must not? why?
LADY AGER. I know a reason for’t,
Which I could wish you’d yield to, and not know;
If not, it must come forth: faith, do not know,
And yet obey my will.
CAP. AGER. Why, I desire
To know no other than the cause I have,
Nor should you wish it, if you take your injury,
For one more great I know the world includes not.
LADY AGER. Yes, one that makes this nothing: yet be
rul’d,
And if you understand not, seek no further.
CAP. AGER. I must; for this is nothing.
LADY AGER. Then take all;
And if amongst it you receive that secret
That will offend you, though you condemn me,
Yet blame yourself a little; for, perhaps,
I would have made my reputation sound
Upon another’s hazard with less pity;
But upon yours I dare not.
CAP. AGER. How?
LADY AGER. I dare not:
'Twas your own seeking this.
CAP. AGER. If you mean evilly,
I cannot understand you; nor for all the riches
This life has, would I.
LADY AGER. Would you never might!
CAP. AGER. Why, your goodness, that I joy to fight
for.
LADY AGER. In that you neither right your joy nor me.
CAP. AGER. What an ill orator has virtue got here!
Why, shall I dare to think it a thing possible
That you were ever false?
LADY AGER. O, fearfully!
As much as you come to.
CAP. AGER. O silence, cover me!
I’ve felt a deadlier wound than man can give me.
False!
LADY AGER. I was betray’d to a most sinful hour
By a corrupted soul I put in trust once,
A kinswoman.
CAP. AGER. Where is she? let me pay her!
LADY AGER. O, dead long since!
CAP. AGER. Nay, then, sh’as all her wages.
False! do not say’t, for honour’s goodness, do not!
You never could be so. He I call’d father
Deserv’d you at your best, when youth and merit
Could boast at highest in you; y’had no grace
Or virtue that he match’d not, no delight
That you invented but he sent it crown’d
To your full-wishing soul.
LADY AGER. That heaps my guiltiness.
CAP. AGER. O, were you so unhappy to be false
Both to yourself and me? but to me chiefly.
What a day’s hope is here lost! and with it
The joys of a just cause! Had you but thought
On such a noble quarrel, you’d ha’ died
Ere you’d ha’ yielded; for the sin’s hate first,
Next for the shame of this hour’s cowardice.
Curst be the heat that lost me such a cause,
A work that I was made for! Quench, my spirit,
And out with honour’s flaming lights within thee!
Be dark and dead to all respects of manhood!
I never shall have use of valour more.
Put off your vow for shame! why should you hoard up
Such justice for a barren widowhood,
That was so injurious to the faith of wedlock?
[_Exit_ LADY AGER.
I should be dead, for all my life’s work’s ended;
I dare not fight a stroke now, nor engage
The noble resolution of my friends;
_Enter two Friends of_ CAPTAIN AGER.
That were more vild[727]—they’re here: kill me, my
shame!
I am not for the fellowship of honour. [_Aside._
FIRST FR. Captain! fie, come, sir! we’ve been seeking
for you
Very late to-day; this was not wont to be:
Your enemy’s i’ th’ field.
CAP. AGER. Truth enters cheerfully.
SEC. FR. Good faith, sir, you’ve a royal quarrel on’t.
CAP. AGER. Yes, in some other country, Spain or Italy,
It would be held so.
FIRST FR. How? and is’t not here so?
CAP. AGER. ’Tis not so contumeliously receiv’d
In these parts, and[728] you mark it.
FIRST FR. Not in these?
Why, prithee, what is more, or can be?
CAP. AGER. Yes;
That ordinary commotioner, the lie,
Is father of most quarrels in this climate,
And held here capital, and[728] you go to that.
SEC. FR. But, sir, I hope you will not go to that,
Or change your own for it: son of a whore!
Why, there’s the lie down to posterity,
The lie to birth, the lie to honesty.
Why would you cozen yourself so, and beguile
So brave a cause, manhood’s best masterpiece?
Do you e’er hope for one so brave again?
CAP. AGER. Consider then the man, [the] Colonel,
Exactly worthy, absolutely noble,
However spleen and rage abuses him;
And ’tis not well nor manly to pursue
A man’s infirmity.
FIRST FR. O miracle!
So hopeful, valiant, and complete a captain
Possess’d with a tame devil! Come out! thou spoilest
The most improv’d young soldier of seven kingdoms;
Made captain at nineteen; which was deserv’d
The year before, but honour comes behind still:
Come out, I say! This was not wont to be;
That spirit ne’er stood in need of provocation,
Nor shall it now: away, sir!
