The Project Gutenberg eBook of The works of Thomas Middleton, Volume 2
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Title: The works of Thomas Middleton, Volume 2
Author: Thomas Middleton
Editor: Alexander Dyce
Release date: March 31, 2025 [eBook #75604]
Language: English
Original publication: United Kingdom: Edward Lumley, 1840
Credits: Tim Lindell, KD Weeks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF THOMAS MIDDLETON, VOLUME 2 ***
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Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
Footnotes have been gathered at end of the text.
In Volume 1 of this work, the editor provided a section of ‘Addendum and
Corrigiendum’, with errata of the following volumes, include this one.
The errata for Volume 2 have been copied from that volume for
straightfoward reference, and are included in the transcribers’s
endnotes.
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THE WORKS
OF
THOMAS MIDDLETON.
--------------
VOL. II.
CONTAINING
A TRICK TO CATCH THE OLD ONE.
THE FAMILY OF LOVE.
YOUR FIVE GALLANTS.
A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS.
THE ROARING GIRL.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY ROBSON, LEVEY, AND FRANKLYN,
46 St. Martin’s Lane.
THE WORKS
OF
THOMAS MIDDLETON,
=Now first collected,=
WITH
SOME ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR,
AND
NOTES,
BY
THE REVEREND ALEXANDER DYCE.
_IN FIVE VOLUMES._
VOL. II.
--------------
LONDON:
EDWARD LUMLEY, CHANCERY LANE.
---
1840.
--------------
A TRICK
TO CATCH THE OLD ONE.
_A Tricke to Catch the Old-one. As it hath beene often in Action, both
at Paules, and the Black-Fryers. Presented before his Maiestie on
New-yeares night last. Composde by T. M. At London Printed by G: E. and
are to be sold by Henry Rockytt, at the long shop in the Poultrie vnder
the Dyall._ 1608. 4to. Second ed., 1616. 4to.
This drama (which Langbaine not undeservedly calls “excellent”) is
reprinted in the 5th vol. of _A Continuation of Dodsley’s Old Plays_,
1816.
_A Trick to catch the Old One_ was licensed by Sir George Bucke, 7th
Oct. 1607: see Chalmers’s _Suppl. Apol._ p. 201.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
WITGOOD.
LUCRE, _his uncle_.
HOARD.
ONESIPHORUS HOARD, _his brother_.
LIMBER, }
KIX,[1] }
LAMPREY, } _friends of_ HOARD.
SPICHCOCK, }
DAMPIT.
GULF.
FREEDOM, _son to_ MISTRESS LUCRE.
MONEYLOVE.
_Host._
SIR LAUNCELOT.
_Creditors._
_Gentlemen._
GEORGE.
_Drawer._
_Boy._
_Scrivener._
_Servants, &c._
_Courtesan._
MISTRESS LUCRE.
JOYCE, _niece to_ HOARD.
LADY FOXSTONE.
AUDREY, _servant to_ DAMPIT.
SCENE (except during the first two scenes of act i.),
LONDON.
A TRICK
TO CATCH THE OLD ONE.
--------------
ACT I. SCENE I.
_A Street in a Country Town._
_Enter_ WITGOOD.
WIT. All’s gone! still thou’rt a gentleman, that’s all;
but a poor one, that’s nothing. What milk bring[2] thy
meadows forth now? where are thy goodly uplands, and thy
down lands? all sunk into that little pit, lechery.
Why should a gallant pay but two shillings for his
ordinary[3] that nourishes him, and twenty times two
for his brothel[4] that consumes him? But where’s
Long-acre?[5] in my uncle’s conscience, which is
three years’ voyage about: he that sets out upon his
conscience ne’er finds the way home again; he is either
swallowed in the quicksands of law-quillets, or
splits upon the piles of a _præmunire_; yet these old
fox-brained and ox-browed uncles have still defences for
their avarice, and apologies for their practices, and
will thus greet our follies:
_He that doth his youth expose
To brothel, drink, and danger,
Let him that is his nearest kin
Cheat him before a stranger:_
and that’s his uncle; ’tis a principle in usury. I dare
not visit the city: there I should be too soon visited
by that horrible plague, my debts; and by that means I
lose a virgin’s love, her portion, and her virtues.
Well, how should a man live now that has no living?
hum,—why, are there not a million of men in the world
that only sojourn upon their brain, and make their wits
their mercers; and am I but one amongst that million,
and cannot thrive upon’t? Any trick out of the compass
of law[6] now would come happily to me.
_Enter Courtesan._
COUR. My love!
WIT. My loathing! hast thou been the secret consumption
of my purse, and now comest to undo my last means, my
wits? wilt leave no virtue in me, and yet thou ne’er the
better?
Hence, courtesan, round-webb’d tarantula,
That dry’st the roses in the cheeks of youth!
COUR. I’ve[7] been true unto your pleasure; and all
your lands
Thrice rack’d, were[8] never worth the jewel which
I prodigally gave you, my virginity:
Lands mortgag’d may return, and more esteem’d,
But honesty once pawn’d, is ne’er redeem’d.
WIT. Forgive: I do thee wrong
To make thee sin, and then to chide thee for’t.
COUR. I know I am your loathing now; farewell.
WIT. Stay, best invention, stay.
COUR. I that _have been the secret consumption of your
purse_, shall I stay now _to undo your last means, your
wits? hence, courtesan, away!_
WIT. I prithee, make me not mad at my own weapon: stay
(a thing few women can do, I know that, and therefore
they had need wear stays), be not contrary: dost love
me? Fate[9] has so cast it that all my means I must
derive from thee.
COUR. From me? be happy then;
What lies within the power of my performance
Shall be commanded of thee.
WIT. Spoke like
An honest drab, i’faith: it may prove something;
What trick is not an embryon at first,
Until a perfect shape come over it?
COUR. Come,[10] I must help you: whereabouts left you?
I’ll proceed:
Though you beget, ’tis I must help to breed.
Speak, what is’t? I’d fain conceive it.
WIT. So, so, so: thou shalt presently take the name and
form upon thee of a rich country widow, four hundred
a-year valiant,[11] in woods, in bullocks, in barns, and
in rye-stacks; we’ll to London, and to my covetous
uncle.
COUR. I begin to applaud thee; our states being both
desperate, they are soon resolute: but how for horses?
WIT. Mass, that’s true; the jest will be of some
continuance. Let me see; horses now, a bots on ’em!
Stay, I have acquaintance with a mad host, never yet
bawd to thee; I have rinsed the whoreson’s gums in
mull-sack many a time and often: put but a good tale
into his ear now, so it come off cleanly, and there’s
horse and man for us, I dare warrant thee.
COUR. Arm your wits then
Speedily; there shall want nothing in me,
Either in behaviour, discourse, or fashion,
That shall discredit your intended purpose.
I will so artfully disguise my wants,
And set so good a courage on my state,
That I will be believ’d.
WIT. Why, then, all’s furnished.[12] I shall go nigh to
catch that old fox mine uncle: though he make but some
amends for my undoing, yet there’s some comfort in’t, he
cannot otherwise choose (though it be but in hope to
cozen me again) but supply any hasty want that I bring
to town with me. The device well and cunningly carried,
the name of a rich widow, and four hundred a-year in
good earth, will so conjure up a kind of usurer’s love
in him to me, that he will not only desire my presence,—
which at first shall scarce be granted him, I’ll keep
off a’ purpose,—but I shall find him so officious to
deserve, so ready to supply! I know the state of an old
man’s affection so well: if his nephew be poor indeed,
why, he lets God alone with him; but if he be once rich,
then he’ll be the first man that helps him.
COUR. ’Tis right the world; for, in these days, an old
man’s love to his kindred is like his kindness to his
wife, ’tis always done before he comes at it.
WIT. I owe thee for that jest. Begone: here’s all my
wealth; prepare thyself, away. I’ll to mine host with
all possible haste; and with the best art, and most
profitable form, pour the sweet circumstance into his
ear, which shall have the gift to turn all the wax to
honey. [_Exit Courtesan._]—How no[w]? O, the right
worshipful seniors of our country!
_Enter_ ONESIPHORUS HOARD, LIMBER, _and_ KIX.[13]
ONES. H. Who’s that?
LIM. O, the common rioter; take no note of him.
WIT. You will not see me now; the comfort is,
Ere it be long you will scarce see yourselves.
[_Aside; and exit._
ONES. H. I wonder how he breathes; has consum’d all
Upon that courtesan.
LIM. We have heard so much.
ONES. H. You’ve[14] heard all truth. His uncle and my
brother
Have been these three years mortal adversaries:
Two old tough spirits, they seldom meet but fight,
Or quarrel when ’tis calmest:
I think their anger be the very fire
That keeps their age alive.
LIM. What was the quarrel, sir?
ONES. H. Faith, about a purchase, fetching over a young
heir. Master Hoard, my brother, having wasted much time
in beating the bargain, what did me old Lucre, but as
his conscience moved him, knowing the poor gentleman,
stept in between ’em, and cozened him himself.
LIM. And was this all, sir?
ONES. H. This was e’en it, sir; yet, for all this, I
know no reason but the match might go forward betwixt
his wife’s son and my niece: what though there be a
dissension between the two old men, I see no reason it
should put a difference between the two younger; ’tis as
natural for old folks to fall out, as for young to fall
in. A scholar comes a-wooing to my niece; well, he’s
wise, but he’s poor: her son comes a-wooing to my niece;
well, he’s a fool, but he’s rich.
LIM. Ay, marry, sir.
ONES. H. Pray, now, is not a rich fool better than a
poor philosopher?
LIM. One would think so, i’faith.
ONES. H. She now remains at London with my brother, her
second uncle, to learn fashions, practise music; the
voice between her lips, and the viol[15] between her
legs, she’ll be fit for a consort very speedily: a
thousand good pound is her portion; if she marry, we’ll
ride up and be merry.
KIX. A match, if it be a match. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Another Street in the same Town._
_Enter_ WITGOOD, _meeting Host_.
WIT. Mine host!
HOST. Young master Witgood!
WIT. I have been laying[16] all the town for thee.
HOST. Why, what’s the news, bully Had-land?
WIT. What geldings are in the house, of thine own?
answer me to that first.
HOST. Why, man, why?
WIT. Mark me what I say: I’ll tell thee such a tale in
thine ear, that thou shalt trust me spite of thy teeth,
furnish me with some money wille nille, and ride up with
me thyself _contra voluntatem et professionem_.
HOST. How? let me see this trick, and I’ll say thou hast
more art than a conjurer.
WIT. Dost thou joy in my advancement?
HOST. Do I love sack and ginger?
WIT. Comes my prosperity desiredly to thee?
HOST. Come forfeitures to a usurer, fees to an officer,
punks to an host, and pigs to a parson desiredly? why,
then, la.
WIT. Will the report of a widow of four hundred a-year,
boy, make thee leap, and sing, and dance, and come to
thy place again?
HOST. Wilt thou command me now? I am thy spirit; conjure
me into any shape.
WIT. I ha’ brought her from her friends, turned back
the horses by a slight;[17] not so much as one among
her six men, goodly large yeomanly fellows, will she
trust with this her purpose: by this light, all
unmanned, regardless of her state, neglectful of
vain-glorious ceremony, all for my love. O, ’tis a
fine little voluble tongue, mine host, that wins a
widow!
HOST. No, ’tis a tongue with a great T, my boy, that
wins a widow.
WIT. Now, sir, the case stands thus: good mine host, if
thou lovest my happiness, assist me.
HOST. Command all my beasts i’ th’ house.
WIT. Nay, that’s not all neither: prithee, take truce
with thy joy, and listen to me. Thou knowest I have a
wealthy uncle i’ th’ city, somewhat the wealthier by my
follies: the report of this fortune, well and cunningly
carried, might be a means to draw some goodness from the
usuring rascal; for I have put her in hope already of
some estate that I have either in land or money: now, if
I be found true in neither, what may I expect but a
sudden breach of our love, utter dissolution of the
match, and confusion of my fortunes for ever?
HOST. Wilt thou but trust the managing of thy business
with me?
WIT. With thee? why, will I desire to thrive in my
purpose? will I hug four hundred a-year, I that know the
misery of nothing? Will that man wish a rich widow, that
has ne’er a hole to put his head in? With thee, mine
host? why, believe it, sooner with thee than with a
covey of counsellors.
HOST. Thank you for your good report, i’faith, sir; and
if I stand you not in stead, why then let an host come
off _hic et hæc hostis_, a deadly enemy to dice, drink,
and venery. Come, where’s this widow?
WIT. Hard at Park-end.
HOST. I’ll be her serving-man for once.
WIT. Why, there we let off together: keep full time; my
thoughts were striking then just the same number.
HOST. I knew’t: shall we then see our merry days again?
WIT. Our merry nights—which ne’er shall be more seen.
[_Aside._]
[_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_A Street._[18]
_Enter_[19] LUCRE _and_ HOARD _quarrelling_; LAMPREY,
SPICHCOCK, FREEDOM, _and_ MONEYLOVE, _coming
between to pacify them_.
LAM. Nay, good master Lucre, and you, master Hoard,
anger is the wind which you’re both too much troubled
withal.
HOA. Shall my adversary thus daily affront[20] me,
ripping up the old wound of our malice, which three
summers could not close up? into which wound the very
sight of him drops scalding lead instead of balsamum.
LUC. Why, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard! may I not
pass in the state of quietness to mine own house? answer
me to that, before witness, and why? I’ll refer the
cause to honest, even-minded gentlemen, or require the
mere indifferences of the law to decide this matter. I
got the purchase, true: was’t not any man’s case? yes:
will a wise man stand as a bawd, whilst another wipes
his nose[21] of the bargain? no; I answer no in that
case.
LAM. Nay, sweet master Lucre.
HOA. Was it the part of a friend—no, rather of a Jew;—
mark what I say—when I had beaten the bush to the last
bird, or, as I may term it, the price to a pound, then,
like a cunning usurer, to come in the evening of the
bargain, and glean all my hopes in a minute? to enter,
as it were, at the back door of the purchase? for thou
ne’er camest the right way by it.
LUC. Hast thou the conscience to tell me so without any
impeachment to thyself?
HOA. Thou that canst defeat thy own nephew, Lucre,
lap his lands into bonds, and take the extremity of
thy kindred’s forfeitures, because he’s a rioter, a
wastethrift, a brothel-master,[22] and so forth;
what may a stranger expect from thee but _vulnera
dilacerata_, as the poet says, dilacerate dealing?
LUC. Upbraidest thou me with nephew? is all imputation
laid upon me? what acquaintance have I with his follies?
if he riot, ’tis he must want it; if he surfeit, ’tis he
must feel it; if he drab it, ’tis he must lie by’t:
what’s this to me?
HOA. What’s all to thee? nothing, nothing; such is the
gulf of thy desire and the wolf of thy conscience: but
be assured, old Pecunius[23] Lucre, if ever fortune so
bless me, that I may be at leisure to vex thee, or any
means so favour me, that I may have opportunity to mad
thee, I will pursue it with that flame of hate, that
spirit of malice, unrepressed wrath, that I will blast
thy comforts.
LUC. Ha, ha, ha!
LAM. Nay, master Hoard, you’re a wise gentleman——
HOA. I will so cross thee——
LUC. And I thee.
HOA. So without mercy fret thee——
LUC. So monstrously oppose thee——
HOA. Dost scoff at my just anger? O, that I had as much
power as usury has over thee!
LUC. Then thou wouldst have as much power as the devil
has over thee.
HOA. Toad!
LUC. Aspic!
HOA. Serpent!
LUC. Viper!
SPI. Nay, gentlemen, then we must divide you perforce.
LAM. When the fire grows too unreasonable hot, there’s
no better way than to take off the wood.
[_Exeunt_ LAMPREY _and_ SPICHCOCK, _drawing off_ LUCRE
_and_ HOARD _different ways: manent_[24] FREEDOM
_and_ MONEYLOVE.
FREE. A word, good signior.
MON. How now, what’s the news?
FREE. ’Tis given me to understand that you are a rival
of mine in the love of mistress Joyce, master Hoard’s
niece: say me ay, say me no?
MON. Yes, ’tis so.
FREE. Then look to yourself, you cannot live long: I’m
practising every morning; a month hence I’ll challenge
you.
MON. Give me your hand upon’t; there’s my pledge I’ll
meet you. [_Strikes him, and exit._
FREE. O, O! what reason had you for that, sir, to strike
before the month? you knew I was not ready for you, and
that made you so crank:[25] I am not such a coward to
strike again, I warrant you. My ear has the law of her
side, for it burns horribly. I will teach him to strike
a naked face, the longest day of his life: ’slid, it
shall cost me some money but I’ll bring this box into
the chancery. [_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_Another Street._
_Enter_ WITGOOD _and Host_.
HOST. Fear you nothing, sir; I have lodged her in a
house of credit, I warrant you.
WIT. Hast thou the writings?
HOST. Firm, sir.
WIT. Prithee, stay, and behold two the most prodigious
rascals that ever slipt into the shape of men; Dampit,
sirrah, and young Gulf his fellow-caterpillar.
HOST. Dampit? sure I have heard of that Dampit?
WIT. Heard of him? why, man, he that has lost both his
ears may hear of him; a famous infamous trampler of
time; his own phrase. Note him well: that Dampit,
sirrah, he in the uneven beard and the serge cloak, is
the most notorious, usuring, blasphemous, atheistical,
brothel-vomiting rascal, that we have in these latter
times now extant; whose first beginning was the stealing
of a masty[26] dog from a farmer’s house.
HOST. He looked as if he would obey the commandment[s]
well, when he began first with stealing.
WIT. True: the next town he came at, he set the dogs
together by th’ ears.
HOST. A sign he should follow the law, by my faith.
WIT. So it followed, indeed; and being destitute of all
fortunes, staked his masty against a noble,[27] and by
great fortune his dog had the day: how he made it up ten
shillings, I know not; but his own boast is, that he
came to town but with ten shillings in his purse, and
now is credibly worth ten thousand pound.
HOST. How the devil came he by it?
_Enter_ DAMPIT _and_ GULF.
WIT. How the devil came he not by it? If you put in the
devil once, riches come with a vengeance: has been a
trampler of the law,[28] sir; and the devil has a care
of his footmen. The rogue has spied me now; he nibbled
me finely once, too:—a pox search you! [_Aside._]—O,
master Dampit!—the very loins of thee! [_Aside._]—Cry
you mercy, master Gulf; you walk so low, I promise you I
saw you not, sir.
GULF. He that walks low walks safe, the poets tell us.
WIT. And nigher hell by a foot and a half than the
rest of his fellows.— [_Aside._
But, my old Harry!
DAM. My sweet Theodorus!
WIT. ’Twas a merry world when thou camest to town with
ten shillings in thy purse.
DAM. And now worth ten thousand pound, my boy. Report
it; Harry Dampit, a trampler of time, say, he would be
up in a morning, and be here with his serge gown, dashed
up to the hams in a cause; have his feet stink about
Westminster Hall, and come home again; see the galleons,
the galleasses,[29] the great armadas of the law; then
there be hoys and petty vessels, oars and scullers of
the time; there be picklocks of the time too; then would
I be here; I would trample up and down like a mule: now
to the judges, _May it please your reverend honourable
fatherhoods_; then to my counsellor, _May it please your
worshipful patience_; then to the examiner’s office,
_May it please your mastership’s gentleness_; then to
one of the clerks, _May it please your worshipful
lousiness_,—for I find him scrubbing in his cod-piece;
then to the hall again, then to the chamber again——
WIT. And when to the cellar again?
DAM. E’en when thou wilt again: tramplers of time,
motions of Fleet Street, and visions of Holborn;[30]
here I have fees of one, there I have fees of another;
my clients come about me, the fooliaminy and coxcombry
of the country: I still trashed[31] and trotted for
other men’s causes; thus was poor Harry Dampit made rich
by others’ laziness, who, though they would not follow
their own suits, I made ’em follow me with their purses.
WIT. Didst thou so, old Harry?
DAM. Ay, and I soused ’em with bills of charges,
i’faith; twenty pound a-year have I brought in for
boat-hire, and I ne’er stept into boat in my life.
WIT. Tramplers of time!
DAM. Ay, tramplers of time, rascals of time,
bull-beggars![32]
WIT. Ah, thou’rt a mad old Harry!—Kind master Gulf, I am
bold to renew my acquaintance.
GULF. I embrace it, sir. [_Exeunt._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ LUCRE’S _House_.
_Enter_ LUCRE.
LUC. My adversary evermore twits me with my nephew,
forsooth, my nephew: why may not a virtuous uncle have a
dissolute nephew? What though he be a brotheller, a
wastethrift, a common surfeiter, and, to conclude, a
beggar, must sin in him call up shame in me? Since we
have no part in their follies, why should we have part
in their infamies? For my strict hand toward his
mortgage, that I deny not: I confess I had an uncle’s
pen’worth; let me see, half in half, true: I saw neither
hope of his reclaiming, nor comfort in his being; and
was it not then better bestowed upon his uncle than upon
one of his aunts?—I need not say bawd, for every one
knows what aunt stands for in the last translation.
_Enter Servant._
Now, sir?
SER. There’s a country serving-man, sir, attends to
speak with your worship.
LUC. I’m at best leisure now; send him in to me.
[_Exit Servant._
_Enter Host disguised as a serving-man._
HOST. Bless your venerable worship.
LUC. Welcome, good fellow.
HOST. He calls me thief[33] at first sight, yet he
little thinks I am an host. [_Aside._
LUC. What’s thy business with me?
HOST. Faith, sir, I am sent from my mistress, to any
sufficient gentleman indeed, to ask advice upon a
doubtful point: ’tis indifferent, sir, to whom I come,
for I know none, nor did my mistress direct me to any
particular man, for she’s as mere a stranger here as
myself; only I found your worship within, and ’tis a
thing I ever loved, sir, to be despatched as soon as I
can.
LUC. A good, blunt honesty; I like him well. [_Aside._]—
What is thy mistress?
HOST. Faith, a country gentlewoman, and a widow, sir.
Yesterday was the first flight of us; but now she
intends to stay till a little term business be ended.
LUC. Her name, I prithee?
HOST. It runs there in the writings, sir, among her
lands; widow Medler.
LUC. Medler? mass, have I ne’er heard of that widow?
HOST. Yes, I warrant you, have you, sir: not the rich
widow in Staffordshire?
LUC. Cuds me, there ’tis indeed; thou hast put me into
memory: there’s a widow indeed! ah, that I were a
bachelor again!
HOST. No doubt your worship might do much then; but
she’s fairly promised to a bachelor already.
LUC. Ah, what is he, I prithee?
HOST. A country gentleman too; one whom your worship
knows not, I’m sure; has spent some few follies in his
youth, but marriage, by my faith, begins to call him
home: my mistress loves him, sir, and love covers
faults, you know: one master Witgood, if ever you have
heard of the gentleman.
LUC. Ha! Witgood, sayst thou?
HOST. That’s his name indeed, sir; my mistress is like
to bring him to a goodly seat yonder; four hundred
a-year, by my faith.
LUC. But, I pray, take me with you.[34]
HOST. Ay, sir.
LUC. What countryman might this young Witgood be?
HOST. A Leicestershire gentleman, sir.
LUC. My nephew, by th’ mass, my nephew! I’ll fetch out
more of this, i’faith: a simple country fellow, I’ll
work’t out of him. [_Aside._]—And is that gentleman,
sayst thou, presently to marry her?
HOST. Faith, he brought her up to town, sir; has the
best card in all the bunch for’t, her heart; and I know
my mistress will be married ere she go down; nay, I’ll
swear that, for she’s none of those widows that will go
down first, and be married after; she hates that, I can
tell you, sir.
LUC. By my faith, sir, she is like to have a proper
gentleman, and a comely; I’ll give her that gift.
HOST. Why, does your worship know him, sir?
LUC. I know him? does not all the world know him? can a
man of such exquisite qualities be hid under a bushel?
HOST. Then your worship may save me a labour, for I had
charge given me to inquire after him.
LUC. Inquire of him? If I might counsel thee, thou
shouldst ne’er trouble thyself further; inquire of him
of no more but of me; I’ll fit thee. I grant he has been
youthful; but is he not now reclaimed? mark you that,
sir: has not your mistress, think you, been wanton in
her youth? if men be wags, are there not women wagtails?
HOST. No doubt, sir.
LUC. Does not he return wisest that comes home whipt
with his own follies?
HOST. Why, very true, sir.
LUC. The worst report you can hear of him, I can tell
you, is that he has been a kind gentleman, a liberal,
and a worthy: who but lusty Witgood, thrice-noble
Witgood!
HOST. Since your worship has so much knowledge in him,
can you resolve[35] me, sir, what his living might be?
my duty binds me, sir, to have a care of my mistress’
estate; she has been ever a good mistress to me, though
I say it: many wealthy suitors has she nonsuited for his
sake; yet though her love be so fixed, a man cannot tell
whether his non-performance may help to remove it, sir:
he makes us believe he has lands and living.
LUC. Who, young master Witgood? why, believe it, he has
as goodly a fine living out yonder,—what do you call the
place?
HOST. Nay, I know not, i’faith.
LUC. Hum—see, like a beast, if I have not forgot the
name—pooh! and out yonder again, goodly grown woods and
fair meadows: pax[36] on’t, I can ne’er hit of that
place neither: he? why, he’s Witgood of Witgood Hall;
he, an unknown thing!
HOST. Is he so, sir? To see how rumour will alter! trust
me, sir, we heard once he had no lands, but all lay
mortgaged to an uncle he has in town here.
LUC. Push,[37] ’tis a tale, ’tis a tale.
HOST. I can assure you, sir, ’twas credibly reported to
my mistress.
LUC. Why, do you think, i’faith, he was ever so simple
to mortgage his lands to his uncle? or his uncle so
unnatural to take the extremity of such a mortgage?
HOST. That was my saying still, sir.
LUC. Pooh, ne’er think it.
HOST. Yet that report goes current.
LUC. Nay, then you urge me: Cannot I tell that best that
am his uncle?
HOST. How, sir? what have I done!
LUC. Why, how now! in a swoon, man?
HOST. Is your worship his uncle, sir?
LUC. Can that be any harm to you, sir?
HOST. I do beseech you, sir, do me the favour to conceal
it: what a beast was I to utter so much! pray, sir, do
me the kindness to keep it in; I shall have my coat
pulled o’er my ears, an’t should be known; for the truth
is, an’t please your worship, to prevent much rumour and
many suitors, they intend to be married very suddenly
and privately.
LUC. And dost thou think it stands with my judgment to
do them injury? must I needs say the knowledge of this
marriage comes from thee? am I a fool at fifty-four? do
I lack subtlety now, that have got all my wealth by it?
There’s a leash of angels[38] for thee: come, let me woo
thee speak where lie they?
HOST. So I might have no anger, sir——
LUC. Passion of me, not a jot: prithee, come.
HOST. I would not have it known, sir,[39] it came by my
means.
LUC. Why, am I a man of wisdom?
HOST. I dare trust your worship, sir; but I’m a stranger
to your house; and to avoid all intelligencers, I desire
your worship’s ear.
LUC. This fellow’s worth a matter of trust. [_Aside._]—
Come, sir. [_Host whispers to him._] Why, now thou’rt an
honest lad.—Ah, sirrah, nephew!
HOST. Please you, sir, now I have begun with your
worship, when shall I attend for your advice upon that
doubtful point? I must come warily now.
LUC. Tut, fear thou nothing; To-morrow’s evening shall
resolve the doubt.
HOST. The time shall cause my attendance.
LUC. Fare thee well. [_Exit Host._]—There’s more true
honesty in such a country serving-man than in a hundred
of our cloak companions:[40] I may well call ’em
companions, for since blue coats have been turned into
cloaks,[41] we can scarce know the man from the master.—
George!
_Enter_ GEORGE.
GEO. Anon, sir.
LUC. List hither: [_whispers_] keep the place secret:
commend me to my nephew; I know no cause, tell him, but
he might see his uncle.
GEO. I will, sir.
LUC. And, do you hear, sir? Take heed you use him with
respect and duty.
GEO. Here’s a strange alteration; one day he must be
turned out like a beggar, and now he must be called in
like a knight. [_Aside, and exit._
LUC. Ah, sirrah, that rich widow!—four hundred a-year!
beside, I hear she lays claim to a title of a hundred
more. This falls unhappily that he should bear a grudge
to me now, being likely to prove so rich: what is’t,
trow,[42] that he makes me a stranger for? Hum,—I hope
he has not so much wit to apprehend that I cozened him:
he deceives me then. Good heaven, who would have thought
it would ever have come to this pass! yet he’s a proper
gentleman, i’faith, give him his due, marry, that’s his
mortgage; but that I ne’er mean to give him: I’ll make
him rich enough in words, if that be good; and if it
come to a piece of money, I will not greatly stick
for’t; there may be hope some of the widow’s lands, too,
may one day fall upon me, if things be carried wisely.
_Re-enter_ GEORGE.
Now, sir, where is he?
GEO. He desires your worship to hold him excused; he has
such weighty business, it commands him wholly from all
men.
LUC. Were those my nephew’s words?
GEO. Yes, indeed, sir.
LUC. When men grow rich, they grow proud too, I perceive
that; he would not have sent me such an answer once
within this twelvemonth: see what ’tis when a man’s come
to his lands! [_Aside._]—Return to him again, sir; tell
him his uncle desires his company for an hour; I’ll
trouble him but an hour, say; ’tis for his own good,
tell him: and, do you hear, sir? put _worship_ upon him:
go to, do as I bid you; he’s like to be a gentleman of
worship very shortly.
GEO. This is good sport, i’faith. [_Aside, and exit._
LUC. Troth, he uses his uncle discourteously now: can he
tell what I may do for him? goodness may come from me in
a minute, that comes not in seven year again: he knows
my humour; I am not so usually good; ’tis no small thing
that draws kindness from me, he may know that and[43] he
will. The chief cause that invites me to do him most
good, is the sudden astonishing of old Hoard, my
adversary: how pale his malice will look at my nephew’s
advancement! with what a dejected spirit he will behold
his fortunes, whom but last day he proclaimed rioter,
penurious makeshift, despised brothel-master![44] Ha,
ha! ’twill do me more secret joy than my last purchase,
more precious comfort than all these widow’s revenues.
_Re-enter_ GEORGE, _shewing in_ WITGOOD.
Now, sir?
GEO. With much entreaty he’s at length come, sir.
[_Exit._
LUC. O, nephew, let me salute you, sir! you’re welcome,
nephew.
WIT. Uncle, I thank you.
LUC. You’ve a fault, nephew; you’re a stranger here:
Well, heaven give you joy!
WIT. Of what, sir?
LUC. Hah, we can hear!
You might have known your uncle’s house, i’faith,
You and your widow: go to, you were to blame;
If I may tell you so without offence.
WIT. How could you hear of that, sir?
LUC. O, pardon me!
’Twas[45] your will to have kept it[46] from me, I
perceive now.
WIT. Not for any defect of love, I protest, uncle.
LUC. O, ’twas unkindness, nephew! fie, fie, fie.
WIT. I am sorry you take it in that sense, sir.
LUC. Pooh, you cannot colour it, i’faith, nephew.
WIT. Will you but hear what I can say in my just excuse,
sir?
LUC. Yes, faith, will I, and welcome.
WIT. You that know my danger i’ th’ city, sir, so well,
how great my debts are, and how extreme my creditors,
could not out of your pure judgment, sir, have wished us
hither.
LUC. Mass, a firm reason indeed.
WIT. Else, my uncle’s house! why, ’t had been the only
make-match.
LUC. Nay, and thy credit.
WIT. My credit? nay, my countenance: push,[47] nay, I
know, uncle, you would have wrought it so by your wit,
you would have made her believe in time the whole house
had been mine.
LUC. Ay, and most of the goods too.
WIT. La, you there! well, let ’em all prate what they
will, there’s nothing like the bringing of a widow to
one’s uncle’s house.
LUC. Nay, let nephews be ruled as they list, they shall
find their uncle’s house the most natural place when
all’s done.
WIT. There they may be bold.
LUC. Life, they may do any thing there, man, and fear
neither beadle nor somner:[48] an uncle’s house! a very
Cole-Harbour.[49] Sirrah, I’ll touch thee near now: hast
thou so much interest in thy widow, that by a token thou
couldst presently send for her?
WIT. Troth, I think I can, uncle.
LUC. Go to, let me see that.
WIT. Pray, command one of your men hither, uncle.
LUC. George!
_Re-enter_ GEORGE.
GEO. Here, sir.
LUC. Attend my nephew. [WITGOOD _whispers to_ GEORGE,
_who then goes out_.]—I love a’ life[50] to prattle with
a rich widow; ’tis pretty, methinks, when our tongues go
together: and then to promise much and perform little; I
love that sport a’ life, i’faith: yet I am in the mood
now to do my nephew some good, if he take me handsomely.
[_Aside._]—What, have you despatched?
WIT. I ha’ sent, sir.
LUC. Yet I must condemn you of unkindness, nephew.
WIT. Heaven forbid, uncle!
LUC. Yes, faith, must I. Say your debts be many, your
creditors importunate, yet the kindness of a thing is
all, nephew: you might have sent me close word on’t,
without the least danger or prejudice to your fortunes.
WIT. Troth, I confess it, uncle; I was to blame there;
but, indeed, my intent was to have clapped it up
suddenly, and so have broke forth like a joy to my
friends, and a wonder to the world: beside, there’s a
trifle of a forty pound matter toward the setting of me
forth; my friends should ne’er have known on’t; I meant
to make shift for that myself.
LUC. How, nephew? let me not hear such a word again, I
beseech you: shall I be beholding[51] to you?
WIT. To me? Alas, what do you mean, uncle?
LUC. I charge you, upon my love, you trouble nobody but
myself.
WIT. You’ve no reason for that, uncle.
LUC. Troth, I’ll ne’er be friends with you while you
live, and[52] you do.
WIT. Nay, and you say so, uncle, here’s my hand; I will
not do’t.
LUC. Why, well said! there’s some hope in thee when thou
wilt be ruled; I’ll make it up fifty, faith, because I
see thee so reclaimed. Peace; here comes my wife with
Sam, her t’other husband’s son.
_Enter_ MISTRESS LUCRE _and_ FREEDOM.
WIT. Good aunt.
FREE. Cousin Witgood, I rejoice in my salute; you’re
most welcome to this noble city, governed with the sword
in the scabbard.
WIT. And the wit in the pommel. [_Aside._]—Good master
Sam Freedom, I return the salute.
LUC. By the mass, she’s coming, wife; let me see now how
thou wilt entertain her.
MIS. L. I hope I am not to learn, sir, to entertain a
widow; ’tis not so long ago since I was one myself.
_Enter Courtesan._
WIT. Uncle——
LUC. She’s come indeed.
WIT. My uncle was desirous to see you, widow, and I
presumed to invite you.
COURT. The presumption was nothing, master Witgood: is
this your uncle, sir?
LUC. Marry am I, sweet widow; and his good uncle he
shall find me; ay, by this smack that I give thee
[_kisses her_], thou’rt welcome.—Wife, bid the widow
welcome the same way again,
FREE. I am a gentleman now too by my father’s
occupation, and I see no reason but I may kiss a widow
by my father’s copy: truly, I think the charter is not
against it; surely these are the words, _The son once a
gentleman may revel it, though his father were a
dauber_; ’tis about the fifteenth page: I’ll to her.
[_Aside, then offers to kiss the Courtesan, who repulses him._
LUC. You’re not very busy now; a word with thee, sweet
widow.
FREE. Coads-nigs! I was never so disgraced since the
hour my mother whipt me.
LUC. Beside, I have no child of mine own to care for;
she’s my second wife, old, past bearing: clap sure to
him, widow; he’s like to be my heir, I can tell you.
COURT. Is he so, sir?
LUC. He knows it already, and the knave’s proud on’t:
jolly rich widows have been offered him here i’ th’
city, great merchants’ wives; and do you think he would
once look upon ’em? forsooth, he’ll none: you are
beholding[53] to him i’ th’ country, then, ere we could
be: nay, I’ll hold a wager, widow, if he were once known
to be in town, he would be presently sought after; nay,
and happy were they that could catch him first.
COURT. I think so.
LUC. O, there would be such running to and fro, widow!
he should not pass the streets for ’em: he’d be took up
in one great house or other presently: faugh! they know
he has it, and must have it. You see this house here,
widow; this house and all comes to him; goodly rooms,
ready furnished, ceiled with plaster of Paris, and all
hung about[54] with cloth of arras.—Nephew.
WIT. Sir.
LUC. Shew the widow your house; carry her into all the
rooms, and bid her welcome.—You shall see, widow.—
Nephew, strike all sure above and[55] thou beest a good
boy,—ah! [_Aside to_ WITGOOD.
WIT. Alas, sir, I know not how she would take it!
LUC. The right way, I warrant t’ye: a pox, art an ass?
would I were in thy stead! get you up, I am ashamed of
you. [_Exeunt_ WITGOOD _and Courtesan_]. So: let ’em
agree as they will now: many a match has been struck up
in my house a’ this fashion: let ’em try all manner of
ways, still there’s nothing like an uncle’s house to
strike the stroke in. I’ll hold my wife in talk a
little.—Now, Jenny, your son there goes a-wooing to a
poor gentlewoman but of a thousand [pound] portion: see
my nephew, a lad of less hope, strikes at four hundred
a-year in good rubbish.
MIS. L. Well, we must do as we may, sir.
LUC. I’ll have his money ready told for him again[56] he
come down: let me see, too;—by th’ mass, I must present
the widow with some jewel, a good piece of[57] plate, or
such a device; ’twill hearten her on well: I have a very
fair standing cup; and a good high standing cup will
please a widow above all other pieces. [_Exit._
MIS. L. Do you mock us with your nephew?—I have a plot
in my head, son;—i’faith, husband, to cross you.
FREE. Is it a tragedy plot, or a comedy plot, good
mother?
MIS. L. ’Tis a plot shall vex him. I charge you, of my
blessing, son Sam, that you presently withdraw the
action of your love from master Hoard’s niece.
FREE. How, mother?
MIS. L. Nay, I have a plot in my head, i’faith. Here,
take this chain of gold, and this fair diamond: dog
me the widow home to her lodging, and at thy best
opportunity fasten ’em both upon her. Nay, I have a
reach: I can tell you thou art known what thou art, son,
among the right worshipful, all the twelve companies.
FREE. Truly, I thank ’em for it.
MIS. L. He? he’s a scab to thee: and so certify her thou
hast two hundred a-year of thyself, beside thy good
parts—a proper person and a lovely. If I were a widow, I
could find in my heart to have thee myself, son; ay,
from ’em all.
FREE. Thank you for your good will, mother; but, indeed,
I had rather have a stranger: and if I woo her not in
that violent fashion, that I will make her be glad to
take these gifts ere I leave her, let me never be called
the heir of your body.
MIS. L. Nay, I know there’s enough in you, son, if you
once come to put it forth.
FREE. I’ll quickly make a bolt or a shaft on’t.[58]
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Street._
_Enter_ HOARD _and_ MONEYLOVE.
MON. Faith, master Hoard, I have bestowed many months in
the suit of your niece, such was the dear love I ever
bore to her virtues: but since she hath so extremely
denied me, I am to lay out for my fortunes elsewhere.
HOA. Heaven forbid but you should, sir! I ever told you
my niece stood otherwise affected.
MON. I must confess you did, sir; yet, in regard of my
great loss of time, and the zeal with which I sought
your niece, shall I desire one favour of your worship?
HOA. In regard of those two, ’tis hard but you shall,
sir.
MON. I shall rest grateful: ’tis not full three hours,
sir, since the happy rumour of a rich country widow came
to my hearing.
HOA. How? a rich country widow?
MON. Four hundred a-year landed.
HOA. Yea?
MON. Most firm, sir; and I have learnt her lodging: here
my suit begins, sir; if I might but entreat your worship
to be a countenance for me, and speak a good word (for
your words will pass), I nothing doubt but I might set
fair for the widow; nor shall your labour, sir, end
altogether in thanks; two hundred angels[59]——
HOA. So, so: what suitors has she?
MON. There lies the comfort, sir; the report of her is
yet but a whisper; and only solicited by young riotous
Witgood, nephew to your mortal adversary.
HOA. Ha! art certain he’s her suitor?
MON. Most certain, sir; and his uncle very industrious
to beguile the widow, and make up the match.
HOA. So: very good.
MON. Now, sir, you know this young Witgood is a
spendthrift, dissolute fellow.
HOA. A very rascal.
MON. A midnight surfeiter.
HOA. The spume of a brothel-house.
MON. True, sir: which being well told in your worship’s
phrase, may both heave him out of her mind, and drive a
fair way for me to the widow’s affections.
HOA. Attend me about five.
MON. With my best care, sir. [_Exit._
HOA. Fool, thou hast left thy treasure with a thief,
To trust a widower with a suit in love!
Happy revenge, I hug thee! I have not only the means
laid before me, extremely to cross my adversary, and
confound the last hopes of his nephew, but thereby to
enrich my state, augment my revenues, and build mine own
fortunes greater: ha, ha!
I’ll mar your phrase, o’erturn your flatteries,
Undo your windings, policies, and plots,
Fall like a secret and despatchful plague
On your secured comforts. Why, I am able
To buy three of Lucre; thrice outbid him,
Let my out-monies be reckoned and all.
_Enter Three of_ WITGOOD’S _Creditors_.
FIRST C. I am glad of this news.
SEC. C. So are we, by my faith.
THIRD C. Young Witgood will be a gallant again now.
HOA. Peace. [_Listening._
FIRST C. I promise you, master Cockpit, she’s a mighty
rich widow.
SEC. C. Why, have you ever heard of her?
FIRST C. Who? widow Medler? she lies open to much
rumour.
THIRD C. Four hundred a-year, they say, in very good
land.
FIRST C. Nay, take’t of my word, if you believe that,
you believe the least.
SEC. C. And to see how close he keeps it!
FIRST C. O, sir, there’s policy in that, to prevent
better suitors.
THIRD C. He owes me a hundred pound, and I protest I
ne’er looked for a penny.
FIRST C. He little dreams of our coming; he’ll wonder to
see his creditors upon him. [_Exeunt Creditors._
HOA. Good, his creditors: I’ll follow. This makes for
me:
All know the widow’s wealth; and ’tis well known
I can estate her fairly, ay, and will.
In this one chance shines a twice happy fate;
I both deject my foe and raise my state. [_Exit._
ACT III. SCENE I.
WITGOOD’S _Lodging_.
_Enter_ WITGOOD _and Three Creditors_.
WIT. Why, alas, my creditors, could you find no other
time to undo me but now? rather your malice appears in
this than the justness of the debt.
FIRST C. Master Witgood, I have forborne my money long.
WIT. I pray, speak low, sir: what do you mean?
SEC. C. We hear you are to be married suddenly to a rich
country widow.
WIT. What can be kept so close but you creditors hear
on’t! well, ’tis a lamentable state, that our chiefest
afflictors should first hear of our fortunes. Why, this
is no good course, i’faith, sirs: if ever you have hope
to be satisfied, why do you seek to confound the means
that should work it? there’s neither piety, no, nor
policy in that. Shine favourably now: why, I may rise
and spread again, to your great comforts.
FIRST C. He says true, i’faith.
WIT. Remove me[60] now, and I consume for ever.
SEC. C. Sweet gentleman!
WIT. How can it thrive which from the sun you sever?
THIRD. C. It cannot, indeed.
WIT. O, then, shew patience! I shall have enough
To satisfy you all.
FIRST C. Ay, if we could
Be content, a shame take us!
WIT. For, look you;
I am but newly sure yet to[61] the widow,
And what a rend might this discredit make!
Within these three days will I bind you lands
For your securities.
FIRST C. No, good master Witgood:
Would ’twere as much as we dare trust you with!
WIT. I know you have been kind; however, now,
Either by wrong report, or false incitement,
Your gentleness is injured: in such
A state as this a man cannot want foes.
If on the sudden he begin to rise,
No man that lives can count his enemies.
You had some intelligence, I warrant ye,
From an ill-willer.
SEC. C. Faith, we heard you brought up a rich widow,
sir, and were suddenly to marry her.
WIT. Ay, why there it was: I knew ’twas so: but since
you are so well resolved[62] of my faith toward you, let
me be so much favoured of you, I beseech you all——
ALL. O, it shall not need, i’faith, sir!——
WIT. As to lie still awhile, and bury my debts in
silence, till I be fully possessed of the widow; for the
truth is—I may tell you as my friends—
ALL. O, O, O!——
WIT. I am to raise a little money in the city, toward
the setting forth of myself, for mine own credit and
your comfort; now, if my former debts should be
divulged, all hope of my proceedings were quite
extinguished.
FIRST C. Do you hear, sir? I may deserve your custom
hereafter; pray, let my money be accepted before a
stranger’s: here’s forty pound I received as I came to
you; if that may stand you in any stead, make use on’t.
[_Offers him money, which he at first declines._] Nay,
pray, sir; ’tis at your service. [_Aside to_ WITGOOD.
WIT. You do so ravish me with kindness, that I am[63]
constrain’d to play the maid, and take it.
FIRST C. Let none of them see it, I beseech you.
WIT. Faugh!
FIRST C. I hope I shall be first in your remembrance
After the marriage rites.
WIT. Believe it firmly.
FIRST C. So.—What, do you walk, sirs?
SEC. C. I go.—Take no care, sir, for money to furnish
you; within this hour I’ll send you sufficient. [_Aside
to_ WITGOOD.]—Come, master Cockpit, we both stay for
you.
THIRD C. I ha’ lost a ring, i’faith; I’ll follow you
presently: [_exeunt First and Second Creditors_]—but you
shall find it, sir; I know your youth and expenses have
disfurnished you of all jewels: there’s a ruby of twenty
pound price, sir; bestow it upon your widow. [_Offers
him the ring, which he at first declines._]—What, man!
’twill call up her blood to you; beside, if I might so
much work with you, I would not have you beholding[64]
to those bloodsuckers for any money.
WIT. Not I, believe it.
THIRD C. They’re a brace of cut-throats.
WIT. I know ’em.
THIRD C. Send a note of all your wants to my shop, and
I’ll supply you instantly.
WIT. Say you so? why, here’s my hand then, no man living
shall do’t but thyself.
THIRD C. Shall I carry it away from ’em both, then?
WIT. I’faith, shalt thou.
THIRD C. Troth, then, I thank you, sir.
WIT. Welcome, good master Cockpit. [_Exit Third
Creditor._]—Ha, ha, ha! why, is not this better now than
lying a-bed? I perceive there’s nothing conjures up wit
sooner than poverty, and nothing lays it down sooner
than wealth and lechery: this has some savour yet. O
that I had the mortgage from mine uncle as sure in
possession as these trifles! I would forswear brothel at
noonday, and muscadine and eggs at midnight.
COURT. [_within_] Master Witgood, where are you?
WIT. Holla!
_Enter Courtesan._
COURT. Rich news!
WIT. Would ’twere all in plate!
COURT. There’s some in chains and jewels: I am so
haunted with suitors, master Witgood, I know not which
to despatch first.
WIT. You have the better term,[65] by my faith.
COURT. Among the number
One master Hoard, an ancient gentleman.
WIT. Upon my life, my uncle’s adversary.
COURT. It may well hold so, for he rails on you,
Speaks shamefully of him.
WIT. As I could wish it.
COURT. I first denied him, but so cunningly,
It rather promis’d him assured hopes,
Than any loss of labour.
WIT. Excellent!
COURT. I expect him every hour with gentlemen,
With whom he labours to make good his words,
To approve you riotous, your state consum’d,
Your uncle——
WIT. Wench, make up thy own fortunes now; do thyself a
good turn once in thy days: he’s rich in money,
movables, and lands; marry him: he’s an old doating
fool, and that’s worth all; marry him: ’twould be a
great comfort to me to see thee do well, i’faith; marry
him: ’twould ease my conscience well to see thee well
bestowed; I have a care of thee, i’faith.
COURT. Thanks, sweet master Witgood.
WIT. I reach at farther happiness: first, I am sure it
can be no harm to thee, and there may happen goodness to
me by it: prosecute it well; let’s send up for our wits,
now we require their best and most pregnant assistance.
COURT. Step in, I think I hear ’em. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ HOARD _and Gentlemen, with the Host as Servant_.
HOA. Art thou the widow’s man? by my faith, sh’as a
company of proper men then.
HOST. I am the worst of six, sir; good enough for blue
coats.[66]
HOA. Hark hither: I hear say thou art in most credit
with her.
HOST. Not so, sir.
HOA. Come, come, thou’rt modest: there’s a brace of
royals;[67] prithee, help me to th’ speech of her.
[_Gives him money._
HOST. I’ll do what I may, sir, always saving myself
harmless.
HOA. Go to, do’t, I say; thou shalt hear better from me.
HOST. Is not this a better place than five mark a-year
standing wages? Say a man had but three such clients in
a day, methinks he might make a poor living on’t;
beside, I was never brought up with so little honesty to
refuse any man’s money; never: what gulls there are a’
this side the world! now know I the widow’s mind; none
but my young master comes in her clutches: ha, ha, ha!
[_Aside, and exit._
HOA. Now, my dear gentlemen, stand firmly to me;
You know his follies and my worth.
FIRST G. We do, sir.
SEC. G. But, master Hoard, are you sure he is not i’ th’
house now?
HOA. Upon my honesty, I chose this time
A’ purpose, fit: the spendthrift is abroad:
Assist me; here she comes.
_Enter Courtesan._
Now, my sweet widow.
COURT. You’re welcome, master Hoard.
HOA. Despatch, sweet gentlemen, despatch.—
I am come, widow, to prove those my words
Neither of envy sprung nor of false tongues,
But such as their[68] deserts and actions
Do merit and bring forth; all which these gentlemen,
Well known, and better reputed, will confess.
COURT. I cannot tell
How my affections may dispose of me;
But surely if they find him so desertless,
They’ll have that reason to withdraw themselves:
And therefore, gentlemen, I do entreat you,
As you are fair in reputation
And in appearing form, so shine in truth:
I am a widow, and, alas, you know,
Soon overthrown! ’tis a very small thing
That we withstand, our weakness is so great:
Be partial unto neither, but deliver,
Without affection, your opinion.
HOA. And that will drive it home.
COURT. Nay, I beseech your silence, master Hoard;
You are a party.
HOA. Widow, not a word.
FIRST G. The better first to work you to belief,
Know neither of us owe him flattery,
Nor t’other malice; but unbribed censure,[69]
So help us our best fortunes![70]
COURT. It suffices.
FIRST G. That Witgood is a riotous, undone man,
Imperfect both in fame and in estate,
His debts wealthier than he, and executions
In wait for his due body, we’ll maintain
With our best credit and our dearest blood.
COURT. Nor land nor living, say you? Pray, take heed
You do not wrong the gentleman.
FIRST G. What we speak
Our lives and means are ready to make good.
COURT. Alas, how soon are we poor souls beguil’d!
[_Aside to Gent._
SEC. G. And for his uncle——
HOA. Let that come to me.
His uncle[’s] a severe extortioner;
A tyrant at a forfeiture; greedy of others’
Miseries; one that would undo his brother,
Nay, swallow up his father, if he can,
Within the fathoms of his conscience.
FIRST G. Nay, believe it, widow,
You had not only match’d yourself to wants,
But in an evil and unnatural stock.
HOA. Follow hard, gentlemen, follow hard.
COURT. Is my love so deceiv’d? Before you all
I do renounce him; on my knees I vow [_Kneeling._
He ne’er shall marry me.
WIT. [_looking in_] Heaven knows he never meant it!
[_Aside._
HOA. There, take her at the bound. [_Aside to Gent._
FIRST G. Then, with a new and pure affection
Behold yon gentleman; grave, kind, and rich,
A match worthy yourself: esteeming him,
You do regard your state.
HOA. I’ll make her a jointure, say. [_Aside to
Gent._
FIRST G. He can join land to land, and will possess
you
Of what you can desire.
SEC. G. Come, widow, come.
COURT. The world is so deceitful!
FIRST G. There ’tis deceitful,
Where flattery, want, and imperfection lie;[71]
But none of these in him: push![72]
COURT. Pray, sir——
FIRST G. Come, you widows are ever most backward when
you should do yourselves most good; but were it to marry
a chin not worth a hair now, then you would be forward
enough. Come, clap hands, a match.
HOA. With all my heart, widow. [HOARD _and Courtesan
shake hands_.]—Thanks, gentlemen:
I will deserve your labour, and [_to Courtesan_] thy
love.
COURT. Alas, you love not widows but for wealth!
I promise you I ha’ nothing, sir.
HOA. Well said, widow,
Well said; thy love is all I seek, before
These gentlemen.
COURT. Now I must hope the best.
HOA. My joys are such they want to be express’d.
COURT. But, master Hoard, one thing I must remember you
of, before these gentlemen, your friends: how shall I
suddenly avoid the loathed soliciting of that perjured
Witgood, and his tedious, dissembling uncle? who this
very day hath appointed a meeting for the same purpose
too; where, had not truth come forth, I had been undone,
utterly undone!
HOA. What think you of that, gentlemen?
FIRST G. ’Twas well devised.
HOA. Hark thee, widow: train out young Witgood single;
hasten him thither with thee, somewhat before the
hour; where, at the place appointed, these gentlemen
and myself will wait the opportunity, when, by some
slight[73] removing him from thee, we’ll suddenly
enter and surprise thee, carry thee away by boat to
Cole-Harbour,[74] have a priest ready, and there clap
it up instantly. How likest it, widow?
COURT. In that it pleaseth you, it likes[75] me well.
HOA. I’ll kiss thee for those words. [_Kisses her._]—
Come, gentlemen,
Still must I live a suitor to your favours,
Still to your aid beholding.[76]
FIRST G. We’re engag’d, sir;
’Tis for our credits now to see’t well ended.
HOA. ’Tis for your honours, gentlemen; nay, look to’t.
Not only in joy, but I in wealth excel:
No more sweet widow, but, sweet wife, farewell.
COURT. Farewell, sir.
[_Exeunt_ HOARD _and Gentlemen_.
_Re-enter_ WITGOOD.
WIT. O for more scope! I could laugh eternally! Give you
joy, mistress Hoard, I promise your fortune was good,
forsooth; you’ve fell upon wealth enough, and there’s
young gentlemen enow can help you to the rest. Now it
requires our wits: carry thyself but heedfully now, and
we are both——
_Re-enter Host._
HOST. Master Witgood, your uncle.
WIT. Cuds me! remove thyself awhile; I’ll serve for him.
[_Exeunt Courtesan and Host._
_Enter_ LUCRE.
LUC. Nephew, good morrow, nephew.
WIT. The same to you, kind uncle.
LUC. How fares the widow? does the meeting hold?
WIT. O, no question of that, sir.
LUC. I’ll strike the stroke, then, for thee; no more
days.[77]
WIT. The sooner the better, uncle. O, she’s mightily
followed!
LUC. And yet so little rumoured!
WIT. Mightily: here comes one old gentleman, and he’ll
make her a jointure of three hundred a-year, forsooth;
another wealthy suitor will estate his son in his
lifetime, and make him weigh down the widow; here a
merchant’s son will possess her with no less than three
goodly lordships at once, which were all pawns to his
father.
LUC. Peace, nephew, let me hear no more of ’em; it mads
me. Thou shalt prevent[78] ’em all. No words to the
widow of my coming hither. Let me see—’tis now upon
nine: before twelve, nephew, we will have the bargain
struck, we will, faith, boy.
WIT. O, my precious uncle! [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Room in_ HOARD’S _House_.
_Enter_ HOARD _and_ JOYCE.
HOA. Niece, sweet niece, prithee, have a care to my
house; I leave all to thy discretion. Be content to
dream awhile; I’ll have a husband for thee shortly: put
that care upon me, wench, for in choosing wives and
husbands I am only fortunate; I have that gift given me.
[_Exit._
JOY. But ’tis not likely you should choose for me,
Since nephew to your chiefest enemy
Is he whom I affect: but, O, forgetful!
Why dost thou flatter thy affections so,
With name of him that for a widow’s bed
Neglects thy purer love? Can it be so,
Or does report dissemble?
_Enter_ GEORGE.
How now, sir?
GEO. A letter, with which came a private charge.
JOY. Therein I thank your care. [_Exit_ GEORGE.]—I
know this hand—
[_Reads_] _Dearer than sight, what the world reports of
me, yet believe not; rumour will alter shortly: be thou
constant; I am still the same that I was in love, and I
hope to be the same in fortunes._
THEODORUS WITGOOD.
I am resolv’d:[79] no more shall fear or doubt
Raise their pale powers to keep affection out.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_A Tavern._
_Enter_ HOARD, _Gentlemen,[80] and Drawer_.
DRA. You’re very welcome, gentlemen.—Dick, shew those
gentlemen the Pomegranate there.
HOA. Hist!
DRA. Up those stairs, gentlemen.
HOA. Hist, drawer!
DRA. Anon, sir.
HOA. Prithee, ask at the bar if a gentlewoman came not
in lately.
DRA. William, at the bar, did you see any gentlewoman
come in lately? Speak you ay, speak you no.
[_Within._] No, none came in yet but mistress Florence.
DRA. He says none came in yet, sir, but one mistress
Florence.
HOA. What is that Florence? a widow?
DRA. Yes, a Dutch widow.[81] HOA. How?
DRA. That’s an English drab, sir: give your worship good
morrow. [_Exit._
HOA. A merry knave, i’faith! I shall remember a Dutch
widow the longest day of my life.
FIRST G. Did not I use most art to win the widow?
SEC. G. You shall pardon me for that, sir; master Hoard
knows I took her at best ’vantage.
HOA. What’s that, sweet gentlemen, what’s that?
SEC. G. He will needs bear me down, that his art only
wrought with the widow most.
HOA. O, you did both well, gentlemen, you did both well,
I thank you.
FIRST G. I was the first that moved her.
HOA. You were, i’faith.
SEC. G. But it was I that took her at the bound.
HOA. Ay, that was you: faith, gentlemen, ’tis right.
THIRD G. I boasted least, but ’twas I join’d their
hands.
HOA. By th’ mass, I think he did: you did all well,
Gentlemen, you did all well; contend no more.
FIRST G. Come, yon room’s fittest.
HOA. True, ’tis next the door. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ WITGOOD, _Courtesan, Host, and Drawer_.
DRA. You’re very welcome: please you to walk up stairs;
cloth’s laid, sir.
COURT. Up stairs? troth, I am very[82] weary, master
Witgood.
WIT. Rest yourself here awhile, widow; we’ll have a cup
of muscadine in this little room.
DRA. A cup of muscadine? You shall have the best, sir.
WIT. But, do you hear, sirrah?
DRA. Do you call? anon, sir.
WIT. What is there provided for dinner?
DRA. I cannot readily tell you, sir: if you please you
may go into the kitchen and see yourself, sir; many
gentlemen of worship do use to do it, I assure you, sir.
[_Exit._
HOST. A pretty familiar, prigging[83] rascal; he has his
part without book.
WIT. Against you are ready to drink to me, widow, I’ll
be present to pledge you.
COURT. Nay, I commend your care, ’tis done well of you.
[_Exit_ WITGOOD.]—’Las,[84] what have I forgot!
HOST. What, mistress?
COURT. I slipt my wedding-ring off when I washed, and
left it at my lodging: prithee, run; I shall be sad
without it. [_Exit Host._]—So, he’s gone. Boy.
_Enter Boy._
BOY. Anon, forsooth.
COURT. Come hither, sirrah; learn secretly if one master
Hoard, an ancient gentleman, be about house.
BOY. I heard such a one named.
COURT. Commend me to him.
_Re-enter_ HOARD _and Gentlemen_.
HOA. Ay, boy,[85] do thy commendations.
COURT. O, you come well: away, to boat, begone.
HOA. Thus wise men are reveng’d, give two for one.
[_Exeunt._
_Re-enter_ WITGOOD _and_ VINTNER.
WIT. I must request
You, sir, to shew extraordinary care:
My uncle comes with gentlemen, his friends,
And ’tis upon a making.[86]
VIN. Is it so?
I’ll give a special charge, good master Witgood.
May I be bold to see her?
WIT. Who? [t]he widow?
With all my heart, i’faith, I’ll bring you to her.
VIN. If she be a Staffordshire gentlewoman, ’tis much if
I know her not.
WIT. How now? boy! drawer!
VIN. Hie!
_Re-enter Boy._
BOY. Do you call, sir?
WIT. Went the gentlewoman up that was here?
BOY. Up, sir? she went out, sir.
WIT. Out, sir?
BOY. Out, sir: one master Hoard, with a guard of
gentlemen, carried her out at back door, a pretty while
since, sir.
WIT. Hoard? death and darkness! Hoard?
_Re-enter Host._
HOST. The devil of ring I can find.
WIT. How now? what news? where’s the widow?
HOST. My mistress? is she not here, sir?
WIT. More madness yet!
HOST. She sent me for a ring.
WIT. A plot, a plot!—To boat! she’s stole away.
HOST. What?
_Enter_ LUCRE _and Gentlemen_.
WIT. Follow! inquire old Hoard, my uncle’s adversary.
[_Exit Host._
LUC. Nephew, what’s that?
WIT. Thrice-miserable wretch!
LUC. Why, what’s the matter?
VIN. The widow’s borne away, sir.
LUC. Ha? passion of me!—A heavy welcome, gentlemen.
FIRST G. The widow gone?
LUC. Who durst attempt it?
WIT. Who but old Hoard, my uncle’s adversary?
LUC. How!
WIT. With his confederates.
LUC. Hoard, my deadly enemy?—Gentlemen, stand to me,
I will not bear it; ’tis in hate of me;
That villain seeks my shame, nay, thirsts my blood;
He owes me mortal malice.
I’ll spend my wealth on this despiteful plot,
Ere he shall cross me and my nephew thus.
WIT. So maliciously!
_Re-enter Host._
LUC. How now, you treacherous rascal?
HOST. That’s none of my name, sir.
WIT. Poor soul, he knew not on’t!
LUC. I’m sorry. I see then ’twas a mere plot.
HOST. I trac’d ’em nearly——
LUC.[87] Well?
HOST. And hear for certain
They have took Cole-Harbour.[88]
LUC. The devil’s sanctuary!
They shall not rest; I’ll pluck her from his arms.—
Kind and dear gentlemen,
If ever I had seat within your breasts——
FIRST G. No more, good sir; it is a wrong to us
To see you injur’d: in a cause so just
We’ll spend our lives but we will right our friends.
LUC. Honest and kind! come, we’ve[89] delay’d too
long:
Nephew, take comfort; a just cause is strong.
WIT. That’s all my comfort, uncle. [_Exeunt all
but_ WITGOOD.] Ha, ha, ha!
Now may events fall luckily and well:
He that ne’er strives, says wit, shall ne’er excel.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_A Room in_ DAMPIT’S _House_.
_Enter_ DAMPIT, _drunk_.
DAM. When did I say my prayers? In anno 88, when the
great armada was coming; and in anno 89,[90] when the
great thundering and lightning was, I prayed heartily
then, i’faith, to overthrow Poovies’ new buildings; I
kneeled by my great iron chest, I remember.
_Enter_ AUDREY.
AUD. Master Dampit, one may hear you before they see
you: you keep sweet hours, master Dampit; we were all
a-bed three hours ago.
DAM. Audrey?
AUD. O, you’re a fine gentleman!
DAM. So I am, i’faith, and a fine scholar: do you use to
go to bed so early, Audrey?
AUD. Call you this early, master Dampit?
DAM. Why, is’t not one of clock i’ th’ morning? is not
that early enough? fetch me a glass of fresh beer.
AUD. Here, I have warmed your nightcap for you, master
Dampit.
DAM. Draw it on then. I am very weak truly: I have not
eaten so much as the bulk of an egg these three days.
AUD. You have drunk the more, master Dampit.
DAM. What’s that?
AUD. You mought, and[91] you would, master Dampit.
DAM. I answer you, I cannot: hold your prating; you
prate too much, and understand too little: are you
answered? Give me a glass of beer.
AUD. May I ask you how you do, master Dampit?
DAM. How do I? i’faith, naught.
AUD. I ne’er knew you do otherwise.
DAM. I eat not one pen’north of bread these two
years.[92] Give me a glass of fresh beer. I am not sick,
nor I am not well.
AUD. Take this warm napkin about your neck, sir, whilst
I help to make you unready.[93]
DAM. How now, Audrey-prater, with your scurvy devices,
what say you now?
AUD. What say I, master Dampit? I say nothing, but that
you are very weak.
DAM. Faith, thou hast more cony-catching[94] devices
than all London.
AUD. Why, master Dampit, I never deceived you in all my
life.
DAM. Why was that? because I never did trust thee.
AUD. I care not what you say, master Dampit.
DAM. Hold thy prating: I answer thee, thou art a beggar,
a quean, and a bawd: are you answered?
AUD. Fie, master Dampit! a gentleman, and have such
words?
DAM. Why, thou base drudge of infortunity, thou
kitchen-stuff-drab of beggary, roguery, and cockscombry,
thou cavernesed quean of foolery, knavery, and
bawdreaminy, I’ll tell thee what, I will not give a
louse for thy fortunes.
AUD. No, master Dampit? and there’s a gentleman comes
a-wooing to me, and he doubts[95] nothing but that you
will get me from him.
DAM. I? If I would either have thee or lie with thee
for two thousand pound, would I might be damned! why,
thou base, impudent quean of foolery, flattery, and
coxcombry, are you answered?
AUD. Come, will you rise and go to bed, sir?
DAMP. Rise, and go to bed too, Audrey? How does mistress
Proserpine?
AUD. Fooh!
DAM. She’s as fine a philosopher of a stinkard’s wife,
as any within the liberties. Faugh, faugh, Audrey!
AUD. How now, master Dampit?
DAM. Fie upon’t, what a choice of stinks here is! what
hast thou done, Audrey? fie upon’t, here’s a choice of
stinks indeed! Give me a glass of fresh beer, and then I
will to bed.
AUD. It waits for you above, sir.
DAM. Foh! I think they burn horns in Barnard’s Inn. If
ever I smelt such an abominable stink, usury forsake me.
[_Exit._
AUD. They be the stinking nails of his trampling feet,
and he talks of burning of horns. [_Exit._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_An Apartment at Cole-Harbour._[96]
_Enter_ HOARD, _Courtesan_, LAMPREY, SPICHCOCK, _and
Gentlemen_.
FIRST G. Join hearts, join hands,
In wedlock’s bands,
Never to part
Till death cleave your heart.
[_To_ HOARD] You shall forsake all other women;
[_To Courtesan_] You lords, knights, gentlemen, and
yeomen.
What my tongue slips
Make up with your lips.
HOA. [_kisses her_] Give you joy, mistress Hoard: let
the kiss come about. [_Knocking._
Who knocks? Convey my little pig-eater[97] out.
LUC. [_within_] Hoard!
HOA. Upon my life, my adversary, gentlemen!
LUC. [_within_] Hoard, open the door, or we will force
it ope:
Give us the widow.
HOA. Gentlemen, keep ’em out.
LAM. He comes upon his death that enters here.
ᚠLUC. [_within_] My friends, assist me!
HOA. He has assistants, gentlemen.
LAM. Tut, nor him nor them we in this action fear.
LUC. [_within_] Shall I, in peace, speak one word with
the widow?
COURT. Husband, and gentlemen, hear me but a word.
HOA. Freely, sweet wife.
COURT. Let him in peaceably;
You know we’re sure from any act of his.
HOA. Most true.
COURT.[98] You may stand by and smile at his old
weakness:
Let me alone to answer him.
HOA. Content;
’Twill be good mirth, i’faith. How think you, gentlemen?
LAM. Good gullery!
HOA. Upon calm conditions let him in.
LUC. [_within_] All spite and malice!
LAM. Hear me, master Lucre:
So you will vow a peaceful entrance
With those your friends, and only exercise
Calm conference with the widow, without fury,
The passage shall receive you.
LUC. [_within_] I do vow it.
LAM. Then enter and talk freely: here she stands.
_Enter_ LUCRE, _Gentlemen_, _and Host_.
LUC. O, master Hoard, your spite has watch’d the hour!
You’re excellent at vengeance, master Hoard.
HOA. Ha, ha, ha!
LUC. I am the fool you laugh at:
You are wise, sir, and know the seasons well.—
Come hither, widow: why is it thus?
O, you have done me infinite disgrace,
And your own credit no small injury!
Suffer mine enemy so despitefully
To bear you from my nephew? O, I had
Rather half my substance had been forfeit
And begg’d by some starv’d rascal!
COURT. Why, what would you wish me do, sir?
I must not overthrow my state for love:
We have too many precedents for that;
From thousands of our wealthy undone widows
One may derive some wit. I do confess
I lov’d your nephew, nay, I did affect him
Against the mind and liking of my friends;[99]
Believ’d his promises; lay here in hope
Of flatter’d living, and the boast of lands:
Coming to touch his wealth and state, indeed,
It appears dross; I find him not the man;
Imperfect, mean, scarce furnish’d of his needs;
In words, fair lordships; in performance, hovels:
Can any woman love the thing that is not?
LUC. Broke you for this?
COURT. Was it not cause too much?
Send to inquire his state: most part of it
Lay two years mortgag’d in his uncle’s hands.
LUC. Why, say it did, you might have known my mind:
I could have soon restor’d it.
COURT. Ay, had I but seen any such thing perform’d,
Why, ’twould have tied my affection, and contain’d
Me in my first desires: do you think, i’faith,
That I could twine such a dry oak as this,
Had promise in your nephew took effect?
LUC. Why, and there’s no time past; and rather than
My adversary should thus thwart my hopes,
I would——
COURT. Tut, you’ve been ever full of golden speech:
If words were lands, your nephew would be rich.
LUC. Widow, believe’t,[100] I vow by my best bliss,
Before these gentlemen, I will give in
The mortgage to my nephew instantly,
Before I sleep or eat.
FIRST G. [_friend to_ LUCRE] We’ll pawn our credits,
Widow, what he speaks shall be perform’d
In fulness.
LUC. Nay, more; I will estate him
In farther blessings; he shall be my heir;
I have no son;[101]
I’ll bind myself to that condition.
COURT. When I shall hear this done, I shall soon yield
To reasonable terms.
LUC. In the mean season,
Will you protest, before these gentlemen,
To keep yourself as you’re[102] now at this present?
COURT. I do protest, before these gentlemen,
I will be as clear then as I am now.
LUC. I do believe you. Here’s your own honest servant,
I’ll take him along with me.
COURT. Ay, with all my heart.
LUC. He shall see all perform’d, and bring you word.
COURT. That’s all I wait for.
HOA. What, have you finished, master Lucre? ha, ha,
ha, ha!
LUC. So laugh, Hoard, laugh at your poor enemy, do;
The wind may turn, you may be laugh’d at too;
Yes, marry may you, sir.—Ha, ha, ha, [ha]!
[_Exeunt_ LUCRE, _Gentlemen_, _and Host_.
HOA. Ha, ha![103] if every man that swells in malice
Could be reveng’d as happily as I,
He would choose hate, and forswear amity.—
What did he say, wife, prithee?
COURT. Faith, spoke to ease his mind.
HOA. O, O, O!
COURT. You know now little to any purpose.
HOA. True, true, true!
COURT. He would do mountains now.
HOA. Ay, ay, ay, ay.
LAM. You’ve struck him dead, master Hoard.
SPI. And[104] his nephew desperate.
HOA. I know’t, sirs, I.
Never did man so crush his enemy. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Room in_ LUCRE’S _House_.
_Enter_ LUCRE, _Gentlemen_, _and Host_, _meeting_
FREEDOM.
LUC. My son-in-law, Sam Freedom, where’s my nephew?
FREE. _O man in lamentation_,[105] father.
LUC. How!
FREE. He thumps his breast like a gallant dicer that has
lost his doublet, and stands in’s shirt to do penance.
LUC. Alas, poor gentleman!
FREE. I warrant you may hear him sigh in a still evening
to your house at Highgate.
LUC. I prithee, send him in.
FREE. Were it to do a greater matter, I will not stick
with you, sir, in regard you married my mother.
[_Exit._
LUC. Sweet gentlemen, cheer him up; I will but fetch the
mortgage and return to you instantly.
FIRST G. We’ll do our best, sir. [_Exit Lucre._]—
See where he comes,
E’en joyless and regardless of all form.
_Enter_ WITGOOD.
SEC. G. Why, how now,[106] master Witgood? Fie! you a
firm scholar, and an understanding gentleman, and give
your best parts to passion?[107]
FIRST G. Come, fie, fie![108]
WIT. O, gentlemen——
FIRST G. Sorrow of me, what a sigh was there, sir!
Nine such widows are not worth it.
WIT. To be borne from me by that lecher Hoard!
FIRST G. That vengeance is your uncle’s; being done
More in despite to him than wrong to you:
But we bring comfort now.
WIT. I beseech you, gentlemen——
SEC. G. Cheer thyself, man; there’s hope of her,
i’faith.
WIT. Too gladsome to be true.
_Re-enter LUCRE._
LUC. Nephew, what cheer?
Alas, poor gentleman, how art thou chang’d!
Call thy fresh blood into thy cheeks again:
She comes.
WIT. Nothing afflicts me so much,
But that it is your adversary, uncle,
And merely plotted in despite of you.
LUC. Ay, that’s it mads me, spites me! I’ll spend my
wealth ere he shall carry her so, because I know ’tis
only to spite me. Ay, this is it. Here, nephew [_giving
a paper_], before these kind gentlemen, I deliver in
your mortgage, my promise to the widow; see, ’tis done:
be wise, you’re once more master of your own. The widow
shall perceive now you are not altogether such a beggar
as the world reputes you; you can make shift to bring
her to three hundred a-year, sir.
FIRST G. Byrlady,[109] and that’s no toy,[110] sir.
LUC. A word, nephew.
FIRST G. [_to Host_] Now you may certify the widow.
LUC. You must conceive it aright, nephew, now;
To do you good I am content to do this.
WIT. I know it, sir.
LUC. But your own conscience can tell I had it
Dearly enough of you.
WIT. Ay, that’s most certain.
LUC. Much money laid out, beside many a journey
To fetch the rent; I hope you’ll think on’t, nephew.
WIT. I were worse than a beast else, i’faith.
LUC. Although, to blind the widow and the world,
I out of policy do’t, yet there’s a conscience, nephew.
WIT. Heaven forbid else!
LUC. When you are full possess’d,
’Tis nothing to return it.
WIT. Alas, a thing quickly done, uncle!
LUC. Well said! you know I give it you but in trust.
WIT. Pray, let me understand you rightly, uncle:
You give it me but in trust?
LUC. No.
WIT. That is, you trust me with it?
LUC. True, true.
WIT. But if ever I trust you with it again,
Would I might be truss’d up[111] for my labour!
[_Aside._
LUC. You can all witness, gentlemen; and you, sir
yeoman?
HOST. My life for yours, sir, now, I know my mistress’s
mind so[112] well toward your nephew, let things be in
preparation, and I’ll train her hither in most excellent
fashion. _Exit._
LUC. A good old boy!—Wife! Jenny!
_Enter_ MISTRESS LUCRE.
MIS. L. What’s the news, sir?
LUC. The wedding-day’s at hand: prithee, sweet wife,
express thy housewifery; thou’rt a fine cook, I know’t;
thy first husband married thee out of an alderman’s
kitchen; go to, he raised thee for raising of paste.
What! here’s none but friends; most of our beginnings
must be winked at.—Gentlemen, I invite you all to my
nephew’s wedding against Thursday morning.
FIRST G. With all our hearts, and we shall joy to see
Your enemy so mock’d.
LUC. He laugh’d at me, gentlemen; ha, ha, ha!
[_Exeunt all but_ WITGOOD.
WIT. He has no conscience, faith, would laugh at them;
They laugh at one another;
Who then can be so cruel? troth, not I;
I rather pity now, than ought envy:[113]
I do conceive such joy in mine own happiness,
I have no leisure yet to laugh at their follies.
Thou soul of my estate, I kiss thee!
[_To the mortgage._
I miss life’s comfort when I miss thee;
O, never will we part agen,[114]
Until I leave the sight of men!
We’ll ne’er trust conscience of our kin,
Since cozenage brings that title in. [_Exit._
SCENE III.
_A Street._
_Enter Three Creditors._
FIRST C. I’ll wait these seven hours but I’ll see him
caught.
SEC. C. Faith, so will I.
THIRD C. Hang him, prodigal! he’s stript of the widow.
FIRST C. A’ my troth, she’s the wiser; she has made the
happier choice: and I wonder of what stuff those widows’
hearts are made of, that will marry unfledged boys
before comely thrum-chinned[115] gentlemen.
_Enter Boy._
BOY. News, news, news!
FIRST C. What, boy?
BOY. The rioter is caught.
FIRST C. So, so, so, so! it warms me at the heart;
I love a’ life[116] to see dogs upon men.
O, here he comes.
_Enter Sergeants, with_ WITGOOD _in custody_.
WIT. My last joy was so great, it took away the sense
of all future afflictions. What a day is here o’ercast!
how soon a black tempest rises!
FIRST C. O, we may speak with you now, sir! what’s
become of your rich widow? I think you may cast your cap
at the widow, may you not, sir?
SEC. C. He a rich widow? who, a prodigal, a daily
rioter, and a nightly vomiter? he a widow of account? he
a hole i’ th’ counter.[117]
WIT. You do well, my masters, to tyrannise over misery,
to afflict the afflicted: ’tis a custom you have here
amongst you; I would wish you never leave it, and I hope
you’ll do as I bid you.
FIRST C. Come, come, sir, what say you extempore now
to your bill of a hundred pound? a sweet debt for
froating[118] your doublets.
SEC. C. Here’s mine of forty.
THIRD C. Here’s mine of fifty.
WIT. Pray, sirs,—you’ll give me breath?
FIRST C. No, sir, we’ll keep you out of breath still;
then we shall be sure you will not run away from us.
WIT. Will you but hear me speak?
SEC. C. You shall pardon us for that, sir; we know you
have too fair a tongue of your own; you overcame us too
lately, a shame take you! we are like to lose all that
for want of witnesses: we dealt in policy then; always
when we strive to be most politic we prove most
coxcombs: _non plus ultra_ I perceive by us, we’re not
ordained to thrive by wisdom, and therefore we must be
content to be tradesmen.
WIT. Give me but reasonable time, and I protest I’ll
make you ample satisfaction.
FIRST C. Do you talk of reasonable time to us?
WIT. ’Tis true, beasts know no reasonable time.
SEC. C. We must have either money or carcass.
WIT. Alas, what good will my carcass do you?
THIRD C. O, ’tis a secret delight we have amongst us! we
that are used to keep birds in cages, have the heart to
keep men in prison, I warrant you.
WIT. I perceive I must crave a little more aid from my
wits: do but make shift for me this once, and I’ll
forswear ever to trouble you in the like fashion
hereafter; I’ll have better employment for you, and[119]
I live. [_Aside._]—You’ll give me leave, my masters, to
make trial of my friends, and raise all means I can?
FIRST C. That’s our desire,[120] sir.
_Enter Host._
HOST. Master Witgood.
WIT. O, art thou come?
HOST. May I speak one word with you in private, sir?
WIT. No, by my faith, canst thou; I am in hell here, and
the devils will not let me come to thee.
FIRST C.[121] Do you call us devils? you shall find us
puritans.—Bear him away; let ’em talk as they go; we’ll
not stand to hear ’em.—Ah, sir, am I a devil? I shall
think the better of myself as long as I live: a devil,
i’faith!
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_A Room in_ HOARD’S _House_.
_Enter_ HOARD.
HOA. What a sweet blessing hast thou, master Hoard,
above a multitude! wilt thou never be thankful? how dost
thou think to be blest another time? or dost thou count
this the full measure of thy happiness? by my troth, I
think thou dost: not only a wife large in possessions,
but spacious in content; she’s rich, she’s young, she’s
fair, she’s wise: when I wake, I think of her lands—that
revives me; when I go to bed, I dream of her beauty—and
that’s enough for me: she’s worth four hundred a-year in
her very smock, if a man knew how to use it. But the
journey will be all, in troth, into the country; to ride
to her lands in state and order following; my brother,
and other worshipful gentlemen, whose companies I ha’
sent down for already, to ride along with us in their
goodly decorum beards, their broad velvet cassocks, and
chains of gold twice or thrice double; against which
time I’ll entertain some ten men of mine own into
liveries, all of occupations or qualities; I will not
keep an idle man about me: the sight of which will so
vex my adversary Lucre—for we’ll pass by his door of
purpose, make a little stand for [the] nonce,[122] and
have our horses curvet before the window—certainly he
will never endure it, but run up and hang himself
presently.
_Enter Servant._
How now, sirrah, what news? any that offer their service
to me yet?
SER. Yes, sir, there are some i’ th’ hall that wait for
your worship’s liking, and desire to be entertained.
HOA. Are they of occupation?
SER. They are men fit for your worship, sir.
HOA. Sayest so? send ’em all in. [_Exit Servant._]—To
see ten men ride after me in watchet[123] liveries, with
orange-tawny capes,[124]—’twill cut his comb, i’faith.
_Enter Tailor, Barber, Perfumer, Falconer, and
Huntsman._
How now? of what occupation are you, sir?
TAI. A tailor, an’t please your worship.
HOA. A tailor? O, very good: you shall serve to make all
the liveries.—What are you, sir?
BAR. A barber, sir.
HOA. A barber? very needful: you shall shave all the
house, and, if need require, stand for a reaper i’ th’
summer time.—You, sir?
PER. A perfumer.
HOA. I smelt you before: perfumers, of all men, had need
carry themselves uprightly; for if they were once
knaves, they would be smelt out quickly.—To you, sir?
FAL. A falconer, an’t please your worship.
HOA. Sa ho, sa ho, sa ho!—And you, sir?
HUNT. A huntsman, sir.
HOA. There, boy, there, boy, there, boy! I am not so
old but I have pleasant days to come. I promise
you, my masters, I take such a good liking to you,
that I entertain you all; I put you already into my
countenance, and you shall be shortly in my livery; but
especially you two, my jolly falconer and my bonny
huntsman; we shall have most need of you at my wife’s
manor-houses i’ th’ country; there’s goodly parks and
champion[125] grounds for you; we shall have all our
sports within ourselves; all the gentlemen a’ th’
country shall be beholding[126] to us and our pastimes.
FAL. And we’ll make your worship admire, sir.
HOA. Sayest thou so? do but make me admire, and thou
shalt want for nothing.—My tailor.
TAI. Anon, sir.
HOA. Go presently in hand with the liveries.
TAI. I will, sir.
HOA. My barber.
BAR. Here, sir.
HOA. Make ’em all trim fellows, louse ’em well,—
especially my huntsman,—and cut all their beards of the
Polonian fashion.—My perfumer.
PER. Under your nose, sir.
HOA. Cast a better savour upon the knaves, to take
away the scent of my tailor’s feet, and my barber’s
lotium-water.
PER. It shall be carefully performed, sir.
HOA. But you, my falconer and huntsman, the welcomest
men alive, i’faith!
HUNT. And we’ll shew you that, sir, shall deserve your
worship’s favour.
HOA. I prithee, shew me that.—Go, you knaves all, and
wash your lungs i’ th’ buttery, go. [_Exeunt Tailor,
Barber, &c._]—By th’ mass, and well remembered! I’ll ask
my wife that question.—Wife, mistress Jane Hoard!
_Enter Courtesan, altered in apparel._
COURT. Sir, would you with me?
HOA. I would but know, sweet wife, which might stand
best to thy liking, to have the wedding dinner kept here
or i’ th’ country?
COURT. Hum:—faith, sir, ’twould like[127] me better
here; here you were married, here let all rites be
ended.
HOA. Could a marquesse[128] give a better answer? Hoard,
bear thy head aloft, thou’st a wife will advance it.
_Enter Host with a letter._
What haste comes here now? yea, a letter? some dreg of
my adversary’s malice. Come hither; what’s the news?
HOST. A thing that concerns my mistress, sir.
[_Giving a letter to Courtesan._
HOA. Why then it concerns me, knave.
HOST. Ay, and you, knave, too (cry your worship mercy):
you are both like to come into trouble, I promise you,
sir; a pre-contract.
HOA. How? a pre-contract, sayest thou?
HOST. I fear they have too much proof on’t, sir: old
Lucre, he runs mad up and down, and will to law as fast
as he can; young Witgood laid hold on by his creditors,
he exclaims upon you a’ t’other side, says you have
wrought his undoing by the injurious detaining of his
contract.
HOA. Body a’ me!
HOST. He will have utmost satisfaction;
The law shall give him recompense, he says.
COURT. Alas, his creditors so merciless! my state being
yet uncertain, I deem it not unconscionable to further
him. [_Aside._
HOST. True, sir.
HOA. Wife, what says that letter? let me construe it.
COURT. Curs’d be my rash and unadvised words!
[_Tears the letter and stamps on it._
I’ll set my foot upon my tongue,
And tread my inconsiderate grant to dust.
HOA. Wife——
HOST. A pretty shift, i’faith! I commend a woman when
she can make away a letter from her husband handsomely,
and this was cleanly done, by my troth. [_Aside._
COURT. I did, sir;
Some foolish words I must confess did pass,
Which now litigiously he fastens on me.
HOA. Of what force? let me examine ’em.
COURT. Too strong, I fear: would I were well freed of
him!
HOA. Shall I compound?
COURT. No, sir, I’d have it done some nobler way
Of your side; I’d have you come off with honour;
Let baseness keep with them. Why, have you not
The means, sir? the occasion’s offer’d you.
HOA. Where? how, dear wife?
COURT. He is now caught by his creditors; the slave’s
needy; his debts petty; he’ll rather bind himself to all
inconveniences than rot in prison: by this only means
you may get a release from him: ’tis not yet come to his
uncle’s hearing; send speedily for the creditors; by
this time he’s desperate; he’ll set his hand to any
thing: take order for his debts, or discharge ’em quite:
a pax[129] on him, let’s be rid of a rascal!
HOA. Excellent!
Thou dost astonish me.—Go, run, make haste;
Bring both the creditors and Witgood hither.
HOST. This will be some revenge yet.
[_Aside, and exit._
HOA. In the mean space I’ll have a release drawn.—Within
there!
_Enter Servant._
SER. Sir?
HOA. Sirrah, come take directions; go to my scrivener.
COURT. [_aside; while_ HOARD _gives directions to the
servant_] I’m yet like those whose riches lie in dreams,
If I be wak’d, they’re false; such is my fate,
Who venture[130] deeper than the desperate state.
Though I have sinn’d, yet could I become new,
For where I once vow, I am ever true.
HOA. Away, despatch, on my displeasure quickly.
[_Exit Servant._
Happy occasion! pray heaven he be in the right vein now
to set his hand to’t, that nothing alter him; grant that
all his follies may meet in him at once, to besot him
enough! I pray for him, i’faith, and here he comes.
_Enter_ WITGOOD _and Creditors_.
WIT. What would you with me now, my uncle’s spiteful
adversary?
HOA. Nay, I am friends.
WIT. Ay, when your mischief’s spent.
HOA. I heard, you were arrested.
WIT. Well, what then? you will pay none of my debts, I
am sure.
HOA. A wise man cannot tell;
There may be those conditions ’greed upon
May move me to do much.
WIT. Ay, when?—
’Tis thou, perjurèd woman! (O, no name
Is vild[131] enough to match thy treachery!)
That art the cause of my confusion.
COURT. Out, you penurious slave!
HOA. Nay, wife, you are too froward;
Let him alone; give losers leave to talk.
WIT. Shall I remember thee of another promise
Far stronger than the first?
COURT. I’d fain know that.
WIT. ’Twould call shame to thy cheeks.
COURT. Shame?
WIT. Hark in your ear.—
Will he come off, think’st thou, and pay ┐
my debts roundly? │
COURT. Doubt nothing; there’s a │
release a-drawing and all, to which you │
must set your hand. │
WIT. Excellent! │ _They_
COURT. But methinks, i’faith, │ _converse_
you might have made some shift to dis- │ _apart_
charge this yourself, having in the mort- │
gage, and never have burdened my conscience│
with it. │
WIT. A’ my troth, I could not, │
for my creditors’ cruelties extend to the │
present. │
COURT. No more. │
Why, do your worst for that, I defy you. ┘
WIT. You’re impudent; I’ll call up witnesses.
COURT. Call up thy wits, for thou hast been devoted
To follies a long time.
HOA. Wife, you’re too bitter.— Master Witgood, and you,
my masters, you shall hear a mild speech come from me
now, and this it is: ’t has been my fortune, gentlemen,
to have an extraordinary blessing poured upon me a’
late, and here she stands; I have wedded her, and bedded
her, and yet she is little the worse: some foolish words
she hath passed to you in the country, and some
peevish[132] debts you owe here in the city; set the
hare’s head to the goose-giblet,[133] release you her of
her words, and I’ll release you of your debts, sir.
WIT. Would you so? I thank you for that, sir; I cannot
blame you, i’faith.
HOA. Why, are not debts better than words, sir?
WIT. Are not words promises, and are not promises debts,
sir?
HOA. He plays at back-racket with me. [_Aside._
FIRST C. Come hither, master Witgood, come hither; be
ruled by fools once.
SEC. C. We are citizens, and know what belong[s] to’t.
FIRST C. Take hold of his offer: pax[134] on her, let
her go; if your debts were once discharged, I would help
you to a widow myself worth ten of her.
THIRD C. Mass, partner, and now you remember me on’t,
there’s master Mulligrub’s sister newly fallen a widow.
FIRST C. Cuds me, as pat as can be! there’s a widow left
for you; ten thousand in money, beside plate, jewels,
_et cetera_ : I warrant it a match; we can do all in all
with her; prithee, despatch; we’ll carry thee to her
presently.
WIT. My uncle will ne’er endure me when he shall hear I
set my hand to a release.
SEC. C. Hark, I’ll tell thee a trick for that: I have
spent five hundred pound in suits in my time, I should
be wise; thou’rt now a prisoner; make a release; take’t
of my word, whatsoever a man makes as long as he is in
durance, ’tis nothing in law, not thus much.
[_Snaps his fingers._
WIT. Say you so, sir?
THIRD C. I have paid for’t, I know’t.
WIT. Proceed then; I consent.
THIRD C. Why, well said.
HOA. How now, my masters, what have you done with him?
FIRST C. With much ado, sir, we have got him to consent.
HOA. Ah—a—a! and what come[135] his debts to now?
FIRST C. Some eight score odd pounds, sir.
HOA. Naw, naw, naw, naw, naw! tell me the second time;
give me a lighter sum; they are but desperate debts, you
know; ne’er called in but upon such an accident; a poor,
needy knave, he would starve and rot in prison: come,
come, you shall have ten shillings in the pound, and the
sum down roundly.
FIRST C. You must make it a mark,[136] sir.
HOA. Go to then, tell your money in the meantime; you
shall find little less there. [_Giving them money._]—
Come, master Witgood, you are so unwilling to do
yourself good now!
_Enter Scrivener._
Welcome, honest scrivener.—Now you shall hear the
release read.
SCRI. [_reads_] _Be it known to all men, by these
presents, that I, Theodorus Witgood, gentleman, sole
nephew to Pecunius Lucre, having unjustly made title and
claim to one Jane Medler, late widow of Anthony Medler,
and now wife to Walkadine Hoard, in consideration of a
competent sum of money to discharge my debts, do for
ever hereafter disclaim any title, right, estate, or
interest in or to the said widow, late in the occupation
of the said Anthony Medler, and now in the occupation of
Walkadine Hoard; as also neither to lay claim by
virtue of any former contract, grant, promise, or
demise, to any of her manor[s], manor-houses, parks,
groves, meadow-grounds, arable lands, barns, stacks,
stables, dove-holes, and coney-burrows; together
with all her cattle, money, plate, jewels, borders,
chains, bracelets, furnitures, hangings, moveables or
immoveables._[137] _In witness whereof, I the said
Theodorus Witgood have interchangeably set to my hand
and seal before these presents, the day and date above
written._
WIT. What a precious fortune hast thou slipt here, like
a beast as thou art!
HOA. Come, unwilling heart, come.
WIT. Well, master Hoard, give me the pen; I see
’Tis vain to quarrel with our destiny.
[_Signs the paper._
HOA. O, as vain a thing as can be! you cannot commit a
greater absurdity, sir. So, so; give me that hand now;
before all these presents, I am friends for ever with
thee.
WIT. Troth, and it were pity of my heart now, if I
should bear you any grudge, i’faith.
HOA. Content: I’ll send for thy uncle against the
wedding dinner; we will be friends once again.
WIT. I hope to bring it to pass myself, sir.
HOA. How now? is’t right, my masters?
FIRST C. ’Tis something wanting, sir; yet it shall be
sufficient.
HOA. Why, well said; a good conscience makes a fine shew
now-a-days. Come, my masters, you shall all taste of my
wine ere you depart.
ALL THE CRED. We follow you, sir.
[_Exeunt_ HOARD _and Scrivener_.
WIT. I’ll try these fellows now. [_Aside._]—A word, sir:
what, will you carry me to that widow now?
FIRST C. Why, do you think we were in earnest, i’faith?
carry you to a rich widow? we should get much credit by
that: a noted rioter! a contemptible prodigal! ’twas a
trick we have amongst us to get in our money: fare you
well, sir. [_Exeunt Creditors._
WIT. Farewell, and be hanged, you short pig-haired,
ram-headed rascals! he that believes in you shall ne’er
be saved, I warrant him. By this new league I shall have
some access[138] unto my love.
JOYCE _appears above_.
JOYCE. Master Witgood!
WIT. My life!
JOYCE. Meet me presently; that note directs you [_throws
him a letter_]: I would not be suspected: our happiness
attends us: farewell.
WIT. A word’s enough. [_Exeunt severally._
SCENE V.
DAMPIT’S _Bed-chamber_.
DAMPIT _in bed_; AUDREY _spinning by; Boy_.
AUD. [_singing_]
_Let the usurer cram him, in interest that excel,
There’s pits enow to damn him before he comes to hell;
In Holborn some, in Fleet Street some,
Where’er he come there’s some, there’s some._
DAMP. _Trahe_ , _trahito_ , draw the curtain; give me a
sip of sack more.
_While he drinks, enter_ LAMPREY _and_ SPICHCOCK.
LAM. Look you; did not I tell you he lay like the devil
in chains, when he was bound for a thousand year?[139]
SPI. But I think[140] the devil had no steel bed-staffs;
he goes beyond him for that.
LAM. Nay, do but mark the conceit of his drinking; one
must wipe his mouth for him with a muckinder,[141] do
you see, sir?
SPI. Is this the sick trampler?[142] why, he is only
bed-rid with drinking.
LAM. True, sir. He spies us.
DAM. What, Sir Tristram? you come and see a weak man
here, a very weak man.
LAM. If you be weak in body, you should be strong in
prayer, sir.
DAM. O, I have prayed too much, poor man!
LAM. There’s a taste of his soul for you!
SPI. Faugh, loathsome!
LAM. I come to borrow a hundred pound of you, sir.
DAM. Alas, you come at an ill time! I cannot spare it,
i’faith; I ha’ but two thousand i’ th’ house.
AUD. Ha, ha, ha!
DAM. Out, you gernative quean, the mullipood of villany,
the spinner of concupiscency!
_Enter_ SIR LAUNCELOT, _and others_.
SIR L. Yea, gentlemen, are you here before us? how is
he now?
LAM. Faith, the same man still: the tavern bitch has bit
him i’ th’ head.[143]
SIR L. We shall have the better sport with him: peace.—
And how cheers master Dampit now?
DAM. O, my bosom Sir Launcelot, how cheer I! thy
presence is restorative.
SIR L. But I hear a great complaint of you, master
Dampit, among gallants.
DAM. I am glad of that, i’faith: prithee, what?
SIR L. They say you are waxed proud a’ late, and if a
friend visit you in the afternoon, you’ll scarce know
him.
DAM. Fie, fie; proud? I cannot remember any such thing:
sure I was drunk then.
SIR L. Think you so, sir?
DAM. There ’twas, i’faith; nothing but the pride of the
sack; and so certify ’em.—Fetch sack, sirrah.
BOY. A vengeance sack you once!
[_Exit, and returns presently with sack._
AUD. Why, master Dampit, if you hold on as you begin,
and lie a little longer, you need not take care how to
dispose your wealth; you’ll make the vintner your heir.
DAM. Out, you babliaminy, you unfeathered, cremitoried
quean, you cullisance of scabiosity!
AUD. Good words, master Dampit, to speak before a maid
and a virgin!
DAM. Hang thy virginity upon the pole of carnality!
AUD. Sweet terms! my mistress shall know ’em.
LAM. Note but the misery of this usuring slave: here he
lies, like a noisome dunghill, full of the poison of his
drunken blasphemies; and they to whom he bequeaths all,
grudge him the very meat that feeds him, the very pillow
that eases him. Here may a usurer behold his end: what
profits it to be a slave in this world, and a devil i’
th’ next?
DAM. Sir Launcelot, let me buss thee, Sir Launcelot;
thou art the only friend that I honour and respect.
SIR L. I thank you for that, master Dampit.
DAM. Farewell, my bosom Sir Launcelot.
SIR L. Gentlemen, and[144] you love me, let me step
behind you, and one of you fall a-talking of me to him.
LAM. Content.—Master Dampit——
DAM. So, sir.
LAM. Here came Sir Launcelot to see you e’en now.
DAM. Hang him, rascal!
LAM. Who? Sir Launcelot?
DAM. Pythagorical rascal!
LAM. Pythagorical?
DAM. Ay, he changes[145] his cloak when he meets a
sergeant.
SIR L. What a rogue’s this!
LAM. I wonder you can rail at him, sir; he comes in love
to see you.
DAM. A louse for his love! his father was a comb-maker;
I have no need of his crawling love: he comes to have
longer day,[146] the superlative rascal!
SIR L. ’Sfoot, I can no longer endure the rogue!—Master
Dampit, I come to take my leave once again, sir.