CAP. AGER. Urge me not.
FIRST FR. By manhood’s reverend honour, but we must!
CAP. AGER. I will not fight a stroke.
FIRST FR. O blasphemy
To sacred valour!
CAP. AGER. Lead me where you list.
FIRST FR. Pardon this traitorous slumber, clogg’d with
evils:
Give captains rather wives than such tame devils!
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Room in_ RUSSELL’S _House_.
_Enter Physician and_ JANE.
PHY. Nay, mistress,[729] you must not be cover’d to me;
The patient must ope to the physician
All her dearest sorrows: art is blinded else,
And cannot shew her mystical effects.
JANE. Can art be so dim-sighted, learned sir?
I did not think her so incapacious.
You train me, as I guess, like a conjurer,
One of our fine[730] oraculous wizards,
Who, from the help of his examinant,
By the near guess of his suspicion,
Points[731] out the thief by the marks he tells him.
Have you no skill in physiognomy?
What colour, says your coat, is my disease?
I am unmarried, and it cannot be yellow;[732]
If it be maiden-green, you cannot miss it.
PHY. I cannot see that vacuum in your blood:
But, gentlewoman, if you love yourself,
Love my advice; be free and plain with me:
Where lies your grief?
JANE. Where lies my grief indeed?
I cannot tell the truth, where my grief lies,
But my joy is imprison’d.
PHY. This is mystical!
JANE. Lord, what plain questions you make problems of!
Your art is such a regular highway,
That put you out of it, and you are lost:
My heart’s imprison’d in my body, sir;
There is all my joy; and my sorrow too
Lies very near it.
PHY. They are bad adjuncts;
Your joy and grief, lying so near together,
Can propagate no happy issue: remove
The one, and let it be the worst—your grief—
If you’ll propose the best unto your joy.
JANE. Why, now comes your skill: what physic for it?
PHY. Now I have found you out; you are in love.
JANE. I think I am: what’s[733] your appliance now?
Can all your Paracelsian mixtures cure it?
'T must be a surgeon of the civil law,
I fear, that must cure me.
PHY. Gentlewoman,
If you knew well my heart, you would not be
So circular;[734] the very common name
Of physician might reprove your niceness;[735]
We are as secret as your confessors,
And as firm obliged; ’tis a fine like death
For us to blab.
JANE. I will trust you; yet, sir,
I’d rather do it by attorney to you;
I else have blushes that will stop my tongue:
Have you no friend so friendly as yourself,
Of mine own sex, to whom I might impart
My sorrows to you at the second hand?
PHY. Why, la, there I hit you! and be confirm’d
I’ll give you such a bosom-counsellor,
That your own tongue shall be sooner false to you.
Make yourself unready,[736] and be naked to her;
I’ll fetch her presently. [_Exit._
JANE. I must reveal;
My shame will else take tongue, and speak before me:
’Tis a necessity impulsive drives me.
O my hard fate, but my more hard father,
That father of my fate!—a father, said I?
What a strange paradox I run into!
I must accuse two fathers of my fate
And fault, a reciprocal generation:
The father of my fault would have repair’d
His faulty issue, but my fate’s father hinders it:
Then fate and fault, wherever I begin,
I must blame both, and yet ’twas love did sin.
_Re-enter Physician with_ ANNE.
PHY. Look you, mistress, here’s your closet; put in
What you please, you ever keep the key of it.
JANE. Let me speak private, sir.
PHY. With all my heart;
I will be more than mine ears’ length from you.
[_Retires._
JANE. You hold some endear’d place with this
gentleman?
ANNE. He is my brother, forsooth, I his creature;
He does command me any lawful office,
Either in act or counsel.
JANE. I must not doubt you;
Your brother has protested secrecy,
And strengthen’d me in you: I must lay ope
A guilty sorrow to you; I’m with child.
’Tis no black swan I shew you; these spots stick
Upon the face of many go for maids:
I that had face enough to do the deed,
Cannot want tongue to speak it; but ’tis to you,
Whom I accept my helper.
ANNE. Mistress, ’tis lock’d
Within a castle that’s invincible:
It is too late to wish it were undone.
JANE. I’ve scarce a wish within myself so strong,
For, understand me, ’tis not all so ill
As you may yet conceit it: this deed was done
When heaven had witness to the jugal[737] knot;
Only the barren ceremony wants,
Which by an adverse father is abridg’d.
ANNE. Would my pity could help you!
JANE. Your counsel may.