DAM. Who? my dear and kind Sir Launcelot, the only
gentleman of England? let me hug thee: farewell, and a
thousand.[147]
LAM. Compos’d of wrongs and slavish flatteries!
SIR L. Nay, gentlemen, he shall shew you more tricks
yet; I’ll give you another taste of him.
LAM. Is’t possible?
SIR L. His memory is upon departing.
DAM. Another cup of sack!
SIR L. Mass, then ’twill be quite gone! Before he drink
that, tell him there’s a country client come up, and
here attends for his learned advice.
LAM. Enough.
DAM. One cup more, and then let the bell toll: I hope I
shall be weak enough by that time.
LAM. Master Dampit——
DAM. Is the sack spouting?
LAM. ’Tis coming forward, sir. Here’s a country man, a
client of yours, waits for your deep and profound
advice, sir.
DAM. A coxcombry, where is he? let him approach: set me
up a peg higher.
LAM. [_to_ SIR LAUN.] You must draw near, sir.
DAM. Now, good man fooliaminy, what say you to me now?
SIR L. Please your good worship, I am a poor man, sir——
DAM. What make you in my chamber then?
SIR L. I would entreat your worship’s device[148] in a
just and honest cause, sir.
DAM. I meddle with no such matters; I refer ’em to
master No-man’s office.
SIR L. I had but one house left me in all the world,
sir, which was my father’s, my grandfather’s, my
great-grandfather’s, and now a villain has unjustly
wrung me out, and took possession on’t.
DAM. Has he such feats? Thy best course is to bring thy
_ejectione firmæ_ , and in seven year thou mayst shove
him out by the law.
SIR L. Alas, an’t please your worship, I have small
friends and less money!
DAM. Hoyday! this geer will fadge well:[149] hast no
money? why, then, my advice is, thou must set fire a’
th’ house, and so get him out.
LAM. That will break strife, indeed.
SIR L. I thank your worship for your hot counsel,
sir.—Altering but my voice a little, you see he knew
me not: you may observe by this, that a drunkard’s
memory holds longer in the voice than in the person.
But, gentlemen, shall I shew you a sight? Behold the
little dive-dapper[150] of damnation, Gulf the usurer,
for his time worse than t’other.
LAM. What’s he comes with him?
SIR L. Why Hoard, that married lately the widow Medler.
LAM. O, I cry you mercy, sir.
_Enter_ HOARD _and_ GULF.
HOA. Now, gentlemen visitants, how does master Dampit?
SIR L. Faith, here he lies, e’en drawing in, sir, good
canary as fast as he can, sir; a very weak creature
truly, he is almost past memory.
HOA. Fie, master Dampit! you lie lazing a-bed here, and
I come to invite you to my wedding-dinner: up, up, up!
DAM. Who’s this? master Hoard? who hast thou married, in
the name of foolery?
HOA. A rich widow.
DAM. A Dutch widow?[151]
HOA. A rich widow; one widow Medler.
DAM. Medler? she keeps open house.
HOA. She did, I can tell you, in her t’other husband’s
days; open house for all comers; horse and man was
welcome, and room enough for ’em all.
DAM. There’s too much for thee then; thou mayst let out
some to thy neighbours.
GULF. What, hung alive in chains? O spectacle!
bed-staffs of steel? _O monstrum horrendum, informe,
ingens, cui lumen ademptum!_ [152] O Dampit, Dampit,
here’s a just judgment shewn upon usury, extortion, and
trampling[153] villany!
SIR L. This [is] excellent, thief rails upon the thief!
GULF. Is this the end of cut-throat usury, brothel, and
blasphemy? now mayst thou see what race a usurer runs.
DAM. Why, thou rogue of universality, do not I know
thee? thy sound is like the cuckoo, the Welch
ambassador:[154] thou cowardly slave, that offers to
fight with a sick man when his weapon’s down! rail upon
me in my naked bed? why, thou great Lucifer’s little
vicar! I am not so weak but I know a knave at first
sight: thou inconscionable rascal! thou that goest upon
Middlesex juries, and wilt make haste to give up thy
verdict[155] because thou wilt not lose thy dinner! Are
you answered?
GULF. An’t were not for shame—— [_Draws his dagger._
DAM. Thou wouldst be hanged then.
LAM. Nay, you must exercise patience, master Gulf,
always in a sick man’s chamber.
SIR L. He’ll quarrel with none, I warrant you, but those
that are bed-rid.
DAM. Let him come, gentlemen, I am armed: reach my
close-stool hither.
SIR L. Here will be a sweet fray anon; I’ll leave you,
gentlemen.
LAM. Nay, we’ll along with you.—Master Gulf——
GULF. Hang him, usuring rascal!
SIR L. Push,[156] set your strength to his, your wit to
his!
AUD. Pray, gentlemen, depart; his hour’s come upon him.—
Sleep in my bosom, sleep.
SIR L. Nay, we have enough of him, i’faith; keep him
for the house.
Now make your best:[157]
For thrice his wealth I would not have his breast.
GULF. A little thing would make me beat him now he’s
asleep.
SIR L. Mass, then ’twill be a pitiful day when he wakes!
I would be loath to see that day: come.
GULF. You overrule me, gentlemen, i’faith. [_Exeunt._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ LUCRE’S _House_.
_Enter_ LUCRE _and_ WITGOOD.
WIT. Nay, uncle, let me prevail with you so much;
I’faith, go, now he has invited you.
LUC. I shall have great joy there when he has borne away
the widow!
WIT. Why, la, I thought where I should find you
presently: uncle, a’ my troth, ’tis nothing so.
LUC. What’s nothing so, sir? is not he married to the
widow?
WIT. No, by my troth, is he not, uncle.
LUC. How?
WIT. Will you have the truth on’t? he is married to a
whore, i’faith.
LUC. I should laugh at that.
WIT. Uncle, let me perish in your favour if you find it
not so; and that ’tis I that have married the honest
woman.
LUC. Ha! I’d walk ten mile a’ foot to see that, i’faith.
WIT. And see’t you shall, or I’ll ne’er see you again.
LUC. A quean, i’faith? ha, ha, ha! [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Room in_ HOARD’S _House_.
_Enter_ HOARD _tasting wine, Host following in a livery
cloak_.
HOA. Pup, pup, pup, pup, I like not this wine: is there
never a better tierce in the house?
HOST. Yes, sir, there are as good tierce[s] in the house
as any are in England.
HOA. Desire your mistress, you knave, to taste ’em all
over; she has better skill.
HOST. Has she so? the better for her, and the worse for
you. [_Aside, and exit._
HOA. Arthur!
_Enter_ ARTHUR.
Is the cupboard of plate set out?[158]
ARTH. All’s in order, sir. [_Exit._
HOA. I am in love with my liveries every time I think on
’em; they make a gallant shew, by my troth. Niece!
_Enter_ JOYCE.
JOYCE. Do you call, sir?
HOA. Prithee, shew a little diligence, and overlook the
knaves a little; they’ll filch and steal today, and send
whole pasties home to their wives: and[159] thou be’st a
good niece, do not see me purloined.
JOYCE. Fear it not, sir—I have cause: though the
feast be prepared for you, yet it serves fit for my
wedding-dinner too.[160] [_Aside, and exit._
_Enter_ LAMPREY _and_ SPICHCOCK.
HOA. Master Lamprey and master Spichcock, two the most
welcome gentlemen alive! your fathers and mine were all
free a’ th’ fishmongers.
LAM. They were indeed, sir. You see bold guests, sir;
soon entreated.
HOA. And that’s best, sir.
_Enter Servant._
How now, sirrah?
SER. There’s a coach come to th’ door, sir. [_Exit._
HOA. My Lady Foxtone, a’ my life!—Mistress Jane Hoard!
wife!—Mass, ’tis her ladyship indeed!
_Enter_ LADY FOXTONE.
Madam, you are welcome to an unfurnished house, dearth
of cheer, scarcity of attendance.
L. FOX. You are pleased to make the worst, sir.
HOA. Wife!
_Enter Courtesan._
L. FOX. Is this your bride?
HOA. Yes, madam.—Salute my Lady Foxtone.
COURT. Please you, madam, awhile to taste the air in the
garden?
L. FOX. ’Twill please us well.
[_Exeunt_ L. FOXTONE _and Courtesan_.
HOA. Who would not wed? the most delicious life!
No joys are like the comforts of a wife.
LAM. So we bachelors think, that are not troubled with
them.
_Re-enter Servant._
SER. Your worship’s brother, with other ancient
gentlemen,[161] are newly alighted, sir. [_Exit._
HOA. Master Onesiphorus Hoard? why, now our company
begins to come in.
_Enter_ ONESIPHORUS HOARD, LIMBER, _and_ KIX.
My dear and kind brother, welcome, i’faith.
ONES. H. You see we are men at an hour, brother.
HOA. Ay, I’ll say that for you, brother; you keep as
good an hour to come to a feast as any gentleman in the
shire.—What, old master Limber and master Kix! do we
meet, i’faith, jolly gentlemen?
LIM. We hope you lack guess,[162] sir?
HOA. O, welcome, welcome! we lack still such guess as
your worships.
ONES. H. Ah, sirrah brother, have you catched up widow
Medler?
HOA. From ’em all, brother; and I may tell you I had
mighty enemies, those that stuck sore; old Lucre is a
sore fox, I can tell you, brother.
ONES. H. Where is she? I’ll go seek her out: I long to
have a smack at her lips.
HOA. And most wishfully, brother, see where she comes.
_Re-enter Courtesan and_ LADY FOXTONE.
Give her a smack[163] now we may hear it all the house
over. [_Courtesan and_ ONES. H. _start and turn away_.
COURT. O heaven, I am betray’d! I know that face.
HOA. Ha, ha, ha! why, how now? are you both ashamed?—
Come, gentlemen, we’ll look another way.
ONES. H. Nay, brother, hark you: come, you’re disposed
to be merry.
HOA. Why do we meet else, man?
ONES. H. That’s another matter: I was ne’er so ’fraid in
my life but that you had been in earnest.
HOA. How mean you, brother?
ONES. H. You said she was your wife.
HOA. Did I so? by my troth, and so she is.
ONES. H. By your troth, brother?
HOA. What reason have I to dissemble with my friends,
brother? if marriage can make her mine, she is mine.
Why—— [ONESIPHORUS HOARD _is about to retire_. ONES.
H. Troth, I am not well of a sudden: I must crave
pardon, brother; I came to see you, but I cannot stay
dinner, i’faith.
HOA. I hope you will not serve me so, brother?
LIM. By your leave, master Hoard——
HOA. What now? what now? pray, gentlemen:—you were wont
to shew yourselves wise men.
LIM. But you have shewn your folly too much here.
HOA. How?
KIX. Fie, fie! a man of your repute and name!
You’ll feast your friends, but cloy ’em first with
shame.
HOA. This grows too deep; pray, let us reach the
sense.
LIM. In your old age doat on a courtesan!
HOA. Ha!
KIX. Marry a strumpet!
HOA. Gentlemen!
ONES. H. And Witgood’s quean!
HOA. O! nor lands nor living?
ONES. H. Living!
HOA. [_to Courtesan_] Speak.
COURT. Alas, you know, at first, sir,
I told you I had nothing!
HOA. Out, out! I am cheated; infinitely cozen’d!
LIM. Nay, master Hoard——
_Enter_ LUCRE, WITGOOD, _and_ JOYCE.
HOA. A Dutch widow![164] a Dutch widow! a Dutch widow!
LUC. Why, nephew, shall I trace thee still a liar?
Wilt make me mad? is not yon thing the widow?
WIT. Why, la, you are so hard a’ belief, uncle! by my
troth, she’s a whore.
LUC. Then thou’rt a knave.
WIT. _Negatur argumentum_, uncle.
LUC. _Probo tibi_, nephew: he that knows a woman to be a
quean must needs be a knave; thou sayst thou knowest her
to be one; _ergo_ , if she be a quean, thou’rt a knave.
WIT. _Negatur sequela majoris_, uncle; he that knows a
woman to be a quean must needs be a knave; I deny that.
HOA. Lucre and Witgood, you’re both villains; get you
out of my house!
LUC. Why, didst not invite me to thy wedding-dinner?
WIT. And are not you and I sworn perpetual friends
before witness, sir, and were both drunk upon’t?
HOA. Daintily abus’d! you’ve put a junt[165] upon me!
LUC. Ha, ha, ha!
HOA. A common strumpet!
WIT. Nay, now
You wrong her, sir; if I were she, I’d have
The law on you for that; I durst depose for her
She ne’er had common use nor common thought.
COURT. Despise me, publish me, I am your wife;
What shame can I have now but you’ll have part?
If in disgrace you share, I sought not you;
You pursu’d, nay,[166] forc’d me; had I friends would
follow it,
Less than your action has been prov’d a rape.
ONES. H. Brother!
COURT. Nor did I ever boast of lands unto you,
Money, or goods; I took a plainer course,
And told you true, I’d nothing:
If error were committed, ’twas by you;
Thank your own folly: nor has my sin been
So odious, but worse has been forgiven;
Nor am I so deform’d, but I may challenge
The utmost power of any old man’s love.
She that tastes not sin before [twenty], twenty to one
but she’ll taste it after: most of you old men are
content to marry young virgins, and take that which
follows; where,[167] marrying one of us, you both save a
sinner and are quit from a cuckold for ever:
And more, in brief, let this your best thoughts win,
She that knows sin, knows best how to hate sin.
HOA. Curs’d be all malice! black are the fruits of
spite,
And poison first their owners. O, my friends,
I must embrace shame, to be rid of shame!
Conceal’d disgrace prevents a public name.
Ah, Witgood! ah, Theodorus!
WIT. Alas, sir, I was pricked in conscience to see her
well bestowed, and where could I bestow her better than
upon your pitiful worship? Excepting but myself, I dare
swear she’s a virgin; and now, by marrying your niece, I
have banished myself for ever from her: she’s mine aunt
now, by my faith, and there’s no meddling with mine
aunt, you know: a sin against my nuncle.[168]
COURT. Lo, gentlemen, before you all [_Kneels._
In true reclaimed form I fall.
Henceforth for ever I defy[169]
The glances of a sinful eye,[170]
Waving of fans (which some suppose
Tricks of fancy),[171] treading of toes,
Wringing of fingers, biting the lip,
The wanton gait, th’ alluring trip;
All secret friends and private meetings,
Close-borne letters and bawds’ greetings;
Feigning excuse to women’s labours
When we are sent for to th’ next neighbour’s;
Taking false physic, and ne’er start
To be let blood though sign[172] be at heart;
Removing chambers, shifting beds,
To welcome friends in husbands’ steads,
Them to enjoy, and you to marry,
They first serv’d, while you must tarry,
They to spend, and you to gather,
They to get, and you to father:
These, and thousand, thousand more,
New reclaim’d, I now abhor.
LUC. [_to_ WITGOOD] Ah, here’s a lesson, rioter, for
you!
WIT. I must confess my follies; I’ll down too:
[_Kneels._
And here for ever I disclaim
The cause of youth’s undoing, game,
Chiefly dice, those true outlanders,
That shake out beggars, thieves, and panders;
Soul-wasting surfeits, sinful riots,
Queans’ evils, doctors’ diets,
’Pothecaries’ drugs, surgeons’ glisters;
Stabbing of arms[173] for a common mistress;
Riband favours, ribald speeches;
Dear perfum’d jackets, pennyless breeches;
Dutch flapdragons, healths in urine;
Drabs that keep a man too sure in:
I do defy[174] you all.
Lend me each honest hand, for here I rise
A reclaim’d man, loathing the general vice.
HOA. So, so, all friends! the wedding-dinner cools:
Who seem most crafty prove ofttimes most fools.
[_Exeunt omnes._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FAMILY OF LOVE.
_The Familie of Love. Acted by the Children
of his Maiesties Reuells._
_Lectori._
_Sydera iungamus, facito mihi Iuppiter
adsit,
Et tibi Mercurius noster dabit omnia faxo._
_At London Printed for John Helmes, and are
to be sold in Saint Dunstans Churchyard in
Fleetstreet._ 1608. 4to.
Though there is undoubtedly but one
edition of this drama, yet the copies
differ slightly in several places;
alterations having been introduced after
part of the impression had been worked
off: a circumstance which will surprise
those persons only who have not been
accustomed to collate the 4tos of old
English plays.
_The Family of Love_ was licensed by Sir
George Bucke, 12th Oct. 1607: see Chalmers’s
_Suppl. Apol._ p. 201.
Concerning the sect which gives the title
to the play, the following notices will be
perhaps more than sufficient.
In Brandt’s _Hist. of the Reform. &c. in the
Low Countries_, we are told, under the year
1555: “That Family was suspected of being
more addicted to carnal than to spiritual
love. Henry Nicholas, a Westphalian, born at
Munster, but who had lived a great while at
Amsterdam, and some time likewise at Embden,
was father of this Family. He appeared upon
the stage about the year 1540, stiled
himself the _deified man_, boasted of great
matters, and seemed to exalt himself above
the condition of a human creature. He was,
as he pretended, greater than Moses and
Christ, because Moses had taught mankind to
_hope_, Christ to _believe_, but he to
_love_; which last being of more worth than
both the former, he was consequently greater
than both those prophets.” vol. i. p. 105,
ed. 1720.
According to some writers, however, the sect
was not founded by Henry Nicholas, but by
David George, an anabaptist of Delft; and
indeed there seems reason to believe that
the Family of Love grew out of the heresies
of George, with whom Nicholas had been on
intimate terms.
“As to his [Nicholas’s] pretensions,”
observes Mosheim, “they were indeed
visionary and chimerical; for he maintained
that he had a commission from heaven to
teach men that the essence of religion
consisted in the feelings of _divine love_;
that all other theological tenets, whether
they related to objects of faith or modes of
worship, were of no sort of moment; and
consequently that it was a matter of the
most perfect indifference what opinions
Christians entertained concerning the divine
nature, provided their hearts burned with
the pure and sacred flame of piety and love.
To this, his main doctrine, Nicholas may
have probably added other odd fancies, as
always is the case with those innovators who
are endued with a warm and fruitful
imagination: to come, however, at a true
notion of the opinions of this enthusiast,
it will be much easier to consult his own
writings than to depend entirely upon the
accounts and refutations of his
adversaries.” _Eccles. Hist._ (by MACLAINE),
vol. iv. p. 484.
“Not content,” says Fuller, “to confine
his errours to his own country, over he
[Nicholas] comes into England, and in the
later end of the reign of Edward the Sixth
joyned himself to the Dutch congregation
in London, where he seduced a number of
artificers and silly women,” &c. _Church
Hist._ b. ix. p. 112, ed. 1655.
“The twelfe of June [1575], stood at
Paules Crosse fiue persons Englishmen,
of the sect termed the Familie of Loue,
who there confessed themselues vtterlie
to detest as well the author of that
sect H. N. as all his damnable errors
and heresies.” HOLINSHED’S _Chron._ vol.
iv. p. 328, ed. 1808.
Towards the end of 1580, the sect was
increasing so rapidly in England, that the
government took active measures for its
suppression. “The queenes maiestie being
informed that in sundrie places of this
realme, certeine persons secretlie taught
damnable heresies, contrarie to diuers
principall articles of our beleefe and
christian faith, who to colour their sect
named themselues the Familie of Loue, and
then as manie as were allowed by them to be
of that familie to be elect and saued, and
all others, of what church soeuer they be,
to be reiected and damned. And for that vpon
conuenting of some of them before the
bishops and ordinaries, it was found that
the ground of their sect is mainteined by
certeine lewd, hereticall, and seditious
books, first made in the Dutch toong, and
lastlie translated into English, and printed
beyond the seas, and secretlie brought ouer
into the realme, the author whereof they
name H. N. &c. And considering also it is
found, that those sectaries held opinion,
that they may before anie magistrat or
ecclesiasticall or temporall, or anie other
person, noi being professed to be of their
sect, by oth or otherwise denie anie thing
for their aduantage: so as though manie of
them are well knowne to be teachers and
spreaders abroad of these dangerous and
damnable sects; yet by their owne confession
they cannot be condemned. Therefore hir
maiestie being verie sorie to see so great
an euill, by malice of the diuell to be
brought into this hir realme, and by hir
bishops and ordinaries she vnderstandeth it
verie requisit, not onelie to haue those
dangerous heretiks and sectaries to be
seueralie punished; but that also other
meanes be vsed by hir maiesties roiall
authoritie, which is giuen hir of God to
defend Christs church, to root them out from
further infecting of hir realme: she hath
thought meet and conuenient, and so by hir
proclamation commandeth, that all hir
officers and ministers temporall shall in
all their seuerall vocations assist the
bishops of hir realme, and all other person,
to search out all persons dulie suspected to
be either teachers or professors of the
foresaid damnable sects, and by all good
meanes to proceed seuerelie against them,
being found culpable, by order of the lawes
ecclesiasticall or temporall: and that all
search be made in all places suspected, for
the books and writings mainteining the said
heresies and sects, and them to destroie and
burne, &c: as more at large may appeere by
the said proclamation, giuen at Richmond the
third of October, and proclamed at London on
the nineteenth daie of the same moneth
[1580].” HOLINSHED’S _Chron._ vol. iv. p.
432, ed. 1808. See also CAMDENI _Annales_,
p. 318, ed. 1639.
A list of Nicholas’s numerous writings may
be found in Lowndes’s _Bibliographer’s
Manual_. One of them is in verse: _An
Enterlude of Myndes: witnessing the Mans
Fall from God and Christ. Set forth by H. N.
and by him newly perused and amended.
Translated out of Base-Almayne into
English._ n. d.: see an account of, and
extracts from it, in Sir E. Brydges’s
_Restituta_, vol. iv. p. 140, sqq. Nicholas
is mentioned in the last scene of _The
Alchemist_,—B. JONSON’S _Works_, vol. iv. p.
187, ed. Giff.
“The Family of Love (or Lust rather),” says
Fuller, “at this time [1604] presented a
tedious Petition to King James, so that it
is questionable whether his majesty ever
graced it with his perusall, wherein they
endeavoured to cleare themselves from some
misrepresentations, and by fawning
expression to insinuate themselves into his
majesty’s good opinion.” _Church Hist._ b.
x. p. 29, ed. 1655. Having given the
document in question, which is too long for
insertion here, Fuller proceeds: “I finde
not what effect this their Petition
produced; whether it was slighted, and the
Petitioners looked upon as inconsiderable,
or beheld as a few frantick folk out of
their wits, which consideration alone often
melted their adversaries anger into pity
unto them. The main design driven on in the
Petition is to separate themselves from the
Puritans (as persons odious to King James),
that they might not fare the worse for their
vicinity unto them; though these Familists
could not be so desirous to leave them as
the others were glad to be left by them. For
if their opinions were so senselesse, and
the lives of these Familists so sensuall as
is reported, no _purity_ at all belonged
unto them.” p. 32. From the Petition just
mentioned, we find that “divers” of the
Familists had been lately thrown into
prison.
The sect was attacked, at different times,
by various writers: among others by John
Rogers, in _The Displaying of an horrible
Secte of grosse & wicked Heretiques, naming
themselues the Family of Loue, with the
liues of their Authours, & what doctrine
they teach in corners. Newly set foorth by
J. R. &c._ London, 1579. 12mo.
In _The Lady of Pleasure_, act i. sc. 1,
Shirley has the following passage:
“Another game you have, which consumes more
Your fame than purse: your revels in the
night,
Your meetings call’d THE BALL, to which
repair,
As to the court of pleasure, all your
gallants,
And ladies, thither bound by a subpœna
Of Venus, and small Cupid’s high
displeasure;
’Tis but the Family of Love translated
Into more costly sin! There was a PLAY on’t,
And had the poet not been brib’d to a modest
Expression of your antic gambols in’t,
Some darks had been discover’d, and the
deeds too:
In time he may repent, and make some blush,
To see the second part danc’d on the stage."
SHIRLEY’S _Works_, vol. iv. p.
9.
I have quoted the lines only for the sake of
correcting a mistake of the last editor of
Beaumont and Fletcher. In a note on _The
Widow_, Weber remarks, that Middleton “wrote
a play entitled _The Family of Love_, but it
seems that he was reprehended for not
displaying these sectaries in their true
colours. Thus Shirley in _The Lady of
Pleasure_:
"’Tis but the Family of Love translated
Into more costly sin! There was a Play
on’t,” &c.
B. _and_ F.’s _Works_, vol. xiv. p.
145.
What stupidity! not to perceive that the
“Play on’t” was the drama called _The Ball_,
written by Shirley and Chapman!
TO THE READER.
-------
Too soon and too late this work is
published: too soon, in that it was in the
press before I had notice of it, by which
means some faults may escape in the
printing; too late, for that it was not
published when the general voice of the
people had sealed it for good, and the
newness of it made it much more desired than
at this time; for plays in this city are
like wenches new fallen to the trade, only
desired of your neatest gallants whiles
they’re fresh; when they grow stale they
must be vented by termers[175] and country
chapmen. I know not how this labour will
please: sure I am it passed the censure of
the stage with a general applause. Now,
whether _vox populi_ be _vox Dei_ or no,
that I leave to be tried by the acute
judgment of the famous six wits of the
city.—FAREWELL.
PROLOGUE.[176]
If, for opinion hath not blaz’d his fame,
Nor expectation fill’d the general round,
You deem his labours slight, you both
confound
Your graver judgment and his merits:
Impartial hearing fits judicious spirits.
Nor let the fruit of many an hour fall
By envy’s tooth or base detraction’s gall:
Both which are tokens of such abject
spirits,
Which, wanting worth themselves, hate
other[s’] merits;
Or else of such, which once made great by
fame,
Repine at those which seek t’ attain the
same.
From both we know all truer judgments free:
To them our Muse, with blushing modesty,
Patiently to her entreats their favour;
Which done, with judgment praise, or else
dislike the labour.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[177]
GLISTER, _a doctor of physic_.
PURGE, _a jealous apothecary_.
DRYFAT, _a merchant, a brother of the Family_.
GERARDINE, _a lover_ [_of_ MARIA].
LIPSALVE, } _two gallants that only_
GUDGEON, } _pursue city lechery_.
CLUB, _an apprentice_ [_to_ PURGE].
VIAL, _a servant to_ GLISTER.
SHRIMP _and_ }
PERIWINKLE, } _pages to the gallants_.
[_Apprentice and Servants_].
MISTRESS GLISTER.
MISTRESS PURGE, _an elder in the Family_.
MARIA, _niece to_ GLISTER.
THE FAMILY OF LOVE.
--------------
ACT I. SCENE I.
_A Gallery in_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ GLISTER, MISTRESS GLISTER, _and_ MARIA.
GLI. Tricks and shows! Protestations with men are like
tears with women, forgot ere the cheek be dry. Gerardine
is a gentleman; his lands be in statutes: ’a[178] is not
for thee, nor thou for him: ’a is a gallant, and young
thoughts be most unconstant.
MAR. Yet young vines yield most wine.
MIS. G. But old vines the best. Believe not these
great-breeched[179] gallants; they love for profit, not
for affection: if ’a brings thee to a fool’s paradise,
’a will forsake thee.
GLI. Which fortune God send my enemy! Love is a cold
heat,[180] a bitter sweet, a pleasure full of pain, a
huge loss, and no gain. Why shouldest thou love him
only?
MAR. Words cannot force what destiny hath seal’d.
Who can resist the influence of his stars,
Or give a reason why ’a loves or hates,
Since our affections are not rul’d by will,
But will by our affections?[181] ’Tis blasphemy
’Gainst love’s most sacred deity, to ask[182]
Why we do love, since ’tis his only power
That sways all our affections: all things which be,
Beasts, birds, men, gods, pay him their fealty.
GLI. Tut, love is an idle fantasy, bred by desire,
nursed by delight, an humour that begins his dominion in
Leo the lion, the sign of the heart; and ends in Aries
the ram, the sign of the head: his power is to stir the
blood,—pricks up the flesh, fills all the body with a
libidinous humour, and is indeed the overture[183] of
all ladies: which to prevent, I have banished Gerardine,
your dearly beloved, my house; and as for you, since I
am your guardian by my brother’s last will, I will
sequester you from all other rooms in my house save this
gallery and your upper chamber, till, in discretion, I
shall find it convenient to enlarge you.
MAR. My body you may circumscribe, confine,
And keep in bounds; but my unlimited love
Extends itself beyond all circumscription.
MIS. G. Believe me, Maria, I have known the natures of
divers of these gallants. If they possess the unlimited
love of us women in never so ample manner, without the
society of the body, I know how soon their love
vadeth:[184] young men’s love is like ivy; it must have
somewhat to cleave to, or it never prospers. Love is
like fasting-days, but the body is like flesh-days; and
’tis our English gallants’ fashion to prefer a morsel of
flesh before all the fasting-days in the whole year.
_Enter_ VIAL.
GLI. The news with you, Vial?
VIAL. And it like[185] your worship, here’s Club, master
Purge the ’pothecary’s ’prentice, come to invite you, my
mistress, and mistress Maria, to supper, and to see
master Gerardine’s will sealed.
GLI. Tell Club my wife and myself will be there, but
Maria shall not come. [_Exit_ VIAL.]—There must be your
sweetheart’s parting feast. Now ’a perceives no access
to my house, ’a will to sea; a good riddance: if ’a
returns not, you, forsooth, are his heir; that’s not
much amiss. Yet there may be tricks: I will not be
overreached. Come, to your chamber; where, till my
return, you shall be in safe custody.
[_Exit with_ MISTRESS GLISTER.
MAR. O silly men, which seek to keep in awe
Women’s affections, which can know no law!
[MARIA _ascends_.[186]
SCENE II.
_A Street: before_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ GERARDINE, LIPSALVE, _and_ GUDGEON.
LIP. Now, by the horns of Cupid’s bow, which hath been
the bane to many a tall[187] citizen, I think there be
no finer fools under heaven than we men when we are
lovers. How thou goest crying up and down, with thy arms
across, for a wife! which hadst thou, she’d cross both
arms, head, and heart. Dost not yet know the old
saying,—a wife brings but two good days, that is her
wedding-day, and death-day?
GUD. Believe him, Gerardine, ’a speaks now gospel: a man
may take more wife with one hand than he’s able to put
away with ten, Gerardine. A wife is such a cross, that
all married men would most gladly be rid of.
GER. And yet such a cross,[188] that all bachelors
would gladly be creeping to.
Profane not thus the sacred name of love,
You libertines, who never knew the joys
Nor precious thoughts of two consenting hearts!
LIP. Didst ever see the true picture of a lover? I can
give thee the hieroglyphic; and this it is: a man
standing naked, a wench tickling him on the left side
with a feather, and pricking him under the right side
with a needle. The allegory, as I take, is this: that at
the first we are so overjoyed with obtaining a wife,
that we conceit no heaven like to the first night’s
lodging; and that’s the signification of the left side,
for wives always in the night take the left-side place:
but, sir, now come to the needle on the right side,—
that’s the daytime, wherein she commands; then, sir, she
has a certain thing called tongue, ten times more sharp
than a needle, and that, at the least displeasure, a man
must have shot quite through him.
GUD. Gramercies, Lipsalve, my neat courtier!—But, sirrah
Gerardine, be thyself, sociable and free: leave not thy
native soil for a giglot,[189] a wench who in her wit is
proud——
LIP. In her smile deceitful——
GUD. In her hate revengeable——
LIP. And in nothing but her death acceptable. I’ll tell
thee, there’s no creature more desirous of an honest
name, and worse keeps it, than a woman. Dost hear?
follow this song; and if ever thou forsake thy country
for a wagtail, let me be whipt to death with ladies’
hairlaces.
GER. Let’s hear that worthy song, gentle master
Lipsalve.
LIP. Observe:
[_Sings_] _Now, if I list, will I love no more,
Nor longer wait upon a gill,_[190]
_Since every place now yields a wench;
If one will not, another will:
And, if what I have heard be true,
Then young and old and all will do._
How dost thou like this, man?
GER. No more, no more.
This is the chamber which confines my love,
This is the abstract of the spacious world:
Within it holds a gem so rich, so rare,
That art or nature never yet could set
A valued price[191] to her unvalued[192] worth.
LIP. Unvalued worth?[193] ha, ha, ha! Why, she’s but
A woman; and they are windy turning vanes;
Love light as chaff, which when our nourishing grains
Are winnow’d from them, unconstantly they fly
At the least wind of passion: a woman’s eye
Can turn itself with quick dexterity,
And in each wanton glass can comprehend
Their sundry fancy suited to each friend.[194]
Tut, their loves are all compact of levity,
Even like themselves: _nil muliere levius_ .
GUD. Tut, man, every one knows their worth when they are
at a rack-rent: in the term-time they bear as great a
price as wheat when transportations are.
[MARIA _appears above at a window_.
GER. Peace: let’s draw near the window, and listen if we
may hear her.
MAR. Debarr’d of liberty! O, that this flesh
Could, like swift-moving thoughts, transfer itself
From place to place, unseen and undissolv’d!
Then should no iron ribs or churlish flint
Divide my love and me: dear Gerardine,
Despite of chance or guardian’s tyranny,
I’d move within thy orb and thou in mine!
LIP. She’d move within thy orb and thou in hers? blood,
she talk[s] bawdy to herself.—Gudgeon, stand close.
MAR. But, [ah], in vain do I proclaim my grief,
When air and walls can yield me no relief!
GUD. The walls are the more stony-hearted then.
LIP. Peace, good Gudgeon, gape not so loud.
MAR. Come thou, my best companion! thou art sensible,
And canst my wrongs reiterate: thou and I
Will make some mirth in spite of tyranny.
The black-brow’d Night, drawn in her pitchy[195] wain,
In starry-spangled pride rides now o’er heaven:
Now is the time when stealing minutes tell
The stole delight joy’d by all faithful lovers:
Now loving souls contrive both place and means
For wished pastimes: only I am pent
Within the closure of this fatal wall,
Depriv’d of all my joys.
GER. My dear Maria, be comforted in this:
The frame of heaven shall sooner cease to move,
Bright Phœbus’ steeds leave their diurnal race,
And all that is forsake their natural being,
Ere I forget thy love.
MAR. Who’s that protests so fast?
GER. Thy ever-vowed servant, Gerardine.
MAR. O, by your vows, it seems you’d fain get up.
LIP. Ay, and ride too. [_Aside._
GER. I would, most lov’d Maria.
MAR. I knew it: he that, to get up to a fair woman, will
stick to vow and swear, may be accounted no man. But
tell me,
Why hast thou chose this hour to visit me,
Which nor the day nor night can claim, but both
Or neither? why in this twilight cam’st thou?
GER. T’ avoid suspicious eyes: I come, dear love,
To take my last farewell; fitting this hour,
Which nor bright day will claim nor pitchy night,
An hour fit to part conjoined souls.
Since that my native soil will not afford
My wish’d and best content, I will forsake it,
And prove more strange to it than it to me.
In time’s swift course all things shall find event,
Be it good or ill; and destinies do grant
That most preposterous courses often gain
What labour and direct proceedings miss.
MAR. Wo’t[196] thou forsake me then?
GER. Let first blest life forsake me! Be [thou]
constant:
My absence may procure thy more enlarge,
And then——
MAR. Desire’s conceit is quick; I apprehend thee:
Be thou as loyal as I constant prove,
And time shall knit our mutual knot of love.
Wear this, my love’s true pledge. [_Throws it down._]
I need not wish,
I know thou wo’t return, n[or] will I say
Thou may’st conceal thyself, being return’d,
Till I may make escape, and visit thee.
I prithee, love, attempt not to ascend
My chamber-window by a ladder’d rope:
Th’ entrance is too narrow, except this post,
Which may with ease,—yet that is dangerous:
I prithee, do it not. I hear some call:
Farewell![197]
My constant love let after-actions tell. [_Exit
above._
GER. O perfection of women!
LIP. A plague[198] of such perfection!
GER. How she wooes! by negatives shews——
GUD. Thee what to do, under colour of dissuasion.[199]
GER. She’s truly virtuous!
LIP. Tut, man, outward apparance[200] is no authentic
instance[201] of the inward desires: women have sharp
falcon’s eyes, and can soar aloft; but keep them, like
falcons, from flesh, and they soon stoop to a gaudy
lure.
GER. Why, then, Huguenot women are admirable angels.
GUD. But angels[202] make them admirable devils.
GER. My love’s chaste smile to all the world doth
speak
Her spotless innocence.
LIP. Women’s smiles are more of custom than of courtesy:
women are creatures; their hearts and they are full of
holes, apt to receive, but not retain affection. Thou
wilt to-morrow, thou sayest, begone: if thou wilt know
the worst of a country,[203] marry before thou goest;
for if thou canst endure a curst wife, never care what
company thou comest in.
GER. Come, merry gallants, will you associate me to my
cousin Purge’s the ’pothecary’s, and take part of my
parting feast[204] to-night?
GUD. O, his wife is of the Family of Love: I’ll thither;
perhaps I may prove of the fraternity in time: we’ll
thither, that’s flat. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_A Room in_ PURGE’S _House_.
_Enter_ MISTRESS PURGE.
MIS. P. What, Club, Club! Is Club within there?
_Enter_ CLUB.
CLUB. Mistress?
MIS. P. I pray, what said master doctor Glister? will ’a
come?
CLUB. ’A sent word ’a would, for ’a was but to carry a
diet to one of his patients—what call you her? she that
paints a day-times, and looks fair and fresh on the
outside, but in the night-time is filthier than the
inside of Bocardo,[205] and is indeed far more unsavoury
[to those] that know her, forsooth.
MIS. P. Went ’a to her?
CLUB. ’A had a receipt for the grincomes[206] in his
hand, and ’a said ’a would take that in his way.
MIS. P. ’Tis well: and what guest[s] besides him and his
wife will be here at supper?
CLUB. The first in my account is master Gerardine your
cousin, master doctor Glister and his wife, master
Dryfat the merchant, master Lipsalve the courtier,
master Gudgeon the gallant, and their pages,—these, I
take, will be your full number.
MIS. P. Then belike my room shall be stuffed with
courtiers and gallants to-night. Of all men I love not
these gallants; they’ll prate much, but do little: they
are people most uncertain; they use great words, but
little sense; great beards, but little wit; great
breeches,[207] but no money.
CLUB. That was the last thing they swore away.
MIS. P. Belike they cannot fetch it again with swearing,
for if they could, there’s not a page of theirs but
would be as rich as a monarch.
CLUB. There’s nothing, mistress, that is sworn out of
date that returns. Their first oath in times past was
_by the mass_; and that they have sworn quite away: then
came they to their faith, as, _by my faith, ’tis so_;
that in a short time was sworn away too, for no man
believes now more than ’a sees: then they swore _by
their honesties_; and that, mistress, you know, is sworn
quite away: after their honesty[208] was gone, then came
they to their gentility, and swore _as they were
gentlemen_; and their gentility they swore away so fast,
that they had almost sworn away all the ancient gentry
out of the land; which, indeed, are scarce missed, for
that yeomen and farmers’ sons, with the help of a few
Welchmen, have undertook to supply their places:
then[209] at the last they came to silver, and their
oath was _by the cross of this silver_; and swore so
fast upon that, that now they have scarce left them a
cross[210] for to swear by.
MIS. P. And what do they swear by, now their money is
gone?
CLUB. Why, by ( ),[211] and _God refuse them_.
MIS. P. And can they not as well say, men refuse them,
as God refuse them?
CLUB. No, mistress; for men, especially citizens
and rich men, have refused their[212] bonds and
protestations already.
_Enter_ PURGE.
MIS. P. ’Tis well: see how supper goes forward, and
that my shoes be very well blacked against I go to the
Family. [_Exit_ CLUB.]—Now, sweet chick, where hast thou
been? In troth, la, I am not well: I had thought to have
spent the morning at the Family, but now I am resolved
to take pills, and therefore, I pray thee, desire doctor
Glister that ’a would minister to me in the morning.
PUR. Thy will is known; and this for answer say,
’Tis fit that wise men should their wives obey.
And now, sweet duck, know I have been for my cousin
Gerardine’s will, and have it: ’a has given thee a
legacy, but the total is Maria’s.
_Enter_ GLISTER, MISTRESS GLISTER, _and_ DRYFAT.
Master doctor, your wife, and master Dryfat, are most
welcome: now, were my cousin Gerardine and master
Lipsalve here, our number were complete.
GLI. Is this frantic will done? will master Gerardine to
sea? Let me tell you, I am no whit sorry; let such as
will be headstrong bite on the bridle.
PUR. ’Tis here, master doctor; all his worth is Maria’s,
and locked in a trunk, which by to-morrow[’s] sun shall
be delivered to your custody.
DRY. Methinks ’twere a reasonable match to bestow your
niece on master Gerardine: ’a is a most hopeful
gentleman, and his revenue such, that having your
niece’s portion to clear it of all incumbrances, ’twill
maintain them both in a very worthy degree.
GLI. Tut, you are master Dryfat the merchant; your skill
is greater in cony-skins[213] and woolpacks than in
gentlemen. His lands be in statutes: you merchants were
wont to be merchant staplers; but now gentlemen have
gotten up the trade, for there is not one gentleman
amongst twenty but his land[s] be engaged in twenty
statutes staple.[214]
_Enter_ LIPSALVE, GERARDINE, _and_ GUDGEON.
LIP. [_singing_] _Let every man his humour have,
I do at none repine;
I never regard whose wench I kiss,
Nor who doth the like by mine:
Th’ indifferent mind’s I hold still best,
Whatever does befall;
For she that will do with me and thee
Will be a wench for all._
And how go the squares?[215]
PUR. Your stay, gentlemen, does wrong to a great many of
good stomachs: your suppers expect you.
GUD. And we our suppers.
GLI. And from what good exercise come you three?
GER. From a play, where we saw most excellent
Sampson[216] excel the whole world in gate-carrying.
DRY. Was it performed by the youths?[217]
LIP. By youths? Why, I tell thee we saw Sampson, and I
hope ’tis not for youths to play Sampson. Believe it, we
saw Sampson bear the town-gates on his neck from the
lower to the upper stage,[218] with that life and
admirable accord, that it shall never be equalled,
unless the whole new livery of porters set [to] their
shoulders.
MIS. P. Fie, fie, ’tis pity young gentlemen can bestow
their time no better: this playing is not lawful, for I
cannot find that either plays or players were allowed in
the prime church of Ephesus by the elders.
DRY. Aha, I think she tickled you there!
PUR. Cousin Gerardine, shall the will be read before
supper?
GER. Before supper, I beseech you.
LIP. Ay, ay, before supper,—for when these women’s
bellies be full, their tongues[219] will be soon at
rest. [_Aside._
DRY. Well, master doctor, pity the state of a poor
gentleman: it is in you to stay his journey, and make
him and yourself happy in his choice.
GLI. Hold you content.—Shall this will be read?
PUR. It shall.—Read you, good master Lipsalve.
LIP. Command silence then.
GUD. Silence!
LIP. [_reads_] _In the name of God, amen. Know all men
by these presents,[220] that I Gerardine, being strong
of body, and perfect in sense_——
DRY. That’s false; there’s no lover in his perfect
sense.
GUD. Peace, Dryfat.
LIP. [_reads_] _Do give and grant to Maria Glister,
daughter of John Glister, and niece to doctor Glister,
physician, all my leases, lands, chattels, goods, and
moveables whatsoever._ This is stark naught: you cannot
give away your moveables, for mistress doctor and
mistress Purge claim both shares in your moveables by
reason of their legacies.
DRY. That’s true, for their legacies must go out of your
moveables.
LIP. I[’ll] put it in—_all my moveables, these following
legacies being paid_.
GER. Do so, good master Lipsalve.
LIP. [_after writing_] ’Tis done.
MIS. P. I pray, read only the legacies, for supper
stays.
LIP. Well, the legacies: [_reads_] _First, I give to my
cousin, mistress Purge, a fair large standing_—what’s
this?—O, _cup,—a fair large standing cup, with a close
stool_.
DRY. ’Tis not so, ’tis not so.
LIP. I cry you mercy; _a close cover_ ’tis. [_Reads_]
_To mistress doctor I give a fair bodkin of gold, with
two orient pearls attending the same: all which are in
my trunk to be delivered to the keeping of Maria. In
witness, &c._—Is this your will?
GER. ’Tis.
LIP. To it with your hand and seal.
[GERARDINE _signs and seals the will_.
MIS. P. How is it, chick? I must have the standing cup,
and mistress Glister the bodkin?
PUR. Right, sweet duck.
GER. I pray, gentlemen, put to your hands.
DRY. Come, your fists, gentlemen, your fists.
GER. [_while the witnesses sign the will._] Mistress
Glister, I have found you always more flexible to
understand the estate of a poor gentleman than your
husband was willing: therefore I have thought it a point
of charity to reveal the wrongs you sustain[221] by your
husband’s looseness. Let me tell you in private that the
doctor cuckolds Purge oftener than he visits one of his
patients: what ’a spares from you ’a spends lavishly on
her. These ’pothecaries are a kind of panders: look to
it: if ’a keep Maria long close, it is for some
lascivious end of his own.
MIS. G. She is his niece.
GER. Tut, these doctors have tricks. Your niceness is
such that you can endure no polluted shoes[222] in your
house: take heed lest ’a make you a bawd before your
time; look to it.
LIP. Come, our hands are testimonies to thy follies.
Shall’s now to supper? We’ll have a health go round to
thy voyage.
GUD. Ay, and to all that forswear marriage, and can be
content with other men’s wives.
GER. Of which consort[223] you two are grounds;
one touches the bass, and the other tickles the
minikin.[224]
But to our cheer: come, gentles, let’s away;
The roast meat’s in consumption by our stay.
[_Exeunt._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ PURGE’S _House_.
_Enter_ PURGE.
PUR. The grey-eyed morning braves me to my face, and
calls me sluggard: ’tis time for tradesmen to be in
their shops; for he that tends well his shop, and hath
an alluring wife with a graceful _what d’ye lack_?[225]
shall be sure to have good doings, and good doings is
that that crowns so many citizens with the horns of
abundance. My wife, by ordinary course, should this
morning have been at the Family, but now her soft pillow
hath given her counsel to keep her bed: master doctor
should indeed minister to her; to whose pills she is so
much accustomed, that now her body looks for them as
duly as the moon shakes off the old and borrows new
horns. I smile to myself to hear our knights and
gallants say how they gull us citizens, when, indeed, we
gull them, or rather they gull themselves. Here they
come in term-time, hire chambers, and perhaps kiss our
wives: well, what lose I by that? God’s blessing on’s
heart, I say still, that makes much of my wife! for they
were very hard-favoured that none could find in’s heart
to love but ourselves: drugs would be dog-cheap, but for
my private well-practised doctor and such customers.
Tut, jealousy is a hell; and they that will thrive must
utter their wares as they can, and wink at small faults.
[_Exit._
SCENE II.
_A Street._
_Enter_ GLISTER.
GLI. The tedious night is past, and the jocund morn
looks more lively and fresh than an old gentlewoman’s
glazed face in a new periwig. By this time my humorous
lover is at Gravesend; and I go with more joy to fetch
his trunk than ever the valiant Trojans did to draw in
the Grecian jade: his goods shall into the walls of my
Troy, and be offered to a face more lovely[226] than
ever was that thrice-ravished Helen[’s]; yet with such
caution that no danger shall happen to me. [_Exit._
SCENE III.
_Another Street._
_Enter_ LIPSALVE _and_ SHRIMP, _meeting_ GUDGEON _and_
PERIWINKLE.
GUD. Master Lipsalve, welcome within ken: we two are so
nearly linked, that if thou beest absent but one two
hours, thy acquaintance grows almost mouldy in my
memory.
LIP. And thine[227] fly-blown in mine: how dost thou do?
SHR. Fellow page, I think our acquaintance runs low
too; but if it run not o’ the lees, let’s set it
a-tilt, and give ’em some dregs to their mouldy,
fly-blown compliments.
PER. No, rather let’s pierce the rundlets of our running
heads, and give ’em a neat cup of wagship to put down
their courtship.
SHR. Courtship? cartship! for the tongues of
complimenters run on wheels: but mark ’em; they ha’ not
done yet.
GUD. And, i’faith, how is’t? methinks thou hast been a
long vagrant.
LIP. The rogation[228] hath been long indeed: therefore
we may salute as ceremoniously as lawyers when they meet
after a long vacation, who, to renew the discontinued
state tale, they stretch it out with such length, that
whilst they greet before, their clients kiss them
behind.
SHR. If his nose were put i’ the remainder of that state
tale, he would say ’twere an unsavoury one.
PER. I wonder why many men gird[229] so at the law.
GUD. But what news now? how stands the state of things
at Brussels?
LIP. Faith, weak and limber, weak and limber: nothing
but pride and double-dealing: virtue is vice’s lackey;
beggars suck like horse-leeches at the heart of bounty,
and leave him[230] so tired and spur-galled that he can
be no longer ridden with honesty.
SHR. I’ll tell thee, because they themselves have
neither law nor conscience.
GUD. Well fare the city yet! there virtue rides a
cockhorse, cherished and kept warm in good sables and
fox-fur, and with the breath of his nostrils drives
pride and covetousness before him, like’s own shadow:
beggars have whipping cheer: bounty obliges[231] men
to’t; and liberality gives money for scrips and scrolls,
sealed with strong arms and heraldry to outlive
mortality: love there will see the last man born, never
give over while there’s an arrow i’ th’ quiver.
LIP. Now we talk of love, I do know, not far hence, so
good a subject for that humour, that if she would wear
but the standing collar and her things in fashion, our
ladies in the court were but brown sugar-candy, as gross
as grocery to her.
GUD. She is not so sweet as a ’pothecary’s shop, is she?
LIP. A plague on you! ha’ you so good a scent?—For my
life, he’s my rival. [_Aside._
GUD. Her name begins with mistress Purge, does it not?
LIP. True, the only comet of the city.
GUD. Ay, if she would let her ruffs stream out a little
wider: but I am sure she is ominous to me; she makes
civil wars and insurrections in the state of my stomach:
I had thought to have bound myself from love, but her
purging comfits make[232] me loose-bodied still.
LIP. What, has she ministered to thee then?
GUD. Faith, some lectuary[233] or so.
LIP. Ay, I fear she takes too much of that lectuary to
stoop to love; it keeps her body soluble from sin: she
is not troubled with carnal crudities nor the binding of
the flesh.
GUD. Thou hast sounded her then, belike.
LIP. Not I, I am too shallow to sound her; she’s out of
my element: if I shew passion and discourse of love to
her, she tells me I am wide from the right scope; she
says she has another object, and aims at a better love
than mine.
GUD. O, that’s her husband.
LIP. No, no; she speaks pure devotion: she’s
impenetrable; no gold or oratory, no virtue in herbs nor
no physic will make her love.
GUD. More is the pity, I say, that fair women should
prove saints before age had made them crooked.—’Tis my
luck to be crossed still, but I must not give over the
chase. [_Aside._
LIP. Come hither, boy, while I think on’t.
[LIPSALVE _talks apart to_ SHRIMP.
GUD. Faith, friend Lipsalve, I perceive you would fain
play with my love. A pure creature ’tis, for whom I
have sought every angle[234] of my brain; but either
she scorns courtiers, as most of them do, because they
are given to boast of their doings, or else she’s
exceeding strait-laced: therefore to prevent[235] this
smell-smock, I’ll to my friend doctor Glister, a man
exquisite in th’ art magic, who hath told me of many
rare experiments available in this case. [_Aside._]—
Farewell, friend Lipsalve.
LIP. Adieu, honest Gregory: frequent my lodging; I have
a viol de gambo and good tobacco. [_Exeunt_ GUDGEON
_and_ PERIWINKLE.]—Thou wilt do this feat, boy?
SHR. Else knock my head and my pate together.
LIP. Away then: bid him bring his measure with him.
[_Exit_ SHRIMP.]— Gerardine is travelled, and I must
needs be cast into his mould. My flesh grows proud; and
Maria’s a sweet wench, &c.[236] But yet I must not let
fall my suit with mistress Purge, lest, _sede vacante_,
my friend Gudgeon join issue:
I’ll rather to my learned doctor for a spell,
For I have a fire in my liver[237] burns like hell.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_A Room in_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GLISTER _and_ MARIA.
MIS. G. I pray,[238] let’s have no polluted feet nor
rheumatic chaps enter the house; I shall have my floor
look more greasy shortly than one of your inn-of-court
dining-tables.—And now to you, good niece, I bend my
speech. Let me tell you plainly, you are a fool to be
love-sick for any man longer than he is in your company:
are you so ignorant in the rules of courtship, to think
any one man to bear all the prick and praise?[239] I
tell thee, be he never so proper, there is another to
second him.
MAR. Let rules of courtship be authentic still
To such as do pursue variety;
But unto those whose modest thoughts do tend
To hoour’d nuptials and a regular life,
As far from shew of niceness[240] as from that
Of impure thoughts, all other objects seem
Of no proportion,[241] balanc’d with esteem
Of what their souls affect.
MIS. G. No marvel[242] sure you should regard these men
with such reverend opinion: there’s few good faces and
fewer graces in any of them: if one among a multitude
have a good pair of legs, he never leaves riding the
ring till he has quite marred the proportion: nay, some,
as I have heard, wanting lineaments to their liking and
calf to support themselves, are fain to use art, and
supply themselves with quilted calves, which oftentimes,
in revelling, fall about their ankles; and for their
behaviour, wit, and discourse, except some few that are
travelled, it is as imperfectious and silly as your
scholars new come from the university. By this light, I
think we lose part of our happiness, when we make these
weathercocks our equals.
MAR. Disgrace not that for which our sect[243] was
made,
Society[244] in nuptials: ’bove those joys
Which lovers taste when their conjoined lips
Suck forth each other’s souls, the earth, the air,
Yea, gods themselves, know none. Elysium’s sweet,
Ay, all that bliss which poets’ pens describe,
Are only known when soft and amorous folds
Entwine the corps of two united lovers,
Where what they wish they have, yet still desire,
And sweets are known without satiety.[245]
_Enter_ VIAL.
VIAL.[246] Here’s Club, forsooth, and his fellow
’prentice have brought master Gerardine’s trunk.
MIS. G. Let them come in if their feet be clean. [_Exit_
VIAL.]—So, then, your best-beloved is gone; fair
weather after him! all thy passions[247], go with him!
recomfort thyself, wench, in a better choice: his love
to thee would have been of no longer continuance than
the untrussing of his hose;[248] then why shouldst thou
pine for such a one?
MAR. She’s foolish sure: with what imperfect phrase
And shallow wit she answers me! [_Aside._
_Enter_ CLUB _and another Apprentice, with a trunk_.
MIS. G. Honest Club, welcome: is this master
Gerardine’s trunk? he is gone then?
CLUB. Ay, indeed, mistress Glister, he is departed this
transitory city, but his whole substance is here
enclosed; which, by command, we here deliver to your
custody, to the use of mistress Maria, according to the
tenour of the premises.
MIS. G. Place it here, my honest Club: well done: and
how does thy mistress? was she at the Family to-day?
[CLUB _spits_.] Spit not, good Club, I cannot abide it.
CLUB. Not to-day, forsooth; she hath overcharged herself
and her memory: she means to use a moderation, and take
no more than she can make use of.
MIS. G. And, I prithee, Club, what kind of creatures are
these Familists? thou art conversant with them.
CLUB. What are they? with reverence be it spoken, they
are the most accomplished creatures under heaven; in
them is all perfection.
MIS. G. As how, good Club?
CLUB. Omitting their outward graces, I’ll shew you only
one instance, which includes all other; they love their
neighbours better than themselves.
MIS. G. Not than themselves, Club.
CLUB. Yes, better than themselves; for they love them
better than their husbands, and husband and wife are all
one; therefore, better than themselves.
MIS. G. This is logic: but tell me, doth she not
endeavour to bring my doctor of her side and fraternity?
CLUB. Let him resolve[249] that himself, for here he
comes.
_Enter_ GLISTER.
GLI. O, hast thou brought the trunk, honest Club?
I commend thy honest care: here’s for thy pains.
[_Giving money._
CLUB. I thank you, master doctor; you are free and
liberal still: you’ll command me nothing back?
GLI. Nothing but commendations: farewell. [_Exeunt_ CLUB
_and Apprentice_.]—Your sweetheart Gerardine is by this
time cold of his hope to enjoy thee: he’s gone; and a
more equal and able husband shall my care ere long
provide thee.—What clients have been here in my absence,
wife?
MIS. G. Faith, mouse,[250] none that I know more than an
old woman that had lost her cat, and came to you for a
spell in the recovery.
GLI. I think egregious ignorance will go near to
save this age; their blindness takes me for a
conjuror: yesterday a justice of peace salutes me
with proffer of a brace of angels[251] to help him
to his footcloth,[252] some three days before
stolen, and was fain to use his man’s cloak instead
on’t.
_Re-enter_ VIAL.
VIAL. Here’s a gentleman craves speech with you, sir.
GLI. Go in, sweet wife, and give my niece good counsel.
[_Exeunt_ MISTRESS GLISTER _and_ MARIA.
—His name?
VIAL. He will not tell it me.
GLI. His countenance?
VIAL. I can see nothing but his eyes: the rest of him is
so wrapt in cloak that it suffers no view.
GLI. Admit him. [_Exit_ VIAL.]—What should he be for a
man?[253]
_Enter_ LIPSALVE.
What, master Lipsalve, is’t you? why thus obscured? what
discontent overshadows you?
LIP. A discontent indeed, master doctor, which to shake
off I must have you extend your art to the utmost
bounds. You physicians are as good as false doors behind
hangings to ladies’ necessary uses: you know the very
hour in which they have neither will to deny nor wit to
mistrust: faith now, by the way, when are women most
apt?
GLI. Shall I unbutton myself unto you? after the receipt
of a purgation, for then are their pores most open: but
what creature of a courtier is it hath drawn your head
into the woodcock’s noose?
LIP. A courtier? nay, by this flesh, I am clean fallen
out with them; they have nothing proportionable.
GLI. O, I perceive, then, ’tis some city star that
attracts your aspect.
LIP. He knows by his art. [_Aside._]—In plain terms, a
certain ’pothecary’s wife.
GLI. Upon my life, mistress[254] Purge: I smell you,
sir.
LIP. You may smell a man after a purgation: indeed, sir,
’tis she. Now, for that fame hath bruited[255] you to be
a man expert in necromancy, I would endear[256] myself
to you for ever, would you vouchsafe to let one of your
spirits bring mistress Purge into some convenient place,
where I might enjoy her: I have heard of the like: can
you perform this?
GLI. With much facility, I assure you: but you must
understand that the apparition of a spirit is dreadful,
and withal covetous, and with no small sum of gold hired
to such feats.
_Re-enter_ VIAL.
VIAL. Sir, here’s another gentleman, muffled too, that
desires present conference with you.
GLI. Walk you into that room: I will bethink myself for
your good, and instantly resolve[257] you. [_Exit_
LIPSALVE.]—Let the gentleman come in. [_Exit_ VIAL.]—
Lipsalve in love with my vessel of ease? come to me to
help him to a morsel most affected by mine own palate?
No more but so: I have shaped it; the conceit tickles
me.
_Enter_ GUDGEON.
Sir, as a stranger I welcome you—what, master Gudgeon,
have I caught you? I thought it was a gallant that
walked muffled: come, let me behold you at full; here
are no sergeants, man.
GUD. Master doctor, this my obscure coming requires an
action more obscure; and, in brief, this ’tis. Sir, you
are held a man far seen in nature’s secrets; I know you
can effect many things almost impossible: know, then, I
love mistress Purge, and opportunity favours me not, nor
indeed is she so tractable as I expected: if either by
medicine or your art magical you can work her to my
will, I have a poor gallant’s reward, sir.
GLI. That’s just nothing. [_Aside._]—But how, sir, would
you have me to procure you access to mistress Purge? you
never knew a physician a bawd.
GUD. Why, by conjuration, I tell you, wherein you are
said to be as well practised as in physic: here’s the
best part of my present store to effect it.
[_Giving money._
GLI. Not a penny for myself; but my spirits, indeed,
they must be feed.[258] Walk you by here, while I think
upon a spell. [GUDGEON _retires_.]—What mystery should
this be? Lipsalve and Gudgeon both in love with mistress
Purge, and come to me to help ’em by art magic? ’Tis
some gullery sure; yet, if my invention hold, I’ll fit
them.—Who’s within there?
_Enter Servant._[259]
Fetch me, in all haste, two good whips; I think you may
have them not far hence. [_Exit Servant._]—It shall be
so. [_Aside._]—Now, tell me, master Gudgeon, does no man
know of your love to mistress Purge?
GUD. Not a man, by my gentry.
GLI. Then, sir, know I’ll effect it; but understand
withal the apparition will be most horrid if it appear
in his proper form, and will so amaze and dull your
senses, that your appetite will be lost and weak, though
mistress Purge should attend it naked. Now, sir, could
you name a friend with whom you are most conversant, in
his likeness should the spirit appear.
GUD. Of all men living my conversation is most frequent
with Lipsalve the courtier.
GLI. ’Tis enough: I’ll to my spirit. [GUDGEON _retires,
and_ GLISTER _writes a few words_.]—Are these whips come
there?
_Re-enter Servant with whips._
SER. Ready here, sir. [_Exit._
GLI. So, lie thou[260] there. My noble gallants, I’ll so
firk you! [_Aside._]—Sir, my spirit agrees in Lipsalve’s
shape: to-morrow, ’twixt the hours of four and five,
shall mistress Purge be rapt with a whirlwind into
Lipsalve’s chamber: that’s the fittest place, for, by
the break of day, Lipsalve shall be mounted and forsake
the city for three days; so my spirit resolves[261] me.
Now, sir, by my art, at that very hour shall his
chamber-door fly open; into which boldly enter in this
sort accoutred; put me on a pure clean shirt, leave off
your doublet (for spirits endure nothing polluted), take
me this whip in your hand, and, being entered, you shall
see the spirit in Lipsalve’s shape, in the self-same
form that you appear; speak these words here ready
written [_giving a paper_], take three bold steps
forward, then whip him soundly, who straight vanisheth,
and leaves mistress Purge to your will.
GUD. Ay, but shall your spirit come armed with a whip
too?
GLI. He shall, but have no power to strike.
GUD. Is this infallible? have you seen the proof?
GLI. _Probatum_, upon my word; I have seen the
experience: if it fail, say I am a fool, and no
magician.
GUD. Master doctor, I would you had some suit at court;
by the faith of a courtier, I would beg it for you. Fare
you well, sir: I shall report of you as I find your
charm.
GLI. And no otherwise, sir: let me understand how you
thrive. [_Exit_ GUDGEON.]—Ha, ha, ha! Now to my friend
Lipsalve: I must possess him with the same circumstance;
wherein I am assured to get perpetual laughter in their
follies and my revenge. [_Exit._
_Re-enter_ MARIA.[262]
MAR. O, which way shall I turn, or shift, or go,
To lose one thought of care? no soothing hope
Gives intermission, or beguiles one hour
Of tedious time, which never will have end,
Whilst love pursues in vain my absent friend.
Thou continent of wealth, whose want of store,
For that it could not peize[263] th’ unequal scale
Of avarice, giv’st matter to my moan!
O dross, the level of insatiate eyes,
The devil’s engine, and the soul’s corrupter,
Thou play’st th’ attorney ’gainst the lawful force
Of true affection, dost interpose a bar
’Twixt hearts conjoin’d! curs’d be thy seed of strife,
Whose progress chokes the natural course of life!
[GERARDINE _rises out of the trunk, while_
MARIA _retreats in alarm_.
MAR. O, help, help, help!
GER. Stay, sweet Maria! I bring thee ample joy
To check that sudden fear: let thy sweet heart,
That constant seat of thy affection,
Repay that blood exhausted from thy veins.
Fear not, sweet wench: I am no apparition,
But the firm substance of thy truest friend:
Know’st thou me now?
MAR. Gerardine, my love?
[O] what unheard-of accident presents
Thy unexpected self, and gives my heart
Matter of joy, mix’d with astonishment?
I thought thou had’st been cabin’d in thy ship,
Not trunk’d within my cruel guardian’s house.
GER. That cruelty gives fuel to desire;
For love suppress’d fares like a raging fire,
Which burns all obstacles that stop his course,
And mounts aloft. The ocean in his source
May easier hide himself and be confin’d,
Than love can be obscur’d; for in the mind
She holds her seat, and through that heavenly essence
Is near when far remote; her virtual presence
Fills, like the air, all places, gives delight,
Hope in despair, and heart ’gainst fell despite.
That worst of men, thy cruel guardian, may
Keep down awhile, but cannot dissipate
What heaven hath join’d; for fate and providence
Gave me this stratagem, to let him know
That love will creep where ’tis restrain’d to go.
MAR. I apprehend the rest: O rare conceit!
I see thy travel happily was feign’d
To win access, which with small ease thou’st[264]
gain’d.
This trunk, which he so greedily supposes
Contains thy substance (as it doth indeed),
Upon thy fair pretence in lieu of love
Bequeath’d to me, if death should stop the course,—
This trunk, I say, he hugs; sink thou or swim,
So he may feed his wolf, that root of sin,
His avarice: but heaven, that mocks man’s might,
Gives this close means t’ insist upon our right.
GER. Ingenious spirit, true oracle of love!
Thou hast prevented[265] me: this was my plot,
Whose end and scope I long to imitate
With accents free, and uncontroll’d with fear.
Does opportunity stand fair?
MAR. Not now:
Danger stands sentinel.
GER. Then I’ll retire:
We must be cautelous.[266]
[_He goes again into the trunk._
MAR. So, so: and time
Shall not oft turn his hour-glass ere I’ll find
Place[267] and occasion fitting to thy mind. [_Exit._
ACT III. SCENE I.
MARIA’S _Apartment_.
_Enter_ GERARDINE _and_ MARIA.
GER. The coast is clear, and Argus’ wakeful eyes
Securely sleep: time turns to us his front.
Come, sweet Maria, of th’ auspicious hours
Let’s take advantage.
MAR. With all my heart;
I do embrace the motion with thyself:
Welcome, sweet friend, to liberty of air,
Which now, methinks, doth promp[t] our breaths to move
Sweet accents of delight, the joys of love.
How dost thou brook thy little-ease,[268] thy trunk?
GER. That trunk confines this chest; this chest
contains
Th’ unbounded speculation of our love,
Incomprehensible grief, joy, hope, and fears;
Th’ affections of my mind are like the spheres,
Which in their jarring motions do agree,
Through th’ influence of love’s sweet harmony.
MAR. Are not inferior bodies here on earth
Produc’d and govern’d by those heavenly ones?
GER. They are.
MAR. They jar, you say; yet in that strife maintain
Perpetual league: why should their influence
In rational souls be check’d by erring sense?
Or why should mutual love, confirm’d by heaven,
B’ infring’d by men? methinks ’tis most uneven.[269]
GER. Thou argu’st well, Maria; and this withal,
That brutes nor animals do prove a thrall
To such servility: souls that are wards
To gold, opinion, or th’ undue regards
Of broking men, wolves that in sheep-skin bands
Prey on the hearts to join th’ unwilling hands,
Ruin fair stocks, when generous houses die,
Or propagate their name with bastardy.
MAR. Sterility and barrenness ensue
Such forced love; nor shall erroneous men
Pervert my settled thoughts, or turn mine eye
From thy fair object, which I will pursue,
Rich in thy love, proud of this interview.
GER. I’ll suck these accents: let our breaths engender
A generation of such pleasing sounds,
To interchange delights. O, my blood’s on fire!
Sweet, let me give more scope to true desire.
MAR. What wouldst thou more than our minds’ firm
contract?
GER. Tut, words are wind; thought unreduct[270] to
act[271]
Is but an embryon in the truest sense.
MAR. I am beleague[r]’d; I had need of sense:
You make me blush: play fair yet above board.
GER. Hear me exemplify love’s Latin word
Together with thyself:
As thus:—hearts join’d, _Amore_: take _A_ from thence,
Then _more_ is the perfect moral sense,
Plural in manners, which in thee do shine
Saint-like, immortal, spotless, and divine:
Take _M_ away, _ore_ in beauty’s name
Craves an eternal trophy to thy fame:
Lastly, take _O_, in _re_ stands all my rest,
Which I, in Chaucer-style, do term a jest.
MAR. You break all modest bounds; away, away!
GER. So when men come behind do women say.
MAR. Come, come, I say—
GER. Ay, that’s the word indeed:
Men that come bold before are like to speed.
But who comes here?[272] _Monstrum horrendum!_ my
nostrils have the rank scent of knavery. Maria, let’s
remove ourselves to the window, and observe this piece
of man’s flesh. [_Scene closes._
SCENE II.
_A Street: before_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ LIPSALVE _disguised as_ GERARDINE, _and_ SHRIMP.
LIP. Now, mistress Maria, ward yourself: if my strong
hope fail not, I shall be with you to bring——
SHR. To bring what, sir? some more o’ your kind?
LIP. Faith, boy, that’s mine aim.
SHR. I’ll be sworn, sir, you have a good loose;[273] you
let fly at ’em a-pace.
LIP. I have shot fair and far off; but now I hope to hit
the mark indeed.
SHR. God save it!
LIP. But where’s the sign?
SHR. Why, there.
LIP. That’s a special thing to be observed.
SHR. I have heard talk of the Gemini: methinks, that
should be a star favourable to your proceeding.
LIP. The Gemini? O, I apprehend thee: that’s because I
am so like Gerardine; ha, is’t not so, boy?
SHR. As if you were spit out on’s mouth, sir; you must
needs be like him, for you are both cut out of a piece.
But, lord, sir, how you hunt this chase of love! are you
not weary?
LIP. Indefatigable, boy, indefatigable.
SHR. Fatigable, quoth you? you may call it leanable well
enough, for I am sure it is able to make a man lean.
LIP. ’Tis my vocation, boy; we must never be weary
of well-doing: love’s as proper to a courtier as
preciseness to a puritan.
[MARIA _appears above_; GERARDINE _concealing
himself behind her_.[274]
SHR. Love, _subaudi_ lust; a punk in this place
_subintelligitur_. [_Aside._
LIP. Boy, I have spied my saint.
SHR. Then down on your knees.
LIP. Fly off, lest she take thee for my familiar.—
Save thee, sweet Maria!
Nay, wonder not (for thou thyself art wonder,)
To see this unexpected gratulation.
MAR. Whom do I see? O, how my senses wander!
Am not I Hero? art not thou Leander?
GER. Thou’rt in the right, sweet wench; more of that
vein.
LIP. Her passion o’ercomes[275] her; ’tis the kindest
soul!
O excellent device! it works, it works, boy.
SHR. It does indeed, sir, like the suds of an ale-fat
or a washing-bowl.
LIP. Joy not too much; extremes are perilous.
MAR. O weather-beaten love!—Cisley, go make a fire;
Go, fetch my ladder of ropes, Leander’s come.
LIP. Mark, how prettily in her rapture she harps upon
Gerardine’s travel.—
Let th’ ecstasy have end, for I am Gerardine.
GER. The devil you are! [_Aside._
MAR. Ha? let me see: my love so soon return’d?
LIP. I never travell’d farther than thine eyes;
My bruited[276] journey was a happy project
To cast a mist before thy jealous guardian,
Who now, suspectless, gives some hope t’ attain
My wish’d delight, before pursu’d in vain.
GER. Ask if he strain’d not hard for that same
project.
MAR. Has not that project overrack’d thy brain,
And spent more wit than thou hast left behind?
SHR. By this light, she flouts him. [_Aside._
LIP. No, wit is infinite: I spent some brain;
Thy love did stretch my wit upon the tenters.
GER. Then is’t like to shrink in the wetting.
[_Aside._
MAR. It cottens well;[277] it cannot choose but bear
A pretty nap: I tender thy capacity;
A comfortable caudle cherish it:
But where’s my favour that I bid thee wear
As pledge of love?
GER. Now dost thou put him to’t;
More tenters for his wit; he’s _non plus_ quite.
LIP. I wear it, sweet Maria, but on high days,
Preserve it from the tainting of the air—
What should I say? [_Aside._]—’Tis in my t’other
hose.[278]
MAR. How? in your t’other hose? he that I love
Shall wear my favour in those hose he has on.
LIP. Fiends and furies! block that I am! [_Aside._
SHR. In your t’other hose?—She talked of a ladder of
ropes: if she would let it down, for my life, he would
hang himself in’t. [_Aside._]—In your t’other hose? why,
those hose are in lavender:[279] besides, they have
never a codpiece; but, indeed, there needs no ivy where
the wine is good: in your t’other hose?
MAR. I said you were too prodigal of wit.
LIP. Expostulate no more; grant me access,
Or else I’ll travel to the wilderness.
MAR. Your only way: go, travel till you tire;
Be rid, and let a gull discharge the hire.
SHR. Master, the doctor, the doctor!
LIP. Where? which way?
SHR. This way, that way, some way I heard him coming.
LIP. O boy, I am abused, gulled, disgraced! my credit’s
cracked.
SHR. You know that’s nothing new for a[280] courtier.
LIP. O, I shall run beside myself!
SHR. No, sir, that’s my office; I’ll run by your side.
LIP. My brain is out of temper! what shall I do?
SHR. Take her counsel, sir; get a cullis[281] to
your capacity, a restorative to your reason, and a
warming-pan to your wit: he comes, he comes!
LIP. Follow close, boy; let him not see us.
[_Exeunt_ LIPSALVE _and_ SHRIMP.
_Enter_ GLISTER.
GLI. What, more flutterers[282] about my carrion? more
battery to my walls? shall I never be rid of these
petronel-flashes?[283] As for my friend Gerardine, the
wind of my rage has blown him to discover countries; and
let the sea purge his love away and him together,—I care
not. Young wenches now are all o’ the hoigh: we that are
guardians must respect more besides titles, gold lace,
person, or parts; we must have lordships and manors
elsewhere as well as in the man: wealth commands all;
and wealth I’ll have, or else my minion shall lead apes
in hell. I must after this gallant too: I’ll know his
rendezvous, and what company he keeps. [_Exit._
MAR. Now must we be abrupt:[284] retire, sweet friend,
To thy small-ease:[285] what more remains to do,
We’ll consummate at our next interview.
GER. So shall I bear my prisonment with pleasure:
Look thou but big, our[286] cruel foe will yield,
And give to Hymen th’ honour of the field.
[_Exeunt above._
SCENE III.
_A Street: before the Meeting-house of the Family of
Love._
_Enter_ MISTRESS PURGE, CLUB _carrying a link before
her_.
MIS. P. Fie, fie, Club, go a’ t’other side the way,
thou collowest[287] me and my ruff; thou wilt make me an
unclean member i’ the congregation.
CLUB. If you be unclean, mistress, you may pure
yourself; you have my master’s ware at your commandment:
but what am I then, that does all the drudgery in your
house?
MIS. P. Thou’rt born to’t: why, boy, I can shew thy
indentures; thou givest no other milk: we know how to
use all i’ their kind.
CLUB. You’re my better in bark and rine,[288] but in
pith and substance I may compare with you: you’re above
me in flesh, mistress, and there’s your boast; but in my
t’other part we are all one before God.
_Enter_ DRYFAT.
MIS. P. All one with me? dost thou swear too? why then,
up and ride!
DRY. Whither away, mistress Purge?
MIS. P. To the Family, master Dryfat, to our
exercise.[289]
DRY. What, by night?
MIS. P. O Lord, ay, sir, with the candles out too: we
fructify best i’ th’ dark: the glance of the eye is a
great matter; it leads us to other objects besides the
right.
DRY. Indeed I think we perform those functions best when
we are not thrall to the fetters of the body.
MIS. P. The fetters of the body? what call you them?
DRY. The organs of the body, as some term them.
MIS. P. Organs? fie, fie, they have a most abominable
squeaking sound in mine ears; they edify not a whit; I
detest ’em: I hope my body has no organs.[290]
DRY. To speak more familiarly, mistress Purge, they are
the senses, the sight, hearing, smelling, taste, and
feeling.
MIS. P. Ay, marry—marry, said I? Lord, what a word’s
that in my mouth!—you speak now, master Dryfat; but yet
let me tell you where you err too: this feeling I will
prove to be neither organ nor fetter; it is a thing—a
sense did you call it?
DRY. Ay, a sense.
MIS. P. Why, then, a sense let it be,—I say it is that
we cannot be without; for, as I take it, it is a part
belonging to understanding: understanding, you know,
lifteth up the mind from earth: if the mind be lift up,
you know, the body goes with it: also it descends into
the conscience, and there tickles us with our works and
doings: so that we make singular use of feeling.
DRY. And not of the rest?
MIS. P. Not at that time; therefore we hold it not amiss
to put out the candles, for the soul sees best i’ th’
dark.
DRY. You come to me now, mistress Purge.
_Enter_ PURGE _behind_.
MIS. P. Nay, I will come to you else, master Dryfat:
these senses, as you term them, are of much efficacy in
carnal mixtures; that is, when we crowd and thrust a man
and a woman together.
PUR. What, so close at it? I thought this was one end of
your exercise:[291] byrlady,[292] I think there is small
profit in this. I’ll wink no more; for I am now tickled
with a conceit that it is a scurvy thing to be a
cuckold. [_Aside._
DRY. I commend this zeal in you, mistress Purge; I
desire much to be of your society.
MIS. P. Do you indeed? blessing on your heart! are you
upright in your dealings?
DRY. Yes, I do love to stand to any thing I do, though I
lose by it: in truth, I deal but too truly for this
world. You shall hear how far I am entered in the right
way already. First, I live in charity, and give small
alms to such as be not of the right sect; I take under
twenty i’ th’ hundred, nor no forfeiture of bonds unless
the law tell my conscience I may do’t; I set no pot on
a’ Sundays, but feed on cold meat drest a’ Saturdays; I
keep no holydays nor fasts, but eat most flesh o’
Fridays of all days i’ the week; I do use to say
inspired graces, able to starve a wicked man with
length; I have Aminadabs and Abrahams to my godsons, and
I chide them when they ask me blessing; and I do hate
the red letter[293] more than I follow the written
verity.
PUR. Here’s clergy![294] [_Aside._
MIS. P. These are the rudiments indeed, master Dryfat.
DRY. Nay, I can tell you I am, or will be, of the right
stamp.
PUR. A pox o’ your stamp! [_Aside._
MIS. P. Then learn the word for your admittance, and you
will be much made on by the congregation.
DRY. Ay, the word, good mistress Purge?
MIS. P. A Brother in the Family.
DRY. Enough, I have my lesson.
PUR. So have I mine. A Brother in the Family! I must be
a Familist to-day: I’ll follow this gear[295] while ’tis
on foot, i’faith. [_Aside._
MIS. P. Then shore up your eyes, and lead the way to the
goodliest people that ever turned up the white o’ th’
eye.—Give me my book, Club, put out thy link, and come
behind us.
[DRYFAT _knocks at the door of the Meeting-house_.
[_Within_]. Who’s there?
DRY. Two Brothers and a Sister in the Family.[296]
[MISTRESS PURGE, DRYFAT, _and_ CLUB, _enter the
House: then_ PURGE _knocks at the door_.
[_Within_]. Who’s there?
PUR. A Familiar Brother.
[_Within_]. Here’s no room for you nor your
familiarity.
PUR. How? no room for me nor my familiarity? why,
what’s the difference between a Familiar Brother and a
Brother in the Family? O, I know! I made ellipsis of
_in_ in this place, where it should have been
expressed, so that the want of _in_ put me clean out;
or, let me see,—may it not be some mystery drawn from
arithmetic? for my life, these Familists love no
substraction, take nothing away, but put in and add as
much as you will; and after addition follows
multiplication of a most Pharasit-hypocritical crew.
Well, for my part I like not this Family, nor, indeed,
some kind of private lecturing that women use. Look
too’t, you that have such gadders to your wives!
self-willed they are as children, and, i’faith,
capable of not much more than they, peevish[297] by
custom, naturally fools. I remember a pretty wooden
sentence in a preamble to an exercise,[298] where the
reader prayed that men of his coat might grow up like
cedars to make good wainscot in the House of
Sincerity: would not this wainscot phrase be writ in
brass, to publish him that spake it for an animal?
Why, such wooden pellets out of earthen trunks[299] do
strike these females into admiration, hit[300] ’em
home; sometimes, perhaps, in at one ear and out at
t’other, and then they depart, in opinion wiser than
their neighbours, fraught with matter able to take
down and mortify their husbands. Well, I’ll home now,
and bring the true word next time. I shall expect my
wife anon, red-hot with zeal, and big with melting
tears; and this night do I expect, as her manner is,
she will weep me a whole chamber-pot full. _Loquor
lapides?_ do I cast pills abroad? ’Tis no matter what
I say; I talk like a ’pothecary, as I am: I have only
purged myself of a little choler and passion, and am
now armed with a patient resolution. But how? to put
my horns in my pocket? no:
What wise men bear, is not for me to scorn;
’Tis a[n] honourable thing to wear the horn.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
LIPSALVE’S _Chamber_.
_Enter_ LIPSALVE _without his doublet, a whip in his
hand_.
LIP. Fortune, devil’s turd i’ thy teeth! I’ll turn no
more o’ thy wheel: art is above thy might. What though
my project with mistress Maria failed? more ways to the
wood than one; there’s variety in love. It is believed I
am out of town; my door is open: the hour is at hand;
all things squared by the doctor’s rule; and now I look
for the spirit to bring me warm comfort to clothe my
nakedness, and that is mistress Purge, the cordial of a
Familist; and come quickly, good spirit, or else my
teeth will chatter for thee. [_Scene shuts._
SCENE V.[301]
_Before_ LIPSALVE’S _Chamber-door_.
_Enter_ GUDGEON _without his doublet, a whip in his
hand_.
ᚨGUD. O the naked pastimes of love, the scourge of
dulness, the purifier of uncleanness, and the hot-house
of humanity! I have taken physic of master Purge any
time this twelvemonths to purge my humour upon’s
wife, and I have ever found her so fugitive, from
exercise[302] to exercise, and from Family to Family,
that I could never yet open the close-stool of my mind
to her; so that I may well say with Ovid, _Hei
mihi,[303] quod nullis amor est medicabilis herbis!_ Now
am I driven to prove the violent virtue of conjuration:
if it hit, and that I yerk my Familist out of the
spirit, I’ll hang up my scourge-stick for a trophy, and
emparadize my thoughts: though the doctor go to the
devil, ’tis no matter. Ha, let me see: Lipsalve’s door
open, and himself out of town? Excellent doctor,
soothsaying doctor, oraculous doctor!
[_Enters the chamber._
SCENE VI.
LIPSALVE’S _Chamber_.
LIPSALVE _discovered, as before_: GLISTER _watching
above_.
GLI. I have taken up this standing to see my gallants
play at barriers[304] with scourge-sticks, for the
honour of my punk:
_Enter_ GUDGEON.
and in good time I see my brave spirits shining in
bright armour, nakedly burning in the hell-fire of
lechery, and ready for the hot encounter: sound
trumpets, the combatants are mounted! [_Aside._
GUD. The apparition! mistress Purge peers through him; I
see her.
LIP. The spirit appears! but he might have come sooner:
I am numbed with cold, a shivering ague hath taken away
my courage.
GLI. They are afraid one of another: look, how they
tremble! the flesh and the devil strengthen ’em! ha, ha,
ha! [_Aside._
GUD. Has ’a no cloven feet? what a laxative fever shakes
me!
LIP. Will ’a not carry me with him to hell? well, I must
venture.—_Clogmathos._
GUD. My cue.—_Clogmathathos._
LIP. My cue.—_Garrazin._
GUD. _Garragas._
LIP. _Garrazinos._
GUD. _Ton tetuphon._
LIP. _Tes tetuphes._
BOTH. _With a whirly twinos._
[_They lash one another._
LIP. Hold,[305] hold, hold!
GUD. Gogs nowns, gogs blood!
LIP. A pox, a plague, the devil take you!
GUD. Truce, truce, I smart, I smart.
GLI. Ha, ha, ha! O, for one of the hoops of my
Cornelius’ tub![306] I must needs be gone, I shall burst
myself with laughing else.
Magic hath no such rule: men cannot find
Lust ever better handled in his kind.
[_Aside, and exit above._
GUD. What art thou? with the name of Jove I conjure
thee!
LIP. With any name, saving the whip; I’ll no more of
that conjuration, a plague on’t!
GUD. Speak, art not a spirit in the likeness of my
friend Lipsalve, that should transform thyself to
mistress Purge?
LIP. How, a spirit? I hope spirits have no flesh and
blood; and I am sure thou hast drawn blood out of my
flesh with the spirit of thy whip.
GUD. Then shall we prove to be honest gulls, and the
doctor an arrant knave.
LIP. A plague upon him for a Glister! he has given our
loves a suppositor[307] with a _recumbentibus_. I’ll
tell thee, sirrah,——
GUD. Tell not me, let me prevent thee; the wind shall
not take the breath of our gross abuse: we feel the
gullery, therefore let us swear by our naked truths, and
by the hilts of these our blades, our flesh-tamers, to
be revenged upon that paraperopandentical doctor, that
pocky doctor.
LIP. Agreed: we’ll cuckold him, that he shall not
be able to put his head in at’s doors; and make
his precise, puritanical, and peculiar punk, his
’pothecary’s drug there, a known cockatrice[308]
to the world.
GUD. If report catch this knavery, we have lost our
reputations for ever: wherefore let’s be secret.
Ill tax we women of credulity,
When men are gull’d with such gross foppery.
LIP. Come, let us in, and cover both our shames.
This conjuration to the world’s a novelty;
Gallants turn’d spirits, and whipt for lechery.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE VII.
MARIA’S _Apartment_.
_Enter_ MARIA.
MAR. Gerardine, come forth, Maria calls!
Those ribs shall not enfold thy buxom limbs
One minute longer: the cincture of mine arms
Shall more securely keep thy soul from harms.
GER. [_coming out of the trunk_] What heavenly breath,
of Phitonessa’s power,[309]
That rais’d the dead corpse of her friend[310] to life,
Prevails no less on me! for even this urn,
The figure of my sadder requiem,
Gives up my bones, my love, my life, and all,
To her that gives me freedom in my thrall.
MAR. Be brief, sweet friend, salute and part in one;
For niggard time now threats with imminent danger
Our late joy’d scope. Thy earnest, then, of love,
Ere Sol have compass’d half the signs, I fear
Will shew a blushing fault; but ’twas thine aim,[311]
T’ enforce consent in him that bars thy claim.
GER. Love salves that fault: let time our guilt
reveal,
I’ll ne’er deny my deed, my hand, and seal.
The elements shall lose their ancient force,
Water and earth suppress the fire and air,
Nature in all use a preposterous course,
Each kind forget his likeness to repair,
Before I’ll falsify my faith to thee.
MAR. The humorous bodies’ elemental kind
Shall sooner lose th’ innated heat of love,
The soul in nature’s bounds shall be confin’d,
Heaven’s course shall retrograde and leave to move,
Ere I surcease[312] to cherish mutual fire,
With thoughts refin’d in flames of true desire.
GER. These words are odours on[313] the sacred shrine
Of love’s best deity: the marriage-god
Longs to perform those[314] ceremonious rites
Which terminate our hopes: till mine grow full,
I’ll use that intercourse amongst my friends
That erst I did; then, in the height of joy,
I’ll come to challenge interest in my boy.
Till then, farewell.
MAR. You’ll come upon your cue?
GER. Doubt not of that.
MAR. Then twenty times adieu. [_Exeunt._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_A Street: before the Meeting-house of the Family of
Love._
_Enter_ LIPSALVE, GUDGEON, SHRIMP, _and_ PERIWINKLE.
GUD. Come, boys, our clothes,[315] boys: and what is
the most current news, Periwinkle?
PER. Faith, sir, fortune hath favoured us with no news
but what the pedlar brought from Norfolk.
LIP. Is there nothing stirring at court, Shrimp?
SHR. Faith, there is, sir, but nothing new.
LIP. Good wag, faith! thou smellest somewhat of a
courtier, though thy mother was a citizen’s wife.—Off
with that filthy great band, nay, quick; on with your
robe of sanctity, nay, suddenly, man.
GUD. And why must we shift ourselves into this demure
habit, if impossible to be of the Family and keep our
own fashion?
LIP. Tut, man, the name of a gallant is more hateful to
them than the sight of a corner-cap. Hadst thou heard
the protestations the wife of a bellows-mender made but
yesternight against gallants, thou hadst for ever
abjured crimson breeches. She swore that all gallants
were persons inferior to bellows-menders, for the trade
of bellows-making was very aerial and high; and what
were men and women but bellows, for they take wind in at
one place and do evaporate at another;—evaporate was her
very phrase.
GUD. Methinks, her phrase flew with somewhat too strong
a vapour.
LIP. Nay, she proves farther, that all men receive their
being chiefly from bellows, without which the fire burns
not; without fire the pot seethes not; the pot not
seething, powdered beef is not to be eaten; of which,
she then averred our nation was a great devourer, and
without which they could neither fight for their country
abroad, nor get children at home; for, said she,
powdered beef is a great joiner of nerves together.
GUD. What answer madest thou?
LIP. Marry, that I thought a bawd was a greater joiner
of nerves together than powdered beef: with that she
protested that a bawd was an instrument of the devil,
and as she had proved that bellows-makers were of God’s
trade, so bawds were of the devil’s trade; for (and
thereupon she blew her nose) the devil and bawds did
both live by the sins of the people.
GUD. No more: mistress Purge is at hand.
LIP. Vanish, boys, away. [_Exeunt_ SHRIMP _and_
PERIWINKLE.]— Make haste: before Jove, she’ll be with
us ere we can be provided for her. [_They retire._
_Enter_ MISTRESS PURGE, CLUB _carrying a link before
her_.
MIS. P. Advance your link, Club. At what time wert thou
bound, Club? at Guttide,[316] Hollantide,[317] or
Candletide?
CLUB. I was bound, indeed, about midsummer.
MIS. P. And when hath thy ’prenticeship end? at
Michaeltide next?
CLUB. So I take it.
MIS. P. They say, Club, you fall very heavy on such you
love not: you never learnt that of me.
CLUB. Indeed, mistress, I must confess my falling is
rustic, gross, and butcher-like: marry, yours is a
pretty, foolish, light, courtlike[318] falling: yet,
believe me, my master smells somewhat too gross of the
purgation; he wants tutoring.
MIS. P. And why, I pray?
CLUB. My master being set last night in his shop, comes
master doctor Glister, as his manner is, squirting in
suddenly; and after some conference, tells my master
that, by his own knowledge, you were young with child:
to which my master replied, Why, master doctor, will you
put me to more charges yet?
MIS. P. Thou art a fool: in that my husband spake as
wisely as if the master of his company had spoke. He
knows doctors have receipts for women, which make[319]
them most apt to conceive; and he promising ’a had
ministered the same lately to me, thereupon spake it.
Lead on with your link.
LIP. Art ready?
GUD. Ready.
LIP. Then speak pitifully, look scurvily, and dissemble
cunningly, and we shall quickly prove two of the
Fraternity. [_Advancing with_ GUDGEON.]—Benediction and
sanctity, love and charity fall on mistress Purge,
sister of the Family!
MIS. P. And what, I pray, be you two?
LIP.[320] Two newly converted from the rags of
Christianity to become good members in the house of the
Family.
MIS. P. Who, I pray, converted you?
GUD. Master[321] Dryfat, the merchant.
MIS. P. And from what sins hath he converted you?
LIP. From two very notorious crimes; the first was from
eating fish on Fridays, and the second from speaking
reverently of the clergy: but ’a resolved[322] us your
talent in edifying young men went far beyond his.
_Enter_ PURGE _behind_.
MIS. P. A talent I have therein, I must confess, nor am
I very nice[323] at fit times to shew it: for your
better instructions, therefore, you must never hereafter
frequent taverns nor tap-houses, no masques nor
mummeries, no pastimes nor playhouses.
GUD. Must we have no recreation?
MIS. P. Yes, on the days which profane lips call
holydays, you may take your spaniel and spend some hours
at the ducking-pond.
LIP. What are we bound unto during the time we remain in
the Family?
MIS. P. During the light of the candle you are to be
very attentive; which being extinguished, how to behave
yourselves I will deliver in private.
[_Whispers._[324]
PUR. ’Tis now come to a whisper. What young Familists be
these? i’faith, I’ll make one; I’ll trip you, wife: I
scent your footing, wife.
For Galen[325] writes, Paracelsus can tell,
’Pothecaries have brains and noses eke[326] to smell.
[_Aside._
LIP. We shall with much diligence observe it.
PUR. I fear I shall have small cause to thank that
diligence: but do your worst;
He that hath read five[327] herbals in one year
Can find a trick which shall prevent this gear.[328]
They are going: follow, Purge, close, close and softly,
like a horsekeeper in a lady’s matted chamber at
midnight. [_Aside._
[MISTRESS PURGE _knocks at the door of the
Meeting-house_.
[_Within_]. Who knocks?
MIS. P. Brethren, and a Sister in the Family.
[_Within_]. Enter in peace.
[MISTRESS PURGE, LIPSALVE, GUDGEON, _and_ CLUB _enter
the house_.
PUR. Brethren, and a Sister! that’s the word. How
beastly was I mistaken last day! I should have said, A
Brother in the Family, and I said, A Familiar Brother;
for which I and my family were thrust out of doors: but,
as Titus Silus of Holborn Bridge most learnedly was wont
to say, qd——[329] [_Knocks._
_Within_]. Who’s there?
PUR. A Brother in the Family.
[_Within_]. Enter, and welcome.
[PURGE _enters the house_.
SCENE II.
_A Street._
_Enter_ GERARDINE, _disguised as a Porter_.[330]
GER. Thou sacred deity, Love!
Thou power predominate, more to be admir’d
Than able to be exprest, whose orb includes
All terrene joys which are! all states which be
Pay to thy sacred throne,[331] as tribute-fee,
Their thoughts and lives. Like Jove’s, so must thy acts
Endure no question: why, thy hidden facts
The gods themselves obey: heaven-synod holds
No gods but what thy awful power controls;
The Delphian archer, proud with Python’s spoil,
At Cupid’s hand was forc’d to take the foil;
Not Mars his star-like[332] adamantine targe
Could free his warlike breast at Cupid’s charge;
And Jove, whose frown all mortal lives bereaves,
His[333] marble throne and ivory sceptre leaves,
And in the likeness of a bull was seen,
As forc’d by him to bear the Tyrian queen
Through Neptune’s watery kingdom: if these submit,
My metamorphose is not held unfit.
And see, in most wished occasion, Dryfat the merchant
presents himself.
_Enter_ DRYFAT.
Sir, in the best of hours met: my thoughts had marked
you out for a man most apt to do them the fairest of
offices.
DRY. What! art thou a Welsh carrier or a northern
landlord, thou’rt so saucy?
GER. Is’t possible, sir, my disguise should so much fool
your knowledge? How? a northern landlord? can you think
I get my living by a bell and a clack-dish?[334]
DRY. By a bell and a clack-dish? how’s that?
GER. Why, by begging, sir. Know you me now?
DRY. Master Gerardine, disguised and ashore! nay, then I
smell a rat.
GER. Master Dryfat, shall I repose some trust in you?
will you lay by awhile your city’s precise humour? will
you not deceive me?
DRY. If I deceive your trust, the general plague seize
me! that is, may I die a cuckold.
GER. And I say thou shalt die a true citizen, if thou
conceal it: and thus in brief. It stands with thy
knowledge how seriously I have and do still affect
Maria: now, sir, I have so wrought it, that if thou
couldst procure me a fellow that could serve instead of
a crier, I myself would play Placket the paritor,[335]
and summon doctor Glister and Maria to appear at thy
house: and as I play[336] the paritor, so wouldst thou
but assume the shape of a proctor, I should have the
wench, thou the credit, and the whole city occasion of
discourse this nine days.
DRY. How’s this, how’s this? I should procure a fellow
to play the crier,[337] and I myself should play the
proctor? but upon what occasion should they be summoned?
GER. Upon an accusation that doctor Glister should get
Maria, his niece, with child, and have bastards in the
country, which I have a trick to make probable.
DRY. And now I recall it to memory, I heard somewhat to
that effect last night in master Beardbush the barber’s
shop: but how will this sort? who shall accuse him?
GER. Refer that to me, I say, be that my care: all shall
end in merriment, and no disgrace touch either of their
reputations.
DRY. Then take both word and hand, ’tis done: Club,
mistress Purge’s ’prentice, shall be the crier.[338]
GER. O my most precious Dryfat! may none of thy
daughters prove vessels with foul bungholes, or none of
thy sons hogsheads, but all true and honourable Dryfats
like thyself!
DRY. Well, master Gerardine, I hope to see you a
Familist before I die.
GER. That’s most likely, for I hold most of their
principles already: I never rail nor calumniate any man
but in love and charity; I never cozen any man for any
ill will I bear him, but in love and charity to myself;
I never make my neighbour a cuckold for any hate or
malice I bear him, but in love and charity to his wife.
DRY. And may those principles fructify in your weak
members! I’ll be gone, and with most quick dexterity
provide you a crier: to-morrow at my house, said you,
they should appear?
GER. Be that the time, most honoured Dryfat: but be this
known to none, most loved sir, save Club, or to some
other whom your judgment shall select as a fit person
for our project.
DRY. Thus enough: time out of sight.[339] [_Exit._
GER. Maria, thou art mine: earth’s perfection[340] and
nature’s glory, woman! of what an excellency if her
thoughts and acts were squared and levelled with the
first celsitude[341] of her creation!
T’ enjoy a creature,—whose dishevell’d locks,
Like gems against the repercussive sun,
Give[342] light and splendour; whose star-like eyes
Attract more gazer loves[343] to see them move
Than the Titanian[344] god, when Ægeon’s hill
’A mounts in triumph; a skin more pure and soft
Than is the silk-worm’s bed; teeth[345] more white
Than new-fall’n snow or shining ivory,—
Is happiness sought by the gods themselves.
Celestial Venus, born without a mother,
Be thou propitious! thee and I implore,
Not vulgar Venus, heaven’s scorn and Mars his whore.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_A Room in_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GLISTER _and_ MARIA.
MAR. Good aunt, quiet yourself: ground not upon dreams;
you know they are ever contrary.
MIS. G. Minion, minion, coin no excuses: I grant dreams
are deceitful, but a true judgment grounded upon
knowledge never fails. What? have not I observed the
rising and falling of the blood, the coming and going of
the countenance, your qualms, your unlacings, your
longings? most evident tokens; besides, a more certain
sign than all these, too; you know’t, I need not speak
it: nay, I am as skilful in that point as my husband; I
can tell you, Aristotle speaks English enough to tell me
these secrets. Body of me, so narrowly looked to, and
yet fly out! Well, I see maids will ha’t in spite of
laws or locks that restrain ’em; they will open, do men
what they can.
MAR. I see my fault appears: simplicity
Hath no evasion; ’tis bootless to deny
Where guilty blood, cited by touch of shame,
Runs through my veins, and leaves my conscience’ stain
Even in my face. Forbear, I do beseech you,
To publish my defame: what I have done
You shall not answer; I must bear mine own.
MIS. G. Bear your own? ay, marry, there it goes! What
must you bear?
MAR. My sins, forsooth.
MIS. G. Your sins, forsooth? Confess to me, and go not
about the bush: you have been doing, that’s flat; you
have caught a clap, that’s round; and answer me roundly
to the point, or else I’ll square.[346] Come, whose act
is’t? I cannot devise unless it be my husband’s, for
none else had access to thee: I am sure time has turned
his bald side to thee, and I do but wonder how thou
tookst opportunity: speak, tell me.
MAR. Now, good aunt, press me not; let time reveal
What you suspect; for never shall my tongue
Confess an act that tends unto my wrong.
_Enter_ GERARDINE, _disguised as a porter_.
MIS. G. Will you not bolt? I must ha’t out on you, and
will.
GER. By your leave, mistress——
MIS. G. Passion of my heart, what art thou?
GER. No ghost, forsooth, though I appear in white.
MIS. G. No, but a saucy knave, I perceive by your
manners.
GER. None of that livery neither: I am of the bearing
trade, forsooth; you may see by my smock,—frock, I would
say: I am, if it please you, of the spick and span
new-set-up company of porters. Here’s my breastplate;
and besides our own arms, we have the arms of the city
to help us in our burdens—_ecce signum!_ here’s the
cross and the sword of justice in good pewter, I can
tell you, which goes as current with us as better metal.
MIS. G. What’s your name, sir?
GER. Nicholas Nebulo: there’s but a straw’s-breadth
between that and the arms; ’tis in the backside of the
cross here, and well known in the city for an ancient
name and an honest, an’t like your worship.
MIS. G.[347] You are none of the twelve, are you?
GER. No, forsooth, but one of the twenty-four——
MIS. G. Orders of knaves:[348] I thought so. Sirrah,
you’re a rascal, to come thus bluntly into my house with
your dirty startups:[349] get you without doors, like a
filthy fellow as you are; a place more fit for you.
GER. O, good words, mistress! I may be warden of my
company for aught you know; and for my bluntness, we
have a clause in our charter to warrant that; for as we
bear, so likewise we may be borne with, and have free
egress and regress where our business lies.
MIS. G. And what’s your business here?
GER. I have a letter, an’t please you, to master doctor.
MIS. G. From whence? [_Taking the letter._
GER. That I cannot shew your worship; but I had it of
Curtal the carrier, whose lawful deputy I am.
MIS. G. Leave your scraping, sirrah. Fie, how rank the
knave smells of grease and taps-droppings! [GERARDINE
_coughs and spits_.] What, are you rheumatic too, with a
vengeance!
GER. Yes, indeed, mistress; though I be but a poor man,
I have a spice of the gentleman in me: master doctor
could smell it quickly, because he’s a gentleman
himself: I must to the diet, and that is tobacco at the
ale-house; I use n’other physic for it.
MIS. G. Did ever such a peasant defile my floor, or
breathe so near me!—I’faith, sirrah, you would be bummed
for your roguery, if you were well served.
GER. I am bummed well enough already, mistress; look
here else: sir-reverence[350] in your worship, master
doctor’s lips are not made of better stuff.
MIS. G. What an impudent rogue is this!—Sirrah, begone,
I say; I would be rid o’ you.
GER. Be rid o’ me? I shall gallop then: you mistake me,
forsooth; I am a foot post, I do not use to ride.
MIS. G. I think the rascal be humorous or drunk. Well, I
will read the letter, and send him packing, or else he
will spew or do worse before me: fie on him, I think he
will infect me with some filthy disease.
[_Reads the letter._
GER. Or else I lose mine aim. [_Aside._
MIS. G. What’s here? [_Reads_] _Your poor nurse,
Thomasine Tweedles!_[351] for my life now shall I find
out my husband’s knavery I have so long suspected.
GER. She begins to nibble; ’twill take, i’faith.
[_Aside._
Mistress,
I see some discontentment in your looks:
Care ill befits so delicate a spirit;
Be frolic, wench, for he that is so near thee
Has been much nearer.
MAR. That accent sounds sweet music; ’tis my love!
That tongue breathes life into my lifeless spirits:
Gerardine? O rapture! why thus disguis’d?
GER. No more, be mute; thus must I vary forms
To bring our cares to end: her jealousy
Ensues this drift, which, if it take true scope,
Love’s joy comes next: be fearless in that hope.
MIS. G. ’Tis so: rats-bane! I ha’t: it racks on, it
torments me! here ’tis: [_reads_] _Woe worth the time
that ever I gave suck to a child that came in at the
window, God knows how!_—Villanous lecher!—_yet, if you
did but see how like the pert[352] little red-headed
knave is to his father_—damnable doctor! a bastard in
the country, and another towards[353] here! I am out of
doubt this is his work.—You are an arrant strumpet!—
Incest, fornication, abomination in my own house!
intolerable! O for long nails to scratch out his eyes!
GER. Or the breeches, to fight with him.
MIS. G. Out of my sight, quean! thou shalt to
Bridewell.—O, I shall be mad with rage!
GER. Then you shall go to Bedlam.
MIS. G. Hence, you slave!
GER. I must have a penny; you must pay me for my pains.
MIS. G. The devil pay thee!
GER. O, that’s the doctor; but he wants his
horns.
MIS. G. But I’ll furnish him ere long, if I live.
GER. It works as I would wish. [_Aside._]—Farewell,
Maria;
This storm once past, fair weather ever after!
[_Exit._
MIS. G. Was ever woman so moved!—but you shall be talked
withal: and for mine old fornicator, he shall ha’t as
hot as coals, i’faith: here’s stuff indeed! Come, minx,
come: there’s law for you both: have I found your
knavery? If I wink at this, let me be stone blind, or
stoned to death: bear this, and bear all! [_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_A Street._
_Enter_ LIPSALVE, GUDGEON, SHRIMP, _and_ PERIWINKLE.
LIP. Our hopes are cross’d: sure there’s some
providence
Which countermands libidinous appetites,
For what we most intend is counter-check’d
By strange and unexpected accidents;
For by disguise procuring full access,
Nay, ready to have seiz’d[354] th’ expected prize,
The candle out, steps ’twix my hopes and me
Some peasant groom,[355] possess’d and full enjoy’d
That sweet for which our vigilant eyes have watch’d,
And in one moment frustrates all our hopes.
GUD. Upon my life, we are bewitched. The greasy rascal
that first seized mistress Purge, by the last reflection
of the light, appeared to my sight not much unlike her
husband.
LIP. The court’s gall, the city’s plague, and Europa’s
sea-form[356] be his perpetual crest, what-e’er ’a was!
To lose mistress Purge for lack of dexterity, is a
disgrace insalveable: the like opportunity will never
present itself.
GUD. ’Twas an egregious grief, I must confess, to see a
knave slip betwixt us both and take occasion by the
foretop: but since these projects have had so star-cross
events, let’s lay some plot how to revenge our late
disgrace on the doctor by making him cuckold.
_Enter_ PURGE.
LIP. Agreed: but what melancholy sir, with
acrostic[357] arms, now comes from the Family?
GUD. Purge the ’pothecary: I prithee, let’s step aside
and hear the issue of this discontent.
[_They retire with the two pages._
PUR. O the misery of married men’s estate!
LIP. ’A begins very pitifully. [_Aside._
PUR. O women, what are many of you!
LIP. Why, disease[s] to bachelors, and plagues to
married men. [_Aside._
PUR. O marriage, the rage of all our miseries! my wife
is a dissembling strumpet.
GUD. So is many a man’s besides yours; and what of that?
[_Aside._
PUR. I would have a law, that all such which pray little
should instantly be married; for then would they pray
continually, if it were but to be rid of their wives.
LIP. This is a charitable request, and surely would pass
the Lower-house. [_Aside._
PUR. Surely if affliction can bring a man to heaven, I
cannot see how any married man can be damned: I have
made myself a plain cuckold.
GUD. A pile[358] on ye, won’t you! had you not been so
manable,[359] here are some would have saved you that
labour. [_Aside._
PUR. What shall I do in this extremity? had I but
witness of the fact, I would make her answer it before
authority. This is my wedding-ring; ’tis it, I know it
by the posy: this I took from her finger in the dark,
and she was therewith very well pleased: were not this,
trow,[360] a sufficient testimony? she knows not that it
was myself got so near her: I will take counsel. Well,
little know bachelors the miseries they undergo when
they prostrate themselves to women.
LIP. [_coming forward with_ GUDGEON] O most true, master
Purge! little knows a man what elements ’a is to pass,
when ’a puts his head under a woman’s girdle. Your
passion,[361] master Purge, is overheard, and, plain
tale to tell, we were eye-witnesses of your wife’s
treachery, and if need be, will be ready to depose as
much.
PUR. What, master Lipsalve and master Gudgeon, are you
disguised testimonies?
Nay, then, revenge, look big! Elf and fairy,
Help to revenge the wronged ’pothecary!
GUD. Why, now ’a speaks like himself: get me a
paritor[362] for her straight.
LIP. Conceal the ring, my little Purge; let not thy wife
know thou hast it, until she comes to her trial.
_Enter_ DRYFAT, _and_ GERARDINE _disguised as an
apparitor_.
PUR. Your advices are very pithy; therefore in private
let me disclose my intent.
GUD. Off,[363] boys!
[PURGE, LIPSALVE, _and_ GUDGEON _retire_.
SHR. What dost thou think of thy master? is ’a not a
rare gull?
PER. I think ’a will swallow and pocket more disgraces
than large-conscienced lawyer fees in a Michaelmas term.
Thy master, my honest Shrimp,[364] comes not much short
of a fool too, but that ’a is a courtier.
SHR. Draw somewhat near, and overhear their conference.
[_Retires with_ PERIWINKLE.
GER. This shape of the crier must Club to-morrow assume.
Are you fitted for Poppin the proctor?
DRY. Excellent, and have spent some study in the
mystical cases of venery: I can describe how often a man
may lie with another man’s wife before ’a come to the
white sheet.
GER. How long is that?
DRY. Why, till ’a be taken tardy:—how long all womenkind
may, by the statute, profess and swear they are maids.
GER. And how long is that?
DRY. Why, till their bellies be so big that it cannot be
no longer concealed: but come forward towards Glister’s.
LIP. It must be so; let the sumner[365] tickle her: you
shall bring in these allegations, and let us alone to
swear them.—[_Advancing with_ PURGE _and_ GUDGEON.]
Who’s this? master Dryfat? opportunely met, sir: and
whither so fast? the news, the news?
DRY. Faith, gentlemen, I think to relate for news what I
hear of doctor Glister would come stale to your
hearings.
LIP. O, the getting of his niece with child: tut, that’s
apparently known to all the company.—But, in the name of
Jupiter, what art thou, or from whence camest thou?
GER. Why, sir, I come from compassing the corners of the
land.
GUD. Of what trade, in the name of Pluto?
GER. Of the devil’s trade; for I live, as he does, by
the sins of the people; in brief, sir, I am Placket the
paritor.[366]
LIP. As the devil would!—We have, my noble paritor,
instant employment for thee; a grey groat is to be
purchased without sneaking, my little sumner: where’s
thy _quorum nomina_, my honest Placket?
GER. Sir, according to the old ballad,
_My_ quorum nomina _ready have I,
With my pen and inkhorn hanging by_.
Her name, sir, her name?
GUD. Is’t no more but so?
PUR. I have most right to her name.—Her name, master
Placket, is my wife, mistress Purge, sir: to what place
dost thou belong?
GER. To the commissioners which sit to-morrow at master
Dryfat’s upon the crimes of doctor Glister and others.
LIP. Sits there a commission, Dryfat? now, for the love
of lechery, let’s have mistress Purge summoned thither.
GER. She makes my _quorum nomina_ reasonable full: my
grant, sir, and she shall appear there upon a crime of
concupiscence: is not that your meaning?
PUR. Yes, my honest paritor: here’s thy fee.
[_Giving money._
_Enter_ MISTRESS PURGE _and_ CLUB.
GUD. And see how happily it succeeds! mistress Purge is
new come from the Family. Let us step aside, while
Placket the paritor gives her a summons.
LIP. Content.—To her, Placket; but see, for the bribery
of twelvepence, you strike her not out of your _quorum
nomina_.
GER. Fear not, sir.
[LIPSALVE, GUDGEON, PURGE, _and_
DRYFAT _retire_.
MIS. P. Forward apace, Club.
GER. Your name I take to be mistress Purge, fair
gentlewoman?
MIS. P. I am mistress Purge, Purge’s wife the
’pothecary: what of that?
DRY. Now you shall see him tickle her with a _quorum
nomina_. [_Aside._
GER. I cite you, by virtue of my _quorum nomina_, to
make your personal appearance by eight of the clock in
the morrow morning, before certain commissioners at
master Dryfat’s house, to answer to an accusation of a
crime of concupiscence.
MIS. P. To answer a crime of concupiscence? what’s that,
I pray?
GER. Why, ’tis to answer a venereal crime, for having
carnal copulation with others besides your husband.
MIS. P. What are you, I pray?
GER. By name Placket, by trade a paritor.
MIS. P. And must I answer, say you, to a venereal crime?
I tell thee, Placket the paritor, I am able to answer
thee or any man else in any venereal crime they’ll put
me to; and so tell your commissioners.
GER. If you fail your appearance, the penalty must fall
heavy.
MIS. P. If it fall never so heavy, I am able to bear
it:—and so set forward, Club. [_Exit with_ CLUB.
LIP. [_coming forward with the others_] Excellent,
i’faith!—After your wife, Purge.—Read, Placket, thy
_quorum nomina_, my noble groat-monger.
[_Exit_ PURGE.
GER. Silence! The first that marcheth in this fair rank
is Thrum[367] the feltmaker, for getting his maid with
child, and sending his ’prentice to Bridewell for the
fact; Whip the beadle, for letting a punk escape for a
night’s lodging and bribe of ten groats; Bat the
bellman, for lying with a wench in a tailor’s stall at
midnight, when ’a should be performing his office; and
Tipple[368] the tapster, for deflowering a virgin in his
cellar; doctor Glister, his wife, Maria, mistress Purge:
these be the complete number.
LIP. Now dissolve, and each to his occasion till
to-morrow morning. [_Exeunt severally._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ GLISTER _and_ MISTRESS GLISTER.
MIS. G. This was your colour[369] to keep her close;
but what cloak ha’ you for her’s and your own shame?
What, your own niece, your brother’s daughter, besides
your bastard in the country!
GLI. Wife, range not too far, I would advise you; come
home in time: vex me not beyond sufferance; the
two-edged sword of thy tongue hath drawn blood o’ me.
Patience, I say: thou art all this while in an error.
MIS. G. No, thou hast been all this while in an urinal;
thou hast gone out of thy compass in women’s waters:
you’re a conjuror, forsooth, and can rouse your spirits
into circles. Ah, you old fornicator, that ever I saw
that red beard of thine! now could I rail against thy
complexion: I think, in my conscience, the traces and
caparison of Venus’ coach are made o’ red hairs; which
may be a true emblem that no flaxen stuff or tanned
white leather draws love like ’em: I think thou
manuredest thy chin with the droppings of eggs and
muskadine before it bristled. A shame take thee and thy
loadstone! But ’tis no matter; master Placket the
paritor[370] has cited you, and you shall answer it.
GLI. O the raging jealousy of a woman! Do you hear,
wife? I will shew myself a man of sense, and answer you
with silence; or like a man of wisdom, speak in brief: I
say you are a scold, and beware the cucking-stool.[371]
[_Exit._
MIS. G. I say you are a ninnihammer, and beware the
cuckoo; for as sure as I have ware, I’ll traffic with
the next merchant venturer: and in good time here
come[372] gallants of the right trade.
_Enter_ LIPSALVE _and_ GUDGEON, _and_ GLISTER _behind
watching them_.
LIP. All alone, mistress Glister? meditating who shall
be your next child’s father?
GUD. Indeed, methinks, that should be one end of her
thought, an’t be but to cry quittance with her husband,
of whose abuse the town rings.
GLI. Flax and fire, flax and fire! here are fellows come
in the nick, to light their matches at my tinder.
[_Aside._
LIP. He tells you true, mistress Glister: the doctor
hath made you ordinary in our ordinaries; satires whet
their tooths, and steep rods in piss, epigrams lie in
poetry’s pickle, and we shall have rhyme out of all
reason against you.
GUD. Ere long he will take up his station at a
stationer’s, where we shall see him do penance in a
sheet at least.
MIS. G. O, I am nettled! my patience is so provoked,
that I must doff my modesty: what shall I do? if ye be
honest gentlemen, counsel me in my revenge, teach me
what to do, make my case your own.
LIP. Why, you are in the common road of revenge: take
which hand you will, you cannot go out o’ your way; ’tis
as soon taken as time by his forepart.
GUD. Faith, since he has strook with the sword, strike
you with the scabbard; in plain terms, cuckold him: you
may as easily do’t as lie down o’ your bed.
GLI. This gear cottens,[373] i’faith. [_Aside._
MIS. G. I apprehend you, gentlemen. Lord, how much
better are two heads than one to make one large head!
LIP. You say true, mistress Glister: there’s help
required in grafting; and how happily we come to tender
our service! Let our pretence be to take physic of the
doctor; and that he may with as much ease minister to us
as we to you, we’ll take a lodging in his house.
GUD. How say you to this? is the colour[374] good?
does’t like[375] you?
MIS. G. Passing well: the colour is so good, that you
shall wear my favour out o’ the same piece.
LIP. Excellent, excellent!—Now shall we be revenged for
the whipping.—Mistress Glister, let me be your first
man.
GUD. Nay, soft, sir, I plied her as soon as you.
GLI. I should have an oar in her boat too by right.
_Aside._
LIP. How ill-advised were you to marry one with a red
beard!
MIS. G. O master Lipsalve, I am not the first that has
fallen under that ensign! there’s no complexion more
attractive in this time for women than gold and red
beards: such men are all liver.[376]
GUD. Ay, but small heart, and less honesty.
LIP. Yes, they are honest too in some kind, for they’ll
beg before they’ll steal.
GUD. That’s true; for, for one that holds up his hand at
the sessions, you shall have ten come into the bawdy
court.
GLI. Was ever beard so back-bitten? this were enough
to make red beards turn medley, and dash ’em clean
out of countenance; but I hope, like mine, they fear
no colours. And[377] you were ten courtiers, I’ll
front you: I must give you physic, with a pox! well,
if I pepper ye not, call me doctor Doddipoll.[378]
[_Aside._]—Master Lipsalve and master Gudgeon, you
are heartily welcome; I am very glad to see you
well.
LIP. O master doctor, your salutation is very
suspicious!
GLI. Why, master Lipsalve?
LIP. It can scarce be hearty, for physicians are rather
glad to see men ill than well.
GLI. Not so, sir; you must distinguish of men; though
this I know, virtue is not the end of all science,
which commonly keeps the professor poor; some study
questuary[379] and gainful arts, and every one would
thrive in’s calling: but, i’faith, gentlemen, what
wind drives you hither?
GUD. The wind-colic, master doctor, or some such
disease.
GLI. But not the stone-colic?
LIP. O no, sir, we have no obstructions in those parts;
we are loose enough there.
GLI. If you were troubled with that, my wife can tell
you of an excellent remedy.
GUD. We need it not, we need it not: but indeed, master
doctor, for some private infirmities (which our waters
shall make known to you), we desire to take some physic
of you for a few days; and to that end we would take a
lodging in your house during the time.
LIP. Shall we entreat your favour?
GLI. No entreaty, gentlemen; you shall command me to
search the very profundity of my skill for you.—Have
them in, wife, and shew them their lodging.—I will think
upon another receipt, and follow you immediately.
GUD. And, i’faith, we shall requite your pains to the
full.
[_Exeunt_ MIS. GLISTER, LIPSALVE, _and_ GUDGEON.
GLI. To the fool, you mean: I know you ha’ the horn of
plenty for me, which you would derive unto me from the
liberality of your bawdies,[380] not your minds. Here
are lords that, having learned the O P Q of courtship,
travel up and down among citizens’ wives, to shew their
learning and bringing up; as if the city were not
already a good proficient in the court horn-book: yes, I
warrant, they have heads as capable as other men; ay,
and some of them can wisely say with the philosopher,
that in knowing all, they know nothing. Well, because I
am of the livery, and pay scot and lot amongst you, do
but observe how I’ll fetch over my gallants for your
sakes. They say I am of the right hair; and, indeed,
they may stand to’t, and hold the position good, saving
with my wife.—Soft; are they not at _pro_ and _contra_
already? I know they are hot-spurs, and I must have an
eye to the main. They have been whipt already for
lechery, and yet the pride of the flesh pricks ’em.
Well, I must in: I’ve[381] given them such a pill
Shall take ’em down; for lust must have his fill.
[_Exit._
SCENE II.
_Another Room in_ GLISTER’S _House_.
_Enter_ MARIA _above_.[382]
MAR. Now nature’s pencil and the hand of time
Give[383] life and limb to generation’s act,
My shame and guilt in wordless notes appear,
The argument of scorn. O now I stand
The theme and comment to each liberal[384] tongue,
Whilst hope breeds comfort, and fear threats my wrong!
O Gerardine, how oft thy lively figure,
Deeply[385] impressed in my yielding temper,
Assures me thou art mine! how fancy paints
Thy true proportion in my troubled sleep,
Because sole subject of my daily thoughts!
O, if thy vows prove feign’d and thou unjust,
I say and swear in men there is no trust!
_Enter_ GERARDINE.
GER. Thus have I past the round[386] and court of
guard,
Without the word:[387] either conceit is strong,
Or else the body where true love’s confin’d
Walks as a spirit and doth force his way
Through greatest dangers, frightful to those eyes
That wait to intercept him.—Maria?
How like to Cynthia, in her silver orb,
She seems to me, attended by love’s lamp,
Whose mutual influence and soul’s sympathy
Do[388] shew heaven’s model in mortality.
MAR. Gerardine?
Aurora, now the blushing sun approaches,[389]
Dart[s] not more comfort to this universe
Than thou to me: most acceptably come!
The art of number cannot count the hours
Thou hast been absent.
GER. Infinity of love
Holds no proportion with arithmetic.
Think not, Maria, but my heart retains
A deep impression of such thoughts as these.
I have been forging of a mirthful plot
To celebrate our wish’d conjunction,
Which now digested, come to summon thee
To be an actress in the comedy.
MAR. How, where, when? speak, mine ears are quick to
hear;
I stand on thorns already to be there.
GER. At Dryfat’s house, the merchant, there’s our
scene,
Whose sequel, if I fail not in intent,
Shall answer our desires and each content.
But when sawest thou Lipsalve and Gudgeon, our two
gallants?
MAR. They are here in the house, so handled by mine
uncle, that they are the pitifullest patients that ever
you beheld.
GER. No matter, he serves them in their kind: they were
infamous in the court, and now are grown as notorious in
the city: they may happily prove particles in our sport,
and fit subjects for laughter.
Time calls me hence: adieu; prepare to meet.
MAR. I shall outstrip the nimblest in my feet.
[_Exeunt severally._
SCENE III.
_A Room in_ DRYFAT’S _House_.
_Enter_ DRYFAT _disguised as a proctor, and_ CLUB _as a
crier_.
DRY. Come, Club, come, there’s a merry fray
towards;[390] we shall see the death of melancholy;
wherein thou and I must call a grand jury of jests
together, and pass upon them with the club law.
CLUB. Now, as I am O the crier, and yet but a young
club, I have not yet practised that law: you have a
whole dryfat on’t; I pray you, instruct me.
DRY. Why, ’tis a law enacted, by the common council of
statute-caps,[391] to qualify the rage of the time, to
follow, to call back, and sometimes to encounter
gentlemen when they run in arrearages; I tell thee,
there’s no averment against our book-cases. ’Tis the law
called make-peace: it makes them even when they are at
odds; it shews ’em a flat case as plain as a pack-staff,
that is, knocks ’em down without circumstance.
CLUB. Ay, marry, I like that law well; ’tis studied with
the turning of a hand: there’s no quiddits nor pedlar’s
French[392] in’t; there needs no book for th’ exposition
o’ th’ terms; ’tis as easily learned as the felling of
wood and getting of children; all is but laying on load
the downright blow.
DRY. Ay, and by the way of exhortation it prints this
moral sentence on their costards,[393] in capital
letters, _Agree, for the law is costly_.
CLUB. Good, good: but all this while there’s no doctor
thought on; we must have one to arbitrate.
DRY. Why, master Gerardine, man, has his name for the
purpose: he shall be called doctor Stickler: _lupus est
in fabula_, here he comes.
_Enter_ GERARDINE.
GER. How now, lads? does our conceit cotten?[394] ha’
you summoned your wits from woolgathering? are you
fraught with matter for this merriment?
DRY. Full, full: we are in labour, man, and we shall die
without midwifery.
CLUB. We are ravished with delight, like the wench that
was got with child against her stomach. O, but[395] if
we could wrest this smock-law now in hand to our
club-law, it were excellent!
DRY. Easily, easily: all shall be called the club-law.
GER. As how?
DRY. Why, thus. Club is the crier; I am Poppin[396] the
proctor; and you Stickler the doctor: he calls them to
appear; I must be of their counsel, and you must attone
them.[397] We may know their cases and be in their
elements, mark you me, but they cannot be in ours. Tut,
none knows our secrets: we can speak fustian above their
understanding, and make asses’ ears attentive. I’ll play
Ambidexter,[398] tell ’em ’tis a plain case, and put ’em
down with the club-law; so that, as Club said well e’en
now, our knavery is as near allied as felling of wood
and getting of children.
GER. Excellent, excellent! By this they are at hand:
let’s bear these things like ourselves: I’ll withdraw
and put on my habiliments, and then enter for the
doctor.
DRY. Do so: they come, they come. [_Exit_ GERARDINE.
_Enter_ GLISTER _and_ PURGE.
Welcome, master doctor Glister and master Purge: there’s
a commission to be sat upon this day, to open a passage
for imprisoned truth, concerning acts yet _in tenebris_.
GLI. True; I am brought hither by the malice of my wife.
PUR. And I have a just appeal against my wife.
GLI. Master Poppin[399]—so I think you are called—I
understand you have the law at your fingers’ ends.
DRY. I can box cases, and scold and scratch it out
amongst them.
GLI. Indeed, fame reports you to be a good trumpeter of
causes: I must retain you, sir, to sound mine.
DRY. My sackbut shall do it most pathetically: tell me,
in brief, the nature of your case.
GLI. Faith, sir, a scandalous letter devised to wrong my
reputation, about a bastard in the country which should
be mine.
DRY. About a bastard in the country which should be
yours? hum,—’tis very like you then, it should seem.
GLI. O no, sir! understand me, only fathered upon me.
DRY. Only fathered upon you _cum nemini[400] obtrudi
potest_: I understand you, and like you well too, you do
not flatter yourself in your own case, no, ’tis not
good: well, what more?
GLI. And about my niece, got with child in my own house.
DRY. Byrlady,[401] burdens of some weight, which you
make light of! you deny?
GLI. What else, sir? I have reason.
DRY. I know it well, I take you for no beast: believe
me, master doctor, denial and reason are two main
grounds; stand upon them, and you cannot err.—Your case,
master Purge?
PUR. First take your fee, master Poppin,[402] that you
may have the more feeling, and urge it home when you
come to’t. [_Gives money._] Mine is a discovery of my
wife’s iniquity at the Family of Love.
DRY. Otherwise called the House of Venery, where they
hunger and thirst for’t.
PUR. True, sir: you have heard of the Hole in the Wall,
where they assemble together in the daytime, like so
many bees under a hive?
DRY. Come home _crura thymo plena_, and lodge among
hornets, is’t not so?
PUR. I cannot tell, sir; but, for my part, I am much
noted as I go.
DRY. No doubt of that, sir; your wife can furnish you
with notes out of her cotations.[403]
CLUB. Ay, and give him a two-tagged point[404] to tie
’em together.
DRY. But how came you to detect her?
PUR. Why, thus, sir: getting the word, I dogged her to
the Family, where, closing with her, I whispered so
pleasing a tale in her ear, that I got from her her
wedding-ring; and here ’tis.
DRY. Well, out of that ring we will wring matter that
shall carry meat i’ th’ mouth. But what witness or proof
can you produce to make good your wife’s iniquity and
your own cuckoldry?
PUR. Master Lipsalve and master Gudgeon, who were her
companions at that same time.
DRY. Very good.—Are they cited in the _quorum nomina_?
CLUB. They will be here, sir.
GLI. If they be, they will bewray[405] all.
DRY. So much the better; ’twill savour well for master
Purge.
PUR. You understand my case now?
GLI. And mine too, sir?
DRY. I do, I do: they are as different as a doctor and a
dunce, a man and a beast: here’s the compendium; yours,
master doctor, stands upon the negative; and yours,
master Purge, upon the affirmative: _pauca sapienti_, I
ha’t, I ha’t.
PUR. Mine is very current, sir; I can shew you good
guilt.
DRY. Ay, marry, there spoke an angel;[406] gilt’s[407]
current, indeed: let me feel’t, let me feel’t.
PUR. I mean, my wife’s guilt.
GLI. Master Poppin, you shall have innocence to speak
for me.
DRY. Tut, innocence is a fool, I care not for’s company;
I can speak enough without him.
GLI. Then, I hope, you will be as good to us as the
five-finger at maw.[408]
DRY. No, rather as Hercules, to lip-labour ’em with the
club-law: tut, let me alone.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GLISTER, MISTRESS PURGE, _and_ MARIA.
MIS. G. O, are you here, sir? I have brought you a full
barn to glut your greedy appetite: if you have any maw,
feed here till you choke again. Now shall I see the
whole carcass of your knavery ript up: if thou hast any
grace, now will thy red beard turn white upon’t.
MIS. P. O how have I been toss’d from post to pillar
In this libidinous world! The yoke I bear
Is so uneven, as if an innocent lamb
And a mad hare-brain’d ox should draw together:
But I must have patience, there’s no remedy.
DRY. There’s some difference between these two tempers.
GLI. I would give a hundred pounds my wife had so gentle
a spirit. [_Aside._
PUR. My wife must needs be gentle, for she can bear
double. [_Aside._
_Re-enter_ GERARDINE, _disguised as a doctor_.
DRY. Here comes master doctor: now rig up your vessels,
every one to his tackling.
GER. Good day to all at once, and peace amongst you!—
Fie, how I sweat! I think Vulcan ne’er toiled so at his
anvil as I have done, and all to make maid’s water to
slake Cupid’s fire, and to turn his shafts from the
feather-bed to the bed-post, from the heart to the
heel.—
Come, master Poppin, shall we to this gear?[409]
DRY. Reverend doctor, we have stayed your coming.—Crier,
cry silence.
CLUB. Silence![410]
DRY. Master doctor, I have heard in general terms the
tales of master doctor Glister and master Purge, which
have in mutual manner jumped into the quagmire of my
mind; out of which quagmire, by your enforcement and
mine own duty, I pluck them up by the ears, and thus, in
naked apparance,[411] I present them.
GER. _Ad rem, ad rem_, master Poppin; leave your
allegories, your metaphors, and circumlocutions, and to
the point.
DRY. Then briefly thus: I have compared their tales,—how
short they will come of their wives’ I know not: and
first for mistress Purge.—Crier, call mistress Purge.
CLUB. Rebecca Purge, wife to Peter Purge, ’pothecary,
appear upon thy purgation, upon pain of excommunication.
MIS. P. Here I am,—O time’s impiety!—
Hither I come from out the harmless fold
To have my good name eaten up by wolves:
See, how they grin! Well, the weak must to the wall;
I must bear wrong, but shame shall them befall.
GER. Who is her accuser?
DRY. Her own husband, upon the late discovery of a crew
of narrow-ruffed,[412] strait-laced, yet loose-bodied
dames, with a rout[413] of omnium-gatherums, assembled
by the title of the Family of Love: which, master
doctor, if they be not punished and suppressed by our
club-law, each man’s copyhold will become freehold,
specialities will turn to generalities, and so from
unity to parity, from parity to plurality, and from
plurality to universality; their wives, the only
ornaments of their houses, and of all their wares,
goods, and chattel[s], the chief moveables, will be made
common.
PUR. Most voluble and eloquent proctor!
GER. Byrlady,[414] these enormities must and shall be
redressed, otherwise I see their charter will be
infringed, and their ancient staff of government the
club, from whence we derive our law of castigation,—this
club, I say (they seeming nothing less than men by their
fore-part), will be turned upon their own heads.—Speak,
Rebecca Purge; art thou one of this Family? hast thou
ever known the body of any man there or elsewhere
concupiscentically?
MIS. P. No, master doctor, those are but devices of the
wicked to trap the innocent; but I thank my spirit I
have fear before my eyes, which my husband sees not,
because something hangs in’s light.
PUR. That’s my horns; she flouts me to my face, and I
will not endure it: I shall carry her mark to my grave.
[_Aside._]—Master doctor, she has given me that, that
Æsculapius, were he now extant, could not heal, nor
_edax rerum_[415] take away.
GER. Produce your witness, master Purge, and blow not
your own horn.
PUR. Master Lipsalve and master Gudgeon, let them be
called.
CLUB. Lawrence Lipsalve and Gregory Gudgeon, late of
_hic et ubique_, in the county of _nusquam_, gentlemen,
come into the court and give your evidence, upon pain of
that which shall ensue.
_Enter_ LIPSALVE _and_ GUDGEON.
GLI. Here they come, in pain I warrant them.—How works
your physic, gallants? do you go well to the ground? now
cuckold the doctor!—Wife, who’s your first man now?—now
strike[416] with the scabbard! ha, ha, ha!
GUD. A villanous doctor!
LIP. Mountebank, you’re a rascal, and we will cast
about[417] to be revenged.
DRY. Cast about this way and bewray[418] what you can
concerning mistress Purge, who stands here upon her
purgation, either to prove mundified or contaminated,
according to the tenor-piece of your principal
evidence.—First give ’em the book.
CLUB. Come, lay your hands upon the book: you shall
speak and aver no more, nor wade no farther into the
cream-pots of this woman’s crime, than the naked truth
and the cart-rope of your conscience shall conduct you,
so help you the contents! Kiss the book.[419]
LIP. Alas, we are not in case to answer largely! but if
you will have our evidence in brief, I think I kissed
her at the Family some three times, once at coming, once
at going, and once in the midst; otherwise never knew
her dishonestly.
PUR. Ay, mark that middle kiss, master doctor.
GUD. And for my part, I have been more mortified by her
than ever I was provoked.
GER. How say you to this, master Purge? your witness is
weak, and, sir-reverence[420] on[’t], without sounder
proof, they may depart to the close-stool whence they
came, and you to your ’pothecary’s shop.
PUR. No, master doctor, I have another bolt to shoot
that shall strike her dead; she shall not have a word to
say.
DRY. Answer me to this, mistress Purge; where’s your
wedding-ring?
MIS. P. My wedding-ring? why, what should I do with
unnecessary things about me, when the poor begs at my
gate ready to starve? Is it not better, as I learned
last lecture, to send my substance before me, where I
may find it, than to leave it behind me, where I must
forego it? Yes, verily: wherefore, to put you out of
doubt, I have given that ring to charitable uses.
DRY. Nay, now she falters: my client can shew that ring,
got from her at the Family, when these two courtling[s]
had at the same time beleaguered her fort.
GER. This alters the case clean.—What starting-hole ha’
you now, mistress Purge?
MIS. P. E’en the sanctuary of a safe conscience: now,
truly, truly, however he came by that ring, by my
sisterhood, I gave it to the relief of the distressed
Geneva.
PUR. How? to the relief of the distressed Geneva?—
Justice, master doctor! I may now decline _victus_,
_victa_, _victum_; one word more shall overthrow her. I
myself was a Familist that day, who, more jealous than
zealous in devotion, thrust in amongst the rest (as I
had most right), on purpose to sound her, to find out
the knavery: short tale to make, I got her ring, and
here it is; let her deny it if she can: and what more I
discovered _non est nunc narrandi locus_.
MIS. P. Husband, I see you are hoodwinked in the right
use of feeling and knowledge,—as if I knew you not[421]
then as well as the child knows his own father! Look in
the posy of my ring: does it not tell you that we two
are one flesh? and hath not fellow-feeling taught us to
know one another as well by night as by day? Husband,
husband, will you do as the blind jade, break your neck
down a hill because you see it not? ha’ you no light of
nature in that flesh of yours?—Now, as true as I live,
master doctor, I had a secret operation, and I knew him
then to be my husband e’en by very instinct.
PUR. Impudence, dost not blush? art not ashamed to lie
so abominable?
MIS. P. No, husband, rather be you ashamed of your own
weakness; for, for my part, I neither fear nor shame
what man can do unto me.
GER. Master Purge, I see you have spent your pith;
therefore best make a full point at the ring, and attend
our pleasure.—Master Poppin,[422] proceed to the rest.
DRY. Crier, call doctor Glister.
CLUB. Doctor Glister, alias suppositor doctor[423] of
physic, appear upon thy purgation, upon the belly-pain
that may ensue thereon.[424]
GLI. Here, master doctor.
GER. Who is his accuser?
DRY. His clamorous wife, who seems to enforce a
separation about a bastard in the country, which should
be his, only fathered upon him.
GER. What proof of that?
MIS. G. Proof unanswerable, master doctor, the
nurse’s letter: let it be read; but first observe
his countenance; it may be his blushing will bewray
his guilt.
GER. Now, by this light, I thought it had indeed, but I
see ’tis but the reflection of his beard.—Read the
letter, master Poppin.[425]
DRY.[426] [_reads_] _After my hearty commendations
remembered unto your worshipful doctorship, trusting in
God that you are as well as I was at the making hereof,
thanks be to him therefor! the cause of my writing unto
you at this time is to let you understand that your
little son is turned a ragged colt, a very stripling;
for, being now stript of all his clothing, his backside
wants a tail-piece, commends itself to your fatherly
consideration. Woe worth the time that ever I gave suck
to a child that came in at the window, God knows how!
Yet if you did but see how like the pert, little,
red-headed knave is to his father, and how like a
cock-sparrow he mouses and touses my little Bess
already, you would take him for your own, and pay me my
hire. I write not of the want of one thing, for I want
all things; wherefore take some speedy order, or else as
naked as he came from the mother will I send him to the
father. From Pis.[427] the xxii of —— Your poor nurse_,
THOMASINE TWEEDLES.
GLI. Master doctor, truth needs not the foil of
rhetoric; I will only in _monosyllaba_ answer for myself
(as sometimes a wise man did): such and such things are
laid to my charge, which I deny; you may think of me
what you please, but I am as innocent in this as the
child new-born.
GER. Why, there’s partly a confession: the child, we
know, is innocent, and not new-born neither, for it
should seem by the letter he is able to call his dad
knave.
GLI. You take me wrong, master doctor.[428]
DRY. Under correction, thus much can I say for my
client’s justification. Indeed he hath travelled well in
the beating of pulses, and hath been much conversant in
women’s Jordans; but he had ever a care to raise
his patient being before cast down: his charitable
disposition hath been such to poor folk, that he never
took above fourpence for the casting of a water, which
good custom was so well known among all his patients,
that if sixpence were at any time offered him, they
might be bold to ask and have twopence again. He hath
been so skilful and painful withal in the cure of the
green sickness, that, of my knowledge, he hath risen at
all hours in the night to pleasure maids that have had
it: and for that foul-mouthed disease, termed by a
fine phrase—a pox on’t, what d’ye call’t? O, the
grincomes[429]—at that he hath played his doctor’s
prize, and writes _nil ultra_ to all mountebanks; so
that the wise woman in Pissing-Alley, nor she in
Do-little-Lane, are more famous for good deeds than he.
Then, master doctor, out of these presumptions, besides
his flat denial (a more infallible ground), you may
gather his innocence, and let him have his purgation.
GER. No, master Poppin,[430] it is not so to be foisted
off.
MIS. G. Nay, master doctor, what say you to his own
niece, that looks big upon him? an arrow that sticks for
the upshot against all comers; which by his restraint of
her from master Gerardine, an honest gentleman that
loved her, and upon that colour[431] from the sight and
intercourse of other men, must, by all presumptions, be
his own act.
GER. O monstrous! this is a foul blot in your
tables[432] indeed.
GLI. Wife, thou hast no shame nor womanhood in thee; thy
conscience knows me.
MIS. G. True of thy flesh, who knows not that? thy
beard speaks for thee: ay, ay, thou liest by me like a
stone, but abroad thou’rt like a stone-horse, you old
limb-lifter![433]
DRY. Cease your clamour, and attend my speech.—Most
worshipful, reverend, and judicial doctor, for the
quickening of your memory, I will give you a breviat of
all that hath been spoken. Master doctor Glister hath a
cradleful and a bellyful, you see, thrust upon him; and
master Purge a headful.—Your wife is an angry honeyless
wasp, whose sting, I hope, you need not fear,—and yours
carries honey in her mouth, but her sting makes your
forehead swell:—your wife makes you deaf with the shrill
treble of her tongue,—and yours makes you horn-mad with
the tenor of her tale.—In fine, master doctor’s refuge
is his conscience, and master Purge runs at his wife’s
ring.[434]
GER. _Summa totalis_, a good audit ha’ you made,
master Poppin.[435]—Now attend my arbitrement. For
you, gallants, though you have incurred the danger
of the law by using counterfeit keys, and putting
your hands into the wrong pocket, yet because I see
you punished and purged already, my advice is, that
you learn the A B C of better manners: go back and
tell how you have been used in the city; and being
thus scoured, keep yourselves clean, and the bed
undefiled.—For you, master Purge, because I see your
evidence insufficient, and indeed too weak, to foil
your wife’s uprightness, and seeing jealousy and
unkindness have[436] only made her a stranger in
your land of Ham, my counsel is, that you readvance
your standard, give her new press-money.
PUR. You may enjoin me, sir, but——
GER. But not at me, man: I will enjoin you, and conjoin
you, and briefly thus. You have your ring that has made
this combustion and uproar: that keep still; wear it;
and here, by my edict, be it proclaimed to all that are
jealous, to wear their wives’ ring[s] still on their
fingers, as best for their security, and the only charm
against cuckoldry.
PUR. Then, wife, at master doctor’s enjoinment,[437] so
thou wilt promise me to come no more at the Family, I
receive thee into the lists of my favour.
MIS. P. Truly, husband, my love must be free still to
God’s creatures: yea, nevertheless, preserving you still
as the head of my body, I will do as the spirit shall
enable me.
GER. Go to, thou hast a good wife, and there[’s] an
end.—Upon you, master doctor, being solicited by so
apparent proof, I can do no less than pronounce a severe
sentence; and yet, i’faith, the reverence of your
calling and profession doth somewhat check my austerity:
what if master Gerardine, by my persuasion, would yet be
induced to take your niece, and father the child? would
you launch with a thousand pound, besides her father’s
portion?
GLI. Master doctor, I would, were it but to redeem her
lost good name.
GER. Then, foreknowing what would happen, I thought
good, in master Gerardine’s name, to have this bond
ready, which if you seal to, he shall take her with all
faults.
GLI. That will I instantly. [_Seals the bond._]
So, this is done; which, together with my niece, do
I deliver by these presents to the use of master
Gerardine.
GER. He thanks you heartily, and lets you know,
[GERARDINE, DRYFAT, _and_ CLUB _discover
themselves_.
That Indian mines and Tagus’ glistering ore
To this bequest were unto me but poor.
GLI. What? Gerardine, Dryfat, and Club!
DRY. The very[438] same.
CLUB. You are welcome to our club-law.
GER. Cease admiration here: what doubt remains
I’ll satisfy at full. Now join with me
For approbation of our Family.
EPILOGUE.[439]
Gentles, whose favour[s] have o’erspread this place,
And shed the real influence of grace
On harmless mirth, we thank you; for our hope
Attracts such vigour and unmeasur’d scope
From the reflecting splendour of your eyes,
That, grace presum’d, fear in oblivion dies.
Your judgment, as it is the touch[440] and trier
Of good from bad, so from your hearts comes fire,
That gives both ardour to the wit refin’d,
And sweetness [to] th’ incense of each willing mind.
O may that fire ne’er die! nor let your favours
Depart from us: give countenance to their labours
Propos’d a sacrifice, which may no less
Their strong desires than our true zeals express.
[_Exeunt omnes._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
YOUR FIVE GALLANTS.
_Your fiue Gallants. As it hath beene often in
Action at the Black-friers. Written by T.
Middleton. Imprinted at London for Richard Bonian,
dwelling at the signe of the Spred-Eagle, right
ouer-against the great North dore of Saint Paules
Church._ n. d. 4to.
_Fyve Wittie Gallants_ was licensed by Sir George
Bucke, 22d March 1607-8: see Chalmers’s _Suppl.
Apol._, p. 202.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
FRIPPERY, _the broker-gallant_.
PRIMERO, _the bawd-gallant_.
GOLDSTONE, _the cheating-gallant_.
PURSENET, _the pocket-gallant_.
TAILBY, _the whore-gallant_.
FITSGRAVE, _a gentleman_.
BUNGLER, _cousin to_ MISTRESS NEWCUT.
PYAMONT.
ARTHUR, _servant to_ FRIPPERY.
FULK, _servant to_ GOLDSTONE.
_Boy_, _servant to_ PURSENET.
JACK, _servant to_ TAILBY.
MARMADUKE, _servant to_ MISTRESS NEWCUT.
_Gentlemen_, _Tailor_, _Painter_, _&c._
KATHERINE, _a wealthy orphan_.
MISTRESS NEWCUT, _a merchant’s wife_.
_Novice._
_Courtesans._
Scene, LONDON, except during part of the third
act, which is laid in Combe-Park and its
neighbourhood.
YOUR FIVE GALLANTS.
--------------
_Presenter, or Prologue,[441] passing over the stage; the
bawd-gallant_ [PRIMERO], _with three wenches gallantly
attired, meets him; the whore-gallant_ [TAILBY], _the
pocket-gallant_ [PURSENET], _the cheating-gallant_
[GOLDSTONE], _kiss these three wenches, and depart in a
little whisper and wanton action. Now, for the other, the
broker-gallant_ [FRIPPERY], _he sits at home yet, I warrant
you, at this time of day, summing up his pawns_. Hactenus
quasi inductio, _a little glimpse giving_.
ACT I. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ FRIPPERY’S _House_. FRIPPERY
_discovered[442] summing up his pawns, one fellow
standing by him_.
_Enter_ ARTHUR _and a second fellow_.
AR. Is your pawn good and sound, sir?
SEC. F. I’ll pawn my life for that, sir.
AR. Place yourself there then; I will seek to prefer it
presently. My master is very jealous[443] of the
pestilence; marry, the pox sits at meat and meal with
him. [_Second fellow retires._
FRI. [_reading_] _Lent the fifth day of September to
mistress Onset upon her gown_, [_and_] _taffeta
petticoat with three broad silver laces, three pound
fifteen shillings_.
_Lent to Justice Cropshin upon both his velvet jackets
five pound ten shillings._
_Lent privately to my Lady Newcut upon her gilt
casting-bottle[444] and her silver lie-pot fifty-five
shillings._
AR. Sir——
FRI. [_reads_] _Lent to Sir Oliver Needy upon his
taffeta cloak, beaver hat, and perfumed leather-jerkin,
six pound five shillings._
AR. May it please your worship——
FRI. [_reads_] _Lent to master Andrew Lucifer upon his
flame-coloured doublet and blue taffeta hose_[445]—top
the candle, sirrah; methinks the light burns blue: when
came that suit in?
AR. ’T’as lain above the year now.
FRI. Fire and brimstone! cut it out into matches; the
white linings will serve for tinder.
AR. And with little help, sir; they are almost black
enough already. Sir, here’s another come with a pawn.
FRI. Keep him aside awhile, and reach me hither the bill
of the last week.
AR. ’Tis here at hand, sir.
FRI. Now, sir, what’s your pawn?
FIRST F. The second part of a gentlewoman’s gown, sir;
the lower half, I mean.
FRI. I apprehend you easily, the breeches of the gown.
FIRST F. Very proper; for she wears the doublet at home,
a guest that lies in my house, sir; she looks every hour
for her cousin out a’ th’ country.
FRI. O, her cousin lies here; ’a may mistake in that. My
friend, of what parish is your pawn?
FIRST F. Parish? why, Saint Clement’s, sir.
FRI. I’ll come to you presently.[446]—What parish is
your pawn, my friend? [_reads_] _Saint Bride’s_, 5;
_Saint Dunstan’s, none_; _Saint Clement’s_, 3. Three at
Clement’s?—Away with your pawn, sir! your parish is
infected; I will neither purchase the plague for
sixpence in the pound and a groat bill-money, nor
venture my small stock into contagious parishes: you
have your answer; fare you well, as fast as you can,
sir.
FIRST F. The pox arrest you, sir, at the suit of the
suburbs!
FRI. Ay, welcome, welcome.
FIRST F. For, I think, plague scorns your company.
[_Exit._
FRI. I rank with chief gallants; I love to smell safely.
[_Reads_] _Lent in the vacation to master Proctor upon
his spiritual gown five angels,[447] and upon his
corporal doublet fifteen shillings; sum, three pound
five shillings._
AR. Sir——
FRI. Now, sir?
AR. [_bringing forward a trunk._] Here’s one come in
with a trunk of apparel.
FRI. Whence comes it?
AR. From Saint Martin’s-in-the-Field.
FRI. Saint Martin’s-in-the-Field? [_reads_] _Saint Mary
Maudlin_, 2; _Saint Martin’s, none_: here’s an honest
fellow; let him appear, sir.
AR. You may come near, sir.
FRI. O welcome, welcome; what’s your pawn, sir?
SEC. F. Faith, a gentlewoman’s whole suit, sir.
FRI. Whole suit? ’tis well.
SEC. F. A poor, kind soul, troubled with a bad husband;
one that puts her to her shifts here.
FRI. He puts her from her shifts, methinks, when she is
fain to pawn her clothes.
SEC. F. Look you, sir; a fair satin gown, new taffeta
petticoat——
FRI. Stay, this petticoat has been turned.
SEC. F. Often turned up and down, and[448] you will, but
never turned, sir.
FRI. Cry you mercy, indeed.
SEC. F. A fine white beaver, pearl band, three
falls;[449] I ha’ known her have more in her days.
FRI. Alas, and she be but a gentlewoman of any count or
charge, three falls are nothing in these days! know
that: tut, the world’s changed; gentlewomen’s[450] falls
stand upright now; no sin but has a bolster, that it may
lie at ease. Well, what do you borrow of these, sir?
SEC. F. Twelve pound, and you will, sir.
FRI. How?
SEC. F. They were not her’s for twenty.
FRI. Why, so; our pawn is ever thrice the value of our
money, unless in plate and jewels; how should the months
be restored and the use else? We must cast it for the
twelvemonth, so many pounds, so many months, so many
eighteenpences; then the use of these eighteenpences;
then the want of the return of those pounds: all these
must be laid together; which well considered, the
valuation of the pawn had need to sound treble. Can six
pound pleasure the gentlewoman?
SEC. F. It may please her, but, like a man of
threescore, in the limberest degree.
FRI. I have but one word more to say in’t; twenty
nobles[451] is all and the utmost that I will hazard
upon’t.
SEC. F. She must be content with’t: the less borrowed,
the better paid; come.
FRI. Arthur.
AR. At hand, sir.
FRI. Tell out twenty nobles, and take her name in a
bill.
SEC. F. I’m satisfied, sir. [_Exit with_ ARTHUR.
FRI. Welcome, good Saint Martin’s-in-the-Field, welcome,
welcome! I know no other name.
_Enter_ PRIMERO.
PRI. What, so hard at your prayers?
FRI. A little, sir; summing up my pawns here—what,
master Primero, is it you, sir gallant? and how do[452]
all the pretty sweet ladies, those plump, kind, delicate
blisses, ha? whom I kiss in my very thoughts,—how do
they, gallant?
PRI. Why, gallant, if they should not do well in my
house, where should it be done, boy? have I not a
glorious situation?
FRI. O, a gallant receipt,—violet air, curious garden,
quaint walks, fantastical arbours, three back doors, and
a coach-gate! nay, thou’rt admirably seated: little
furniture will serve thee; thou’rt never without
moveables.
PRI. Ay, praise my stars! Ah, the goodly virginities
that have been cut up in my house, and the goodly
patrimonies that have lain like sops in the gravy! and
when those sops were eaten, yet the meat was kept whole
for another, and another, and another; for as in one pie
twenty may dip their sippits, so upon one woman forty
may consume their patrimonies.
FRI. Excellent, master Primero!
PRI. Well, I will[453] pray for women while I live;
They’re the profitablest fools, I’ll say that for ’em,
A man can keep ’bout his house; the prettiest kind fowl;
So tame, so gentle, e’en to strangers’ hands
So soon familiar; suffer to be touch’d
Of those they ne’er saw twice: the dove’s not like ’em.
FRI. Most certain, for that’s honest: but I have
A suit to you.
PRI. And so have I to you.
FRI. That happens well: grant mine, and I’ll grant
yours.
PRI. A match.
FRI. Make me perfect in that trick that got you so much
at primero.[454]
PRI. O, for the thread tied at your partner’s leg,
The twitch?
FRI. Ay, that twitch, and[455] you call it[456] so.
PRI. That secret twitch got me five hundred pound
Ere ’twas first known, and since I ha’ sold it well:
Five hundred pound laid down shall not yet buy
The fee-simple of my twitch: I would be here with’t.
’Twas a blest invention;
I’d[457] been a beggar many a lousy year
But for my twitch: it was the prettiest twitch!
Many over-cheated gulls have fatted
Me with the bottom of their patrimonies,
E’en to the last sop, gaped while I fed ’em,
Who now live by that art that first undid ’em.
But I must swear you to be secret, close.
FRI. As a maid at ten.
PRI. Had you sworn but two years higher
I would ne’er ha’ believ’d you.
FRI. Nay, I let twelve alone,
For after twelve has struck, maids look for one.
PRI. I look for one too, and a maid, I think.
FRI. What, to come hither?
PRI. Sure, she follows me: a pretty, fat-eyed wench,
with a Venus in her cheek: did but raiment smile upon
her, she were nectar for great dons, boy: and that’s my
suit to thee.
FRI. And that’s granted already. Of what volume is this
book, that I may fit a cover to’t?
PRI. Faith, neither in folio nor in decimo sexto, but in
octavo, between both; a pretty, middle-sized trug.[458]
FRI. Then I have fitted her already, in my eye, i’faith.
Here came a pawn in e’en now will make shift to serve
her as fit!—look you, sir gallant[459]—satin, taffeta,
beaver, fall,[460] and all.
PRI. Is it new?
FRI. New? you see it bears her youth as freshly——
PRI. A pretty suit of clothes, i’faith: but put case the
party should come to redeem ’em of a sudden?
FRI. Pooh, then your wit’s sickly: have not I the
policy, think you, to seem extreme busy, and defer ’em
till the morrow? against which time that pawn shall be
secretly fetched home, and another carried out to supply
the place.
PRI. I like thy craft well there.
FRI. A general course. O, frippery[461] is an unknown
benefit, sir gallant!
PRI. And what must I give you for the hire now, i’faith?
FRI. Of the whole suit, for the month?
PRI. Ay, for the month.
FRI. Go to, you shall give me but twelvepence a-day;
master Primero, you’re a friend, and I’ll use you so:
’tis got up at your house in an afternoon, i’faith, the
hire of the whole month: ye must think I can distinguish
spirits, and put a difference between you and others;
you pay no more, i’faith.
PRI. I could have offered you no less myself.
FRI. Tut, a man must use a friend as a friend may use
him: your house has been a sweet house to me, both for
pleasure and profit; I’ll give you your due: _omne tulit
punctum_, you have always kept fine punks in your house,
that’s for pleasure, _qui miscuit utile dulci_, and I
have had sweet pawns from ’em, that’s for profit now.
PRI. You flatter, you flatter, sir gallant,—but whist!
here she enters: I prithee, question her.
_Enter Novice._
O, you’re welcome!
FRI. Is this your new scholar, master Primero?
PRI. Marry is she, sir.
FRI. I’ll commend your judgment in a wench while I
live: that face will get money, i’faith; ’twill be a
get-penny, I warrant you.—Go to, your fortune was
choice, pretty bliss, to fall into the regard of so
kind a gentleman.
NOV. I hope so, sir.
FRI. See what his care has provided already for you;
you’ll be simply set out to the world! If you’ll have
that care now to deserve his pains, O that will be
acceptable! and these be the rudiments you must chiefly
point at: to counterfeit cunningly, to wind in gentlemen
with powerful attraction to keep his house in name and
custom, to dissemble with your own brother, never to
betray your fellows’ imperfections nor lay open the
state of their bodies to strangers, to believe those
that give you, to gull those that believe you, to laugh
at all under taffeta; and these be your rudiments.
PRI. There’s e’en all, i’faith; we’ll trouble you with
no more; nay, you shall live at ease enough: for nimming
away jewels and favours from gentlemen, which are your
chief vails, [I] hope that will come naturally enough to
you, I need not instruct you; you’ll have that wit, I
trust, to make the most of your pleasure.
NOV. I hope one’s mother-wit will serve for that, sir.
PRI. O, properest of all, wench! it must be a she-wit
that does those things, and thy mother was quick enough
at it in her days.
FRI. Give me leave, sister, to examine you upon two or
three particulars:—and you make you ready,[462] be not
ashamed; here’s none but friends—are you a maid?
NOV. Yes, in the last quarter, sir.
FRI. Very proper, that’s e’en going out: a maid in the
last quarter, that’s a whore in the first: let me see,
new moon on Thursday; she’ll be changed[463] by that
time too. Are you willing to pleasure gentlemen?
NOV. We are all born to pleasure our country, forsooth.
FRI. Excellent! Can you carry yourself cunningly, and
seem often holy?
NOV. O, fear not that, sir! my friends were all
Puritans.
FRI. I’ll ne’er try her further.
PRI. She’s done well, i’faith: I fear not now to turn
her loose to any gentleman in Europe.
FRI. You need not, sir: of her own accord, I think
she’ll be loose enough without turning.—Arthur.
_Re-enter_ ARTHUR.
AR. Here, sir.
FRI. Go, make haste, shift her into that suit presently.
AR. It shall be done.
PRI. Arthur, do’t neatly, Arthur.
AR. Fear’t not, sir. [_Exit._
PRI. Follow him, wench.
NOV. With all my heart, sir. [_Exit._
PRI. But, mass, sir,[464]
In what are we forgetful all this while!
FRI. In what?
PRI. The wooing business, man.
FRI. Heart, that’s true!
PRI. The gallants will prevent[465] us.
FRI. Are you certain?
PRI. I can avouch it: there’s a general meeting
At the deceas’d knight’s house this afternoon;
There’s rivalship enough.
FRI. No doubt in that:
Would either thou or I might bear her from ’em!
PRI. My hopes are not yet faint.
FRI. Nor mine.
PRI. Tut, man,
Nothing in women’s hearts sooner win[s] place
Than a brave outside and an impudent face.
FRI. And for both those we’ll fit it.
PRI. Ay, if the devil be not in’t: make haste.
FRI. I follow straight. [_Exit_ PRIMERO.
Vanish, thou fog, and sink beneath our brightness,
Abashed at the splendour of such beams!
We scorn thee, base eclipser of our glories,
That wouldst have hid our shine from mortal’s eyes.
Now, gallants, I’m[466] for you, ay, and perhaps before
you:
You can appear but glorious from yourselves,
And have your beams but drawn from your own light,
But mine from many,—many make me bright.
Here’s a diamond that sometimes graced the finger of a
countess; here sits a ruby that ne’er lins[467] blushing
for the party that pawned it; here a sapphire. O
providence and fortune! my beginning was so poor, I
would fain forget it; and I take the only course, for I
scorn to think on’t; slave to a trencher, observer of a
salt-cellar, privy to nothing but a close-stool, or such
unsavoury secret: but as I strive to forget the days of
my serving, so I shall once remember the first step of
my raising; for, having hardly raked five mark[s][468]
together, I rejoiced so in that small stock, which most
providently I ventured by water to Blackwall among
fishwives; and in small time, what by weekly return and
gainful restitution, it rize[469] to a great body,
beside a dish of fish for a present, that stately
preserved me a seven-night.
Nor[470] ceas’d it there, but drew on greater profit;
For I was held religious by those
That do profess like abstinence,
And was full often secretly supplied
By charitable Catholics,
Who censur’d[471] me sincerely abstinate,
When merely I for hunger, not[472] for zeal,
Eat up the fish, and put their alms to use!
Ha, ha, ha!
But those times are run out; and, for my sake,
Zealous dissemblance has since far’d the worse.
Let me see now, whose cloak shall I wear to-day to
continue change?—O—Arthur!
_Re-enter_ ARTHUR.
AR. Here, sir.
FRI. Bring down Sir Oliver Needy’s taffeta cloak and
beaver hat—I am sure he is fast enough in the Knight’s
ward[473]—and Andrew Lucifer’s rapier and dagger with
the embossed girdle and hangers[474] [_exit_ ARTHUR],
for he’s in his third sweat by this time, sipping of
the doctor’s bottle, or picking the ninth part of a
rack of mutton dry-roasted, with a leash of nightcaps
on his head like the pope’s triple crown, and as many
pillows crushed to his back, with O-the-needles! for
he got the pox of a sempster, and it pricked so much
more naturally. Quick, Arthur, quick.
_Re-enter_ ARTHUR, _with cloak, &c., which_ FRIPPERY
_puts on_.
Now to the deceas’d knight’s daughter,
Whom many gallants sue to, I ’mongst many;
For
Since impudence gains more respect than virtue,
And coin than[475] blood, which few can now deny,
Who’re your chief gallants then but such as I?
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_An Apartment in_ KATHERINE’S _House_.
_Enter_ KATHERINE _and_ FITSGRAVE.
FIT. You do your beauties injury, sweet virgin,
To lose the time they must rejoice in youth:
There’s no perfection in a woman plac’d
But wastes itself though it be never wasted;
Then judge your wrongs[476] yourself.
KAT. Good master Fitsgrave,
Through sorrow for the knight my father’s death,
(Whose being was the perfection[477] of my joy
And crown of my desires), I cannot yet
But forcedly on marriage fix my heart:
Yet heaven forbid I should deject your hopes!
Conceive not of me so uncharitably;
I should belie my soul if I should say
You are the man I never should affect.
I understand you thus far, you’re a gentleman,
Whom your estate and virtues may commend[478]
To a far worthier breast than this of mine.
FIT. O cease! I dare not hear such blasphemy.
What is without you worthy I neglect;
In you is plac’d the worth that I respect.
Vouchsafe,[479] unequall’d virgin, [to] accept
This worthless favour from your servant’s arm,
The hallow’d beads, whereon I justly kept
The true and perfect number of my sighs.
[_Gives a chain of pearl._
KAT. Mine cannot equal yours, yet in exchange
Accept and wear it for my sake. [_Gives a jewel._
FIT. Even as my [life] I’ll rate it.
_Enter_ GOLDSTONE, PURSENET, TAILBY, FRIPPERY, PRIMERO,
_and Boy_, _at the farther door_.
GOL. Heart! Fitsgrave in such bosom single-loves?
PUR. So close and private with her!
TAI. Observe ’em; he grows proud and bold.
FRI. Why, was not this a general meeting?
PRI. By her own consent. Death, how I could taste his
blood!
KAT. See, the gentlemen,
At my request, do all present themselves.
GOL. Manifold blisses wait on her desire,
Whose beauty and whose mind so many honour!
KAT. I take your wishes thankfully, kind gentlemen,
All here assembled, over whose long suits
I ne’er insulted;
Nor, like that common sickness of our sex,
Grew proud in the abundance of my suitors,
Or number of the days they sued unto me.
Dutiful sorrow for my father’s death,
Not wilful coyness, hath my hours detain’d
So long in silence.
I’m left to mine own choice: so much the more
My care calls on me: if I err through love,
’Tis I must chide myself; I cannot shift
The fault unto my parents, they’re at rest;
And I shall sooner err through love than wealth.
GOL. Good!
PUR. Excellent!
TAI. That likes[480] me well.
PRI. Hope still.
KAT. And my affections do pronounce you all
Worthy their pure and most entire deserts:
Yet they can choose but one;
Nor do I dissuade any of his hopes,
Because my heart is not yet throughly fix’d
On marriage or the man,
But crave the quiet respite of one month,
The month unto this night; against which time
I do invite you all to that election,
Which, on my unstain’d faith and virgin promise,
Shall light amongst no strangers, but yourselves.
May this content you?
[_While she is speaking, the Boy steals from her
the chain of pearl._
ALL. Glad and content!
KAT. ’Tis a good time to leave:
Till then commend us to your gentlest thoughts.
[_Exit._
ALL. Enough.
FIT. Ough!
[_The gallants look scurvily upon_ FITSGRAVE, _and_
_he upon them. Exeunt_ GOLDSTONE, TAILBY,
FRIPPERY, _and_ PRIMERO. _As_ PURSENET _is going
out, the Boy takes him into a corner_.
BOY. Hist, master, hist!
PUR. Boy, how now?
BOY. Look you, sir.
PUR. Her chain of pearl?
BOY. I sneckt it away finely.
PUR. Active boy,
Thy master’s best revenue, his life and soul!
Thou keep’st ’em both together: whip, away.
[_Exit Boy._
Fall back, fall belly, I must be maintain’d:
Hope is no purchase;[481]
Nor care I if I miss her. Why I rank
In this design with gallants, there’s full cause;
Policy invites me to it:
’Tis not for love, or for her sake alone;
It keeps my state suspectless and unknown.
[_Aside, and exit._
FIT. Their looks run through and through me, and the
stings
Of their snake-hissing whispers pierc’d my hearing.
They’re mad she grac’d me with one private minute
Above their fortunes: I’ve[482] observed ’em often
Most spitefully aspécted toward my happiness,
Beyond all others; but the cause I know not.
A quiet month the virgin has enclos’d
Unto herself; suitors stand without till then:
In which space cunningly I’ll wind myself
Into their bosoms. I’ve bethought the shape;
Some credulous scholar, easily infected
With fashion, time, and humour: unto such
Their deepest thoughts will, like to wanton fishes,
Play above water, and be all parts seen:
For since at me their envy pines, I’ll see
Whether their lives from touch of blame sit free.
[_Exit._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ PRIMERO’S _House_.
_Enter_ PRIMERO, _meeting_ MISTRESS NEWCUT.
PRI. Mistress Newcut, welcome: here will be choice of
gallants for you anon.
MIS. N. Is all clear? may I venture? am I not seen of
the wicked?
PRI. Strange absurdity, that you should come into my
house, and ask if you be not seen of the wicked!
push![483] I take’t unkindly, i’faith: what think you of
my house? ’tis no such common receptacle.
MIS. N. Forgive me, sweet master Primero: I can be
content to have my pleasure as much as another, but I
must have a care of my credit; I would not be seen; any
thing else. My husband’s at sea, and a woman shall have
an ill report in this world, let her carry herself never
so secretly; you know’t, master Primero. And what choice
of gallants be they? will they be proper gentlemen,
think you?
PRI. Nay, sure they are as proper as they will be
already.
MIS. N. I must have choice, you know; I come for no
gain, but for sheer pleasure and affection.
PRI. You see your old spy-hole yonder; take your
stand, please your own eye. I’ll work it so the
gallants shall present themselves before you, and in
the most conspicuous fashion.
MIS. N. That’s all I can desire—till better come.
[_Aside._]—Look you.
PRI. What mean you, lady?
MIS. N. A trifle, sir, to buy you silver spurs:
Good sir, accept it. [_Gives money, and exit._
PRI. Silver spurs? a pretty emblem! mark it; all her
gifts are about riding still: the other day she sent me
boot-hose wrought in silk and gold; now silver spurs.
Well, go thy ways, thou’rt as profitable a spirit as
e’er lighted into my house. Come, ladies, come, ’tis
late; to music,—when?[484]
_Enter Courtesans and Novice._
FIRST C. You’re best command us, sir!—Our pimp’s grown
proud.
PRI. To fools and strangers these are gentlewomen
Of sort and worship, knights’ heirs, great in portions,
Boarded here for their music;
And oftentimes ’tas been so cunningly carried,
That I have had two stolen away at once,
And married at Savoy,[485] and prov’d honest
shopkeepers:
And I may safely swear they practis’d music;
They’re natural at prick-song. A small mist
Will dazzle a fool’s eye, and that’s the world:
So I can thump my hand upon the table
With an austere grace, and cry one, two, and three,
Fret, stamp, and curse, foh, ’twill pass well for me!
_Enter Boy._
How now, sirrah?
BOY. They’re coming in, sir, and strangers in their
company.
PRI. Tune apace, ladies.—Be ready for the song, sirrah.
_Enter_ GOLDSTONE, PURSENET, FRIPPERY, TAILBY, FITSGRAVE
_disguised, and_ BUNGLER.
GOL. Nay, I beseech you, gallants, be more inward[486]
with this gentleman; his parts deserve it.
PUR. Whence comes he, sir?
GOL. Piping hot[487] from the university; he smells of
buttered loaves yet; an excellent scholar, but the
arrantest ass! For this our solicitor, he’s a rare
fellow five-and-forty mile hence, believe that: his
friends are of the old fashion, all in their graves; and
now has he the leisure to follow all new fashions, ply
the brothels, practise salutes and cringes.
PUR. O!
GOL. Now, dear acquaintance,
I’ll bring you to see fashions.
FIT. What house is this, sir?
GOL. O, of great name: here music is profess’d;
Here sometimes ladies practise, and the meanest,
Daughters to men of worship,
Whom gentlemen, such as ourselves, may visit,
Court, clip,[488] and exercise our wits upon;
It is a profess’d courtesy.
FIT. A pretty recreation, i’faith!
GOL. I seldom saw so few here: you shall have ’em
sometimes in every corner of the house, with their
viols[489] betwixt their legs, and play the sweetest
strokes; ’twould e’en filch your soul almost out of your
bosom.
FIT. Pax[490] on’t, we spoil ourselves for want of these
things at university.
GOL. You have no such natural happiness: let’s draw
near.
PRI. Gentlemen, you are all most respectively[491]
welcome.
GOL. We are bold and insatiate suitors, sir, to the
breath of your music, and the dear sight of those
ladies.
PRI. And what our poor skill can invite you to,
You’re[492] kindly welcome: you must pardon ’em,
gentlemen,
Virgins and bashful, besides new beginners;
’Tis not a whole month since they were first enter’d.
GOL. Seven year in my knowledge. [_Aside._
PRI. They blush at their very lessons; they’ll[493]
not endure
To hear of a stop, a prick, or a semiquaver.
FIRST C. O, out upon you!
PRI. La, I tell you;—you’ll bear me witness,
gentlemen,
If their complaints come to their parents’ ears,
They’re words of art I teach ’em, nought but art.
GOL. Why, ’tis most certain.
BUN. For all scholars know that _musica est ars_.
ALL THE C. O beastly word!
PRI. Look to the ladies, gentlemen.
GOL. Kiss again.
PUR. Come, another.
TAI. This [is] a good interim. [_Exit._[494]
PRI. What have you done, sir?
BUN. Why, what have I done?
PRI. Saw you their stomachs queasy,[495] and come with
such gross meat?
BUN. Why, is’t not Latin, sir?
PRI. Latin? why, then, let the next to’t be Latin too.
PUR. So, enough.
GOL. Nay, I can assure you thus far, I that never knew
the language have heard so much that _ars_ is Latin for
art; and it may well be too, for there’s more art in’t
now a-days than ever was.
PRI. Is’t possible?
I’m sorry then I’ve[496] followed it so far.
FIRST C. A scholar call you him?
PRI. Music must not jar:
The offence is satisfied. Come, to the song;
Begin, sir.
[_The song: and he[497] keeps time, shews several
humours and moods: the Boy in his pocket nims
away Fitsgrave’s jewel here, and exit._
BUN. Not a whole month since you were entered, ladies?
FIT. None that shall see their cunning will believe
it. [_Aside._
PRI. It is no affliction,[498] gentlemen.
BUN. I care not much, i’faith, if I write down to my
father presently to send up my sister in all haste, that
I may place her here at this music-school.
MIS. N. [_peeping in_] ’Slid, ’tis the fool my cousin! I
would not for the value of three recreations he had seen
me here.
PRI. How like you your new prize?
FRI. Pray, give me leave; I have not yet sufficiently
admir’d her.
PRI. My wits[499] must not stand idle. ’Slife, he’s in a
sick trance!
GOL. A cheat or two among these mistresses
Would not be ill bestow’d; I affect none,
But for my prey: such are their affections,
I know it; how could drabs and cheaters live else?
Then since the world rolls on dissimulation,
I’ll be the first dissembler. [_Aside._
FIRST C. Prithee, love, comfort, choice,
My only wish, in thee I am confin’d!
Deny me any thing, a slight chain of pearl?
PUR. Nay, and it[500] be but slight——
FIRST C. Being denied,
I prize it slight; but given me by my love,
Light shall not be so dear unto my eye,
Mine eye unto the body, as the gift.
PUR. How have I power to deny this to you,
That command all? my fortunes are thy servants,
And thou the mistress both of them and me.
[_Gives her the chain._
FIRST C. The truest that e’er breath’d!
GOL. To a gentleman
That thus so long and so[501] sincerely lov’d you
As I myself, ne’er was less pity shewn.
SEC. C. Why, I never was held cruel.
GOL. But to me.
SEC. C. Nor to you.
GOL. Go to, ’t’as scar’d you much.
SEC. C. I’m sorry your conceit is so unkind
To think me so.
GOL. When had I other argument?
I’ve often tender’d you my love and service,
And that in no mean fashion;
Yet were you never[502] that requiteful mistress
That grac’d me with one favour;
’Slight, not so much as such a pretty ring;
Pax[503] on’t, ’t’as almost broke my heart.
[_Takes off her ring._
SEC. C. Has took it off:—’Sfoot, master
Goldstone![504]
GOL. Nay, where a man loves most, there to be scanted!
SEC. C. My ring, come, come——
GOL. What reckon I a satin gown or two,
If she were wise?
SEC. C. Life! my ring, sir, come——
GOL. Have you the face, i’faith?
SEC. C. Give me my ring.
GOL. Prithee, hence; by this light you get none on’t.
SEC. C. How?
GOL. I hold your favours of more pure esteem
Than to part from ’em; faith, I do, howe’er
You think of me.
SEC. C. Push,[505] pray, sir——
GOL. Hark you, go to;
You’ve[506] lost much by unkindness; go your ways.
SEC. C. ’Sfoot!
GOL. But yet there’s no time past; you may redeem it.
SEC. C. Come, I cannot miss[507] it, i’faith; beside,
the gentleman that bestowed it on me swore to me it cost
him twenty nobles.[508]
GOL. Twenty nobles? pox of twenty nobles!
But you must cost me more, you pretty villain:
Ah, you little rogue!
SEC. C. Come, come, I know you’re but in jest.
GOL. In jest? no, you shall see.
SEC. C. No way will get it:
As good give it him now, and hope for somewhat.
[_Aside._
GOL. True love made jest!
SEC. C. I did but try thy faith,
How fast thou’dst hold it. Now I see a woman
May venture worthy favours to thy trust,
And have ’em truly kept; and I protest,
Had I drawn’t from thee, I should ne’er ha’ lov’d thee;
I know that.
GOL. ’Sfoot, I was ne’er so wrongèd in my life!
Think you I’m[509] in jest with you? what, with my love?
I could find lighter subjects you shall see;
And time will shew how much you injure me.
SEC. C. The ring, were it[510] thrice worth, I freely
give,
For I know you’ll[511] requite it.
GOL. Will I live?
SEC. C. Enough.
GOL. Why, this was well come off now:
Where’s my old serving-man? not yet return’d?
O, here he peeps. [_Aside._
_Enter_ FULK.
Now, sirrah?
FULK. May it please your worship—they’re done
artificially, i’faith, boy.
GOL. Both the great beakers?
FULK. Both, lad.
GOL. Just the same size?
FULK. Ay, and the marks as just.
GOL. So, fall off respectively[512] now.
FULK. My lord desires your worship of all love——
GOL. His lordship must hold me excused till morning;
I’ll not break company to-night. Where sup we, gallants?
PUR. At Mermaid.[513]
GOL. Sup there who list, I forsworn the house.
FULK. For the truth is, this plot must take effect at
Mitre.[514]
[_Aside, and exit._
PUR. Faith,[515] I’m indifferent.
BUN. So are we, gentlemen.
PUR. Name the place, master Goldstone.
GOL. Why, the Mitre, in my mind, for neat attendance,
diligent boys, and—push![516] excels it far.
ALL. Agreed, the Mitre then.
PUR. Boy[517]—some goodness toward:[518] the boy’s whipt
away. [_Aside._
FIT. The jewel, heart, the jewel!
GOL. How now, sir? what mov’d you?
FIT. Nothing, sir;
A spice of poetry, a kind a’ fury,
A disease runs among scholars.
GOL. Mass, it made you stamp.
FIT. Whew,
’T’ill make some stamp and stare, make a strange noise,
Curse, swear, beat tire-men,[519] and kick players’
boys;
The effects are very fearful.
PUR. Bless me from’t!
FIT. O, you need not fear it, sir.—Hell of this luck!
GOL. Hark, he’s at it again!
PUR. Some pageant-plot, or some device for the
tilt-yard:
Disturb him not.
FIT. How can I gain her love,
When I have lost her favour? [_Aside._
GOL. What money hast about thee? Look you,[520] sir, I
must be fain to pawn a fair stone here for ordinary
expenses: a pox of my tenants! I give ’em twenty days
after the quarter, and they cut out forty.
FRI. Why, you might take the forfeiture of their leases
then.
GOL. I know I might; but what’s their course? The rogues
come[521] me up all together, with geese and capons, and
petitions in pigs’ snouts, which would move any man,
i’faith, were his stomach ne’er so great; and to see how
pitifully the pullen[522] will look, it makes me after
relent, and turn my anger into a quick fire to roast
’em—nay, touch’t and spare it not.
FRI. ’Tis right: well, what does your worship borrow of
this, sir?
GOL. The stone’s twenty nobles.[523]
FRI. Nay, hardly.
GOL. As I am a right gentleman.
FRI. It comes near it indeed: well, here’s five pound in
gold upon’t.
GOL. ’Twill serve; and the ring safe and secret?
FRI. As a virgin’s.
GOL. I wish no higher.—What, gallants, are you
constant?
Does the place hold?
ALL. The Mitre.
GOL. Sir, in regard of our continued boldness and
trouble, which love to your music hath made us guilty
of, shall we entreat your worship’s company, with these
sweet ladies, your professed scholars, to take part of a
poor supper with myself and these gentlemen at the
Mitre?
FRI. Pray, master Primero——
PUR. I beseech you, sir, let it be so.
PRI. O, pardon me, sweet gentlemen; the world’s apt to
censure. I have the charge of them, they’re left in
trust, they’re virgins: and I dare not hazard their
fames; the least touch mars ’em: and what would their
right worshipful parents think, if the report should fly
to them, that they were seen with gentlemen in a tavern?
GOL. All this may be prevented: what serves your coach
for?
They may come coach’d and mask’d.
PRI. You put me to’t, sir;
Yet I must say again, I fear the drawers
And vintner’s boys will be familiar with them,
And think ’em mistresses.
PUR. There are those places where respect seems
slighter;
More censure[524] is belonging to the Mitre;
You know that, sir.
PRI. Gentlemen, you prevail.
GOL. We’ll all expect you there.
PRI. And we’ll not fail.
FRI. The devil will ne’er dissemble with them so,
As you for them.
GOL. Come, sir.
FRI. What else? let’s go.
[_Exeunt all except_ PRIMERO, _Courtesans, and Novice_.
_Re-enter_ TAILBY.
PRI. How cheer you, sir?
TAI. Faith, like the moon, more bright,
Decreas’d in body, but re-made in light:
Here thou shalt share some of my brightness with me.
PRI. By my faith, they’re[525] comfortable beams, sir.
FIRST C. Come,
Where have you spent the time now from my sight?
I’m jealous of thy action.
TAI. Push![526] I did but walk
A turn or two in the garden.
FIRST C. What made you[527] there?
TAI. Nothing but cropt a flower.
FIRST C. Some woman’s honour, I believe.
TAI. Foh! is this a woman’s honour?
FIRST C. Much about one,
When both are pluck’d, their sweetness is soon gone.
TAI. Prithee, be true to me.
FIRST C. When did I fail?
TAI. Yet I am ever doubtful that you[528] sin.
FIRST C. I do account the world but as my spoil,
To adorn thee:
My love is artificial to all others,
But purity to thee. Dost thou want gold?
Here, take this chain of pearl, supply thyself:
Be thou but constant, firm, and just to me,
Rich heirs shall want ere want come near to thee.
_Tai._ Upon thy lip I seal sincerity.
[_Exit First Courtesan._
SEC. C. Was this your vow to me?
TAI. Pox, what’s a kiss to be quite rid of her?
She’s su’d so long, I was asham’d of her:
’Twas but her cheek I kiss’d neither, to save her
longing.
SEC. C. ’Tis not a kiss I weigh.
TAI. Had you weigh’d this,
’T’ad lack’d above five ounces of a true one;
No kiss that e’er weigh’d lighter.
SEC. C. ’Tis thy love that I suspect.
TAI. My love? why, by this—what shall I swear by?
SEC. C. Swear by this jewel; keep thy oath, keep that.
TAI. By this jewel, then, no creature can be perfect
In my love but thy dear self.
SEC. C. I rest [content]. [_Exit._
TAI. Ha, ha, ha! let’s laugh at ’em, sweet soul.
NOV. Ay, they may laugh at me;
I was a novice, and believ’d your oaths.
TAI. Why, what do you think of me? make I no
difference
’Tween[529] seven years’ prostitution and seven days?
Why, you’re but in the wane of a maid yet.
You wrong my health in thinking I love them:
Do not I know their populous[530] imperfections?
Why, they cannot live till Easter, let ’em shew
The fairest side to th’ world, like hundreds more,
Whose clothes
E’en stand upright in silver, when their bodie[s]
Are ready to drop through ’em: such there be;
They may deceive the world, they ne’er shall me.
NOV. Forgive my doubts;
And for some satisfaction wear this ring,
From which I vow’d ne’er but to thee to part.
TAI. With which thou ever[531] bind’st me to thy
heart. [_Exit Novice._
[_singing_] _O, the parting of us twain
Hath caus’d me mickle[532] pain!
And I shall ne’er be married
Until I see my muggle again._
MIS. N. [_peeping in_] Hist!
PRI. Ha?
MIS. N. The nimble gentleman, in the celestial
stockings——
PRI. Has the best smock-fortune to be beloved of women.—
Valle loo lo, lille lo lillo, valle loo lee lo lillo!
TAI. Valle loo lo, lille [lo] lillo, valle loo lee lo
lillo!
MIS. N. Ah, sweet gentleman, he keeps it up stately!
[_Aside._
PRI. Well held, i’faith, sir: mass, and now I remember
too, I think you ne’er saw my little banqueting box
above since I altered it.
TAI. Why, have you altered that?
PRI. O, divinely, sir! the pictures are all new run over
again.
TAI. Fie!
PRI. For what had the painter done, think you? drew
me Venus naked, which is the grace of a man’s room,
you know; and, when he had done, drew a number of
oaken leaves before her: had not lawn been a hundred
times softer, made a better shew, and been more
gentlewoman-like?
TAI. More lady-like a great deal.
PRI. Come, you shall see how ’tis altered now;
I do not think but you’ll like her. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Street._
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.[533]
FIT. My pocket pick’d? this was no brothel-house!
A music-school? damnation has fine shapes:
I paid enough for the song, I’ve[534] lost a jewel
To me more precious than their souls to them
That gave consent to filch it. I’ll hunt hard,
Waste time and money, trace and wheel about,
But I will find these secret mischiefs out.
_Enter Servant._
How now? what’s he?
O, a servant to my love: being thus disguis’d,
I’ll learn some news. [_Aside._]—Now, sir? you belong to
me.[535]
SER. I do, sir; but I cannot stay to say so: nay, good
sir, detain me not; I am going in all haste to inquire
or lay wait for a chain of pearl, nimmed out of her
pocket the fifth of November, a dismal day.
FIT. Ha! a chain of pearl, sayst thou?
SER. A chain of pearl, sir, which one master Fitsgrave,
a gentleman and a suitor, fastened upon her as a pledge
of his love.
FIT. Ha!
SER. Urge me no more, I have no more to say;
Your friend, Jeronimo Bedlam. [_Exit._
FIT. Thou’rt a mad fellow indeed.
Some comfort yet, that hers is missing too;
I feel my soul at much more ease: both stoln![536]
When griefs have partners they are better borne.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.[537]
_A Room in the Mitre._[538]
_Where are discovered_ PRIMERO, _Courtesans_,
_Novice_, GOLDSTONE, PURSENET, FRIPPERY,
TAILBY, BUNGLER, FULK, ARTHUR, _Boy_, _and
Servant_.
PRI. Where be your liveries?
FIRST C. They attend without.
PRI. Go, call the coach. [_Exit Servant._]—Gentlemen,
you have excelled in kindness as we in boldness.
TAI. So you think amiss, sir.
GOL. Kind ladies, we commit you to sweet dreams,
Ourselves unto the fortune of the dice.—
Dice, ho! [_Exit_ PRIMERO.
FIRST C. You rest firm mine?
TAI. E’en all my soul to thee.
[_Exit First Courtesan._
SEC. C. You keep your vows?
TAI. Why, do I breathe or see?
[_Exit Sec. Courtesan._
NOV. Is your love constant?
TAI. Ay, to none but thee. [_Exit Novice._
Now gone, ay, now I love nor them nor thee;
’Slife, I should be cloy’d, should I love one in three.
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.
PUR. O, here’s master Bouser now.
FIT. Save you, sweet gentlemen.
TAI. Sweet master Bouser, welcome.
PUR. When come these dice?
[_Within._] Anon, anon, sir.
PUR. Yet anon, anon, sir!
GOL. Hast thou shewn art in ’em?
FULK. You shall be judge, sir; here be the
tavern-beakers, and here peep out the fine alchemy[539]
knaves, looking like well, sir, most of our gallants,
that seem what they are not.
GOL. Peace, villain, am not I in presence?
FULK. Why, that puts me in mind of the jest, sir.
GOL. Again, you chatterer?[540]
FULK. Nay, compare ’em, and spare ’em not.
GOL. The bigness of the bore, just the same size; the
marks, no difference. Away, put money in thy pocket, and
offer to draw in upon the least occasion.
FULK. I am no babe, sir.
GOL. Hist!
FULK. What’s the matter now?
GOL. Give me a pair of false dice ere you go.
FULK. Pax[541] on’t, you’re so troublesome too, you
cannot remember a thing before! If I stay a little
longer, I shall be staid anon.
_Enter Vintner._
VIN. Here be dice for your worships.
PUR. O, come, come!
GOL. The vintner himself?
I’ll shift away these beakers by a slight.[542]
[_Aside._
VIN. Master Goldstone——
GOL. How now, you conjuring rascal?
VIN. Bless your good worship; you’re in humours,
methinks.
GOL. Humours? say that again.
VIN. I said no such word, sir.—Would I had my beakers
out on’s fingers! [_Aside._
GOL. What’s thy name, vintner?
VIN. Jack, and[543] please your worship.
GOL. Turn knight, like thy companions, scoundrel, live
upon usury, wear thy gilt spurs at thy girdle for fear
of slubbering.
VIN. O no, I hope I shall have more grace than so, sir!
Pray, let me help your worship.
GOL. Cannot I push ’em together without your help?
VIN. O, I beseech your worship! they’re the two
standards of my house.
GOL. Standards? there lie your standards.
VIN. Good your worship.—I am glad they are out of his
fingers: my wife shall lock ’em up presently; they shall
see no sun this twelvemonth’s day for this trick.
[_Aside._
GOL. Let me come to the sight of your standards again.
VIN. Your worship shall pardon me.—Now you shall not see
’em in haste, I warrant ye. [_Aside._
GOL. I do not desire’t. Ha, ha!
[_Exit Vintner[544] with beakers._
FIT. Why, master Goldstone!
GOL. I am for you, gallants.—Master Bouser, cry you
mercy, sir: why supped you from us?
FIT. Faith, sir, I met with a couple of my fellow-pupils
at university, and so we renewed our acquaintance and
supped together.
GOL. Fie, that’s none of the newest fashion, I must
tell you that, master Bouser: you must never take
acquaintance of any a’ th’ university when you are at
London; nor any of London when you’re at university:
you must be more forgetful, i’faith; every place
ministers his acquaintance abundantly.
BUN. He tells you true, sir.
GOL. I warrant you here’s a gentleman will ne’er commit
such an absurdity.
BUN. Who, I? no: ’tis well known, if I be disposed, I’ll
forget any man in a seven-night, and yet look him in the
face: nay, let him ride but ten mile from me, and come
home again, it shall be at my choice whether I’ll
remember him or no: I have tried that.
GOL. This is strange, sir.
BUN. ’Tis as a man gives his mind to’t, sir: and now you
bring me in, I remember ’twas once my fortune to be
cozened of all my clothes, and with my clothes my money;
a poor shepherd, pitying me, took me in and relieved me.
GOL. ’Twas kindly done of him, i’faith.
BUN. Nay, you shall see now: ’twas his fortune likewise,
not long after, to come to me in much distress, i’faith,
and with weeping eyes; and do you think I remembered
him?
GOL. You could not choose.
BUN. By my troth, not I; I forgot him quite, and never
remembered him to this hour.
GOL. And yet knew who he was?
BUN. As well as I know you, i’faith: ’tis a gift given
to some above others.
FIT.[545] To fools and knaves; they never miss on’t.
[_Aside._
BUN. Does any make such a wonder at this? why, alas,
’tis nothing to forget others! what say you to those
that forget themselves?
GOL. Nay, then, to dice:—come, set me, gallants, set.
FRI. Ay, fall to’t, gentlemen,
I shall hear some news from some of you anon:
I’ve[546] th’ art to know which lose, and ne’er look on.
I’ll be ready with all the worst money I can find about
me. [_Aside._]—Arthur!
AR. Here, sir.
FRI. Stand ready.
AR. Fear not me, sir.
GOL. These are mine, sir.
FRI. Here’s a washed angel;[547]
It shall away: here’s mistress rose-noble[548]
Has lost her maidenhead, crack’d in the ring;[549]
She’s good enough for gamesters, and to pass
From man to man: for gold presents at dice
Your harlot, in one hour won and lost thrice;
Every man has a fling at her.
TAI. Again? pax[550] of these dice!
BUN. ’Tis ill to curse the dead, sir.
TAI.[551] Mew, where should I wish the pox but among
bones?
FIT. He tells you right, sir.
TAI. I ne’er have any luck at these odd hands:
None here to make us six? why, master Frip!
FRI. I am very well here, I thank you, sir: I had rather
be telling my money myself than have others count it for
me; ’tis the scurviest music in the world, methinks, to
hear my money gingle in other men’s pockets; I never had
any mind to’t, i’faith.
TAI. ’Slud, play six or play four, I’ll play no more.
GOL. ’Sfoot, you see there’s none here to draw in.
FULK. Rather than you should be destitute, gentlemen,
I’ll play my ten pound, if my master’s worship will give
me leave.
PUR. Come.
TAI. He shall, he shall.
GOL. Pray, excuse me, gentlemen.—’Sfoot, how now,
goodman rascal? what! because you served my grandfather
when he went ambassador, and got some ten pound by th’
hand, has that put such spirit in you to offer to draw
in among gentlemen of worship, knave?
TAI. Pray, sir, let’s entreat so much for once.
PUR. ’Tis a usual grace, i’faith, sir;
You’ve many gentlemen will play with their men.
BUN. Ay, and with their maids too, i’faith.
PUR. Good sir, give him leave.
GOL. Yes, come, and[552] you be weary on’t; I pray draw
near, sir.
FULK. Not so, sir.
TAI. Come, fool, fear nothing; I warrant ’t ye has given
thee leave: stand here by me.—Come now, set round,
gentlemen, set.
PUR. How the poor fellow shakes!—Throw lustily, man.
FULK. At all, gentlemen!
TAI. Well said, i’faith.
PUR. They’re all thine.[553]
TAI. By my troth, I am glad the fellow has such luck,
’twill encourage him well.
FULK. At my master’s worship alone!
GOL. Now, sir slave?
FULK. At my master’s worship alone!
GOL. So, saucy rascal!
FULK. At my master’s worship alone!
GOL. You’re a rogue, and will be ever one![554]
FULK. By my troth, gentlemen, at all again for once!
TAI. Take ’em to thee, boy, take ’em to thee; thou’rt
worthy of ’em, i’faith.
GOL. Gentlemen, faith I am angry with you: go and suborn
my knave again[555] me here, to make him proud and
peremptory!
TAI. Troth, that’s but your conceit, sir; the fellow’s
an honest fellow, and knows his duty, I dare swear for
him.
PUR. Heart, I am sick already!
GOL. Whither goes master [Pursenet]?
PUR. Play on; I’ll take my turn, sir.—Boy.
BOY. Master?
PUR. Hist![556] a supply;—carry’t closely, my little
fooker,—how much?
BOY. Three pound, sir.
PUR. Good boy! take out another lesson.—How now,
gentlemen?
TAI. Devil’s in’t, did you e’er see such a hand?
PUR. I set you these three angels.[557]
BOY. My master may set high, for all his stakes are
drawn out of other men’s pockets. [_Aside._
FULK. As I said, gentlemen.
PUR. Deuce, ace!
FULK. At all your right worshipful worships!
PUR. &c.[558] Death and vengeance!
GOL. Hell, darkness!
TAI. Hold, sir.
PUR. Master Goldstone——
GOL. Hinder me not, sweet gentlemen.—You rascal, I
banish thee the board.
TAI. I’faith, but you shall not, sir.
GOL. Touch a die, and[559] thou darest! come you in with
your lousy ten pound, you slave, among gentlemen of
worship, and win thirty at a hand?
TAI. Why, will you kick again[560] luck, sir?
BUN. As long as the poor fellow ventures the loss of his
own money, who can be offended at his fortunes?
FULK. I have a master here! many a gentleman would be
glad to see his man come forward, aha.
PUR. Pray, be persuaded, sir.
GOL. ’Slife, here’s none cuts my throat in play but
he;
I have observ’d it, an unlucky slave ’tis.
BUN. Methinks his luck’s good enough, sir.
GOL. Upon condition, gentlemen, that I may ever bar him
from the board hereafter, I am content to wink at him.
PUR. Faith, use your own pleasure hereafter; has won our
money now.—Come to th’ table, sir; your master’s friends
with you.
FULK. Pray, gentlemen——
TAI. The fiend’s in’t, I think: I left a fair chain of
pearl at my lodging too, like an ass, and ne’er
remembered it; that would ha’ been a good pawn now.—
Speak, what do you lend upon these, master Frip?
[_Offering his weapons, with girdle and hangers_] I care
not much if you take my beaver hat too, for I perceive
’tis dark enough already, and it does but trouble me
here.
FRI. Very well, sir; why, now I can lend you three
pound, sir.
TAI. Prithee, do’t quickly then.
FRI. There ’tis, in six angels.[561]
TAI. Very compendiously.
FRI. Here, Arthur, run away with these presently; I’ll
enter ’em into th’ shop-book to-morrow. [_Exit_ ARTHUR
_with weapons, &c._] [_Writing_] _Item, one gilt
hatcht[562] rapier and dagger, with a fair embroidered
girdle and hangers,[563] with which came also a beaver
hat with a correspondent band._
TAI. Push![564] i’faith, sir, you’re to blame; you have
snibbed[565] the poor fellow too much; he can scarce
speak, he cleaves his words with sobbing.
FULK. Haff,[566] haff, haff, haff at all, gentlemen.
GOL. Ah, rogue, I’ll make you know yourself!
FULK. At the fairest!
PUR. Out, i’faith! two aces.
GOL. I am glad of that; come, pay me all these, goodman
cloak-bag.
PUR. Why, are you the fairest, sir?
GOL. You need not doubt of that, sir.—Five angels, you
scoundrel!
TAI. Fie[567] a’ these dice! not one hand to-night!—
There they go, gentlemen, at all, i’faith!
PUR. Pay all with two treys and a quater.
TAI. All curses follow ’em! pay yourselves withal.—I’ll
pawn myself to’t, but I’ll see a hand to-night: not once
hold in!—Here, master Frip, lend me your hand, quick,
quick; so.
[_Taking off his doublet._
FRI. What do you borrow of this doublet now?
TAI. Ne’er saw the world three days.
FRI. Go to; in regard you’re a continual customer I’ll
use you well, and pleasure you with five angels[568]
upon’t.
TAI. Let me not stand too long i’ th’ cold for them.
BUN. Had ever country gentleman such fortune? All swoopt
away! I’d need repair to th’ broker’s.
TAI. If you be in that mind, sir, there sits a gentleman
will furnish you upon any pawn as well as the publickst
broker of ’em all.