My father yet shoots widest from my sorrow,
And, with a care indulgent, seeing me chang’d
From what I was, sends for your good brother
To find my grief, and practise remedy:
You know it, give it him; but if a fourth
Be added to this counsel, I will say
Ye’re worse than you can call me at the worst,
At this advantage of my reputation.
ANNE. I will revive a reputation
That women long have[738] lost; I will keep counsel:
I’ll only now oblige my teeth to you,
And they shall bite the blabber, if it offer
To breathe on an offending syllable.
JANE. I trust you; go, whisper.[739] Here comes my
father.
_Enter_ RUSSELL, CHOUGH, _and_ TRIMTRAM.
RUS. Sir, you are welcome, more, and most welcome,
All the degrees of welcome; thrice welcome, sir!
CHOUGH. Is this your daughter, sir?
RUS. Mine only joy, sir.
CHOUGH. I’ll shew her the Cornish hug,[740] sir
[_embraces her_].—I have kissed you now, sweetheart,
and I never do any kindness to my friends but I
use to hit 'em in the teeth with it presently.
TRIM. My name is Trimtram, forsooth; look,
what my master does, I use to do the like.
[_Attempts to kiss_ ANNE.
ANNE. You are deceived, sir; I am not this
gentlewoman’s servant, to make your courtesy
equal.
CHOUGH. You do not know me, mistress?
JANE. No indeed.—I doubt I shall learn too soon.
[_Aside._
CHOUGH. My name is Chough, a Cornish gentleman;[741]
my man’s mine own countryman too, i’faith:
I warrant you took us for some of the small
islanders.
JANE. I did indeed, between the Scotch and Irish.
CHOUGH. Red-shanks?[742] I thought so, by my truth:
no, truly,
We are right Cornish diamonds.
TRIM. Yes, we cut
Out quarrels[743] and break glasses where we go.
PHY. If it be hidden from her father, yet
His ignorance understands well his knowledge,
For this I guess to be some rich coxcomb
He’d put upon his daughter.
ANNE. That’s plainly so.
PHY. Then only she’s beholding[744] to our help
For the close delivery of her burden,
Else all’s overthrown.
ANNE. And, pray, be faithful in that, sir.
PHY. Tush, we physicians are the truest
Alchemists, that from the ore and dross of sin
Can new distil a maidenhead again.
RUS. How do you like her, sir?
CHOUGH. Troth, I do like her, sir, in the way of
comparison, to any thing that a man would desire; I am
as high as the Mount[745] in love with her already, and
that’s as far as I can go by land; but I hope to go
further by water with her one day.
RUS. I tell you, sir, she has lost some colour
By wrestling with a peevish sickness now of late.
CHOUGH. Wrestle? nay, and[746] she love wrestling, I’ll
teach her a trick to overthrow any peevish sickness in
London, whate’er it be.
RUS. Well, she had a rich beauty, though I say’t;
Nor is it lost; a little thing repairs it.
CHOUGH. She shall command the best thing that I have
In Middlesex, i’faith.
RUS. Well, sir, talk with her;
Give her a relish of your good liking to her;
You shall have time and free
Access to finish what you now begin.
JANE. What means my father? my love’s unjust
restraint,
My shame, were it published, both together
Could not afflict me like this odious fool:
Now I see why he hated my Fitzallen. [_Aside._
CHOUGH. Sweet lady, your father says you are a wrestler:
if you love that sport, I love you the better: i’faith,
I love it as well as I love my meat after supper; ’tis
indeed meat, drink, and cloth to me.
JANE. Methinks it should tear your clothes, sir.
CHOUGH. Not a rag, i’faith.—Trimtram, hold my cloak.
[_Gives his cloak to_ TRIMTRAM.]—I’ll wrestle a fall
with you now; I’ll shew you a trick that you never saw
in your life.
JANE. O, good sir, forbear! I am no wrestler.
PHY. Good sir, take heed, you’ll hurt the gentlewoman.
CHOUGH. I will not catch beneath the waist, believe
it;
I know fair play.
JANE. ’Tis no woman’s exercise in London, sir.
CHOUGH. I’ll ne’er believe that: the hug and the lock
between man and woman, with a fair fall, is as sweet an
exercise for the body as you’ll desire in a summer’s
evening.
PHY. Sir, the gentlewoman is not well.
CHOUGH. It may be you are a physician, sir?
PHY. ’Tis so, sir.