BUN. Say you so, sir? there’s comfort in that, i’faith.
FRI. [_Writing_] _Item, upon his orange-tawny satin
doublet five angels._
BUN. But, by your leave, sir, next come[569] the
breeches.
FRI. O, I have tongue fit for any thing.
BUN. Saving your tale, sir; ’tis given me to understand
that you are a gentleman i’ th’ hundred, and deal in the
premises aforesaid.
FRI. Master Bungler, master Bungler, you’re mightily
mistook: I am content to do a gentleman a pleasure for
once, so his pawn be neat and sufficient.
BUN. Why, what say you to my grandfather’s seal-ring
here?
FRI. Ay, marry, sir, this is somewhat like.
BUN. Nay, view it well; an ancient arms, I can tell you.
FRI. What’s this, sir?
BUN. The great cod-piece, with nothing in’t.
FRI. How!
BUN. The word[570] about it, _Parturiunt montes_.
FRI. What’s that, I pray, sir?
BUN. _You promise to mount us._
FRI. And belike he was not so good as his word?
BUN. So it should seem by the story, for so our names
came to be Bunglers.
FRI. A lamentable hearing, that so great a house should
shrink and fall to ruin!
PUR. Two quaters, and yet lose it? heart!—Boy!—i’faith,
what is’t?
BOY. Five pound, sir.
PUR. By my troth, this boy goes forward well; ye shall
see him come to his preferment i’ th’ end!
GOL. Why, how now? who’s that, gentlemen? a bargeman?
TAI. I never have any luck, gallants, till my
doublet’s off; Pm not half nimble enough. At this old
cinque-quater drivel-beard!
GOL.[571] Your worship must pay me all these, sir.
TAI. There, and feast the devil with ’em!
PUR. Hell gnaw these dice!
GOL. What, do you give over, gallants?
FIT.[572] Is’t not time?
TAI. I protest I have but one angel left to guide me
home to my lodging.
GOL. How much, thinkest?
FULK. Some fourscore angels, sir.
GOL. Peace, we’ll join powers anon, and see how strong
we are in the whole number. Mass, yon gilt goblet stands
so full in mine eye, the whorson tempts me; it comes
like cheese after a great feast, to disgest[573] the
rest: he will hardly ’scape me, i’faith, I see that by
him already: back for a parting blow now.—Boy!
_Re-enter Vintner._
VIN. Anon, anon, sir.
GOL. Fetch a pennyworth of soft wax to seal letters.
VIN. I will, sir. [_Exit._
TAI. Nay, had not I strange casting? thrice together two
quaters and a deuce!
PUR. Why, was not I as often haunted with two treys and
a quater?
_Re-enter Vintner._
VIN. There’s wax for your worship.—Anon, anon, sir.
[_Exit._
GOL. Screen me a little, you whorson old
cross-biter.[574]
FULK. Why, what’s the business? filch it on hob goblet!
PUR. And what has master Bouser lost?
FIT. Faith, not very deeply, sir; enough for a scholar,
some half a score royals.
PUR. ’Sfoot, I have lost as many with spurs[575] at
their heels.
_Re-enter Vintner with two Drawers._
GOL. Come, gallants, shall we stumble?
TAI. What’s a’ clock?
FIRST D. Here’s none on’t, Dick; the goblet’s carried
down.
GOL. Nay, ’tis upon the point of three, boy.
SEC. D. What’s[576] to be done, sirs?
VIN. All’s paid, and your worships are welcome; only
there’s a goblet missing, gentlemen, and cannot be found
about house.
GOL. How, a goblet?
PUR. What manner a’ one?
VIN. A gilt goblet, sir, of an indifferent size.
GOL. ’Sfoot, I saw such a one lately.
VIN. It cannot be found now, sir.
GOL. Came there no strangers here?
VIN. No, sir.
GOL. This [is] a marvellous matter, that a goblet should
be gone, and none but we in the room; the loss is near
all,[577] here as we are; keep the door, vintner.
VIN. No, I beseech your worship.
GOL. By my troth, vintner, we’ll have a privy search for
this. What! we are not all one woman’s children.
VIN. I beseech ye, gentlemen, have not that conceit of
me, that I suspect your worships.
GOL. Tut, you are an ass; do you know every man’s
nature? there’s a broker i’ th’ company.
PUR. ’Slife, you have not stole the goblet, boy, have
you?
BOY. Not I, sir.
PUR. I was afraid.—’Tis a good cause, i’faith, let each
man search his fellow: we’ll begin with you.
TAI. I shall save somebody a labour, gentlemen, for I’m
half searched already.
PUR. I thought the goblet had hung here, i’faith; none
here, nor here.
GOL. Seek about floor.—What was the goblet worth,
vintner?
VIN. Three pound ten shillings, sir; no more.
GOL. Pox on’t, gentlemen, ’tis but angels[578] a-piece:
it shall be a brace of mine, rather than I would have
our reputations breathed upon by all comers; for you
must think they’ll talk on’t in all companies—such a
night, in such a company, such a goblet: ’sfoot, it may
grow to a gangrene in our credits, and be incurable.
TAI. Faith, I am content.
FRI. So am I.
PUR. There’s my angel too.
GOL. So, and mine.—I’ll tell thee what, the missing of
this goblet has dismayed the gentlemen much.
VIN. I am sorry for that, sir.
GOL. Yet they send thee this comfort by me; if they see
thee but rest satisfied, and depart away contented,
which will appear in thy countenance, not three times
thrice the worth of the goblet shall hang between them
and thee, both in their continual custom and all their
acquaintances’.
VIN. I thank their worships all; I am satisfied.
GOL. Say it again.—Do you hear, gentlemen?
VIN. I thank your worships all; I am satisfied.
[_Exeunt Vintner and Drawers._
GOL. Why, la, was not this better than hazarding our
reputations upon trifles, and in such public as a
tavern, such a questionable place?
TAI. True.
PUR. Faith,[579] it was well thought on.
GOL. Nay, keep your way, gentlemen: I have sworn, master
Bouser, I will be last, i’faith. [_Exeunt all except_
GOLDSTONE _and_ FULK.]—Rascal, the goblet!
FULK. Where, sir?
GOL. Peep yon,[580] sir, under.
FULK. Here, sir.[581] [_Exeunt._
ACT III.[582] SCENE I.
_A Room in_ TAILBY’S _Lodging_.
_Enter_ TAILBY _reading a letter_.
TAI. [_reads_] _My husband is rode from home: make no
delay; I know, if your will be as free as your horse,
you will see me yet ere dinner. From Kingston, this
eleventh of November._—Hah! these women are such
creatures, such importunate, sweet souls, they’ll scarce
give a man leave to be ready;[583] that’s their only
fault, i’faith: if they be once set upon a thing, why,
there’s no removing of ’em, till their pretty wills be
fulfilled. O, pity thy poor oppressed client here, sweet
Cupid, that has scarce six hours’ vacation in a month,
his causes hang in so many courts! yet never suffer my
French adversary, nor his big swoln confederates, to
overthrow me,
Who without mercy would my blood carouse,
And lay me in prison in a doctor’s house.
Thy clemency, great Cupid!—Peace, who comes here?
_Enter_ PURSENET.
PUR. Sir gallant, well encountered.
TAI. I both salute and take my leave together.
PUR. Why, whither so fast, sir?
TAI. Excuse me, pray; I’m in a little haste;
My horse waits for me.
PUR. What, some journey toward?[584]
TAI. A light one, i’faith, sir.
PUR. I’m[585] sorry that my business so commands me,
I cannot ride with you; but I make no question
You have company enough.
TAI. Alas, not any!—nor do I desire it.—[_Aside._
Why, ’tis but to Kingston yonder.
PUR. O, cry you mercy, sir.
TAI. ’Scape but one reach, there’s little danger
thither.
PUR. True, a little of Combe Park.[586]
TAI. You’ve nam’d the place, sir; that’s all I fear,
i’faith.
PUR. Farewell, sweet master Tailby. [_Exit_ TAIL.
This fell out happily;
I’ll call this purchase[587] mine before I greet him;
E’en where his fear lies most, there will I meet him.
SCENE II.[588]
_Combe Park._
_Enter_ PURSENET _with a scarf over his face, and Boy_.
PUR. Boy.
BOY. Sir?
PUR. Walk my horse behind yon thicket; give a word if
you descry.
BOY. I have all perfect, sir. [_Exit._
PUR. So; he cannot now be long. What with my boy’s
dexterity at ordinaries, and my gelding’s celerity over
hedge and ditch, but we make pretty shift to rub out a
gallant; for I have learnt these principles:
Stoop thou to th’ world, ’twill on thy bosom tread;
It stoops to thee, if thou advance thy head.
The mind being far more excellent than fate,
’Tis fit our mind then be above our state.
Why should I write my extremities in my brow,
To make them loathe me that respect me now?
If every man were in his courses known,
Legs that now honour him might spurn him down.
To conclude, nothing seems as it is but honesty, and
that makes it so little regarded amongst us.
BOY [_within_]. Ela, ha, ho!
PUR. The boy?
He’s hard at hand; I’ll cross him suddenly:
And here he comes.—
_Enter_ TAILBY.
Stand!
TAI. Ha!
PUR. Deliver your purse, sir.
TAI. I feared none but this place, i’faith; nay, when my
mind gives me a thing once——
PUR. Quick, quick, sir, quick; I must despatch three
robberies yet ere night.
TAI. I’m glad you have such good doings, by my troth,
sir.
PUR. You’ll fare ne’er[589] a whit the better for your
flattery,
I warrant you, sir.
TAI. I speak sincerely; ’tis pity such a proper-parted
gentleman should want; nor shall you, as long as I
have’t about me. [PURSENET _rifles his pockets_.] Nay,
search and spare not: there’s a purse in my left pocket,
as I take it, with fifteen pound in gold in’t, and
there’s a fair chain of pearl in the other: nay, I’ll
deal truly with you; it grieves me, i’faith, when I see
such goodly men in distress; I’ll rather want it myself
than they should go without it.
PUR. And that shews a good nature, sir.
TAI. Nay, though I say it, I have been always accounted
a man of a good nature; I might have hanged myself ere
this time else. Pray, use me like a gentleman; take all,
but injury[590] not my body.
PUR. You must pardon me, sir;
I must a little play the usurer,
And bind you, for mine own security.
TAI. Alas, there’s no conscience in that, sir! shall I
enter into bond and pay money too?
PUR. Tut, I must not be betrayed.
TAI. Hear me but what I say, sir; I do protest I would
not be he that should betray a man, to be prince of the
world.
PUR. Mass, that’s the devil,—I thank you heartily,—
For he’s call’d prince a’ th’ world.
TAI. You take me still at worst.
PUR. Swear on this sword, then,
To set spurs to your horse, not to look back,
To give no marks to any passenger.
TAI. Marks?[591] why, I think you have left me ne’er a
penny, sir.
PUR. I mean, no marks of any.[592]
TAI. I understand you, sir.
PUR. Swear then.
TAI. I’faith, I do, sir.
PUR. Away!
TAI. I’m gone, sir.—By my troth, of a fierce thief he
seems to be a very honest gentleman.
[_Exit._
PUR. Why, this was well adventur’d, trim a gallant!
Now, with a covetous[593] and long-thirsting eye,
Let me behold my purchase,[594]
And try the soundness of my bones with laughter.
How? is not this the chain of pearl I gave
To that perjurèd harlot? ’tis, ’sfoot, ’tis,
The very chain!—O damnèd mistress!—Ha!
And this the purse which, not five days before,
I sent her fill’d with fair spur-royals?[595] Heart,
The very gold! ’Slife, is this no robbery?
How many oaths flew toward heaven,
Which ne’er came half-way thither, but, like
fire-drakes,[596]
Mounted a little, gave a crack, and fell:
Feign’d oaths bound up to sink more deep to hell.
What folded paper’s this? death, ’tis her hand!
[_reads_] _Master Tailby, you know with what affection I
love you._ You do? _I count the world but as my prey to
maintain you._ The more dissembling quean you, I must
tell you. _I have sent you an embroidered purse here
with fifty fair spur-royals in’t._ A pox on you for your
labour, wench! _And I desire you of all loves to keep
that chain of pearl from master Pursenet’s sight._ He
cannot, strumpet; I behold it now, unto thy[597] secret
torture. _So fare thee well, but be constant and want
nothing_—as long as I ha’t, i’faith! methinks it should
have gone so. Well, what a horrible age do we live in,
that a man cannot have a quean to himself! let him but
turn his back, the best of her is chipt away like a
court loaf, that when a man comes himself, has nothing
but bumbast; and these are two simple chippings here.
Does my boy pick and I steal to enrich myself, to keep
her, to maintain him? why, this is right the sequence of
the world. A lord maintains her, she maintains a knight,
he maintains a whore, she maintains a captain. So in
like manner the pocket keeps my boy, he keeps me, I keep
her, she keeps him; it runs like quicksilver from one to
another. ’Sfoot, I perceive I have been the chief
upholder of this gallant all this while: it appears
true, we that pay dearest for our pasture[598] are ever
likely worse used. ’Sfoot, he has a nag can run for
nothing, has his choice, nay, and gets by the running of
her.[599] O fine world, strange devils, and pretty
damnable affections!
BOY [_within_]. Lela, ha, ho!
PUR. There, boy, again; what news there?
_Re-enter Boy._
BOY. Master, hist,[600] master!
PUR. How now, boy?
BOY. I have descried a prize.
PUR. Another, lad?
BOY. The gull, the scholar.
PUR. Master Bouser?
BOY. Ay; comes along this way.
PUR. Without company?
BOY. As sure as he is your own.
PUR. Back to thy place, boy. [_Exit Boy._
I have the luck to-day to rob in safety;
Two precious cowards! Whist; I hear him.—
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.
Stand!
FIT. You lie; I came forth to go.
PUR. Deliver your purse.
FIT. ’Tis better in my pocket.
PUR. How now? at disputations, signior fool?
FIT. I’ve so much logic to confute a knave,
A thief, a rogue!
[_Attacks and strikes_ PURSENET _down_.
PUR. Hold, hold, sir, and[601] you be a gentleman, hold!
let me rise.
FIT. Heart!
’Tis the courtesy of his scarf unmask’d him to me
Above the lip by chance: I’ll counterfeit. [_Aside._
Light! because I am a scholar, you think belike that
scholars have no metal in ’em, but you shall find,—I
have not done with you, cousin.
PUR. As you’re a gentleman!
FIT. As you’re a rogue!
PUR. Keep on upon your way, sir.
FIT. You bade me stand——
PUR. I have been once down for that.
FIT. And then deliver.
PUR. Deliver me from you, sir!—O, pax[602] on’t, has
wounded me!—Ela, ha, ho! my horse, my horse, boy!
[_Exit._
FIT. Have you your boy so ready? O thou world,
How art thou muffled in deceitful forms!
There’s such a mist of these, and still hath been,
The brightness of true gentry is scarce seen.
This journey was most happily assign’d;
I’ve[603] found him dross both in his means and mind.
What paper’s this he dropt? I’ll look on’t as I go.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_Near Combe Park._
_Enter_ PURSENET _and Boy_.
PUR. A gull call you him? let me always set upon wise
men; they’ll be afraid of their lives; they have a
feeling of their iniquities, and know[604] what ’tis to
die with fighting: ’sfoot, this gull lays on without
fear or wit. How deep’s it, sayst thou, boy?
BOY. By my faith, three inches, sir.
PUR. La, this was long of you, you rogue!
BOY. Of me, sir?
PUR. Forgive me, dear boy; my wound ached, and I grew
angry: there’s hope of life, boy, is there not?
BOY. Pooh, my life for yours!
PUR. A comfortable boy in man’s extremes! I was ne’er
so afraid in my life but the fool would have seen my
face: he had me at such advantage, he might have
commanded my scarf. I ’scaped well there; ’t’ad choked
me; my reputation had been past recovery: yet live I
unsuspected, and still fit for gallants’ choice
societies. But here I vow, if e’er I see this Bouser
when he cannot see me, either in by-lane, privilege[d]
place, court, alley, or come behind him when he’s
standing,[605]
Or take him when he reels from a tavern late,
Pissing again[606] a conduit, wall, or gate;
When he’s in such a plight, and clear from me[n],
I’ll do that I’m[607] asham’d to speak till then.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_A Street._
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE[608] _and Gentleman_.
FIT. Nay, read forward: I have found three of
your gallants, like your bewitching shame,[609]
merely sophistical: there’s your bawd-gallant,
your pocket-gallant, and your whore-gallant.
GEN. [_reads_] _Master Tailby._
FIT. That’s he.
GEN. [_reads_] _I count the world but as my prey to
maintain you._
FIT. That’s just the phrase and style of ’em all to him;
they meet altogether in one effect, and it may well hold
too, for they all jump upon one cause, _subaudi_
lechery.
GEN. What shapes can flattery take! Let me entreat
you,
Both in the virgin’s right and our good hopes,
Since your hours are so fortunate, to proceed.
FIT. Why, he’s base that faints[610] until he crown his
deed.
[_Exit._
SCENE V.
_A Room in_ PRIMERO’S _House_.
_Enter_ PURSENET (_his arm in a scarf_) _and Boy,
meeting First Courtesan_.
PUR. See that dissembling devil, that perjur’d
strumpet! [_Aside._
FIRST C. Welcome, my soul’s best wish. O, out, alas!
Thy arm bound in a scarf? I shall swoon instantly.
PUR. Heart, and I’ll fetch you again in the same tune.
[_Aside._
O my unmatch’d love, if any spark of life remain,
Look up, my comfort, my delight, my——
FIRST C. O good, O good!
PUR. The organ of her voice is tun’d again;
There’s hope in women when their speech returns;
See, like the moon after a black eclipse,
She by degrees recovers her pure light.
How cheers my love?
FIRST C. As one new-wak’d out of a deadly trance,
The fit scarce quiet.
PUR. ’Twas terrible for the time;
I’d much ado to fetch you.
FIRST C. ’Shrew your fingers! [_Aside._
How came my comfort wounded? speak.
PUR. Faith, in a fray last night.
FIRST C. In a fray? will you lose your blood so
vainly?
Many a poor creature lacks it. Tell me how?
What was the quarrel?
PUR. Loath to tell you that.
FIRST C. Loath to tell me?
PUR. Yet ’twas my cause of coming.
FIRST C. Why, then, must not I know it?
PUR. Since you urge it, you shall,
You’re a strumpet!
FIRST C. O, news abroad, sir!
PUR. Say you so?
FIRST C. Why, you knew that the first night you lay
with me.
PUR. Nay, not to me only, but to the world.
FIRST C. Speak within compass, man.
PUR. Faith, you know none, you sail without.
FIRST C. I have the better skill then.
PUR. At my first step into a tavern-room, to spy
That chain of pearl wound on a stranger’s arm
You begg’d of me!
FIRST C. How? you mistook it sure.
PUR. By heaven, the very self-same chain!
FIRST C. O, cry you mercy, ’tis true, I’d forgot it:
’tis St. George’s day to-morrow: I lent it to my cousin
only to grace his arm before his mistress.
PUR. Notable cunning!
FIRST C. And is this all now, i’faith?
PUR. Not; I durst go further.
FIRST C. Why, let me never possess your love if you see
not that again a’ Thursday morning: I take’t unkindly,
i’faith, you should fall out with me for such a trifle.
PUR. Better and better!
FIRST C. Come, a kiss, and friends!
PUR. Away!
FIRST C. By this hand, I’ll spoil your arm and[611] you
will not.
PUR. More for this than the devil——
_Enter_ GOLDSTONE, TAILBY, FITSGRAVE, BUNGLER, _and
Courtesans_.
GOL. Yea, at your book so hard?[612]
PUR. Against my will.—Are you there, signior Logic?
A pox of you, sir! [_Aside._
GOL. Why, how now? what has fate sent us here, in the
name of Venus, goddess of Cyprus?
PUR. A freebooter’s pink, sir, three or four inches
deep.
GOL. No more? that’s conscionable, i’faith.
TAI. Troth, I’m sorry for’t: pray, how came it, sir?
PUR. Faith, by a paltry fray, in Coleman Street.
FIT. Combe Park he would say. [_Aside._
PUR. No less than three at once, sir,
Made a triangle with their swords and daggers,
And all opposing me.
FIT. And amongst those three only one hurt you, sir?
PUR. Ex for ex.[613]
TAI. Troth, and I’ll tell you what luck I had too, since
I parted from you last.
PUR. What, I pray?
TAI. The day you offered to ride with me, I wish now I’d
had your company: ’sfoot, I was set upon in Combe Park
by three too.
PUR. Bah!
TAI. Robbed, by this light, of as much gold and jewels
as I valued at forty pound.
PUR. Sure Saturn is in the fifth house.
TAI. I know not that; he may be in the sixth and[614]
he will for me: I am sure they were in my pocket
wheresoever they are;[615] but I’ll ne’er refuse a
gentleman’s company again when ’tis offered me, I
warrant you.
GOL. I must remember you ’tis Mitre-night,[616] ladies.
SEC. C. Mass, ’tis indeed Friday to-day, I’d quite
forgot: when a woman’s busy, how the time runs away!
FIRST C. O, you’ve betrayed us both!
TAI. I understand you not.
FIRST C. You’ve let him see the chain of pearl I gave
you.
TAI. Who? him? will you believe me, by this hand,
He never saw it.
FIRST C. Upon a stranger’s arm he swore to me.
TAI. Mass, that may be; for the truth is, i’faith,
I was robb’d on’t at Combe Park.
FIRST. C. ’Twas that betrayed it.
TAI. I would [I] had stay’d him;
He was no stranger, he was a thief, i’faith,
For thieves will be no strangers.
FIRST C. How shall I excuse it?
BUN. Nay, I have you fast enough, boy; you rogue!
[_Seizing the Boy, who had attempted to pick his pocket._
BOY. Good sir, I beseech you, sir, let me go!
[_Struggling._[617]
BUN. A pickpocket? nay, you shall to Newgate, look you.—
Is this your boy, sir?
PUR. How now, boy? a monster? thy arm lined[618] fast
in another’s pocket? where learnt you that manners?
what company have you kept a’ late, that you are so
transformed into a rogue? that shape I know not.—
Believe me, sir, I much wonder at the alteration of
this boy, where he should get this nature: as good a
child to see to, and as virtuous; he has his creed by
heart, reads me his chapter duly every night; he will
not miss you one tittle in the nine commandments.
BUN. There’s ten of ’em.
PUR. I fear he skips o’er one, Thou shall not steal.
BUN. Mass, like enough.
PUR. Else grace and memory would quite abash the boy.—
Thou graceless imp! ah, thou prodigious child,
Begot at some eclipse, degenerate rogue,
Shame to thy friends, and to thy master eke!
How far digressing from the noble mind
Of thy brave ancestors, that lie in marble
With their coat-armours o’er ’em!
BUN. Had he such friends?
PUR. The boy is well descended, though he be a rogue,
and has no feeling on’t; yet for my sake, and for my
reputation’s, seek not the blood of the boy; he’s near
allied to many men of worship now yet living; a fine old
man to his father; it would kill his heart, i’faith;
he’d away like a chrisom.[619]
BUN. Alas, good gentleman!
PUR. Ah, shameless villain, complain’st thou? dost
thou want?
BOY. No, no, no, no!
PUR. Art not well clad? thy hunger well resisted?
BOY. Yes, yes, yes, yes!
PUR. But thou shalt straight to Bridewell——
BOY. Sweet master!
PUR. Live upon bread and water and chap-choke.
BOY. I beseech your worship!
BUN. Come, I’ll be his surety for once.
PUR. You shall excuse me indeed, sir.
BUN. He will mend; ’a may prove an honest man for all
this. I know gallant gentlemen now that have done as
much as this comes to in their youth.
PUR. Say you so, sir?
BUN. And as for Bridewell, that will but make him worse;
’a will learn more knavery there in one week than will
furnish him and his heirs for a hundred year.
PUR. Deliver the boy!
BUN. Nay, I tell you true, sir; there’s none goes in
there a quean, but she comes out an arrant whore, I
warrant you.
PUR. The boy comes not there for a million!
BUN. No, you had better forgive him by ten parts.
PUR. True; but ’a must not know it comes from me.—
Down a’ your knees, you rogue,
And thank this gentleman has got your pardon.
BOY. O, I thank your worship!
PUR. A pox on you for a rogue;
You put me to my set speech once a quarter.
[_Aside to him._
GOL. Nay, gentlemen, you quite forget your hour;
Lead, master Bouser.
[_Exeunt all but_ GOLDSTONE _and Second Courtesan_.
SEC. C. Let me go: you’re a dissembler.
GOL. How?
SEC. C. Did not you promise me a new gown?
GOL. Did I not? yes, faith, did I, and thou shalt have
it.—Go, sirrah, [_calling to one off the stage_] run for
a tailor presently. Let me see for the colour now:
orange-tawney, peach colour—what sayst to a watchet[620]
satin?
_Enter Tailor._
SEC. C. O, ’tis the only colour I affect!
TAI. A very orient colour, an’t please your worships. I
made a gown on’t for a gentlewoman t’other day, and it
does passing well upon her.
GOL. A watchet satin gown——
TAI. There your worship left, sir.
GOL. Laid about, tailor——
TAI. Very good, sir.
GOL. With four fair laces.
TAI. That will be costly, sir.
GOL. How, you rogue, costly? out a’ th’ house, you
slipshod, sham-legged, brown-thread-penny-skeined
rascal!
SEC. C. Nay, my sweet love—— [_Exit Tailor._
GOL. Hang him, rogue! he’s but a botcher neither: come,
I’ll send thee a fellow worth a hundred of this, if the
slave were clean enough. [_Exeunt._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_Before_ TAILBY’S _Lodging_.
_Enter a Servant[621] bringing in a suit of satin, who
knocks at_ TAILBY’S _door, from which enter_ JACK.
JACK. Who knocks?
SER. A Christian: pray, is not this master Tailby’s
lodging? I was directed hither.
JACK. Yes, this is my master’s lodging.
SER. Cry you mercy, sir: is he yet stirring?
JACK. He’s awake, but not yet stirring, for he played
away half his clothes last night.
SER. My mistress commends her secrets unto him, and
presents him by me with a new satin suit here.
JACK. Mass, that comes happily.
SER. And she hopes the fashion will content him.
JACK. There’s no doubt to be had of that, sir: your
mistress’ name, I pray? you’re much preciously welcome.
SER. I thank you uncommonly, sir.
JACK. The suit shall be accepted, I warrant you, sir.
SER. That’s all my mistress desires, sir.
JACK. Fare you well, sir.
SER. Fare you well, sir. [_Exit._
JACK. This will make my master leap out of the bed for
joy, and dance Wigmore’s galliard[622] in his shirt
about the chamber![623] [_Exit into the house._
SCENE II.
_A Hall in_ TAILBY’S _Lodging_.
_Enter_ TAILBY, _and_ JACK _trussing him_.[624]
TAI. Came this suit from mistress Cleveland?
JACK. She sent it secretly, sir.
TAI. A pretty requiteful squall! I like that woman that
can remember a good turn three months after the date; it
shews both a good memory and a very feeling spirit.
JACK. This came fortunately, sir, after all your ill
luck last night.
TAI. I’d beastly casting, Jack.
JACK. O abominable, sir! you had the scurviest hand: the
old serving-man swooped up all.
TAI. I am glad the fortune lighted upon the poor fellow,
by my troth; it made his master mad.
JACK. Did you mark that, sir? I warrant he has the
doggedest master of any poor fellow under the dog-sign:
I’d rather serve your worship, I’ll say that behind your
back, sir, for nothing, as indeed I have no standing
wages at all, your worship knows.
TAI. O, but your vails, Jack, your vails considered,
when you run to and fro between me and mistresses——
JACK. I must confess my vails are able to keep an honest
man, go I where I list.
TAI. Go to then, Jack.
JACK. But those vails stand with the state of your body,
sir, as long as you hold up your head: if that droop
once, farewell you, farewell I, farewell all; and droop
it will, though all the caudles in Europe should put to
their helping hands to’t: ’tis e’en as uncertain as
playing, now up and now down;[625] for if the bill down
rise to above thirty, here’s no place for players; so if
your years rise to above forty, there’s no room for old
lechers.
TAI. And that’s[626] the reason all rooms are taken up
for young templars.
JACK. You’re in the right, sir.
TAI. Pize on’t, I pawned a good beaver hat to master
Frip last night, Jack: I feel the want of it now. Hark,
who’s that knocks? [_Knocking within._
_Enter a Servant, bringing in a letter and a beaver
hat._
SER. Is master Tailby stirring?
JACK. What’s your pleasure with him? he walks here i’
th’ hall.
SER. Give your worship good morrow.
TAI. Welcome, honest lad.
SER. A letter from my mistress.
TAI. Who’s thy mistress?
SER. Mistress Newblock.
TAI. Mistress Newblock, my sincere love! how does she?
SER. Faith, only ill in the want of your sight.
TAI. Alas, dear sweet! I’ve had such business, I protest
I ne’er stood still since I saw her.
SER. She has sent your worship a beaver hat here, with a
band best in fashion.
TAI. How shall I requite this dear soul?
SER. ’Tis not a thing fit for me to tell you, sir, for I
have three years to serve yet: your worship knows how, I
warrant you.
TAI. I know the drift of her letter; and for the beaver,
say I accept it highly.
SER. O, she will be a proud woman of that, sir!
TAI. And hark thee; tell thy mistress, as I’m a
gentleman, I’ll despatch her out of hand the first thing
I do, a’ my credit: canst thou remember these words now?
SER. Yes, sir; as you are a gentleman, you’ll despatch
her out of hand the first thing you do.
TAI. Ay, a’ my credit.
SER. O, of your credit; I thought not of that, sir.
TAI. Remember that, good boy.
SER. Fear it not now, sir. [_Exit._
TAI. I dreamt to-night, Jack, I should have a secret
supply out a’ th’ city.
JACK. Your dream crawls out partly well, sir.—
_Enter a Servant, bringing in a purse._
What news there now?
SER. I have an errand to master Tailby.
JACK. Yonder walks my master.
SER. Mistress Tiffany commends her to your worship, and
has sent you your ten pound in gold back again, and says
she cannot furnish you of the same lawn you desire till
after All-holland-tide.[627]
TAI. Thank her she would let me understand so much.
[_Exit Servant._]—Ha, ha!
This wench will live: why, this was sent like a
Workwoman now; the rest are botchers to her.
Faith, I commend her cunning: she’s a fool
That makes her servant fellow to her heart;
It robs her of respect, dams up all duty,
Keeps her in awe e’en of the slave she keeps:
This takes a wise course—I commend her more—
Sends back the gold I never saw before.
Well, women are my best friends [still], i’faith.
Take[628] lands: give me
Good legs, firm back, white hand, black eye, brown hair,
And add but to these five a comely stature;
Let others live by art, and I by nature. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_A Room, with a door opening into_ FITSGRAVE’S
_Bed-chamber_.
_Enter_ GOLDSTONE.
GOL. Master Bouser, master Bouser! ha, ha, ho! master
Bouser!
FIT. [_within_] Holla!
GOL. What, not out of thy kennel, master Bouser?
FIT. [_within_] Master Goldstone? you’re an early
gallant, sir.
GOL. A fair cloak yonder, i’faith. [_Aside._]—By my
troth, ’a bed, master Bouser? you remember your promise
well o’ernight!
FIT. [_within_] Why, what’s a’ clock, sir?
GOL. Do you ask that now? why, the chimes are spent at
Saint Bride’s.
FIT. [_within_] ’Tis a gentleman’s hour: faith, master
Goldstone, I’ll be ready in a trice.
GOL. Away, there’s no trust to you!
FIT. [_within_] Faith, I’ll come instantly.
GOL. Nay, choose whether you will or no,—by my troth,
your cloak shall go before you.
[_Aside, and takes_ FITSGRAVE’S _cloak_.
FIT. [_within_] Nay, master Goldstone, I ha’ sworn: do
you hear, sir?
GOL. Away, away! faith, I’m angry with you: pox, a-bed
now! I’m ashamed of it. [_Exit._
_As_ GOLDSTONE _goes out_, FITSGRAVE _enters in his
shirt_.
FIT. Foot, my cloak, my cloak, master Goldstone!
’slife, what mean you by this, sir? you’ll bring it
back again, I hope. No? not yet? by my troth, I care
very little for such kind of jesting: methinks this
familiarity now extends a little too far, unless it be
a new fashion come forth this morning secretly;
yesterday ’twould have shewn unmannerly and saucily. I
scarce know yet what to think on’t. Well, there’s no
great profit in standing in my shirt, I’ll on with my
clothes: has bound me to follow the suit: my cloak’s a
stranger; he was made but yesterday, and I do not love
to trust him alone in company. [_Exit._
SCENE IV.
A Street.
_Enter_ FRIPPERY, _wearing_ FITSGRAVE’S _cloak_.
FRI. What may I conjecture of this Goldstone? he has
not only pawned to me this cloak, but the very diamond
and sapphire which I bestowed upon my new love at master
Primero’s house: the cloak’s new, and comes fitly to do
me great grace at a wedding this morning, to which I was
solemnly invited. I can continue change more than the
proudest gallant of ’em all, yet never bestow penny of
myself, my pawns do so kindly furnish me: but the sight
of these jewels is able to cloy me, did I not preserve
my stomach the better for the wedding-dinner. A gift
could never have come in a more patient hour, nor to be
better disgested.[629] Is she proved false?
But I’ll not fret to-day nor chafe my blood.
_Enter_ PURSENET.
PUR. Ha! yonder goes Bouser: the place is fit.—
[_Calling out to Boy within._] Boy, stand with my horse
at corner.—
I owe you for a pink three inches deep, sir.
[_Strikes down_ FRIPPERY.
FRI. O—O—O!
PUR. Take that in part of payment for Combe Park.
[_Exit._
Fri. O—O—O!
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.
FIT. How now, who’s this? ’sfoot, one of our gallants
knocked down like a calf! Is there such a plague of ’em
here at London, they begin to knock ’em a’ th’ head
already?
FRI. O master Bouser! pray, lend me your hand, sir; I am
slain!
FIT. Slain and alive? O cruel execution!
What man so savage-spirited durst presume
To strike down satin on two taffetas cut,
Or lift his hand against a beaver hat?
FRI. Some rogue that owes me money, and had no other
means. To a wedding-dinner! I must be dressed myself,
methinks.
FIT. How? why, this [is] my cloak: life, how came my
cloak hither?
FRI. Is it yours, sir? master Goldstone pawned it to me
this morning fresh and fasting, and borrowed five pound
upon’t.
FIT. How, pawned it? pray, let me hear out this
story: come, and I’ll lead[630] you to the next
barber-surgeon’s.—Pawned my cloak?
[_Exit, leading out_ FRIPPERY.
SCENE V.
_Another Street._
_Enter_ BUNGLER, GOLDSTONE, _and_ MARMADUKE.
BUN. How now, Marmaduke? what’s the wager?
MAR. Nay, my care is at end, sir, now I am come to the
sight of you. My mistress, your cousin, entreats you to
take part of a dinner with her at her house,[631] and
bring what gentleman you please to accompany you.
BUN. Thank my sweet coz: I’ll munch with her, say.
MAR. I’ll tell her so.
BUN. Marmaduke——
MAR. Sir?
BUN. Will there be any stock-fish, thinkest thou?
MAR. How, sir?
BUN. Tell my coz I’ve a great appetite to stock-fish,
i’faith. [_Exit_ MARMADUKE.]—Master Goldstone, I’ll
entreat you to be the gentleman that shall accompany me.
GOL. Not me, sir?
BUN. You, sir.
GOL.[632] By my troth, concluded. What state bears thy
coz, sirrah?
BUN. O, a fine merchant’s wife.
GOL. Or rather, a merchant’s fine wife.
BUN. Trust me, and that’s the properer phrase here at
London; and ’tis as absurd too to call him fine
merchant, for, being at sea, a man knows not what pickle
he is in.
GOL. Why, true.
BUN. Yet my coz will be served in plate, I can tell you;
she has her silver jugs and her gilt tankards.
GOL. Fie!
BUN. Nay, you shall see a house dressed up, i’faith; you
must not think to tread a’ th’ ground when you come
there.
GOL. No? how then?
BUN. Why, upon paths made of fig-frails[633] and white
blankets cut out in steaks.[634]
GOL. Away!—I have thought of a device. [_Aside._]—Where
shall we meet an hour hence?
BUN. In Paul’s.
GOL. Agreed. [_Exit_ BUNGLER.
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.
FIT. The broker-gallant and the cheating-gallant:
Now I have found ’em all, I so rejoice,
That the redeeming of my cloak I weigh not.
I have spied him.
GOL. Pax,[635] here’s Bouser.
FIT. Master Goldstone, my cloak! come, where’s my cloak,
sir?
GOL. O, you’re a sure gentleman, especially if a man
stand in need of you! he may be slain in a morning to
breakfast ere you vouchsafe to peep out of your lodging.
FIT. How?
GOL. No less than four gallants, as I’m a gentleman,
drew all upon me at once, and opposed me so spitefully,
that I not only lost your cloak i’ th’ fray——
FIT. Comes it in there?
GOL. But my rich hangers,[636] sirrah,—I think thou hast
seen ’em.
FIT. Never, i’faith, sir.
GOL. Those with the two unicorns, all wrought in pearl
and gold: pox on’t, it frets me ten times more than the
loss of the paltry cloak: prithee, and[637] thou lovest
me, speak no more on’t; it brings the unicorns into my
mind, and thou wouldst not think how the conceit grieves
me. I will not do thee that disgrace, i’faith, to offer
thee any satisfaction, for in my soul I think thou
scornest it; thou bearest that mind, in my conscience; I
have always said so of thee. Fare thee well: when shall
I see thee at my chamber, when?
FIT. Every day, shortly.
GOL. I have fine toys to shew thee.
FIT. You win my heart then. [_Exit_ GOLDSTONE.] The
devil scarce knew what a portion he gave his children
when he allowed ’em large impudence to live upon, and so
turned ’em into th’ world: surely he gave away the third
part of the riches of his kingdom; revenues are but
fools to’t.
The filed[638] tongue and the undaunted forehead
Are mighty patrimonies, wealthier than those
The city-sire or the court-father leaves:
In these behold it: riches oft, like slaves,
Revolt; they bear their foreheads to their graves.
What soonest grasps advancement, men’s[639] great suits,
Trips down rich widows, gains repute and name,
Makes way where’er it comes, bewitches all?
Thou, Impudence! the minion of our days,
On whose pale cheeks favour and fortune plays.
Call you these your five gallants? trust me, they’re
rare fellows:
They live on nothing; many cannot live on something;
Here they may take example.—Suspectless virgin,
How easy had thy goodness been beguil’d!
Now only rests, that as to me they’re known,
So to the world their base arts may be shewn. _Exit._
SCENE VI.
_The Middle Aisle of St. Paul’s._[640]
_Enter_ PURSENET _and Boy_.
PUR. Art sure thou sawest him receive’t, boy?
BOY. Forty pound in gold, as I’m a gentleman born.
PUR. Thy father gave the ram’s head,[641] boy?
BOY. No, you’re deceived; my mother gave that, sir.
PUR. What’s thy mother’s is thy father’s.
_Enter_ PYAMONT.
BOY. I’m sorry it holds in the ram’s head. See, here he
walks; I was sure he came into Paul’s: the gold had been
yours, master, long ere this, but that he wears both his
hands in his pockets.
PUR. How unfortunately is my purpose seated! what the
devil should come in his mind to keep in his hands so
long? the biting but of a paltry louse would do me great
kindness now; I’d know[642] not how to requite it: will
no rascal creature assist me? Stay, what if I did
impudently salute ’em out? good. Boy, be ready, boy.
BOY. Upon the least advantage, sir.
PUR. You’re most devoutly met in Paul’s, sir.
PY. So are you, but I scarce remember you, sir.
PUR. O, I cry you mercy, sir; I pray, pardon me; I fear
I have tendered an offence, sir: troth, I took you at
the first for one master Dumpling, a Norfolk gentleman.
[_While_ PURSENET _speaks, the Boy watches in vain
for an opportunity to pick_ PYAMONT’S
_pocket_.
PY. There’s no harm done yet, sir.
PUR. I hope he is there by this time. [_Aside._]—How
now, boy, hast it?
BOY. No, by troth, have I not; this labour’s lost: ’tis
in the right pocket, and he kept that hand in sure
enough.
PUR. Unpractised gallant! salute me but with one hand,
like a counterfeit soldier? O times and manners! are we
grown beasts? do we salute by halves? are not our limbs
at leisure?
Where’s comely nurture? the Italian kiss,
Or the French cringe, with the Polonian waist?
Are all forgot?
Then misery follows.—Surely fate forbade it:
Had he employ’d but his right hand, I’d had it.
_Enter_ BUNGLER.
It must be an everlasting device, I think, that procures
both his hands out at once.
[_Aside, and exit with Boy._
PY. Do you walk, sir?[643]
BUN. No, I stay a little for a gentleman’s coming too.
PY. Farewell then, sir: I have forty pound in gold about
me, which I must presently send down into the country.
BUN. Fare you well, sir. [_Exit_ PYAMONT.]—I wonder
master Goldstone spares my company so long; ’tis now
about the navel of the day, upon the belly of noon.
_Enter_ GOLDSTONE _and_ FULK, _both disguised_.
GOL. See where he walks: be sure you let off at a
twinkling, now.
FULK. When did I miss you?—Your worship has forgot you
promised mistress Newcut, your cousin, to dine with her
this day.
GOL. Mass, that was well remembered.
BUN. I am bold to salute you, sir.
GOL. Sir?
BUN. Is mistress Newcut your cousin, sir?
GOL. Yes, she’s a cousin of mine, sir.
BUN. Then I am a cousin of yours, by the sister’s side.
GOL. Let me salute you then; I shall be glad of your
farther acquaintance.
BUN. I am a bidden guest there too.
GOL. Indeed, sir!
BUN. Faith, invited this morning.
GOL. Your good company shall be kindly embraced, sir.
BUN. I walk a turn or two here for a gentleman, but I
think he’ll either overtake me, or be before me.
GOL. ’Tis very likely, sir.—There, sirrah, go to dinner,
and about two wait for me.
BUN. Nay, let him come between two and three, cousin,
for we love to sit long at dinner i’ th’ city.
GOL. Come, sweet cousin.
BUN. Nay, cousin; keep your way, cousin; good cousin, I
will not, i’faith, cousin. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VII.
_A Room in_ MISTRESS NEWCUT’S _House_: MARMADUKE _laying
the cloth for dinner_.
_Enter_ MISTRESS NEWCUT.
MIS. N. Why, how now, sirrah? upon twelve of the clock,
and not the cloth laid yet? must we needs keep Exchange
time still?
MAR. I am about it, forsooth.
MIS. N. You’re about it, forsooth? you’re still about
many things, but you ne’er do one well. I am an ass to
keep thee in th’ house, now my husband’s at sea; thou
hast no audacity with thee; a foolish, dreaming lad,
fitter to be in the garret than in any place else; no
grace nor manly behaviour: when didst thou ever come to
me but with thy head hanging down? O decheerful
’prentice, uncomfortable servant! [_Exit_ MARMADUKE.]—
Pray heaven the gull, my cousin, has so much wit left as
to bring master Tailby along with him, my comfort, my
delight! for that was the chiefest cause I did invite
him. I bade him bring what gentleman he pleased to
accompany him; as far as I durst go: why may he not then
make choice of master Tailby? had he my wit or feeling
he would do’t.
_Enter_ BUNGLER, _and_ GOLDSTONE _disguised_.
BUN. Where’s my sweet cousin here? does she lack any
guess?[644]
MIS. N. Ever such guess as you: you’re welcome, cousin.
GOL. I am rude, lady.
MIS. N. You’re most welcome, sir.
BUN. There will be a gallant here anon, coz; he promised
faithfully.
MIS. N. Who is’t? master Tailby?
BUN. Master Tailby? no, master Goldstone.
MIS. N. Master Goldstone? I could think well of that
Goldstone were’t not for one vild[645] trick he has.
GOL. What’s that, lady?
MIS. N. In jest he will pawn his punks for suppers.
GOL. That’s a vild part in him, i’faith, and[646] he
were my brother.
MIS. N. Pray, gentlemen, sit awhile; your dinner shall
come presently. [_Exit._
GOL. Yea, mistress Newcut? at first give me a trip?
A close bite always asks a secret nip. [_Aside._
BUN. My cousin here is a very kind-natured soul,
i’faith, in her humour.
GOL. Pooh, you know her not so well as I, coz; I have
observed her in all her humours; you ne’er saw her a
little waspish, I think.
BUN. I have [not], i’faith.
GOL. Pooh, then ye ne’er saw pretty humour in your life;
I can bring her into’t when I list.
BUN. Would you could, i’faith!
GOL. Would I could? by my troth, and I were sure thou
couldst keep thy countenance, coz, what a pretty jest
have I thought upon already to entertain time before
dinner!
BUN. Prithee, coz, what is’t? I love a jest a’
life,[647] i’faith.
GOL. Ah, but I am jealous[648] you will not keep your
countenance, i’faith! Why, ye shall see a pretty story
of a humour.[649] Faith, I’ll try you for once: you know
my cousin will wonder when she comes in to see the cloth
laid, and ne’er a salt upon the board.
BUN. That’s true, i’faith.
GOL. Now will I stand a while out of sight with it, and
give her humour play a little.
BUN. Coz, dost thou love me? and thou wilt ever do any
thing for me, do’t.
GOL. Marry, I build upon you[r] countenance.
BUN. Why, dost thou think I’m an ass, coz?
GOL. I would be loath to undertake it else; for if you
should burst out presently, coz, the jest would be
spoiled.
BUN. Why, do not I know that? Away, stand close: [_exit_
GOLDSTONE _with the salt-cellar_] so, so; mum, cousin.—A
merry companion, i’faith: here will be good sport anon,—
whist, she comes.
_Re-enter_ MISTRESS NEWCUT.
MIS. N. I make you stay[650] long for a bad dinner
here, cousin; if master Goldstone were come, the meat’s
e’en ready.
BUN. Some great business detains him, cousin; but he’ll
not be long now.
MIS. N. Why, how now? cuds my life!——
BUN. Why——
MIS. N. Was ever mistress so plagued with a
shuttle-headed servant!—Why, Marmaduke!
_Re-enter_ MARMADUKE.
MAR. I come, forsooth.
MIS. N. Able to shame me from generation to generation!
MAR. Did you call, forsooth?
MIS. N. Come hither, forsooth: did you lay this cloth?
MAR. Yes, forsooth.
MIS. N. Do you use to lay a cloth without a salt, a
salt, a salt, a salt, a salt, a salt!
MAR. How many salts would you have? I’m sure I set the
best i’ th’ house upon the board.
BUN. How, cousin? [_sings_] _Cousin, cousin, did call,
coz?_
MIS. N. Did you see a salt upon the board when you came
in?
BUN. Pooh!
MIS. N. Come, come, I thought as much; beshrew your
fingers, where is’t now?
BUN. Your cousin yonder——
MIS. N. Why, the man’s mad!
BUN. Cousin, hist, cousin!
MIS. N. What say you?
BUN. Pooh, I call not you, I call my cousin.—Come forth
with the salt, cousin! Ha! how? nobody? Why, was not he
that came in e’en now your cousin?
MIS. N. My cousin? O my bell-salt, O my great bell-salt!
_Re-enter_ GOLDSTONE _in his own dress_.
BUN. The tenor bell-salt. O, here comes master
Goldstone now, cousin; he may tell us some news on him.—
Did you not meet a fellow about door with a great silver
salt under his arm?
GOL. No, sure; I met none such.
MIS. N. Pardon me, sir, I forgot all this while to bid
you welcome. I shall loathe this room for ever. Take
hence the cloth, you unlucky, maple-faced[651] rascal.—
Come, you shall dine in my chamber, sir.
GOL. No better place, lady. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VIII.
_A Street._
_Enter_ PYAMONT.
PY. No less than forty pound in fair gold at one lift!
the next shall swoon and swoon again till the devil
fetch him, ere I set hand to him. Heart, nothing vexes
me so much, but that I paid the goldsmith[652] for the
change too not an hour before: had I let it alone in the
chain of silver as it was at first, it might have given
me some notice at his departure: ’sfoot, I could fight
with a windmill now. Sure ’twas some unlucky villain:
why should he come and salute me wrongfully too, mistake
me at noonday? Now I think on’t in cold blood, it could
not be but an induction to some villanous purpose: well,
I shall meet him——
_Enter_ PURSENET.
PUR. This forty pound came fortunately to redeem my
chain of pearl from mortgage: I would not care how often
I swooned[653] to have such a good caudle[654] to
comfort me; gold and pearl are[655] very restorative.
PY. See, yonder’s the rogue I suspect for foul play!
I’ll walk muffled by him, offer some offence or cause of
a quarrel, only to try his temper; if he be a coward,
he’s the likelier to be a rogue, an infallible note.
[_Jostles_ PURSENET.
PUR. What a pox ail you, sir? would I had been aware of
you!
PY. Sir, speak you to me?
PUR. Not I, sir: pray, keep on your way; I have nothing
to say to you.
PY. You’re a rascal!
PUR. You may say your pleasure, sir; but I hope I go not
like a rascal.
PY. Are you fain to fly to your clothes because you’re
gallant? why, there’s no rascal like your gallant
rascal, believe that.
PUR. You have took me at such an hour, faith, you may
call me e’en what you please; nothing will move me.
PY. No? I’ll make somewhat move you. Draw! I suspected
you were a rogue, and you have purst it up well with a
coward!
PUR. Who, my patron?
PY. Keep out, you rascal!
PUR. The guest that did me the kindness in Paul’s? Hold!
as you are a gentleman; you’ll give me breath, sir?
[_Exit running; and as he goes out, drops the
chain of pearl._
PY. Are you there with me? a vengeance stop you! You
have found breath enough to run away from me. I will
never meet this slave hereafter in a morning but I will
breathe myself upon him; since I can have no other
satisfaction, he shall save me that forty pound in
fence-school. [_Exit._
_Enter_ GOLDSTONE.
GOL. When things are cleanly carried, sign of judgment:
I was the welcom’st gallant to her alive
After the salt was stolen; then a good dinner,
A fine provoking meal, which drew on apace
The pleasure of a day-bed, and I had it;
This here one ring can witness: when I parted,
Who but _sweet master Goldstone_? I left her in that
trance.
What cannot wit, so it be impudent,
Devise and compass? I’d[656] fain know that fellow now
That would suspect me but for what I am;
He lives not:
’Tis all in the conveyance.[657] What! thou look’st not
Like a beggar: what mak’st thou on the ground?
I’ve[658] a hand to help thee up: a fair chain of pearl!
[_Takes up the chain of pearl which_ PURSENET
_had dropt_.
Surely a merchant’s wife gives lucky handsel:
They that find pearl may wear’t at a cheap rate;
Marry, my lady dropt it from her arm
For a device to tole me to her bed:
I’ve seen as great a matter.—Who be these?
I’ll be too crafty for you.—
_Enter_ PRIMERO _and_ FRIPPERY.
O monsieur Primero, signior Frip; is it you, gallants?'
FRI. Sweet master Goldstone! [_They talk apart._
_Enter_ TAILBY _and two Constables_.
TAI. Every bawd exceeds me in fortune: master Primero
was robbed of a carkanet[659] upon Monday last;
laid[660] the goldsmiths, and found it. I ha’ laid
goldsmith,[661] jeweller, burnisher, broker, and the
devil and all, I think, yet could never so much as hear
of that chain of pearl: he was a notable thief; he works
close. Peace, who be these? ha, let me see. By this
light, there it is! Back, lest they see thee: a happy
minute! Goldstone? What an age do we breathe in! who
that saw him now would think he were maintained by
purses? so, who that meets me would think I were
maintained by wenches? As far as I can see, ’tis all
one case, and holds both in one court; we are both
maintained by the common roadway! Keep thou thine own
heart, thou livest unsuspected. I leese[662] you again
now.
GOL. But, I pray you, tell me,
Met you no gentlewomen by the way you came?
FRI. Not any: what should they be?
GOL. Nay, I do but ask,
Because a gentlewoman’s glove was found
Near to the place I met you.
PRI. Faith, we saw none, sir.
TAI. Good officers, upon suspicion of felony.
S. CON. Very good, sir.
F. CON. What call you the thief’s name you do suspect?
TAI. Master Justinian Goldstone.
F. CON. Remember, master Justice Goldstone; a terrible
world the whilst, my masters!
TAI. Look you, that’s he: upon him, officers!
F. CON. I see him not yet; which is he, sir?
TAI. Why, that.
F. CON. He a thief, sir? who, that gentleman i’ th’
satin?
TAI. E’en he.
F. CON. Farewell, sir; you’re a merry gentleman.
TAI. As you will answer it, officers! I’ll bear you out,
I’ll be your warrant.
F. CON. Nay, and[663] you say so—what’s his name then?
TAI. Justinian Goldstone.
F. CON. Master Justinian Goldstone, we apprehend you,
sir, upon suspicion of felony.
GOL. Me?
TAI. You, sir.
S. CON. I charge you, in the king’s name, gentlemen, to
assist us.
GOL. Master Tailby!
TAI. The same man, sir.
GOL. Life, what’s the news?
TAI. Ha’ you forgot Combe Park?
GOL. Combe Park? no, ’tis in Kingston way.
TAI. I believe you’ll find it so.
GOL. I not deny it.
F. CON. Bear witness, has confessed.
GOL. What have I confessed? Pair of coxcombs
indubitable!
TAI. I was robb’d finely of this chain of pearl there,
And forty fair spur-royals.[664]
GOL. Did I rob you?
TAI. There where I find my goods I may suspect, sir.
FRI. I dreamt this would be his end. [_Aside._
GOL. See how I am wrong’d, gentlemen:
As I’ve[665] a soul, I found this chain of pearl
Not three yards from this place, just when I met you.
TAI. Ha, ha!
FRI. Yet the law’s such, if he but swear ’tis you,
You’re gone.
GOL. Pox on’t, that e’er I saw’t!
FRI. Can you but swear ’tis he? do but that, and you
tickle him, i’faith.
TAI. Nay, and[666] it come once to swearing, let me
alone.
FRI. Say, and hold; he called my jewels counterfeit, and
so cheated the poor wench of ’em.
F. CON. Come, bring him away, come.
GOL. ’Twill call my state in question.
_Re-enter_ PURSENET.
PUR. I think what’s got by theft doth never prosper;
Now lost my chain of pearl.—Come, master Goldstone,
Let go; ’tis[667] mine, i’faith.
GOL. The chain of pearl?
PUR. By my troth, it’s mine.
GOL. By my troth, much good do’t you, sir.
FRI. I’m glad in my soul, sir.[668]
F. CON. Deliver your weapons.
PUR. How?
F. CON. You’re apprehended upon suspicion of felony.
PUR. Felony? what’s that?
TAI. Was it you, i’faith, sir, all this while, that did
me that kindness to ease both my pockets at Combe Park?
PUR. I, sir? Pray, gentlemen, draw near; let’s talk
among ourselves.—Stand apart, scoundrel.—Must every
gentleman be upbraided in public that flies out now and
then upon necessity, to be themes for pedlars and
weavers? This should not be; ’twas never seen among the
Romans, nor read we of it in the time of Brute: are we
more brutish now? Did I list to blab, do not I know your
course of life, master Tailby, to be as base as the
basest, maintained by me, by him, by all of us, and ’a
second-hand from mistresses? I’ve their letters here to
shew.
Why should you be so violent to strip naked
Another’s reputation to the world,
Knowing your own so leprous?
Beside, this chain of pearl and those spur-royals[669]
Came to you falsely; for she broke her faith,
And made her soul a strumpet with her body,
When she sent those; they were ever justly mine.—
Pray, what moves you, sir? why should you shake your
head? you’re clear; sure I should know you, sir: pray,
are not you sometimes a pander, and oftener a bawd, sir?
have I never sinned in your banqueting boxes, your
bowers and towers? You slave, that keeps fornication
upon the tops of trees! the very birds cannot engender
in quiet for you: why, rogue, that goes in good clothes
made out of wenches’ cast gowns——
PRI. Nothing goes so near my heart as that.
PUR. Do you shake your slave’s noddle?
TAI. And here’s a rascal, look, a’ ’s way[670]
too—saving the presence of master Goldstone—a
filthy-slimy-lousy-nittical broker, pricked up in
pawns from the hat-band to the shoe-string; a
necessary hook to hang gentlemen’s suits out i’
th’ air, lest they should grow musty with long
lying, which his pawns seldom are guilty of; a
fellow of several scents and steams, French,
Dutch, Italian, English, and therefore his lice
must needs be mongrels: why, bill-money——
GOL. I am sorry to hear this among you: you’ve all
deceived me; truly I took you for other spirits. You
must pardon me henceforward; I have a reputation to look
to; I must be no more seen in your companies.
FRI. Nay, nay, nay, nay, master Goldstone, you must not
’scape so, i’faith; one word before you go, sir.
GOL. Pray, despatch then; I would not for half my
revenues, i’faith, now, that any gallants should pass by
in the meantime, and find me in your companies; nay, as
quick as you can, sir.
FRI. You did not take away master Bouser’s cloak t’other
morning, pawned it to me, and borrowed five pound
upon’t?
GOL. Ha!
FRI. ’Twas not you neither that finely cheated my little
novice at master Primero’s house of a diamond and
sapphire, and swore they were counterfeit, both glass,
mere glass, as you were a right gentleman?
GOL. ’Slife, why were we strangers all this while?
’Sfoot, I perceive we are all natural brothers! A pox
on’s all, are we found, i’faith?
FRI. A cheater!
GOL. A thief, a lecher, a bawd, and a broker!
F. CON. What mean they to be so merry? I’m afraid they
laugh at us, and make fools on’s.
GOL. Push,[671] leave it to me.—How now, who would you
speak withal?
F. CON. Speak withal! Have we waited all this while for
a suspected thief?
GOL. How? You’re scarce awake yet, I think: look well,
does any appear like a thief in this company? Away, you
slaves! you stand loitering when you should look to the
commonwealth: you catch knaves apace now, do you not?
they may walk by your nose, you rascals!
[_Exeunt Constables._
ALL. Sweet master Goldstone!
GOL. You lacked spirit in your company till I came among
you: here be five on’s; let’s but glue together, why now
the world shall not come between us.
PUR. If we be true among ourselves.
GOL. Why, true; we cannot lack to be rich, for we cannot
lack riches, nor can our wenches want, nor we want
wenches.
PRI. Let me alone to furnish you with them.
TAI. And me.
GOL. There’s one care past: and as for the knight’s
daughter,
Our chiefest business, and least thought upon—
PUR. That’s true, i’faith.
TAI. How shall we agree for her?
GOL. With as much ease
As for the rest. To-morrow brings the night:
Let’s all appear in the best shape we may;
Troth is, we have need on’t:
And when amongst us five she makes election,
As one she shall choose—
PUR. True, she cannot [but] choose.
GOL. That one so fortunate amongst us five
Shall bear himself more portly, live regarded,
Keep house, and be a countenance to the rest.
ALL. Admirable![672]
GOL. For instance;
Put case yourself, after some robbery done,
Were pursu’d hardly, why there were your shelter,
You know your sanctuary; nay, say you were taken,
His letter to the justice will strike’t dead:
’Tis policy to receive one for the head.
ALL. Let’s hug thee, Goldstone.
GOL. What have I begot?
PUR. What, sir?
GOL. I must plot for you all; it likes[673] me rarely.
TAI. Prithee, what is’t, sir?
GOL. ’Twould strike Fitsgrave pale,
And make the other suitors appear blanks.
FRI. For our united mysteries.
GOL. What if we five presented our full shapes
In a strange-gallant and conceited masque?
PUR. In a masque? your thoughts and mine were twins.
TAI. So the device were subtle, nothing like it.
FRI. Some poet must assist us.
GOL. Poet?
You’ll take the direct line to have us stag’d.[674]
Are you too well, too safe? Why, what lacks Bouser?
An absolute scholar; easy to be wrought,
No danger in the operation.
PUR. But have you so much interest?
GOL. What, in Bouser?
Why, my least word commands him.
TAI. Then no man fitter.
PUR. And there’s master Frip too
Can furnish us of masquing suits enow.
FRI. Upon sufficient pawn, I think I can, sir.
PUR. Pawn? Jew, here, take my chain: pawns among
brothers?
We shall thrive![675]
But we must still expect one rogue in five,
And think us happy too.
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.
GOL. Last man we spoke on, master Bouser.
PUR. Little master Bouser.[676]
TAI. Sweet master Bouser——
FRI. Welcome, i’faith.
FIT. Are your fathers dead, gentlemen, you’re so merry?
GOL. By my troth, a good jest! Did not I commend his wit
to you, gentlemen? Hark, sirrah Ralph Bouser, cousin
Bouser, i’faith, there’s a kind of portion in town, a
girl of fifteen hundred, whom we all powerfully affect,
and determine to present our parts to her in a masque.
FIT. In a masque?
GOL. Right, sir: now, a little of thy brain for a device
to present us firm, which we shall never be able to do
ourselves, thou knowest that; and with a kind of speech
wherein thou mayst express what gallants are, bravely.
FIT. Pooh, how can I express ’em otherwise but
bravely?
Now for a Mercury, and all were fitted.
PUR. Could not a boy supply it?
FIT. Why, none better.
PUR. I have a boy shall put down all the Mercuries i’
th’ town; ’a will play a Mercury naturally, at his
fingers’ end[s], i’faith.
FIT. Why then we are suited: for torch-bearers and
shield-boys, those are always the writer’s
properties;[677] you’re not troubled with them.
GOL. Come, my little Bouser, do’t finely now, to the
life.
FIT. I warrant you, gentlemen.
FRI. Hist; give me a little touch above the rest,
and[678] you can possible, for I mean to present this
chain of pearl to her.
FIT. Now I know that, let me alone to fit you.
[_Exeunt._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_A Chamber._[679]
_Enter Courtesans and_ MISTRESS NEWCUT.
FIRST C. Come forth, you wary, private-whispering
strumpet! Have we found your close haunts, your private
watch-towers, and your subtle means?
MIS. N. How then?
SEC. C. You can steal secretly hither, you mystical
quean you, at twilight, twitter-lights![680]
You have a privilege from your hat,[681] forsooth,
To walk without a man, and no suspicion;
But we poor gentlewomen that go in tires
Have no such liberty, we cannot do thus:
Custom grants that to you that’s shame in us.
MIS. N. Have you done yet?
SEC. C. You broke the back of one husband already; and
now th’ other’s dead with grief at sea, with your secret
expenses, close stealths, cunning filches, and continued
banquets in corners. Then, forsooth, you must have your
milk-baths to white you, your rose-leaves to sweeten
you, your bean-flour bags[682] to sleek you, and
make you soft, smooth, and delicate, for lascivious
entertainment!
MIS. N. So, and you think all this while you dance like
a thief in a mist, you’re safe, nobody can find you!
Pray, were not you a feltmonger’s daughter at first,
that run away with a new courtier for the love of
gentlewomen’s clothes, and bought the fashion at a dear
rate, with the loss of your name and credit? Why, what
are all of you but rustical insides and city flesh, the
blood of yeomen, and the bum of gentlewomen?
SEC. C. What, shall we suffer a changeable forepart to
out-tongue us? Take that! [_Attacking her._
MIS. N. Murder, murder!
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.
FIT. How now! Why, ladies, a retreat! come, you
have shewn your spirits sufficiently: you’re all
land-captains; and so they shall find that come in
your quarters; but have you the law free now to
fight and scratch among yourselves, and let your
gallants run away with others?[683]
FIRST C. How!
SEC. C. Good——
FIRST C. Sweet master Bouser!
MIS. N. Another? [_Aside._
FIT. Why, then, I perceive you know nothing: why, they
are in the way of marriage; a knight’s daughter here in
town makes her election among ’em this night.
FIRST C. This night?
FIT. This very night; and they all present themselves in
a masque before her: know you not this?
SEC. C. O traitor master Goldstone!
THIRD C.[684] Perjured master Tailby!
MIS. N. Without soul? [_Aside._
FIRST C. She will chase him!
FIT. You have more cause to join,
And play the grounds of friendship ’mongst yourselves,
Than rashly run division: I could tell you
A means to pleasure you——
FIRST C. Good master Bouser!
FIT. But that you’re women, and are hardly secret——
SEC. C. We vow it seriously.
FIT. You should be all there in presence,
See all, hear all, and yet not they perceive you.
THIRD C. So that——
MIS. N. Sweet master Bouser, I——
FIT. I can stand you in stead;
For I frame the device——
ALL. If ever——
FIT. Will you do’t—hark you— [_Whispers._
FIRST C. Content.
SEC. C. And I’ll make one.
THIRD C. And I another:
We’ll mar the match.
MIS. N. When that good news[685] came of my husband’s
death,
Goldstone[686] promis’d me marriage,
And sware to me——
SEC. C. I’ll bring his oaths in question.
FIRST C. So will I.[687]
FIT. Agree among yourselves, for shame!
FIRST C. Are we resolv’d?
SEC. C. In this who would not feign?
THIRD C. Friends all, for my part.
MIS. N. Here’s my[688] lip for mine.
THIRD C. Round let it go.
SEC. C. All wrath thus quench’d.
FIRST C. And I conclude it so.
[_Exeunt all except_ FITSGRAVE.
FIT. How all events strike even with my wishes!
Their own invention damns them.—
_Enter two Gentlemen, and_ PYAMONT _and_ BUNGLER.
Now, gentlemen,
Stands your assistance firm?
FIRST G. Why, ’tis our own case;
I’m sorry you should doubt.
SEC. G. We’ll furnish you.
BUN.[689] Are these our gallants?
FIT. Are our gallants these?
_Enter Painter with Shields._
PAI. Here be five shields, sir.
FIT. Finished already? that’s well: I’ll see thy master
shortly.
PAI. I’m satisfied. [_Exit._
PY. Prithee, let’s see, master Fitsgrave.
FIT. I have blazed them.
FIRST G. What’s this?
SEC. G. Fooh,[690] you should be a gallant too, for
you’re no university scholar.
FIT. Look, this is Pursenet; the device, a purse wide
open, and the mouth downward: the word,[691] _Alienis
ecce crumenis_!
FIRST G. What’s that?
FIT. _One that lives out of other men’s pockets._
PY. That’s right!
FIT. Here’s Goldstone’s, three silver dice.
FIRST G. They run high, two cinques and a quater!
FIT. They’re high-men,[692] fit for his purpose: the
word, _Fratremque patremque_.
SEC. G. Nay, he will cheat his own brother; nay, his own
father, i’faith!
FIT. So much the word imports.—Master Primero—
BUN.[693] Pox, what says he now?
FIT. The device, an unvalued[694] pearl hid in a cave;
the word, _Occultos vendit honores_.
FIRST G. What’s that?
FIT. _One that sells maidenheads by wholesale._
SEC. G. Excellently proper!
FIT. Master Frip——
SEC. G. That Pythagorical rascal![695] in a gentleman’s
suit to-day, in a knight’s to-morrow.
FIT. The device for him, a cuckoo sitting on a tree; the
word, _En avis ex avibus! one bird made of many_; for
you know as the sparrow hatches the cuckoo, so the
gentleman feathers the broker.
FIRST G. Let me admire thee, master Fitsgrave!
FIT. They will scorn gentlemen; and to assist them the
better, Pursenet’s boy, that little precious pickpocket,
has a compendious speech in Latin, and, like a Mercury,
presents their dispositions more liberally.
FIRST G. Never were poor gallants so abused.
FIT. Hang ’em!
They’re counterfeits; no honest spirit will pity ’em.
This is my crown;[696]
So good men smile, I dread no rascal’s frown.
Away, bestow yourselves secretly o’erhead;
This is the place appointed for the rehearsal,
To practise their behaviours.
FIRST G. We are vanish’d.
[_Exeunt two Gentlemen_, PYAMONT, _and_ BUNGLER,
_who presently station themselves above_.
_Enter_ GOLDSTONE, PURSENET, TAILBY, FRIPPERY, PRIMERO,
_and Boy_.
GOL. Master Bouser——
PUR. Well said, i’faith; off with your cloaks, gallants;
let’s fall roundly to our business.
TAI. Is the boy perfect?
FIT. That’s my credit, sir, I warrant you.
FRI. If our little Mercury should be out, we should
scarce be known what we are.
FIT. I have took a course for that, fear it not, sir.
Look you, first, here be your shields.
GOL. Ay, where be our shields?
PUR. Which is mine?
TAI. Which is mine, master Bouser? this?
FIT. I pray, be contained[697] a little, gentlemen;
they’ll come all time enough to you, I warrant.
PUR. This Frip is grown so violent!
FIT. Yours to begin withal, sir.
PUR. Well said, master Bouser!
FIT. First the[698] device, a fair purse wide open, the
mouth downward; the word, _Alienis ecce crumenis_!
PUR. What’s that, prithee?
FIT. _Your bounty pours itself forth to all men._
PUR. And so it does, i’faith; that’s all my fault,
bountiful.
FIT. Master Goldstone, here’s yours, sir: three silver
dice; the word, _Fratremque patremque_.
GOL. And what’s that?
FIT. _Fortune of my side._
GOL. Well said, little Bouser, i’faith!
TAI. What say you to me, sir?
FIT. For the device, a candle in a corner; the word,
_Consumptio victus_.
TAI. The meaning of that, sir?
FIT. _My light is yet in darkness till I enjoy her._
TAI. Right, sir.[699]
PRI. Now mine, sir?
FIT. The device, an unvalued[700] pearl hid in a cave.
PRI. Aha, sirs!
FIT. The word, _Occultos vendit honores_.
PRI. Very good, I warrant.
FIT. _A black man’s a pearl in a fair lady’s eye._
PRI. I said ’twas some such thing.
FRI. My turn must needs come now: am I fitted, master
Bouser?
FIT. Trust to me; your device here is a cuckoo sitting
on a tree.
FRI. The Welsh leiger;[701] good.
FIT. The word, _En avis ex avibus_!
FRI. Ay, marry, sir.
FIT. Why do you know what ’tis, sir?
FRI. No, by my troth, not yet, sir.
FIT. O!—_I keep one tune, I recant not_.
FRI. I’m like the cuckoo in that indeed: where I love I
hold.
FIT. Did I not promise you I would fit you?
GOL. They’re all very well done, i’faith, and very
scholarlike, though I say’t before thy face, little
Bouser; but I would not have thee proud on’t now: come,
if this be performed well——
PUR. Who, the boy? he has performed deeper matters than
this.
PY. Ay, a pox on him! I think was in my pocket now,
and[702] truth were known. [_Aside._
BUN. I caught him once in mine. [_Aside._
FIT. Suppose the shields are presented, then you begin,
boy.
BOY. I, representing Mercury, am a pickpocket, and have
his part at my fingers’ ends: _Page I am to that great
and secret thief, magno illo et secreto latroni_——
FIT.[703] There you make your honour, sir.
BOY. At _latroni_?
FIT.[704] You have it, sir.
PUR.[705] _Latroni_, that’s mine.
FIT. He confesses the thief’s his.
PUR. Remember, boy, you point _latroni_ to me.
BOY. To you, master.
FIT. Proceed.[706]
BOY.[707] _These four are his companions: the one a
notable cheater, that will cozen his own father_——
FIT. Master Goldstone.
GOL. Let me alone, master Bouser; I can take mine own
turn.
FIT. Why——
GOL. Peace.
BOY.[708] _The second a notorious lecher, maintained by
harlots, cujus virtus consumptio corporis._[709]
TAI. That’s I, master Bouser.
FIT. There you remember your honour, sir.
BOY. _Ille leno pretiosissimus, virgineos ob lucrum
vendens honores._
PUR.[710] It sounds very well, i’faith.
BOY. _Postremus ille, quamvis apparatu splendidus, is no
otherwise but a broker; these feathers are not his own,
sed avis ex avibus: all which to be nothing but truth
will appear by the event._
FIT. I’faith, here’s all now, gentlemen.
GOL. Short and pithy.
TAI. A good boy, i’faith, and a pregnant!
PUR. I dare put trust in the boy, sir.—Forget not,
sirrah, at any hand, to point that same _latroni_ to me.
BOY. I warrant you, master.
GOL. Come, gentlemen, the time beckons us away.
FIT. Ay, furnish, gentlemen, furnish.
PUR. Hark, one word, master Bouser: what’s the same
_latroni_? I have a good mind to that word, i’faith.
FIT. _Latroni_? why, _shrieve_[711] _of the shire_.
PUR. I’faith, and I have shriven some shires in my days.
[_Exeunt_ GOLDSTONE, PURSENET, TAILBY,
FRIPPERY, PRIMERO, _and Boy_.
FIT. Now, gentlemen, are you satisfied and pleas’d?
FIRST G. Never more amply.
FIT. Amongst us now falls that desired lot,
For we shall blast five rivals with one plot.
[_Exit: and exeunt Gentlemen, &c. above._
SCENE II.
_A Hall in_ KATHERINE’S _House_.
_Enter_ KATHERINE _between two ancient Gentlemen_.
KAT. Grave gentlemen, in whose approved bosoms
My deceas’d father did repose much faith,
You’re dearly welcome: pray, sit, command music;
See nothing want to beautify this night,
That holds my election in her peaceful arms;
Feasts, music, hymns, those sweet celestial charms.[712]
FIRST G. May you be blest in this election!
SEC. G. That content may meet perfection!
HYMN.
_Sound lute, bandora,[713] gittern,
Viol, virginals, and cittern;
Voices spring, and lift aloud
Her name that makes the music proud!
This night perfection
Makes her election.
Follow, follow, follow, follow round,
Look you to that, nay, you to that, nay, you to that:
Anon you will be found, anon you will be found, anon you
will be found._
[_Cornets sound: enter the Masque,[714] thus ordered: a
torch-bearer, a shield-boy, then a masquer, so
throughout; then the shield-boys fall at one end,
the torch-bearers at the other; the masquers i’ th’
middle: the torch-bearers are the five gentlemen_
[FITSGRAVE, PYAMONT, BUNGLER, _and two others_];
_the shield-boys the whores_ [_three Courtesans,
Novice, and_ MISTRESS NEWCUT] _in boys’ apparel; the
masquers the five gallants_ [PURSENET, GOLDSTONE,
TAILBY, PRIMERO, _and_ FRIPPERY]: _they bow to her;
she rises and shews the like: they dance, but first
deliver the shields up; she reads. The speech: their
action._
KAT. [_reads_] _Alienis ecce crumenis!_
[PURSENET _bows to her_.
[_reads_] _Fratremque patremque._
[GOLDSTONE _bows to her_.
[_reads_] _Consumptio victus._ [TAILBY _bows to her_.
[_reads_] _Occultos vendit honores._
[PRIMERO _bows to her_.
A cuckoo: [_reads_] _En avis ex avibus!_
[FRIPPERY _bows to her_.
Are you all as the speech and shields display you?
GOL. We shall prove so.
[_They going to dance, each unhasps his weapon from
his side, and gives it to the torch-bearers._
KATHERINE _seems distrustful, but then_ FITSGRAVE
_whispers to her and falls back. At the end of
which, all making an honour_, FRIPPERY _presents
her with that chain of pearl_.
KAT. The very chain of pearl was filch’d from me!
FIT. Hold! stop the boy there!
[_Boy seized_: PURSENET _stamps_.
KAT. Will none lay hands on him? [FRIPPERY _seized_.
GOL. How now?
FRI. Alas, I’m but a broker! ’twas pawned to me in my
shop.
[FITSGRAVE, PYAMONT, _and the others discover
themselves_.
TAI. Ha, Fitsgrave!
PUR. Pyamont, and the rest!
GOL. Where’s Bouser?
FIT. Here.
GOL. We are all betrayed!
FIT. Betrayed? you’re new forth to betrayed, you have
not so much worth: nay, struggle not with the net, you
are caught for this world.
FIRST C. Would we were out!
FIT. ’Twas I fram’d your device, do you see? ’twas I:
The whole assembly has took notice of it.
That you are a gallant cheater,
So much the pawning of my cloak contains;
[_To_ GOLDSTONE.
You a base thief, think of Combe Park [_to_ PURSENET];
and tell me[715]
That you’re a hirèd smockster [_to_ TAILBY]; here’s her
letter,
In which we are certified that you’re[716] a bawd.
[_To_ PRIMERO.
FIRST G. The broker has confessed it. SEC. G. So has the
boy. TAI. That boy will be hanged; he stole the chain at
first, and has thus long maintained his master’s
gallantry.
FIT. All which we here present, like captive slaves,
Waiting that doom which their presumption craves.
KAT. How easily may our suspectless sex
With fair-appearing shadows be deluded!
Dear sir, you have the work so well begun,
That took from you, small glory would be won.
FIT. Since ’tis your pleasure to refer to me
The doom of these, I have provided so,
They shall not altogether lose their cost:
See, I have brought wives for ’em.
[_The Courtesans, &c. discover themselves._
GOL. Heart, the strumpets! out, out!
TAI. Having assum’d, out of their impudence,
The shape of shield-boys!
FRI. To heap full confusion!
FIRST C. Rather confine us to strict chastity,
A mere impossible task, than to wed these,
Whom we [do] loathe worse than the foul’st disease.
GOL. O grant ’em their requests!
FIT. The doom is past: so, since your aim was
marriage,
Either embrace it in these courtesans,
Or have your base acts and felonious lives
Proclaim’d to the indignation of the law,
Which will provide a public punishment.
As for the boy, and that infectious bawd,
We put forth those to whipping.
PRI. Whipping? you find not that in the statute to whip
satin.
FIT. Away with him! [PRIMERO _and Boy led off_.
GOL. Since all our shifts are discovered, as far as I
can see, ’tis our best course to marry ’em; we’ll make
them get our livings.
PUR. He says true.
MIS. N. You see how we are threatened: by my troth,
wenches, be ruled by me; let’s marry ’em, and[717] it be
but to plague ’em; for when we have husbands we are
under covert-baron,[718] and may lie with whom we list:
I have tried that in my t’other husbands’ days.
ALL THE C. A match.
FIT. I’ll be no more deferr’d: come, when do you join?
GOL. These forc’d marriages do never come to good.
FIT. How can they, when the[y] come to such as you?
PUR. The[y] often prove the ruin of great houses.
FIT.[719] Nor, virgin, do I in this seek to entice
All glory to myself; these gentlemen,
Whom[720] I am bound to love for kind assistance,
Had great affinity in the plot with me.
KAT. To them I give my thanks; myself to thee,
Thrice-worthy Fitsgrave!
FIT. I have all my wishes.
KAT. And I presume there’s none but those can frown,
Whose envies, like the rushes, we tread down.
[_Exeunt omnes._
A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS.
_A Mad World, my Masters. As it hath bin lately in
Action by the Children of Paules. Composed by T.
M. London, Printed by H. B. for Walter Bvrre, and
are to be sold in Paules Churchyard, at the signe
of the Crane._ 1608. 4to. A second ed. appeared
1640. 4to.
This drama has been reprinted (most carelessly) in
the several editions of Dodsley’s _Coll. of Old
Plays_, vol. v.
_A Mad World, my Masters_, was licensed by the
deputy of Sir George Bucke, 4th Oct. 1608: see
Chalmers’s _Suppl. Apol._, p. 199.
_The City Heiress, or Sir Timothy Treatall_, 1682,
by Mrs. Behn, and _The Country Lasses, or the
Custom of the Manor_, 1715, by Charles Johnson,
are partly taken from the present play.
THE PRINTER AND STATIONER
TO THE
GENTLE READER.[721]
--------------
Courteous reader, let not the title or name of
this comedy be any forestalling or weakening of
the worthy author’s judgment, whose known
abilities will survive to all posterities,
though he be long since dead. I hope the reading
thereof shall not prove distasteful unto any in
particular, nor hurtful unto any in general; but
I rather trust that the language and the plot
which you shall find in each scene shall rather
be commended and applauded than any way derided
or scorned. In the action, which is the life of
a comedy, and the glory of the author, it hath
been sufficiently expressed to the liking of the
spectators and commendations of the actors; who
have set it forth in such lively colours, and to
the meaning of the gentleman that true penned
it, that I dare say few can excel them, though
some may equal them. In the reading of one act
you guess the consequence; for here is no
bombasted or fustian stuff, but every line
weighed as with balance, and every sentence
placed with judgment and deliberation. All that
you can find in the perusal I will give you
notice of beforehand, to prevent a censure that
may arise in thy reading of this comedy, as also
for the excuse of the author; and that is this:
here and there you shall find some lines that do
answer in metre; which I hope will not prove so
disdainful, whereby the book may be so much
slighted as not to be read, or the author’s
judgment undervalued as of no worth. Consider,
gentle reader, it is full twenty years[722]
since it was written, at which time metre was
most in use, and shewed well upon the conclusion
of every act and scene. My prevalent hope
desires thy charitable censure, and thereby
draws me to be
Thy immutable friend,
J. S.[723]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
SIR BOUNTEOUS PROGRESS, _an old rich knight_.
DICK FOLLYWIT, _his grandson_.
HAREBRAIN.
PENITENT BROTHEL.
LIEUTENANT MAWWORM, }
ANCIENT HOBOY, } _comrades to Follywit_.
INESSE, }
POSSIBILITY, } _two elder brothers_.
GUMWATER, _Sir Bounteous’s chief man_.
JASPER, _Penitent’s man_.
RALPH, _Harebrain’s man_.
SEMUS, _one of Sir Bounteous’s servants_.
_Constable._
_Watchmen._
_Two Knights._
_Companions of Follywit, Servants, &c._
MISTRESS HAREBRAIN.
FRANK GULLMAN, _a courtesan_.
_Her Mother._
_A Succubus._
Scene, partly LONDON, partly the COUNTRY.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS.
--------------
ACT I. SCENE I.
_A Street._
_Enter_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and others_.
MAW. Captain, regent, principal!
HOB. What shall I call thee? the noble spark of bounty!
the life-blood of society!
FOL. Call me your forecast, you whoresons! when you come
drunk out of a tavern, ’tis I must cast your plots into
form still; ’tis I must manage the prank, or I’ll not
give a louse for the proceeding: I must let fly my civil
fortunes, turn wild-brain, lay my wits upo’ th’ tenters,
you rascals, to maintain a company of villains, whom I
love in my very soul and conscience!
MAW. Aha, our little forecast!
FOL. Hang you, you have bewitched me among you! I was as
well given[724] till I fell to be wicked! my grandsire
had hope of me: I went all in black; swore but a’
Sundays; never came home drunk but upon fasting-nights
to cleanse my stomach. ’Slid, now I’m quite altered!
blown into light colours; let out oaths by th’ minute;
sit up late till it be early; drink drunk till I am
sober; sink down dead in a tavern, and rise in a
tobacco-shop: here’s a transformation! I was wont yet to
pity the simple, and leave ’em some money: ’slid, now I
gull ’em without conscience! I go without order, swear
without number, gull without mercy, and drink without
measure.
MAW. I deny the last; for if you drink ne’er so much,
you drink within measure.
FOL. How prove you that, sir?
MAW. Because the drawers never fill their pots.
FOL. Mass, that was well found out! all drunkards may
lawfully say, they drink within measure by that trick.
And, now I’m put i’ th’ mind of a trick, can you keep
your countenance, villains? Yet I am a fool to ask that;
for how can they keep their countenance that have lost
their credits?
HOB. I warrant you for blushing, captain.
FOL. I easily believe that, ancient, for thou lost thy
colours once. Nay, faith, as for blushing, I think
there’s grace little enough amongst you all; ’tis Lent
in your cheeks, the flag’s down.[725] Well, your
blushing face I suspect not, nor indeed greatly your
laughing face, unless you had more money in your
purses. Then thus compendiously now. You all know the
possibilities of my hereafter fortunes, and the humour
of my frolic grandsire, Sir Bounteous Progress, whose
death makes all possible to me: I shall have all, when
he has nothing; but now he has all, I shall have
nothing. I think one mind runs through a million of
’em; they love to keep us sober all the while they’re
alive, that when they’re dead we may drink to their
healths; they cannot abide to see us merry all the
while they’re above ground, and that makes so many
laugh at their fathers’ funerals. I know my grandsire
has his will in a box, and has bequeathed all to me,
when he can carry nothing away; but stood I in need of
poor ten pounds now, by his will I should hang myself
ere I should get it: there’s no such word in his will,
I warrant you, nor no such thought in his mind.
MAW. You may build upon that, captain.
FOL. Then since he has no will to do me good as long as
he lives, by mine own will I’ll do myself good before he
dies; and now I arrive at the purpose. You are not
ignorant, I’m sure, you true and necessary implements of
mischief, first, that my grandsire, Sir Bounteous
Progress, is a knight of thousands, and therefore no
knight since one thousand six hundred;[726] next, that
he keeps a house like his name, bounteous, open for all
comers; thirdly and lastly, that he stands much upon the
glory of his complement,[727] variety of entertainment,
together with the largeness of his kitchen, longitude of
his buttery, and fecundity of his larder; and thinks
himself never happier than when some stiff lord or great
countess alights to make light his dishes. These being
well mixed together, may give my project better
encouragement, and make my purpose spring forth more
fortunate: to be short, and cut off a great deal of
dirty way, I’ll down to my grandsire like a lord.
MAW. How, captain?
FOL. A French ruff, a thin beard, and a strong perfume
will do’t. I can hire blue coats[728] for you all by
Westminster clock, and that colour will be soonest
believed.
MAW. But prithee, captain——
FOL. Push,[729] I reach past your fathoms:[730] you
desire crowns?
MAW. From the crown of our head to the sole of our foot,
bully.
FOL. Why carry yourselves but probably, and carry away
enough with yourselves.
_Enter_ PENITENT BROTHEL.
HOB. Why, there spoke a Roman captain!—Master Penitent
Brothel!
P. BRO. Sweet master Folly-wit! [_Exeunt_ FOLLYWIT,
MAWWORM, HOBOY, &c.] Here’s a mad-brain a’ th’
first,[731] whose pranks scorn to have precedents, to be
second to any, or walk beneath any madcap’s inventions;
has played more tricks than the cards can allow a man,
and of the last stamp too, hating imitation; a fellow,
whose only glory is to be prime of the company; to be
sure of which, he maintains all the rest: he’s the
carrion, and they the kites that gorge upon him.
But why in others do I check wild passions,
And retain deadly follies in myself?
I tax his youth of common receiv’d riot,
Time’s comic flashes, and the fruits of blood;
And in myself soothe up adulterous motions,
And such an appetite that I know damns me,
Yet willingly embrace it—love to Harebrain’s wife,
Over whose hours and pleasures her sick husband,
With a fantastic but deserv’d suspect,
Bestows his serious time in watch and ward;
And therefore I’m constrain’d to use the means
Of one that knows no mean, a courtesan,
One poison for another, whom her husband,
Without suspicion, innocently admits
Into her company, who with tried art
Corrupts and loosens her most constant powers,
Making his jealousy more than half a wittol,[732]
Before his face plotting his own abuse,
To which himself gives aim,[733]
Whilst the broad arrow with the forked head
Misses his brow but narrowly. See, here she comes,
The close courtesan, whose mother is her bawd.
_Enter Courtesan._
COUR. Master Penitent Brothel!—
P. BRO. My little pretty lady Gullman, the news, the
comfort?
COUR. You’re the fortunate man, sir, knight a’ th’
holland shirt;[734] there wants but opportunity, and
she’s wax of your own fashioning. She had wrought
herself into the form of your love before my art set
finger to her.
P. BRO. Did our affections meet? our thoughts keep
time?
COUR. So it should seem by the music: the only jar is in
the grumbling bass-viol her husband.
P. BRO. O, his waking suspicion!
COUR. Sigh not, master Penitent; trust the managing of
the business with me, ’tis for my credit now to see’t
well finished: if I do you no good, sir, you shall give
me no money, sir.
P. BRO. I am arrived at the court of conscience; a
courtesan! O admirable times! honesty is removed to the
common place.[735] [_Aside._] Farewell, lady.
[_Exit._
_Enter Mother._
MOT. How now, daughter?
COUR. What news, mother?
MOT. A token from thy keeper.
COUR. O, from Sir Bounteous Progress: he’s my keeper
indeed; but there’s many a piece of venison stolen that
my keeper wots not on. There’s no park kept so warily
but loses flesh one time or other; and no woman kept so
privately but may watch advantage to make the best of
her pleasure; and in common reason one keeper cannot be
enough for so proud a park as a woman.
MOT. Hold thee there, girl.
COUR. Fear not me, mother.
MOT. Every part of the world shoots up daily into more
subtlety; the very spider weaves her cauls with more art
and cunning to entrap the fly.
The shallow ploughman can distinguish now
’Twixt simple truth and a dissembling brow;
Your base mechanic fellow can spy out
A weakness in a lord, and learns to flout.
How does’t behove us then that live by slight,[736]
To have our wits wound up to their stretch’d height!
Fifteen times
Thou knowest I have sold thy maidenhead
To make up a dowry for thy marriage, and yet
There’s maidenhead enough for old sir Bounteous still:
He’ll be all his lifetime about it yet,
And be as far to seek when he has done.
The sums that I have told upon thy pillow!
I shall once see those golden days again:
Though fifteen, all thy maidenheads are not gone.
Th’ Italian is not serv’d yet, nor the French:
The British men come for a dozen at once,
They engross all the market: tut, my girl,
’Tis nothing but a politic conveyance,
A sincere carriage, a religious eyebrow,
That throw[737] their charms over the worldling’s
senses;
And when thou spiest a fool that truly pities
The false springs of thine eyes,
And honourably doats upon thy love,
If he be rich, set him by for a husband.
Be wisely temper’d, and learn this, my wench,
Who gets th’ opinion[738] for a virtuous name
May sin at pleasure, and ne’er think of shame.
COUR. Mother, I am too deep a scholar grown
To learn my first rules now.
MOT. ’Twill be thy own;
I say no more: peace, hark! remove thyself.
O, the two elder brothers! [_Exit Courtesan._
_Enter_ INESSE _and_ POSSIBILITY.
POS. A fair hour, sweet lady!
MOT. Good morrow, gentlemen, master Inesse and master
Possibility.
IN. Where’s the little sweet lady your daughter?
MOT. Even at her book, sir.
POS. So religious?
MOT. ’Tis no new motion, sir; sh’as took it from an
infant.
POS. May we deserve a sight of her, lady?
MOT. Upon that condition you will promise me, gentlemen,
to avoid all profane talk, wanton compliments, undecent
phrases, and lascivious courtings (which I know my
daughter will sooner die than endure), I am contented
your suits shall be granted.
POS. Not a bawdy syllable, I protest.
IN. Syllable was [well] placed there; for indeed your
one syllables are your bawdiest words: prick that down.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Before_ HAREBRAIN’S _House_.
_Enter_ HAREBRAIN.
HAR. She may make night-work on’t; ’twas well
recover’d;[739]
He-cats and courtesans stroll most i’ th’ night:
Her friend may be receiv’d and convey’d forth nightly;
I’ll be at charge
For watch and ward, for watch and ward, i’faith;
And here they come.
_Enter Watchmen._
FIRST W. Give your worship good even.
HAR. Welcome, my friends; I must deserve your
diligence
In an employment serious. The troth is,
There’s[740] a cunning plot laid, but happily
discover’d,
To rob my house; the night uncertain when,
But fix’d within the circle of this month;
Nor does this villany consist in numbers,
Or many partners; only some one
Shall, in the form of my familiar friend,
Be receiv’d privately into my house
By some perfidious servant of mine own,
Address’d fit for the practice.
FIRST W. O abominable!
HAR. If you be faithful watchmen, shew your goodness,
And with these angels[741] shore up your eyelids:
[_Giving money._
Let me not be purloin’d—purloin’d indeed!
The merry Greeks conceive me—there’s[742] a gem
I would not lose,
Kept by th’ Italian under lock and key:
We Englishmen are careless creatures: well,
I have said enough.
SEC. W. And we will do enough, sir.
HAR. Why, well said; watch me a good turn now; so, so,
so. [_Exeunt Watchmen._
Rise villany with the lark, why, ’tis prevented;
Or steal’t by with the leather-winged bat,[743]
The evening cannot save it—peace—
_Enter Courtesan._
O, lady Gullman, my wife’s only company, welcome! and
how does the virtuous matron, that good old gentlewoman,
thy mother? I persuade myself, if modesty be in the
world, she has part on’t; a woman of an excellent
carriage all her lifetime, in court, city, and country.
COUR. Sh’as always carried it well in those places,
sir;—witness three bastards a-piece. [_Aside_]—How does
your sweet bed-fellow, sir? you see I’m her boldest
visitant.
HAR. And welcome, sweet virgin; the only companion my
soul wishes for her. I left her within at her lute;
prithee, give her good counsel.
COUR. Alas, she needs none, sir!
HAR. Yet, yet, yet, a little of thy instructions will
not come amiss to her.
COUR. I’ll bestow my labour, sir.
HAR. Do, labour her, prithee. I have conveyed away all
her wanton pamphlets; as _Hero and Leander_, _Venus and
Adonis_;[744] O, two luscious marrow-bone pies for a
young married wife! Here, here, prithee, take the
_Resolution_,[745] and read to her a little.
[_Gives book._
COUR. Sh’as set up her resolution already, sir.
HAR. True, true, and this will confirm it the more:
there’s a chapter of hell; ’tis good to read this cold
weather: terrify her, terrify her. Go, read to her the
horrible punishments for itching wantonness, the pains
allotted for adultery; tell her her thoughts, her very
dreams are answerable, say so; rip up the life of a
courtesan, and shew how loathsome ’tis.
COUR. The gentleman would persuade me in time to
disgrace myself, and speak ill of mine own function.
[_Aside and exit._
HAR. This is the course I take; I’ll teach the married
man
A new-selected strain. I admit none
But this pure virgin to her company:
Pooh, that’s enough; I’ll keep her to her stint,
I’ll put her to her pension;
She gets but her allowance, that’s [a] bare one:
Few women but have that beside their own:
Ha, ha, ha! nay, I will[746] put her hard to’t.
_Enter_ MISTRESS HAREBRAIN _and Courtesan_.
MIS. H. Fain would I meet the gentleman.
COUR. Push,[747] fain would you meet him! why, you do
not take the course.
HAR. How earnestly she labours her,
Like a good wholesome sister of the Family![748]
She will prevail, I hope. [_Aside._
COUR. Is that the means?
MIS. H. What is the means?
I would as gladly, to enjoy his sight,
Embrace it as the——
COUR. Shall I have hearing? listen.
HAR. She’s round with her, i’faith.[749] [_Aside._
COUR. When husbands in their rank’st suspicions dwell,
Then ’tis our best art to dissemble well:
Put but these notes in use that I’ll direct you,
He’ll curse himself that e’er he did suspect you.
Perhaps he will solicit you, as in trial,
To visit such and such; still give denial:
Let no persuasions sway you; they’re[750] but fetches
Set to betray you, jealousies, slights,[751] and
reaches.
Seem in his sight t’ endure the sight of no man;
Put by all kisses, till you kiss in common:
Neglect all entertain; if he bring in
Strangers, keep you your chamber, be not seen.
If he chance steal upon you, let him find
Some book lie open ’gainst an unchaste mind,
And coted[752] Scriptures; though for your own pleasure
You read some stirring pamphlet, and convey it
Under your skirt, the fittest place to lay it.
This is the course, my wench, t’ enjoy thy wishes;
Here you perform best when you most neglect:
The way to daunt is to outvie suspect.
Manage these principles but with art and life,
Welcome all nations, thou’rt an honest wife.
HAR. She puts it home, i’faith, even to the quick:
From her elaborate action I reach that.
I must requite this maid; faith, I’m forgetful.
[_Aside._
MIS. H. Here, lady,
Convey my heart unto him in this jewel.
Against you see me next, you shall perceive
I’ve[753] profited; in the mean season tell him
I am a prisoner yet a’ th’ Master’s side,[754]
My husband’s jealousy,
That masters him, as he doth master me;
And as a keeper that locks prisoners up
Is himself prison’d under his own key,
Even so my husband, in restraining me,
With the same ward bars his own liberty.
COUR. I’ll tell him how you wish it, and I’ll wear
My wits to the third pile[755] but all shall clear.
MIS. H. I owe you more than thanks, but that I hope
My husband will requite you.
COUR. Think you so, lady? he has small reason for’t.
HAR. What, done so soon? away, to’t again, to’t again,
good wench, to’t again; leave her not so: where left
you? come.
COUR. Faith, I am weary, sir.
I cannot draw her from her strict opinion
With all the arguments that sense can frame.
HAR. No? let me come.—Fie, wife, you must consent.—What
opinion is’t? let’s hear.
COUR. Fondly[756] and wilfully she retains that
thought,
That every sin is damn’d.
HAR. O, fie, fie, wife! pea, pea, pea, pea, how have you
lost your time! for shame, be converted. There’s a
diabolical opinion indeed! then you may think that usury
were damned; you’re a fine merchant, i’faith! or
bribery; you know the law well! or sloth; would some of
the clergy heard you, i’faith! or pride; you come at
court! or gluttony; you’re not worthy to dine at an
alderman’s table!
Your only deadly sin’s adultery,
That villanous ringworm, woman’s worst requital;
’Tis only lechery that’s damn’d to th’ pit-hole:
Ah, that’s an arch offence, believe it, squal!
All sins are venial but venereal.
COUR. I’ve said enough to her.
HAR. And she will be rul’d by you.
COUR. Faugh!
HAR. I’ll pawn my credit on’t. Come hither, lady,
I will not altogether rest ingrateful;
Here, wear this ruby for thy pains and counsel.
COUR. It is not so much worth, sir; I am a very ill
counsellor, truly.
HAR. Go to, I say.
COUR. You’re to blame, i’faith, sir; I shall ne’er
deserve it.
HAR. Thou hast done’t already: farewell, sweet virgin;
prithee, let’s see thee oftener.
COUR. Such gifts will soon entreat me.
[_Aside, and exit._
HAR. Wife, as thou lov’st the quiet of my breast,
Embrace her counsel, yield to her advices:
Thou wilt find comfort in ’em in the end;
Thou’lt feel an alteration: prithee, think on’t:
Mine eyes can scarce refrain.
MIS. H. Keep in your dew, sir,
Lest when you would, you want it.
HAR. I’ve pawn’d my credit on’t: ah, didst thou know
The sweet fruit once, thou’dst never let it go!
MIS. H. ’Tis that I strive to get.
HAR. And still do so. [_Exeunt._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_A Hall in_ SIR BOUNTEOUS PROGRESS’S _Country House_.
_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS PROGRESS _and two Knights_.
FIRST K. You have been too much like your name, sir
Bounteous.
SIR B. O, not so, good knights, not so; you know my
humour: most welcome, good sir Andrew Pollcut;[757] sir
Aquitain Colewort, most welcome.
BOTH. Thanks, good sir Bounteous.
[_Exeunt at one door._
_At the other door, enter in haste one of_ FOLLYWIT’S
_companions disguised as a Footman_.
FOOT. O, cry your worship heartily mercy, sir!
SIR B. How now, linen stockings and threescore mile
a-day? whose footman art thou?
FOOT. Pray, can your worship tell me—ho, ho, ho!—if my
lord be come in yet.
SIR B. Thy lord! what lord?
FOOT. My lord Owemuch, sir.
SIR B. My lord Owemuch? I have heard much speech of that
lord; has great acquaintance i’ th’ city; that lord has
been much followed.
FOOT. And is still, sir; he wants no company when he’s
in London: he’s free of the mercers, and there’s none of
’em all dare cross him.
SIR B. And[758] they did, he’d turn over a new leaf with
’em; he would make ’em all weary on’t i’ th’ end. Much
fine rumour have I heard of that lord, yet had I never
the fortune to set eye upon him: art sure he will alight
here, footman? I am afraid thou’rt mistook.
FOOT. Thinks your worship so, sir? by your leave, sir.
[_Going._
SIR B. Pooh, passion of me, footman! why, pumps, I say,
come back!
FOOT. Does your worship call?
SIR B. Come hither, I say. I am but afraid on’t; would
it might happen so well! How dost know? did he name the
house with the great turret a’ th’ top?
FOOT. No, faith, did he not, sir. [_Going._
SIR B. Come hither, I say. Did he speak of a
cloth-a’-gold chamber?
FOOT. Not one word, by my troth, sir. [_Going._
SIR B. Come again, you lousy seven-mile-an-hour!
FOOT. I beseech your worship, detain me not.
SIR B. Was there no talk of a fair pair of organs,[759]
a great gilt candlestick, and a pair of silver snuffers?
FOOT. ’Twere sin to belie my lord; I heard no such
words, sir.
[_Going._
SIR B. A pox confine thee! come again, pooh!
FOOT. Your worship will undo me, sir.
SIR B. Was there no speech of a long dining-room, a huge
kitchen, large meat, and a broad dresser-board?
FOOT. I have a greater maw to that indeed, an’t please
your worship.
SIR B. Whom did he name?
FOOT. Why, one sir Bounteous Progress.
SIR B. Ah, a, a! I am that sir Bounteous, you
progressive round-about rascal.
FOOT. Pooh! [_Laughs._[760]
SIR B. I knew I should have him i’ th’ end: there’s not
a lord will miss me, I thank their good honours; ’tis a
fortune laid upon me; they can scent out their best
entertainment. I have a kind of complimental gift given
me above ordinary country knights; and how soon ’tis
smelt out! I warrant ye, there’s not one knight i’ th’
shire able to entertain a lord i’ th’ cue, or a lady i’
th’ nick, like me;—like me! there’s a kind of grace
belongs to’t, a kind of art which naturally slips from
me; I know not on’t, I promise you, ’tis gone before I’m
aware on’t—cuds me, I forget myself—where——
_Enter Servants._
FIRST S. Does your worship call?
SIR B. Run, sirrah! call in my chief gentleman i’ th’
chain of gold;[761] expedite. [_Exit First Servant._]—
And how does my good lord? I never saw him before in my
life.—A cup of bastard[762] for this footman!
FOOT. My lord has travelled this five year, sir.
SIR B. Travelled this five year? how many children has
he?—Some bastard, I say!
FOOT. No bastard, an’t please your worship.
SIR B. A cup of sack to strengthen his wit!—
[_Exit Second Servant, and returns with the wine._
The footman’s a fool.
_Enter_ GUMWATER.
O, come hither, master Gumwater, come hither: send
presently to master Pheasant for one of his hens;
there’s partridge i’ th’ house?
GUM. And wild-duck, an’t please your worship.
SIR B. And woodcock, an’t please thy worship.
GUM. And woodcock, an’t please your worship.—I had
thought to have spoke before you.
SIR B. Remember the pheasant, down with some plover,
clap down six woodcocks; my lord’s[763] coming: now,
sir.
GUM. An’t please your worship, there’s a lord and his
followers newly alighted.
SIR B. Despatch, I say, despatch: why, where’s my music?
he’s come indeed. [_Exit_ GUMWATER.
_Enter_ FOLLYWIT _dressed as a lord, with_ MAWWORM,
HOBOY, _and others, in blue coats_.[764]
FOL. Footman!
FOOT. My lord?
FOL. Run swiftly with my commendations to sir Jasper
Topaz: we’ll ride and visit him i’ th’ morning, say.
FOOT. Your lordship’s charge shall be effected.
[_Exit._
FOL. That courtly, comely form should present to me
Sir Bounteous Progress.
SIR B. You’ve found me out, my lord; I cannot hide
myself:
Your honour is most spaciously welcome.
FOL. In this forgive me, sir,
That being a stranger to your house[765] and you,
I make my way so bold; and presume
Rather upon your kindness than your knowledge;
Only your bounteous disposition
Fame hath divulg’d, and is to me well known.
SIR B. Nay, and your lordship know my disposition, you
know me better than they that know my person; your
honour is so much the welcomer for that.
FOL. Thanks, good sir Bounteous.
SIR B. Pray, pardon me; it has been often my ambition,
my lord, both in respect of your honourable presence,
and the prodigal fame that keeps even stroke with your
unbounded worthiness,
To have wish’d your lordship where your lordship is,
A noble guest in this unworthy seat:
Your lordship ne’er heard my organs?
FOL. Heard of ’em, sir Bounteous, but never heard ’em.
SIR B. They’re but double-gilt, my lord; some hundred
and fifty pound will fit your lordship with such another
pair.[766]
FOL. Indeed, sir Bounteous!
SIR B. O, my lord, I have a present suit to you!
FOL. To me, sir Bounteous? and you could ne’er speak at
fitter time, for I’m here present to grant you.
SIR B. Your lordship has been a traveller?
FOL. Some five year, sir.
SIR B. I have a grandchild, my lord; I love him; and
when I die I’ll do somewhat for him: I’ll tell your
honour the worst of him, a wild lad he has been.
FOL. So we have been all, sir.
SIR B. So we have been all indeed, my lord; I thank your
lordship’s assistance. Some comic pranks he has been
guilty of; but I’ll pawn my credit for him, an honest,
trusty bosom.
FOL. And that’s worth all, sir.
SIR B. And that’s worth all indeed, my lord, for he’s
like to have all when I die: _imberbis juvenis_, his
chin has no more prickles yet than a midwife’s; there’s
great hope of his wit, his hair’s so long a-coming.
Shall I be bold with your honour, to prefer this
aforesaid Ganymede to hold a plate under your lordship’s
cup?
FOL. You wrong both his worth and your bounty, and[767]
you call that boldness. Sir, I have heard much good of
that young gentleman.
SIR B. Nay, has a good wit, i’faith, my lord.
FOL. Has carried himself always generously.
SIR B. Are you advised of that, my lord? has carried
many things cleanly. I’ll shew your lordship my will; I
keep it above in an outlandish box; the whoreson boy
must have all: I love him, yet he shall ne’er find it as
long as I live.
FOL. Well, sir, for your sake, and his own deserving,
I’ll reserve a place for him nearest to my secrets.
SIR B. I understand your good lordship; you’ll make him
your secretary.—My music! give my lord a taste of his
welcome. [_A strain played by the consort_:[768] SIR
BOUNTEOUS _makes a courtly honour to_ FOLLYWIT, _and
seems to foot the tune_.] So.—How like you our airs, my
lord? are they choice?
FOL. They’re seldom matched, believe it.
SIR B. The consort of mine own household.
FOL. Yea, sir!
SIR B. The musicians are in ordinary, yet no ordinary
musicians. Your lordship shall hear my organs now.
FOL. O, I beseech you, sir Bounteous!
SIR B. My organist! [_The organs play, and servants with
covered dishes pass over the stage._]—Come, my lord, how
does your honour relish my organ[s]?
FOL. A very proud air, i’faith, sir.
SIR B. O, how can’t choose? a Walloon plays upon ’em,
and a Welchman blows wind in their breech. [_Exeunt._
[_A song to the organs._[769]
SCENE II.
_A Gallery._
_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS, _with_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY,
_and others_.[770]
SIR B. You must pardon us, my lord, hasty cates; your
honour has had even a hunting-meal on’t; and now I am
like to bring your lordship to as mean a lodging; a hard
down bed, i’faith, my lord, poor cambric sheets, and a
cloth a’ tissue canopy; the curtains, indeed, were
wrought in Venice, with the story of the Prodigal Child
in silk and gold; only the swine are left out, my lord,
for[771] spoiling the curtains.
FOL. ’Twas well prevented, sir.
SIR B. Silken rest, harmonious slumbers, and venereal
dreams to your lordship!
FOL. The like to kind sir Bounteous!
SIR B. Fie, not to me, my lord; I’m old, past dreaming
of such vanities.
FOL. Old men should dream best.
SIR B. They’re dreame[r]s indeed, my lord; you’ve gi’nt
us. To-morrow your lordship shall see my cocks, my
fish-ponds, my park, my champion[772] grounds; I keep
champers[773] in my house can shew your lordship some
pleasure.
FOL. Sir Bounteous, you even whelm me with
delights.
SIR B. Once again, a musical night to your honour! I’ll
trouble your lordship no more.
FOL. Good rest, sir Bounteous. [_Exit_ SIR BOUNTEOUS.]—
So, come, the vizards! where be the masking-suits?
MAW. In your lordship’s portmantua.
FOL. Peace, lieutenant.
MAW. I had rather have war, captain.
FOL. Pooh, the plot’s ripe! come, to our business,
lad;
Though guilt condemns, ’tis gilt[774] must make us glad.
MAW. Nay, and[775] you be at your distinctions, captain,
I’ll follow behind no longer.
FOL. Get you before, then, and whelm your nose with your
vizard; go. [_Exit_ MAWWORM.
Now, grandsire, you that hold me at hard meat,
And keep me out at the dag’s end,[776] I’ll fit you:
Under his lordship’s leave, all must be mine
He and his will confesses; what I take, then,
Is but a borrowing of so much beforehand;
I’ll pay him again when he dies in so many blacks;[777]
I’ll have the church hung round with a noble[778] a
yard, or requite him in scutcheons: let him trap me in
gold, and I’ll lap him in lead; _quid pro quo_. I must
look none of his angels[779] in the face, forsooth,
until his face be not worth looking on: tut, lads,
Let sires and grandsires keep us low, we must
Live when they’re flesh, as well as when they’re dust.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_A Room in the Courtesan’s House._
_Enter Courtesan and Servant._
COUR. Go, sirrah, run presently to master Penitent
Brothel; you know his lodging; knock him up; I know he
cannot sleep for sighing;
Tell him, I’ve happily bethought a mean
To make his purpose prosper in each limb,
Which only rests to be approv’d by him:
Make haste, I know he thirsts for’t.
[_Exeunt severally._
SCENE IV.
_A Gallery._
_Enter_ FOLLYWIT _in a masking suit, with a vizard in
his hand_.
[_Within_] Oh!
FOL. Hark! they’re at their business.
[_Within_] Thieves, thieves!
FOL. Gag that gaping rascal! though he be my grandsire’s
chief gentleman i’ th’ chain of gold,[780] I’ll have no
pity of him.
_Enter_ MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and others, vizarded_.
How now, lads?
MAW. All’s sure and safe; on with your vizard, sir; the
servants are all bound.
FOL. There’s one care past then: come, follow me, lads;
I’ll lead you now to th’ point and top of all your
fortunes: yon lodging is my grandsire’s.
MAW. So, so; lead on, on!
HOB. Here’s a captain worth the following, and a wit
worth a man’s love and admiring! [_Exeunt._[781]
SCENE V.
_A Room opening into_ SIR BOUNTEOUS’S _Bed-chamber, from
which enter_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and others,
dragging in_ SIR BOUNTEOUS _in his night-gown_.
SIR B. O gentlemen, and[782] you be kind gentlemen,
what countrymen are you?
FOL. Lincolnshire men, sir.
SIR B. I am glad of that, i’faith.
FOL. And why should you be glad of that?
SIR B. O, the honestest thieves of all come out of
Lincolnshire, the kindest-natured gentlemen; they’ll rob
a man with conscience; they have a feeling of what they
go about, and will steal with tears in their eyes: ah,
pitiful gentlemen!
FOL. Push,[783] money, money! we come for money.
SIR B. Is that all you come for? Ah, what a beast was I
to put out my money t’other day! Alas, good gentlemen,
what shift shall I make for you? pray, come again
another time.
FOL. Tut, tut, sir, money!
SIR B. O not so loud, sir! you’re too shrill a
gentleman: I have a lord lies in my house; I would not
for the world his honour should be disquieted.
FOL. Who, my lord Owemuch? we have took order with him
beforehand; he lies bound in his bed, and all his
followers.
SIR B. Who, my lord? bound my lord? Alas, what did you
mean to bind my lord? he could keep his bed well enough
without binding. You’ve undone me in’t already, you need
rob me no farther.
FOL. Which is the key? come!
SIR B. Ah, I perceive now you’re no true Lincolnshire
spirits! you come rather out of Bedfordshire; we cannot
lie quiet in our beds for you. So, take enough, my
masters [_they rifle his cabinets_]: spur a free horse,
my name’s sir Bounteous; a merry world, i’faith; what
knight but I keep open house at midnight? Well, there
should be a conscience, if one could hit upon’t.
FOL. Away now; seize upon him, bind him.
SIR B. Is this your court of equity? why should I be
bound for mine own money? but come, come, bind me, I
have need on’t; I have been too liberal to-night, keep
in my hands [_they bind him_]: nay, as hard as you list;
I am too good to bear my lord company. You have watched
your time, my masters; I was knighted at Westminster,
but many of these nights will make me a knight of
Windsor.[784] You’ve deserved so well, my masters, I bid
you all to dinner to-morrow: I would I might have your
companies, i’faith; I desire no more.
FOL. O, ho, sir!
SIR B. Pray, meddle not with my organs, to put ’em out
of tune.
FOL. O no, here’s better music, sir.
SIR B. Ah, pox feast you!
FOL. Despatch with him, away! [_Exeunt_ HOBOY _and
others, carrying_ SIR BOUNTEOUS _into the
bed-chamber_.]—So, thank you, good grandsire! This was
bounteously done of him, i’faith: it came somewhat hard
from him at first; for, indeed, nothing comes stiff from
an old man but money; and he may well stand upon that,
when he has nothing else to stand upon. Where’s our
portmantua?
MAW. Here, bully captain.
FOL. In with the purchase,[785] ’twill lie safe enough
there under ’s nose, I warrant you.—
_Re-enter_ HOBOY _and others_.
What, is all sure?
HOB. All’s sure, captain.
FOL. You know what follows now, one villain binds
his fellows; go, we must be all bound for our own
securities, rascals. There’s no dallying upo’ th’
point; you conceit me: there is a lord to be found
bound in the morning, and all his followers; can you
pick out that lord now?
MAW. O admirable spirit!
FOL. You ne’er plot for your safeties, so your wants be
satisfied.
HOB. But if we bind one another, how shall the last man
be bound?
FOL. Pox on’t, I’ll have the footman ’scape.
FOOT. That’s I; I thank you, sir.
FOL. The footman, of all other, will be supposed to
’scape, for he comes in no bed all night, but lies in ’s
clothes, to be first ready i’ th’ morning; the horse and
he lie[786] in litter together, that’s the right fashion
of your bonny footman; and his freedom will make the
better for our purpose, for we must have one i’ th’
morning to unbind the knight, that we may have our sport
within ourselves. We now arrive at the most ticklish
point, to rob, and take our ease, to be thieves, and lie
by’t: look to’t, lads, it concerns every man’s gullet;
I’ll not have the jest spoiled, that’s certain, though
it hazard a windpipe. I’ll either go like a lord as I
came, or be hanged like a thief as I am; and that’s my
resolution.
MAW. Troth, a match, captain, of all hands!
[_Exeunt._
SCENE VI.
_A Room in the Courtesan’s House._
_Enter Courtesan meeting_ PENITENT BROTHEL.
COUR. O master Penitent Brothel!
PEN. B. What is’t, sweet lady Gullman, that so seizes on
thee with rapture and admiration?
COUR. A thought, a trick, to make you, sir, especially
happy, and yet I myself a saver by it.
PEN. B. I would embrace that, lady, with such courage,
I would not leave you on the losing hand.
COUR. I will give trust to you, sir. The cause, then,
why I raised you from your bed so soon, wherein I know
sighs would not let you sleep, thus understand it:
You love that woman, master Harebrain’s wife,
Which no invented means can crown with freedom
For your desires and her own wish but this,
Which in my slumbers did present itself.
PEN. B. I’m covetous, lady.
COUR. You know her husband, lingering in suspect,
Locks her from all society but mine.
PEN. B. Most true.
COUR. I only am admitted; yet hitherto that has done you
no real happiness; by my admittance I cannot perform
that deed that should please you, you know: wherefore
thus I’ve conveyed it, I’ll counterfeit a fit of violent
sickness.
PEN. B. Good.
COUR. Nay, ’tis not so good, by my faith, but to do you
good.
PEN. B. And in that sense I called it: but take me with
you, lady;[787] would it be probable enough to have a
sickness so suddenly violent?
COUR. Pooh, all the world knows women are soon down: we
can be sick when we have a mind to’t, catch an ague with
the wind of our fans, surfeit upon the rump of a lark,
and bestow ten pound in physic upon’t: we’re likest
ourselves when we’re down; ’tis the easiest art and
cunning for our sect[788] to counterfeit sick, that are
always full of fits when we are well; for since we were
made for a weak, imperfect creature, we can fit that
best that we are made for. I thus translated, and
yourself slipt into the form of a physician——
PEN. B. I a physician, lady? talk not on’t, I beseech
you; I shall shame the whole college.
COUR. Tut, man, any quacksalving terms will serve for
this purpose; for I am pitifully haunted with a brace of
elder brothers, new perfumed in the first of their
fortunes, and I shall see how forward their purses will
be to the pleasing of my palate, and restoring of my
health. Lay on load enough upon ’em, and spare ’em not,
for they’re good plump fleshly asses, and may well
enough bear it; let gold,[789] amber, and dissolved
pearl, be common ingrediences, and that you cannot
compose a cullice without ’em. Put but this cunningly in
practice, it shall be both a sufficient recompense for
all my pains in your love, and the ready means to make
mistress Harebrain way, by the visiting of me, to your
mutual desired company.
PEN. B. I applaud thee, kiss thee, and will constantly
embrace it. [_Exeunt severally._
SCENE VII.
_A Bed-chamber_: FOLLYWIT, _bound, in bed_.
SIR B. [_within_] Ho, Gumwater!
FOL. Singlestone!
[_Within_] Jenkin, wa, ha, ho!
[_Within_] Ewen!
[_Within_] Simcod!
FOL. Footman! whew!
FOOT. [_within_] O good your worship, let me help your
good old worship!
_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS, _with a cord half unbound, and
Footman,[790] assisting to loose him_.
SIR B. Ah, poor honest footman! how did’st thou ’scape
this massacre?
FOOT. E’en by miracle, and lying in my clothes, sir.
SIR B. I think so; I would I had lain in my clothes too,
footman, so I had ’scaped ’em: I could have but
risse[791] like a beggar then, and so I do now, till
more money come in; but nothing afflicts me so much, my
poor geometrical footman, as that the barbarous villains
should lay violence upon my lord. Ah, the binding of my
lord cuts my heart in two pieces! So, so, ’tis well; I
thank thee: run to thy fellows; undo ’em, undo ’em, undo
’em!
FOOT. Alas, if my lord should miscarry, they’re unbound
already, sir; they have no occupation but sleep, feed,
and fart. [_Exit._
SIR B. If I be not ashamed to look my lord i’ th’ face,
I’m a Saracen.—My lord!
FOL. Who’s that?
SIR B. One may see he has been scared: a pox on ’em for
their labours!
FOL. Singlestone!
SIR B. Singlestone? I’ll ne’er answer to that, i’faith.
FOL. Suchman!
SIR B. Suchman? nor that neither, i’faith; I am not
brought so low, though I be old.
FOL. Who’s that i’ th’ chamber?
SIR B. Good morrow, my lord; ’tis I.
FOL. Sir Bounteous, good morrow; I would give you my
hand, sir, but I cannot come at it. Is this the courtesy
a’ th’ country, sir Bounteous?
SIR B. Your lordship grieves me more than all my loss;
’Tis the unnatural’st sight that can be found,
To see a noble gentleman hard bound.
FOL. Trust me, I thought you had been better beloved,
sir Bounteous; but I see you have enemies, sir, and your
friends fare the worse for ’em. I like your talk better
than your lodging; I ne’er lay harder in a bed of down;
I have had a mad night’s rest on’t. Can you not guess
what they should be, sir Bounteous?
SIR B. Faith, Lincolnshire men, my lord.
FOL. How? fie, fie, believe it not, sir; these lie not
far off, I warrant you.
SIR B. Think you so, my lord?
FOL. I’ll be burnt and[792] they do; some that use
to your house, sir, and are familiar with all the
conveyances.
SIR B. This is the commodity[793] of keeping open house,
my lord; that makes so many shut their doors about
dinner-time.
FOL. They were resolute villains: I made myself known to
’em, told ’em what I was, gave ’em my honourable word
not to disclose ’em—
SIR B. O saucy, unmannerly villains!
FOL. And think you the slaves would trust me upon my
word?
SIR B. They would not?
FOL. Forsooth, no; I must pardon ’em: they told me
lords’ promises were mortal, and commonly die within
half an hour after they are spoken; they were but
gristles, and not one amongst a hundred come to any full
growth or perfection; and therefore, though I were a
lord, I must enter into bond.
SIR B. Insupportable rascals!
FOL. Troth, I’m of that mind. Sir Bounteous, you fared
the worse for my coming hither.
SIR B. Ah, good my lord, but I’m sure your lordship
fared the worse!
FOL. Pray, pity not me, sir.
SIR B. Is not your honour sore about the brawn of the
arm? a murrain meet ’em, I feel it!
FOL. About this place, sir Bounteous?
SIR B. You feel as it were a twinge, my lord?
FOL. Ay, e’en a twinge, you say right.
SIR B. A pox discover ’em, that twinge I feel too!
FOL. But that which disturbs me most, sir Bounteous,
lies here.
SIR B. True; about the wrist, a kind of tumid numbness.
FOL. You say true, sir.
SIR B. The reason of that, my lord, is, the pulses had
no play.
FOL. Mass, so I guessed it.
SIR B. A mischief swell ’em, for I feel that too!
_Enter_ MAWWORM.
MAW. ’Slid, here’s a house haunted indeed!
SIR B. A word with you, sir.
FOL. How now, Singlestone?
MAW. I’m sorry, my lord, your lordship has lost——
SIR B. Pup, pup, pup, pup, pup!
FOL. What have I lost? speak.
SIR B. A good night’s sleep, say.
FOL. Speak, what have I lost, I say?
MAW. A good night’s sleep, my lord, nothing else.
FOL. That’s true; my clothes, come.
MAW. My lord’s clothes! his honour’s rising.
_Enter_[794] HOBOY _and others with clothes: they retire
to_ FOLLYWIT, _behind the curtains, which are drawn_.
SIR B. Hist, well said: come hither; what has my lord
lost? tell me, speak softly.
MAW. His lordship must know that, sir.
SIR B. Hush! prithee tell me.
MAW. ’Twill do you no pleasure to know’t, sir.
SIR B. Yet again? I desire it, I say.
MAW. Since your worship will needs know’t, they have
stolen away a jewel in a blue silk ribband of a hundred
pound price, beside some hundred pounds in fair
spur-royals.[795]
SIR B. That’s some two hundred i’ th’ total.
MAW. Your worship’s much about it, sir.
SIR B. Come, follow me; I’ll make that whole again in so
much money; let not my lord know on’t.
MAW. O pardon me, sir Bounteous! that were a dishonour
to my lord: should it come to his ear, I should hazard
my undoing by it.
SIR B. How should it come to his ear? if you be my
lord’s chief man about him, I hope you do not use to
speak unless you be paid for’t; and I had rather give
you a counsellor’s double fee to hold your peace. Come,
go to; follow me, I say.
MAW. There will be scarce time to tell it, sir; my lord
will away instantly.
SIR B. His honour shall stay dinner, by his leave; I’ll
prevail with him so far: and now I remember a jest, I
bade the whoreson thieves to dinner last night; I would
I might have their companies; a pox poison ’em!
[_Exit._
MAW. Faith, and you are like to have no other
guess,[796] sir Bounteous, if you have none but us; I’ll
give you that gift, i’faith. [_Exit._[797]
ACT III. SCENE I.
_A Hall in_ HAREBRAIN’S _House_.
_Enter_ HAREBRAIN, INESSE, _and_ POSSIBILITY.
POS. You see bold guests, master Harebrain.
HAR. You’re kindly welcome to my house, good master
Inesse and master Possibility.
IN. That’s our presumption, sir.
HAR. Ralph!
_Enter_ RALPH.
RAL. Here, sir.
HAR. Call down your mistress to welcome these two
gentlemen, my friends.
RAL. I shall, sir. [_Exit._
HAR. I will observe her carriage, and watch
The slippery revolutions of her eye;
I’ll lie in wait for every glance she gives,
And poise her words i’ th’ balance of suspect:
If she but swag,[798] she’s gone; either on this hand
Over familiar, or this too neglectful:
It does behove her carry herself even. [_Aside._
POS. But, master Harebrain——
HAR. True, I hear you, sir; was’t you said?
POS. I have not spoke it yet, sir.
HAR. Right, so I say.
POS. Is it not strange, that in so short a time my
little lady Gullman should be so violently handled?
HAR. O, sickness has no mercy, sir!
It neither pities lady’s lip nor eye;
It crops the rose out of the virgin’s cheek,
And so deflowers her that was ne’er deflower’d.[799]
Fools, then, are maids to lock from men that treasure
Which death will pluck, and never yield ’em pleasure.
Ah, gentlemen, though I shadow it, that sweet virgin’s
sickness grieves me not lightly! she was my wife’s only
delight and company. Did you not hear her, gentlemen, i’
th’ midst of her extremest fit, still how she called
upon my wife, remembered still my wife, sweet mistress
Harebrain? When she sent for me, a’ one side of her bed
stood the physician, the scrivener on the other; two
horrible objects, but mere opposites in the course of
their lives, for the scrivener binds folks, and the
physician makes them loose.
POS. But not loose of their bonds, sir.
HAR. No, by my faith, sir, I say not so: if the
physician could make ’em loose of their bonds, there’s
many a one would take physic, that dares not now for
poisoning. But, as I was telling of you, her will was
fashioning, wherein I found her best and richest jewel
given as a legacy unto my wife: when I read that, I
could not refrain weeping. Well, of all other my wife
has most reason to visit her; if she have any good
nature in her, she’ll shew it there.—
_Re-enter_ RALPH.
Now, sir, where’s your mistress?
RAL. She desires you, and the gentlemen your friends, to
hold her excused; sh’as a fit of an ague now upon her,
which begins to shake her.
HAR. Where does it shake her most?
RAL. All over her body, sir.
HAR. Shake all her body? ’tis a saucy fit, I’m jealous
of that ague. [_Aside._]—Pray, walk in, gentlemen; I’ll
see you instantly. [_Exeunt_ INESSE _and_ POSSIBILITY.
RAL. Now they are absent, sir, ’tis no such thing.
HAR. What?
RAL. My mistress has her health, sir,
But ’tis her suit she may confine herself
From sight of all men but your own dear self, sir;
For since the sickness of that modest virgin,
Her only company, she delights in none.
HAR. No? visit her again, commend me to her,
Tell her they’re gone, and only I myself
Walk here t’ exchange a word or two with her.
RAL. I’ll tell her so, sir. [_Exit._
HAR. Fool that I am, and madman, beast! what worse?
Suspicious o’er a creature that deserves
The best opinion and the purest thought;
Watchful o’er her that is her watch herself;
To doubt her ways that looks too narrowly
Into her own defects: I, foolish-fearful,
Have often rudely, out of giddy flames,
Barr’d her those objects which she shuns herself.
Thrice I’ve had proof of her most constant temper:
Come I at unawares by stealth upon her,
I find her circled in with divine writs
Of heavenly meditations; here and there
Chapters with leaves tuck’d up, which when I see,
They either tax pride or adultery.
Ah, let me curse myself, that could be jealous
Of her whose mind no sin can make rebellious!
And here the unmatch’d comes.
_Enter_ MISTRESS HAREBRAIN.
Now, wife, i’faith, they’re gone;
Push,[800] see how fearful ’tis! will you not credit me?
They’re gone, i’faith; why, think you I’ll betray you?
Come, come; thy delight and mine,
Thy only virtuous friend, thy sweet instructress,
Is violently taken, grievous sick,
And, which is worse, she mends not.
MIS. H. Her friends are sorry for that, sir.
HAR. She calls still upon thee, poor soul, remembers
thee still, thy name whirls in her breath; where’s
mistress Harebrain? says she.
MIS. H. Alas, good soul!
HAR. She made me weep thrice:
Sh’as put thee in a jewel in her will.
MIS. H. E’en to th’ last gasp a kind soul!
HAR. Take my man, go, visit her.
MIS. H. Pray, pardon me, sir;
Alas, my visitation cannot help her!
HAR. O, yet the kindness of a thing, wife!—Still
She holds the same rare temper. [_Aside._]—Take my man,
I say.
MIS. H. I would not take your man, sir,
Though I did purpose going.
HAR. No? thy reason.
MIS. H. The world’s condition is itself so vild,[801]
sir,
’Tis apt to judge the worst of those deserve not;
’Tis an ill-thinking age, and does apply
All to the form of its own luxury;[802]
This censure flies from one, that from another;
That man’s her squire, says he; her pimp, the tother;
She’s of the stamp, a third; fourth, I ha’ known her:
I’ve heard this, not without a burning cheek.
Then our attires are tax’d; our very gait
Is call’d in question; where[803] a husband’s presence
Scatters such thoughts, or makes ’em sink for fear
Into the hearts that breed ’em: nay, surely,
If I went, sir, I would entreat your company.
HAR. Mine? prithee, wife;—I have been there already.
MIS. H. That’s all one; although you bring me but to th’
door, sir, I would entreat no farther.
HAR. Thou’rt such a wife! why, I will bring thee thither
then, but not go up, I swear.
MIS. H. I’faith, you shall not; I do not desire it, sir.
HAR. Why, then, content.
MIS. H. Give me your hand, you will do so, sir?
HAR. Why, there’s my lip I will.
MIS. H. Why, then I go, sir.
HAR. With me, or no man! incomparable such a woman!
[_Aside._]
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_The Courtesan’s Bed-chamber. The Courtesan[804]
discovered in bed; phials, gallipots, plates, and
an hour-glass by her._
_Enter_ PENITENT BROTHEL, _disguised as a doctor of
physic_.
PEN. B. Lady!
COUR. Ha, what news?
PEN. B. There’s one sir Bounteous Progress newly
alighted from his foot-cloth,[805] and his mare waits at
door, as the fashion is.
COUR. ’Slid, ’tis the knight that privately maintains
me; a little, short, old, spiny[806] gentleman in a
great doublet?
PEN. B. The same; I know ’m.
COUR. He’s my sole revenue, meat, drink, and raiment. My
good physician, work upon him; I’m weak.
PEN. B. Enough.
_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS.
SIR B. Why, where be these ladies? these plump, soft,
delicate creatures? ha?
PEN. B. Who would you visit, sir?
SIR B. Visit, who? what are you, with the plague in your
mouth?
PEN. B. A physician, sir.
SIR B. Then you are a loose-liver, sir; I have put you
to your purgation.
PEN. B. But you need none, you’re purged in a worse
fashion.
COUR. Ah, sir Bounteous!
SIR B. How now? what art thou?
COUR. Sweet sir Bounteous!
SIR B. Passion of me, what an alteration’s here!
Rosamond sick, old Harry? here’s a sight able to make an
old man shrink! I was lusty when I came in, but I am
down now, i’faith: mortality! yea, this puts me in mind
of a hole seven foot deep; my grave, my grave, my grave.
Hist, master doctor, a word, sir; hark, ’tis not the
plague, is’t?
PEN. B. The plague, sir? no.
SIR B. Good.
PEN. B. He ne’er asks whether it be the pox or no; and
of the twain that had been more likely. [_Aside._
SIR B. How now, my wench? how dost?
COUR. Huh,—weak, knight,—huh.
PEN. B. She says true, he’s a weak knight indeed.
[_Aside._
SIR B. Where does it hold thee most, wench?
COUR. All parts alike, sir.
PEN. B. She says true still, for it holds her in none.
[_Aside._
SIR B. Hark in thine ear, thou’rt breeding of young
bones; I am afraid I have got thee with child, i’faith.
COUR. I fear that much, sir.
SIR B. O, O, if it should! a young Progress when all’s
done!
COUR. You have done your good will, sir.
SIR B. I see by her ’tis nothing but a surfeit of Venus,
i’faith; and though I be old, I have gi’n’t her;—but
since I had the power to make thee sick, I’ll have the
purse to make thee whole, that’s certain.—Master doctor.
PEN. B. Sir?
SIR B. Let’s hear, I pray, what is’t you minister to
her.
PEN. B. Marry, sir, some precious cordial, some costly
refocillation,[807] a composure comfortable and
restorative.
SIR B. Ay, ay, that, that, that.
PEN. B. No poorer ingrediences than the liquor of coral,
clear amber, or _succinum_; unicorn’s horn, six grains;
_magisterium perlarum_, one scruple——
SIR B. Ah, hah![808]
PEN. B. _Ossis de corde cervi_, half a scruple; _aurum
potabile_, or his tincture——
SIR B. Very precious, sir.
PEN. B. All which being finely contunded, and mixed in a
stone or glass mortar with the spirit of diamber——
SIR B. Nay, pray, be patient, sir.
PEN. B. That’s impossible; I cannot be patient and a
physician too, sir.
SIR B. O, cry you mercy, that’s true, sir.
PEN. B. All which aforesaid——
SIR B. Ay, there you left, sir.
PEN. B. When it is almost exsiccate or dry, I add
thereto _olei succini_, _olei masi_, _et cinnamomi_.
SIR B. So, sir, _olei masi_, that same oil of mace is a
great comfort to both the counters.[809]
PEN. B. And has been of a long time, sir.
SIR B. Well, be of good cheer, wench; there’s gold for
thee, huh.—Let her want for nothing, master doctor; a
poor kinswoman of mine, nature binds me to have a care
of her.—There I gulled you, master doctor. [_Aside._]—
Gather up a good spirit, wench! the fit will away; ’tis
but a surfeit of gristles:—ha, ha, I have fitted her: an
old knight and a cock a’ th’ game still; I have not
spurs for nothing, I see.
PEN. B. No, by my faith, they’re hatched; they cost you
an angel,[810] sir.
SIR B. Look to her, good master doctor; let her want
nothing: I’ve given her enough already, ha, ha, ha!
[_Exit._
COUR. So, is he gone?
PEN. B. He’s like himself, gone.
COUR. Here’s somewhat to set up with. How soon he took
occasion to slip into his own flattery, soothing his
own defects! He only fears he has done that deed which
I ne’er feared to come from him in my life. This
purchase[811] came unlooked for.
PEN. B. Hist, the pair of sons and heirs.
COUR. O, they’re welcome! they bring money.
_Enter_ INESSE _and_ POSSIBILITY.
POS. Master doctor.
PEN. B. I come to you, gentlemen.
POS. How does she now?
PEN. B. Faith, much after one fashion, sir.
IN. There’s hope of life, sir?
PEN. B. I see no signs of death in[812] her.
POS. That’s some comfort; will she take any thing yet?
PEN. B. Yes, yes, yes, she’ll take still; sh’as a kind
of facility in taking. How comes your band[813] bloody,
sir?
IN. You may see I met with a scab, sir.
PEN. B. _Diversa genera scabierum_, as Pliny reports,
there are divers kind of scabs.
IN. Pray, let’s hear ’em, sir.
PEN. B. An itching scab, that is your harlot; a sore
scab, your usurer; a running scab,[814] your promoter; a
broad scab, your intelligencer; but a white scab, that’s
a scald knave and a pander: but, to speak truth, the
only scabs we are now-a-days troubled withal are new
officers.[815]
IN. Why, now you come to mine, sir; for I’ll be sworn
one of them was very busy about my head this morning,
and he should be a scab by that; for they are ambitious,
and covet the head.
PEN. B. Why, you saw I derived him, sir.
IN. You physicians are mad gentlemen.
PEN. B. We physicians see the most sights of any men
living. Your astronomers look upward into th’ air, we
look downward into th’ body; and, indeed, we have power
upward and downward.
IN. That you have, i’faith, sir.
POS. Lady, how cheer you now?
COUR. The same woman still,—huh!
POS. That’s not good.
COUR. Little alteration. Fie, fie, you have been too
lavish, gentlemen.
IN. Puh, talk not of that, lady; thy health’s worth a
million.—Here, master doctor, spare for no cost.
[_Giving money._
POS. Look what you find there, sir.
COUR. What do you mean, gentlemen? put up, put up;
You see I’m down, and cannot strive with you,
I’d[816] rule you else; you have me at advantage;
But if e’er[817] I live, I will requite it deeply.
IN. Tut, an’t come to that once, we’ll requite ourselves
well enough.
POS. Mistress Harebrain, lady, is setting forth to visit
you too.
COUR. Ha?—huh!
PEN. B. There struck the minute[818] that brings forth
the birth
Of all my joys and wishes: but see the jar now!
How shall I rid these from her? [_Aside._
COUR. Pray, gentlemen,
Stay not above an hour from my sight.
IN. ’S foot, we are not going, lady!
PEN. B. Subtilely brought about! yet ’twill not do;
they’ll stick by’t.— [_Aside._
A word with you, gentlemen.
BOTH. What says master doctor?
PEN. B. She wants but settling of her sense with rest;
One hour’s sleep, gentlemen, would set all parts in
tune.
POS. He says true, i’faith.
IN. Get her to sleep, master doctor; we’ll both sit here
and watch by her.
PEN. B. Hell’s angels watch you! no art can prevail
with ’em:
What with the thought of joys, and sight of crosses,
My wits are at Hercules’ Pillars; _non plus ultra_.
[_Aside._
COUR. Master doctor, master doctor!
PEN. B. Here, lady.
COUR. Your physic works; lend me your hand.
POS. Farewell, sweet lady.
IN. Adieu, master doctor.
[_Exeunt_ POSSIBILITY _and_ INESSE.
COUR. So.
PEN. B. Let me admire thee!
The wit of man wanes and decreases soon,
But women’s wit is ever at full moon.
_Enter_ MISTRESS HAREBRAIN.
There shot a star from heaven!
I dare not yet behold my happiness,
The splendour is so glorious and so piercing.
COUR. Mistress Harebrain, give my wit thanks hereafter;
your wishes are in sight, your opportunity spacious.
MIS. H. Will you but hear a word from me?
COUR. Whooh!
MIS. H. My husband himself brought me to th’ door, walks
below for my return; jealousy is prick-eared, and will
hear the wagging of a hair.
COUR. Pish, you’re a faint liver; trust yourself with
your pleasure, and me with your security; go.
PEN. B. The fulness of my wish!
MIS. H. Of my desire!
PEN. B. Beyond this sphere I never will aspire!
[_Exeunt_ PEN. BROTHEL _and_ MIS. HAREBRAIN.
[HAREBRAIN _opens the door and listens;
the Courtesan perceiving him_.
HAR. I’ll listen: now the flesh draws nigh her end,
At such a time women exchange their secrets,
And ransack the close corners of their hearts:
What many years have[819] whelm’d, this hour imparts.
[_Aside._
COUR. Pray, sit down, there’s a low stool. Good mistress
Harebrain, this was kindly done,—huh,—give me your
hand,—huh,—alas, how cold you are! even so is your
husband, that worthy, wise gentleman; as comfortable a
man to woman in my case as ever trod—huh—shoe-leather.
Love him, honour him, stick by him: he lets you want
nothing that’s fit for a woman; and, to be sure on’t, he
will see himself that you want it not.
HAR. And so I do, i’faith; ’tis right my humour.
[_Aside._
COUR. You live a lady’s life with him; go where you
will, ride when you will, and do what you will.
HAR. Not so, not so, neither; she’s better looked to.
[_Aside._
COUR. I know you do, you need not tell me that: ’twere
e’en pity of your life, i’faith, if ever you should
wrong such an innocent gentleman. Fie, mistress
Harebrain, what do you mean? come you to discomfort me?
nothing but weeping with you?
HAR. She’s weeping! t’as made her weep: my wife shews
her good nature already. [_Aside._
COUR. Still, still weeping? huff, huff, huff; why, how
now, woman? hey, hy, hy, for shame, leave; suh, suh, she
cannot answer me for snobbing.[820]
HAR. All this does her good; beshrew my heart, and[821]
I pity her; let her shed tears till morning, I’ll stay
for her. She shall have enough on’t, by my good will;
I’ll not be her hinderance. [_Aside._
COUR. O no! lay your hand here, mistress Harebrain; ay,
there: O there, there lies my pain, good gentlewoman!
Sore? O ay, I can scarce endure your hand upon’t!
HAR. Poor soul, how she’s tormented! [_Aside._
COUR. Yes, yes; I eat a cullis[822] an hour since.
HAR. There’s some comfort in that yet, she may ’scape
it. [_Aside._
COUR. O, it lies about my heart much!
HAR. I’m sorry for that, i’faith; she’ll hardly ’scape
it. [_Aside._
COUR. Bound? no, no; I’d a very comfortable stool this
morning.
HAR. I’m glad of that, i’faith, that’s a good sign; I
smell she’ll ’scape it now. [_Aside._
COUR. Will you be going then?
HAR. Fall back, she’s coming. [_Aside._
COUR. Thanks, good mistress Harebrain; welcome, sweet
mistress Harebrain; pray, commend me to the good
gentleman your husband.
HAR. I could do that myself now. [_Aside._
COUR. And to my uncle Winchcomb, and to my aunt
Lipsalve, and to my cousin Falsetop, and to my cousin
Lickit, and to my cousin Horseman, and to all my good
cousins in Clerkenwell and St. John’s.
_Re-enter_ MIS. HAREBRAIN _and_ PEN. BROTHEL.
MIS. H. At three days’ end my husband takes a journey.
PEN. B. O thence I derive a second meeting!
MIS. H. May it prosper still!
Till then I rest a captive to his will.—
Once again, health, rest, and strength to thee, sweet
lady: farewell, you witty squall.—Good master doctor,
have a care to her body; if you stand her friend, I know
you can do her good.
COUR. Take pity of your waiter; go: farewell, sweet
mistress Harebrain.
HAR. [_coming forward_] Welcome, sweet wife, alight
upon my lip!
Never was hour spent better.
MIS. H. Why, were you
Within the hearing, sir?
HAR. Ay, that I was, i’faith,
To my great comfort; I deceiv’d you there, wife;
Ha, ha!
I do entreat thee, nay, conjure thee, wife,
Upon my love, or what can more be said,
Oftener to visit this sick virtuous maid.
MIS. H. Be not so fierce, your will shall be obey’d.
HAR. Why, then, I see thou lov’st me.
[_Exit with_ MIS. HAREBRAIN.
PEN. B. Art of ladies!
When plots are e’en past hope, and hang their head,
Set with a woman’s hand, they thrive and spread.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_A Room._[823]
_Enter_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and others_.
FOL. Was’t not well managed, you necessary mischiefs?
did the plot want either life or art?
MAW. ’Twas so well, captain, I would you could make such
another muss[824] at all adventures.
FOL. Dost call’t a muss? I am sure my grandsire ne’er
got his money worse in his life than I got it from him.
If ever he did cozen the simple, why, I was born to
revenge their quarrel; if ever oppress the widow, I, a
fatherless child, have done as much for him. And so ’tis
through the world, either in jest or earnest. Let the
usurer look for’t; for craft recoils in the end, like an
overcharged musket, and maims the very hand that puts
fire to’t. There needs no more but a usurer’s own blow
to strike him from hence to hell; ’twill set him forward
with a vengeance. But here lay the jest, whoresons; my
grandsire, thinking in his conscience that we had not
robbed him enough o’ernight, must needs pity me i’ th’
morning, and give me the rest.
MAW. Two hundred pounds in fair rose-nobles,[825] I
protest.
FOL. Push,[826] I knew he could not sleep quietly till
he had paid me for robbing of him too: ’tis his humour,
and the humour of most of your rich men in the course of
their lives; for, you know, they always feast those
mouths that are least needy, and give them more that
have too much already; and what call you that but
robbing of themselves a courtlier way?—O!——
MAW. Cuds me, how now, captain?
FOL. A cold fit that comes over my memory, and has a
shrewd pull at my fortunes.
MAW. What’s that, sir?
FOL. Is it for certain, lieutenant, that my grandsire
keeps an uncertain creature, a quean?
MAW. Ay, that’s too true, sir.
FOL. So much the more preposterous for me; I shall hop
shorter by that trick; she carries away the thirds at
least: ’twill prove entailed land, I am afraid, when
all’s done, i’faith. Nay,
I’ve[827] known a vicious old thought-acting father
Damn’d only in his dreams, thirsting for game
(When his best parts hung down their heads for shame),
For his blanch’d harlot[828] dispossess his son,
And make the pox his heir; ’twas gravely done!
How hadst thou first knowledge on’t, lieutenant?
MAW. Faith, from discourse; yet, all the policy
That I could use, I could not get her name.
FOL. Dull slave, that ne’er could’st spy it!
MAW. But the manner of her coming was described to me.
FOL. How is the manner, prithee?
MAW. Marry, sir, she comes most commonly coached.
FOL. Most commonly coached, indeed; for coaches are as
common now-a-days as some that ride in ’em. She comes
most commonly coached?
MAW. True, there I left, sir; guarded with some leash of
pimps.
FOL. Beside the coachman?
MAW. Right, sir; then alighting, she’s privately
received by master Gumwater.
FOL. That’s my grandsire’s chief gentleman[829] i’ th’
chain of gold: that he should live to be a pander, and
yet look upon his chain and his velvet jacket!
MAW. Then is your grandsire rounded[830] i’ th’ ear; the
key given after the Italian fashion, backward; she
closely conveyed into his closet; there remaining, till
either opportunity smile upon his credit, or he send
down some hot caudle to take order in his performance.
FOL. Peace, ’tis mine own, i’faith; I ha’t!
MAW. How now, sir?
FOL. Thanks, thanks to any spirit
That mingled it ’mongst my inventions!
HOB. Why, master Follywit——
THE REST.[831] Captain——
FOL. Give me scope, and hear me.
I’ve[832] begot that means, which will both furnish me,
And make that quean walk under his conceit.
MAW. That were double happiness; to put thyself into
money, and her out of favour.
FOL. And all at one dealing.
HOB. ’S foot, I long to see that hand played!
FOL. And thou shalt see’t quickly, i’faith: nay, ’tis in
grain; I warrant it hold colour. Lieutenant, step behind
yon hanging: if I mistook not at my entrance, there
hangs the lower part of a gentlewoman’s gown, with a
mask and a chinclout:[833] bring all this way. Nay, but
do’t cunningly, now; ’tis a friend’s house, and I’d use
it so; there’s a taste for you. [_Exit_ MAWWORM.
HOB. But, prithee, what wilt thou do with a
gentlewoman’s lower part?
FOL. Why, use it.
HOB. You’ve answered me, indeed, in that; I can demand
no farther.
FOL. Well said.—Lieutenant——
_Re-enter_ MAWWORM _with gown, &c._
MAW. What will you do now, sir?
FOL. Come, come, thou shalt see a woman quickly made up
here.
MAW. But that’s against kind,[834] captain; for they are
always long a-making ready.[835]
FOL. And is not most they do against kind, I prithee? To
lie with their horse-keeper, is not that against kind?
to wear half moons[836] made of another’s hair, is not
that against kind? to drink down a man, she that should
set him up, pray is not that monstrously against kind
now? Nay, over with it, lieutenant, over with it; ever
while you live put a woman’s clothes over her head:
Cupid plays best at blindman buff.
MAW. You shall have your will, maintenance; I love mad
tricks as well as you for your heart, sir: but what
shift will you make for upper-bodies, captain?
FOL. I see now thou’rt an ass; why, I’m ready.
MAW. Ready?
FOL. Why, the doublet serves as well as the best, and is
most in fashion; we’re all male to th’ middle; mankind
from the beaver to th’ bum. ’Tis an Amazonian time; you
shall have women shortly tread their husbands. I should
have a couple of locks behind; prithee, lieutenant, find
’em out for me, and wind ’em about my hatband: nay, you
shall see, we’ll be in fashion to a hair, and become all
with probability: the most musty-visage critic shall not
except against me.
MAW. Nay, I’ll give thee thy due behind thy back; thou
art as mad a piece of clay——
FOL. Clay! dost call thy captain clay? Indeed, clay was
made to stop holes; he says true. Did not I tell you,
rascals, you should see a woman quickly made up?
HOB. I’ll swear for’t, captain.
FOL. Come, come, my mask and my chinclout—come into th’
court.
MAW. Nay, they were both i’ th’ court long ago, sir.
FOL. Let me see; where shall I choose two or three for
pimps, now? but I cannot choose amiss amongst you all,
that’s the best. Well, as I am a quean, you were best
have a care of me, and guard me sure. I give you warning
beforehand; ’tis a monkey-tailed age. Life, you shall go
nigh to have half a dozen blithe fellows surprise me
cowardly, carry me away with a pair of oars, and put in
at Putney!
MAW. We should laugh at that, i’faith.
FOL. Or shoot in upo’ th’ coast of Cue.[837]
MAW. Two notable fit landing-places for lechers, P and
C, Putney and Cue.
FOL. Well, say you have fair warning on’t; the hair
about the hat is as good as a flag[838] upo’ th’ pole at
a common play-house, to waft company; and a chinclout is
of that powerful attraction, I can tell you, ’twill draw
more linen to’t.
MAW. Fear not us, captain; there’s none here but can
fight for a whore as well as some Inns-a’-court-man.
FOL. Why, then, set forward; and as you scorn
two-shilling brothel,
Twelvepenny panderism, and such base bribes,
Guard me from bonny scribs and bony scribes.[839]
MAW. Hang ’em, pensions and allowances! four-pence
halfpenny a meal, hang ’em! [_Exeunt._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_A Chamber in_ PENITENT BROTHEL’S _House_.
_Enter out of his study_ PENITENT BROTHEL,[840] _a book
in his hand_.
PEN. B. Ha? read that place again—_Adultery
Draws the divorce ’twixt heaven and the soul_.
Accursed man, that stand’st divorc’d from heaven!
Thou wretched unthrift, that hast play’d away
Thy eternal portion at a minute’s game;
To please the flesh hast blotted out thy name!
Where were thy nobler meditations busied,
That they durst trust this body with itself;
This natural drunkard, that undoes us all,
And makes our shame apparent in our fall?
Then let my blood pay for’t, and vex and boil!
My soul, I know, would never grieve to th’ death
Th’ eternal spirit, that feeds her with his breath:
Nay, I that knew the price of life and sin,
What crown is kept for continence, what for lust,
The end of man, and glory of that end,
As endless as the giver,
To doat on weakness, slime, corruption, woman!
What is she, took asunder from her clothes?
Being ready,[841] she consists of hundred pieces,
Much like your German clock,[842] and near ally’d;
Both are so nice, they cannot go for pride:
Beside a greater fault, but too well known,
They’ll strike to ten, when they should stop at one.
Within these three days the next meeting’s fix’d;
If I meet then, hell and my soul be mix’d!
My lodging I know constantly, she not knows:
Sin’s hate is the best gift that sin bestows:
I’ll ne’er embrace her more; never, bear witness, never.
_Enter Succubus in the shape of_ MIS. HAREBRAIN,[843]
_and claps him on the shoulder_.
SUC. What, at a stand? the fitter for my company.
PEN. B. Celestial soldiers guard me!
SUC. How now, man?
’Las, did the quickness of my presence fright thee?
PEN. B. Shield me,[844] you ministers of faith and
grace!
SUC. Leave, leave; are you not ashamed to use such words
to a woman?
PEN. B. Thou’rt a devil!
SUC. A devil? feel, feel, man; has a devil flesh and
bone?
PEN. B. I do conjure thee, by that dreadful power——
SUC. The man has a delight to make me tremble—
Are these the fruits of thy adventurous love?
Was I tic’d[845] for this, to be so soon rejected?
Come, what has chang’d thee so, delight?
PEN. B. Away!
SUC. Remember——
PEN. B. Leave my sight!
SUC. Have I this meeting wrought with cunning,
Which, when I come, I find thee shunning?
Rouse thy amorous thoughts, and twine me;
All my interest I resign thee:
Shall we let slip this mutual hour,
Comes so seldom in her[846] power?
Where’s thy lip, thy clip, thy fadom?[847]
Had women such loves, would’t not mad ’em?
Art a man? or dost abuse one?
A love, and know’st not how to use one!
Come, I’ll teach thee.
PEN. B. Do not follow——
SUC. Once so firm, and now so hollow!
When was place and season sweeter?
Thy bliss in sight, and dar’st not meet her?
Where’s thy courage, youth, and vigour?
Love’s best pleas’d when’t’s seiz’d[848] with rigour:
Seize me, then, with veins most cheerful;
Women love no flesh that’s fearful:
’Tis but a fit; come, drink’t away,
And dance and sing, and kiss and play!
Fa le la, le la, fa le la, le la la;
Fa le la, fa la le, la le la!
[_Singing and dancing round him._
PEN. B. Torment me not!
SUC. Fa le la, fa le la, fa la la lo!
PEN. B. Fury!
SUC. Fa le la, fa le la, fa la la lo!
PEN. B. Devil, I do conjure thee once again,
By that soul-quaking thunder, to depart,
And leave this chamber freed from thy damn’d art!
[_Succubus stamps, and exit._
It has prevail’d—O my sin-shaking sinews!
What should I think?—Jasper, why, Jasper!
_Enter_ JASPER.
JAS. Sir? how now? what has disturb’d you, sir?
PEN. B. A fit, a qualm. Is mistress Harebrain[849]
gone?
JAS. Who, sir? mistress Harebrain?
PEN. B. Is she gone, I say?
JAS. Gone? why, she was never here yet.
PEN. B. No?
JAS. Why, no, sir.
PEN. B. Art sure on’t?
JAS. Sure on’t?
If I be sure I breathe, and am myself.
PEN. B. I like it not. [_Aside._]—Where kept’st thou?
JAS. I’ th’ next room, sir.
PEN. B. Why, she struck by thee, man.
JAS. You’d make one mad, sir; that a gentlewoman should
steal by me, and I not hear her! ’s foot, one may hear
the ruffling of their bums[850] almost an hour before we
see ’em.
PEN. B. I will be satisfied, although to hazard.
What though her husband meet me? I am honest:
When men’s intents are wicked, their guilt haunts ’em;
But when they’re just, they’re arm’d, and nothing daunts
’em. [_Aside, and exit._
JAS. What strange humour call you this? he dreams of
women, and both his eyes broad open! [_Exit._
SCENE II.
_A Room in_ SIR BOUNTEOUS’S _House_.
_Enter at one door_ SIR BOUNTEOUS, _at another_
GUMWATER.
SIR B. Why, how now, master Gumwater? what’s the news
with your haste?
GUM. I have a thing to tell your worship——
SIR B. Why, prithee, tell me; speak, man.
GUM. Your worship shall pardon me, I have better
bringing-up than so.
SIR B. How, sir?
GUM. ’Tis a thing made fit for your ear, sir——
SIR B. O, O, O, cry you mercy; now I begin to taste you.
Is she come?
GUM. She’s come, sir.
SIR B. Recovered? well and sound again?
GUM. That’s to be feared, sir.
SIR B. Why, sir?
GUM. She wears a linen cloth about her jaw.[851]
SIR B. Ha, ha, haw! why, that’s the fashion,
You whoreson Gumwater.
GUM. The fashion, sir?
Live I so long time to see that a fashion,
Which rather was an emblem of dispraise?
It was suspected much in Monsieur’s days.[852]
SIR B. Ay, ay, in those days; that was a queasy[853]
time: our age is better hardened now, and put oftener in
the fire; we are tried what we are. Tut, the pox is as
natural now as an ague in the spring-time; we seldom
take physic without it. Here, take this key; you
know[854] what duties belong to’t. Go, give order for a
cullis:[855] let there be a good fire made i’ th’ matted
chamber: do you hear, sir?
GUM. I know my office, sir. [_Exit._
SIR B. An old man’s venery is very chargeable, my
masters; there’s much cookery belongs to’t. [_Exit._
SCENE III.
_Another Chamber in_ SIR BOUNTEOUS’S _House_.
_Enter_ GUMWATER, _with_ FOLLYWIT _disguised as the
Courtesan and masked_.
GUM. Come, lady: you know where you are now?
FOL. Yes, good master Gumwater.
GUM. This is the old closet, you know.
FOL. I remember it well, sir.
GUM. There stands a casket: I would my yearly revenue
were but worth the wealth that’s locked in’t, lady! yet
I have fifty pound a-year, wench.
FOL. Beside your apparel, sir?
GUM. Yes, faith, have I.
FOL. But then you reckon your chain,[856] sir.
GUM. No, by my troth, do I not, neither: faith, and[857]
you consider me rightly, sweet lady, you might admit a
choice gentleman into your service.
FOL. O, pray away, sir!
GUM. Pusha,[858] come, come; you do but hinder your
fortunes, i’faith: I have the command of all the house,
I can tell you; nothing comes into th’ kitchen, but
comes through my hands.
FOL. Pray do not handle me, sir.
GUM. Faith you’re too nice, lady; and as for my secrecy,
you know I have vowed it often to you.
FOL. Vowed it? no, no, you men are fickle.
GUM. Fickle? ’sfoot! bind me, lady——
FOL. Why, I bind you by virtue of this chain to meet me
to-morrow at the Flower-de-luce yonder, between nine and
ten.
GUM. And if I do not, lady, let me lose it, thy love,
and my best fortunes!
FOL. Why, now I’ll try you; go to.
GUM. Farewell, sweet lady!
[_Kisses_ FOLLYWIT, _and exit_.
FOL. Welcome, sweet coxcomb! by my faith, a good
induction! I perceive by his overworn phrase, and his
action toward the middle region still, there has been
some saucy nibbling motion; and no doubt the cunning
quean waited but for her prey: and I think ’tis better
bestowed upon me, for his soul’s health, and his body’s
too. I’ll teach the slave to be so bold yet, as once to
offer to vault into his master’s saddle, i’faith. Now,
casket, by your leave:
I’ve[859] seen your outside oft, but that’s no proof;
Some have fair outsides that are nothing worth.
[_Rifles the casket._
Ha! now, by my faith, a gentlewoman of very good parts;
diamond, ruby, sapphire; _Onyx cum prole silexque_![860]
if I do not wonder how the quean ’scaped tempting, I’m
an hermaphrodite! sure she could lack nothing, but the
devil to point to’t; and I wonder that he should be
missing: well, ’tis better as it is. This is the fruit
of old grunting venery; grandsire, you may thank your
drab for this. O fie, in your crinkling days, grandsire,
keep a courtesan, to hinder your grandchild! ’tis
against nature, i’faith, and I hope you’ll be weary
on’t.
Now to my villains that lurk close below:
Who keeps a harlot, tell him this from me,
He needs nor thief, disease, nor enemy. [_Exit._
_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS.
SIR B. Ah, sirrah, methink I feel myself well toasted,
bombasted, rubbed, and refreshed! but, i’faith, I cannot
forget to think how soon sickness has altered her to my
taste. I gave her a kiss at bottom o’ th’ stairs, and,
by th’ mass, methought her breath had much ado to be
sweet; like a thing compounded, methought, of wine,
beer, and tobacco; I smelt much pudding[861] in’t.
It may be but my fancy, or her physic:
For this I know, her health gave such content,
The fault rests in her sickness, or my scent.—
How dost thou now, sweet girl? what, well recover’d?
Sickness quite gone, ha? speak—ha? wench? Frank
Gullman!—
Why, body of me, what’s here? my casket wide open, broke
open, my jewels stolen!—Why, Gumwater!
_Re-enter_ GUMWATER.
GUM. Anon, anon, sir.
SIR B. Come hither, Gumwater.
GUM. That were small manners, sir, i’faith: I’ll find a
time anon; your worship’s busy yet.
SIR B. Why, Gumwater!
GUM. Foh, nay then you’ll make me blush, i’faith, sir——
SIR B. Where’s this creature?
GUM. What creature is’t you’d have, sir?
SIR B. The worst that ever breathes.
GUM. That’s a wild boar, sir.
SIR B. That’s a vild[862] whore, sir;—where didst thou
leave her, rascal?
GUM. Who? your recreation, sir?
SIR B. My execration, sir!
GUM. Where I was wont; in your worship’s closet.
SIR B. A pox engross her! it appears too true. See you
this casket, sir?
GUM. My chain, my chain, my chain! my one and only
chain! [_Exit._
SIR B. Thou runnest to much purpose now, Gumwater, yea!
Is not a quean enough to answer for, but she must join a
thief to’t? a thieving quean! nay, I have done with her,
i’faith. ’Tis a sign sh’as been sick a’ late; for she’s
a great deal worse than she was: by my troth, I would
have pawned my life upon’t.
Did she want any thing? was she not supplied?
Nay, and liberally; for that’s an old man’s sin:
We’ll feast our lechery, though we starve our kin.
Is not my name sir Bounteous? am I not express’d there?
Ah, fie, fie, fie, fie, fie! but I perceive,
Though she have never so complete a friend,
A strumpet’s love will have a waft[863] i’ th’ end,
And distaste the vessel. I can hardly bear this;
But say, I should complain; perhaps she has pawn’d ’em—
’S foot, the judges will but laugh at it, and bid her
borrow more money of ’em; make the old fellow pay for’s
lechery; that’s all the mends I get. I have seen the
same case tried at Newbury the last ’sizes.
Well, things must slip and sleep; I will dissemble it,
Because my credit shall not lose her lustre:
But whilst I live, I’ll neither love nor trust her.
I ha’ done, I ha’ done, I ha’ done with her, i’faith!
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_A Hall in_ HAREBRAIN’S _House_.
_Knocking within;[864] enter a Servant._
SER. Who’s that knocks?
PEN. B. [_within_] A friend.
[_Servant opens the door._
_Enter_ PENITENT BROTHEL.
SER. What’s your will, sir?
PEN. B. Is master Harebrain[865] at home?
SER. No, newly gone from it, sir.
PEN. B. Where’s the gentlewoman his wife?
SER. My mistress is within, sir.
PEN. B. When came she in, I pray?
SER. Who, my mistress? she was not out these two days,
to my knowledge.
PEN. B. No? trust me, I’d thought I’d seen her. I would
request a word with her.
SER. I’ll tell her, sir.
PEN. B. I thank you. [_Exit Servant._] It likes me[866]
worse and worse.
_Enter_ MISTRESS HAREBRAIN.
MIS. H. Why, how now, sir? ’twas desperately
adventur’d;
I little look’d for you until the morrow.
PEN. B. No?
Why what made you at my chamber then even now?
MIS. H. I at your chamber?
PEN. B. Pooh, dissemble not;
Come, come, you were there.
MIS. H. By my life, you wrong me, sir!
PEN. B. What?
MIS. H. First, you’re not ignorant what watch keeps
o’er me;
And for your chamber, as I live, I know’t not.
PEN. B. Burst into sorrow then, and grief’s extremes,
Whilst I beat on this flesh!
MIS. H. What is’t disturbs you, sir?
PEN. B. Then was the devil in your likeness there.
MIS. H. Ha!
PEN. B. The very devil assum’d thee formally;[867]
That face, that voice, that gesture, that attire,
E’en as it sits on thee, not a plait alter’d;
That beaver band, the colour of that periwig,[868]
The farthingale above the navel; all
As if the fashion were his own invention.
MIS. H. Mercy, defend me!
PEN. B. To beguile me more,
The cunning Succubus told me that meeting
Was wrought ’a purpose by much wit and art;
Wept to me; laid my vows before me; urg’d me;
Gave me the private marks of all our love;
Woo’d me in wanton and effeminate rhymes,
And sung and danc’d about me like a fairy:
And had not worthier cogitations blest me,
Thy form, and his enchantments, had possess’d me.
MIS. H. What shall become of me? my own thoughts doom
me.
PEN. B. Be honest, then the devil will ne’er assume
thee:
He has no pleasure in that shape t’ abide
Where these two sisters reign not, lust or pride;
He as much trembles at a constant mind
As looser flesh at him: be not dismay’d;
Spring, souls, for joy! his policies are betray’d!
Forgive me, mistress Harebrain, on whose soul
The guilt hangs double,
My lust, and thy enticement! both I challenge;
And therefore of due vengeance it appear’d
To none but me, to whom both sins inher’d.
What knows the lecher, when he clips[869] his whore,
Whether it be the devil his parts adore?
They’re both so like, that, in our natural sense,
I could discern no change nor difference.
No marvel, then, times should so stretch and turn;
None for religion, all for pleasure burn.
Hot zeal into hot lust is now transform’d;
Grace into painting, charity into clothes;
Faith into false hair, and put off as often.
There’s nothing but our virtue knows a mean:
He that kept open house, now keeps a quean.
He will keep open still, that he commends;
And there he keeps a table for his friends:
And she consumes more than his[870] sire could hoard,
Being more common than his house or board.
_Enter_ HAREBRAIN _behind_.
Live honest, and live happy, keep thy vows;
She’s part a virgin whom but one man knows:
Embrace thy husband, and beside him none;
Having but one heart, give it but to one.
MIS. H. I vow it on my knees, with tears true-bred,
No man shall ever wrong my husband’s bed!
PEN. B. Rise; I’m thy friend for ever.
HAR. [_coming forward_] And I thine
For ever and ever!—Let me embrace thee, sir,
Whom I will love even next unto my soul,
And that’s my wife.
Two dear rare gems this hour presents me with,
A wife that’s modest, and a friend that’s right:
Idle suspect and fear, now take your flight!
PEN. B. A happy inward peace crown both your joys!
HAR. Thanks above utterance to you!—
_Enter Servant._
Now, the news?
SER. Sir Bounteous Progress, sir,
Invites you and my mistress to a feast
On Tuesday next; his man attends without.
HAR. Return both with our willingness and thanks.—
[_Exit Servant._
I will entreat you, sir, to be my guest.
PEN. B. Who, I, sir?
HAR. Faith, you shall.
PEN. B. Well, I’ll break strife.
HAR. A friend’s so rare, I’ll sooner part from life.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE V.
_A Room in the Courtesan’s House._
_Enter_ FOLLYWIT, _and the Courtesan striving from him_.
FOL. What, so coy, so strict? come, come!
COUR. Pray, change your opinion, sir; I am not for
that use.
FOL. Will you but hear me?
COUR. I shall hear that I would not. [_Exit._
FOL. ’S foot, this is strange! I’ve seldom seen a
wench
Stand upon stricter points: life, she will not
Endure to be courted! does she e’er think to prosper?
I’ll ne’er believe that tree can bring forth fruit
That never bears a blossom; courtship’s a blossom,
And often brings forth fruit in forty weeks.
’Twere a mad part in me now to turn over:
If e’er[871] there were any hope on’t, ’tis at this
instant.
Shall I be madder now than e’er I’ve[872] been?
I’m in the way, i’faith.
Man’s never at high height of madness full
Until he love, and prove a woman’s gull.
I do protest in earnest, I ne’er knew
At which end to begin t’ affect a woman
Till this bewitching minute; I ne’er saw
Face worth my object till mine eye met hers;
I should laugh and[873] I were caught, i’faith: I’ll see
her again, that’s certain, whate’er comes on’t, by
your favour, ladies.[874]
_Enter Mother._
MOT. You’re welcome, sir.
FOL. Know you the young gentlewoman that went in lately?
MOT. I have best cause to know her; I’m her mother,
sir.
FOL. O, in good time. I like the gentlewoman well; a
pretty contrived beauty.
MOT. Ay, nature has done her part, sir.
FOL. But she has one uncomely quality.
MOT. What’s that, sir?
FOL. ’S foot, she’s afraid of a man.
MOT. Alas! impute that to her bashful spirit,
She’s fearful of her honour.
FOL. Of her honour? ’slid, I’m sure I cannot get
Her maidenhead with breathing upon her,
Nor can she lose her honour in her tongue.
MOT. True; and I have often told her so; but what would
you have of a foolish virgin, sir, a wilful virgin? I
tell you, sir, I need not have been in that solitary
estate that I am, had she had grace and boldness to have
put herself forward; always timorsome, always backward!
Ah, that same peevish[875] honour of hers has undone her
and me both, good gentleman! the suitors, the jewels,
the jointures, that have[876] been offered her! we had
been made women[877] for ever: but what was her fashion?
she could not endure the sight of a man, forsooth, but
run and hole[878] herself presently. So choice of her
honour, I am persuaded, whene’er she has husband,
She’ll[879] e’en be a precedent for all married wives
How to direct their actions and their lives.
FOL. Have you not so much power with her to command her
presence?
MOT. You shall see straight what I can do, sir.
[_Exit._
FOL. Would I might be hanged, if my love do not stretch
to her deeper and deeper! Those bashful maiden humours
take me prisoner. When there comes a restraint upon[880]
flesh, we are always most greedy upon’t; and that makes
your merchant’s wife oftentimes pay so dear for a
mouthful. Give me a woman as she was made at first;
simple of herself, without sophistication, like this
wench: I cannot abide them when they have tricks, set
speeches, and artful entertainments.
You shall have some so impudently aspècted,
They will outcry the forehead of a man,
Make him blush first, and talk him into silence;
And this is counted manly in a woman:
It may hold so; sure, womanly it is not.
No;
If e’er I love, or any thing move me,
’Twill be a woman’s simple modesty.
_Re-enter Mother, bringing in strivingly the Courtesan._
COUR. Pray, let me go; why, mother, what do you mean?
I beseech you, mother! is this your conquest now?
Great glory ’tis to overcome a poor
And silly virgin.
FOL. The wonder of our time sits in that brow:
I ne’er beheld a perfect maid[881] till now.
MOT. Thou childish thing, more bashful than thou’rt
wise,
Why dost thou turn aside, and drown thine eyes?
Look, fearful fool, there’s no temptation near thee;
Art not asham’d that any flesh should fear thee?[882]
Why, I durst pawn my life the gentleman
Means no other but honest and pure love to thee.—
How say you, sir?
FOL. By my faith, not I, lady.
MOT. Hark you there? what think
You now, forsooth? what grieves your honour now?
Or what lascivious breath intends to rear
Against that maiden organ, your chaste ear?
Are you resolv’d[883] now better of men’s hearts,
Their faiths, and their affections? With you none,
Or at most few, whose tongues and minds are one.
Repent you now of your opinion past;
Men love as purely as you can be chaste.—
To her yourself, sir; the way’s broke before you;
You have the easier passage.
FOL. Fear not. Come,
Erect thy happy graces in thy look;
I am no curious wooer,[884] but, in faith,
I love thee honourably.
COUR. How mean you that, sir?
FOL. ’S foot, as one loves a woman for a wife.
MOT. Has the gentleman answered you, trow?[885]
FOL. I do confess it truly to you both,
My estate is yet but sickly; but I’ve a grandsire
Will make me lord of thousands at his death.
MOT. I know your grandsire well; she knows him better.
FOL. Why, then, you know no fiction: my state then
Will be a long day’s journey ’bove the waste, wench.
MOT. Nay, daughter, he says true.
FOL. And thou shalt often measure it in thy coach,
And with the wheels’ track make a girdle for’t.
MOT. Ah, ’twill be a merry journey!
FOL. What, is’t a match? if’t be, clap hands and lips.
[_Kisses Courtesan._
MOT. ’Tis done; there’s witness on’t.
FOL. Why, then, mother, I salute you.
[_Kisses Mother._
MOT. Thanks, sweet son.
Son Follywit, come hither; if I might counsel thee,
We’ll take her e’en[886] while the good mood’s upon her;
Send for a priest, and clap’t up within this hour.
FOL. By my troth, agreed, mother.
MOT. Nor does her wealth consist all in her flesh,
Though beauty be enough wealth for a woman;
She brings a dowry of three hundred[887] with her.
FOL. ’S foot, that will serve [un]til my grandsire
dies:
I warrant you he’ll drop away at fall a’ th’ leaf;
If e’er[888] he reach to All Hollantide,[889] I’ll be
hang’d.
MOT. O yes, son, he’s a lusty old gentleman.
FOL. Ah, pox, he’s given to women! he keeps a quean at
this present.
MOT. Fie!
FOL. Do not tell my wife on’t.
MOT. That were needless, i’faith.
FOL. He makes a great feast upon the eleventh of this
month, Tuesday next, and you shall see players there—I
have one trick more to put upon him. [_Aside._]—My wife
and yourself shall go thither before as my guests, and
prove his entertainment: I’ll meet you there at night.
The jest will be here; that feast which he makes will,
unknown to him, serve fitly for our wedding-dinner: we
shall be royally furnished, and get some charges by’t.
MOT. An excellent course, i’faith, and a thrifty! why,
son,
Methinks you begin to thrive before you’re married.
FOL. We shall thrive one day, wench, and clip[890]
enough:
Between our hopes there’s but a grandsire’s puff.
[_Exit._
MOT. So, girl, here was a bird well caught.
COUR. If ever, here:
But what for’s grandsire, ’twill scarce please him well.
MOT. Who covets fruit, ne’er cares from whence it
fell:
Thou’st wedded youth and strength; and wealth will fall:
Last, thou’rt made honest.
COUR. And that’s worth ’em all. [_Exeunt._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ SIR BOUNTEOUS’S _House_.
_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS:[891] GUMWATER _and Servants pass
over the stage_.
SIR B. Have a care, blue coats.[892] Bestir yourself,
master Gumwater; cast an eye into th’ kitchen; o’erlook
the knaves a little. Every Jack has his friend to-day;
this cousin, and that cousin, puts in for a dish of
meat: a man knows not, till he make a feast, how many
varlets he feeds; acquaintances swarm in every corner,
like flies at Bartholomew-tide, that come up with
drovers; ’s foot, I think they smell my kitchen seven
mile about.—
_Enter_ HAREBRAIN, MIS. HAREBRAIN, _and_ PENITENT
BROTHEL.
Master Harebrain,[893] and his sweet bedfellow! you’re
very copiously welcome.
HAR. Sir, here’s an especial dear friend of ours: we
were bold to make his way to your table.
SIR B. Thanks for that boldness ever, good master
Harebrain: is this your friend, sir?
HAR. Both my wife’s friend and mine, sir.
SIR B. Why, then, compendiously, sir, you’re welcome.
PEN. B. In octavo I thank you, sir.
SIR B. Excellently retorted, i’faith! he’s welcome for’s
wit: I have my sorts of salutes, and know how to place
’em courtly. Walk in, sweet gentlemen, walk in; there’s
a good fire i’ th’ hall; you shall have my sweet company
instantly.
HAR. Ay, good sir Bounteous.
SIR B. You shall indeed, gentlemen. [_Exeunt_ HAREBRAIN,
MIS. HAREBRAIN, _and_ PEN. BROTHEL.]
_Enter_ SEMUS.
—How now? what news brings thee in stumbling now?
SEM. There are certain players come to town, sir, and
desire to interlude before your worship.
SIR B. Players? by the mass, they are welcome; they’ll
grace my entertainment well: but for certain players,
there thou liest, boy; they were never more uncertain in
their lives; now up, and now down; they know not when to
play, where to play, nor what to play: not when to play,
for fearful fools; where to play, for puritan fools; nor
what to play, for critical fools. Go, call ’em in.
[_Exit_ SEMUS.]—How fitly the whoresons come upo’ th’
feast! troth, I was e’en wishing for ’em.
_Re-enter_ SEMUS _with_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and
others, disguised as players_.
O welcome, welcome, my friends!
FOL. The month of May delights not in her flowers
More than we joy in that sweet sight of yours.
SIR B. Well acted, a’ my credit! I perceive he’s your
best actor.
SEM. He has greatest share,[894] sir, and may live of
himself, sir.
SIR B. What, what?—Put on your hat, sir, pray, put on;
go to, wealth must be respected: let those that have
least feathers stand bare. And whose men are you, I
pray?—nay, keep on your hat still.
FOL. We serve my lord Owemuch, sir.
SIR B. My lord Owemuch? by my troth, the welcomest men
alive! give me all your hands at once! That honourable
gentleman, he lay at my house in a robbery once, and
took all quietly, went away cheerfully: I made a very
good feast for him: I never saw a man of honour bear
things bravelier away. Serve my lord Owemuch? welcome,
i’faith!—Some bastard[895] for my lord’s players!
[_Exit_ SEMUS, _and returns with wine_.]—Where be
your[896] boys?
FOL. They come along with the waggon, sir.
SIR B. Good, good; and which is your politician amongst
you? now, i’faith, he that works out restraints, makes
best legs at court, and has a suit made of purpose for
the company’s business; which is he? come, be not afraid
of him.
FOL. I am he, sir.
SIR B. Art thou he? give me thy hand. Hark in thine ear:
thou rollest too fast to gather so much moss as thy
fellow there; champ upon that. Ah, and what play shall
we have, my masters?
FOL. A pleasant, witty comedy, sir.
SIR B. Ay, ay, ay; a comedy in any case, that I and my
guests may laugh a little: what’s the name on’t?
FOL. ’Tis called _The Slip_.
SIR B. _The Slip?_ by my troth, a pretty name, and a
glib one: go all, and slip into’t, as fast as you can.
Cover a table for the players! First take heed of a
lurcher; he cuts deep, he will eat up all from you.—Some
sherry for my lord’s players there! Sirrah, why this
will be a true feast, a right Mitre[897] supper, a play
and all. [_Exeunt_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and
others, with_ SEMUS.] More lights!
_Enter Mother and Courtesan._
I called for light; here come in two are light enough
for a whole house, i’faith. Dare the thief look me i’
th’ face? O impudent times! Go to, dissemble it!
MOT. Bless you, sir Bounteous!
SIR B. O welcome, welcome, thief, quean, and bawd!
welcome all three!
MOT. Nay, here’s but two on’s, sir.
SIR B. ’A my troth, I took her for a couple; I’d have
sworn there had been two faces there.
MOT. Not all under one hood, sir.
SIR B. Yes, faith, would I, to see mine eyes bear
double.
MOT. I’ll make it hold, sir; my daughter is a couple,
She was married yesterday.
SIR B. Buz![898]
MOT. Nay, to no buzzard neither; a right hawk,
Whene’er you know him.
SIR B. Away! he cannot be but a rascal.
Walk in, walk in, bold guests, that come unsent for!
[_Exit Mother._
Pox,[899] I perceive how my jewels went now,
To grace her marriage. [_Aside._
COUR. Would you with me, sir?
SIR B. Ay;
How hapt it, wench, you put the slip upon me,
Not three nights since? I name it gently to you;
I term it neither pilfer,[900] cheat, nor shark.
COUR. You’re past my reach.
SIR B. I’m old, and past your reach, very good; but you
will not deny this, I trust.
COUR. With a safe conscience, sir.
SIR B. Yea? give me thy hand; fare thee[901] well.—I
have done with her.[902]
COUR. Give me your hand, sir; you ne’er yet begun with
me. [_Exit._
SIR B. Whew, whew![903] O audacious age!
She denies me, and all, when on her fingers
I spied the ruby sit, that does betray her,
And blushes for her fact! Well, there’s a time for’t,
For all’s too little now for entertainment,
Feast, mirth, ay, harmony, and the play to boot;
A jovial season.—
_Re-enter_ FOLLYWIT.
How now, are you ready?
FOL. Even upon readiness, sir.
SIR B. Keep you your hat on.
FOL. I have a suit to your worship.
SIR B. O, cry you mercy; then you must stand bare.
FOL. We could do all to the life of action, sir, both
for the credit of your worship’s house, and the grace of
our comedy——
SIR B. Cuds me, what else, sir?
FOL. And for some defects, as the custom is, we would be
bold to require your worship’s assistance.
SIR B. Why, with all my heart; what is’t you want?
speak.
FOL. One’s a chain for a justice’s hat, sir.
SIR B. Why, here, here, here, here, whoreson; will this
serve your turn? [_Giving chain._
FOL. Excellent well, sir.[904]
SIR B. What else lack you?
FOL. We should use a ring with a stone in’t.
SIR B. Nay, whoop, I have given too many rings already;
talk no more of rings, I pray you: here, here, here,
make this jewel serve for once. [_Giving jewel._
FOL. O this will serve, sir.
SIR B. What, have you all now?
FOL. All now, sir; only Time is brought i’ th’ middle of
the play, and I would desire your worship’s watch-time.
SIR B. My watch? with all my heart; only give
Time a charge, that he be not fiddling with it.
[_Giving watch._
FOL. You shall ne’er see that, sir.
SIR B. Well, now you are furnish’d, sir, make haste;
away.
FOL. E’en as fast as I can, sir: I’ll set my fellows
going first;
They must have time and leisure, or they’re dull else.
[_Exit_ SIR BOUNTEOUS.
I’ll stay and speak a prologue, yet o’ertake ’em:
I cannot have conscience, i’faith, to go away,
And ne’er[905] a word to ’em. My grandsire has given me
Three shares[906] here; sure I’ll do somewhat for ’em.
[_Exit._
SCENE II.
_A Hall in_ SIR BOUNTEOUS’S _House_.
_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS, HAREBRAIN, MIS. HAREBRAIN, PENITENT
BROTHEL, _and other guests_; _Courtesan and Mother_;
GUMWATER _and Servants_.
SIR B. More lights, more stools! sit, sit: the plays
begins.
HAR.[907] Have you players here, sir Bounteous?
SIR B. We have ’em for you, sir; fine nimble comedians,
proper actors most of them.
PEN. B. Whose men, I pray you, sir?
SIR B. O, there’s their credit, sir! they serve an
honourable popular gentleman, ycleped[908] my lord
Owemuch.
HAR. My lord Owemuch? he was in Ireland lately.
SIR B. O, you ne’er knew any of the name but were great
travellers.
HAR. How is the comedy called, sir Bounteous?
SIR B. Marry, sir, _The Slip_.
HAR. _The Slip?_
_Enter, for Prologue_, FOLLYWIT.
SIR B. Ay, and here the prologue begins to slip in
upon’s.
HAR. ’Tis so indeed, sir Bounteous.
FOL. _We sing of wandering knights, what them betide,
Who nor in one place nor one shape abide;
They’re here now, and anon no scouts can reach ’em,
Being every man well hors’d like a bold Beacham.[909]
The play which we present no fault shall meet
But one; you’ll say ’tis short, we’ll say ’tis sweet:
’Tis given much to dumb shews, which some praise;
And, like the term, delights much in delays.
So to conclude, and give the name her due,
The play being call’d_ THE SLIP, _I vanish too_.
[_Exit._
SIR B. Excellently well acted, and a nimble conceit!
HAR. The prologue’s pretty, i’faith.
PEN. B. And went off well.
SIR B. Ay, that’s the grace of all, when they go away
well, ah, hah![910]
COUR. A’ my troth, and[911] I were not married, I could
find in my heart to fall in love with that player now,
and send for him to a supper.[912] I know some i’ th’
town that have done as much, and there took such a good
conceit of their parts into th’ two-penny room,[913]
that the actors have been found i’ th’ morning in a less
compass than their stage, though ’twere ne’er so full of
gentlemen.[914]
SIR B. But, passion of me, where be these knaves? will
they not come away? methinks they stay very long.
PEN. B. O, you must bear a little, sir; they have many
shifts to run into.
SIR B. Shifts call you ’em? they’re horrible long
things.
_Re-enter_ FOLLYWIT _in a fury_.
FOL. A pox of such fortune, the plot’s betrayed! all
will come out! yonder they come, taken upon suspicion,
and brought back by a constable. I was accursed to hold
society with such coxcombs! what’s to be done? I shall
be shamed for ever! My wife here, and all! ah, pox—by
light, happily thought upon! the chain. Invention stick
to me this once, and fail me ever hereafter! so, so——
[_Aside._
SIR B. Life, I say, where be these players?—O, are you
come? troth, it’s time; I was e’en sending for you.
HAR. How moodily he walks! what plays he trow?[915]
SIR B. A[916] justice, upon my credit; I know by the
chain there.
FOL. _Unfortunate justice!_
SIR B. Ah—a—a—
FOL. _In thy kin unfortunate!
Here comes thy nephew now upon suspicion,
Brought by a constable before thee; his vild[917]
Associates with him;
But so disguis’d, none knows him but myself.
Twice have I set him free from officers’ fangs,
And for his sake his fellows: let him look to’t;
My conscience will permit but one wink more._
SIR B. Yea, shall we take justice winking?
FOL. _For this time
I have bethought a means to work thy freedom,
Though hazarding myself. Should the law seize him,
Being kin to me, ’twould blemish much my name:
No; I’d rather lean to danger than to shame._
SIR B. A very explete justice!
CON. [_within_] Thank you, good neighbours; let me alone
with ’em now.
_Enter Constable with_ MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and the rest of_
FOLLYWIT’S _companions_.
MAW. ’S foot, who’s yonder?
HOB. Dare he sit there?
THIRD C. Follywit!
FOURTH C. Captain! pooh—
FOL. _How now, constable? what news with thee?_
CON. May it please your worship, sir, here are a company
of auspicious fellows.
SIR B. To me? pooh, turn to th’ justice, you whoreson
hobby-horse!—This is some new player now; they put all
their fools to the constable’s part still.
FOL. _What’s the matter, constable? what’s the matter?_
CON. I have nothing to say to your worship.—They were
all riding a’ horseback, an’t please your worship.
SIR B. Yet again? a pox of all asses still! they could
not ride a’ foot, unless ’twere in a bawdy-house.
CON. The ostler told me they were all unstable fellows,
sir.
FOL. _Why, sure the fellow’s drunk?_
MAW. We spied that weakness in him long ago, sir;
Your worship must bear with him, the man’s much
o’erseen;
Only in respect of his office we obey’d him.
Both to appear conformable to law,
And clear of all offence; for I protest, sir,
He found us but a’ horseback.
FOL. _What, he did?_
MAW. As I have a soul, that’s all, and all he can lay to
us.
CON. I’faith, you were not all riding away then?
MAW. ’S foot, being a’ horseback, sir, that must needs
follow.
FOL. _Why, true, sir._
SIR B. Well said, justice! he helps his kinsman well.
FOL. _Why, sirrah, do you use to bring gentlemen before
us for riding away? what, will you have ’em stand still
when they’re up, like Smug upo’ th’ white horse yonder?
are your wits steeped? I’ll make you an example for all
ditch[918] constables, how they abuse justice.—Here,
bind him to this chair._
CON. Ha, bind him? ho!
FOL. _If you want cords, use garters._
[MAWWORM, HOBOY, _&c. bind the Constable_.
CON. Help, help, gentlemen!
MAW. As fast as we can, sir.
CON. Thieves, thieves!
FOL. _A gag will help all this: keep less noise, you
knave._
CON. O help! rescue the constable; O, O!
[_They gag him._
SIR B. Ho, ho, ho, ho!
FOL. _Why, la, you, who lets you[919] now?
You may ride quietly; I’ll see you to
Take horse myself, I have nothing else to do._
[_Exeunt_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and others_.
CON. O, O, O!
SIR B. Ha, ha, ha! by my troth, the maddest piece of
justice, gentlemen, that ever was committed.
HAR. I’ll be sworn for the madness on’t, sir.
SIR B. I am deceived, if this prove not a merry comedy
and a witty.
PEN. B. Alas, poor constable! his mouth’s open, and
ne’er a wise word.
SIR B. Faith, he speaks now e’en as many as he has done;
he seems wisest when he gapes and says nothing. Ha, ha!
he turns and tells his tale to me like an ass. What have
I to do with their riding away? They may ride for me,
thou whoreson coxcomb, thou! nay, thou art well enough
served, i’faith.
PEN. B. But what follows all this while, sir? methinks
some should pass by before this time, and pity the
constable.
SIR B. By th’ mass, and you say true, sir.—Go, sirrah,
step in; I think they have forgot themselves; call the
knaves away; they’re in a wood, I believe.
[_Exit Servant._
CON. Ay, ay, ay!
SIR B. Hark, the constable says ay, they’re in a wood:
ha, ha!
GUM.[920] He thinks long of the time, sir Bounteous.
_Re-enter Servant._
SIR B. How now? when come they?
SER. Alas, an’t please your worship, there’s not one of
them to be found, sir!
SIR B. How?
HAR. What says the fellow?
SER. Neither horse nor man, sir.
SIR B. Body of me! thou liest.
SER. Not a hair of either, sir.
HAR. How now, sir Bounteous?
SIR B. Cheated and defeated! Ungag that rascal; I’ll
hang him for’s fellows; I’ll make him bring ’em out.
[_They ungag Constable._
CON. Did not I tell your worship this before?
Brought ’em before you for suspected persons?
Stay’d ’em at town’s end upon warning given?
Made signs that my very jaw-bone aches?[921]
Your worship would not hear me; call’d me ass,
Saving your worship’s presence, laugh’d at me.
SIR B. Ha!
HAR. I begin to taste it.
SIR B. Give me leave, give me leave. Why, art not thou
the constable i’ th’ comedy?
CON. I’ th’ comedy? why, I am the constable i’ th’
commonwealth, sir.
SIR B. I’m[922] gull’d, i’faith, I’m gull’d! When wast
thou chose?
CON. On Thursday last, sir.
SIR B. A pox go with’t! there’t goes.
PEN. B. I seldom heard jest match it.
HAR. Nor I, i’faith?
SIR B. Gentlemen, shall I entreat a courtesy?
HAR. What is’t, sir?
SIR B. Do not laugh at me seven year hence.
PEN. B. We should betray and laugh at our own folly
then,
For, of my troth, none here but was deceiv’d in’t.
SIR B. Faith, that’s some comfort yet; ha, ha! it was
featly carried; troth, I commend their wits; before our
faces make us asses, while we sit still and only laugh
at ourselves!
PEN. B. Faith, they were some counterfeit rogues, sir.
SIR B. Why, they confess so much themselves; they said
they’d play _The Slip_;[923] they should be men of their
words. I hope the justice will have more conscience,
i’faith, than to carry away a chain of a hundred
mark[924] of that fashion.
HAR. What, sir?
SIR B. Ay, by my troth, sir;
Besides a jewel and a jewel’s fellow,
A good fair watch, that hung about my neck, sir.
HAR. ’S foot, what did you mean, sir?
SIR B. Methinks my lord Owemuch’s players should not
scorn me so, i’faith; they will come, and bring all
again, I know; push,[925] they will, i’faith; but a
jest, certainly.
_Re-enter_ FOLLYWIT _in his own dress, with_ MAWWORM,
HOBOY, _and others_.
FOL. Pray, grandsire, give me your blessing.
SIR B. Who? son Follywit? [_Kneeling._
FOL. This shews like kneeling after the play;[926] I
praying for my lord Owemuch and his good countess, our
honourable lady and mistress.
[_Aside._
SIR B. Rise, richer by a blessing; thou art welcome.
FOL. Thanks, good grandsire; I was bold to bring
Those gentlemen, my friends.
SIR B. They’re all welcome!
Salute you that side, and I’ll welcome this side.—
Sir, to begin with you.
HAR. Master Follywit!
FOL. I am glad ’tis our fortune so happily to meet, sir.
SIR B. Nay, then, you know me not, sir.
FOL. Sweet mistress Harebrain!
SIR B. You cannot be too bold, sir.
FOL. Our marriage known?
COUR. Not a word yet.
FOL. The better.
SIR B. Faith, son, would you had come sooner with these
gentlemen!
FOL. Why, grandsire?
SIR B. We had a play here.
FOL. A play, sir? no?
SIR B. Yes, faith! a pox a’ th’ author!
FOL. Bless us all! why, were they such vild[927] ones,
sir?
SIR B. I am sure villanous ones, sir.
FOL. Some raw, simple fools!
SIR B. Nay, by th’ mass, these were enough for thievish
knaves.
FOL. What, sir?
SIR B. Which way came you, gentlemen? you could not
choose but meet ’em.
FOL. We met a company with hampers after ’em.
SIR B. O, those were they, those were they! A pox hamper
’em!
FOL. Bless us all again!
SIR B. They have hampered me finely, sirrah.
FOL. How,[928] sir?
SIR B. How, sir? I lent the rascals properties[929] to
furnish out their play, a chain, a jewel, and a watch;
and they watched their time, and rid quite away with
’em.
FOL. Are they such creatures?
SIR B. Hark, hark, gentlemen! by this light, the watch
rings alarum in his pocket! there’s my watch come
again, or the very cousin-german to’t: whose is’t,
whose is’t? by th’ mass, ’tis he! hast thou one, son?
prithee, bestow it upon thy grand-sire; I now look for
mine again, i’faith: nay, come with a good will, or
not at all; I’ll give thee a better thing.—A prize, a
prize,[930] gentlemen!
[_Draws chain, &c. out of_ FOLLYWIT’S _pocket_.
HAR. Great or small?
SIR B. At once I’ve[931] drawn chain, jewel, watch,
and all.
PEN. B. By my faith, you have a fortunate hand, sir!
HAR. Nay, all to come at once!
MAW. A vengeance of this foolery!
FOL. Have I ’scaped the constable to be brought in by
the watch?
COUR. O destiny! have I married a thief, mother?
MOT. Comfort thyself; thou art beforehand with him,
daughter.
SIR B. Why, son, why, gentlemen, how long have you been
my lord Owemuch his servants, i’faith?
FOL. Faith, grandsire, shall I be true to you?
SIR B. I think ’tis time; thou’st been a thief
already.
FOL. I, knowing the day of your feast, and the natural
inclination you have to pleasure and pastime, presumed
upon your patience for a jest, as well to prolong your
days as——
SIR B. Whoop! why, then, you took my chain along with
you to prolong my days, did you?
FOL. Not so neither, sir;
And that you may be seriously assur’d
Of my hereafter stableness of life,
I have took another course.
SIR B. What?
FOL. Took a wife.
SIR B. A wife! ’s foot, what is she for a fool[932]
would marry thee, a madman? when was the wedding kept?
in Bedlam?
FOL. She’s both a gentlewoman and a virgin.
SIR B. Stop there, stop there: would I might see her!
FOL. You have your wish; she’s here.
SIR B. Ah, ha, ha, ha! this makes amends for all.
FOL. How now?
MAW. Captain, do you hear? is she your wife in earnest?
FOL. How then?
MAW. Nothing, but pity you, sir.
SIR B. Speak, son; is’t true?
Can you gull us, and let a quean gull you?
FOL. Ha!
COUR. What I have been is past; be that forgiven,
And have a soul true both to thee and heaven!
FOL. Is’t come about? tricks are repaid, I see.
SIR B. The best is, sirrah, you pledge none but me;
And since I drink the top, take her—and, hark,
I spice the bottom with a thousand mark.[933]
FOL. By my troth, she is as good a cup of nectar as any
bachelor needs to sip at.
Tut, give me gold, it makes amends for vice;
Maids without coin are caudles without spice.
SIR B. Come, gentlemen, to th’ feast; let not time
waste;
We’ve[934] pleas’d our ear, now let us please our taste.
Who lives by cunning, mark it, his fate’s cast;
When he has gull’d all, then is himself the last.
[_Exeunt omnes._[935]
--------------
_The Catch[936] for the Fifth Act, sung by_ SIR
BOUNTEOUS PROGRESS _to his guests_.
O for a bowl of fat canary,
Rich Aristippus,[937] sparkling sherry!
Some nectar else from Juno’s dairy;
O these draughts would make us merry!
O for a wench! I deal in faces,
And in other daintier things;
Tickled am I with her embraces;
Fine dancing in such fairy rings!
O for a plump, fat leg of mutton,
Veal, lamb, capon, pig, and cony!
None is happy but a glutton,
None an ass but who wants money.
Wines, indeed, and girls are good,
But brave victuals feast the blood:
For wenches, wine, and lusty cheer,
Jove would come down to surfeit here.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE ROARING GIRL.
[Illustration: Man Smoking Pipe]
_The Roaring Girle. Or Moll Cut-Purse. As it hath
lately beene Acted on the Fortune-stage by the
Prince his Players. Written by T. Middleton and T.
Dekkar. Printed at London for Thomas Archer, and
are to be sold at his shop in Popes head-pallace,
neere the Royall Exchange._ 1611. 4to. On the
title-page is the woodcut, a fac-simile of which
is now given, representing Moll in her male dress,
with these words running along the inner margin,—
“_My case is alter’d, I must worke for my
liuing_.”
This drama has been reprinted in the sixth vol. of
the last two editions of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_.