CHOUGH. I say, then, and I’ll stand to’t, three ounces
of wrestling with two hips, a yard of a green gown put
together in the inturn, is as good a medicine for the
green sickness as ever breathed.
TRIM. Come, sir, take your cloak again; I see here will
be ne’er a match. [_Returns cloak._
JANE. A match?
I had rather be match’d from a musket’s mouth,
And shot unto my death. [_Aside._
CHOUGH. I’ll wrestle with any man for a good supper.
TRIM. Ay, marry, sir, I’ll take your part there, catch
that catch may.
PHY. Sir, she is willing to’t: there at my house
She shall be private, and near to my attendance:
I know you’ll[747] not mistrust my faithful care;
I shall return her soon and perfectly.
RUS. Take your charge, sir.—Go with this gentleman,
Jane;
But, prithee, look well this way ere thou go’st;
’Tis a rich simplicity of great estate,
A thing that will be rul’d, and thou shalt rule;
Consider of your sex’s general aim,
That domination is a woman’s heaven.
JANE. I’ll think on’t, sir.
RUS. My daughter is retiring, sir.
CHOUGH. I will part at Dartmouth with her, sir. [_Kisses
her._]—O that thou didst but love wrestling! I would
give any man three foils on that condition!
TRIM. There’s three sorts of men that would thank you
for 'em, either cutlers, fencers, or players.
RUS. Sir, as I began I end,—wondrous welcome!
[_Exeunt all except_ CHOUGH _and_ TRIMTRAM.
TRIM. What, will you go to school to-day? you are
entered, you know, and your quarterage runs on.
CHOUGH. What, to the roaring school?[748] pox on’t, ’tis
such a damnable noise, I shall never attain it neither.
I do wonder they have never a wrestling school; that
were worth twenty of your fencing or dancing schools.
TRIM. Well, you must learn to roar here in London;
you’ll never proceed in the reputation of gallantry
else.
CHOUGH. How long has roaring been an exercise, thinkest
thou, Trimtram?
TRIM. Ever since guns came up; the first was your
roaring Meg.[749]
CHOUGH. Meg? then ’twas a woman was the first roarer?
TRIM. Ay, a fire of her touch-hole, that cost many a
proper man’s life since that time; and then the lions,
they learnt it from the guns, living so near 'em;[750]
then it was heard to the Bankside, and the bears[751]
they began to roar; then the boys got it, and so ever
since there have been a company of roaring boys.
CHOUGH. And how long will it last, thinkest thou?
TRIM. As long as the water runs under London Bridge, or
watermen [ply] at Westminster stairs.
CHOUGH. Well, I will begin to roar too, since it is in
fashion. O Corineus, this was not in thy time! I should
have heard on’t by the tradition of mine ancestors—for
I’m sure there were Choughs in thy days—if it had been
so: when Hercules and thou[752] wert on the Olympic
Mount together, then was wrestling in request.
TRIM. Ay, and that Mount is now the Mount in Cornwall:
Corineus brought it thither under one of his arms, they
say.
CHOUGH. O Corineus, my predecessor, that I had but lived
in those days to see thee wrestle! on that condition I
had died seven year ago.
TRIM. Nay, it should have been a dozen at least,
i’faith, on that condition.
[_Exeunt._
ACT III. SCENE I.
_A Field._
_Enter_ CAPTAIN AGER _and two Friends_.
CAP. AGER. Well, your wills now?
FIRST FR. OF CAP. Our wills? our loves, our duties
To honour’d fortitude: what wills have we
But our desires to nobleness and merit,
Valour’s advancement, and the sacred rectitude
Due to a valorous cause?
CAP. AGER. O that’s not mine!
SEC. FR. OF CAP. War has his court of justice, that’s
the field,
Where all cases of manhood are determin’d,
And your case is no mean one.
CAP. AGER. True; then 'twere virtuous;
But mine is in extremes, foul and unjust.
Well, now you’ve got me hither, you’re as far
To seek in your desire as at first minute;
For by the strength and honour of a vow,
I will not lift a finger in this quarrel.
FIRST FR. OF CAP. How? not in this? be not so rash a
sinner:
Why, sir, do you ever hope to fight again then?
Take heed on’t; you must never look for that:
Why, th’ universal stock of the world’s injury
Will be too poor to find a quarrel for you.
Give up your right and title to desert, sir:
If you fail virtue here, she needs you not
All your time after; let her take this wrong,
And never presume then to serve her more:
Bid farewell to th’ integrity of arms,
And let that honourable name of soldier
Fall from you like a shiver’d wreath of laurel
By thunder struck from a desertless forehead,
That wears another’s right by usurpation.