_Roaring Boys_ was a cant term for the riotous,
quarrelsome blades of the time, who abounded in
London, and took pleasure in annoying its quieter
inhabitants. Of _Roaring Girls_, the heroine of
the present play was the choicest specimen. Her
real name was Mary Frith, though she was most
commonly known by that of Moll Cutpurse. According
to the author of her _Life_,[938] “she was born
A.D. 1589, in Barbican, at the upper end of
Aldersgate Street,” p. 3; but Malone,[939] more
correctly it should seem, has fixed her birth in
1584. “From the first entrance into a competency
of age,” she assumed the doublet, “and to her
dying day she would not leave it off, till the
infirmity and weaknesse of nature had brought her
a-bed to her last travail, changed it for a
wastcoat, and her pettycoats for a winding-sheet,”
_Life_, p. 18. She was distinguished in the
different characters of bully, prostitute,
procuress, fortune-teller, thief, pickpocket,
receiver of stolen goods, and forger of writings.
A letter from John Chamberlain to Mr. Carleton,
dated Feb. 11, 1611-12, gives the following
account of her doing penance: “The last Sunday
Moll Cutpurse, a notorious baggage that used to go
in man’s apparel, and challenged the field of
diverse gallants; was brought to the same place
[Paul’s Cross], where she wept bitterly, and
seemed very penitent; but it is since doubted she
was maudlin drunk, being discovered to have
tippel’d of three quarts of sack before she came
to her penance. She had the daintiest preacher or
ghostly father that ever I saw in the pulpit, one
Radcliffe of Brazen-Nose College in Oxford, a
likelier man to have led the revels in some inn of
court, than to be where he was. But the best is,
he did extreme badly, and so wearied the audience,
that the best part went away, and the rest tarried
rather to hear Moll Cutpurse than him.”[940] With
the preceding extract let us compare what the
“fair penitent” is made to say in the _Life_
already quoted: “Some promooting Apparitor, set on
by an adversary of mine, whom I could never
punctually know, cited me to appear in the Court
of the Arches, where was an Accusation exhibited
against me for wearing undecent and manly apparel.
I was advised by my Proctor to demur to the
Jurisdiction of the Court, as for a Crime, if
such, not cognizable there or elsewhere; but he
did it to spin out my Cause, and get my Mony; for
in the conclusion, I was sentenced there to stand
and do Penance in a White Sheet at Paul’s Cross,
during morning Sermon on a Sunday,” p. 69.
We are told that she robbed General Fairfax of 250
Jacobuses upon Hounslow Heath, shot him through
the arm, and killed two horses on which a couple
of his servants rode; and that being closely
pursued by some Parliamentarian officers quartered
at Hounslow, to whom Fairfax told the adventure,
and her horse failing her at Turnham Green, she
was apprehended and carried to Newgate, after
which she was condemned, but procured her pardon
by giving her adversary 2000 pounds![941] The
story seems to be not a little exaggerated.
Nor is the reader bound to believe the subjoined
anecdote; but, as Moll had a house of her own
“within 2 doors of the Globe Tavern in Fleet
Street, over against the Conduit,” _Life_, p. 47,
and appears to have acquired considerable property
by her various rogueries, the circumstance of her
supplying the wine is by no means improbable:
“After that unnatural and detestable Rebellion of
the Scots in 1638, upon his Majesties return home
to London, where preparation was made for his
Magnificent Entry, I was also resolved to show my
Loyal and Dutiful Respects to the King in as ample
manner as I could or might be permitted.... I was
resolved in my own account to beare a part in the
charge of this Solemnity; and therefore undertook
to supply Fleetstreet Conduit adjacent to my House
with Wine, to run continually for that triumphal
Day, which I performed with no less Expence then
Credit and delight, and the satisfaction of all
Comers and Spectators. And as the King passed by
me, I put out my Hand and caught Him by His, and
grasped it very hard, saying, _Welcome Home_
CHARLES! His Majesty smiled, and I beleeve took me
for some Mad Bold Beatrice or other, while the
people shouted and made a noyse, in part at my
Confidence and presumption, and in part for joy of
the King’s Return. The rest of that Day I spent in
jollity and carousing, and concluded the night
with Fireworks and Drink. This celebrated Action
of mine, it being the Town talk, made people look
upon me at another rate then formerly.” _Life_,
pp. 95-98.
A dropsy, from which she had long been suffering,
and which, it is said, would probably have carried
her off sooner if she had not indulged greatly in
the use of tobacco—(for she gloried in being the
first female smoker)—at last proved fatal to the
Roaring Girl. In the Memoir above cited, she is
represented as bidding adieu to the world “this
three score and fourteenth year of my age,” p.
169. A MS.[942] states that she died at her house
in Fleet Street, July 26, 1659; that she was
buried in the church of Saint Bridget’s; and that
she left twenty pounds by will, that the Conduit
might run with wine when King Charles the Second
should return. Granger says,[943] that her death
took place in her 75th year.
She is supposed to be the person alluded to in
Shakespeare’s _Twelfth Night_, where Sir Toby
exclaims, “Wherefore are these things hid?
wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them?
are they like to take dust, like _mistress Mall’s_
picture?” Act i. sc. 3.
On the books of the Stationers’ Company, August
1610, is entered “A Booke called the Madde Prancks
of Merry Mall of the Bankside, with her Walks in
Man’s Apparel, and to what Purpose. Written by
John Day.”[944]
In _Rubbe and A great Cast. Epigrams. By Thomas
Freeman, Gent._, 1614, 4to, is
“Epigram 90.
_Of Moll Cutpurse disguised going._
“They say Mol’s honest, and it may bee so,
But yet it is a shrewd presumption no:
To touch but pitch, ’tis knowne it will defile;
Moll weares the breech, what may she be the while?
Sure shee that doth the shadow so much grace,
What will shee when the substance comes in place?”
She figures in act ii. sc. 1 of Field’s _Amends
for Ladies_,[945] 1618, where she is thus
addressed:
——“Hence, lewd impudent!
I know not what to term thee, man or woman,
For Nature, shaming to acknowledge thee
For either, hath produc’d thee to the world
Without a sex: some say thou art a woman,
Others, a man; and many, thou art both
Woman and man; but I think rather, neither;
Or man and horse, as the old Centaurs were
feign’d.”
In _The Water-cormorant his Complaint against a
Brood of Land-cormorants_ (first printed, I
believe, in 1622), Taylor says,
“That if our Grand-fathers and Grand-dams should
Rise from the dead, and these mad times behold,
Amazed they halfe madly would admire
At our fantasticke gestures and attire;
And they would thinke that England in conclusion
Were a meere bable Babell of confusion;
That Muld-sack[946] for his most vnfashion’d
fashions
Is the fit patterne of their transformations;
And _Mary Frith_ doth teach them modesty,
For she doth keepe one fashion constantly,
And therefore she deserues a Matrons praise,
In these inconstant Moon-like changing dayes.”
p. 6.—_Works_, ed.
1630.
From _The Witch of Edmonton_ (by W. Rowley,
Dekker, and Ford, acted about 1623), we learn that
a certain dog, used in baiting bulls and bears,
was called _Moll Cutpurse_, after our heroine: act
v. sc. 1. Ford’s _Works_, by Gifford, vol. ii. p.
547.
She is thus mentioned in Brome’s _Court Beggar_,
acted 1632;
"CIT. Sprecious! How now! my fob has been fubd
to-day of six pieces, and a dozen shillings at
least.... My watch is gone out of my pocket too o’
th’ right side.... Ile go to honest _Moll_ about
it presently." Act ii. sc. 1. _Five New Playes_,
1653.
In the following couplet of Butler (the second
line of which Swift has transferred, with a slight
alteration, into his _Baucis and Philemon_), the
allusion is most probably to Moll Cutpurse, and
not, as Grey thinks, to Mary Carlton;
“A bold Virago, stout and tall,
As Joan of France, or _English Mall_.”
_Hudibras_, Part i. c. ii. 367.
With a quotation from a play called _The Feigned
Astrologer_, 1668, I conclude this notice of Mary
Frith;
“We cannot do that neither in quiet,
So many have found his lodging out:
And now, _Moll Cut-purse_, that oracle of felonie
Is dead, there’s not a pocket pickt,
But hee’s acquainted with it.” Act iv. sc. 2, p.
62.
Thomas Dekker, whose name is coupled with
Middleton’s on the title-page of _The Roaring
Girl_, was (as perhaps few readers require to be
told) a very prolific and popular dramatist: many
of his plays have perished.
TO THE COMIC PLAY-READERS, VENERY
AND LAUGHTER.
The fashion of play-making I can properly
compare to nothing so naturally as the alteration
in apparel; for in the time of the great
crop-doublet, your huge bombasted plays, quilted
with mighty words to lean purpose, were[947] only
then in fashion: and as the doublet fell, neater
inventions began to set up. Now, in the time of
spruceness, our plays follow the niceness of our
garments; single plots, quaint conceits, lecherous
jests, drest up in hanging sleeves: and those are
fit for the times and the termers.[948] Such a
kind of light-colour summer stuff, mingled with
divers colours, you shall find this published
comedy; good to keep you in an afternoon from dice
at home in your chambers: and for venery, you
shall find enough for sixpence,[949] but well
couched and[950] you mark it; for Venus, being a
woman, passes through the play in doublet and
breeches; a brave disguise and a safe one, if the
statute untie not her codpiece point. The book I
make no question but is fit for many of your
companies, as well as the person itself, and may
be allowed both gallery-room at the playhouse, and
chamber-room at your lodging. Worse things, I must
needs confess, the world has taxed her for than
has been written of her; but ’tis the excellency
of a writer to leave things better than he finds
’em; though some obscene fellow, that cares not
what he writes against others, yet keeps a
mystical bawdyhouse himself, and entertains
drunkards, to make use of their pockets and vent
his private bottle-ale at midnight,—though such a
one would have ript up the most nasty vice that
ever hell belched forth, and presented it to a
modest assembly, yet we rather wish in such
discoveries, where reputation lies bleeding, a
slackness of truth than fulness of slander.
THOMAS MIDDLETON.
PROLOGUE.
A play expected long makes the audience look
For wonders; that each scene should be a book,
Compos’d to all perfection: each one comes
And brings a play in’s head with him; up he sums
What he would of a roaring girl have writ;
If that he finds not here, he mews at it.
Only we [do] entreat you think our scene
Cannot speak high, the subject being but mean;
A roaring girl, whose notes till now ne’er were,
Shall fill with laughter our vast theatre.[951]
That’s all which I dare promise: tragic passion,
And such grave stuff, is this day out of fashion.
I see Attention sets wide ope her gates
Of hearing, and with covetous listening waits,
To know what girl this roaring girl should be,
For of that tribe are many. One is she
That roars at midnight in deep tavern-bowls,
That beats the watch, and constables controls;
Another roars i’ th’ daytime, swears, stabs, gives
braves,
Yet sells her soul to the lust of fools and
slaves:
Both these are suburb-roarers. Then there’s
beside[952]
A civil city-roaring girl, whose pride,
Feasting, and riding, shakes her husband’s state,
And leaves him roaring through an iron grate.
None of these roaring girls is ours; she flies
With wings more lofty; thus her character lies—
Yet what need characters, when to give a guess
Is better than the person to express?
But would you know who ’tis? would you hear her
name?
She’s call’d mad Moll; her life our acts proclaim.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
SIR ALEXANDER WENGRAVE.
SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE, _his son_.
SIR GUY FITZALLARD.
SIR DAVY DAPPER.
JACK DAPPER, _his son_.
SIR ADAM APPLETON.
SIR THOMAS LONG.
SIR BEAUTEOUS GANYMEDE.
LORD NOLAND.
GOSHAWK.
LAXTON.
GREENWIT.
GALLIPOT, _an apothecary_.
TILTYARD, _a feather-seller_.
OPENWORK, _a sempster_.
NEATFOOT, _Sir A. Wengrave’s man_.
GULL, _page to Jack Dapper_.
TRAPDOOR.
TEARCAT.
_Coachman._
_Porter._
_Tailor._
CURTLEAX, _a sergeant_.
HANGER, _his yeoman_.
_Gentlemen, Cutpurses, &c._
MOLL, _the Roaring Girl_.
MARY FITZALLARD, _daughter to Sir Guy_.
MISTRESS GALLIPOT.
MISTRESS TILTYARD.
MISTRESS OPENWORK.
Scene, LONDON.
THE ROARING GIRL.
--------------
ACT I. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ SIR ALEXANDER WENGRAVE’S _House_.
_Enter_ MARY FITZALLARD _disguised like a sempster,
with a case for bands, and_ NEATFOOT _with her, a
napkin on his shoulder, and a trencher[953] in his
hand, as from table_.
NEAT. The young gentleman, our young master, sir
Alexander’s son, is it into his ears, sweet damsel,
emblem of fragility, you desire to have a message
transported, or to be transcendent?
MARY. A private word or two, sir; nothing else.
NEAT. You shall fructify in that which you come
for; your pleasure shall be satisfied to your full
contentation. I will, fairest tree of generation,
watch when our young master is erected, that is to
say, up, and deliver him to this your most white
hand.
MARY. Thanks, sir.
NEAT. And withal certify him, that I have culled out for
him, now his belly is replenished, a daintier bit or
modicum than any lay upon his trencher at dinner. Hath
he notion of your name, I beseech your chastity?
MARY. One, sir, of whom he bespake falling bands.[954]
NEAT. Falling bands? it shall so be given him. If you
please to venture your modesty in the hall amongst a
curl-pated company of rude serving-men, and take such as
they can set before you, you shall be most seriously and
ingeniously[955] welcome.
MARY. I have dined[956] indeed already, sir.
NEAT. Or will you vouchsafe to kiss the lip of a cup of
rich Orleans in the buttery amongst our waiting-women?
MARY. Not now, in truth, sir.
NEAT. Our young master shall then have a feeling of your
being here; presently it shall so be given him.
MARY. I humbly thank you, sir. [_Exit_ NEATFOOT.] But
that my bosom
Is full of bitter sorrows, I could smile
To see this formal ape play antic tricks;
But in my breast a poison’d arrow sticks,
And smiles cannot become me. Love woven slightly,
Such as thy false heart makes, wears out as lightly;
But love being truly bred i’ th’ soul, like mine,
Bleeds even to death at the least wound it takes,—
The more we quench this [fire], the less it slakes:
O me!
_Enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE _with_ NEATFOOT.
SEB. A sempster speak with me, sayest thou?
NEAT. Yes, sir; she’s there, _viva voce_ to deliver her
auricular confession.
SEB. With me, sweetheart? what is’t?
MARY. I have brought home your bands, sir.
SEB. Bands?—Neatfoot.
NEAT. Sir?
SEB. Prithee, look in; for all the gentlemen are upon
rising.
NEAT. Yes, sir; a most methodical attendance shall be
given.
SEB. And dost hear? if my father call for me, say I am
busy with a sempster.
NEAT. Yes, sir; he shall know it that you are busied
with a needle-woman.
SEB. In’s ear, good Neatfoot.
NEAT. It shall be so given him. [_Exit._
SEB. Bands? you’re mistaken, sweetheart, I bespake
none:
When, where, I prithee? what bands? let me see them.
MARY. Yes, sir; a bond[957] fast seal’d with solemn
oaths,
Subscrib’d unto, as I thought, with your soul;
Deliver’d as your deed in sight of heaven:
Is this bond cancellèd? have you forgot me?
SEB. Ha! life of my life, sir Guy Fitzallard’s
daughter?
What has transform’d my love to this strange shape?
Stay; make all sure [_shuts the door_]; so: now speak
and be brief,
Because the wolf’s at door that lies in wait
To prey upon us both. Albeit mine eyes
Are blest by thine, yet this so strange disguise
Holds me with fear and wonder.
MARY. Mine’s a loath’d sight;
Why from it are you banish’d else so long?
SEB. I must cut short my speech: in broken language
Thus much, sweet Moll; I must thy company shun;
I court another Moll: my thoughts must run
As a horse runs that’s blind round in a mill,
Out every step, yet keeping one path still.
MARY. Umph! must you shun my company? in one knot
Have both our hands by th’ hands of heaven been tied,
Now to be broke? I thought me once your bride;
Our fathers did agree on the time when:
And must another bedfellow fill my room?
SEB. Sweet maid, let’s lose no time; ’tis in heaven’s
book
Set down, that I must have thee; an oath we took
To keep our vows: but when the knight your father
Was from mine parted, storms began to sit
Upon my covetous father’s brow[s], which fell
From them on me. He reckon’d up what gold
This marriage would draw from him; at which he swore,
To lose so much blood could not grieve him more:
He then dissuades me from thee, call’d thee not fair,
And ask’d what is she but a beggar’s heir?
He scorn’d thy dowry of five thousand marks.[958]
If such a sum of money could be found,
And I would match with that, he’d not undo it,
Provided his bags might add nothing to it;
But vow’d, if I took thee, nay, more, did swear it,
Save birth, from him I nothing should inherit.
MARY. What follows then? my shipwreck?
SEB. Dearest, no:
Though wildly in a labyrinth I go,
My end is to meet thee: with a side-wind
Must I now sail, else I no haven can find,
But both must sink for ever. There’s a wench
Call’d Moll, mad Moll, or merry Moll; a creature
So strange in quality, a whole city takes
Note of her name and person: all that affection
I owe to thee, on her in counterfeit passion
I spend, to mad my father: he believes
I doat upon this Roaring Girl, and grieves
As it becomes a father for a son
That could be so bewitch’d: yet I’ll go on
This crooked way, sigh still for her, feign dreams
In which I’ll talk only of her: these streams
Shall, I hope, force my father to consent
That here I anchor, rather than be rent
Upon a rock so dangerous. Art thou pleas’d,
Because thou seest we’re waylaid, that I take
A path that’s safe, though it be far about?
MARY. My prayers with heaven guide thee!
SEB. Then I will on:
My father is at hand; kiss, and begone!
Hours shall be watch’d for meetings: I must now,
As men for fear, to a strange idol bow.
MARY. Farewell!
SEB. I’ll guide thee forth: when next we meet,
A story of Moll shall make our mirth more sweet.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE, SIR DAVY DAPPER, SIR ADAM
APPLETON, GOSHAWK, LAXTON, _and Gentlemen_.
ALL. Thanks, good sir Alexander, for our bounteous
cheer!
S. ALEX. Fie, fie, in giving thanks you pay too dear.
S. DAVY. When bounty spreads the table, faith, ’twere
sin,
At going off if thanks should not step in.
S. ALEX. No more of thanks, no more. Ay, marry, sir,
Th’ inner room was too close: how do you like
This parlour, gentlemen?
ALL. O, passing well!
S. ADAM. What a sweet breath the air casts here, so
cool!
GOS. I like the prospect best.
LAX. See how ’tis furnish’d!
S. DAVY. A very fair sweet room.
S. ALEX. Sir Davy Dapper,
The furniture that doth adorn this room
Cost many a fair grey groat ere it came here;
But good things are most cheap when they’re most dear.
Nay, when you look into my galleries,
How bravely they’re trimm’d up, you all shall swear
You’re highly pleas’d to see what’s set down there:
Stories of men and women, mix’d together
Fair ones with foul, like sunshine in wet weather;
Within one square a thousand heads are laid,
So close that all of heads the room seems made;
As many faces there, fill’d with blithe looks,
Shew like the promising titles of new books
Writ merrily, the readers being their own eyes,
Which seem to move and to give plaudities;
And here and there, whilst with obsequious ears
Throng’d heaps do listen, a cut-purse thrusts and leers
With hawk’s eyes for his prey; I need not shew him;
By a hanging, villanous look yourselves may know him,
The face is drawn so rarely: then, sir, below,
The very floor, as ’twere, waves to and fro,
And, like a floating island, seems to move
Upon a sea bound in with shores above.
ALL. These sights are excellent!
S. ALEX. I’ll shew you all:
Since we are met, make our parting comical.
_Re-enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE _with_ GREENWIT.
SEB. This gentleman, my friend, will take his leave,
sir.
S. ALEX. Ha! take his leave, Sebastian, who?
SEB. This gentleman.
S. ALEX. Your love, sir, has already given me some
time,
And if you please to trust my age with more,
It shall pay double interest: good sir, stay.
GREEN. I have been too bold.
S. ALEX. Not so, sir: a merry day
’Mongst friends being spent, is better than gold sav’d.—
Some wine, some wine! Where be these knaves I keep?
_Re-enter_ NEATFOOT _with several Servants_.
NEAT. At your worshipful elbow, sir.
S. ALEX. You’re kissing my maids, drinking, or fast
asleep.
NEAT. Your worship has given it us right.
S. ALEX. You varlets, stir!
Chairs, stools, and cushions!—
[_Servants bring in wine, and place chairs, &c._
Prithee, sir Davy Dapper,
Make that chair thine.
S. DAVY. ’Tis but an easy gift;
And yet I thank you for it, sir: I’ll take it.
S. ALEX. A chair for old sir Adam Appleton!
NEAT. A back friend to your worship.
S. ADAM. Marry, good Neatfoot,
I thank thee for’t; back friends sometimes are good.
S. ALEX. Pray, make that stool your perch, good master
Goshawk.
GOS. I stoop to your lure, sir.
S. ALEX. Son Sebastian,
Take master Greenwit to you.
SEB. Sit, dear friend.
S. ALEX. Nay, master Laxton—furnish master Laxton
With what he wants, a stone,—a stool, I would say,
A stool.
LAX. I had rather stand, sir.
S. ALEX. I know you had, good master Laxton: so, so.
[_Exeunt_ NEATFOOT _and Servants_.
Now here’s a mess of friends; and, gentlemen,
Because time’s glass shall not be running long,
I’ll quicken it with a pretty tale.
S. DAVY. Good tales do well
In these bad days, where vice does so excel.
S. ADAM. Begin, sir Alexander.
S. ALEX. Last day I met
An aged man, upon whose head was scor’d
A debt of just so many years as these
Which I owe to my grave: the man you all know.
ALL. His name, I pray you, sir.
S. ALEX. Nay, you shall pardon me:
But when he saw me, with a sigh that brake,
Or seem’d to break, his heart-strings, thus he spake:
O my good knight, says he, (and then his eyes
Were richer even by that which made them poor,
They’d spent so many tears they had no more),
O sir, says he, you know it! for you ha’ seen
Blessings to rain upon mine house and me:
Fortune, who slaves men, was my slave; her wheel
Hath spun me golden threads; for, I thank heaven,
I ne’er had but one cause to curse my stars.
I ask’d him then what that one caue might be.
ALL. So, sir.
S. ALEX. He paus’d: and as we often see
A sea so much becalm’d, there can be found
No wrinkle on his brow, his waves being drown’d
In their own rage; but when th’ imperious wind[s]
Use strange invisible tyranny to shake
Both heaven’s and earth’s foundation at their noise,
The seas, swelling with wrath to part that fray,
Rise up, and are more wild, more mad than they;
Even so this good old man was by my question
Stirr’d up to roughness; you might see his gall
Flow even in’s eyes; then grew he fantastical.
S. DAVY. Fantastical? ha, ha!
S. ALEX. Yes; and talk[’d] oddly.
S. ADAM. Pray, sir, proceed:
How did this old man end?
S. ALEX. Marry, sir, thus:
He left his wild fit to read o’er his cards;
Yet then, though age cast snow on all his hairs,
He joy’d, because, says he, the god of gold
Has been to me no niggard; that disease,
Of which all old men sicken, avarice,
Never infected me——
LAX. He means not himself, I’m sure. [_Aside._
S. ALEX. For, like a lamp
Fed with continual oil, I spend and throw
My light to all that need it, yet have still
Enough to serve myself: O but, quoth he,
Though heaven’s dew fall thus on this aged tree,
I have a son that,[959] like a wedge, doth cleave
My very heart-root!
S. DAVY. Had he such a son?
SEB. Now I do smell a fox strongly. [_Aside._
S. ALEX. Let’s see: no, master Greenwit is not yet
So mellow in years as he; but as like Sebastian,
Just like my son Sebastian, such another.
SEB. How finely, like a fencer,
My father fetches his by-blows to hit me!
But if I beat you not at your own weapon
Of subtilty—— [_Aside._
S. ALEX. This son, saith he, that should be
The column and main arch unto my house,
The crutch unto my age, becomes a whirlwind
Shaking the firm foundation.
S. ADAM. ’Tis some prodigal.
SEB. Well shot, old Adam Bell![960] [_Aside._
S. ALEX. No city-monster neither, no prodigal,
But sparing, wary, civil, and, though wifeless,
An excellent husband; and such a traveller,
He has more tongues in his head than some have teeth.
S. DAVY. I have but two in mine.
GOS. So sparing and so wary?
What, then, could vex his father so?
S. ALEX. O, a woman!
SEB. A flesh-fly, that can vex any man.
S. ALEX. A scurvy woman,
On whom the passionate old man swore he doated;
A creature, saith he, nature hath brought forth
To mock the sex of woman. It is a thing
One knows not how to name: her birth began
Ere she was all made: ’tis woman more than man,
Man more than woman; and, which to none can hap,
The sun gives her two shadows to one shape;
Nay, more, let this strange thing walk, stand, or sit,
No blazing star draws more eyes after it.
S. DAVY. A monster! ’tis some monster!
S. ALEX. She’s a varlet.
SEB. Now is my cue to bristle. [_Aside._
S. ALEX. A naughty pack.[961]
SEB. ’Tis false!
S. ALEX. Ha, boy?
SEB. ’Tis false!
S. ALEX. What’s false? I say she’s naught.
SEB. I say, that tongue
That dares speak so, but yours, sticks in the throat
Of a rank villain: set yourself aside——
S. ALEX. So, sir, what then?
SEB. Any here else had lied.—
I think I shall fit you. [_Aside._
S. ALEX. Lie?
SEB. Yes.
S. DAVY. Doth this concern him?
S. ALEX. Ah, sirrah-boy,
Is your blood heated? boils it? are you stung?
I’ll pierce you deeper yet.—O my dear friends,
I am that wretched father! this that son,
That sees his ruin, yet headlong on doth run.
S. ADAM. Will you love such a poison?
S. DAVY. Fie, fie.
SEB. You’re all mad.
S. ALEX. Thou’rt sick at heart, yet feel’st it not: of
all these,
What gentleman but thou, knowing his disease
Mortal, would shun the cure!—O master Greenwit,
Would you to such an idol bow?
GREEN. Not I, sir.
S. ALEX. Here’s master Laxton; has he mind to a woman
As thou hast?
LAX. No, not I, sir.
S. ALEX. Sir, I know it.
LAX. Their good parts are so rare, their bad so
common,
I will have nought to do with any woman.
S. DAVY. ’Tis well done, master Laxton.
S. ALEX. O thou cruel boy,
Thou wouldst with lust an old man’s life destroy!
Because thou see’st I’m half-way in my grave,
Thou shovel’st dust upon me: would thou might’st have
Thy wish, most wicked, most unnatural!
S. DAVY. Why, sir, ’tis thought sir Guy Fitzallard’s
daughter
Shall wed your son Sebastian.
S. ALEX. Sir Davy Dapper,
I have upon my knees woo’d this fond[962] boy
To take that virtuous maiden.
SEB. Hark you; a word, sir.
You on your knees have curs’d that virtuous maiden,
And me for loving her; yet do you now
Thus baffle[963] me to my face: wear not your knees
In such entreats; give me Fitzallard’s daughter.
S. ALEX. I’ll give thee rats-bane rather.
SEB. Well, then, you know
What dish I mean to feed upon.
S. ALEX. Hark, gentlemen! he swears
To have this cut-purse drab, to spite my gall.
ALL. Master Sebastian——
SEB. I am deaf to you all.
I’m so bewitch’d, so bound to my desires,
Tears, prayers, threats, nothing can quench out those
fires
That burn within me. [_Exit._
S. ALEX. Her blood shall quench it, then.— [_Aside._
Lose him not; O dissuade him, gentlemen!
S. DAVY. He shall be wean’d, I warrant you.
S. ALEX. Before his eyes
Lay down his shame, my grief, his miseries.
ALL. No more, no more; away!
[_Exeunt all but_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE.
S. ALEX. I wash a negro,
Losing both pains and cost: but take thy flight,
I’ll be most near thee when I’m least in sight.
Wild buck, I’ll hunt thee breathless: thou shalt run on,
But I will turn thee when I’m not thought upon.—
_Enter_ TRAPDOOR _with a letter_.
Now, sirrah, what are you? leave your ape’s tricks, and
speak.
TRAP. A letter from my captain to your worship.
S. ALEX. O, O, now I remember; ’tis to prefer thee into
my service.
TRAP. To be a shifter under your worship’s nose of a
clean trencher, when there’s a good bit upon’t.
S. ALEX. Troth, honest fellow—Hum—ha—let me see—
This knave shall be the axe to hew that down
At which I stumble; has a face that promiseth
Much of a villain: I will grind his wit,
And, if the edge prove fine, make use of it. [_Aside._
Come hither, sirrah: canst thou be secret, ha?
TRAP. As two crafty attorneys plotting the undoing
of their clients.
S. ALEX. Didst never, as thou’st walk’d about this
town,
Hear of a wench call’d Moll, mad, merry Moll?
TRAP. Moll Cutpurse, sir?
S. ALEX. The same; dost thou know her, then?
TRAP. As well as I know ’twill rain upon Simon
and Jude’s day next: I will sift all the taverns
i’ th’ city, and drink half pots with all the
watermen[964]
a’ th’ Bank-side, but, if you will, sir, I’ll find
her out.
S. ALEX. That task is easy; do’t then: hold thy hand
up.
What’s this? is’t burnt?
TRAP. No, sir, no; a little singed with making
fireworks.
S. ALEX. There’s money, spend it; that being spent,
fetch more. [_Gives money._
TRAP. O sir, that all the poor soldiers in England had
such a leader! For fetching, no water-spaniel is like
me.
S. ALEX. This wench we speak of strays so from her
kind,
Nature repents she made her: ’tis a mermaid
Has tol’d my son to shipwreck.
TRAP. I’ll cut her comb for you.
S. ALEX. I’ll tell out gold for thee, then. Hunt her
forth,
Cast out a line hung full of silver hooks
To catch her to thy company: deep spendings
May draw her that’s most chaste to a man’s bosom.
TRAP. The gingling of golden bells, and a good fool with
a hobbyhorse, will draw all the whores i’ th’ town to
dance in a morris.
S. ALEX. Or rather, for that’s best (they say
sometimes
She goes in breeches), follow her as her man.
TRAP. And when her breeches are off, she shall follow
me.
S. ALEX. Beat all thy brains to serve her.
TRAP. Zounds, sir, as country wenches beat cream till
butter comes.
S. ALEX. Play thou the subtle spider; weave fine nets
To ensnare her very life.
TRAP. Her life?
S. ALEX. Yes; suck
Her heart-blood, if thou canst: twist thou but cords
To catch her, I’ll find law to hang her up.
TRAP. Spoke like a worshipful bencher!
S. ALEX. Trace all her steps: at this she-fox’s den
Watch what lambs enter; let me play the shepherd
To save their throats from bleeding, and cut hers.
TRAP. This is the goll[965] shall do’t.
S. ALEX. Be firm, and gain me
Ever thine own: this done, I entertain thee.
How is thy name?
TRAP. My name, sir, is Ralph Trapdoor, honest Ralph.
S. ALEX. Trapdoor, be like thy name, a dangerous step
For her to venture on; but unto me——
TRAP. As fast as your sole to your boot or shoe, sir.
S. ALEX. Hence, then; be little seen here as thou
canst;
I’ll still be at thine elbow.
TRAP. The trapdoor’s set.
Moll, if you budge, you’re gone: this me shall crown;
A roaring boy[966] the roaring girl puts down.
S. ALEX. God-a-mercy, lose no time. [_Exeunt._
ACT II. SCENE I.
_Three shops open in a rank: the first an apothecary’s
shop, the next a feather-shop, the third a
sempster’s shop_; MISTRESS GALLIPOT _in the first_,
MISTRESS TILTYARD _in the next_, OPENWORK _and_
MISTRESS OPENWORK _in the third_.
_Enter_ LAXTON, GOSHAWK, _and_ GREENWIT.
MIS. OPEN. Gentlemen, what is’t you lack?[967] what
is’t you buy? see fine bands and ruffs, fine lawns, fine
cambrics: what is’t you lack, gentlemen? what is’t you
buy?
LAX. Yonder’s the shop.
GOS. Is that she?
LAX. Peace.
GREEN. She that minces tobacco?[968]
LAX. Ay; she’s a gentlewoman born, I can tell you,
though it be her hard fortune now to shred Indian
pot-herbs.
GOS. O sir, ’tis many a good woman’s fortune, when her
husband turns bankrout,[969] to begin with pipes and set
up again.
LAX. And, indeed, the raising of the woman is the
lifting up of the man’s head at all times; if one
flourish, t’other will bud as fast, I warrant ye.
GOS. Come, thou’rt familiarly acquainted there, I grope
that.
LAX. And[970] you grope no better i’ th’ dark, you may
chance lie i’ th’ ditch when you’re drunk.
GOS. Go, thou’rt a mystical lecher!
LAX. I will not deny but my credit may take up an ounce
of pure smoke.
GOS. May take up an ell of pure smock! away, go! ’Tis
the closest striker![971] life, I think he commits
venery forty foot deep; no man’s aware on’t. I, like a
palpable smockster, go to work so openly with the
tricks of art, that I’m as apparently seen as a naked
boy in a phial;[972] and were it not for a gift of
treachery that I have in me, to betray my friend when
he puts most trust in me—mass, yonder he is too!—and
by his injury to make good my access to her, I should
appear as defective in courting as a farmer’s son the
first day of his feather, that doth nothing at court
but woo the hangings and glass windows for a month
together, and some broken waiting-woman for ever
after. I find those imperfections in my venery, that
were’t not for flattery and falsehood, I should want
discourse and impudence; and he that wants impudence
among women is worthy to be kicked out at bed’s feet.
He shall not see me yet. [_Aside._
GREEN. Troth, this is finely shred.
LAX. O, women are the best mincers.
MIS. G. ’Thad been a good phrase for a cook’s wife, sir.
LAX. But ’twill serve generally, like the front of a new
almanac, as thus:—calculated for the meridian of cooks’
wives, but generally for all Englishwomen.
MIS. G. Nay, you shall ha’t, sir; I have filled it for
you. [_She puts it to the fire._
LAX. The pipe’s in a good hand, and I wish mine always
so.
GREEN. But not to be used a’ that fashion.
LAX. O, pardon me, sir, I understand no French. I pray,
be covered. Jack, a pipe of rich smoke!
GOS. Rich smoke? that’s sixpence a pipe, is’t?
GREEN. To me, sweet lady.
MIS. G. Be not forgetful; respect my credit; seem
strange: art and wit make[973] a fool of suspicion;
pray, be wary.
LAX. Push![974] I warrant you.—Come, how is’t, gallants?
GREEN. Pure and excellent.
LAX. I thought ’twas good, you were grown so silent: you
are like those that love not to talk at victuals, though
they make a worse noise i’ th’ nose than a common
fiddler’s ’prentice, and discourse a whole supper with
snuffling.—I must speak a word with you anon.
MIS. G. Make your way wisely, then.
GOS. O, what else, sir? he’s perfection itself; full of
manners, but not an acre of ground belonging to ’em.
GREEN. Ay, and full of form; has ne’er a good stool in’s
chamber.
GOS. But above all, religious; he preyeth daily upon
elder brothers.
GREEN. And valiant above measure; has run three streets
from a sergeant.
LAX. Puh, puh. [_He blows tobacco in their faces._
GREEN. O, puh!
GOS. Ho, ho!
LAX. So, so.
MIS. G. What’s the matter now, sir?
LAX. I protest I’m in extreme want of money; if you can
supply me now with any means, you do me the greatest
pleasure, next to the bounty of your love, as ever poor
gentleman tasted.
MIS. G. What’s the sum would pleasure ye, sir? though
you deserve nothing less at my hands.
LAX. Why, ’tis but for want of opportunity, thou
knowest.—I put her off with opportunity still: by this
light, I hate her, but for means to keep me in fashion
with gallants; for what I take from her, I spend upon
other wenches; bear her in hand[975] still: she has wit
enough to rob her husband, and I ways enough to consume
the money. [_Aside._]—Why, how now? what, the chincough?
GOS. Thou hast the cowardliest trick to come before a
man’s face, and strangle him ere he be aware! I could
find in my heart to make a quarrel in earnest.
LAX. Pox, and[976] thou dost—thou knowest I never use to
fight with my friends—thou’ll but lose thy labour in’t.—
Jack Dapper!
_Enter_ JACK DAPPER _and_ GULL.
GREEN. Monsieur Dapper, I dive down to your ancles.
J. DAP. Save ye, gentlemen, all three in a peculiar
salute.
GOS. He were ill to make a lawyer; he despatches three
at once.
LAX. So, well said.—But is this[977] of the same
tobacco, mistress Gallipot?
MIS. G. The same you had at first, sir.
LAX. I wish it no better: this will serve to drink[978]
at my chamber.
GOS. Shall we taste a pipe on’t?
LAX. Not of this, by my troth, gentlemen, I have sworn
before you.
GOS. What, not Jack Dapper?
LAX. Pardon me, sweet Jack; I’m sorry I made such a rash
oath, but foolish oaths must stand: where art going,
Jack?
J. DAP. Faith, to buy one feather.
LAX. One feather? the fool’s peculiar still.
[_Aside._
J. DAP. Gull.
GULL. Master?
J. DAP. Here’s three halfpence for your ordinary, boy;
meet me an hour hence in Paul’s.[979]
GULL. How? three single halfpence? life, this will
scarce serve a man in sauce, a halp’orth of mustard, a
halp’orth of oil, and a halp’orth of vinegar,—what’s
left then for the pickle herring? This shews like small
beer i’ th’ morning after a great surfeit of wine
o’ernight: he could spend his three pound last night in
a supper amongst girls and brave bawdyhouse boys: I
thought his pockets cackled not for nothing: these are
the eggs of three pound, I’ll go sup ’em up presently.
[_Aside, and exit._
LAX. Eight, nine, ten angels:[980] good wench, i’faith,
and one that loves darkness well; she puts out a candle
with the best tricks of any drugster’s wife in England:
but that which mads her, I rail upon opportunity still,
and take no notice on’t. The other night she would needs
lead me into a room with a candle in her hand to shew me
a naked picture, where no sooner entered, but the
candle was sent of an errand: now, I not intending to
understand her, but, like a puny at the inns of venery,
called for another light innocently; thus reward I all
her cunning with simple mistaking. I know she cozens her
husband to keep me, and I’ll keep her honest as long as
I can, to make the poor man some part of amends. An
honest mind of a whoremaster! how think you amongst you?
What, a fresh pipe? draw in a third man?
GOS. No, you’re a hoarder, you engross by th’ ounces.
[_At the feather-shop._
J. DAP. Pooh, I like it not.
MIS. T. What feather is’t you’d have, sir?
These are most worn and most in fashion:
Amongst the beaver gallants, the stone riders,
The private stage’s audience, the twelvepenny-stool
gentlemen,[981]
I can inform you ’tis the general feather.
J. DAP. And therefore I mislike it: tell me of
general!
Now, a continual Simon and Jude’s rain
Beat all your feathers as flat down as pancakes!
Shew me—a—spangled feather.
MIS. T. O, to go a-feasting with;
You’d have it for a hench-boy,[982] you shall.
[_At the sempster’s shop._
OPEN. Mass, I had quite forgot!
His honour’s footman was here last night, wife;
Ha’ you done with my lord’s shirt?
MIS. O. What’s that to you, sir?
I was this morning at his honour’s lodging,
Ere such a snake as you crept out of your shell.
OPEN. O, ’twas well done, good wife!
MIS. O. I hold it better, sir,
Than if you had done’t yourself.
OPEN. Nay, so say I:
But is the countess’s smock almost done, mouse?[983]
MIS. O. Here lies the cambric, sir; but wants, I fear
me.
OPEN. I’ll resolve[984] you of that presently.
MIS. O. Heyday! O audacious groom!
Dare you presume to noble women’s linen?
Keep you your yard to measure shepherds’ holland:
I must confine you, I see that.
[_At the tobacco-shop._
GOS. What say you to this gear?[985]
LAX. I dare the arrant’st critic in tobacco
To lay one fault upon’t.
_Enter_ MOLL _in a frieze jerkin and a black
saveguard_.[986]
GOS. Life, yonder’s Moll!
LAX. Moll! which Moll?
GOS. Honest Moll.
LAX. Prithee, let’s call her.—Moll!
GOS. Moll, Moll!
GREEN. Pist, Moll![987]
MOLL. How now? what’s the matter?
GOS. A pipe of good tobacco, Moll?
MOLL. I cannot stay.
GOS. Nay, Moll, pooh, prithee, hark; but one word,
i’faith.
MOLL. Well, what is’t?
GREEN. Prithee, come hither, sirrah.
LAX. Heart, I would give but too much money to be
nibbling with that wench! life, sh’as the spirit of four
great parishes, and a voice that will drown all the
city! Methinks a brave captain might get all his
soldiers upon her, and ne’er be beholding[988] to a
company of Mile-end milksops, if he could come on and
come off quick enough: such a Moll were a marrow-bone
before an Italian; he would cry _buona roba_[989] till
his ribs were nothing but bone. I’ll lay hard siege to
her: money is that aquafortis that eats into many a
maidenhead; where the walls are flesh and blood, I’ll
ever pierce through with a golden augre. [_Aside._
GOS. Now, thy judgment, Moll? is’t not good?
MOLL. Yes, faith, ’tis very good tobacco.—How do you
sell an ounce?—Farewell.—God b’i’ you, mistress
Gallipot.
GOS. Why, Moll, Moll!
MOLL. I cannot stay now, i’faith: I am going to buy a
shag-ruff; the shop will be shut in presently.
GOS. ’Tis the maddest fantasticalest girl! I never knew
so much flesh and so much nimbleness put together.
LAX. She slips from one company to another, like a fat
eel between a Dutchman’s fingers.—I’ll watch my time for
her. [_Aside._
MIS. G. Some will not stick to say she is a man,
And some, both man and woman.
f LAX. That were excellent: she might first cuckold the
husband, and then make him do as much for the wife.
[_At the feather-shop._
MOLL. Save you; how does mistress Tiltyard?
J. DAP. Moll!
MOLL. Jack Dapper!
J. DAP. How dost, Moll?
MOLL. I’ll tell thee by and by; I go but to th’ next
shop.
J. DAP. Thou shalt find me here this hour about a
feather.
MOLL. Nay, and[990] a feather hold you in play a whole
hour, a goose will last you all the days of your life.—
Let me see a good shag-ruff. [_At the sempster’s
shop._
OPEN. Mistress Mary, that shalt thou, i’faith, and the
best in the shop.
MIS. O. How now? greetings! love-terms, with a pox,
between you! have I found out one of your haunts? I send
you for hollands, and you’re i’ th’ low countries, with
a mischief. I’m served with good ware by th’ shift; that
makes it lie dead so long upon my hands: I were as good
shut up shop, for when I open it I take nothing.
OPEN. Nay, and you fall a-ringing once, the devil cannot
stop you.—I’ll out of the belfry as fast as I can, Moll.
[_Retires._
MIS. O. Get you from my shop!
MOLL. I come to buy.
MIS. O. I’ll sell ye nothing; I warn ye my house and
shop.
MOLL. You, goody Openwork, you that prick out a poor
living,
And sew[991] many a bawdy skin-coat together;
Thou private pandress between shirt and smock;
I wish thee for a minute but a man,
Thou shouldst ne’er use more shapes; but as thou art,
I pity my revenge. Now my spleen’s up,
I would not mock it willingly.—
_Enter a Fellow, with a long rapier by his side._
Ha! be thankful;
Now I forgive thee.
MIS. O. Marry, hang thee, I never asked forgiveness in
my life.
MOLL. You, goodman swine’s face!
FEL. What, will you murder me?
MOLL. You remember, slave, how you abused me t’other
night in a tavern.
FEL. Not I, by this light!
MOLL. No, but by candle-light you did: you have tricks
to save your oaths; reservations have you? and I have
reserved somewhat for you [_strikes him_]. As you like
that, call for more; you know the sign again.
FEL. Pox on’t, had I brought any company along with me
to have borne witness on’t, ’twould ne’er have grieved
me; but to be struck and nobody by, ’tis my ill fortune
still. Why, tread upon a worm, they say ’twill turn
tail; but indeed a gentleman should have more manners.
[_Aside, and exit._
LAX. Gallantly performed, i’faith, Moll, and manfully! I
love thee for ever for’t: base rogue, had he offered but
the least counter-buff, by this hand, I was prepared for
him!
MOLL. You prepared for him? why should you be prepared
for him? was he any more than a man?
LAX. No, nor so much by a yard and a handful, London
measure.
MOLL. Why do you speak this then? do you think I cannot
ride a stone-horse, unless one lead him by th’ snaffle?
LAX. Yes, and sit him bravely; I know thou canst, Moll:
’twas but an honest mistake through love, and I’ll make
amends for’t any way. Prithee, sweet, plump Moll, when
shall thou and I go out a’ town together?
MOLL. Whither? to Tyburn, prithee?
LAX. Mass, that’s out a’ town indeed: thou hangest so
many jests upon thy friends still! I mean honestly to
Brainford,[992] Staines, or Ware.
MOLL. What to do there?
LAX. Nothing but be merry and lie together: I’ll hire a
coach with four horses.
MOLL. I thought ’twould be a beastly journey. You may
leave out one well; three horses will serve, if I play
the jade myself.
LAX. Nay, push,[993] thou’rt such another kicking wench!
Prithee, be kind, and let’s meet.
MOLL. ’Tis hard but we shall meet, sir.
LAX. Nay, but appoint the place then; there’s ten
angels[994] in fair gold, Moll: you see I do not trifle
with you; do but say thou wilt meet me, and I’ll have a
coach ready for thee.
MOLL. Why, here’s my hand, I’ll meet you, sir.
LAX. O good gold! [_Aside._]—The place, sweet Moll?
MOLL. It shall be your appointment.
LAX. Somewhat near Holborn, Moll.
MOLL. In Gray’s-Inn-Fields then.
LAX. A match.
MOLL. I’ll meet you there.
LAX. The hour?
MOLL. Three.
LAX. That will be time enough to sup at Brainford.
OPEN. I am of such a nature, sir, I cannot endure the
house when she scolds: sh’as a tongue will be heard
further in a still morning than Saint Antling’s
bell.[995] She rails upon me for foreign wenching, that
I being a freeman must needs keep a whore i’ th’
suburbs, and seek to impoverish the liberties. When we
fall out, I trouble you still to make all whole with my
wife.
GOS. No trouble at all; ’tis a pleasure to me to join
things together.
OPEN. Go thy ways, I do this but to try thy honesty,
Goshawk. [_Aside._]
[_At the feather-shop._
J. DAP. How likest thou this, Moll?
MOLL. O, singularly; you’re fitted now for a bunch.—He
looks for all the world, with those spangled feathers,
like a nobleman’s bed-post. The purity of your wench
would I fain try; she seems like Kent unconquered, and,
I believe, as many wiles are in her. O, the gallants of
these times are shallow lechers! they put not their
courtship home enough to a wench: ’tis impossible to
know what woman is throughly honest, because she’s ne’er
thoroughly tried; I am of that certain belief, there are
more queans in this town of their own making than of any
man’s provoking: where lies the slackness then? many a
poor soul would down, and there’s nobody will push ’em:
Women are courted, but ne’er soundly tried,
As many walk in spurs that never ride. [_Aside._
[_At the sempster’s shop._
MIS. O. O, abominable!
GOS. Nay, more, I tell you in private, he keeps a whore
i’ th’ suburbs.
MIS. O. O spittle[996] dealing! I came to him a
gentlewoman born: I’ll shew you mine arms when you
please, sir.
GOS. I had rather see your legs, and begin that way.
[_Aside._
MIS. O. ’Tis well known he took me from a lady’s
service, where I was well beloved of the steward: I had
my Latin tongue, and a spice of the French, before I
came to him; and now doth he keep a suburbian whore
under my nostrils?
GOS. There’s ways enough to cry quit with him: hark in
thine ear. [_Whispers her._
MIS. O. There’s a friend worth a million!
MOLL. I’ll try one spear against your chastity, mistress
Tiltyard, though it prove too short by the burgh.[997]
[_Aside._
_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.
TRAP. Mass, here she is: I’m bound already to serve
her, though it be but a sluttish trick. [_Aside._]—Bless
my hopeful young mistress with long life and great
limbs; send her the upper hand of all bailiffs and their
hungry adherents!
MOLL. How now? what art thou?
TRAP. A poor ebbing gentleman, that would gladly wait
for the young flood of your service.
MOLL. My service? what should move you to offer your
service to me, sir?
TRAP. The love I bear to your heroic spirit and
masculine womanhood.
MOLL. So, sir! put case we should retain you to us, what
parts are there in you for a gentlewoman’s service?
TRAP. Of two kinds, right worshipful; moveable and
immoveable—moveable to run of errands, and immoveable to
stand when you have occasion to use me.
MOLL. What strength have you?
TRAP. Strength, mistress Moll? I have gone up into a
steeple, and stayed the great bell as’t has been
ringing; stopt a windmill going——
MOLL. And never struck down yourself?
TRAP. Stood as upright as I do at this present.
[MOLL _trips up his heels_.
MOLL. Come, I pardon you for this; it shall be no
disgrace to you: I have struck up the heels of the high
German’s size'[998] ere now. What, not stand?
TRAP. I am of that nature, where I love, I’ll be at my
mistress’ foot to do her service.
MOLL. Why, well said; but say your mistress should
receive injury, have you the spirit of fighting in you?
durst you second her?
TRAP. Life, I have kept a bridge myself, and drove seven
at a time before me!
MOLL. Ay?
TRAP. But they were all Lincolnshire bullocks, by my
troth. [_Aside._
MOLL. Well, meet me in Gray’s Inn Fields between three
and four this afternoon, and, upon better consideration,
we’ll retain you.
TRAP. I humbly thank your good mistresship.—I’ll crack
your neck for this kindness. [_Aside, & exit._
LAX. Remember three. [MOLL _meets_ LAXTON, _and_
MOLL. Nay, if I fail you, hang me.
LAX. Good wench, i’faith!
MOLL. Who’s this? [_then_ OPENWORK.
OPEN. ’Tis I, Moll.
MOLL. Prithee, tend thy shop and prevent bastards.
OPEN. We’ll have a pint of the same wine,[999] i’faith,
Moll. [_Exit with_ MOLL.] [_Bell rings._
GOS. Hark, the bell rings! come, gentlemen. Jack Dapper,
where shall’s all munch?
J. DAP. I am for Parker’s ordinary.
LAX. He’s a good guest to’m, he deserves his board; he
draws all the gentlemen in a term-time thither. We’ll be
your followers, Jack; lead the way.—Look you, by my
faith, the fool has feathered his nest well.
[_Exeunt_ JACK DAPPER, LAXTON, GOSHAWK, _and_ GREENWIT.
_Enter_ GALLIPOT, TILTYARD, _and Servants, with
water-spaniels and a duck_.
TILT. Come, shut up your shops. Where’s master
Openwork?
MIS. G. Nay, ask not me, master Tiltyard.
TILT. Where’s his water-dog? puh—pist[1000]—hur—hur—
pist!
GAL. Come, wenches, come; we’re going all to
Hogsdon.
MIS. G. To Hogsdon, husband?
GAL. Ay, to Hogsdon, pigsnie.[1001]
MIS. G. I’m not ready, husband.
GAL. Faith, that’s well—hum—pist—pist.—
[_Spits in the dog’s mouth._
Come, mistress Openwork, you are so long!
MIS. O. I have no joy of my life, master Gallipot.
GAL. Push,[1002] let your boy lead his water-spaniel
along, and we’ll shew you the bravest sport at Parlous
Pond.[1003]—Hey, trug, hey, trug, hey, trug![1004]
here’s the best duck in England, except my wife; hey,
hey, hey! fetch, fetch, fetch!—
Come, let’s away:[1005]
Of all the year this is the sportful’st day.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Street._
_Enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE.
SEB. If a man have a free will, where should the use
More perfect shine than in his will to love?
All creatures have their liberty in that,
_Enter behind_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE _listening._
Though else kept under servile yoke and fear;
The very bond-slave has his freedom there.
Amongst a world of creatures voic’d and silent,
Must my desires wear fetters?—Yea, are you
So near? then I must break with my heart’s truth,
Meet grief at a back way.—Well: why, suppose
The two-leav’d[1006] tongues of slander or of truth
Pronounce Moll loathsome; if before my love
She appear fair, what injury have I?
I have the thing I like: in all things else
Mine own eye guides me, and I find ’em prosper.
Life! what should ail it now? I know that man
Ne’er truly loves,—if he gainsay’t he lies,—
That winks and marries with his father’s eyes:
I’ll keep mine own wide open.
_Enter_ MOLL, _and a Porter with a viol on his back_.
S. ALEX. Here’s brave wilfulness!
A made match! here she comes; they met a’ purpose.
[_Aside._
POR. Must I carry this great fiddle to your chamber,
mistress Mary?
MOLL. Fiddle, goodman hog-rubber? Some of these porters
bear so much for others, they have no time to carry wit
for themselves.
POR. To your own chamber, mistress Mary?
MOLL. Who’ll hear an ass speak? whither else, goodman
pageant-bearer? They’re people of the worst memories!
[_Exit Porter._
SEB. Why, ’twere too great a burden, love, to have
them
Carry things in their minds and a’ their backs together.
MOLL. Pardon me, sir, I thought not you so near.
S. ALEX. So, so, so! [_Aside._
SEB. I would be nearer to thee, and in that fashion
That makes the best part of all creatures honest:
No otherwise I wish it.
MOLL. Sir, I am so poor to requite you, you must look
for nothing but thanks of me: I have no humour to marry;
I love to lie a’ both sides a’ th’ bed myself: and
again, a’ th’ other side, a wife, you know, ought to be
obedient, but I fear me I am too headstrong to obey;
therefore I’ll ne’er go about it. I love you so well,
sir, for your good will, I’d be loath you should repent
your bargain after; and therefore we’ll ne’er come
together at first. I have the head now of myself, and am
man enough for a woman: marriage is but a chopping and
changing, where a maiden loses one head, and has a worse
i’ th’ place.
S. ALEX. The most comfortablest answer from a roaring
girl
That ever mine ears drunk in! [_Aside._
SEB. This were enough
Now to affright a fool for ever from thee,
When ’tis the music that I love thee for.
S. ALEX. There’s a boy spoils all again! [_Aside._
MOLL. Believe it, sir, I am not of that disdainful
temper but I could love you faithfully.
S. ALEX. A pox on you for that word! I like you not
now,
You’re a cunning roarer, I see that already. [_Aside._
MOLL. But sleep upon this once more, sir; you may chance
shift a mind to-morrow: be not too hasty to wrong
yourself; never while you live, sir, take a wife
running; many have run out at heels that have done’t.
You see, sir, I speak against myself; and if every woman
would deal with their suitor so honestly, poor younger
brothers would not be so often gulled with old cozening
widows, that turn o’er all their wealth in trust to some
kinsman, and make the poor gentleman work hard for a
pension. Fare you well, sir.
SEB. Nay, prithee, one word more.
S. ALEX. How do I wrong this girl! she puts him off
still. [_Aside._
MOLL. Think upon this in cold blood, sir: you make as
much haste as if you were a-going upon a sturgeon
voyage. Take deliberation, sir; never choose a wife as
if you were going to Virginia.[1007]
SEB. And so[1008] we parted: my too-cursed fate!
S. ALEX. She is but cunning, gives him longer time
in’t. [_Aside._
_Enter Tailor._
TAI. Mistress Moll, mistress Moll! so ho, ho, so ho!
MOLL. There, boy, there, boy! what dost thou go
a-hawking after me with a red clout on thy finger?
TAI. I forgot to take measure on you for your new
breeches.
S. ALEX. Hoyda, breeches? what, will he marry a monster
with two trinkets? what age is this! if the wife go in
breeches, the man must wear long coats[1009] like a
fool. [_Aside._
MOLL. What fiddling’s here! would not the old pattern
have served your turn?
TAI. You change the fashion: you say you’ll have the
great Dutch slop,[1010] mistress Mary.
MOLL. Why, sir, I say so still.
TAI. Your breeches, then, will take up a yard more.
MOLL. Well, pray, look it be put in then.
TAI. It shall stand round and full, I warrant you.
MOLL. Pray, make ’em easy enough.
TAI. I know my fault now, t’other was somewhat stiff
between the legs; I’ll make these open enough, I warrant
you.
S. ALEX. Here’s good gear towards![1011] I have brought
up my son to marry a Dutch slop and a French doublet; a
codpiece daughter! [_Aside._
TAI. So, I have gone as far as I can go.
MOLL. Why, then, farewell.
TAI. If you go presently to your chamber, mistress Mary,
pray, send me the measure of your thigh by some honest
body.
MOLL. Well, sir, I’ll send it by a porter presently.
[_Exit._
TAI. So you had need, it is a lusty one; both of them
would make any porter’s back ache in England.
[_Exit._
SEB. I have examin’d the best part of man,
Reason and judgment; and in love, they tell me,
They leave me uncontroll’d: he that is sway’d
By an unfeeling blood, past heat of love,
His spring-time must needs err; his watch ne’er goes
right
That sets his dial by a rusty clock.
S. ALEX. [_coming forward_] So; and which is that
rusty clock, sir, you?
SEB. The clock at Ludgate, sir; it ne’er goes true.
S. ALEX. But thou go’st falser; not thy father’s cares
Can keep thee right: when that insensible work
Obeys the workman’s art, lets off the hour,
And stops again when time is satisfied:
But thou runn’st on; and judgment, thy main wheel,
Beats by all stops, as if the work would break,
Begun with long pains for a minute’s ruin:
Much like a suffering man brought up with care,
At last bequeath’d to shame and a short prayer.
SEB. I taste you bitterer than I can deserve, sir.
S. ALEX. Who has bewitch[’d] thee, son? what devil or
drug
Hath wrought upon the weakness of thy blood,
And betray’d all her hopes to ruinous folly?
O, wake from drowsy and enchanted shame,
Wherein thy soul sits, with a golden dream
Flatter’d and poison’d! I am old, my son;
O, let me prevail quickly!
For I have weightier business of mine own
Than to chide thee: I must not to my grave
As a drunkard to his bed, whereon he lies
Only to sleep, and never cares to rise:
Let me despatch in time; come no more near her.
SEB. Not honestly? not in the way of marriage?
S. ALEX. What sayst thou? marriage? in what place? the
Sessions-house?
And who shall give the bride, prithee? an indictment?
SEB. Sir, now ye take part with the world to wrong
her.
S. ALEX. Why, wouldst thou fain marry to be pointed
at?
Alas, the number’s great! do not o’erburden’t.
Why, as good marry a beacon on a hill,
Which all the country fix their eyes upon,
As her thy folly doats on. If thou long’st
To have the story of thy infamous fortunes
Serve for discourse in ordinaries and taverns,
Thou’rt in the way; or to confound thy name,
Keep on, thou canst not miss it; or to strike
Thy wretched father to untimely coldness,
Keep the left hand still, it will bring thee to’t.
Yet, if no tears wrung from thy father’s eyes,
Nor sighs that fly in sparkles from his sorrows,
Had power to alter what is wilful in thee,
Methinks her very name should fright thee from her,
And never trouble me.
SEB. Why, is the name of Moll so fatal, sir?
S. ALEX. Many one,[1012] sir, where suspect is
enter’d;
For, seek all London from one end to t’other,
More whores of that name than of any ten other.
SEB. What’s that to her? let those blush for
themselves:
Can any guilt in others condemn her?
I’ve vow’d to love her: let all storms oppose me
That ever beat against the breast of man,
Nothing but death’s black tempest shall divide us.
S. ALEX. O, folly that can doat on nought but shame!
SEB. Put case, a wanton itch runs through one name
More than another; is that name the worse,
Where honesty sits possest in’t? it should rather
Appear more excellent, and deserve more praise,
When through foul mists a brightness it can raise.
Why, there are of the devils honest gentlemen
And well descended, keep an open house,
And some a’ th’ good man’s[1013] that are arrant knaves.
He hates unworthily that by rote contemns,
For the name neither saves nor yet condemns;
And for her honesty, I’ve made such proof on’t
In several forms, so nearly watch’d her ways,
I will maintain that strict against an army,
Excepting you, my father. Here’s her worst,
Sh’as a bold spirit that mingles with mankind,
But nothing else comes near it: and oftentimes
Through her apparel somewhat shames her birth;
But she is loose in nothing but in mirth:
Would all Molls were no worse!
S. ALEX. This way I toil in vain, and give but
aim[1014]
To infamy and ruin: he will fall;
My blessing cannot stay him: all my joys
Stand at the brink of a devouring flood,
And will be wilfully swallow’d, wilfully.
But why so vain let all these tears be lost?
I’ll pursue her to shame, and so all’s crost.
[_Aside, and exit._
SEB. He’s gone with some strange purpose, whose effect
Will hurt me little if he shoot so wide,
To think I love so blindly: I but feed
His heart to this match, to draw on the other,
Wherein my joy sits with a full wish crown’d,
Only his mood excepted, which must change
By opposite policies, courses indirect;
Plain dealing in this world takes no effect.
This mad girl I’ll acquaint with my intent,
Get her assistance, make my fortunes known:
’Twixt lovers’ hearts she’s a fit instrument,
And has the art to help them to their own.
By her advice, for in that craft she’s wise,
My love and I may meet, spite of all spies. [_Exit._
ACT III. SCENE I.
_Gray’s Inn Fields._
_Enter_ LAXTON _and Coachman_.
LAX. Coachman.
COACH. Here, sir.
LAX. There’s a tester[1015] more; prithee drive thy
coach to the hither end of Marybone-park, a fit place
for Moll to get in.
COACH. Marybone-park, sir?
LAX. Ay, it’s in our way, thou knowest.
COACH. It shall be done, sir.
LAX. Coachman.
COACH. Anon, sir.
LAX. Are we fitted with good phrampel[1016] jades?
COACH. The best in Smithfield, I warrant you, sir.
LAX. May we safely take the upper hand of any coached
velvet cap, or tuftaffety jacket? for they keep a
vild[1017] swaggering in coaches now-a-days; the
highways are stopt with them.
COACH. My life for yours, and baffle[1018] ’em too, sir:
why, they are the same jades believe it, sir, that have
drawn all your famous whores to Ware.
LAX. Nay, then they know their business; they need no
more instructions.
COACH. They’re so used to such journeys, sir, I never
use whip to ’em; for if they catch but the scent of a
wench once, they run like devils. [_Exit._[1019]
LAX. Fine Cerberus! that rogue will have the start of a
thousand ones; for whilst others trot a’ foot, he’ll
ride prancing to hell upon a coach-horse. Stay, ’tis now
about the hour of her appointment, but yet I see her
not. [_The clock strikes three._] Hark! what’s this?
one, two, three: three by the clock at Savoy; this is
the hour, and Gray’s Inn Fields the place, she swore
she’d meet me. Ha! yonder’s two Inns-a’-court men with
one wench, but that’s not she; they walk toward
Islington out of my way. I see none yet drest like her;
I must look for a shag ruff, a freize jerken, a short
sword, and a safeguard,[1020] or I get none. Why, Moll,
prithee, make haste, or the coachman will curse us anon.
_Enter_ MOLL, _dressed as a man_.
MOLL. O, here’s my gentleman! If they would keep their
days as well with their mercers as their hours with
their harlots, no bankrout[1021] would give seven score
pound for a sergeant’s place; for would you know a
catchpoll rightly derived, the corruption of a citizen
is the generation of a sergeant. How his eye hawks for
venery! [_Aside._]—Come, are you ready, sir?
LAX. Ready? for what, sir?
MOLL. Do you ask that now, sir?
Why was this meeting ’pointed?
LAX. I thought you mistook me, sir: you seem to be some
young barrister;
I have no suit in law, all my land’s sold;
I praise heaven for’t, ’t has rid me of much trouble.
MOLL. Then I must wake you, sir; where stands the
coach?
LAX. Who’s this? Moll, honest Moll?
MOLL. So young, and purblind?
You’re an old wanton in your eyes, I see that.
LAX. Thou’rt admirably suited for the Three Pigeons at
Brainford.[1022] I’ll swear I knew thee not.
MOLL. I’ll swear you did not; but you shall know me
now.
LAX. No, not here; we shall be spied, i’faith; the coach
is better: come.
MOLL. Stay. [_Puts off her cloak._
LAX. What, wilt thou untruss a point,[1023] Moll?
MOLL. Yes; here’s the point [_Draws her sword._
That I untruss; ’t has but one tag, ’t will serve though
To tie up a rogue’s tongue.
LAX. How!
MOLL. There’s the gold
With which you hir’d your hackney, here’s her pace;
She racks hard, and perhaps your bones will feel it:
Ten angels[1024] of mine own I’ve put to thine;
Win ’em, and wear ’em.
LAX. Hold, Moll! mistress Mary——
MOLL. Draw, or I’ll serve an execution on thee,
Shall lay thee up till doomsday.
LAX. Draw upon a woman! why, what dost mean, Moll?
MOLL. To teach thy base thoughts manners: thou’rt one
of those
That thinks each woman thy fond flexible whore;
If she but cast a liberal[1025] eye upon thee,
Turn back her head, she’s thine; or amongst company
By chance drink first to thee, then she’s quite gone,
There is no means to help her: nay, for a need,
Wilt swear unto thy credulous fellow-lechers,
That thou art more in favour with a lady
At first sight than her monkey all her lifetime.
How many of our sex, by such as thou,
Have their good thoughts paid with a blasted name
That never deserv’d loosely, or did trip
In path of whoredom beyond cup and lip!
But for the stain of conscience and of soul,
Better had women fall into the hands
Of an act silent than a bragging nothing;
There is no mercy in’t. What durst move you, sir,
To think me whorish? a name which I’d tear out
From the high German’s throat,[1026] if it lay
leiger[1027] there
To despatch privy slanders against me.
In thee I defy all men, their worst hates
And their best flatteries, all their golden witchcrafts,
With which they entangle the poor spirits of fools,
Distressed needle-women and trade-fallen wives;
Fish that must needs bite, or themselves be bitten:
Such hungry things as these may soon be took
With a worm fasten’d on a golden hook:
Those are the lecher’s food, his prey; he watches
For quarrelling wedlocks[1028] and poor shifting
sisters;
’Tis the best fish he takes. But why, good fisherman,
Am I thought meat for you, that never yet
Had angling rod cast towards me? ’cause, you’ll say,
I’m given to sport, I’m often merry, jest:
Had mirth no kindred in the world but lust,
O shame take all her friends then! but howe’er
Thou and the baser world censure my life,
I’ll send ’em word by thee, and write so much
Upon thy breast, ’cause thou shalt bear’t in mind,
Tell them ’twere base to yield where I have conquer’d;
I scorn to prostitute myself to a man,
I that can prostitute a man to me;
And so I greet thee.
LAX. Hear me——
MOLL. Would the spirits
Of all my sland[er]ers were clasp’d in thine,
That I might vex an army at one time! [_They fight._
LAX. I do repent me; hold!
MOLL. You’ll die the better Christian then.
LAX. I do confess I have wronged thee, Moll.
MOLL. Confession is but poor amends for wrong,
Unless a rope would follow.
LAX. I ask thee pardon.
MOLL. I’m your hir’d whore, sir!
LAX. I yield both purse and body.
MOLL. Both are mine,
And now at my disposing.
LAX. Spare my life!
MOLL. I scorn to strike thee basely.
LAX. Spoke like a noble girl, i’faith!—Heart, I think I
fight with a familiar,[1029] or the ghost of a fencer.
Sh’as wounded me gallantly. Call you this a lecherous
viage?[1030] here’s blood would have served me this
seven year in broken heads and cut fingers; and it now
runs all out together. Pox a’ the Three Pigeons![1031] I
would the coach were here now to carry me to the
chirurgeon’s. [_Aside, and exit._
MOLL. If I could meet my enemies one by one thus,
I might make pretty shift with ’em in time,
And make ’em know she that has wit and spirit,
May scorn
To live beholding[1032] to her body for meat;
Or for apparel, like your common dame,
That makes shame get her clothes to cover shame.
Base is that mind that kneels unto her body,
As if a husband stood in awe on’s wife:
My spirit shall be mistress of this house
As long as I have time in’t.—O,
_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.
Here comes my man that would be: ’tis his hour.
Faith, a good well-set fellow, if his spirit
Be answerable to his umbles:[1033] he walks stiff,
But whether he’ll stand to’t stiffly, there’s the point:
Has a good calf for’t; and ye shall have many a woman
Choose him she means to make her head by his calf:
I do not know their tricks in’t. Faith, he seems
A man without; I’ll try what he’s within.
TRAP. She told me Gray’s Inn Fields, ’twixt three and
four;
I’ll fit her mistress-ship with a piece of service:
I’m hir’d to rid the town of one mad girl.
[MOLL _jostles him_.
What a pox ails you, sir?
MOLL. He begins like a gentleman.
TRAP. Heart, is the field so narrow, or your eyesight—
Life, he comes back again!
MOLL. Was this spoke to me, sir?
TRAP. I cannot tell, sir.
MOLL. Go, you’re a coxcomb!
TRAP. Coxcomb?
MOLL. You’re a slave!
TRAP. I hope there’s law for you, sir.
MOLL. Yea, do you see, sir? [_Turns his hat._
TRAP. Heart, this is no good dealing! pray, let me know
what house you’re of.
MOLL. One of the Temple, sir. [_Fillips him._
TRAP. Mass, so methinks.
MOLL. And yet sometime I lie about Chick Lane.
TRAP. I like you the worse because you shift your
lodging so often: I’ll not meddle with you for that
trick, sir.
MOLL. A good shift; but it shall not serve your turn.
TRAP. You’ll give me leave to pass about my business,
sir?
MOLL. Your business? I’ll make you wait on me
Before I ha’ done, and glad to serve me too.
TRAP. How, sir? serve you? not if there were no more men
in England.
MOLL. But if there were no more women in England,
I hope you’d wait upon your mistress then?
TRAP. Mistress?
MOLL. O, you’re a tried spirit at a push, sir!
TRAP. What would your worship have me do?
MOLL. You a fighter!
TRAP. No, I praise heaven, I had better grace and more
manners.
MOLL. As how, I pray, sir?
TRAP. Life, ’thad been a beastly part of me to have
drawn my weapons upon my mistress; all the world would
’a cried shame of me for that.
MOLL. Why, but you knew me not.
TRAP. Do not say so, mistress; I knew you by your wide
straddle, as well as if I had been in your belly.
MOLL. Well, we shall try you further; i’ th’ mean time
We give you entertainment.
TRAP. Thank your good mistress-ship.
MOLL. How many suits have you?
TRAP. No more suits than backs, mistress.
MOLL. Well, if you deserve, I cast off this, next
week,
And you may creep into’t.
TRAP. Thank your good worship.
MOLL. Come, follow me to St. Thomas Apostle’s:
I’ll put a livery cloak upon your back
The first thing I do.
TRAP. I follow, my dear mistress. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
GALLIPOT’S _Shop_.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GALLIPOT _as from supper_, GALLIPOT
_following her_.
GAL. What, Pru! nay, sweet Prudence!
MIS. G. What a pruing keep you! I think the baby would
have a teat, it kyes[1034] so. Pray, be not so fond of
me, leave your city humours; I’m vexed at you, to see
how like a calf you come bleating after me.
GAL. Nay, honey Pru, how does your rising up before all
the table shew, and flinging from my friends so
uncivilly! fie, Pru, fie! come.
MIS. G. Then up and ride, i’faith!
GAL. Up and ride? nay, my pretty Pru, that’s far from my
thought, duck: why, mouse,[1035] thy mind is nibbling at
something; what is’t? what lies upon thy stomach?
MIS. G. Such an ass as you: hoyda, you’re best turn
midwife, or physician! you’re a ’pothecary already, but
I’m none of your drugs.
GAL. Thou art a sweet drug, sweetest Pru, and the more
thou art pounded, the more precious.
MIS. G. Must you be prying into a woman’s secrets, say
ye?
GAL. Woman’s secrets?
MIS. G. What! I cannot have a qualm come upon me, but
your teeth water[1036] till your nose hang over it!
GAL. It is my love, dear wife.
MIS. G. Your love? your love is all words; give me
deeds: I cannot abide a man that’s too fond over me,—so
cookish! Thou dost not know how to handle a woman in her
kind.
GAL. No, Pru? why, I hope I have handled—
MIS. G. Handle a fool’s head of your own,—fie, fie!
GAL. Ha, ha, ’tis such a wasp! it does me good now to
have her s[t]ing me, little rogue!
MIS. G. Now, fie, how you vex me! I cannot abide these
apron husbands;[1037] such cotqueans![1038] you overdo
your things, they become you scurvily.
GAL. Upon my life she breeds: heaven knows how I have
strained myself to please her night and day. I wonder
why we citizens should get children so fretful and
untoward in the breeding, their fathers being for the
most part as gentle as milch kine. [_Aside._]—Shall I
leave thee, my Pru?
MIS. G. Fie, fie, fie!
GAL. Thou shalt not be vexed no more, pretty, kind
rogue; take no cold, sweet Pru. [_Exit._
MIS. G. As your wit has done. Now, master Laxton, shew
your head; what news from you? would any husband suspect
that a woman crying, _Buy any scurvy-grass_, should
bring love-letters amongst her herbs to his wife? pretty
trick! fine conveyance! had jealousy a thousand eyes, a
silly woman with scurvy-grass blinds them all.
Laxton, with bays[1039]
Crown I thy wit for this, it deserves praise:
This makes me affect thee more, this proves thee wise:
’Lack, what poor shift is love forc’d to devise!—
To th’ point. [_Reads letter._] _O sweet creature_—a
sweet beginning!—_pardon my long absence, for thou shalt
shortly be possessed with my presence: though Demophoon
was false to Phyllis, I will be to thee as Pan-da-rus
was to Cres-sida;[1040] though Æneas made an ass of
Dido, I will die to thee ere I do so. O sweetest
creature, make much of me! for no man beneath the silver
moon shall make more of a woman than I do of thee:
furnish me therefore with thirty pounds; you must do it
of necessity for me; I languish till I see some comfort
come from thee. Protesting not to die in thy debt, but
rather to live, so as hitherto I have and will_,
_Thy true Laxton ever_.
Alas, poor gentleman! troth, I pity him.
How shall I raise this money? thirty pound!
’Tis thirty sure, a 3 before an 0;
I know his threes too well. My childbed linen,
Shall I pawn that for him? then if my mark
Be known, I am undone; it may be thought
My husband’s bankrout.[1041] Which way shall I turn?
Laxton, what with my own fears and thy wants,
I’m like a needle ’twixt two adamants.
_Re-enter_ GALLIPOT _hastily_.
GAL. Nay, nay, wife, the women are all up—Ha! how?
reading a’ letters? I smell a goose, a couple of capons,
and a gammon of bacon, from her mother out of the
country. I hold my life—steal, steal[1042]—— [_Aside._
MIS. G. O, beshrew your heart!
GAL. What letter’s that? I’ll see’t.
[MIS. G. _tears the letter_.
MIS. G. O, would thou hadst no eyes to see the downfal
Of me and thyself! I am for ever,
For ever I’m undone!
GAL. What ails my Pru?
What paper’s that thou tear’st?
MIS. G. Would I could tear
My very heart in pieces! for my soul
Lies on the rack of shame, that tortures me
Beyond a woman’s suffering.
GAL. What means this?
MIS. G. Had you no other vengeance to throw down,
But even in height of all my joys——
GAL. Dear woman——
MIS. G. When the full sea of pleasure and content
Seem’d to flow over me?
GAL. As thou desir’st
To keep me out of Bedlam, tell what troubles thee!
Is not thy child at nurse fallen sick, or dead?
MIS. G. O, no!
GAL. Heavens bless me! are my barns and houses
Yonder at Hockley-hole consum’d with fire?
I can build more, sweet Pru.
MIS. G. ’Tis worse, ’tis worse!
GAL. My factor broke? or is the Jonas sunk?
MIS. G. Would all we had were swallow’d in the waves,
Rather than both should be the scorn of slaves!
GAL. I’m at my wit’s end.
MIS. G. O my dear husband!
Where[1043] once I thought myself a fixed star,
Plac’d only in the heaven of thine arms,
I fear now I shall prove a wanderer.
O Laxton, Laxton! is it then my fate
To be by thee o’erthrown?
GAL. Defend me, wisdom,
From falling into frenzy! On my knees,
Sweet Pru, speak; what’s that Laxton, who so heavy
Lies on thy bosom?
MIS. G. I shall sure run mad!
GAL. I shall run mad for company then. Speak to me;
I’m Gallipot thy husband—Pru—why, Pru!
Art sick in conscience for some villanous deed
Thou wert about to act? didst mean to rob me?
Tush, I forgive thee: hast thou on my bed
Thrust my soft pillow under another’s head?
I’ll wink at all faults, Pru: ’las, that’s no more,
Than what some neighbours near thee have done before!
Sweet honey Pru, what’s that Laxton?
MIS. G. O!
GAL. Out with him!
MIS. G. O, he’s born to be my undoer!
This hand, which thou call’st thine, to him was given,
To him was I made sure[1044] i’ th’ sight of heaven.
GAL. I never heard this thunder.
MIS. G. Yes, yes, before
I was to thee contracted, to him I swore:
Since last I saw him,[1045] twelve months three times
told
The moon hath drawn through her light silver bow;
For o’er the seas he went, and it was said,
But rumour lies, that he in France was dead:
But he’s alive, O he’s alive! he sent
That letter to me, which in rage I rent;
Swearing with oaths most damnably to have me,
Or tear me from this bosom: O heavens, save me!
GAL. My heart will break; sham’d and undone for ever!
MIS. G. So black a day, poor wretch, went o’er thee
never!
GAL. If thou should’st wrestle with him at the law,
Thou’rt sure to fall. No odd slight?[1046] no
prevention?
I’ll tell him thou’rt with child.
MIS. G. Umh!
GAL. Or give out
One of my men was ta’en a-bed with thee.
MIS. G. Umh, umh!
GAL. Before I lose thee, my dear Pru,
I’ll drive it to that push.
MIS. G. Worse and worse still;
You embrace a mischief, to prevent an ill.
GAL. I’ll buy thee of him, stop his mouth with gold:
Think’st thou ’twill do?
MIS. G. O me! heavens grant it would!
Yet now my senses are set more in tune,
He writ, as I remember, in his letter,
That he in riding up and down had spent,
Ere he could find me, thirty pounds: send that;
Stand not on thirty with him.
GAL. Forty, Pru!
Say thou the word, ’tis done: we venture lives
For wealth, but must do more to keep our wives.
Thirty or forty, Pru?
MIS. G. Thirty, good sweet;
Of an ill bargain let’s save what we can:
I’ll pay it him with my tears; he was a man,
When first I knew him, of a meek spirit,
All goodness is not yet dried up, I hope.
GAL. He shall have thirty pound, let that stop all:
Love’s sweets taste best when we have drunk down gall.
_Enter_ TILTYARD, MISTRESS TILTYARD, GOSHAWK, _and_
MISTRESS OPENWORK.
God’s-so, our friends! come, come, smooth your cheek:
After a storm the face of heaven looks sleek.
TILT. Did I not tell you these turtles were together?
MIS. T. How dost thou, sirrah?[1047] why, sister
Gallipot——
MIS. O. Lord, how she’s chang’d!
GOS. Is your wife ill, sir?
GAL. Yes, indeed, la, sir, very ill, very ill, never
worse.
MIS. T. How her head burns! feel how her pulses work!
MIS. O. Sister, lie down a little; that always does me
good.
MIS. T. In good sadness,[1048] I find best ease in that
too. Has she laid some hot thing to her stomach?
MIS. G. No, but I will lay something anon.
TILT. Come, come, fools, you trouble her.—Shall’s go,
master Goshawk?
GOS. Yes, sweet master Tiltyard.—Sirrah Rosamond, I hold
my life Gallipot hath vext his wife.
MIS. O. She has a horrible high colour indeed.
GOS. We shall have your face painted with the same red
soon at night, when your husband comes from his rubbers
in a false alley: thou wilt not believe me that his
bowls run with a wrong bias.
MIS. O. It cannot sink into me that he feeds upon stale
mutton abroad, having better and fresher at home.
GOS. What if I bring thee where thou shalt see him stand
at rack and manger?
MIS. O. I’ll saddle him in’s kind, and spur him till he
kick again.
GOS. Shall thou and I ride our journey then?
MIS. O. Here’s my hand.
GOS. No more.—Come, master Tiltyard, shall we leap into
the stirrups with our women, and amble home?
TILT. Yes, yes.—Come, wife.
MIS. T. In troth, sister, I hope you will do well for
all this.
MIS. G. I hope I shall. Farewell, good sister. Sweet
master Goshawk.
GAL. Welcome, brother, most kindly welcome, sir.
ALL. Thanks, sir, for our good cheer.
[_Exeunt all but_ GALLIPOT _and_ MIS. GALLIPOT.
GAL. It shall be so: because a crafty knave
Shall not outreach me, nor walk by my door
With my wife arm in arm, as ’twere his whore,
I’ll give him a golden coxcomb, thirty pound.
Tush, Pru, what’s thirty pound? sweet duck, look
cheerly.
MIS. G. Thou’rt worthy of my heart, thou buy’st it
dearly.
_Enter_ LAXTON _muffled_.
LAX. Uds light, the tide’s against me; a pox of your
’pothecaryship! O for some glister to set him going!
’Tis one of Hercules’ labours to tread one of these city
hens, because their cocks are still crowing over them.
There’s no turning tail here, I must on. [_Aside._
MIS. G. O husband, see he comes!
GAL. Let me deal with him.
LAX. Bless you, sir.
GAL. Be you blest too, sir, if you come in peace.
LAX. Have you any good pudding tobacco, sir?
MIS. G. O, pick no quarrels, gentle sir! my husband
Is not a man of weapon, as you are;
He knows all, I have open’d all before him,
Concerning you.
LAX. Zounds, has she shewn my letters? [_Aside._
MIS. G. Suppose my case were yours, what would you do?
At such a pinch, such batteries, such assaults
Of father, mother, kindred, to dissolve
The knot you tied, and to be bound to him;
How could you shift this storm off?
LAX. If I know, hang me!
MIS. G. Besides a story of your death was read
Each minute to me.
LAX. What a pox means this riddling? [_Aside._
GAL. Be wise, sir; let not you and I be tost
On lawyers’ pens; they have sharp nibs, and draw
Men’s very heart-blood from them. What need you, sir,
To beat the drum of my wife’s infamy,
And call your friends together, sir, to prove
Your precontract, when sh’as confest it?
LAX. Umh, sir,
Has she confest it?
GAL. Sh’as, ’faith, to me, sir,
Upon your letter sending.
MIS. G. I have, I have.
LAX. If I let this iron cool, call me slave.
[_Aside._
Do you hear, you dame Prudence? think’st thou, vile
woman,
I’ll take these blows and wink?
MIS. GAL. Upon my knees. [_Kneeling._
LAX. Out, impudence!
GAL. Good sir——
LAX. You goatish slaves!
No wild fowl to cut up but mine?
GAL. Alas, sir,
You make her flesh to tremble; fright her not:
She shall do reason, and what’s fit.
LAX. I’ll have thee,
Wert thou more common than an hospital,
And more diseas’d.
GAL. But one word, good sir!
LAX. So, sir.
GAL. I married her, have lien with her, and got
Two children on her body; think but on that:
Have you so beggarly an appetite,
When I upon a dainty dish have fed
To dine upon my scraps, my leavings? ha, sir?
Do I come near you now, sir?
LAX. Byrlady,[1049] you touch me!
GAL. Would not you scorn to wear my clothes, sir?
LAX. Right, sir.
GAL. Then, pray, sir, wear not her; for she’s a
garment
So fitting for my body, I am loath
Another should put it on: you’ll undo both.
Your letter, as she said, complain’d you had spent,
In quest of her, some thirty pound; I’ll pay it:
Shall that, sir, stop this gap up ’twixt you two?
LAX. Well, if I swallow this wrong, let her thank you:
The money being paid, sir, I am gone:
Farewell. O women, happy’s he trusts none!
MIS. G. Despatch him hence, sweet husband.
GAL. Yes, dear wife:
Pray, sir, come in: ere master Laxton part,
Thou shalt in wine drink to him.
MIS. G. With all my heart.— [_Exit_ GALLIPOT.
How dost thou like my wit?
LAX. Rarely: that wile,
By which the serpent did the first woman beguile,
Did ever since all women’s bosoms fill;
You’re apple-eaters all, deceivers still. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_Holborn._
_Enter_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE, SIR DAVY DAPPER, _and_ SIR
ADAM APPLETON _on one side, and_ TRAPDOOR _on the
other_.
S. ALEX. Out with your tale, sir Davy, to sir Adam:
A knave is in mine eye deep in my debt.
S. DAVY. Nay, if he be a knave, sir, hold him fast.
[SIR D. DAPPER _and_ SIR A. APPLETON _talk apart_.
S. ALEX. Speak softly; what egg is there hatching now?
TRAP. A duck’s egg, sir, a duck that has eaten a frog; I
have cracked the shell, and some villany or other will
peep out presently: the duck that sits is the bouncing
ramp,[1050] that roaring girl my mistress; the drake
that must tread is your son Sebastian.
S. ALEX. Be quick.
TRAP. As the tongue of an oyster-wench.
S. ALEX. And see thy news be true.
TRAP. As a barber’s every Saturday night. Mad Moll——
S. ALEX. Ah——
TRAP. Must be let in, without knocking, at your back
gate.
S. ALEX. So.
TRAP. Your chamber will be made bawdy.
S. ALEX. Good.
TRAP. She comes in a shirt of mail.
S. ALEX. How? shirt of mail?
TRAP. Yes, sir, or a male shirt; that’s to say, in man’s
apparel.
S. ALEX. To my son?
TRAP. Close to your son: your son and her moon will be
in conjunction, if all almanacs lie not; her black
saveguard[1051] is turned into a deep slop, the holes of
her upper body to button-holes, her waistcoat to a
doublet, her placket[1052] to the ancient seat of a
cod-piece, and you shall take ’em both with standing
collars.
S. ALEX. Art sure of this?
TRAP. As every throng is sure of a pick-pocket; as sure
as a whore is of the clients all Michaelmas term, and of
the pox after the term.
S. ALEX. The time of their tilting?
TRAP. Three.
S. ALEX. The day?
TRAP. This.
S. ALEX. Away; ply it, watch her.
TRAP. As the devil doth for the death of a bawd; I’ll
watch her, do you catch her.
S. ALEX. She’s fast: here weave thou the nets. Hark.
TRAP. They are made.
S. ALEX. I told them thou didst owe me money: hold it
up; maintain’t.
TRAP. Stiffly, as a puritan does contention.—Pox, I owe
thee not the value of a halfpenny halter.
S. ALEX. Thou shalt be hang’d in it ere thou ’scape
so:
Varlet, I’ll make thee look th[o]rough a grate!
TRAP. I’ll do’t presently, through a tavern grate:
drawer! pish. [_Exit._
S. ADAM. Has the knave vex’d you, sir?
S. ALEX. Ask’d him my money,
He swears my son receiv’d it. O, that boy
Will ne’er leave heaping sorrow’s on my heart,
Till he has broke it quite!
S. ADAM. Is he still wild?
S. ALEX. As is a Russian bear.
S. ADAM. But he has left
His old haunt with that baggage?
S. ALEX. Worse still and worse;
He lays on me his shame, I on him my curse.
S. DAVY. My son, Jack Dapper, then shall run with him
All in one pasture.
S. ADAM. Proves your son bad too, sir?
S. DAVY. As villany can make him: your Sebastian
Doats but on one drab, mine on a thousand;
A noise of fiddlers,[1053] tobacco, wine, and a whore,
A mercer that will let him take up more,
Dice, and a water-spaniel with a duck,—O
Bring him a-bed with these: when his purse gingles,
Roaring boys[1054] follow at’s tail, fencers and
ningles,[1055]
Beasts Adam ne’er gave name to; these horse-leeches suck
My son; he being drawn dry, they all live on smoke.
S. ALEX. Tobacco?
S. DAVY. Right: but I have in my brain
A windmill going that shall grind to dust
The follies of my son, and make him wise,
Or a stark fool. Pray lend me your advice.
S. ALEX. } That shall you, good sir Davy.
S. ADAM. }
S. DAVY. Here’s the springe
I ha’ set to catch this woodcock in: an action
In a false name, unknown to him, is enter’d
I’ th’ Counter to arrest Jack Dapper.
S. ALEX. } Ha, ha, he!
S. ADAM. }
S. DAVY. Think you the Counter cannot break him?
S. ADAM. Break him?
Yes, and break’s heart too, if he lie there long.
S. DAVY. I’ll make him sing a counter-tenor sure.
S. ADAM. No way to tame him like it; there he shall
learn
What money is indeed, and how to spend it.
S. DAVY. He’s bridled there.
S. ALEX. Ay, yet knows not how to mend it.
Bedlam cures not more madmen in a year
Than one of the Counters[1056] does; men pay more dear
There for their wit than any where: a Counter!
Why, ’tis an university, who not sees?
As scholars there, so here men take degrees,
And follow the same studies all alike.
Scholars learn first logic and rhetoric;
So does a prisoner: with fine honey’d speech
At’s first coming in he doth persuade, beseech
He may be lodg’d with one that is not itchy,
To lie in a clean chamber, in sheets not lousy;
But when he has no money, then does he try,
By subtle logic and quaint sophistry,
To make the keepers trust him.
S. ADAM. Say they do.
S. ALEX. Then he’s a graduate.
S. DAVY. Say they trust him not.
S. ALEX. Then is he held a freshman and a sot,
And never shall commence;[1057] but being still barr’d,
Be expuls’d from the Master’s side[1058] to th’
Two-penny ward,
Or else i’ th’ Hole beg plac’d.[1059]
S. ADAM. When then, I pray,
Proceeds a prisoner?
S. ALEX. When, money being the theme,
He can dispute with his hard creditors’ hearts,
And get out clear, he’s then a master of arts.
Sir Davy, send your son to Wood Street college,
A gentleman can no where get more knowledge.
S. DAVY. There gallants study hard.
S. ALEX. True, to get money.
S. DAVY. Lies[1060] by th’ heels, i’faith: thanks,
thanks; I ha’ sent
For a couple of bears shall paw him.
S. ADAM. Who comes yonder?
S. DAVY. They look like puttocks;[1061] these should
be they.
_Enter_ CURTLEAX _and_ HANGER.
S. ALEX. I know ’em,
They are officers; sir, we’ll leave you.
S. DAVY. My good knights,
Leave me; you see I’m haunted now with sprites.[1062]
S. ALEX. ] Fare you well, sir. [Exeunt.
S. ADAM. ]
CUR. This old muzzle-chops should be he by the fellow’s
description.—Save you, sir.
S. DAVY. Come hither, you mad varlets; did not my man
tell you I watched here for you?
CUR. One in a blue coat,[1063] sir, told us, that in
this place an old gentleman would watch for us; a thing
contrary to our oath, for we are to watch for every
wicked member in a city.
S. DAVY. You’ll watch then for ten thousand: what’s thy
name, honesty?
CUR. Sergeant Curtleax I, sir.
S. DAVY. An excellent name for a sergeant, Curtleax:
Sergeants indeed are weapons of the law;
When prodigal ruffians far in debt are grown,
Should not you cut them, citizens were o’erthrown.
Thou dwell’st hereby in Holborn, Curtleax?
CUR. That’s my circuit, sir; I conjure most in that
circle.
S. DAVY. And what young toward whelp is this?
HAN. Of the same litter; his yeoman, sir; my name’s
Hanger.
S. DAVY. Yeoman Hanger:
One pair of shears sure cut out both your coats;
You have two names most dangerous to men’s throats;
You two are villanous loads on gentlemen’s backs;
Dear ware this Hanger and this Curtleax!
CUR. We are as other men are, sir; I cannot see but he
who makes a shew of honesty and religion, if his claws
can fasten to his liking, he draws blood: all that live
in the world are but great fish and little fish, and
feed upon one another; some eat up whole men, a sergeant
cares but for the shoulder of a man. They call us knaves
and curs; but many times he that sets us on worries more
lambs one year than we do in seven.
S. DAVY. Spoke like a noble Cerberus! is the action
entered?
HAN. His name is entered in the book of unbelievers.
S. DAVY. What book’s that?
CUR. The book where all prisoners’ names stand; and not
one amongst forty, when he comes in, believes to come
out in haste.
S. DAVY. Be as dogged to him as your office allows you
to be.
BOTH. O sir!
S. DAVY. You know the unthrift, Jack Dapper?
CUR. Ay, ay, sir, that gull, as well as I know my
yeoman.
S. DAVY. And you know his father too, sir Davy Dapper?
CUR. As damned a usurer as ever was among Jews: if he
were sure his father’s skin would yield him any money,
he would, when he dies, flay it off, and sell it to
cover drums for children at Bartholomew fair.
S. DAVY. What toads are these to spit poison on a man to
his face! [_Aside._]—Do you see, my honest rascals?
yonder Greyhound is the dog he hunts with; out of that
tavern Jack Dapper will sally: sa, sa; give the counter;
on, set upon him!
BOTH. We’ll charge him upo’ th’ back, sir.
S. DAVY. Take no bail; put mace[1064] enough into his
caudle; double your files, traverse your ground.
BOTH. Brave, sir.
S. DAVY. Cry arm, arm, arm!
BOTH. Thus, sir.
S. DAVY. There, boy, there, boy! away: look to your
prey, my true English wolves; and so I vanish.
[_Exit._
CUR. Some warden of the sergeants begat this old fellow,
upon my life: stand close.
HAN. Shall the ambuscado lie in one place?
CUR. No; nook thou yonder. [_They retire._
_Enter_ MOLL _and_ TRAPDOOR.
MOLL. Ralph.
TRAP. What says my brave captain male and female?
MOLL. This Holborn is such a wrangling street!
TRAP. That’s because lawyers walk[1065] to and fro in’t.
MOLL. Here’s such jostling, as if every one we met were
drunk and reeled.
TRAP. Stand, mistress! do you not smell carrion?
MOLL. Carrion? no; yet I spy ravens.
TRAP. Some poor, wind-shaken gallant will anon fall into
sore labour, and these men-midwives[1066] must bring him
to bed i’ the counter: there all those that are great
with child with debts lie in.
MOLL. Stand up.
TRAP. Like your new Maypole.
HAN. Whist, whew!
CUR. Hump, no.
MOLL. Peeping? it shall go hard, huntsmen, but I’ll
spoil your game. They look for all the world like two
infected malt-men coming muffled up in their cloaks in a
frosty morning to London.
TRAP. A course, captain; a bear comes to the stake.
_Enter_ JACK DAPPER _and_ GULL.
MOLL. It should be so, for the dogs struggle to be let
loose.
HAN. Whew!
CUR. Hemp.
MOLL. Hark, Trapdoor, follow your leader.
J. DAP. Gull.
GULL. Master?
J. DAP. Didst ever see such an ass as I am, boy?
GULL. No, by my troth, sir; to lose all your money, yet
have false dice of your own; why, ’tis as I saw a great
fellow used t’other day; he had a fair sword and
buckler, and yet a butcher dry beat him with a cudgel.
TRAP.[1067] Honest servant, fly!
MOLL. Fly, master Dapper! you’ll be arrested else.
J. DAP. Run, Gull, and draw.
GULL. Run, master; Gull follows you.
[_Exeunt_ DAPPER _and_ GULL.
CUR. [MOLL _holding him_] I know you well enough; you’re
but a whore to hang upon any man!
MOLL. Whores, then, are like sergeants; so now hang
you.—Draw, rogue, but strike not: for a broken pate
they’ll keep their beds, and recover twenty marks[1068]
damages.
CUR. You shall pay for this rescue.—Run down Shoe Lane
and meet him.
TRAP. Shu! is this a rescue, gentlemen, or no?
MOLL. Rescue? a pox on ’em! Trapdoor, let’s away;
[_Exeunt_ CURTLEAX _and_ HANGER.’s
I’m glad I’ve done perfect one good work to-day.
If any gentleman be in scrivener’s bands,
Send but for Moll, she’ll bail him by these hands.
[_Exeunt._
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_A Room in_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE’S _House_.
_Enter_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE.
S. ALEX. Unhappy in the follies of a son,
Led against judgment, sense, obedience,
And all the powers of nobleness and wit!
_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.
O wretched father!—Now, Trapdoor, will she come?
TRAP. In man’s apparel, sir; I’m in her heart now,
And share in all her secrets.
S. ALEX. Peace, peace, peace!
Here, take my German watch,[1069] hang’t up in sight,
That I may see her hang in English for’t.
TRAP. I warrant you for that now, next sessions rids
her, sir. This watch will bring her in better than a
hundred constables. [_Hangs up the watch._
S. ALEX. Good Trapdoor, sayst thou so? thou cheer’st my
heart
After a storm of sorrow. My gold chain too;
Here, take a hundred marks[1070] in yellow links.
TRAP. That will do well to bring the watch to light,
sir;
And worth a thousand of your headborough’s lanterns.
S. ALEX. Place that a’ the court-cupboard;[1071] let
it lie
Full in the view of her thief-whorish eye.
TRAP. She cannot miss it, sir; I see’t so plain,
That I could steal’t myself.
[_Places the chain._
S. ALEX. Perhaps thou shalt too,
That or something as weighty: what she leaves
Thou shalt come closely in and filch away,
And all the weight upon her back I’ll lay.
TRAP. You cannot assure that, sir.
S. ALEX. No? what lets[1072] it?
TRAP. Being a stout girl, perhaps she’ll desire
pressing;
Then all the weight must lie upon her belly.
S. ALEX. Belly or back I care not, so I’ve one.
TRAP. You’re of my mind for that, sir.
S. ALEX. Hang up my ruff-band with the diamond at it;
It may be she’ll like that best.
TRAP. It’s well for her, that she must have her choice;
he thinks nothing too good for her. [_Aside._]—If you
hold on this mind a little longer, it shall be the first
work I do to turn thief myself; [’t]would do a man good
to be hanged when he is so well provided for.
[_Hangs up the ruff-band._
S. ALEX. So, well said; all hangs well: would she hung
so too!
The sight would please me more than all their
glisterings.
O that my mysteries[1073] to such straits should run,
That I must rob myself to bless my son! [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE, MARY FITZALLARD _disguised
as a Page, and_ MOLL _in her male dress_.
SEB. Thou’st done me a kind office, without touch
Either of sin or shame; our loves are honest.
MOLL. I’d scorn to make such shift to bring you together
else.
SEB. Now have I time and opportunity
Without all fear to bid thee welcome, love!
[_Kisses Mary._
MARY. Never with more desire and harder venture!
MOLL. How strange this shews, one man to kiss another!
SEB. I’d kiss such men to choose, Moll;
Methinks a woman’s lip tastes well in a doublet.
MOLL. Many an old madam has the better fortune then,
Whose breaths grew stale before the fashion came:
If that will help ’em, as you think ’twill do,
They’ll learn in time to pluck on the hose[1074] too.
SEB. The older they wax, Moll, troth I speak
seriously,
As some have a conceit their drink tastes better
In an outlandish cup than in our own,
So methinks every kiss she gives me now
In this strange form is worth a pair of two.
Here we are safe, and furthest from the eye
Of all suspicion; this is my father’s chamber,
Upon which floor he never steps till night:
Here he mistrusts me not, nor I his coming;
At mine own chamber he still pries unto me,
My freedom is not there at mine own finding,
Still check’d and curb’d; here he shall miss his
purpose.
MOLL. And what’s your business, now you have your
mind, sir?
At your great suit I promis’d you to come:
I pitied her for name’s sake, that a Moll
Should be so crost in love, when there’s so many
That owe[1075] nine lays[1076] a-piece, and not so
little.
My tailor fitted her; how like you his work?
SEB. So well, no art can mend it, for this purpose:
But to thy wit and help we’re chief in debt,
And must live still beholding.[1077]
MOLL. Any honest pity
I’m willing to bestow upon poor ring-doves.
SEB. I’ll offer no worse play.
MOLL. Nay, and[1078] you should, sir,
I should draw first, and prove the quicker man.
SEB. Hold, there shall need no weapon at this meeting;
But ’cause thou shalt not loose thy fury idle,
Here take this viol, run upon the guts,
And end thy quarrel singing.
[_Takes down, and gives her, a viol._
MOLL. Like a swan above bridge;[1079]
For look you here’s the bridge, and here am I.
SEB. Hold on, sweet Moll!
MARY. I’ve heard her much commended, sir, for one
That was ne’er taught.
MOLL. I’m much beholding to ’em.
Well, since you’ll needs put us together, sir,
I’ll play my part as well as I can: it shall ne’er
Be said I came into a gentleman’s chamber,
And let his instrument hang by the walls.
SEB. Why, well said, Moll, i’faith; it had been a shame
for that gentleman then that would have let it hung
still, and ne’er offered thee it.
MOLL. There it should have been still then for Moll;
For though the world judge impudently of me,
I never came into that chamber yet
Where I took down the instrument myself.
SEB. Pish, let ’em prate abroad; thou’rt here where thou
art known and loved; there be a thousand close dames
that will call the viol[1080] an unmannerly instrument
for a woman, and therefore talk broadly of thee, when
you shall have them sit wider to a worse quality.
MOLL. Push,[1081]
I ever fall asleep and think not of ’em, sir;
And thus I dream.
SEB. Prithee, let’s hear thy dream, Moll.
MOLL [_sings_].
_I dream there is a mistress,
And she lays out the money_;
_She goes unto her sisters,
She never comes at any._
_Re-enter_ SIR ALEXANDER _behind_.
_She says she went to th’ Burse[1082] for patterns;
You shall find her at Saint Kathern’s,
And comes home with never a penny._
SEB. That’s a free mistress, faith!
S. ALEX. Ay, ay, ay,
Like her that sings it; one of thine own choosing.
[_Aside._
MOLL. But shall I dream again?
[_Sings._] _Here comes a wench will brave ye;
Her courage was so great,
She lay with one o’ the navy,
Her husband lying i’ the Fleet.
Yet oft with him she cavell’d;[1083]
I wonder what she ails:
Her husband’s ship lay gravell’d,
When her’s could hoise up sails:
Yet she began, like all my foes,
To call whore first; for so do those—
A pox of all false tails!_
SEB. Marry, amen, say I!
S. ALEX. So say I too. [_Aside._
MOLL. Hang up the viol now, sir: all this while
I was in a dream; one shall lie rudely then;
But being awake, I keep my legs together.
A watch? what’s a’ clock here?
S. ALEX. Now, now she’s trapt! [_Aside._
MOLL. Between[1084] one and two; nay, then I care not. A
watch and a musician are cousin-germans in one thing,
they must both keep time well, or there’s no goodness in
’em; the one else deserves to be dashed against a wall,
and t’other to have his brains knocked out with a
fiddle-case.
What! a loose chain and a dangling diamond?
Here were a brave booty for an evening thief now:
There’s many a younger brother would be glad
To look twice in at a window for’t,
And wriggle in and out, like an eel in a sand-bag.
O, if men’s secret youthful faults should judge ’em,
’Twould be the general’st execution
That e’er was seen in England!
There would be but few left to sing the ballads,
There would be so much work: most of our brokers
Would be chosen for hangmen; a good day for them;
They might renew their wardrobes of free cost then.
SEB. This is the roaring wench must do us good.
MARY. No poison, sir, but serves us for some use;
Which is confirm’d in her.
SEB. Peace, peace—
’Foot, I did hear him sure, where’er he be.
MOLL. Who did you hear?
SEB. My father;
’Twas like a sigh[1085] of his: I must be wary.
S. ALEX. No? wilt not be? am I alone so wretched
That nothing takes? I’ll put him to his plunge[1086]
for’t.
[_Aside._
SEB. Life! here he comes.—Sir, I beseech you take it;
Your way of teaching does so much content me,
I’ll make it four pound; here’s forty shillings, sir—
I think I name it right—help me, good Moll—
Forty in hand. [_Offering money._
MOLL. Sir, you shall pardon me:
I’ve more of the meanest scholar I can teach;
This pays me more than you have offer’d yet.
SEB. At the next quarter,
When I receive the means my father ’lows me,
You shall have t’other forty.
S. ALEX. This were well now,
Were’t to a man whose sorrows had blind eyes;
But mine behold his follies and untruths
With two clear glasses. [_Aside—then coming forward._]
How now?
SEB. Sir?
S. ALEX. What’s he there?
SEB. You’re come in good time, sir; I’ve a suit to
you;
I’d crave your present kindness.
S. ALEX. What’s he there?
SEB. A gentleman, a musician, sir; one of excellent
fingering.
S. ALEX. Ay, I think so;—I wonder how they ’scap’d her.
[_Aside._
SEB. Has the most delicate stroke, sir.
S. ALEX. A stroke indeed!—I feel it at my heart.
[_Aside._
SEB. Puts down all your famous musicians.
S. ALEX. Ay,—a whore may put down a hundred of ’em.
[_Aside._
SEB. Forty shillings is the agreement, sir, between
us:
Now, sir, my present means mounts but to half on’t.
S. ALEX. And he stands upon the whole?
SEB. Ay, indeed does he, sir.
S. ALEX. And will do still; he’ll ne’er be in other
tale.
SEB. Therefore I’d stop his mouth, sir, and[1087] I
could.
S. ALEX. Hum, true; there is no other way indeed;—
His folly hardens, shame must needs succeed.—
[_Aside._
Now, sir, I understand you profess music.
MOLL. I’m a poor servant to that liberal science, sir.
S. ALEX. Where is’t you teach?
MOLL. Right against Clifford’s Inn.
S. ALEX. Hum, that’s a fit place for’t: you’ve many
scholars?
MOLL. And some of worth, whom I may call my masters.
S. ALEX. Ay, true, a company of whoremasters.
[_Aside._
You teach to sing too?
MOLL. Marry, do I, sir.
S. ALEX. I think you’ll find an apt scholar of my son,
Especially for prick-song.
MOLL. I’ve much hope of him.
S. ALEX. I’m sorry for’t, I have the less for that.
[_Aside._
You can play any lesson?
MOLL. At first sight, sir.
S. ALEX. There’s a thing call’d the Witch; can you
play that?
MOLL. I would be sorry any one should mend me in’t.
S. ALEX. Ay, I believe thee; thou’st so bewitch’d my
son,
No care will mend the work that thou hast done.
I have bethought myself, since my art fails,
I’ll make her policy the art to trap her.
Here are four angels[1088] mark’d with holes in them
Fit for his crack’d companions: gold he’ll give her;
These will I make induction to her ruin,
And rid shame from my house, grief from my heart.
[_Aside._
Here, son, in what you take content and pleasure,
Want shall not curb you; pay the gentleman
His latter half in gold. [_Gives money._
SEB. I thank you, sir.
S. ALEX. O may the operation on’t end three;
In her, life, shame in him, and grief in me!
[_Aside, and exit._
SEB. Faith, thou shalt have ’em; ’tis my father’s
gift:
Never was man beguil’d with better shift.
MOLL. He that can take me for a male musician,
I can’t choose but make him my instrument,
And play upon him. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Before_ GALLIPOT’S _Shop_.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GALLIPOT _and_ MISTRESS OPENWORK.
MIS. G. Is, then, that bird of yours, master Goshawk,
so wild?
MIS. O. A Goshawk? a puttock;[1089] all for prey: he
angles for fish, but he loves flesh better.
MIS. G. Is’t possible his smooth face should have
wrinkles in’t, and we not see them?
MIS. O. Possible? why, have not many handsome legs in
silk stockings villanous splay feet, for all their great
roses?[1090]
MIS. G. Troth, sirrah,[1091] thou sayst true.
MIS. O. Didst never see an archer, as thou’st walked by
Bunhill, look a-squint when he drew his bow?
MIS. G. Yes, when his arrows have fline[1092] toward
Islington, his eyes have shot clean contrary towards
Pimlico.
MIS. O. For all the world so does master Goshawk double
with me.
MIS. G. O, fie upon him! if he double once, he’s not for
me.
MIS. O. Because Goshawk goes in a shag-ruff band, with a
face sticking up in’t which shews like an agate set in a
cramp ring,[1093] he thinks I’m in love with him.
MIS. G. ’Las, I think he takes his mark amiss in thee!
MIS. O. He has, by often beating into me, made me
believe that my husband kept a whore.
MIS. G. Very good.
MIS. O. Swore to me that my husband this very morning
went in a boat, with a tilt over it, to the Three
Pigeons[1094] at Brainford, and his punk with him under
his tilt.
MIS. G. That were wholesome.
MIS. O. I believed it; fell a-swearing at him, cursing
of harlots; made me ready to hoise up sail and be there
as soon as he.
MIS. G. So, so.
MIS. O. And for that voyage Goshawk comes hither
incontinently:[1095] but, sirrah, this water-spaniel
dives after no duck but me; his hope is having me at
Brainford, to make me cry quack.
MIS. G. Art sure of it?
MIS. O. Sure of it? my poor innocent Openwork came in as
I was poking my ruff:[1096] presently hit I him i’ the
teeth with the Three Pigeons; he forswore all, I up and
opened all; and now stands he in a shop hard by, like a
musket on a rest,[1097] to hit Goshawk i’ the eye, when
he comes to fetch me to the boat.
MIS. G. Such another lame gelding offered to carry me
through thick and thin,—Laxton, sirrah,—but I am rid of
him now.
MIS. O. Happy is the woman can be rid of ’em all! ’las,
what are your whisking gallants to our husbands, weigh
’em rightly, man for man?
MIS. G. Troth, mere shallow things.
MIS. O. Idle, simple things, running heads; and yet let
’em run over us never so fast, we shopkeepers, when
all’s done, are sure to have ’em in our pursenets[1098]
at length; and when they are in, lord, what simple
animals they are! then they hang the head——
MIS. G. Then they droop——
MIS. O. Then they write letters——
MIS. G. Then they cog[1099]——
MIS. O. Then deal they underhand with us, and we must
ingle[1100] with our husbands a-bed; and we must swear
they are our cousins, and able to do us a pleasure at
court.
MIS. G. And yet, when we have done our best, all’s but
put into a riven dish;[1101] we are but frumped[1102] at
and libelled upon.
MIS. O. O, if it were the good Lord’s will there were a
law made, no citizen should trust any of ’em all!
_Enter_ GOSHAWK.
MIS. G. Hush, sirrah! Goshawk flutters.
GOS. How now? are you ready?
MIS. O. Nay, are you ready? a little thing, you see,
makes us ready.
GOS. Us? why, must she make one i’ the voyage?
MIS. O. O, by any means! do I know how my husband will
handle me?
GOS. ’Foot, how shall I find water to keep these two
mills going? [_Aside._]—Well, since you’ll needs be
clapped under hatches, if I sail not with you both till
all split,[1103] hang me up at the mainyard and duck
me.—It’s but liquoring them both soundly, and then you
shall see their cork-heels fly up high, like two swans
when their tails are above water, and their long necks
under water diving to catch gudgeons. [_Aside._]—Come,
come, oars stand ready; the tide’s with us; on with
those false faces; blow winds, and thou shalt take thy
husband casting out his net to catch fresh salmon at
Brainford.[1104]
MIS. G. I believe you’ll eat of a cod’s head of your own
dressing before you reach half way thither.
[_Aside_—_She and_ MISTRESS O. _mask themselves_.
GOS. So, so, follow close; pin as you go.
_Enter_ LAXTON _muffled_.
LAX. Do you hear?
MIS. G. Yes, I thank my ears.
LAX. I must have a bout with your ’pothecaryship.
MIS. G. At what weapon?
LAX. I must speak with you.
MIS. G. No.
LAX. No? you shall.
MIS. G. Shall? away, souced sturgeon! half fish, half
flesh.
LAX. Faith, gib,[1105] are you spitting? I’ll cut your
tail, puss-cat, for this.
MIS. G. ’Las, poor Laxton, I think thy tail’s cut
already! your worst.
LAX. If I do not—— [_Exit._
GOS. Come, ha’ you done?
_Enter_ OPENWORK.
’S foot, Rosamond, your husband!
OPEN. How now? sweet master Goshawk! none more
welcome;
I’ve wanted your embracements: when friends meet,
The music of the spheres sounds not more sweet
Than does their conference. Who’s this? Rosamond?
Wife? how now, sister?
GOS. Silence, if you love me!
OPEN. Why mask’d?
MIS. O. Does a mask grieve you, sir?
OPEN. It does.
MIS. O. Then you’re best get you a mumming.[1106]
GOS. ’Sfoot, you’ll spoil all!
MIS. G. May not we cover our bare faces with masks,
As well as you cover your bald heads with hats?
OPEN. No masks; why they’re thieves to beauty, that
rob eyes
Of admiration in which true love lies.
Why are masks worn? why good? or why desir’d?
Unless by their gay covers wits are fir’d
To read the vildest[1107] looks: many bad faces,
Because rich gems are treasur’d up in cases,
Pass by their privilege current; but as caves
Damn misers’ gold, so masks are beauties’ graves.
Men ne’er meet women with such muffled eyes,
But they curse her that first did masks devise,
And swear it was some beldam. Come, off with’t.
MIS. O. I will not.
OPEN. Good faces mask’d are jewels kept by
sprites;[1108]
Hide none but bad ones, for they poison men’s sights;
Shew, then, as shopkeepers do their broider’d stuff,
By owl-light; fine wares can’t be open enough.
Prithee, sweet Rose, come, strike this sail.
MIS. O. Sail?
OPEN. Ha!
Yes, wife, strike sail, for storms are in thine eyes.
MIS. O. They’re here, sir, in my brows, if any rise.
OPEN. Ha, brows?—What says she, friend? pray, tell me
why
Your two flags[1109] were advanc’d; the comedy,
Come, what’s the comedy?
MIS. G.[1110] _Westward ho._[1111]
OPEN. How?
MIS. O. ’Tis _Westward ho_, she says.
GOS. Are you both mad?
MIS. O. Is’t market-day at Brainford, and your ware
Not sent up yet?
OPEN. What market-day? what ware?
MIS. O. A pie with three pigeons in’t: ’tis drawn,
And stays your cutting up.
GOS. As you regard my credit——
OPEN. Art mad?
MIS. O. Yes, lecherous goat, baboon!
OPEN. Baboon? then toss me in a blanket.
MIS. O. Do I it well?
MIS. G. Rarely.
GOS. Belike, sir, she’s not well; best leave her.
OPEN. No;
I’ll stand the storm now, how fierce soe’er it blow.
MIS. O. Did I for this lose all my friends, refuse
Rich hopes and golden fortunes, to be made
A stale[1112] to a common whore?
OPEN. This does amaze me.
MIS. O. O God, O God! feed at reversion now?
A strumpet’s leaving?
OPEN. Rosamond!
GOS. I sweat; would I lay in Cold Harbour![1113]
[_Aside._
MIS. O. Thou’st struck ten thousand daggers through my
heart!
OPEN. Not I, by heaven, sweet wife!
MIS. O. Go, devil, go; that which thou swear’st by
damns thee!
GOS. ’S heart, will you undo me?
MIS. O. Why stay you here? the star by which you sail
Shines yonder above Chelsea; you lose your shore;
If this moon light you, seek out your light whore.
OPEN. Ha!
MIS. G. Push,[1114] your western pug![1115]
GOS. Zounds, now hell roars!
MIS. O. With whom you tilted in a pair of oars
This very morning.
OPEN. Oars?
MIS. O. At Brainford, sir.
OPEN. Rack not my patience.—Master Goshawk,
Some slave has buzz’d this into her, has he not?
I run a tilt in Brainford with a woman?
’Tis a lie!
What old bawd tells thee this? ’s death, ’tis a lie!
MIS. O. ’Tis one [who] to thy face shall justify
All that I speak.
OPEN. Ud’soul, do but name that rascal!
MIS. O. No, sir, I will not.
GOS. Keep thee there, girl, then! [_Aside._
OPEN.[1116] Sister, know you this varlet?
MIS. G. Yes.
OPEN. Swear true;
Is there a rogue so low damn’d? a second Judas?—
A common hangman, cutting a man’s throat,
Does it to his face,—bite me behind my back?
A cur dog? swear if you know this hell-hound.
MIS. G. In truth, I do.
OPEN. His name?
MIS. G. Not for the world;
To have you to stab him.
GOS. O brave girls, worth gold![1117] [_Aside._
OPEN. A word, honest master Goshawk.
[_Drawing his sword._
GOS. What do you mean, sir?
OPEN. Keep off, and if the devil can give a name
To this new fury, holla it through my ear,
Or wrap it up in some hid character.
I’ll ride to Oxford, and watch out mine eyes,
But I will hear the Brazen Head[1118] speak, or else
Shew me but one hair of his head or beard,
That I may sample it. If the fiend I meet
In mine own house, I’ll kill him; [in] the street,
Or at the church-door,—there, ’cause he seeks t’ untie
The knot God fastens, he deserves most to die.
MIS. O. My husband titles him!
OPEN. Master Goshawk, pray, sir,
Swear to me that you know him, or know him not,
Who makes me at Brainford to take up a petticoat
Besides my wife’s.
GOS. By heaven, that man I know not!
MIS. O. Come, come, you lie!
GOS. Will you not have all out?
By heaven, I know no man beneath the moon
Should do you wrong, but if I had his name,
I’d print it in text letters.
MIS. O. Print thine own then:
Did’st not thou swear to me he kept his whore?
MIS. G. And that in sinful Brainford they’d commit
That which our lips did water at, sir,—ha?
MIS. O. Thou spider that hast woven thy cunning web
In mine own house t’ ensnare me! hast not thou
Suck’d nourishment even underneath this roof,
And turn’d it all to poison, spitting it
On thy friend’s face, my husband, (he as ’twere
sleeping,)
Only to leave him ugly to mine eyes,
That they might glance on thee?
MIS. G. Speak, are these lies?
GOS. Mine own shame me confounds!
OPEN.[1119] No more; he’s stung.
Who’d think that in one body there could dwell
Deformity and beauty, heaven and hell?
Goodness I see is but outside; we all set
In rings of gold stones that be counterfeit:
I thought you none.
GOS. Pardon me!
OPEN. Truth I do:
This blemish grows in nature, not in you;
For man’s creation stick[s] even moles in scorn
On fairest cheeks.—Wife, nothing’s perfect born.
MIS. O. I thought you had been born perfect.
OPEN. What’s this whole world but a gilt rotten pill?
For at the heart lies the old core still.
I’ll tell you, master Goshawk, ay, in your eye
I have seen wanton fire; and then, to try
The soundness of my judgment, I told you
I kept a whore, made you believe ’twas true,
Only to feel how your pulse beat; but find
The world can hardly yield a perfect friend.
Come, come, a trick of youth, and ’tis forgiven;
This rub put by, our love shall run more even.
MIS. O. You’ll deal upon men’s wives no more?
GOS. No; you teach me
A trick for that.
MIS. O. Troth, do not; they’ll o’erreach thee.
OPEN. Make my house yours, sir, still.
GOS. No.
OPEN. I say you shall:
Seeing thus besieg’d it holds out, ’twill never fall.
_Enter_ GALLIPOT, _followed by_ GREENWIT _disguised as a
sumner;[1120] and_ LAXTON _muffled aloof off_.[1121]
OPEN. } How now?
GOS., _&c._[1122] }
GAL. With me, sir?
GREEN. You, sir. I have gone snuffling[1123] up and down
by your door this hour, to watch for you.
MIS. G. What’s the matter, husband?
GREEN. I have caught a cold in my head, sir, by sitting
up late in the Rose tavern; but I hope you understand my
speech.
GAL. So, sir.
GREEN. I cite you by the name of Hippocrates Gallipot,
and you by the name of Prudence Gallipot, to appear upon
_Crastino_,—do you see?—_Crastino sancti Dunstani_, this
Easter term, in Bow Church.
GAL. Where, sir? what says he?
GREEN. Bow, Bow Church, to answer to a libel of
precontract on the part and behalf of the said Prudence
and another: you’re best, sir, take a copy of the
citation, ’tis but twelvepence.
OPEN. } A citation!
GOS., _&c._ }
GAL. You pocky-nosed rascal, what slave fees you to
this?
LAX. [_coming forward_] Slave? I ha’ nothing to do with
you; do you hear, sir?
GOS. Laxton, is’t not? What fagary[1124] is this?
GAL. Trust me, I thought, sir, this storm long ago
Had been full laid, when, if you be remember’d,[1125]
I paid you the last fifteen pound, besides
The thirty you had first; for then you swore——
LAX. Tush, tush, sir, oaths,—
Truth, yet I’m loath to vex you—tell you what,
Make up the money I had an hundred pound,
And take your bellyful of her.
GAL. An hundred pound?
MIS. G. What, a hundred pound? he gets none: what, a
hundred pound?
GAL. Sweet Pru, be calm; the gentleman offers thus:
If I will make the moneys that are past
A hundred pound, he will discharge all courts,
And give his bond never to vex us more.
MIS. G. A hundred pound? ’Las, take, sir, but
threescore!
Do you seek my undoing?
LAX. I’ll not ’bate one sixpence.—
I’ll maul you, puss, for spitting.
MIS. G. Do thy worst.—
Will fourscore stop thy mouth?
LAX. No.
MIS. G. You’re a slave;
Thou cheat, I’ll now tear money from thy throat.—
Husband, lay hold on yonder tawny-coat.[1126]
GREEN. Nay, gentlemen, seeing your women are so hot, I
must lose my hair[1127] in their company, I see.
[_Takes off his false hair._
MIS. O. His hair sheds off, and yet he speaks not so
much in the nose as he did before.
GOS. He has had the better chirurgeon.—Master Greenwit,
is your wit so raw as to play no better a part than a
sumner’s?
GAL. I pray, who plays _A knack to know an honest
man_,[1128] in this company?
MIS. G. Dear husband, pardon me, I did dissemble,
Told thee I was his precontracted wife,
When letters came from him for thirty pound:
I had no shift but that.
GAL. A very clean shift,
But able to make me lousy: on.
MIS. G. Husband, I pluck’d,
When he had tempted me to think well of him,
Gelt feathers[1129] from thy wings, to make him fly
More lofty.
GAL. A’ the top of you, wife: on.
MIS. G. He having wasted them, comes now for more,
Using me as a ruffian doth his whore,
Whose sin keeps him in breath. By heaven, I vow,
Thy bed he ne’er wrong’d more than he does now!
GAL. My bed? ha, ha! like enough; a shop-board will
serve
To have a cuckold’s coat cut out upon:
Of that we’ll talk hereafter.—You’re a villain.
LAX. Hear me but speak, sir, you shall find me none.
OPEN. } Pray, sir, be patient, and hear him.
GOS., _&c._ }
GAL. I’m muzzl’d for biting, sir; use me how you will.
LAX. The first hour that your wife was in my eye,
Myself with other gentlemen sitting by
In your shop tasting smoke, and speech being us’d,
That men who’ve fairest wives are most abus’d,
And hardly scape[1130] the horn, your wife maintain’d
That only such spots in city dames were stain’d
Justly but by men’s slanders: for her own part,
She vow’d that you had so much of her heart,
No man, by all his wit, by any wile
Never so fine-spun, should yourself beguile
Of what in her was yours.
GAL. Yet, Pru, ’tis well.—
Play out your game at Irish,[1131] sir: who wins?
MIS. O. The trial is when she comes to bearing.[1132]
LAX. I scorn’d one woman thus should brave all men,
And, which more vex’d me, a she-citizen;
Therefore I laid siege to her: out she held,
Gave many a brave repulse, and me compell’d
With shame to sound retreat to my hot lust:
Then, seeing all base desires rak’d up in dust,
And that[1133] to tempt her modest ears, I swore
Ne’er to presume again: she said, her eye
Would ever give me welcome honestly;
And, since I was a gentleman, if’t run low,
She would my state relieve, not to o’erthrow
Your own and hers: did so; then seeing I wrought
Upon her meekness, me she set at nought;
And yet to try if I could turn that tide,
You see what stream I strove with; but, sir, I swear
By heaven, and by those hopes men lay up there,
I neither have nor had a base intent
To wrong your bed! what’s done, is merriment:
Your gold I pay back with this interest,
When I’d most power to do’t, I wrong’d you least.
GAL. If this no gullery be, sir——
OPEN. } No, no, on my life!
GOS., _&c._ }
GAL. Then, sir, I am beholden—not to you, wife,—
But, master Laxton, to your want of doing
Ill, which it seems you have not.—Gentlemen,
Tarry and dine here all.
OPEN. Brother, we’ve a jest,
As good as yours, to furnish out a feast.
Gal. We’ll crown our table with’t.—Wife, brag no more
Of holding out: who most brags is most whore.
[_Exeunt._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_A Street._
_Enter_ JACK DAPPER, MOLL, SIR BEAUTEOUS GANYMEDE, _and_
SIR THOMAS LONG.
J. DAP. But, prithee, master captain Jack, be plain and
perspicuous with me; was it your Meg of Westminster’s
courage[1134] that rescued me from the Poultry
puttocks[1135] indeed?
MOLL. The valour of my wit, I ensure you, sir, fetched
you off bravely, when you were i’ the forlorn hope among
those desperates. Sir Beauteous Ganymede here, and sir
Thomas Long, heard that cuckoo, my man Trapdoor, sing
the note of your ransom from captivity.
S. BEAU. Uds so, Moll, where’s that Trapdoor?
MOLL. Hanged, I think, by this time: a justice in
this town, that speaks nothing but _make a mittimus,
away with him to Newgate_, used that rogue like a
firework,[1136] to run upon a line betwixt him and
me.
ALL. How, how?
MOLL. Marry, to lay trains of villany to blow up my
life: I smelt the powder, spied what linstock[1137]
gave fire to shoot against the poor captain of the
galley-foist,[1138] and away slid I my man like a
shovel-board shilling.[1139] He strouts[1140] up and
down the suburbs, I think, and eats up whores, feeds
upon a bawd’s garbage.
S. THO. Sirrah, Jack Dapper——
J. DAP. What sayst, Tom Long?
S. THO. Thou hadst a sweet-faced boy, hail-fellow with
thee, to your little Gull: how is he spent?
J. DAP. Troth, I whistled the poor little buzzard off a’
my fist, because, when he waited upon me at the
ordinaries, the gallants hit me i’ the teeth still, and
said I looked like a painted alderman’s tomb, and the
boy at my elbow like a death’s head.—Sirrah Jack, Moll——
MOLL. What says my little Dapper?
S. BEAU. Come, come; walk and talk, walk and talk.
J. DAP. Moll and I’ll be i’ the midst.
MOLL. These knights shall have squires’ places belike
then: well, Dapper, what say you?
J. DAP. Sirrah captain, mad Mary, the gull my own
father, Dapper Sir Davy, laid these London
boot-halers,[1141] the catchpolls, in ambush to set upon
me.
ALL. Your father? away, Jack!
J. DAP. By the tassels of this handkercher, ’tis true:
and what was his warlike stratagem, think you? he
thought, because a wicker cage tames a nightingale, a
lousy prison could make an ass of me.
ALL. A nasty plot!
J. DAP. Ay, as though a Counter, which is a park in
which all the wild beasts of the city run head by head,
could tame me!
MOLL. Yonder comes my lord Noland.
_Enter_ LORD NOLAND.
ALL. Save you, my lord.
L. NOL. Well met, gentlemen all.—Good sir Beauteous
Ganymede, sir Thomas Long,—and how does master Dapper?
J. DAP. Thanks, my lord.
MOLL. No tobacco, my lord?
L. NOL. No, faith, Jack.
J. DAP. My lord Noland, will you go to Pimlico with us?
we are making a boon voyage to that nappy land of
spice-cakes.
L. NOL. Here’s such a merry ging,[1142] I could find in
my heart to sail to the world’s end with such company:
come, gentlemen, let’s on.
J. DAP. Here’s most amorous weather, my lord.
ALL. Amorous weather! [_They walk._
J. DAP. Is not amorous a good word?
_Enter_ TRAPDOOR _disguised as a poor soldier with a
patch over one eye, and_ TEARCAT _all in tatters_.
TRAP. Shall we set upon the infantry, these troops of
foot? Zounds, yonder comes Moll, my whorish master and
mistress! would I had her kidneys between my teeth!
TEAR. I had rather have a cow-heel.
TRAP. Zounds, I am so patched up, she cannot discover
me: we’ll on.
TEAR. _Alla corago_[1143] then!
TRAP. Good your honours and worships, enlarge the ears
of commiseration, and let the sound of a hoarse military
organ-pipe penetrate your pitiful bowels, to extract out
of them so many small drops of silver as may give a hard
straw-bed lodging to a couple of maimed soldiers.
J. DAP. Where are you maimed?
TEAR. In both our nether limbs.
MOLL. Come, come, Dapper, let’s give ’em something:
’las, poor men! what money have you? by my troth, I love
a soldier with my soul.
S. BEAU. Stay, stay; where have you served?
S. THO. In any part of the Low Countries?
TRAP. Not in the Low Countries, if it please your
manhood, but in Hungary against the Turk at the siege of
Belgrade.
L. NOL. Who served there with you, sirrah?
TRAP. Many Hungarians, Moldavians, Vallachians, and
Transylvanians, with some Sclavonians; and retiring
home, sir, the Venetian galleys took us prisoners, yet
freed us, and suffered us to beg up and down the
country.
J. DAP. You have ambled all over Italy, then?
TRAP. O sir, from Venice to Roma, Vecchia,
Bononia,[1144] Romagna, Bologna, Modena, Piacenza,
and Tuscana, with all her cities, as Pistoia,
Volterra,[1145] Montepulciano, Arezzo; with the
Siennois, and divers others.
MOLL. Mere rogues! put spurs to ’em once more.
J. DAP. Thou lookest like a strange creature, a fat
butter-box, yet speakest English: what art thou?
TEAR. _Ich, mine here? ich bin den ruffling Tearcat, den
brave soldado; ich bin dorich all Dutchlant gereisen;
der schellum das meer ine beasa ine woert gaeb, ich
slaag um stroakes on tom cop; dastich den hundred touzun
divel halle, frollich, mine here._
S. BEAU. Here, here; let’s be rid of their
jobbering.[1146]
[_About to give money._
MOLL. Not a cross,[1147] sir Beauteous.—You base rogues,
I have taken measure of you better than a tailor can;
and I’ll fit you, as you, monster with one eye, have
fitted me.
TRAP. Your worship will not abuse a soldier?
MOLL. Soldier? thou deservest to be hanged up by that
tongue which dishonours so noble a profession: soldier?
you skeldering[1148] varlet! hold, stand; there should
be a trapdoor here abouts.
[_Pulls off his patch._
TRAP. The balls of these glasiers[1149] of mine, mine
eyes, shall be shot up and down in any hot piece of
service for my invincible mistress.
J. DAP. I did not think there had been such knavery in
black patches[1150] as now I see.
MOLL. O sir, he hath been brought up in the Isle of
Dogs,[1151] and can both fawn like a spaniel, and bite
like a mastiff, as he finds occasion.
L. NOL. What are you, sirrah? a bird of this feather
too?
TEAR. A man beaten from the wars, sir.
S. THO. I think so, for you never stood to fight.
J. DAP. What’s thy name, fellow soldier?
TEAR. I am called by those that have seen my valour,
Tearcat.
ALL. Tearcat?
MOLL. A mere whip-jack,[1152] and that is, in the
commonwealth of rogues, a slave that can talk of
sea-fight, name all your chief pirates, discover more
countries to you than either the Dutch, Spanish, French,
or English ever found out; yet indeed all his service is
by land, and that is to rob a fair, or some such
venturous exploit. Tearcat? ’foot, sirrah, I have your
name, now I remember me, in my book of horners; horns
for the thumb,[1153] you know how.
TEAR. No indeed, captain Moll, for I know you by sight,
I am no such nipping Christian,[1154] but a maunderer
upon the pad,[1155] I confess; and meeting with honest
Trapdoor here, whom you had cashiered from bearing arms,
out at elbows, under your colours, I instructed him in
the rudiments of roguery, and by my map made him sail
over any country you can name, so that now he can
maunder better than myself.
J. DAP. So, then, Trapdoor, thou art turned soldier now?
TRAP. Alas, sir, now there’s no wars, ’tis the safest
course of life I could take!
MOLL. I hope, then, you can cant, for by your cudgels,
you, sirrah, are an upright man.[1156]
TRAP. As any walks the highway, I assure you.
MOLL. And, Tearcat, what are you? a wild rogue,[1157] an
angler,[1158] or a ruffler?[1159]
TEAR. Brother to this upright man, flesh and blood;
ruffling Tearcat is my name, and a ruffler is my style,
my title, my profession.
MOLL. Sirrah, where’s your doxy? halt not with me.
ALL. Doxy, Moll? what’s that?
MOLL. His wench.
TRAP. My doxy? I have, by the salomon,[1160] a doxy
that carries a kinchin mort in her slate[1161] at her
back, besides my dell and my dainty wild dell,[1162]
with all whom I’ll tumble this next darkmans in the
strommel,[1163] and drink ben baufe, and eat a fat
gruntling cheat, a cackling cheat, and a quacking
cheat.
J. DAP. Here’s old[1164] cheating!
TRAP. My doxy stays for me in a bousing ken,[1165] brave
captain.
MOLL. He says his wench stays for him in an ale-house.—
You are no pure rogues![1166]
TEAR. Pure rogues? no, we scorn to be pure rogues; but
if you come to our lib ken or our stalling ken,[1167]
you shall find neither him nor me a queer cuffin.[1168]
MOLL. So, sir, no churl of you.
TEAR. No, but a ben cove, a brave cove, a gentry cuffin.
L. NOL. Call you this canting?
J. DAP. Zounds, I’ll give a school-master half-a-crown
a-week, and teach me this pedlar’s French.[1169]
TRAP. Do but stroll, sir, half a harvest with us, sir,
and you shall gabble your bellyful.
MOLL. Come, you rogue, cant with me.
S. THO. Well said, Moll.—Cant with her, sirrah, and you
shall have money, else not a penny.
TRAP. I’ll have a bout, if she please.
MOLL. Come on, sirrah!
TRAP. Ben mort,[1170] shall you and I heave a bough,
mill a ken, or nip a bung, and then we’ll couch a
hogshead under the ruffmans, and there you shall wap
with me, and I’ll niggle with you.
MOLL. Out, you damned impudent rascal!
TRAP. Cut benar[1171] whids, and hold your fambles and
your stamps.
L. NOL. Nay, nay, Moll, why art thou angry? what was his
gibberish?
MOLL. Marry, this, my lord, says he: _Ben mort_, good
wench, _shall you and I heave a bough,[1172] mill a ken,
or nip a bung_? shall you and I rob a house, or cut a
purse?
ALL. Very good.
MOLL. _And then we’ll couch a hogshead under the
ruffmans_; and then we’ll lie under a hedge.
TRAP. That was my desire, captain, as ’tis fit a soldier
should lie.
MOLL. _And there you shall wap with me, and I’ll niggle
with you_,—and that’s all.
S. BEAU. Nay, nay, Moll, what’s that wap?
J. DAP. Nay, teach me what niggling is; I’d fain be
niggling.
MOLL. Wapping and niggling is all one, the rogue my man
can tell you.
TRAP. ’Tis fadoodling, if it please you.
S. BEAU. This is excellent! One fit more, good Moll.
MOLL. Come, you rogue, sing with me.
_Song by_ MOLL _and_ TEARCAT.[1173]
_A gage[1174] of ben rom-bouse
In a bousing ken of Rom-vile,
Is benar than a caster,
Peck, pennam, lay, or popler,
Which we mill in deuse a vile.
O I wud lib all the lightmans,
O I wud lib all the darkmans,
By the salomon, under the ruffmans,
By the salomon, in the hartmans,
And scour the queer cramp ring,
And couch till a palliard dock’d my dell,
So my bousy nab might skew rom-bouse well.
Avast to the pad, let us bing;
Avast to the pad, let us bing._
ALL. Fine knaves, i’faith!
J. DAP. The grating of ten new cart-wheels, and the
gruntling of five hundred hogs coming from Rumford
market, cannot make a worse noise than this canting
language does in my ears. Pray, my lord Noland, let’s
give these soldiers their pay.
S. BEAU. Agreed, and let them march.
L. NOL. Here, Moll. [_Gives money._
MOLL. Now I see that you are stalled to the rogue,[1175]
and are not ashamed of your professions: look you, my
lord Noland here and these gentlemen bestow[1176] upon
you two two boards[1177] and a half, that’s two
shillings sixpence.
TRAP. Thanks to your lordship.
TEAR. Thanks, heroical captain.
MOLL. Away!
TRAP. We shall cut ben whids[1178] of your masters and
mistress-ship wheresoever we come.
MOLL. You’ll maintain, sirrah, the old justice’s plot to
his face?
TRAP. Else trine me on the cheats,[1179]—hang me.
MOLL. Be sure you meet me there.
TRAP. Without any more maundering,[1180] I’ll do’t.—
Follow, brave Tearcat.
TEAR. _I præ, sequor_; let us go, mouse.[1181]
[_Exeunt_ TRAPDOOR _and_ TEARCAT.
L. NOL. Moll, what was in that canting song?
MOLL. Troth, my lord, only a praise of good drink, the
only milk which these wild beasts love to suck, and thus
it was:
_A rich cup of wine,
O it is juice divine!
More wholesome for the head
Than meat, drink, or bread:
To fill my drunken pate
With that, I’d sit up late;
By the heels would I lie,
Under a lowsy hedge die,
Let a slave have a pull
At my whore, so I be full
Of that precious liquor_:
and a parcel of such stuff, my lord, not worth the
opening.
_Enter a Cutpurse very gallant,[1182] with four or five
others, one having a wand._
L. NOL. What gallant comes yonder?
S. THO. Mass, I think I know him; ’tis one of
Cumberland.
FIRST CUT. Shall we venture to shuffle in amongst yon
heap of gallants, and strike?[1183]
SEC. CUT. ’Tis a question whether there be any silver
shells[1184] amongst them, for all their satin outsides.
THE REST. Let’s try.
MOLL. Pox on him, a gallant? Shadow me, I know him; ’tis
one that cumbers the land indeed: if he swim near to the
shore of any of your pockets, look to your purses.
L. NOL. } Is’t possible?
S. BEAU., _&c._[1185] }
MOLL. This brave[1182] fellow is no better than a foist.
L. NOL. } Foist! what’s that?
S. BEAU., _&c._ }
MOLL. A diver with two fingers, a pick-pocket; all his
train study the figging-law,[1186] that’s to say,
cutting of purses and foisting. One of them is a nip; I
took him once i’ the two-penny gallery[1187] at the
Fortune: then there’s a cloyer, or snap, that dogs any
new brother in that trade, and snaps will have half in
any booty. He with the wand is both a stale, whose
office is to face a man i’ the streets, whilst shells
are drawn by another, and then with his black conjuring
rod in his hand, he, by the nimbleness of his eye and
juggling stick, will, in cheaping a piece of plate at a
goldsmith’s stall, make four or five rings mount from
the top of his _caduceus_, and, as if it were at
leap-frog, they skip into his hand presently.
SEC. CUT. Zounds, we are smoked!
THE REST.[1188] Ha!
SEC. CUT. We are boiled,[1189] pox on her! see, Moll,
the roaring drab!
FIRST CUT. All the diseases of sixteen hospitals boil
her!—Away!
MOLL. Bless you, sir.
FIRST CUT. And you, good sir.
MOLL. Dost not ken me, man?
FIRST CUT. No, trust me, sir.
MOLL. Heart, there’s a knight, to whom I’m bound for
many favours, lost his purse at the last new play i’ the
Swan,[1190] seven angels[1191] in’t: make it good,
you’re best; do you see? no more.
FIRST CUT. A synagogue[1192] shall be called, mistress
Mary; disgrace me not; _pacus palabros_,[1193] I will
conjure for you: farewell. _Exit with his companions._
MOLL. Did not I tell you, my lord?
L. NOL. I wonder how thou camest to the knowledge of
these nasty villains.
S. THO. And why do the foul mouths of the world call
thee Moll Cutpurse? a name, methinks, damned and odious.
MOLL. Dare any step forth to my face and say,
I’ve ta’en thee doing so, Moll? I must confess,
In younger days, when I was apt to stray,
I’ve sat amongst such adders; seen their stings,
As any here might, and in full play-houses
Watch’d their quick-diving hands, to bring to shame
Such rogues, and in that stream met an ill name.
When next, my lord, you spy any one of those,
So he be in his art a scholar, question him;
Tempt him with gold to open the large book
Of his close villanies; and you yourself shall cant
Better than poor Moll can, and know more laws
Of cheators, lifters, nips, foists, puggards,
curbers,[1194]
With all the devil’s black-guard,[1195] than it’s fit
Should be discover’d to a noble wit.
I know they have their orders, offices,
Circuits, and circles, unto which they’re bound
To raise their own damnation in.
J. DAP. How dost thou know it?
MOLL. As you do; I shew’t you, they to me shew it.
Suppose, my lord, you were in Venice——
L. NOL. Well.
MOLL. If some Italian pander there would tell
All the close tricks of courtesans, would not you
Hearken to such a fellow?
L. NOL. Yes.
MOLL. And here,
Being come from Venice, to a friend most dear
That were to travel thither, you’d proclaim
Your knowledge in those villanies, to save
Your friend from their quick danger: must you have
A black ill name, because ill things you know?
Good troth, my lord, I’m made Moll Cutpurse so.
How many are whores in small ruffs and still looks!
How many chaste whose names fill Slander’s books!
Were all men cuckolds whom gallants in their scorns
Call so, we should not walk for goring horns.
Perhaps for my mad going some reprove me;
I please myself, and care not else who love[1196] me.
L. NOL. } A brave mind, Moll, i’faith!
S. BEAU., _&c._ }
S. THO. Come, my lord, shall’s to the ordinary?
L. NOL. Ay, ’tis noon sure.
MOLL. Good my lord, let not my name condemn me to you,
or to the world: a fencer I hope may be called a coward;
is he so for that? If all that have ill names in London
were to be whipt, and to pay but twelve-pence a-piece to
the beadle, I would rather have his office than a
constable’s.
J. DAP. So would I, captain Moll: ’twere a sweet
tickling office, i’faith. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_A Garden attached to_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE’S _house_.
_Enter_ SIR ALEXANDER WENGRAVE, GOSHAWK, GREENWIT, _and
others_.
S. ALEX. My son marry a thief, that impudent girl,
Whom all the world stick their worst eyes upon!
GREEN. How will your care prevent it?
GOS. ’Tis impossible:
They marry close, they’re gone, but none knows whither.
S. ALEX. O gentlemen, when have[1197] a father’s
heart-strings
_Enter Servant._
Held out so long from breaking?—Now what news, sir?
SER. They were met upo’ th’ water an hour since, sir,
Putting in towards the Sluice.
S. ALEX. The Sluice? come, gentlemen,
’Tis Lambeth works against us. [_Exit Servant._
GREEN. And that Lambeth
Joins more mad matches than your six wet towns[1198]
’Twixt that and Windsor Bridge, where fares lie soaking.
S. ALEX. Delay no time, sweet gentlemen: to
Blackfriars!
We’ll take a pair of oars, and make after ’em.
_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.
TRAP. Your son and that bold masculine ramp[1199] my
mistress
Are landed now at Tower.
S. ALEX. Hoyda, at Tower?
TRAP. I heard it now reported.
S. ALEX. Which way, gentlemen,
Shall I bestow my care? I’m drawn in pieces
Betwixt deceit and shame.
_Enter_ SIR GUY FITZALLARD.
S. GUY. Sir Alexander,
You are well met, and most rightly servèd;
My daughter was a scorn to you.
S. ALEX. Say not so, sir.
S. GUY. A very abject she, poor gentlewoman!
Your house had been dishonour’d. Give you joy, sir,
Of your son’s gascoyne-bride![1200] you’ll be a
grandfather shortly
To a fine crew of roaring sons and daughters;
’Twill help to stock the suburbs passing well, sir.
S. ALEX. O, play not with the miseries of my heart!
Wounds should be drest and heal’d, not vex’d, or left
Wide open, to the anguish of the patient,
And scornful air let in; rather let pity
And advice charitably help to refresh ’em.
S. GUY. Who’d place his charity so unworthily?
Like one that gives alms to a cursing beggar:
Had I but found one spark of goodness in you
Toward my deserving child, which then grew fond
Of your son’s virtues, I had eas’d you now;
But I perceive both fire of youth and goodness
Are rak’d up in the ashes of your age,
Else no such shame should have come near your house,
Nor such ignoble sorrow touch your heart.
S. ALEX. If not for worth, for pity’s sake assist me!
GREEN. You urge a thing past sense; how can he help
you?
All his assistance is as frail as ours:
Full as uncertain where’s the place that holds ’em;
One brings us water-news; then comes another
With a full-charg’d mouth, like a culverin’s voice,
And he reports the Tower: whose sounds are truest?
GOS. In vain you flatter him.—Sir Alexander——
S. GUY. I flatter him? gentlemen, you wrong me
grossly.
GREEN. He does it well, i’faith.
S. GUY. Both news are false,
Of Tower or water; they took no such way yet.
S. ALEX. O strange! hear you this, gentlemen? yet more
plunges.[1201]
S. GUY. They’re nearer than you think for, yet more
close
Than if they were further off.
S. ALEX. How am I lost
In these distractions!
S. GUY. For your speeches, gentlemen,
In taxing me for rashness, ’fore you all
I will engage my state to half his wealth,
Nay, to his son’s revenues, which are less,
And yet nothing at all till they come from him,
That I could, if my will stuck to my power,
Prevent this marriage yet, nay, banish her
For ever from his thoughts, much more his arms.
S. ALEX. Slack not this goodness, though you heap upon
me
Mountains of malice and revenge hereafter!
I’d willingly resign up half my state to him,
So he would marry the meanest drudge I hire.
GREEN. He talks impossibilities, and you believe ’em.
S. GUY. I talk no more than I know how to finish,
My fortunes else are his that dares stake with me.
The poor young gentleman I love and pity;
And to keep shame from him (because the spring
Of his affection was my daughter’s first,
Till his frown blasted all), do but estate him
In those possessions which your love and care
Once pointed out for him, that he may have room
To entertain fortunes of noble birth,
Where now his desperate wants cast[1202] him upon her;
And if I do not, for his own sake chiefly,
Rid him of this disease that now grows on him,
I’ll forfeit my whole state, before these gentlemen.
GREEN. Troth, but you shall not undertake such
matches;
We’ll persuade so much with you.
S. ALEX. Here’s my ring; [_Gives ring._
He will believe this token. ’Fore these gentlemen
I will confirm it fully: all those lands
My first love ’lotted him, he shall straight possess
In that refusal.
S. GUY. If I change it not,
Change me into a beggar.
GREEN. Are you mad, sir?
S. GUY. ’Tis done.
GOS. Will you undo yourself by doing,
And shew a prodigal trick in your old days?
S. ALEX. ’Tis a match, gentlemen.
S. GUY. Ay, ay, sir, ay.
I ask no favour, trust to you for none;
My hope rests in the goodness of your son. [_Exit._
GREEN. He holds it up well yet.
GOS. Of an old knight, i’faith.
S. ALEX. Curst be the time I laid his first love
barren,
Wilfully barren, that before this hour
Had sprung forth fruits of comfort and of honour!
He lov’d a virtuous gentlewoman.
_Enter_ MOLL _in her male dress_.
GOS. Life, here’s Moll!
GREEN. Jack?
GOS. How dost thou, Jack?
MOLL. How dost thou, gallant?
S. ALEX. Impudence, where’s my son?
MOLL. Weakness, go look him.
S. ALEX. Is this your wedding gown?
MOLL. The man talks monthly:[1203]
Hot broth and a dark chamber for the knight!
I see he’ll be stark mad at our next meeting. [_Exit._
GOS. Why, sir, take comfort now, there’s no such
matter,
No priest will marry her, sir, for a woman
Whiles that shape’s on; and it was never known
Two men were married and conjoin’d in one:
Your son hath made some shift to love another.
S. ALEX. Whate’er she be, she has my blessing with
her:
May they be rich and fruitful, and receive
Like comfort to their issue as I take
In them! has pleas’d me now; marrying not this,
Through a whole world he could not choose amiss.
GREEN. Glad you’re so penitent for your former sin,
sir.
GOS. Say he should take a wench with her smock-dowry,
No portion with her but her lips and arms?
S. ALEX. Why, who thrive better, sir? they have most
blessing,
Though other have more wealth, and least repent:
Many that want most know the most content.
GREEN. Say he should marry a kind youthful sinner?
S. ALEX. Age will quench that; any offence but theft
And drunkenness, nothing but death can wipe away;
Their sins are green even when their heads are grey.
Nay, I despair not now; my heart’s cheer’d, gentlemen;
No face can come unfortunately to me.—
_Re-enter Servant._
Now, sir, your news?
SER. Your son, with his fair bride,
Is near at hand.
S. ALEX. Fair may their fortunes be!
GREEN. Now you’re resolv’d,[1204] sir, it was never
she.
S. ALEX. I find it in the music of my heart.
_Enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE _leading in_ MOLL _in her
female dress and masked, and_ SIR GUY FITZALLARD.
See where they come.
GOS. A proper lusty presence, sir.
S. ALEX. Now has he pleas’d me right: I always
counsell’d him
To choose a goodly, personable creature:
Just of her pitch was my first wife his mother.
SEB. Before I dare discover my offence,
I kneel for pardon. [_Kneels._
S. ALEX. My heart gave it thee
Before thy tongue could ask it:
Rise; thou hast rais’d my joy to greater height
Than to that seat where grief dejected it.
Both welcome to my love and care for ever!
Hide not my happiness too long; all’s pardon’d;
Here are our friends.—Salute her, gentlemen.
[_They unmask her._
ALL. Heart, who’s this? Moll!
S. ALEX. O my reviving shame! is’t I must live
To be struck blind? be it the work of sorrow,
Before age take’t in hand!
S. GUY. Darkness and death!
Have you deceiv’d me thus? did I engage
My whole estate for this?
S. ALEX. You ask’d no favour,
And you shall find as little: since my comforts
Play false with me, I’ll be as cruel to thee
As grief to fathers’ hearts.
MOLL. Why, what’s the matter with you,
’Less too much joy should make your age forgetful?
Are you too well, too happy?
S. ALEX. With a vengeance!
MOLL. Methinks you should be proud of such a daughter,
As good a man as your son.
S. ALEX. O monstrous impudence!
MOLL. You had no note before, an unmark’d knight;
Now all the town will take regard on you,
And all your enemies fear you for my sake:
You may pass where you list, through crowds most thick,
And come off bravely with your purse unpick’d.
You do not know the benefits I bring with me;
No cheat dares work upon you with thumb[1205] or knife,
While you’ve a roaring girl to your son’s wife.
S. ALEX. A devil rampant!
S. GUY. Have you so much charity
Yet to release me of my last rash bargain,
And I’ll give in your pledge?
S. ALEX. No, sir, I stand to’t;
I’ll work upon advantage, as all mischiefs
Do upon me.
S. GUY. Content. Bear witness all, then,
His are the lands; and so contention ends:
Here comes your son’s bride ’twixt two noble friends.
_Enter_ LORD NOLAND _and_ SIR BEAUTEOUS GANYMEDE
_with_ MARY FITZALLARD _between them_; GALLIPOT,
TILTYARD, OPENWORK, _and their Wives_.
MOLL. Now are you gull’d as you would be; thank me
for’t,
I’d a forefinger in’t.
SEB. Forgive me, father!
Though there before your eyes my sorrow feign’d,
This still was she for whom true love complain’d.
S. ALEX. Blessings eternal, and the joys of angels,
Begin your peace here to be sign’d in heaven!
How short my sleep of sorrow seems now to me,
To this eternity of boundless comforts,
That finds no want but utterance and expression!
My lord, your office here appears so honourably,
So full of ancient goodness, grace, and worthiness,
I never took more joy in sight of man
Than in your comfortable presence now.
L. NOL. Nor I more delight in doing grace to virtue
Than in this worthy gentlewoman your son’s bride,
Noble Fitzallard’s daughter, to whose honour
And modest fame I am a servant vow’d;
So is this knight.
S. ALEX. Your loves make my joys proud.
Bring forth those deeds of land my care laid ready,
[_Exit Servant, who presently returns with deeds._'
And which, old knight, thy nobleness may challenge,
Join’d with thy daughter’s virtues, whom I prize now
As dearly as that flesh I call mine own.
Forgive me, worthy gentlewoman; ’twas my blindness:
When I rejected thee, I saw thee not;
Sorrow and wilful rashness grew like films
Over the eyes of judgment; now so clear
I see the brightness of thy worth appear.
MARY. Duty and love may I deserve in those!
And all my wishes have a perfect close.
S. ALEX. That tongue can never err, the sound’s so
sweet.
Here, honest son, receive into thy hands
The keys of wealth, possession of those lands
Which my first care provided; they’re thine own;
Heaven give thee a blessing with ’em! the best joys
That can in worldly shapes to man betide
Are fertile lands and a fair fruitful bride,
Of which I hope thou’rt sped.
SEB. I hope so too, sir.
MOLL. Father and son, I ha’ done you simple service
here.
SEB. For which thou shalt not part, Moll, unrequited.
S. ALEX. Thou’rt a mad girl, and yet I cannot now
Condemn thee.
MOLL. Condemn me? troth, and[1206] you should, sir,
I’d make you seek out one to hang in my room:
I’d give you the slip at gallows, and cozen the people.
Heard you this jest, my lord?
L. NOL. What is it, Jack?
MOLL. He was in fear his son would marry me,
But never dreamt that I would ne’er agree.
L. NOL. Why, thou had’st a suitor once, Jack: when
wilt marry?
MOLL. Who, I, my lord? I’ll tell you when, i’faith;
When you shall hear
Gallants void from sergeants’ fear,
Honesty and truth unslander’d,
Woman mann’d, but never pander’d,
Cheats[1207] booted, but not coach’d,
Vessels older ere they’re broach’d;
If my mind be then not varied,
Next day following I’ll be married.
L. NOL. This sounds like doomsday.
MOLL. Then were marriage best;
For if I should repent, I were soon at rest.
S. ALEX. In troth thou’rt a good wench: I’m sorry now
The opinion was so hard I conceiv’d of thee:
_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.
Some wrongs I’ve done thee.
TRAP. Is the wind there now?
’Tis time for me to kneel and confess first,
For fear it come too late, and my brains feel it.
[_Aside._
Upon my paws I ask you pardon, mistress!
MOLL. Pardon! for what, sir? what has your rogueship
done now?
TRAP. I’ve been from time to time hir’d to confound
you
By this old gentleman.
MOLL. How?
TRAP. Pray, forgive him:
But may I counsel you, you should never do’t.
Many a snare t’ entrap your worship’s life
Have I laid privily; chains, watches, jewels;
And when he saw nothing could mount you up,
Four hollow-hearted angels[1208] he then gave you,
By which he meant to trap you, I to save you.
S. ALEX. To all which shame and grief in me cry
guilty.
Forgive me: now I cast the world’s eyes from me,
And look upon thee freely with mine own,
I see the most of many wrongs before me,[1209]
Cast from the jaws of Envy and her people,
And nothing foul but that. I’11 never more
Condemn by common voice, for that’s the whore
That deceives man’s opinion, mocks his trust,
Cozens his love, and makes his heart unjust.
MOLL. Here be the angels, gentlemen; they were
As a musician: I pursue no pity;
Follow the law, and[1210] you can cuck[1211] me, spare
not;
Hang up my viol by me, and I care not.
S. ALEX. So far I’m sorry, I’ll thrice double ’em,
To make thy wrongs amends.
Come, worthy friends, my honourable lord,
Sir Beauteous Ganymede, and noble Fitzallard,
And you kind gentlewomen,[1212] whose sparkling presence
Are glories set in marriage, beams of society,
For all your loves give lustre to my joys:
The happiness of this day shall be remember’d
At the return of every smiling spring;
In my time now ’tis born; and may no sadness
Sit on the brows of men upon that day,
But as I am, so all go pleas’d away! [_Exeunt omnes._
EPILOGUE.
A painter having drawn with curious art
The picture of a woman, every part
Limn’d to the life, hung out the piece to sell.
People who pass’d along, viewing it well,
Gave several verdicts on it: some disprais’d
The hair; some said the brows too high were rais’d;
Some hit her o’er the lips, mislik’d their colour;
Some wish’d her nose were shorter; some, the eyes
fuller;
Others said roses on her cheeks should grow,
Swearing they look’d too pale; others cried no.
The workman still, as fault was found, did mend it,
In hope to please all: but this work being ended,
And hung open at stall, it was so vile,
So monstrous, and so ugly, all men did smile
At the poor painter’s folly. Such, we doubt,
Is this our comedy: some perhaps do flout
The plot, saying, ’tis too thin, too weak, too mean;
Some for the person will revile the scene,
And wonder that a creature of her being
Should be the subject of a poet, seeing
In the world’s eye none weighs so light: others look
For all those base tricks, publish’d in a book[1213]
Foul as his brains they flow’d from, of cutpurse[s],
Of nips and foists, nasty, obscene discourses,
As full of lies as empty of worth or wit,
For any honest ear or eye unfit.
And thus,
If we to every brain that’s humorous
Should fashion scenes, we, with the painter, shall,
In striving to please all, please none at all.
Yet for such faults as either the writer’s wit
Or negligence of the actors do commit,
Both crave your pardons: if what both have done
Cannot full pay your expectation,
The Roaring Girl herself, some few days hence,
Shall on this stage give larger recompence.
Which mirth that you may share in, herself does woo you,
And craves this sign, your hands to beckon her to you.
END OF VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY LEVEY, ROBSON, AND FRANKLYN,
46 St. Martin’s Lane.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes
-----
# 1:
_Kix_] I may just remark that this name is intended
to describe the person who bears it, an elderly
gentleman: _kix_ (or, as it is generally written,
_kex_) means a dry stalk.
# 2:
_bring_] Old eds. “brings.”
# 3:
_ordinary_] See note, vol. i. p. 389.
# 4:
_brothel_] i.e. harlot: so in a passage of Greene’s
_Groats-worth of Wit_ (quoted in my Account of Greene
and his writings, p. xxx., prefixed to his _Works_),
“brother to a _brothell_ he kept.” The word was at an
early period applied to the worthless of both sexes.
# 5:
_Long-acre_] “Probably the name of the estate Witgood
had mortgaged to his uncle.”—_Edit. of 1816._
# 6:
_out of the compass of law_] i.e. out of the reach of,
not punishable by, law.
# 7:
_I’ve_] Old eds. “I have.”
# 8:
_were_] Old eds. “was.”
# 9:
_Fate_, &c.] Qy. was the whole of this speech
originally blank verse?
# 10:
_Come_, &c.] The editor of 1816 printed,
“_Come, I must help; where left you? I’ll proceed_,”
without mentioning the reading of the old eds.,
which I have followed, and which (though this
scene is probably more than slightly corrupted in
several places) I believe to be right. Middleton
sometimes, when he introduces a couplet, shews
perfect indifference about the length of the first
line: see note, vol. i. p. 424, and compare the
following passage of _The Phœnix_;
“Without thee,
All the whole world were soiled bastardy.”
vol. i. p. 351, (where, in my note, I too hastily
remarked that part of the first line had probably
dropt out).
# 11:
_valiant_] i.e. worth.
# 12:
_furnished_] The editor of 1816 prints “finish’d.”
# 13:
_Enter Onesiphorus Hoard, Limber, and Kix_] In the
old eds. the entrance of these “right worshipful
seniors” is not marked, and the prefixes to their
speeches are merely 1., 2., and 3. That one of them
is Onesiphorus Hoard, there can be no doubt. That
the other two are Limber and Kix, is, I think, as
certain: they appear together with Onesiphorus in
the last scene of the play, where they are addressed
as “_old_ master Limber and master Kix,” and where
they immediately recognise the Courtesan.—The editor
of 1816 makes the stage-direction here “_Enter Two
Gentlemen_:” he ought at least to have observed,
that the speech which concludes this scene is given
to a _third_ speaker.
# 14:
_You’ve_] Old eds. “You have.”
# 15:
_the viol_] i.e. the _viol de gambo_, which in those
days it was the fashion for ladies to play.
# 16:
_laying_] “Is used in the same sense by Jack Cade in
the ‘Second Part of Henry VI.’ (Act iv. scene x.)
‘These five days have I hid me in these woods, and
durst not peep out, for all the country is _lay’d_ for
me.’” _Editor of 1816_.
# 17:
_slight_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 18:
_A Street_] i.e. in London, which continues to be the
place of action during the rest of the play.
# 19:
_Enter_, &c.] Old eds. “_Enter_ at seuerall doores.”
# 20:
_affront_] i.e. encounter, face.
# 21:
_wipes his nose_] i.e. cheats him: the expression is
of frequent occurrence; but not so the following one,
which has the same meaning,—“’Twould anger any man to
be _nos’d_ of such a match.” Brome’s _English Moor_,
p. 7.—_Five New Plays_, 1659.
# 22:
_brothel-master_] See note, p. 5.
# 23:
_Pecunius_] Though the word here is not printed with a
capital letter in the old eds., we learn from a
subsequent scene that it is the Christian name of
Lucre.
# 24:
_manent_] Old eds. “manet”—which I mention, because
the editor of 1816 makes Freedom and Moneylove _enter_
after the others have gone out.
# 25:
_crank_] i.e. brisk.
# 26:
_masty_] i.e. mastiff.
# 27:
_a noble_] A gold coin worth 6_s_. 8_p_.
# 28:
_trampler of the law_] Taylor, the water-poet, begins
the account of “A Corrupted Lawyer, and a Knauish
Vndershriue,” with the following lines;
“A hall, a hall, the _tramplers_ are at hand,
A shifting Master, and as sweetly man’d;
His Buckram-bearer, one that knowes his ku,
Can write with one hand and receiue with two.
The _trampler_ is in hast, O cleere the way,
Takes fees with both hands cause he cannot stay,
No matter wheth’r the cause be right or wrong,
So hee be payd for letting out his tongue.”
_A Brood of Cormorants_, p. 13; _Workes_, 1630.
In Brome’s _Sparagus Garden_, 1640 (acted 1635), one
of the characters is a lawyer named _Trampler_.
# 29:
_galleasses_] Large, heavy, low-built vessels: see
Steevens’s note on Shakespeare’s _Taming of a Shrew_,
act ii. sc. 1.
# 30:
_motions of Fleet Street, and visions of Holborn_] The
editor of 1816 says that he “knows not _exactly_ what
these visions were:” nor do I: they are evidently used
here as a cant term, like the words with which they
are coupled—_tramplers_ (see note in the preceding
page), and _motions_ (i.e. puppet-shows, puppets: see
note, vol. i. p. 229.)
# 31:
_trashed_] The following passage of _The Puritan_, “a
guarded lackey to run before it [a coach], and pied
liveries to come _trashing_ after it,” act iv. sc. 1,
which is cited here by the editor of 1816, is given by
Todd in his additions to Johnson’s _Dict._ as an
example of _trash_ in the sense of—to follow with
bustle, to tramp about with fatigue; and such seems to
be the meaning of the word in our text.
# 32:
_bull-beggars_] i.e. hobgoblins—a word of uncertain
derivation.
# 33:
_he calls me thief_] Because _good fellow_ was one of
the cant terms for a thief.
# 34:
_take me with you_] i.e. let me understand you.
# 35:
_resolve_] i.e. satisfactorily inform.
# 36:
_pax_] For pox,—perhaps an affected mode of
pronouncing the word: it occurs frequently in
Middleton. See my note on Webster’s _Works_, vol. iii.
p. 195.
# 37:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 38:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 39:
_sir_] So ed. 1616. Not in first ed.
# 40:
_companions_] i.e. scurvy fellows,—in which sense the
word was often used.
# 41:
_blue coats have been turned into cloaks_] Every
reader of our early dramas is aware that blue was the
colour usually worn by servants: from the present
passage it appears that their coats had been recently
exchanged for cloaks, like those which gentlemen then
wore.
# 42:
_trow_] i.e. think you.
# 43:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 44:
_brothel-master_] See note, p. 5.
# 45:
_’Twas_] Old eds. “It was.”
# 46:
_kept it_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “_it kept_.”
# 47:
_push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 48:
_somner_]—_sumner_, _summoner_—i.e. apparitor.
# 49:
_Cole-Harbour_] See note on act iv. sc. 1.
# 50:
_a’ life_] See note, vol. i. p. 272.
# 51:
_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 52:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 53:
_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 54:
_about_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “above.”
# 55:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 56:
_again_] i.e. against.
# 57:
_of_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “a.”
# 58:
_make a bolt or a shaft on’t_] “This is a proverbial
expression, and is enumerated by Ray in his Collection
of Proverbial Phrases. The meaning is, that he would
immediately try his fortune with the widow, and either
be rejected or accepted. The same expression is used
by Slender in the _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act. iii.
sc. 4. See notes on the passage.” _Editor of 1816_.
# 59:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 60:
_Remove me, &c._] “This and the next speech of
Witgood’s form a couplet, and are, I am inclined to
think, a quotation.” _Editor of 1816_.
# 61:
_sure yet to_] Compare Brome:
“RA. Who do you think
Has married fair Mistris Millicent?
DI. Theophilus (I can name him, though his father
Was fatal unto mine) was _sure to_ her.”
_The English Moor_, p. 3.—_Five New Playes_,
1659.
“ER. Then you are _sure to_ her.
MAT. No, I never us’d
A marriage-question, nor a wooing word,” &c.
_The New Academy_, p. 19. _ibid._
# 62:
_resolved_] i.e. convinced, satisfied.
# 63:
_I am_] Old eds. “I’m.”
# 64:
_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 65:
_the better term_] “Ladies of easy virtue were, in the
time of our poet, frequently called _termers_, from
their visiting the city when the courts of justice
were open, and the inns of court filled with young
lawyers: to this, I conceive, Witgood alludes.”
_Editor of 1816._—Witgood seems to use the word _term_
with a playful allusion to the double meaning of
_suitors_.
# 66:
_blue coats_] see note, p. 26.
# 67:
_royals_] See note, vol. i, p. 345.
# 68:
_their_] i.e. Witgood’s and his uncle’s.
# 69:
_censure_] i.e. opinion, judgment.
# 70:
_So help us our best fortunes_ “The declaration of
this gentleman somewhat resembles the oath taken by
grand jurymen respecting their presentations, and was
probably formed on that model.” _Editor of 1816._
# 71:
_lie_] Old eds. “lies.”
# 72:
_push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 73:
_slight_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 74:
_Cole-Harbour_] See note on act iv. sc. 1.
# 75:
_likes_] i.e. pleases.
# 76:
_Beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 77:
_days_] Altered by the editor of 1816 to “delays:” but
I believe the old text is right. So in act iv. sc. 5,
Dampit says of one who owed him money, “he comes to
have a longer _day_.”
# 78:
_prevent_] i.e. anticipate.
# 79:
_resolv’d_] See note, p. 39.
# 80:
_Gentlemen_] As Lamprey and Spichcock appear
afterwards with Hoard at Cole-Harbour, they ought
perhaps to be with him on the present occasion. I
suspect, indeed, that some of the speeches given here,
and in a former scene, to _Gentlemen_, belong,
properly, to these two worthies.
# 81:
_a Dutch widow_] A cant term, sufficiently explained
by what follows.
# 82:
_very_] So ed. 1616. Not in first ed.
# 83:
_prigging_] “_Prig_, in the cant language of that
age, meant _thief_, or pickpocket. It is found in
Shakespeare, and Beaumont and Fletcher.” _Editor of
1816._—_Prigging_ is used in this passage merely as
a jocular term of reproach.
# 84:
_’Las_] Old eds. “asse,”—the initial letter having
dropt out in the first ed.
# 85:
_Ay, boy_] Old eds. “I bee.”
# 86:
_making_] i.e. matching: in our early writers _make_
is often used for mate.
# 87:
_Luc._] Ed. 1616, “_Wit_.”
# 88:
_Cole-Harbour_] See note on act iv. sc. 1.
# 89:
_we’ve_] Old eds. “we have.”
# 90:
_anno_ 89] “Both the quartos read ‘99;’ but Stow does
not mention any _very_ great storm in that year,
although he has noticed one or two; whereas in the
year 1589, he observes, that on ‘The 1st August, at
night, was the greatest lightning and thunder that
had, at any time, bin seene or heard about London in
the memory of any man living; and yet, thankes be
given to God, little hurt heard of.’” _Editor of
1816._—See Stow’s _Annales_, p. 757. ed. 1631.
# 91:
_mought, and_] i.e. might, if.
# 92:
_years_] Qy. “days?”
# 93:
_make you unready_] i.e. undress you.
# 94:
_cony-catching_] See note, vol. i. p. 290.
# 95:
_doubts_] i.e. fears.
# 96:
_Cole-Harbour_] The stage-direction in the old eds. is
“_Enter at Cole-harbour, Hoord, the Widdow, and
Gentlemen, he married now._”—_Cole-Harbour_ (a
corruption of _Cold-Harbour_, or _Cold-Harborough_)
was an ancient building, situated in the parish of
All-hallows the Less, in Downgate Ward: see an account
of it in Stow’s _Survey_, b. ii. p. 206. (vol. i.) ed.
1720. A good many years before the date of this play,
the then Earl of Shrewsbury took it down, and built a
number of small tenements in its stead, which were let
at great rents, and served as a retreat for debtors,
&c.; the place being considered a sort of sanctuary,
probably because Tunstall, bishop of Durham, had
resided there in Henry the Eighth’s reign. Lodge says,
“It was pulled down by Earl Gilbert, about the year
1600.” _Illust. of Brit. Hist._ vol. i. p. 9: but its
demolition must have been earlier; for, in Nash’s
_Haue with you to Saffron Walden_, 1596, we find, “Or
hast thou tooke thee a chamber in _Cole-harbour_?” &c.
sig. D. 4. From the present scene, as the editor of
1816 observes in a note on act ii. sc. 1, “it may be
inferred that it was notorious as a place where
marriages were solemnised hastily and without the
proper forms; such as the Fleet Prison and Keith’s
Chapel were for some time previously to the passing
the marriage-act.” He adds, that “the only [other]
allusion he recollects to it among the dramatic
writers of the time, is in our author’s _Roaring
Girl_:” but half-a-dozen might easily be furnished.
# 97:
_pig-eater_] An odd term of endearment: _pigsnie_ is
common enough.
# 98:
_Court._] Old eds. “_Luc._”
# 99:
_friends_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “friend.”
# 100:
_believe’t_] Old eds. “_believe_ it.”
# 101:
_I have no son_, &c.] See what I have said on couplets
imperfect in the first line, notes p. 7 of the present
vol., and p. 424 of vol. i.
# 102:
_you’re_] Old eds. “you are.”
# 103:
_Ha, ha!_] Old eds. “_ha_, _ha_, ha.”
# 104:
_And_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “I [ay] _and_.”—The
speech is part of the first line of a couplet.
# 105:
_O man in lamentation_] In _The Old Wives’ Tale_, “the
tune of _O man in desperation_” is mentioned: see
Peele’s _Works_, vol. i. p. 208 (ed. 1829), and my
note there.
# 106:
_now_] So ed. 1616. Not in first ed.
# 107:
_passion_] i.e. sorrow.
# 108:
_fie, fie_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “fie.”
# 109:
_Byrlady_] A corruption of _By our Lady_.
# 110:
_toy_] i.e. trifle.
# 111:
_would I might be truss’d up_] Brome has the same poor
play on words:
“when Lodovico
Does not prove _trustie_, then let me be _truss’d_.”
_The Queen and Concubine_, p. 106.—_Five New
Playes_, 1659.
# 112:
_so_] First ed. “to.” Sec. ed. “too.”
# 113:
_envy_] i.e. bear ill will.
# 114:
_agen_] So written for the sake of the rhyme: compare
vol. i. p. 416.
# 115:
_thrum-chinned_] i.e. rough-chinned: see note, vol. i.
p. 431.
# 116:
_a’ life_] See note, vol. i. p. 272.
# 117:
_hole i’ th’ counter_] See notes, vol. i. p. 392.
# 118:
_froating_] “May mean _freting_ or adorning with
fretwork. But Witgood’s vices, according to his
own confession in a former scene, were those of
sensuality, and not of foppery; and it is possible
that this was the demand of the keeper of some
brothel,” &c. &c. _Editor of 1816._—Perhaps so;
but, I think, _froating_ means here nothing more
than dressing up, repairing.
# 119:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 120:
_desire_] Old eds. “desires.”
# 121:
_First C._] Old eds. “_Cit._”
# 122:
_nonce_] i.e. occasion.
# 123:
_watchet_] i.e. blue: see note, p. 26.
# 124:
_capes_] The editor of 1816 prints “_caps_,” which may
be right.
# 125:
_champion_] i.e. champaign.
“These many ruts and furrows in thy cheek
Proves thy old face to be but _champion_ ground
Till’d with the plough of age.”
RANDOLPH’S _Hey for Honesty_, 1651, p. 36.
# 126:
_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 127:
_like_] See note, p. 47.
# 128:
_marquesse_] i.e. marchioness.
# 129:
_pax_] See note, p. 24.
# 130:
_venture_] Old eds. “ventures.”
# 131:
_vild_] i.e. vile: see note, vol. i. p. 94.
# 132:
_peevish_] i.e. foolish, trifling.
# 133:
_set the hare’s head to the goose-giblet_] A not
uncommon proverbial expression:
“Since tit for tat (quoth I) on euen hand is set,
_Set the hares head agaynst the goose ieblet_.”
HEYWOOD’S _Dialogue, &c._, sig. G.—_Workes_, ed.
1598.
# 134:
_pax_] See note, p. 24.
# 135:
_come_] Old eds. “came.”
# 136:
_mark_] i.e. 13_s._ 4_d._
# 137:
_immoveables_] So ed. 1616. First ed. “immouerables.”
# 138:
_some access_] “The quarto of 1616 reads, ‘some
_above_ access;’ and the niece [Joyce] speaks without
a notice of her having entered: whereas in the first
quarto there is a stage-direction, ‘She is _above_;’
and I suppose the word caught the printer’s eye, and
was erroneously introduced into the text.” _Editor of
1816._
# 139:
_a thousand year_] “Our poet alludes here [very
irreverently] to a passage in the Revelation of St.
John, chap. xx. ver. 2.” _Editor of 1816._
# 140:
_But I think_] “It is unnecessary to observe there was
something particular about Dampit’s bed; the reader,
however, will collect all the information I could give
him from this scene.” _Editor of 1816._
# 141:
_muckinder_] i.e. a handkerchief.
# 142:
_trampler_] See note, p. 18.
# 143:
_the tavern bitch_, &c.] “One of the many proverbs
expressive of inebriety.” _Editor of 1816._
# 144:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 145:
_Ay, he changes_, &c.] “I scarcely need notice that
Dampit’s explanation of the name is in allusion to the
doctrine of _metempsychosis_, first taught by that
philosopher.” _Editor of 1816._
# 146:
_longer day_] “Dampit means to insinuate, I conceive,
that he had borrowed money of him, and only called to
postpone the payment.” _Editor of 1816._—
“You know this meeting
Was for the creditors to give longer day.”
BROME’S _City Wit_, act i. sc. 1.—_Five New Playes_,
1653.
# 147:
_farewell, and a thousand_] i.e. a thousand times
farewell: see Peele’s _Works_, vol. i. p. 217. ed.
1829, and my note there.
# 148:
_device_] “For _advice_; I suppose it intentional.”
_Editor of 1816._—Of course it is: so a clown in
Randolph’s _Hey for Honesty_, 1651; “Ile tell you what
I do _devise_ you now, this is my pinion,” act i. sc.
1.
# 149:
_this geer will fadge well_] i.e. this matter will fit
well, succeed well.
# 150:
_dive-dapper_] i.e. dabchick.
# 151:
_a Dutch widow_] See note, p. 50.
# 152:
Virg. _Æn._ iii. 658.
# 153:
_trampling_] See note, p. 18.
# 154:
_Welch ambassador_] “A jocular name for the cuckoo, I
presume from its migrating hither from the west.”
NARES’S _Gloss. in v._—Perhaps it was so called
because
“the note which his hoarse voice doth beare
Is harsh and fatall to the wedded eare.”
_The Cuckow_ (by NICCOLS), 1607, sig. A 3.
# 155:
_make haste to give up thy verdict_, &c.] Did Pope
remember this passage?
“The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,
_And wretches hang, that jurymen may dine_.”
_The Rape of the Lock_, iii. 21.
# 156:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 157:
_Now make your best_] Another couplet, of which the
first line is imperfect: see notes, p. 7 of this vol.
and p. 424 of vol. i.
# 158:
_cupboard of plate_] i. e. a moveable sideboard, or
buffet containing the plate.
# 159:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 160:
_too_] Qy. was this originally a couplet?
# 161:
_other ancient gentlemen_] Old eds. “an _other
ancient_ gentleman:” but see what follows; and note,
p. 9.
# 162:
_guess_] i.e. guests: see note, vol. i. p. 326.
# 163:
_smack_] Old eds. “smerck.”
# 164:
_a Dutch widow_] See note, p. 50.
# 165:
_junt_] i.e. harlot.
# 166:
_pursu’d, nay_] Old eds. “_pursued_ me, _nay_.”
# 167:
_where_] i.e. whereas.
# 168:
_nuncle_] With this corruption of the word Shakespeare
has made all readers acquainted.
# 169:
_defy_] i.e. renounce.
# 170:
_The glances of a sinful eye,
Waving of fans_,
. . . . . .
_All secret friends_]
Here Middleton recollected the Palinode which closes
_Cynthia’s Revels_:
“From _secret friends_,
. . . . . .
_From waving fans_, coy _glances_.”
JONSON’S _Works_, vol. ii. p. 380, ed. Giff.
# 171:
_fancy_] i.e. love.
# 172:
_sign_] The editor of 1816 altered this word to
“sin.”—According to the directions for bleeding in old
almanacs, blood was to be taken from particular parts
under particular planets.
“_Alen._ When is the time to let the weathers
blood?
The forward spring that had such store of grasse,
Hath fild them full of ranke vnwholesome blood,
Which must be purg’d, else when the winter comes,
The rot will leaue me nothing but their skinnes.
_Fall._ Chil let on blood, but yet it is no
time,
Vntill _the zygne be gone below the hart_.”
YARINGTON’S _Two Lamentable Tragedies_, 1601,
sig. H 4.
# 173:
_Stabbing of arms_
. . . . . .
_Dutch flapdragons_]
Here again (see note, p. 97) Middleton has an eye to
Jonson:
“_From stabbing of arms, flapdragons._”
_Works_, ibid.
To stab their arms with daggers, and drink off the
blood mixed with wine, to the health of their
mistresses, was formerly a frequent practice among
gallants.—For _flapdragons_, see note, vol. i. p. 66:
from several passages in our early dramas, it appears
that the Dutch were celebrated for swallowing them.—
Drinking _healths in urine_ was another and more
disgusting feat of gallantry.
# 174:
_defy_] See note, p. 97.
# 175:
_termers_] i.e. persons (generally of ill
repute) who resorted to London during
term-time.
# 176:
_Prologue_] The first line of it and a
word in the fourth line have dropt out at
press.
# 177:
The old ed. has (what is generally wanting in early
4tos) a list of the characters. The only alteration I
have made in it is the substitution of “SHRIMP” for
“SMELT,” the precocious youth being always throughout
the play introduced under, and addressed by, the
former name.
# 178:
_’a_] For _he_ occurs over and over again in this
drama.
# 179:
_great-breeched gallants_] i.e. gallants who wear
_trunk-hose_—breeches swelled out to a preposterous
size by stuffings of rags, wool, hair, &c.
# 180:
_a cold heat_, &c.] Here, perhaps, the doctor meant to
rhyme.
# 181:
_affections_] Qy. here and in the next line but two,
for the sake of the verse, _affects_—which in our
early poetry has the same meaning.
# 182:
_ask_] Old ed. “axe,” which, though the genuine Saxon
form of the word, and perhaps used here by Middleton,
is now considered so ludicrous a vulgarism, that I
have substituted the modern spelling.
# 183:
_overture_] i.e. overthrow.
# 184:
_vadeth_] Brathwait (_Strappado for the Diuell_, 1615,
p. 53) has,
“Thy form’s diuine, no _fading_, _vading_ flower;”
and Spenser and other poets use _vade_ as a rhyme to
_fade_: but though the words were considered as
different, it would not be easy to assign a distinct
meaning to each.
# 185:
_And it like_] i.e. if it please.
# 186:
_Maria ascends_] So old ed.—i.e. goes into the upper
chamber which Glister has just mentioned.
# 187:
_tall_] i.e. brave, bold.
# 188:
_a cross_, &c.] Old ed. “_to cross_,” &c.—_Creeping to
the cross_ was a ceremony of penance imposed by the
Romish Church.
# 189:
_giglot_] i.e. wanton.
# 190:
_gill_] i.e. girl, wench.
# 191:
_A valued price_, &c.] i.e. a price equal in value to
her inestimable worth.
# 192:
_unvalued_] Old ed. “in valued,”—which, as one word,
might stand; but see the next speech.
# 193:
_unvalued worth_, &c.] This passage seems to be
corrupted. For the benefit of those who are not
familiar with “small 4tos,” I subjoin it as exhibited
in the old ed.
“Vnvalued worth, ha ha ha! Why? shees but a woman,
And they are windy turning veins, loue light as chaffe
which when
Our nourishing graynes are winnow’d from them,
Vnconstantly they flye at the least wind of passion
A womans eye, can turne it selfe with quick
dexterity.”
# 194:
_friend_] Old ed. “fend.”
# 195:
_pitchy_] Old ed. “pithie.”
# 196:
_Wo’t_] Or Wu’t—a corruption of _will_.
# 197:
_Farewell_] An imperfect couplet: see notes, p. 7 of
this vol. and p. 424 of vol. i.
# 198:
_Lip. A plague_, &c.] What I have here assigned to
Lipsalve is given to Gerardine in the old ed.
# 199:
_under colour of dissuasion_] Like another young lady,
in Chapman’s _May Day_, 1611:
“_Æmilia._ But good cuze, if you chance to see my
chamber window open, that is upon the tarrasse, doe
not let him come in at it in any case.
_Lodovico._ ’Sblood how can he? can he come over the
wall think’st?
_Æmilia._ O sir, you men have not devices with ladders
of ropes to scale such walles at your pleasure, and
abuse us poore wenches!” p. 22.
# 200:
_apparance_] i.e. appearance.
# 201:
_instance_] i.e. proof.
# 202:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 203:
_country_] Old ed. “cuntries.”
# 204:
_feast_] Old ed. “feasts.”
# 205:
_Bocardo_] i.e. a dungeon, a prison,—properly, the old
north gate of Oxford, which served as a prison. The
gate no longer exists, having been pulled down in
1771; but the syllogism from which it seems to have
derived its name still torments the students of that
university, in the pages of Aldrich’s _Logic_.
# 206:
_grincomes_] i.e. the venereal disease.
# 207:
_great breeches_] See note, p. 111.
# 208:
_honesty_] Old ed. “honestyes.”
# 209:
_then_] Old ed. “that.”
# 210:
_a cross_] See note, vol. i. p. 246.
# 211:
_by_ ( )] So the old ed., the author having used
some expression which the printer was afraid to
insert. Copies of early plays frequently occur in
which words have been struck through with a pen,
perhaps by some public authority. I possess several
pieces by Marston, from which the objectionable words
have been cut out.
# 212:
_refused their_] Old ed. “_refused_ them _their_.”
# 213:
_cony-skins_] i.e. rabbit-skins.
# 214:
_statutes staple_] “The mercer, hee followeth the
young vpstart gentleman, that hath no gouernement of
himselfe, and he feedeth his humour to goe braue: hee
shall not want silkes, sattins, veluets, to pranke
abroad in his pompe; but with this prouiso, that hee
must binde ouer his land in a _statute-merchant
or staple_: and so at last forfeit all vnto the
mercilesse mercer, and leaue himselfe neuer a foot of
ground in England.” GREENE’S _Quip for an Vpstart
Courtier_, sig. F 3. ed. 1620.
# 215:
_how go the squares_] Old ed. “_how goes_,” &c.—i.e.
how goes on the game?—(chess-boards being full of
squares). “What, fellow Robin, _how goes the squares_
with you?” _Wily Beguilde_, sig. E 4. ed. 1623.
# 216:
_a play, where we saw most excellent Sampson_, &c.]
From Henslowe’s MSS. we learn that “_Sampson_, by
Samuel Rowley and Edw. Iubye,” was acted in July 1602:
see Malone’s _Shakespeare_ (by Boswell), vol. iii. p.
327. To this drama (which has not come down to us)
Middleton perhaps alludes.
# 217:
_the youths_] i.e. the children of Paul’s, or some of
the other theatrical children then performing.
# 218:
_the upper stage_] Was a balcony at the back of the
stage, its platform being raised probably eight or
nine feet from the ground. It served for a window, &c.
&c. &c.—the frequently occurring direction in our
early plays, “enter _above_,” meaning “enter _on the
upper stage_.”
# 219:
_tongues_] Old ed. “bones.”
# 220:
_presents_] Old ed. “presence.”
# 221:
_sustain_] Old ed. “sustained.”
# 222:
_shoes_] Old ed. “showes:” in act ii. sc. 4, mistress
Glister says, “I pray, let’s have no _polluted feet_
nor rheumatic chaps enter the house; I shall have my
floor look more greasy,” &c.: and a little after, “Let
them come in, _if their feet be clean_.”
# 223:
_consort_] i.e. company of musicians.
# 224:
_tickles the minikin_] “Minikin,” says Nares (_Gloss._
in v.), "seems sometimes to have meant _treble_ in
music."—It certainly also meant a fiddle: “when I was
a young man and could _tickle the Minikin_ ... but now
... I am falne from the Fiddle,” &c. “A Fidler,
when he hath crackt his _Minikin_.” _Jacke Drums
Entertainement_, sigs. A 3, E 3, ed. 1616.
# 225:
_what d’ye lack_] See note, vol. i. p. 447.
# 226:
_lovely_] Old ed. “liuely.”
# 227:
_thine_] Old ed. “then.”
# 228:
_rogation_] From the preceding words, “thou hast been
a long vagrant,” I suspect that a pun is intended
here: to _rogue_ meant—to play the vagrant.
# 229:
_gird_] i.e. cut, gibe.
# 230:
_leave him_] Old ed. “loues theame.”
# 231:
_bounty obliges_, &c.] Old ed. “_bounty obliges men
too’t, giues mony for scrips and scrolls, and
liberality seald_,” &c.
# 232:
_make_] Old ed. “makes.”
# 233:
_lectuary_] i.e. electuary.
# 234:
_angle_] i.e. corner.
# 235:
_prevent_] See note, p. 49.
# 236:
_&c._] See note, vol. i. p. 252.
# 237:
_liver_] Was supposed to be the seat of love.
# 238:
_I pray_, &c.] The first part of this speech is
addressed to a servant off the stage.
# 239:
_the prick and praise_] So in _The London Prodigall_,
1605: “tho she had _the pricke and praise_ for a
prettie wench.” Sig. E 3. Spenser has, _Faery Queene_,
ii. xii. 1,
“her adorned head
To _prick of highest praise_ forth to advance.”
The _prick_ was the point or mark in the centre of the
butts in archery.
# 240:
_niceness_] i.e. scrupulousness, over-delicacy.
# 241:
_Of no proportion_, &c.] Old ed.
“Respectlesse, _of no proportion_,” &c.
“_Respectless_” is probably a word which the author
had originally written, but forgot to erase. In the
address _To the Reader_ (p. 107) he mentions the
“faults in the printing.”
# 242:
_No marvel_] May be right perhaps, if mistress Glister
is speaking ironically; but qy. “_Now I_ marvel.”
# 243:
_sect_] i.e. sex: the word in this sense is of
frequent occurrence in old writers.
# 244:
_Society_, &c.] Old ed.
“_Society in_ nuptiall beds aboue these _joys_.”
In the MS., I suppose, the word “_beds_,” for which
Middleton had substituted “_nuptials_,” was not
deleted: see note 244 supr.
# 245:
_satiety_] Old ed. “society.”
# 246:
_Vial_] Here, and afterwards in this scene, the old
ed. prefixes _Nun_. (i.e. _Nuntius_) to his speeches.
# 247:
_passions_] i.e. sorrowings.
# 248:
_untrussing of his hose_] i.e. untying the points of
his hose: see note, vol. i. p. 367.
# 249:
_resolve_] See note, p. 23.
# 250:
_mouse_] Was formerly a common term of endearment.
# 251:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 252:
_footcloth_] See note, vol. i. p. 396.
# 253:
_What should he be for a man?_] i.e. What man should
he be?
# 254:
_mistress_] Old ed. “master.”
# 255:
_bruited_] i.e. reported.
# 256:
_endear_] Old ed. “endeauour:” compare our author’s
_Michaelmas Term_; “I’ll _be dear to you_, do but
perform it,” vol. i. p. 478.
# 257:
_resolve_] See note, p. 23.
# 258:
_feed_] Old ed. “fed.”
# 259:
_Servant_] Old ed. "One."—Perhaps Vial should be the
person who enters.
# 260:
_thou_] i.e. one of the whips: the other he presently
gives to Gudgeon.
# 261:
_resolves_] See note, p. 23.
# 262:
_Re-enter Maria_] The stage-direction in the old ed.
is “_Enter Maria ouer the trunke_;” and Middleton
probably intended the spectators to suppose (for, as
there was no moveable painted scenery when he wrote,
they were obliged to suppose a great deal,) that the
trunk, left on the stage by the apprentices, had been
removed to Maria’s apartment since the exit of
Glister. When she enters at the commencement of scene
iv. (p. 133), the room is certainly not her own
apartment: Gerardine is thought to have left the
country, and she has the free range of the house.
# 263:
_peize_] i.e. weigh down.
# 264:
_thou’st_] Old ed. “thou hast.”
# 265:
_prevented_] See note, p. 49.
# 266:
_cautelous_] i.e. artfully cautious.
# 267:
_Place_] Old ed. “Peace.”
# 268:
_little-ease_] Was a cant term, used long before
Middleton’s time, for the pillory, stocks, or bilboes,
(and, as I suspect from several passages in our early
writers, for some apartment in a prison);
“You dare not make discovery
For feare of _Little-ease_. That were a prison
Too fearful for such bravery to stoop into.”
BROME’S _New Academy_, p. 58.—_Five New Playes_,
1659.
# 269:
_uneven_] i.e. unjust.
# 270:
_unreduct_] i.e. unreduced.
# 271:
_act_] Old ed. “art.”
# 272:
_But who comes here_] In the old ed. these words are
preceded by the stage-direction “_Enter Lipsalve and
Shrimp his Page_;” and at the end of the speech
Gerardine and Maria _exeunt_.
I have already noticed (p. 142) the want of moveable
painted scenery in Middleton’s days. Here the
spectators were to suppose that Gerardine and Maria,
standing on the upper-stage (see note, p. 125), were
either in the apartment of the latter, or in the
gallery communicating with it (see p. 112): when
Lipsalve had entered, they were to suppose that the
stage represented a street; and when Gerardine and
Maria had re-appeared “_above_,” they were to suppose
that the upper-stage was a window. Having found it
necessary to begin a new scene with the entrance of
Lipsalve, I hope my readers will be kind enough to
_suppose_ that, when Gerardine says “_who comes
here_,” he happens to turn his eye towards the window,
and catches a glimpse of that gallant.
# 273:
_loose_] Means, in archery, the discharging of the
arrow.
# 274:
_Maria appears_, &c.] The stage-direction in the old
ed. is "_Enter Gerardine and Maria above_."—I may
observe, that as curtains were suspended before the
upper-stage (see note, p. 125), to conceal, if
necessary, those who occupied it, they were probably
used here for that purpose by Gerardine.
# 275:
_o’ercomes_] Old ed. “ouercomes.”
# 276:
_bruited_] See note, p. 138.
# 277:
_cottens well_] i.e. succeeds, goes on well—an
expression drawn, as the present passage indicates,
from the manufacturing of cloth.
# 278:
_hose_] i.e. breeches.
# 279:
_in lavender_] i.e. in pawn.
# 280:
_new for a_] Old ed. “_for a new_.”
# 281:
_take her counsel, sir; get a cullis_] Maria had
recommended a caudle (see p. 150): but we find in old
writers a distinction made between cullises and
caudles. A _cullis_ (which will be more particularly
noticed hereafter) was a strong broth, a savoury
jelly.
# 282:
_flutterers_] Old ed. “flatterers.”
# 283:
_petronel-flashes_] A _petronel_ is a carbine, a
horseman’s gun.
# 284:
_abrupt_] i.e. separated.
# 285:
_small-ease_] See note, p. 145.
# 286:
_our_] Some copies of the old ed. “or,” others “nor:”
I have already noticed that, though they occasionally
present different readings, there is but _one_ edition
of the play: see p. 103.
# 287:
_collowest_] i.e. begrimest, blackenest: she alludes
to the smoke of the link. _Collow_ is smut from burnt
coals.
# 288:
_rine_] A vulgar corruption of _rind_: old ed.
“rhyne;”
“Whose eyes doe shine
Like bacon rine.”
_Wily Beguilde_, sig C 2, ed. 1623.
# 289:
_exercise_] See note, vol. i. p. 211.
# 290:
_I hope my body has no organs_] “But the most
dangerous of all was a Puritan Chandler ... he thought
a man in a surplesse to be the Ghost of Heresy, _and
was out of love with his owne members, because they
were called Organs_.” MARMYON’S _Fine Companion_,
1633, sig. I 4.
# 291:
_exercise_] See note, vol. i. p. 211.
# 292:
_byrlady_] See note, p. 66.
# 293:
_the red letter_] Qy. does he allude to the rubrick
distinctions in the Prayer-book, or to those in the
Calendar?
# 294:
_clergy_] i.e. doctrine.
# 295:
_gear_] i.e. matter, business.
# 296:
_in the Family_] The old ed. adds, as part of the
text, “Let in;” but the words are a stage-direction.—
In _The Displaying of the Family of Loue_, &c.
(already mentioned, see p. 106), we are told: “They
are called together euer in the night time: and
commonly to suche houses as be far from neighbours,
one of them doth alwayes warne an other: and when they
come to the house of meeting, they knocke at the
doore, saying, here is a Brother in Christ, or a
Sister in Christ.” Sig. H iiii.
# 297:
_peevish_] i.e. silly.
# 298:
_exercise_] See note, vol. i. p. 211.
# 299:
_trunks_] i.e. tubes. We find the word used in this
sense even during Charles the Second’s time;
“Through optic _trunk_ the planet seem’d to hear.”
_To the King_—MARVELL’S _Works_, vol. ii. p. 124,
ed. 1726.
# 300:
_hit_] Old ed. “hits.”
# 301:
_Scene V._] I have marked a new scene here, and
another after Gudgeon has entered the chamber,
contrary to the old ed. and the arrangements (or
rather, non-arrangements) of our early stage: see
note, p. 147.
# 302:
_exercise_] See note, vol. i. p. 211.
# 303:
_Hei mihi_, &c.] _Met._ i. 523.
# 304:
_play at barriers_] i.e. fight within lists.
# 305:
LIP. _Hold_, &c.; GUD. _Gogs_, &c.; LIP. _A pox_, &c.;
GUD. _Truce_, &c.] Form only one speech in the old
ed., with the prefix “_Ambo._”
# 306:
_Cornelius’ tub_] i.e. the heated tub in which
patients were sweated for the cure of the venereal
disease: the origin of the term (see Douce’s _Illust.
of Shake._ vol. ii. p. 70) is uncertain.