Good captain, do not wilfully cast away
At one hour all the fame your life has won:
This is your native seat; here you should seek
Most to preserve it; or if you will dote
So much on life,—poor life, which in respect
Of life in honour is but death and darkness,—
That you will prove neglectful of yourself,
Which is to me too fearful to imagine,
Yet for that virtuous lady’s cause, your mother,
Her reputation, dear to nobleness
As grace to penitence, whose fair memory
E'en crowns fame in your issue, for that blessedness
Give not this ill place, but in spite of hell,
And all her base fears, be exactly valiant.
CAP. AGER. O, O!
SEC. FR. OF CAP. Why, well said, there’s fair hope in
that;
Another such a one!
CAP. AGER. Came they in thousands,
’Tis all against you.
FIRST FR. OF CAP. Then, poor friendless merit,
Heaven be good to thee! thy professor leaves thee.
_Enter Colonel and two Friends._
He’s come;[753] do but you draw, we’ll fight it for
you.
CAP. AGER. I know too much to grant that.
FIRST FR. OF CAP. O dead manhood!
Had ever such a cause so faint a servant?
Shame brand me, if I do not suffer for him!
COL. I’ve heard, sir, you’ve been guilty of much
boasting
For your brave earliness at such a meeting:
You’ve lost the glory of that way this morning;
I was the first to-day.
CAP. AGER. So were you ever
In my respect, sir.
FIRST FR. OF CAP. O most base præludium!
CAP. AGER. I never thought on Victory, our mistress,
With greater reverence than I have your worth,
Nor ever lov’d her better.
FIRST FR. OF CAP. ’Slight, I could knock
His brains 'bout his heels, methinks!
SEC. FR. OF CAP. Peace, prithee, peace.
CAP. AGER. Success in you has been my absolute joy;
And when I’ve wish’d content, I’ve wish’d your
friendship.
FIRST FR. OF CAP. Stay, let me but run him through the
tongue a little;
There’s lawyer’s blood in’t, you shall see foul gear
straight.
SEC. FR. OF CAP. Come, you’re as mad now as he’s
cowardous.
COL. I came not hither, sir, for an encomium.
FIRST FR. OF CAP. No, the more coxcomb he that claws
the head
Of your vain-glory with’t! [_Aside._
COL. I came provided
For storms and tempests, and the foulest season
That ever rage let forth, or blew in wildness
From the incensed prison of man’s blood.
CAP. AGER. ’Tis otherwise with me; I come with
mildness,
Peace, constant amity, and calm forgiveness,
The weather of a Christian and a friend.
FIRST FR. OF CAP. Give me a valiant Turk, though not
worth tenpence,[754] rather.
CAP. AGER. Yet, sir, the world will judge the injury
mine,
Insufferably[755] mine, mine beyond injury:
Thousands have made a less wrong reach to hell,
Ay, and rejoic’d in his most endless vengeance,
A miserable triumph, though a just one!
But when I call to memory our long friendship,
Methinks it cannot be too great a wrong
That then I should not pardon. Why should man,
For a poor hasty syllable or two,
And vented only in forgetful fury,
Chain all the hopes and riches of his soul
To the revenge of that, die lost for ever?
For he that makes his last peace with his Maker
In anger, anger is his peace eternally:
He must expect the same return again
Whose venture is deceitful; must he not, sir?
COL. I see what I must do, fairly put up again;
For here’ll be nothing done, I perceive that.
CAP. AGER. What shall be done in such a worthless
business
But to be sorry, and to be forgiven;
You, sir, to bring repentance, and I pardon?
COL. I bring repentance, sir?
CAP. AGER. If’t be too much
To say repentance, call it what you please, sir;
Choose your own word: I know you’re sorry for’t,
And that’s as good.
COL. I sorry? by fame’s honour, I am wrong’d!
Do you seek for peace, and draw the quarrel larger?
CAP. AGER. Then ’tis I am sorry that I thought you so.
FIRST FR. OF CAP. A captain! I could gnaw his title
off.
CAP. AGER. Nor is it any misbecoming virtue, sir,
In the best manliness to repent a wrong,
Which made me bold with you.
FIRST FR. OF CAP. I could cuff his head off.
SEC. FR. OF CAP. Nay, pish!
FIRST FR. OF CAP. Pox on him, I could eat his buttock
bak’d, methinks!
COL. So, once again take thou thy peaceful rest, then;
[_Sheathing his sword._