# 307:
_suppositor_] i.e. suppository.—Old ed. "suppositar."—
“I hold my life hee is a pottecarie, doe you neuer
make no _suppositors_ sir?” _Cupids Whirligig_, sig. C
4, ed. 1616.
# 308:
_cockatrice_] A cant term for a harlot.
# 309:
_Phitonessa’s power_] The word _Phitoness_—i.e.
_Pythoness_—is of frequent occurrence in the works of
our earliest poets. It generally means the witch of
Endor:
“And speke as renably, and faire, and wel,
As to _the Phitonesse_ did Samuel.”
CHAUCER’S _Freres Tale_, v. 7091, ed. Tyr.
See also Gower’s _Conf. Am._ fol. lxxiii. ed. 1554;
Skelton’s “Adicyon” to _Phyllyp Sparowe_; Sir D.
Lyndsay’s _Monarchie, Works_, vol. iii. p. 151, ed.
Chal. Sometimes it is used in a more extended sense;
“And _Phetonisses_, Charmeresses,” &c.
CHAUCER’S _House of Fame_, fol. 267, _Works_, ed.
1602.
See also Lydgate’s _Warres of Troy_, sig. K vi. ed.
1555.
# 310:
_corpse of her friend_] Qy. “corps of her friends:” at
p. 135, l. 6, _corps_ is used for bodies.
# 311:
_thine aim_] Old ed. “thy plot, _thyne ayme_:” see
note, p. 134.
# 312:
_surcease_] i.e. cease.
# 313:
_on_] Old ed. “in.”
# 314:
_those_] Old ed. “these.”
# 315:
_our clothes_] He means the dresses in which they were
to pass for Familists: see what follows.
# 316:
_Guttide_] i.e. Shrovetide.
# 317:
_Hollantide_] A common corruption of Hallowstide.
# 318:
_courtlike_] Old ed. “courttake.”
# 319:
_make_] Old ed. “makes.”
# 320:
_Lip._] Old ed. here and before the next speech which
I have given to Lipsalve, “_Sa._”
# 321:
_Master_, &c.] This speech has no prefix in the old
ed.
# 322:
_resolved_] See note, p. 39.
# 323:
_nice_] See note, p. 134.
# 324:
_private._ Whispers] Old ed. “_priuate_ whisper:” but
the second word is a stage-direction.
# 325:
_Galen_] Old ed. “Gallus.”
# 326:
_eke_] i.e. also.
# 327:
_five_] Old ed. “fine.”
# 328:
_gear_] See note, p. 155.
# 329:
_qd_——] Those who are acquainted with the sayings
of _Titus Silus_ will probably understand this
hieroglyphic.
# 330:
_disguised as a porter_] These words are not in the
old ed. From what follows in this scene we find that
he wears a disguise, and we may justly conclude that
it is no other than the porter’s dress in which he
appears during the next scene.
# 331:
_throne_] Qy. “shrine:” compare p. 163, l. 10.
# 332:
_star-like_] Old ed. “warlike:” but see the next line.
# 333:
_His_] Old ed. “This.”
# 334:
_a bell and a clack-dish_] A _clack-dish_, or
_clap-dish_, was a wooden dish with a moveable cover,
which was carried by beggars, and which they _clacked_
to shew that it was empty: see Steevens’s note on
Shakespeare’s _Measure for Measure_, act iii. sc. 2.
The _bell_ was another means of attracting attention.
# 335:
_paritor_] i.e. apparitor—a messenger employed to cite
persons to appear in the spiritual courts. The word is
found so contracted not only in prose but in verse:
“Belike thou art the Diuell’s _Parrator_,
The basest officer that liues in Hell.”
_Wily Beguilde_, sig. H 3, ed. 1623.
# 336:
_I play_] Old ed. “he plaies.”
# 337:
_crier_] Old ed. “parritor.”
# 338:
_crier_] Old ed. "sumner"—(i.e. apparitor). That the
alterations which I have made in this dialogue between
Gerardine and Dryfat are absolutely necessary, will
appear from subsequent scenes. Of the “faults in the
printing” Middleton was aware: see his address _To the
Reader_, p. 107: he perhaps had at first assigned the
parts of paritor, crier, and proctor differently; and
after he had made a new distribution of them,
neglected to alter this portion of the MS.
# 339:
_time out of sight_] i.e. (I suppose) time that I was
gone.
# 340:
_perfection_] Old ed. “affecton.”
# 341:
_celsitude_] i.e. height.
# 342:
_Give_] Old ed. “Giues.”
# 343:
_gazer loves_] Qy. “gazers’ love.”
# 344:
_Than the Titanian_, &c.] Old ed.
“_Then the_ Tartarians _God, when_ first _Egeons
Hill_.”
Ægeon (or, as he was called by the gods, Briareus,)
was thrown under mount Ætna.
# 345:
_worm’s bed_; _teeth_] Old ed. “worme bed, to the.”
# 346:
_square_] i.e. (I suppose) fall to quarrelling.
# 347:
_Mis. G._] Old ed. “Mar.”
# 348:
_Orders of knaves_] _Their_ number was 25: see _Brit.
Bibliogr._ vol. ii. p. 16, where they are each
reckoned up from a tract, printed and probably
compiled by Awdeley, called _The Fraternitye of
Vacabondes, &c. Wherunto also is adioyned the_ XXV.
_Orders of Knaues, otherwyse called a Quartern of
Knaues, &c._, 4to, the first ed. of which appeared in
1565: see _Typ. Antiq._ (ed. Dibdin), vol. iv. p. 564.
# 349:
_startups_] Were a sort of clumsy shoes with high
tops, worn by peasants. Cotgrave has “Guestres:
Startups; high shooes, or gamashes for countrey
folkes.”
# 350:
_sir-reverence_] A corruption of _save-reverence_,
_salva reverentia_: see Nares in V.
# 351:
_Tweedles_] So the old ed. when the letter is
afterwards read: here “_Sweedlesse_.”
# 352:
_pert_] So old ed. afterwards: here it omits the word.
# 353:
_towards_] i.e. in a state of preparation, at hand.
# 354:
_seiz’d_] Old ed. “feard.”
# 355:
_peasant groom_] Old ed. “pleasant Groine.”
# 356:
_Europa’s sea-form_] I can only explain these words by
supposing that they allude to Europa, as represented
in ancient gems and pictures, holding the bull by the
horns, while he bears her over the sea. Vide, for
instance, the engraving prefixed to Fischer’s ed. of
Palæphatus, 1772.
# 357:
_acrostic_] i.e. crossed on his breast: perhaps some
pun is intended here.
# 358:
_A pile_, &c.] This speech has no prefix in the old
ed.
# 359:
_manable_] i.e. (I presume) bold, forward, ready.
# 360:
_trow_] See note, p. 26.
# 361:
_passion_] See note, p. 64.
# 362:
_paritor_] See note, p. 170.
# 363:
_Gud. Off_, &c.] Old ed. “_Gud._ Off boyes, Shrimpe
what dost thou,” &c.
# 364:
_Shrimp_] Old ed. “Periwincle.”
# 365:
_sumner_] See note, p. 29.
# 366:
_paritor_] See note, p. 170.
# 367:
_Thrum_] Old ed. “Thum.”
# 368:
_And Tipple_, &c.] This part of Gerardine’s speech is
given to “_Gud._” in the old ed.
# 369:
_colour_] i.e. pretence.
# 370:
_paritor_] See note, p. 170.
# 371:
_cucking-stool_] i.e. a stool or chair at the end of a
long pole, in which scolds, &c. being placed, were
plunged into some muddy pool or stinking pond: see
Brand’s _Pop. Antiq._ vol. ii. p. 441, ed. 1813.
# 372:
_come_] Old ed. “comes.”
# 373:
_this gear cottens_] See notes, p. 150, 155.
# 374:
_colour_] See note, p. 184.
# 375:
_like_] See note, p. 113.
# 376:
_liver_] See note, p. 133.
# 377:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 378:
_doctor Doddipoll_] Is a ridiculous character in an
old play called _The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll_,
printed 1600; but the term is found long before that
date: _doddipoll_ is dunderhead.
# 379:
_questuary_] i.e. profitable.
# 380:
_bawdies_] See the same miserable pun, vol. i. p. 245.
# 381:
_I’ve_] Old ed. “I have.”
# 382:
_Enter Maria above_] So the old ed.; and we must
suppose that she is standing in a gallery: the first
words of Gerardine’s speech on entering shew that this
scene takes place _within_ the house: compare p. 159,
where Glister appears “_above_,” _within the house_.
# 383:
_Give_] Old ed. “Giues.”
# 384:
_liberal_] i.e. licentious.
# 385:
_Deeply_] Old ed. “Deadly.”
# 386:
_the round_] Certain soldiers of inferior rank (only
above the lancepesado), whose office was to _go round_
and inspect the sentinels, watches, and advanced
guard, were called _gentlemen of the round_: see
Whalley’s note in Gifford’s ed. of B. Jonson’s
_Works_, vol. i. p. 85.
# 387:
_word_] i.e. watchword.
# 388:
_Do_] Old ed. “Doth.”
# 389:
_sun approaches_] Old ed. “sons aproache:” but I
suspect that the whole line is corrupted, and that the
epithet “blushing” belongs to “Aurora.”
# 390:
_towards_] See note, p. 177.
# 391:
_statute-caps_] i.e. citizens, who, according to a
statute of Elizabeth in behalf of the trade of
cappers, wore, on Sabbath days and holydays, caps of
wool. See the notes of the commentators on "Well,
better wits have worn plain _statute-caps_."—
SHAKESPEARE’S _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, act V. sc. 2.
# 392:
_pedlar’s French_] i.e. unintelligible jargon. It is,
properly, the cant language of vagabonds.
# 393:
_costards_] i.e. heads.
# 394:
_cotten_] See note, p. 150.
# 395:
_O, but_, &c.] Qy. ought this to be given to
Gerardine?
# 396:
_Poppin_] So some copies of the old ed., others
“_Exigent_:” though there is certainly but _one_
impression of this play: see p. 103. Middleton (who
did not superintend the printing of it, see p. 107)
had dismissed the name _Exigent_ for that of _Poppin_,
or _vice versa_; and his uncorrected MS., where Dryfat
was sometimes called by one name, sometimes by the
other, was followed by the printer. This, however, is
the only place in which the copies (at least those
that I have seen) differ from each other with respect
to these names; an alteration having been made here
after part of the impression had been worked off. I
have retained the name _Poppin_ throughout.
# 397:
_attone them_] _Attone_ or _atone_ is—reconcile, set
them _at one_.—Old ed. “_attone them_ put them
together:” but see notes, pp. 134, 162.
# 398:
_play Ambidexter_] So in Nash’s _Pierce Pennilesse_;
“it is like inough he is _playing Ambidexter_ amongst
them.” Sig. B, ed. 1595. The allusion is to Preston’s
_Cambises King of Percia_, n. d. (written about the
beginning of Elizabeth’s reign), in which the Vice is
named _Ambidexter_. This “_lamentable tragedie mixed
full of plesant mirth_” is reprinted in the first vol.
of Hawkins’s _Origin of the English Drama_.
# 399:
_Poppin_] Old ed. “Exigent:” see note, p. 194.
# 400:
_cum nemini_, &c.]—“ea, quoniam nemini obtrudi potest,
Itur ad me.” Ter. _And._ i. 5, 15.
# 401:
_Byrlady_] See note, p. 66.
# 402:
_Poppin_] Old ed. “Exigent:” see note, p. 194.
# 403:
_cotations_] i.e. quotations—memoranda of what she had
heard at the meetings of the Family.
# 404:
_tagged point_] See note, vol. i. p. 244.
# 405:
_bewray all_, &c.] The same play on words occurs in
vol. i. p. 294, where see note.
# 406:
_angel_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 407:
_gilt’s_, &c.] _Gilt_ or _gelt_, i.e. gold, money.
# 408:
_five-finger at maw_] “For my game [at maw] stood, me
thought, upon my last two tricks, when I made sure of
the set, and yet lost it, hauing the varlet and _the
fiue finger_ to make two tricks.” Chapman’s _May Day_,
1611, p. 76.—For some account of maw, see Singer’s
_Researches into the Hist. of Playing Cards_, p. 258,
sqq.
# 409:
_gear_] See note, p. 155.
# 410:
_Club._ _Silence!_] Old ed. has only the
stage-direction, “_He cries_.”
# 411:
_apparance_] See note, p. 119.
# 412:
_narrow-ruffed_] Some copies of old ed. “_narrow_
rusty,” others “_narrow_ ruste:” yet there is but one
impression of the play: see p. 103. Compare what
Gudgeon says of mistress Purge’s “ruffs,” p. 131.
# 413:
_rout_] i.e. rabble.
# 414:
_Byrlady_] See note, p. 66.
# 415:
_edax rerum_] scil. _tempus._
# 416:
_now strike_, &c.] See p. 186.
# 417:
_cast about_] i.e. devise. Dryfat puns on the word
_cast_, as meaning to vomit.
# 418:
_bewray_] See note, p. 197.
# 419:
_Kiss the book_] Is, perhaps, only a stage-direction.
# 420:
_sir-reverence_] See note, p. 175.
# 421:
_as if I knew you not_] Imitated from Falstaff’s “I
knew ye, as well as he that made ye.” SHAKESPEARE’S
_Henry IV. Part I._ act ii. sc. 4.
# 422:
_Poppin_] Old ed. “Exigent:” see note, p. 194.
# 423:
_suppositor doctor_] See note, p. 161.
# 424:
_thereon_] Old ed. “therein.”
# 425:
_Poppin_] Old ed. “Exigent:” see note, p.194.
# 426:
_Dry._] Old ed. “_Club_.”
# 427:
_Pis._] What place is indicated by this abbreviation,
I cannot pretend to determine.
# 428:
_doctor_] Old ed. "proctor"—but that part is assumed
by Dryfat.
# 429:
_grincomes_] See note, p. 121.
# 430:
_Poppin_] Old ed. “Exigent:” see note, p. 194.
# 431:
_colour_] See note, p. 184.
# 432:
_blot in your tables_] An expression drawn from games
played with the tables: “beware of _blotting_,” says
the _Complete Gamester_, p. 155, ed. 1674.
# 433:
_limb-lifter_] Old ed. “Timelifter:” but compare _A
Handefull of Pleasant Delites_, &c., 1584, “a lustie
_lim lifter_,” p. 18, reprint.
# 434:
_runs at his wife’s ring_] See note, vol. i. p. 390.
# 435:
_Poppin_] Old ed. “Exigent:” see note, p. 194.
# 436:
_have_] Old ed. “hath.”
# 437:
_enjoinment_] Old ed. “enioyntment.”
# 438:
_Dry._ _The very_, &c.] Old ed.
"DRY. { _The very same_: your _are welcome to our
Club_
CLUB. { _Lawe_."
# 439:
_Epilogue_] Is, of course, spoken by Gerardine.
# 440:
_touch_] i.e. touchstone.
# 441:
_Presenter, or Prologue_, &c.] Except that I
have inserted between brackets the names of the
“gallants,” I have given this strange Induction
as it stands in the old ed. The latter part of
it, “Now, for the other,” &c., seems to be an
address to the reader; though perhaps it was
spoken by the Presenter.
# 442:
_Frippery discovered_, &c.] In the old ed. the only
stage-direction here is “_Enter a fellow_,” and the
prefixes to the dialogue which follows are _Frip._,
1., 2., 3., and 4.—Till the entrance of Primero, the
scene in the old ed. is a mass of confusion.
# 443:
_jealous_] i.e. suspiciously afraid: so afterwards in
this play: “Ah, but I am _jealous_ you will not keep
your countenance, i’faith.”
# 444:
_casting-bottle_] i.e. bottle for casting, or
sprinkling, liquid essences and perfumes, often
mentioned by our early dramatists; its use was not
confined to ladies.
# 445:
_hose_] i.e. breeches.
# 446:
_I’ll come to you presently_] These words, which in
the old ed. form part of the preceding speech, are, I
suppose, addressed to the second fellow.
# 447:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 448:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 449:
_falls_] i.e. falling bands, which lay flat upon the
dress from the neck.
# 450:
_gentlewomen’s_] Old ed. “gentlewomans.”
# 451:
_nobles_] See note, p. 17.
# 452:
_do_] Old ed. “does.”
# 453:
_I will_] Old ed. “ile:” and in next line but one,
“about.”
# 454:
_primero_] An old and favourite game at cards: see
Singer’s _Researches into the Hist. of Playing Cards_,
p. 244 sqq.
# 455:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 456:
_call it_] Old ed. “calt.”
# 457:
_I’d_] Old ed. “I had.”
# 458:
_trug_] i.e. trull. The word is not very common: “nor
(shall I speake plainely) please the _Trugge_ his
mistresse, without he goe to the Apothecaries,” &c.
GREENE’S _Quip for an Upstart Courtier_, sig D 3, ed.
1620.
# 459:
_gallant_] Old ed. “Gallants.”
# 460:
_fall_] See note, p. 218.
# 461:
_frippery_] This word has been rightly explained by
Gifford and others as—a place where old clothes are
exposed for sale: but here the profession of frippery
seems to be meant; compare Chapman;
"D’OL. Now your profession, I pray?
FRIP. _Fripperie_, my lord, or as some tearme it,
_Petty Brokery_."
MONSIEUR D’OLIVE, 1606, sig E 4.
# 462:
_and you make you ready_] i.e. if you dress yourself:
compare p. 57 and note.
# 463:
_changed_] Old ed. “chande.”
# 464:
PRI. _But, mass, sir_] Old ed. “Ar. _But_ maister.”
# 465:
_prevent_] See note, p. 49.
# 466:
_I’m_] Old ed. “I am.”
# 467:
_lins_] i.e. ceases.
# 468:
_mark_[_s_]] A mark was 13_s._ 4_d._
# 469:
_rize_] i.e. rose.
# 470:
_Nor ceas’d_, &c.] All the latter part of this speech
is prose in the old ed.: as to the arrangement of it,
the reader must be aware that imperfect lines
frequently occur in the blank verse of our early
dramatists: see, for instance, the speeches of
Katherine to her suitors in next scene.
# 471:
_censur’d me_] i.e. held me in their opinion.
# 472:
_not_] Old ed. “nor.”
# 473:
_in the Knight’s ward_] See note, vol. i. p. 392.—The
old ed. gives the passage thus: “_I am sure he is fast
inough? and Andrew Lucifer’s Rapier and dagger, in the
knights ward, with the embost_,” &c.
# 474:
_hangers_] i.e. fringed and ornamented loops attached
to the girdle, in which the weapons were suspended.
# 475:
_than_] Old ed. “them.”
# 476:
_your wrongs_] May be right: but qy. “you wrong.”
# 477:
_perfection_] Old ed. “perfections.”
# 478:
_commend_] Old ed. “command.”
# 479:
_Vouchsafe_, &c.] Old ed. thus:
“Vouchsafe vnequalld Virgin whereon I iustly kept,
Accept this worthlesse fauor from your seruants
arme, the hallowed beades,
The true and perfect number of my sighs.”
# 480:
_likes_] See note, p. 47.
# 481:
_purchase_] See note, vol. i. p. 319.
# 482:
_I’ve_] Old ed. here and in the next line but five, “I
haue.”
# 483:
_push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 484:
_when_] See note, vol. i. p. 362.
# 485:
_Savoy_] i.e. the Savoy: see Stowe’s _Survey_, b. i.
p. 210, and b. iv. p. 106, ed. 1720.
# 486:
_inward_] i.e. intimate.—The old ed. gives to Pursenet
the words “gentleman; his parts deserve it.”
# 487:
_Piping hot_, &c.] The first part of this speech
relates to Fitsgrave, who has joined the “gallants”
under the name of Bouser; the second part to Bungler.
# 488:
_clip_] i.e. embrace.
# 489:
_viols_] See note, p. 11.]
# 490:
_Pax_] See note, p. 24.
# 491:
_respectively_] i.e. respectfully: compare vol. i. p.
425.
# 492:
_You’re_] Old ed. “You are.”
# 493:
_they’ll_] Old ed. “they will.”
# 494:
_Exit_] Is not marked in old ed.: but, as far as I
understand the scene, it seems necessary.
# 495:
_queasy_] i.e. squeamish.
# 496:
_I’m ... I’ve_] Old ed. “I am ... I have.”
# 497:
_he_] I have not altered this stage-direction, as I am
not sure who is meant by the word _he_. Primero (see
p. 234) had desired the Boy to “be ready for the
song.”
# 498:
_no affliction_] Qy. “not a fiction.”
# 499:
PRI. _My wits_, &c.] I suspect that this speech ought
to be divided thus:
"PRI. ’Slife, he’s in a sick trance!
GOL. My wits must not stand idle:
A cheat or two," &c.
# 500:
_and it_] i.e. if it. Old ed. “an’t.”
# 501:
_and so_] Old ed. “_and_ has _so_.”
# 502:
_never_] Old ed. “nere.”
# 503:
_Pax_] See note, p. 24.
# 504:
_Goldstone_] Old ed. “Bouser,” which is Fitsgrave’s
assumed name,—the author, I suppose, having merely
written G., which the printer took for B.
# 505:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 506:
_You’ve_] Old ed. “You have.”
# 507:
_miss it_] i.e. let it go.
# 508:
_nobles_] See note, p. 17.
# 509:
_I’m_] Old ed. “I am.”
# 510:
_were it_] Old ed. “wer’t.”
# 511:
_you’ll_] Old ed. “you will.”
# 512:
_respectively_] See note, p. 235.
# 513:
_Mermaid_] A famous tavern in Cornhill, frequented by
Shakespeare, Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, &c.
# 514:
_Mitre_] Another celebrated tavern, in Bread Street,
Cheapside: it was afterwards removed to Fleet Street.
# 515:
_Faith_, &c.] This speech is given in old ed. to
Goldstone; but it disagrees with what he has just
said.
# 516:
_push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 517:
_Boy_, &c.] What I have here given to Pursenet is in
the old ed. part of the speech of _All_.
# 518:
_toward_] See note, p. 177.
# 519:
_tire-men_] i.e. dressers belonging to the theatre,—as
it seems from what follows.
# 520:
_Look you ... out forty_] Given to Pursenet in old ed.
# 521:
_come_] Old ed. “comes.”
# 522:
_pullen_] i.e. poultry.
# 523:
_nobles_] See note, p. 17.
# 524:
_More censure_] i.e. a higher opinion.
# 525:
_they’re_] Old ed. “they are.”
# 526:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 527:
_What made you_] i.e. what business had you?
# 528:
_you_] Old ed. “your.”
# 529:
_’Tween_] Old ed. “Turne.”
# 530:
_populous_] i.e. prevalent, common,—or, perhaps,
abundant.
# 531:
_With which thou ever_, &c.] After this line the old
ed. has “_Exeunt_.
_Enter Fitsgraue._
FITSG. My pocket pickt,” &c.;
and after his conversation with the servant and _exit_
(no new scene being marked),
“_Taylb._ Oh the parting of vs twaine, 14“ᚬ_Enter
Whore Gal._
Hath causde me mickle paine,” &c.
But the scene between Fitsgrave and the servant
intervenes here so awkwardly, that I have ventured to
make a transposition.
# 532:
_mickle_] i.e. great.
# 533:
_Enter Fitsgrave_, &c.] See note in preceding page.
# 534:
_I’ve_] Old ed. “I have.”
# 535:
_you belong to me_, &c.] Is the text corrupted here,
or is something wanting?
# 536:
_stoln_] Qy., for the sake of the rhyme, "lorn,"—i.e.
lost.
# 537:
_Scene III._, &c.] Concerning the transposition of the
preceding scene, see note, p. 246.—In the old ed. the
present scene follows the exit of Primero with Tailby
(see p. 247) thus:
“_Pri._ Come, you shall see how tis alterd now? I do
not thinke
but you’le like her. _Exit._
_Pri._ Where be your liueries? _Enter all at once._
1. They attend without.” &c.
The commencement of act iii., which the old ed. does
not mark, might have taken place here, had not the
preposterous length of act iv. in that ed. obliged me
to divide it into the iii. and iv. acts.
# 538:
_the Mitre_] See note, p. 240.—The entertainment given
by “the gallants” to Primero and his ladies is
supposed to be just over.
# 539:
_alchemy_] See note, vol. iv. p. 122.
# 540:
_chatterer_] Old ed. “quarter her.”
# 541:
_Pax_] See note, p. 24.
# 542:
_slight_] i.e. contrivance, artifice.
# 543:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 544:
_Exit Vintner_, &c.] We are of course to suppose that
Goldstone, while talking with the vintner, contrives
to “shift away the beakers by a slight,” and leave in
their places the “alchemy knaves” which Fulk had
brought to him: but as I do not understand how the
trick was executed, I have not ventured to add any
stage-directions.
# 545:
_Fit._] Old ed. “_Gold._”
# 546:
_I’ve_] Old ed. “I have.”
# 547:
_angel_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 548:
_rose-noble_] i.e. a gold coin (stamped with a rose)
worth sixteen shillings.
# 549:
_cracked in the ring_] “The gold coin of our ancestors
was very thin, and therefore liable to crack. It
still, however, continued passable until the crack
extended beyond the _ring_, _i.e._ beyond the inmost
round which circumscribed the inscription; when it
became _uncurrent_, and might be legally refused.”
GIFFORD—note on B. Jonson’s _Works_, vol. vi. p. 76.
# 550:
_pax_] See note, p. 24.
# 551:
_Tai._] Old ed. “_Purs._”
# 552:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 553:
_thine_] Old ed. “mine.”
# 554:
_will be ever one_] Old ed. “_will be ever_ be _one_.”
# 555:
_again_] i.e. against.
# 556:
_Hist_] Old ed. “Pist.”
# 557:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 558:
_Pur._ &c.] Old ed. “All.”
# 559:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 560:
_again_] See note, p. 255.
# 561:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 562:
_hatcht_] i.e. engraved.
# 563:
_hangers_] See note, p. 227.
# 564:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 565:
_snibbed_] i.e. snubbed—a form of the word which
sometimes occurs.
# 566:
_Haff_, &c.] So old ed.—the spelling being intended to
express the broken utterance of the speaker.
# 567:
_Fie_, &c.] The old ed. gives this speech, “_Fie_ ath
_these_,” &c., without any prefix.
# 568:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 569:
_come_] Old ed. “comes.”
# 570:
_word_] i.e. motto.
# 571:
_Gol._] Old ed. “_Purs._,” which the next speech of
Pursenet shews to be wrong: but, perhaps, the prefix
should be “Fulk.”
# 572:
_Fit._] Old ed. “_Fulk._”
# 573:
_disgest_] Frequently found in our old writers for
_digest_.
# 574:
_cross-biter_] i.e. cheater.
# 575:
_royals ... as many with spurs_, &c.] i.e.
spur-royals—gold coins (with a star on the reverse
resembling the rowel of a spur) worth fifteen
shillings.
# 576:
_Sec. D. What’s_, &c.] Old ed. gives “Drawer, what’s
to be done, sirs?” as part of Goldstone’s speech.
# 577:
_near all_] i.e. touches all nearly—if, indeed, that
be the right reading. Old ed. “meere _all_.”
# 578:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 579:
_Pur. Faith_, ] Given in old ed., as one speech,
to Pursenet.
_Gol. Nay_, &c.]
# 580:
_yon_] i.e. yonder.
# 581:
_Here, sir_] Not knowing how this second piece of
knavery is managed (see note, p. 251), I have not
attempted to supply any stage-directions. Goldstone
seems to have removed the goblet from the place where
it “hung” (see p. 261), and to have hid it somewhere,
till all except himself and Fulk had left the room.
# 582:
_Act III._] Old ed. “Actus 4:” see note, p. 248.
# 583:
_be ready_] i.e. dress himself: compare p. 224 and
note.
# 584:
_toward_] See note, p. 177.
# 585:
_I’m_] Old ed. “I am.”
# 586:
_Combe Park_] Lands so called in the parish of
Kingston upon Thames: see Manning and Bray’s _Hist.
of Surrey_, vol. i. p. 401.—In _The Black Book_
(reprinted in the last vol. of Middleton’s _Works_),
Lucifer makes “a high thief on horseback” the
“keeper of Combe Park.”
# 587:
_purchase_] See note, vol. i. p. 319.
# 588:
_Scene II._] Here in the old ed. no new scene is
marked: after Pursenet had spoken the words “there
will I meet him,” and thrown a scarf over his face
(see what follows), the audience were to suppose that
the stage represented Combe Park: vide note, p. 147.
# 589:
_ne’er_] Old ed. “never.”
# 590:
_injury_] So in _The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll_,
1600;
“Ashamed that you should _iniurie_ your estate
To kneele to me.”
Sig. H 2.
# 591:
_marks_] See note, p. 226.
# 592:
_any_] Has a word, which followed this, dropt out?
# 593:
_covetous_] Old ed. “courteous.”
# 594:
_purchase_] See note, vol. i. p. 319.
# 595:
_spur-royals_] See note, p. 260.
# 596:
_fire-drakes_] i.e. a sort of fire-works.
# 597:
_thy_] Qy. “my.”
# 598:
_pasture_] Qy. “pastime.”
# 599:
_her_] Old ed. “him.”
# 600:
_hist_] Old ed. “pist.”
# 601:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 602:
_pax_] See note, p. 24.
# 603:
_I’ve_] Old ed. “I have.”
# 604:
_know_] Old ed. “knowes.”
# 605:
_standing_] A word that followed this seems to have
dropt out.
# 606:
_again_] See note, p. 255.
# 607:
_I’m_] Old ed., “I am.”
# 608:
_Enter Fitsgrave and Gentleman_] Old ed. “_Enter two
Gentlemen_:” but one of them is certainly Fitsgrave,
who has put into the hands of his companion the letter
which Pursenet had dropt: see the last line of sc. ii.
of this act. Besides, the first speaker here declares
that he has found “_three_ of the gallants;” and
Fitsgrave, in act iv. sc. 5, says,
"The broker-gallant and the cheating-gallant,
_Now I have found ’em all_."
# 609:
_shame_] Qy. “charm.”
# 610:
_faints_] Old ed. “faires.”
# 611:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 612:
_Yea, at your book so hard_] Perhaps it is hardly
worth noticing, that, in the _Third Part of Henry
VI._, act v. sc. 6, Gloster says to Henry,
“Good day, my lord: _what, at your book so hard_?”
# 613:
_Ex for ex_] Can this expression mean “_ecce_, for
example?”
# 614:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 615:
_are_] Old ed. “were.”
# 616:
_Mitre-night_] See note, p. 248.—Had the giving of
suppers to these ladies at the Mitre grown now to a
custom?
# 617:
_struggling_] Old ed. “he thumps.”
# 618:
_lined_] May be right,—but qy. “limed.”
# 619:
_a chrisom_] i.e. an infant,—one who dies within the
month of its birth, and is buried in the _chrisome_, a
white cloth, an emblem of Christian innocency, which
was thrown over it at baptism, and which it was to
wear till the mother came to be purified, when the
cloth was returned to the church.
Before the Reformation, in the old baptismal office,
the _chrisom_ cloth was put on the child’s head, to
prevent, according to Ducange _in Chrismate_, the holy
oil (χρισμα) from running off.
Compare Shakespeare’s _Henry V._ act ii. sc. 3, where
dame Quickly says of Falstaff, "’a made a finer end,
and _went away an it had been any christom child_."
# 620:
_watchet_] i.e. light blue.
# 621:
_Enter a Servant_, &c.] The old ed. (in which the
commencement of act iv. is marked much earlier, see
note, p. 263) has, “_In the midst of the musick enter
one bringing in_,” &c.
# 622:
_Wigmore’s galliard_] Is frequently mentioned by our
early writers: see a galliard minutely described,
note, vol. i. p. 65.
# 623:
_the chamber_] After these words the stage-direction
in the old ed. is, “_The musicke plaies on a while,
then enter Tailbee his man after trussing him_.”
# 624:
_trussing him_] i.e. tying his points: see note, vol.
i. p. 367.
# 625:
_now down_] Old ed. “nowne.”
# 626:
_that’s_] Old ed. “whats.”
# 627:
_All-holland-tide_] i.e. All-hallows-tide: see note,
p. 165.
# 628:
_Take_] Old ed. “Takes.”
# 629:
_disgested_] See note, p. 259.
# 630:
_lead_] Old ed. “lend.”
# 631:
_at her house_] Old ed. “at home, _at her house_;” see
notes 241 and 244, p. 134.
# 632:
_Gol._] Old ed. “_Bung_.”
# 633:
_fig-frails_] i.e. fig-baskets.
# 634:
_steaks_] Compare vol. i. p. 336, where, as the
present passage shews, the reading “_steaks_ of
velvet” is right.
# 635:
_Pax_] See note, p. 24.
# 636:
_hangers_] See note, p. 227.
# 637:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 638:
_filed_] i.e. polished.
# 639:
_men’s_] Qy. "mends"—i.e. helps.
# 640:
_The Middle Aisle_, &c.] See note, vol. i. p. 418.
# 641:
_ram’s head_] As a crest, I suppose.
# 642:
_I’d know_] Old ed. “I knew.”
# 643:
_Do you walk, sir_?] Is in the old ed. the conclusion
of Pursenet’s speech, whose exit with the Boy is not
marked. As we subsequently learn (see pp. 297, 298)
that the sharper had succeeded in his design on
Pyamont’s gold, by falling into a pretended swoon, I
cannot help suspecting that a portion of this scene
has dropt out, and that the incident of the swoon took
place here on the stage, after Pursenet had tried all
other means of surprising Pyamont’s caution.
# 644:
_guess_] i.e. guests: see note, vol. i. p. 326.
# 645:
_vild_] See note, vol. i. p. 94.
# 646:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 647:
_a’ life_] See note, vol. i. p. 272.
# 648:
_jealous_] See note, p. 216.
# 649:
_Why, ye shall see a pretty story of a humour_] These
words are given to Bungler in the old ed.
# 650:
_stay_] Old ed. “stray.”
# 651:
_maple-faced_] Whether this epithet is to be explained
rough-faced, or brown-faced, or broad-faced, seems
doubtful: see Gifford’s note on B. Jonson’s _Works_,
vol. vi. p. 156.
# 652:
_goldsmith_] When this drama was written, and indeed
long after, goldsmiths acted as bankers:
“_Enter Trainsted with a purse of gold in his hand._
TRAINST. I have been with my goldsmith, and am well
furnished to start hence.” Sir E. Howard’s _Man of
Newmarket_, 1678, act i. sc. i.
# 653:
_how often I swooned_] See note, p. 291.
# 654:
_a good caudle_, &c.] Here again (see note, p. 151),
Middleton seems to consider _caudle_ and a _cullis_ as
the same thing. According to ancient receipts, fine
gold and orient pearl are among the ingredients of the
latter.
# 655:
_are_] Old ed. “is.”
# 656:
_I’d_] Old ed. “I would.”
# 657:
_conveyance_] i.e. sleight of hand,—a delicate term
for stealing.
# 658:
_I’ve_] Old ed. “I have.”
# 659:
_carkanet_] i.e. a collar of jewels, a necklace.
# 660:
_laid_] See note, p. 11.
# 661:
_goldsmith_] Old ed. “goldsmits.”
# 662:
_leese_] i.e. lose—(lose sight of Goldstone, I
presume).
# 663:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 664:
_spur-royals_] See note, p. 260.
# 665:
_I’ve_] Old ed. “I have.”
# 666:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 667:
_Let go, ’tis_] Old ed. “lets _go_ this.”
# 668:
_I’m glad in my soul, sir_] In the old ed. this speech
is followed by a word printed in italics,—"_Gnawes_,"—
which I presume is a stage-direction.
# 669:
_spur-royals_] See note, p. 260.
# 670:
_look, a’ ’s way_] Old ed. “lookt asway.”
# 671:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 672:
_Admirable_] Old ed. “Admirall.”
# 673:
_likes_] See note, p. 47.
# 674:
_stag’d_, &c.] Old ed. “_sta’gde? why what lacks
Bowser, are you too well, too safe, an absolute
scholler._”
# 675:
_We shall thrive_] An imperfect couplet: see notes, p.
7 of this vol., p. 424 of vol. i.
# 676:
_Pur._ _Little master Bouser_, &c.] Old ed. “_All._
_Little maister Bowser, sweete maister Bowser welcome
ifaith._”
# 677:
_properties_] i.e. necessaries for the scene: in
strict theatrical language, however, the term is
applied to things, not to persons.
# 678:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 679:
_A Chamber_] The commencement of the scene would
lead us to suppose that the place of action is
Primero’s house: but that Fitsgrave’s friends should
conceal themselves in a gallery there, to watch the
proceedings of “the gallants,” is surely somewhat
absurd.
# 680:
_twilight_, _twitter-lights_] Are, I believe,
synonyms; and perhaps one of them ought to be
struck out of the text. The latter is a word of
rare occurrence; but we find it in our author’s
_More Dissemblers besides Women_, “Come not till
_twitter-light_,” act iii. sc. 1; and in the old
play called _Wily Beguilde_, “What mak’st thou
heere this _twatter light_?” Sig. E 3, ed. 1623.
# 681:
_You have a privilege from your hat_, &c.] An allusion
to some regulation about dress, which I cannot
explain: the reader may turn to Strutt’s _Dress and
Habits_, &c., vol. ii. p. 316.
# 682:
_bean-flour bags_] Compare Eugenia’s speech in _The
Old Law_, vol. i. p. 38.
# 683:
_others_] Old ed. “us.”
# 684:
_Third C._] Is perhaps the “Novice.”
# 685:
_When that good news_, &c.] Is given to “3.” in old
ed.
# 686:
_Goldstone_, &c.] So the lines are divided in the old
ed.: the measure is lost in the corruption of the
text.
# 687:
_So will I_] Is given to “3.” in old ed.; but the
Third Court. had “set her affections” on Tailby.
# 688:
_Here’s my_, &c.] Is given to “4.” in old ed.
# 689:
_Bun._] Old ed. "3."—but Bungler, as we find, is one
of the party.
# 690:
_First G._ _What’s this?_ _Sec. G._ _Fooh_, &c.] One
speech, given to “1.” in old ed.
# 691:
_word_] See note, p. 258.
# 692:
_high-men_] A cant term for false dice loaded so as
always to produce high throws.
# 693:
_Bun._] Old ed. “3:” see note in the preceding page.
# 694:
_unvalued_] i.e. invaluable.
# 695:
_Pythagorical rascal_] Compare p. 85 and note.
# 696:
_This is my crown_, &c.] An imperfect couplet: see
notes, p. 7 of this vol., p. 424 of vol. i.
# 697:
_be contained_] i.e. restrain yourselves—be not so
impatient.
# 698:
_First the_, &c.] Given as part of Pursenet’s speech
in old ed.
# 699:
_Right, sir_] Given to Fitsgrave in old ed.
# 700:
_unvalued_] See note, p. 314.
# 701:
_The Welsh leiger_] Compare p. 88 and note. _Leiger_
is a resident or ambassador at a foreign court.
# 702:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 703:
_Fit._] Old ed. “_Bungl._”
# 704:
_Fit._] Old ed. “_Purs._”
# 705:
_Pur._] Old ed. “_Boy_.”
# 706:
_Proceed_] Is part of the Boy’s speech in old ed.
# 707:
_Boy_] Old ed. “_Fits._”
# 708:
_Boy_] Old ed. “_Fits._”
# 709:
_corporis_] Old ed. “corpus.”
# 710:
_Pur._] Qy. “_Pri._”
# 711:
_shrieve_] i.e. sheriff: old ed. “Sheerse.”
# 712:
_charms_] Old ed. “swarmes.”
# 713:
_bandora_] A musical instrument resembling a guitar:
see Sir J. Hawkins’ _Hist. of Music_, vol. iii. p.
345.
# 714:
_Enter the Masque_, &c.] Here, and a little after, I
have given the stage-direction as it stands in the old
ed., with some additions between brackets.
# 715:
_tell me_] i.e. acknowledge—if there be no corruption
of the text.
# 716:
_you’re_] Old ed. “you are.”
# 717:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 718:
_under covert-baron_] See note, vol. i. p. 370.
# 719:
_Fit._] This prefix has dropt out in old ed.
# 720:
_Whom_] Old ed. “To _whom_.”
# 721:
Prefixed to the ed. of 1640.
# 722:
_twenty years_] A mistake: see p. 327.
# 723:
_J. S._] For whom the ed. of 1640 is printed.
# 724:
_I was as well given_, &c.] "Imitated from
Shakespeare’s _First Part of K. Henry IV._ act iii.
sc. 3, where Falstaff says, ‘I was as virtuously given
as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore
little; diced not above seven times a-week; went to a
bawdy-house not above once in a quarter—of an hour;
paid money that I borrowed, three or four times; lived
well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all
order, out of all compass.’" REED.
# 725:
_the flag’s down_] “On the tops of our ancient
theatres were flags, which we may suppose to have been
taken down during the season of Lent, when plays were
not suffered to be represented.” STEEVENS.
# 726:
_no knight since one thousand six hundred_] “Alluding
to the number of necessitous people who were created
knights by king James after his accession.” REED.
# 727:
_the glory of his complement_] “i.e. the number of his
servants. We still say of a ship full manned, that she
has her full _complement_.” STEEVENS.
# 728:
_blue coats_] See note, p. 26.
# 729:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 730:
_fathoms_] See note, vol. i. p. 415.
# 731:
_first_] Dodsley and his editors read “_first_ rate.”
# 732:
_wittol_] i.e. tame cuckold.
# 733:
_to which himself gives aim_] i.e. which himself
directs: see Gifford’s note on Massinger’s _Works_,
vol. ii. p. 28, ed. 1813, where this passage is cited,
and where the difference between the expressions _cry
aim_ and _give aim_, both taken from archery, is
accurately shewn: “he who _gave aim_ was stationed
near the butts, and pointed out, after every
discharge, how wide or how short the arrow fell of the
mark.”
# 734:
_shirt_] Old eds. “skirt.”
# 735:
_common place_] A pun, I presume,—common-pleas.
# 736:
_slight_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 737:
_throw_] Old eds. “throwes.”
# 738:
_opinion_] “i.e. reputation.” REED.
# 739:
_recover’d_] Qy. “discover’d:” compare the third line
of Harebrain’s next speech.
# 740:
_There’s_] Old ed. “There is.”
# 741:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 742:
_There’s_] Old ed. “there is.”
# 743:
_the leather-winged bat_] From Spenser’s _Faerie
Queene_, b. ii. c. xii. st. 36.
"_The lether-winged batt_, dayes’ enimy."
# 744:
_Hero and Leander_, _Venus and Adonis_] The two
well-known poems of Marlowe and Shakespeare.
# 745:
_the Resolution_] A once-celebrated (and excellent)
work by Parsons the Jesuit, of which there are several
editions. The title of the ed. now before me is, _A
Book of Christian exercise apperteining to Resolution,
that is, shewing how that wee shoulde resolue our
selues to become Christians indeed. By R. P._ &c.
1585. 12mo. _Second Part_, 1591. 12mo. The 9th chapter
of Part I. Book 1. of the former portion treats of
hell-punishments.
# 746:
_I will_] Old eds. “Ile.”
# 747:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 748:
_Family_] i.e. the Family of Love: see p. 103.
# 749:
_She’s round with her, i’faith_] “i.e. she speaks
plainly, in earnest to her.” STEEVENS.
# 750:
_they’re_] Old ed. “they are.”
# 751:
_slights_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 752:
_coted_] i.e. quoted.
# 756:
_Fondly_] i.e. foolishly.
# 753:
_I’ve_] Old ed. “I have.”
# 754:
_th’ Master’s side_] See note, vol. i. p. 392.
# 755:
_to the third pile_] An allusion to the finest kind of
velvet, called _three-pile_. “It seems to have been
thought,” says Nares, quoting the present passage,
“that there was a three-fold accumulation of the outer
substance, or pile.” _Gloss._
# 757:
_Pollcut_] So ed. 1640: ed. 1608, “Pelcut.”
# 758:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 759:
_pair of organs_] i.e. the old expression for _an
organ_.
# 760:
_Pooh!_ Laughs] Old eds. “Laughs, puh.”
# 761:
_call in my chief gentleman i’ th’ chain of gold_]
“Stewards of noblemen and gentlemen of property used
formerly to wear a gold chain.” REED.
# 762:
_bastard_] i.e. a sweet Spanish wine: there were two
sorts, white and brown.
# 763:
_lord’s_] Old eds. “loue’s.”
# 764:
_blue coats_] See note, p. 26.
# 765:
_house_] Old eds. “houses.”
# 766:
_pair_] See note, p. 346.
# 767:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 768:
_consort_] i.e. company of musicians.
# 769:
_A song_, &c.] During which, the audience were to
suppose that Sir Bounteous was feasting his guests.
# 770:
_Mawworm, Hoboy, and others_] Old eds. “_and his
consorts_ [i.e. companions] _toward his lodging_.” I
originally marked this scene “_a bed-chamber_;” but
Sir Bounteous seems to accompany Follywit only to the
door of his sleeping apartment.
# 771:
_for_] i.e. for fear of.
# 772:
_champion_] See note, p. 73.
# 773:
_champers_] i.e., perhaps, horses (bridle-_champers_).
Nares’s conjecture (in _Gloss._), that “_champers_” in
this passage means _eaters_, seems very absurd.
# 774:
_gilt_] Compare p. 197, where see note.
# 775:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 776:
_dag’s end_] “i.e. at a distance, as by a _sword_ or
_pistol_ advanced against me. _Dag_ is an ancient
word, signifying either the one or the other.”
STEEVENS. Most commonly it means _pistol_; see vol. i.
p. 249.
# 777:
_blacks_] “The common term formerly for mourning.”
REED.
# 778:
_a noble_] See note, 17.
# 779:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 780:
_chief gentleman i’ th’ chain of gold_] See note, p.
347.
# 781:
_Exeunt_] Is not marked in the old eds., which, after
Hoboy’s speech, have a stage-direction, “_Enter with
Sir Bounteous in his night-gowne_.”
# 782:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 783:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 784:
_a knight of Windsor_] “i.e. one of the poor knights
of Windsor.” REED.
# 785:
_purchase_] See note, vol. i. p. 319.
# 786:
_lie_] Old eds. “lies.”
# 787:
_take me with you, lady_] See note, p. 22.
# 788:
_sect_] See note, p. 134.
# 789:
_let gold_, &c.] See note, p. 298.
# 790:
_Footman_] That is, one of Follywit’s companions in
disguise: see p. 345.
# 791:
_risse_] i.e. risen.
# 792:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 793:
_commodity_] i.e. advantage, profit.
# 794:
_Enter_, &c.] The only stage-direction in old eds. is
“_Curtens drawn_.” See note, vol. i. p. 264.
# 795:
_spur-royals_] See note, p. 260.
# 796:
_guess_] i.e. guests: see note, vol. i. p. 326.
# 797:
_Exit_] After Mawworm’s speech in ed. 1640 is the
following stage-direction, “_A Song, sung by the
musitians, and after the Song, a Country dance, by the
Actors in their Vizards to a new footing_.”
# 798:
_swag_] i.e. sink down,—in the balance.
# 799:
_And so deflowers her that was ne’er deflower’d_] The
same play upon words we find in _Romeo and Juliet_, A.
4. S. 5.
——“See, there she lies,
_Flower_ as she was, _deflowered_ by him.
Death is my son-in-law,” &c. REED.
# 800:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 801:
_vild_] i.e. vile: see note, vol. i. p. 94.
# 802:
_luxury_] i.e. lewdness.
# 803:
_where_] i.e. whereas.
# 804:
_The Courtesan_, &c.] Old eds. “_The Curtizan on a
bed, for her counterfeit fitt._”
# 805:
_foot-cloth_] See note, vol. i. p. 396. “It is
observed by Mr. Steevens, that anciently _the
housings_ of a horse, and sometimes a horse himself,
were denominated _a foot-cloth_.” REED.
# 806:
_spiny_] i.e. thin, slender: see note, vol. i. p. 174.
# 807:
_refocillation_] “i.e. restoration of strength by
refreshment.” STEEVENS.
# 808:
_Ah, hah_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “Ah.”
# 809:
_that same oil of mace is a great comfort to both the
counters_] See note, vol. i. p. 392. “A pun, alluding
to the maces which were carried by the serjeants or
varlets when they arrested people.” REED.
# 810:
_angel_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 811:
_purchase_] See note, vol. i. p. 319.
# 812:
_in_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “of.”
# 813:
_band_] Ed. 1640, “hand.”
# 814:
_scab_] So ed. 1640. Not in first ed.
# 815:
_officers_] Ed. 1640, “_officers_ and Projectors.”
# 816:
_I’d_] Old eds. “I would.”
# 817:
_e’er_] Old eds. “euer.”
# 818:
_minute_] So 1640. Ed. 1608, “munit.”
# 819:
_have_] Old eds. “hath.”
# 820:
_snobbing_] i.e. violent sobbing. Todd, in his ed. of
Johns. _Dict._, gives “To _Snub_, to sob with
convulsion.”
# 821:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 822:
_cullis_] See notes, pp. 151, 298.
# 823:
_A Room_] In the house of one of Follywit’s friends,
as we learn during the scene.
# 824:
_muss_] “i.e. scramble.” REED.
# 825:
_rose-nobles_] See note, p. 253.
# 826:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 827:
_I’ve_] Old eds. “I haue.”
# 828:
_For his blanch’d harlot_] “i.e. his harlot, whose
skin is _made white_ by the use of cosmetics.”
STEEVENS.
# 829:
_gentleman_, &c.] See note, p. 347.
# 830:
_rounded_] i.e. whispered.
# 831:
_The rest_] Old eds. “_All._”
# 832:
_I’ve_] Old eds. “I haue.”
# 833:
_chinclout_] i.e. a sort of muffler, which covered the
lower part of the face: see Douce’s _Illust. of
Shakespeare_, vol. ii. p. 75.
# 834:
_kind_] i.e. nature.
# 835:
_making ready_] i.e. dressing: see note, p. 224.
# 836:
_half moons_] "The edition of 1640 has '_periwigs_,'
as if it was not then understood why they were called
_half moons_." COLLIER.
# 837:
_Cue_] “i.e. Kew.” REED.
# 838:
_a flag_] See note, p. 332.
# 839:
_bony scribes_] Ed. 1640, “_bony scribes_ and bony
rags.”
# 840:
_Brothel_] Old eds. "Once-Ill"—which was, no doubt,
the name originally given by Middleton to this
character, and which, through an oversight, had
remained unaltered in some parts of the MS. used for
the press.
# 841:
_ready_] i.e. dressed: see note, p. 224.
# 842:
_much like your German clock_] An allusion to the
cumbrous and complicated machinery of our first
clocks, which came from Germany: see Gifford’s note,
B. Jonson’s _Works_, iii. 432.
# 843:
_Enter Succubus in the shape of Mis. Harebrain_] Old
eds. have “_Enter the Diuell in her shape_,” but
prefix _Succubus_ to his speeches. Concerning the evil
spirits called _Succubæ_,
————"that are said
To put on feminine feature....
. \. . . . . .
To draw men headlong with them to perdition,"
see that very curious work by Heywood, _The Hierarchie
of the Blessed Angels_, 1635, pp. 500, 542.
# 844:
_Shield me_, &c.] “See _Hamlet_. [‘Angels and
ministers of grace defend us.’ Act i. sc. 4.]”
STEEVENS.
# 845:
_tic’d_] i.e. enticed.—Old eds.
“_Was I_ entis’st _for this? to be soone reiected_.”
# 846:
_her_] i.e. of the hour—which I notice, because in the
margin of an old copy now before me, some reader has
conjectured “our.”
# 847:
_fadom_] i.e. fathom—so written for the sake of the
rhyme.
# 848:
_Seiz’d_] "Both the quartos read _seard_; and again,
_seare_ [first ed. ‘_ceare_’] in the next line. The
alteration by Mr. Dodsley." REED. Compare p. 178 and
note.
# 849:
_Harebrain_] Old eds. here, and the next speech,
“Hargraue,” a name which Middleton had once given to
this lady, and which he had neglected to alter in some
parts of the MS. used by the printer: see also note,
p. 404.
# 850:
_bums_] See note, vol. i. p. 432.
# 851:
_a linen cloth about her jaw_] i.e. the chinclout: see
p. 381 and note.
# 852:
_It was suspected much in Monsieur’s days_] “By
_Monsieur’s days_, I apprehend, the author means the
time when the duke of Anjou resided in England. That
prince, brother to Charles the Ninth, king of France,
on the encouragement he had received from Queen
Elizabeth, visited the English court in the year 1581,
and expected to have been united to her majesty in
marriage. The queen, however, after many affected
delays, broke off the treaty; and the duke was obliged
to return to his own country, with the disgrace of a
direct refusal. _Monsieur’s days_ are mentioned again
in _The Blacke Booke_, 1604, sign. C. ‘—let mercers
then have conscionable thumbs when they measure out
that smooth glittering devil, sattin, and that old
reveller, velvet, in the _days of Monsieur_, both
which have devoured many an honest field of wheat and
barley.’” REED. The piece just cited is by Middleton,
and will be found in the last vol. of the present
work. So too in Marmyon’s _Fine Companion_, 1633, “Two
or three dances, as old as _Mounsier_.” Sig. G 2.
# 853:
_queasy_] i.e. squeamish.
# 854:
_know_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “knew.”
# 855:
_cullis_] See notes, pp. 151, 298.
# 856:
_chain_] See note , p. 381.
# 857:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 858:
_Pusha_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 859:
_I’ve_] Old eds. “I haue.”
# 860:
_Onyx cum prole, silexque_] “From _Propria quæ
maribus_.” STEEVENS.
# 861:
_pudding_] i.e. tobacco made up in a particular form.
# 862:
_vild_] Altered in the eds. of Dodsley’s Old Plays to
the modern spelling “vile,” which destroys the (very
poor) play on words.
# 863:
_waft_] i.e. flavour.
# 864:
_Knocking within_] Old eds. “Master Penitent Once-Ill
_knocking within_:” see note, p. 384.
# 865:
_Harebrain_] Here, and throughout the scene, she and
her husband are called “Hargraue” in the old eds.: see
notes, pp. 388, 404.
# 866:
_likes me_] “i.e. pleases me.” REED.
# 867:
_assum’d thee formally_] “i.e. assumed thy form.”
REED.
# 868:
_periwig_] When this play was written, _periwigs_ were
much worn by ladies.
# 869:
_clips_] “i.e. embraces.” REED.
# 870:
_his_] Old eds. “her.”
# 871:
_e’er_] Old eds. “euer.”
# 872:
_e’er I’ve_] Old eds. “euer I haue.”
# 873:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 874:
_by your favour, ladies_] "The players of James the
First’s time seem to have been as censurable for
addressing the audience as any of their successors
since. This speech is evidently not intended for the
bawd, who now enters _alone_. In the same manner sir
Bounteous speaks to the auditors, when he says, ‘An
old man’s venery is very chargeable, my masters;
there’s much cookery belongs to’t.’ [p. 390.]" REED.
# 875:
_peevish_] i.e. foolish.
# 876:
_have_] Old eds. “has.”
# 877:
_made women_] i.e. women whose fortunes are made.
# 878:
_hole_] i.e. hide.
# 879:
_She’ll_] Old eds. “she will.”
# 880:
_restraint upon_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “_restraint_
on’t _upon_.”
# 881:
_maid_] Old eds. “man.”
# 882:
_fear thee_] “i.e. affright thee.” REED.
# 883:
_resolv’d_] See note, p. 39.
# 884:
_no curious wooer_] For “_curious_” Dodsley chose to
substitute “_furious!_” and Reed remarks that
"_curious_ is probably the genuine reading; it may
mean _inquisitive, prying!_"—_No curious wooer_ is, no
wooer that uses nice, elegant, elaborate phrase.
# 885:
_trow_] See note, p. 26.
# 886:
_take her e’en_] Old eds. “_eene take her_.”
# 887:
_hundred_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “_hundred pound_.”
# 888:
_e’er_] Old eds. “euer.”
# 889:
_All Hollantide_] See note, p. 165.
# 890:
_clip_] See note, p. 397.
# 891:
_Enter Sir Bounteous_, &c.] Old eds. “_Enter_ busilie
_Sir Bounteous Progresse_ for the feast.”
# 892:
_blue coats_] See note, p. 26.
# 893:
_Harebrain_] Here, and in the next speech of sir
Bounteous, also in all the prefixes to Harebrain’s
speeches in the following scene, the old eds. have
“Shortrod;” one of the names which Middleton gave to
the character, before he finally changed it to
_Harebrain_: see note, p. 388.
# 894:
_share_] See Mr. Collier’s remarks “on the payment of
actors,” _Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry_, vol. iii. p.
427: there were whole sharers, three-quarter sharers,
half sharers, &c.
# 895:
_bastard_] See note, p. 347.
# 896:
_your_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “you.”
# 897:
_Mitre_] See note, p. 240.—In justice to Reed (see
note in the last ed. of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_), I must
observe, that _my_ copy of the first ed. has “Niter.”
# 898:
_Buz_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “Buzy.”
# 899:
_Pox_] Old eds. “post.”
# 900:
_pilfer_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “Gilfer.”
# 901:
_thee_] So ed. 1640. First ed. "him."
# 902:
_her_] So ed. 1640. First ed. "him."
# 903:
_Whew, whew_] So ed. 1640. First ed. "When, when,"
which, after all, may be right, as an exclamation of
impatience for the performance of the play: see notes,
vol. i. pp. 289, 361.
# 904:
FOL. _Excellent well, sir_] So ed. 1640. Not in first
ed.
# 905:
_and ne’er_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “and speake nere”.
# 906:
_shares_] See note, p. 406.
# 907:
_Har._] Old eds. in the prefixes to his speeches
throughout this scene, “Shortrod:” see note, p. 404.
# 908:
_ycleped_] i.e. called.
# 909:
_like a bold Beacham_] _As bold as Beauchamp_ is a
proverbial expression, said to have originated in
the valour of Thomas, first earl of Warwick of that
name, “who (says Ray, after Fuller), in the year
1346, with one squire and six archers, fought in
hostile manner with an hundred armed men, at Hogges
in Normandy, and overthrew them, slaying sixty
Normans, and giving the whole fleet means to land.”
_Proverbs_, p. 219, ed. 1742.—Follywit, however,
seems to allude to one of the characters in a
celebrated drama, produced before 1600, called _The
bold Beauchamps_, which is frequently mentioned by
our early writers: it no longer exists. The author
of the false _Second Part of Hudibras_, 1663, canto
1. (in some lines quoted by Collier, _Hist. of Engl.
Dram. Poetry_, vol. iii. p. 425), attributes it to
Heywood; but his authority is of little weight.
# 910:
_ah, hah_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “_ah_.”
# 911:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 912:
_send for him to a supper_] “The custom for the
prostitutes at a theatre afterwards to sup with the
players, though not to invite them home to supper, is
alluded to in Field’s _Amends for Ladies_, 1639 [act
iii. sc. 4—first ed. in 1618]: a Drawer says, ‘I have
been at Bess Turnup’s, and she swears all the
gentlewomen went to see a play at the Fortune, and are
not come in yet; and she believes they _sup with the
players_.’” COLLIER.
# 913:
_two-penny room_] Or two-penny gallery: see Collier’s
_Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry_, vol. iii. p. 343.
# 914:
_full of gentlemen_] That it was a common practice for
youths of fashion to sit on stools upon the stage
during the performance, is known from many passages of
our old literature.
# 915:
_trow_] See note, p.26.
# 916:
_A_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “Ha.”
# 917:
_vild_] See note, p. 393.
# 918:
_ditch_] i.e. worthless, vile. Ed. 1640 has “_an_
excellent _example for all_ dizzy _constables_.”
# 919:
_lets you_] “i.e. hinders you.” REED.
# 920:
_Gum._] So ed. 1640. First ed. “Nub.”
# 921:
_aches_] A dissyllable: see notes, vol. i. pp. 28, 45.
# 922:
_I’m ... I’m_] Old eds. “I am ... I am.” This line
makes a couplet with what follows.
# 923:
_Faith, they were some counterfeit rogues ... they
said they’d play_ The Slip] “We have here a play
upon words very common in our ancient writers, and
which will be totally unintelligible, unless it is
remembered that _a slip_ was formerly the name of a
piece of _counterfeit_ money.... Robert Greene’s
_Thieves falling out, True Men come by their own_:
‘And therefore he went and got him certain _slips_,
which are _counterfeit_ pieces of money, being
brass, and covered over with silver, which the
common people called _slips_.’” REED. See also
Gifford’s note on Ben Jonson’s _Works_, vol. vi. p.
77.
# 924:
_mark_] See note, p. 226.
# 925:
_push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 926:
_kneeling after the play_] It was formerly the custom
for the players, at the conclusion of the play, to
kneel down and pray for their patrons: the royal
companies for the king or queen, those of noblemen for
the particular lord to whom they belonged.
# 927:
_vild_] See note, p. 393.
# 928:
_How_] So ed. 1640. First ed. “Home.”
# 929:
_properties_] See note, p. 308.
# 930:
_A prize, a prize_] Old eds. “_a_ peece, _a_ peece,”
which in Dodsley’s _Old Plays_ is altered to “a peace,
a peace.”
# 931:
_I’ve_] Old eds. “I haue.” This line is meant to form
a couplet with the conclusion of Sir Bounteous’s
speech and Harebrain’s question.
# 932:
_what is she for a fool_] i.e. what fool is she: see
Gifford’s note on B. Jonson’s _Works_, vol. iii. p.
397.
# 933:
_mark_] See note, p. 226.
# 934:
_We’ve_] Old eds. “We have.”
# 935:
_Exeunt omnes_] Ed. 1640 has “_Exeunt._
“_The end of the fifth and last Act: marching over
the Stage hand in hand._”
# 936:
_The Catch_, &c.] Not found in first ed., is printed
on the last leaf of ed. 1640.
# 937:
_Aristippus_] A sort of wine: see Randolph’s drama
called _Aristippus, or the Jovial Philosopher_, 1635.
# 938:
_The Life and Death of Mrs. Mary Frith. Commonly
Called Mal Cutpurse. Exactly Collected and now
Published for the Delight and Recreation of all
Merry disposed Persons._ _London_, 1662, 12mo.
Prefixed to it is her portrait in a male dress
(with an eagle, a lion, and an ape beside her),
under which are these lines;
“See here the Presidesse o’th pilfring Trade,
Mercuryes second, Venus’s onely Mayd,
Doublet and breeches, in a Un’form dresse,
The Female Humurrist, a Kickshaw messe:
Heres no attraction that your fancy greets,
But if her Features please not, read her Feats.”
Of this rare and curious volume a portion at
least seems to be authentic.
# 939:
Note on _Twelfth Night_, act i. sc. 3,—
_Shakespeare_ (by Boswell), vol. xi. p. 357.
# 940:
Note on _id._, ibid.
# 941:
Smith’s _Lives of Highwaymen, &c._ vol. ii. p.
142, ed. 1719.
# 942:
See a note, signed N., _From a MS. in the
British Museum_, (what a reference!) in
Dodsley’s _Old Plays_, vol. xii. p. 398, ed.
1780.
# 943:
_Biog. Hist. of Engl._ vol. ii. p. 408, ed.
1775.
# 944:
Note on _Twelfth Night_, act i. sc. 3,—Malone’s
_Shakespeare_ (by Boswell), vol. xi. p. 356.
# 945:
This excellent comedy has been reprinted by Mr.
Collier in a supplementary volume to Dodsley’s
_Old Plays_.
# 946:
“Mulsack the chimney-sweeper” is mentioned as
one of Moll’s companions in her _Life_, p. 82.
# 947:
_were_] Old ed. “was.”
# 948:
_termers_] Here Reed cites a passage from
Dekker’s _Belman of London_, concerning those
rogues that “_are called_ TERMERS _and they ply
Westminster-hall: Michaelmas Terme is their
harvest_:” see also my note, p. 107. I may
observe, however, that _termer_ did not always
mean a person of ill repute: “with a countrey
gentleman or _Tearmer_.” _Greene’s Ghost
Haunting Conicatchers_, 1626, sig. D 3.
# 949:
_for sixpence_] “The price of a play at this
time.” _Id._
# 950:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 951:
_vast theatre_] i.e. the Fortune, in Golden or
Golding Lane, St. Giles’s, Cripplegate. It was
built by Henslowe, and Alleyn (the founder of
Dulwich College), in 1599-1600. It was eighty
feet square on the outside, and fifty-five feet
square within. It was destroyed by fire in 1621.
See Collier’s _Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry_,
vol. iii. p. 302.
# 952:
_beside_] Old ed. “besides.”
# 953:
_a trencher_] "At this time pewter was not introduced
into common use. Our ancestors were content with
wooden trenchers, and these were even to be found at
the tables of our nobility and persons of good
fashion. Among the orders for household servants,
devised by John Haryngton, 1566, and renewed by his
son, 1592, it is directed, ‘That no man waite at the
table without _a trencher_ in his hand, except it
be uppon good cause, on paine of 1_d._’ _Nugæ
Antiquæ_, vol. ii. p. 267, ed. 1779. See also the
_Northumberland Household-Book_, p. 354. _Trenchers_
are still used in some colleges and inns-of-court,
particularly in Lincoln’s-Inn." REED.
# 954:
_falling bands_] See note, p. 218.—“In Evelyn’s
_Discourse on Medals_, 1697, p. 108, is the head of
Charles I. crowned, in the garter-robes, and wearing
_a falling band_; ‘which new mode,’ says Mr. Evelyn,
‘succeeded the cumbersome ruff: but neither did the
bishops or judges give it over so soon, the Lord
Keeper Finch being, I think, the very first.’” REED.
# 955:
_ingeniously_] i.e. sincerely: _ingenious_ is
frequently used for _ingenuous_ by our old writers:
“reasons ... which, I must _ingeniously_ confesse,
were both many and weighty.” Brathwait’s _Honest
Ghost_, 1658, p. 46.
# 956:
_dined_] Old ed. “dyed.”
# 957:
_bond_] Was formerly synonymous with _band_. See
notes, vol. i. pp. 245, 481.
# 958:
_marks_] See note, p. 226.
# 959:
_that_] Old ed. “that’s.”
# 960:
_Adam Bell_] An outlaw, famous for his archery: see
the beautiful ballad of _Adam Bel, Clym of the Cloughe
and Wyllyam of Cloudesle_, of which the most correct
text is in Ritson’s _Pieces of An. Pop. Poetry_.
# 961:
_naughty pack_] In a note on this passage Reed says,
“a _pack_ was formerly a name given to a lewd woman,”
and that “it was also sometimes applied to the male
sex.” The fact is, _naughty pack_ was a term of
reproach applied commonly both to men and women.
# 962:
_fond_] i.e. foolish.
# 963:
_baffle_] Meant formerly to treat with insult, or
mockery, or contempt. “Our names should be _baffuld_
on euery booke-sellers stall.” Nash’s _Pierce
Pennilesse_, sig. D 4, ed. 1595. “When he had
_baffuld_ mee in print throughout England.” Nash’s
_Haue with you to Saffron-walden_, sig. T 2, 1596.
“Prithee, good Fido, goe and baffull him:
Put an affront vpon him.”
Marmyon’s _Fine Companion_, sig. F, 1633.
# 964:
_watermen_] “Taylor the water-poet asserts, that at
this time, between Windsor and Gravesend, there were
not fewer than forty thousand watermen.” REED.
# 965:
_goll_] A cant term for hand—fist, paw.
# 966:
_roaring boy_] See prefatory matter, p. 427.
# 967:
_what is’t you lack_] See note, vol. i. p. 447.
# 968:
_minces tobacco_] When this play was written tobacco
was sold by apothecaries:
"Or in th’ Apothicaryes shop bee seene
To wrap Druggs, or to dry Tobacco in."
_Certain Elegies, with [Fitz Geffrey’s] Satyrs
and Epigrams_, 1620, sig. G 4.
# 969:
_bankrout_] i.e. bankrupt.
# 970:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 971:
_striker_] i.e. wencher.
# 972:
_as a naked boy in a phial_] “I suppose he means an
abortion preserved in spirits.” STEEVENS.
# 973:
_make_] Old ed. “makes.”
# 974:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 975:
_bear her in hand_] i.e. keep her in expectation.
# 976:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 977:
_But is this, &c._] “She gives him money, and he
pretends that he receives only tobacco from Mrs.
Gallipot.” COLLIER.
# 978:
_drink_] To _drink_ (i.e. smoke) tobacco was a very
common expression.
# 979:
_Paul’s_] See note, vol. i. p. 418.
# 980:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 981:
_the twelvepenny-stool gentlemen_] i.e. gentlemen who
pay twelvepence for a stool to sit upon the stage
during the performance: see note, p. 412. This is one
of the passages which led Malone to think that
“persons were suffered to sit on the stage only in the
private playhouses (such as Blackfriars, &c.)” _Hist.
Acc. of Engl. Stage_, p. 78—_Shakespeare_ (by
Boswell), vol. iii.: but Mr. Collier has shewn that
the practice was not confined to private theatres:
_Hist. of Engl. Dr. Poetry_, vol. iii. p. 352.
# 982:
_hench-boy_] i.e. page.
# 983:
_mouse_] See note, p. 137.
# 984:
_resolve_] i.e. satisfy.
# 985:
_gear_] i.e. stuff.
# 986:
_saveguard_] i.e., properly, a sort of large
petticoat, worn by women over the other clothes, to
protect them from soiling.
# 987:
GOS. _Moll, Moll!_ ]One speech in old ed., with the
GREEN. _Pist, Moll!_ ]prefix "_All._"—The exclamation
“pist” again occurs at p. 468. I unnecessarily altered
it into “hist” at p. 268.
# 988:
_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 989:
_buona roba_] See note, vol. i. p. 258.
# 990:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 991:
_sew_] Old ed. “sowes.”
# 992:
_Brainford_] The old form of _Brentford_.
# 993:
_push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 994:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 995:
_Saint Antling’s bell_] See note, vol. i. p. 503.—“At
St. Antholin’s church there used to be a lecture early
in the morning, which was much frequented by the
puritans of the times.” REED.
# 996:
_spittle_] i.e. hospital. “The reuenge was common as
the Law, or as the blowes of a _Spittle_ whore.” _The
Owles Almanacke_ (by Dekker), 1618, p. 18.—Gifford
wished to make a distinction between _spittle_ and
_spital_ (note on Massinger’s _City Madam_, act iii.
sc. 1); but see Todd’s Johnson’s _Dict._, and Nares’s
_Gloss._ in v.
# 997:
_burgh_] Or _burre_ is “a broad ring of iron behind
the handle [of a tilting lance], which burre is
brought into the sufflue or rest, when the tilter is
ready to run against his enimy, or prepareth himself
to combate or encounter his adverse party.” R. Holme’s
_Acad. of Armoury_, cited by Nares, _Gloss._ in v.
# 998:
_the high German’s size_] So afterwards, in act iii.
sc. 1, Moll exclaims,
"a name which I’d tear out
From _the high German’s_ throat &c.,
where Reed remarks, “He seems to have been noted for
his extraordinary strength, and is probably the same
person mentioned in _The Curtaine Drawer of the
World_, 1612, 4to. p. 27. ‘Aske but this Curtaine
Drawer and he will tell you, that few there are, and
those escape very hardly like the bird out of the
snare, like _the German_ out of Woodstreet, or those
that commit murder, or like him that escapes the
hangman from the tree of execution.’” Nares (_Gloss._
in _German_, _High_,) says, he was "probably a tall
German, shown for a sight ... I do not agree with the
editor [Reed], that the same person is meant by the
German ‘who escaped out of Woodstreet.’ The _high
German_ must have been some man generally known for
strength or size; that the same person should also
have had a very narrow escape from Wood Street, is
possible to be sure, but very improbable. Perhaps the
_high German_ was the famous fencer, whose feats are
thus recorded: ‘Since the _German fencer_ cudgelled
most of our English fencers, now about 5 moneths
past.’ ["a moneth past"—in my copy, p. 7.] _Owle’s
Almanacke_ [by Dekker], publ. 1618, p. 6. High German
may, however, be only in opposition to low German, or
Dutch; as, for a long time, _high German_ quack
doctors were in repute."
# 999:
_same wine_] i.e. bastard: see note, p. 347.
# 1000:
_pist_] See note, p. 460.
# 1001:
_pigsnie_] i.e. little pig—a term of endearment.
# 1002:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 1003:
_at Parlous Pond_] “This, I imagine, is the same place
now called _Peerless Pool_. It is situated near
Old-street Road, and was formerly a spring that,
overflowing its banks, caused a very dangerous pond,
which, from the number of persons who lost their lives
there, obtained the name of _Perilous Pool_. To
prevent these accidents, it was in a manner filled up
until the year 1743, when it was enclosed, and
converted into a bathing-place.” REED. _Parlous_ is a
corruption of _perilous_.
# 1004:
_Hey, trug_, &c.] “I suppose _Trug_ is the name of the
spaniel whom he is sending into the water to hunt
ducks; or else that he means to say _trudge, trudge_.”
STEEVENS. Perhaps _trug_ is equivalent to bitch: see
note, p. 222.
# 1005:
_Come, let’s away_, &c.] An imperfect couplet: see
notes, p.7 of this vol. and p. 424 of vol. i.
# 1006:
_two-leav’d tongues_] Old ed. “_two leaud tongues_.”
The last editor of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_ printed “two
lewd tongues,”—_leaud_ being, as he thinks, the old
spelling of _lewd_. Qy. “_two_ loud?”
# 1007:
_Virginia_] “Great efforts were used about this time
to settle Virginia.” REED.
# 1008:
_And so_, &c.] A quotation, probably.
# 1009:
_long coats_, &c.] i.e. petticoats: in some parts of
Scotland they are still worn by male idiots of the
lowest class.
# 1010:
_great Dutch slop_] i.e. large wide breeches.
# 1011:
_towards_] i.e. in preparation.
# 1012:
_Many one_, &c.] A word, perhaps a line, wanting here.
# 1013:
_good man’s_] This seems to be an allusion to the
proverbial saying, “God’s a good man:” see _Much ado
about Nothing_, act iii. sc. 5, Malone’s _Shakespeare_
(by Boswell), vol. vii. p. 104, and Steevens’s note.
# 1014:
_give but aim_] See note, p. 335.
# 1015:
_tester_] i.e. a sixpence: see note, vol. i. p. 258.
# 1016:
_phrampel_] “_Phrampel_ here appears to signify
_fiery_ or _mettlesome_.” REED. It is written also
_frampold_, _frampul_, &c., and generally signifies
vexatious, saucy, peevish, &c.
# 1017:
_vild_] See note, p. 393.
# 1018:
_baffle_] See note, p. 449. In _The Devil is an Ass_,
act iv. sc. 3, is a stage-direction, “_Baffles_ him
[i.e. passes him with some act of contempt] and exit.”
B. Jonson’s _Works_, by Gifford, vol. v. p. 127.
# 1019:
_Exit_] Old ed. “_Exit_ Coachman with his whip.”
# 1020:
_safeguard_] See note, p. 459.
# 1021:
_bankrout_] i.e. bankrupt.
# 1022:
_Brainford_] See note, p. 463. The inn called _The
Three Pigeons_ was resorted to by company of an
inferior rank. At a later period, when puritanism had
silenced the stage, it was kept by the celebrated
actor, Lowin.
# 1023:
_untruss a point_] See note, vol. i. p. 367.
# 1024:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 1025:
_liberal_] i.e. too free.
# 1026:
_high German’s throat_] See note, p. 466.
# 1027:
_leiger_] See note, p. 316. That the last editor of
this play should have had any doubts about the meaning
of the word, is somewhat strange.
# 1028:
_wedlocks_] “i.e. wives. So in _The Poetaster_ [by B.
Jonson], act iv. sc. 3, ‘Which of these is thy
_wedlock_, Menelaus?’” REED.
# 1029:
_familiar_] i.e. a demon—properly, such as attends on
a sorcerer or witch.
# 1030:
_viage_] i.e. voyage (see Todd’s Johnson’s _Dict_. in
v.), excursion.
# 1031:
_Three Pigeons_] See note, p. 479. I suspect that this
speech was intended to close with a hobbling couplet.
# 1032:
_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 1033:
_to his umbles_] “i.e. his inside. _Umbles_ are the
entrails of a deer.” STEEVENS.
# 1034:
_kyes_] “i.e. cries. She imitates the jargon talked by
nurses to infants.” STEEVENS.
# 1035:
_mouse_] See note, p. 137.
# 1036:
_water_] Old ed. “waters.”
# 1037:
_apron husbands_] “i.e. husbands who follow their
wives as if tied to their _apron_-strings.” STEEVENS.
# 1038:
_cotqueans_] i.e. men who meddle with female affairs.
# 1039:
_Laxton, with bays_, &c.] An imperfect couplet: see
notes, p. 7 of this vol. and p. 424 of vol. i.
# 1040:
_Pan-da-rus ... Cres-sida_] So in old ed., to mark the
difficulty with which such hard names were read by
mistress Gallipot.
# 1041:
_bankrout_] i.e. bankrupt.
# 1042:
_steal, steal_] Qy. ought these words to be considered
as a stage-direction?
# 1043:
_Where_] i.e. whereas.
# 1044:
_made sure_] i.e. affianced: compare vol. ii. p. 39.
# 1045:
_Since last I saw him_, &c.] Perhaps this scene is by
Dekker: in his _Whore of Babylon_, 1607, we find
“Fiue summers haue scarce _drawn_ their glimmering
nights
_Through the Moons siluer bowe_.”
Sig. A 4.
# 1046:
_slight_] See note, p. 250.
# 1047:
_sirrah_] When this play was written, and long after,
a female was frequently so addressed: see my note on
Webster’s _Works_, vol. iii. p. 23.
# 1048:
_sadness_] i.e. seriousness.
# 1049:
_Byrlady_] Old ed. “Be lady:” see note, vol. i. p.
365.
# 1050:
_ramp_] i.e. ramping, rampant creature: “although she
were a lustie _bounsing rampe_, somewhat like
Gallemella,” &c. G. Harvey’s _Pierces Supererogation_,
1593, p. 145.
# 1051:
_saveguard ... slop_] See notes, pp. 459, 472.
# 1052:
_placket_] Has been variously explained—the opening of
the petticoat—the forepart of the shift or petticoat:
Nares (_Gloss._ in v.) insists that it meant only a
petticoat, generally an under one.
# 1053:
_a noise of fiddlers_] i.e. a company of musicians,—an
expression frequently occurring: “those terrible
_noyses_, with thredbare cloakes, that liue by red
lattises and Iuy-bushes, hauing authority to thrust
into any mans roome, onely speaking but this, Will you
haue any musicke?” Dekker’s _Belman of London_, 1608,
sig. B 4.
# 1054:
_roaring boys_] See p. 427.
# 1055:
_ningles_] Or _ingles_ (the former being an
abbreviation of _mine ingles_), i.e. favourites. The
word was used (and perhaps originally) in a worse
sense: see vol. i. p. 301.
# 1056:
_the Counters ... Why, ’tis an university_] See note,
vol. i. p. 392.
# 1057:
_Then is he held a freshman and a sot,_
_And never shall commence_]
“The speaker is here employing terms in use only at
the university.” STEEVENS.
# 1058:
_Master’s side_, &c.] See note, vol. i. p. 392.
# 1059:
_beg plac’d_] i.e. beg to be plac’d: but qy. “be
_plac’d_?”
# 1060:
_Lies_] i.e. He lies, he shall lie.
# 1061:
_puttocks_] i.e. kites.
# 1062:
_sprites_] Old ed. “spirits.”
# 1063:
_blue coat_] See note, p. 26.
# 1064:
_mace_] See note, p. 372.
# 1065:
_walk_] Old ed. “walkes.”
# 1066:
_these men-widwives_, &c.] So in _The Whore of
Babylon_, 1607, by Dekker (see note, p. 490): “Doe not
you know, mistresse, what Serieants are? ... why they
are certaine _men-midwiues, that neuer bring people to
bed_, but when they are sore in labour, that no body
els can deliuer them.” Sig. D.
# 1067:
_Trap._ _Honest servant_, &c.] Old ed. “BOTH. _Honest_
Serieant _fly, flie Maister Dapper_,” &c.
# 1068:
_marks_] See note, p. 226.
# 1069:
_my German watch_] See note, p. 385.
# 1070:
_marks_] See note, p. 226.
# 1071:
_court-cupboard_] i.e. a moveable sideboard, or
buffet, for displaying plate or other valuables: it
was also called “_cupboard of plate_,” see p. 91.
# 1072:
_lets_] i.e. hinders.
# 1073:
_mysteries_] i.e. arts: but qy. “miseries?”
# 1074:
_hose_] i.e. breeches.
# 1075:
_owe_] Old ed. “owes.”
# 1076:
_lays_] i.e. wagers.
# 1077:
_beholding_] See note, vol. i. p. 441.
# 1078:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 1079:
_swan above bridge_] When this play was written, the
Thames abounded with swans.
# 1080:
_the viol_, &c.] See note, p. 11.
# 1081:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 1082:
_th’ Burse_] i.e. the New Exchange in the Strand.
“Over this building, in the time of Middleton, were
many shops where women’s finery was sold.” STEEVENS.
# 1083:
_cavell’d_] So spelt in old ed. for the sake of the
rhyme.
# 1084:
_Between_, &c.] The old ed. gives this speech partly
as prose, partly as verse. I have done what I could to
arrange the lines.
# 1085:
_sigh_] Old ed. "sight,"—which, perhaps, Middleton
wrote; for I think I have seen that form of the word.
The preterite of the verb _sigh_ was often written
_sight_.
# 1086:
_plunge_] i.e. difficulty, straits.
# 1087:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 1088:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 1089:
_puttock_] i.e. a kite.
# 1090:
_roses_] “i.e. roses anciently worn in shoes.”
STEEVENS. They were made of ribbons gathered into a
knot, and were sometimes of a preposterous size.
# 1091:
_sirrah_] See note, p. 491.
# 1092:
_fline_] i.e. flown.
# 1093:
_a cramp ring_] i.e. a ring, which having been
solemnly consecrated on Good Friday, was supposed to
have the power of preventing the cramp. See in
Waldron’s _Literary Museum_, 1792, a reprint of _The
Ceremonies of Blessing Cramp-Rings on Good Friday,
used by the Catholick Kings of England_.
# 1094:
_Three Pigeons_] See note, p. 479.
# 1095:
_incontinently_] i.e. immediately.
# 1096:
_poking my ruff_] See note, vol. i. p. 279.
# 1097:
_rest_] i.e. a support,—without it the soldiers could
not manage to fire the old muskets, which were very
heavy and unwieldy.
# 1098:
_pursenets_] i.e. nets, the mouths of which were drawn
together by a string.
# 1099:
_cog_] i.e. lie, wheedle.
# 1100:
_ingle_] i.e. coax.
# 1101:
_a riven dish_] “i.e. a broken dish.” REED.
# 1102:
_frumped_] i.e. mocked.
# 1103:
_till all split_] “This expression occurs in many old
plays. See the notes of Dr. Farmer, Mr. Steevens, and
Mr. Malone, on _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, act i. sc.
2.” REED. It occurs in several old plays at least; and
(as Nares observes in _Gloss._) denotes violence of
action.
# 1104:
_Brainford_] See note, p. 463.
# 1105:
_gib_] Is, properly, a male cat—but sometimes applied,
as a term of reproach, to a woman: “She is a tonnysh
_gyb_,” says old Skelton, in _Elynour Rummyng_, v. 99.
# 1106:
_a mumming_] i.e. a masquing, in which originally the
performers used gesticulation only, without speaking:
mistress Openwork puns on the different meanings of
_mask_ and _masque_.
# 1107:
_vildest_] i.e. vilest: see note, p. 393.
# 1108:
_sprites_] Old ed. “spirits.”
# 1109:
_Your two flags_] “Alluding to the flags which were
placed formerly on the tops of playhouses.” REED.
# 1110:
_Mis. G._] Old ed. “Mist. Open.”
# 1111:
_Westward ho_] A comedy, by Dekker and Webster, which
was first printed in 1607, and which may be found in
my edition of Webster’s _Works_, vol. iii. The scene
lies partly in London and partly in Brentford; and a
“western voyage” from the former to the latter place
gives the title to the play—_westward ho!_ being one
of the exclamations used by the watermen who plied on
the Thames.
# 1112:
_A stale_, &c.] i.e. a pretence or cover under which
he keeps a harlot: the _stale_, or _stalking-horse_,
was the real or artificial horse behind which
sportsmen approached their game.
# 1113:
_Cold Harbour_] See note, p. 58.—Nares (_Gloss._),
citing the present passage, says, that _Cold Harbour_
“seems to be used as a kind of metaphorical term for
the grave.”
# 1114:
_Push_] See note, vol. i. p. 29.
# 1115:
_western pug_] “I doubt the sand-eyde asse will kicke
like a _Westerne Pugge_, if I rubbe him on the gall.”
Greene’s _Theeves falling out_, &c., sig. C, ed.
1637.—“In so much that [during the plague] euen the
_Westerne Pugs_ receiuing mony here, have tyed it in a
bag at the end of their barge, and so trailed it
through the Thames,” &c. Dekker’s _Wonderfull Yeare_,
1603, sig. F 3.
# 1116:
_Open._] Old ed. “Mist. Open.”
# 1117:
_brave girls, worth gold_] The expression seems to
have been proverbial; one of Heywood’s plays is
entitled _The Fair Maid of the West, or A Girle worth
gold_, 1631.
# 1118:
_the Brazen Head_] See _Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_
(first printed in 1594) in my ed. of Greene’s _Dram.
Works_, and the extract there given from the prose
tract, _The Famous Historie of Friar Bacon_ (on which
that play is founded), “How Fryer Bacon made a Brazen
Head to speake, by the which hee would have walled
England about with Brasse,” vol. i. pp. 141, 215. The
friars lost all their labour through the folly of a
servant named Miles, who having been set to watch the
Head while they retired to rest, neglected to call
them when at last it spoke.
# 1119:
_Open._] Old ed. “Mist. Open.”
# 1120:
_sumner_] See notes, pp. 29, 170.
# 1121:
_aloof off_] See note, vol. i. p. 427.
# 1122:
_Open._ ] Old ed. here, and afterwards, “_Omnes_.”
_Gos._, _&c._ ]
# 1123:
_snuffling_] Old ed. “snafling;” but see his next
speech.
# 1124:
_fagary_] i.e. vagary.
# 1125:
_if you be remember’d_] i.e. if you recollect.
# 1126:
_tawny-coat_] “_Tawny_ was the usual dress of a
summoner or apparitor.” REED.
# 1127:
_I must lose my hair_, &c.] “Alluding to the
consequences of lewdness, one of which, in the first
appearance of the disease in Europe, was the loss of
hair.” REED.
# 1128:
_A knack to know an honest man_] _A Pleasant Conceited
Comedie, called, A knacke to know an honest Man, As it
hath beene sundrie times plaied about the Citie of
London_, was printed in 1596, the author unknown.
# 1129:
_gelt feathers_] i.e. golden feathers. But I am by no
means confident that I have restored the right
reading. Old ed. “Get _fethers_.”
# 1130:
_scape_] Old ed. “scapt.”
# 1131:
_Irish_] “Is a game which differs very slightly from
backgammon. The manner of playing it is described in
_The Compleat Gamester_, 1680, p. 109.” REED.
# 1132:
_bearing_] “_Bear_ as fast as you can ... when you
_come to bearing_, have a care,” &c. _The Compleat
Gamester_, pp. 155-6, ed. 1674.
# 1133:
_And that_, &c.] A line preceding this one seems to
have dropt out: perhaps another is wanting after _And
yet to try_, &c.
# 1134:
_Meg of Westminster’s courage_] Meg of Westminster, or
long Meg of Westminster, was a virago, of whom
frequent mention is made by our early dramatists; and
indeed, like the heroine of the present piece, she had
the honour of figuring in a play called after her, in
1594 (see Malone’s _Shakespeare_, by Boswell, vol.
iii. p. 304). At that period, however, she is supposed
to have been dead. She is introduced in an ante-masque
in B. Jonson’s _Fortunate Isles_—_Works_, vol. viii.
p. 79, ed. Giff. A 4to tract, entitled _The Life of
Long Meg of Westminster: containing the mad merry
prankes she played in her life time, not onely in
performing sundry quarrels with divers ruffians about
London; but also how valiantly she behaued her selfe
in the warres of Bolloingne_, was printed (perhaps not
for the first time) in 1635; and forms part of
_Miscellanea Antiqua Anglicana_, 1816, 4to.
# 1135:
_puttocks_] i.e. kites.
# 1136:
_like a firework_, &c.] So Dekker (see notes, pp. 490,
503) in his _Whore of Babylon_, 1607;
“Let vs behold these _fire-workes, that must run
Vpon short lines of life_.”
Sig E 4.
# 1137:
_linstock_] Or _lintstock_—a stick with the match (the
lint) at one end of it, used in firing cannon.
# 1138:
_galley-foist_] i.e. a long barge with oars: it
frequently means that of the lord mayor.
# 1139:
_shovel-board shilling_] i.e. a shilling used at the
game of _shovel-board_, and which was always smooth,
that it might “slide away” easily.
# 1140:
_strouts_] i.e. struts.
# 1141:
_boot-halers_] “Cotgrave explains _Picoreur_ to be ‘a
_boot-haler_ (in a friend’s country), a ravening or
filching souldier.’” REED. Freebooters, plunderers,
_halers_ of _boot_ (profit), or _booty_.
# 1142:
_ging_] i.e. gang. “This substitution of _i_ for _a_,”
says Gifford, in a note on the word, “was common in
our author’s days.” B. Jonson’s _Works_, vol. iv. p.
161. But the fact is, _ging_ is of great antiquity:
“The gouernour of this _gyng_.” _Gawayn and the Green
Knight_, _MS. Cott. Nero A. X._ fol. 94.
# 1143:
_corago_] “A corruption of _coraggio_, Ital.” COLLIER.
# 1144:
_Bononia ... Bologna_] One and the same place!
# 1145:
_Volterra_] Old ed. “Valteria.”
# 1146:
_jobbering_] i.e. jabbering.
# 1147:
_Not a cross_] i.e. not a penny.—_Cross_, a piece of
money, many coins having a _cross_ on one side.
# 1148:
_skeldering_] “A cant term, generally applied to a
vagrant, and often used by our ancient poets. It
appears to have been particularly appropriated to
those vagabonds who wander about under the name of
soldiers, borrowing or begging money.” REED. See also
Gifford’s note on B. Jonson’s _Works_, vol. ii. p. 8:
“_Skeldring_ was a cant term for impudent begging,”
&c.:—and Dekker’s _Gull’s Horn-book_, p. 129, reprint;
“whom he may _skelder_ [i.e. cheat, defraud], after
the genteel fashion, of money.”
# 1149:
_glasiers_] i.e. “eyes.” Dekker’s _Lanthorne and
Candlelight_, 1612, sig. C 2.
# 1150:
_black patches_] Were used as an ornament, not only by
ladies, but also by some effeminate gallants of those
days.
# 1151:
_Isle of Dogs_] Opposite Greenwich. It seems to have
been a place where persons took refuge from their
creditors and the officers of justice.
# 1152:
_whip-jack_] In Dekker’s _Belman of London_, 1608,
sig. D 2, the description of “A Whipiacke” is much the
same as that which Moll gives here.
# 1153:
_horns for the thumb_] Pickpockets were said to place
a case, or thimble, of horn on their thumbs, to
support the edge of the knife in the act of cutting
purses: see Gifford’s note on B. Jonson’s _Works_,
vol. iv. p. 413.
# 1154:
_nipping Christian_] i.e. cutpurse.
# 1155:
_maunderer upon the pad_] “_Mawnding_, asking
(begging).” “_Pad_, a way.” Dekker’s _Lanthorne and
Candlelight_, 1612, sig C 2.
# 1156:
_an upright man_] “Is a sturdy big-bonde knaue, that
neuer walkes but (like a Commander) with a short
truncheon in his hand, which hee cals his Filchman. At
Markets, Fayres, and other meetings his voice amongst
Beggars is of the same sound that a Constables is of,
it is not to be controld. He is free of all the shiers
in England, but neuer stayes in any place long, &c.
&c.... These [upright men] cary the shapes of
soldiers, and can talke of the Low Countries, though
they neuer were beyond Dover.” Dekker’s _Belman of
London_, 1608, sig C. 3.
# 1157:
_a wild rogue_] “Is a spirit that cares not in what
circle he rises, nor into the company of what Diuels
hee falles: in his swadling clouts is he marked to be
a villaine, and in his breeding is instructed to be
so.... These Wilde Rogues (like wilde geese) keepe in
flocks, and all the day loyter in the fields, if the
weather bee warme, and at Bricke-kils, or else
disperse themselues in cold weather, to rich mens
doores, and at night haue their meetings in Barnes or
other out places,” &c. _Id._ sig. D.
# 1158:
_an angler_] “Is a lymb of an Vpright man, as beeing
deriued from him: their apparell in which they walke
is commonly frieze Jerkins and gally slops: in the day
time, they beg from house to house, not so much for
reliefe, as to spy what lyes fit for their nets, which
in the night following they fish for. The Rod they
angle with is a staffe of fiue or six foote in length,
in which within one inch of the top is a little hole
boared quite thorough, into which hole they put an
yron hooke, and with the same doe they angle at
windowes about midnight, the draught they pluck vp
beeing apparell, sheetes, couerlets, or whatsoeuer
their yron hookes can lay hold of,” &c. _Id._ sig. C
4.
# 1159:
_a ruffler_] “The next in degree to him [the
Vpright man] is cald a Ruffler: the Ruffler and
the Vpright-man are so like in conditions, that
you would sweare them brothers: they walke with
cudgels alike; they profess armes alike.... These
commonly are fellowes that haue stood aloofe in
the warres, and whilst others fought, they tooke
their heeles and ran away from their Captaine, or
else they haue bin Seruing-men, whome for their
behauiour no man would trust with a liuery,” &c.
_Id._ _ibid._
# 1160:
_the salomon_] i.e. “the masse.” Dekker’s _Lanthorne
and Candlelight_, 1612, sig. C 3.
# 1161:
_kinchin mort in her slate_] Old ed.
"kitchin-_mort_."—“Kinching-morts are girles of a
yeare or two old, which the Morts (their mothers) cary
at their backes in their Slates (which in the
Canting-Tongue are Sheetes) if they haue no children
of their owne, they will steale them from others, and
by some meane disfigure them, that by their parents
they shall neuer be knowne.” Dekker’s _Belman of
London_, 1608, sig. D 3.
# 1162:
_my dell and my dainty wild dell_] Dell is a girl yet
undebauched: “these Dells are reserued for the
Vpright-men, &c.... Of these Dells, some are termed
Wilde Dells, and those are such as are born and
begotten vnder a hedge: the other are yong wenches
that either by death of parents, the villainie of
Executors, or the crueltie of maisters and mistresses,
fall into this infamous and damnable course of life.”
_Id._ sig. D 3, 4.
# 1163:
_I’ll tumble this next darkmans in the stromme_l, &c.]
i.e. I’ll tumble this next night in the straw, and
drink good drink (_baufe_ being probably, as Reed has
observed, a mistake for _bouse_), and eat a fat pig, a
cock (or capon), and a duck. See Dekker’s _Lanthorne
and Candlelight_, 1612, sig. C 2, 3.
# 1164:
_old_] i.e. abundant.
# 1165:
_bousing ken_] i.e. ale-house. See Dekker’s _Lanthorne
and Candlelight_, 1612, sig. C 2.
# 1166:
_You are no pure rogues_] See note, vol. i. p. 169.
# 1167:
_lib ken or our stalling ken_] i.e. our house to lie
in, or our house to receive stolen goods. See Dekker’s
_Lanthorne and Candlelight_, 1612, sig. C 2, 3 (where
“Stuling _ken_.”)
# 1168:
_queer cuffin ... ben cove_, &c.] Old ed. “_ben_
caue.” “The word Coue or Cofe, or Cuffin, signifies a
man, a fellow, &c. But differs something in his
propertie, according as it meetes with other wordes:
For a Gentleman is called A Gentry Coue, or Cofe: A
good fellow is a Bene Cofe: a Churle is called a Quier
Cuffin; Quier signifies naught,” &c. _Id._ sig. C.
# 1169:
_pedlar’s French_] “That pedlers french, or that
Canting language, which is to be found among none but
Beggars.” Dekker’s _Belman of London_, 1608, sig. C.
# 1170:
_Ben mort_, &c.] i.e. Good wench, shall you and I rob
a booth, rob a house, or cut a purse, and then we’ll
lie down asleep under the woods (or bushes), &c.—Old
ed. here, and in Moll’s repetition of the words,
“_heaue a booth_.” See Dekker’s _Lanthorne and
Candlelight_, 1612, sig. C 2, 3.
# 1171:
_Cut benar_, &c.] i.e. Speak better words, and hold
your hands and your legs. See _Id._ ibid.
# 1172:
_heave a bough_] Moll, or rather the printer, has
omitted the explanation of these words: see note, p.
539.
# 1173:
_Song by Moll and Tearcat_] The old ed. gives the
first two lines to Moll, and prefixes “_T. Cat._” both
to the third and tenth lines.
# 1174:
_A gage_, &c. &c.] i.e. A quart pot of good wine in an
ale-house of London is better than a cloak, meat,
bread, butter-milk (or whey), or porridge, which we
steal in the country. O I would lie all the day, O I
would lie all the night, by the mass, under the woods
(or bushes), by the mass, in the stocks, and wear
bolts (or fetters), and lie till a palliard lay with
my wench, so my drunken head might quaff wine well.
Avast to the highway, let us hence, &c. See Dekker’s
_Lanthorne and Candlelight_, 1612, sig. C 2, 3; and
_The Groundworke of Conny-catching_, 1592, sig. A 2.
In the fourth line, as Reed observes, “_lay_” should
probably be “_lap_.” A _palliard_ is a beggar born:
“he likewise is cald a Clapperdugeon: his vpper
garment is an old cloake made of as many pieces
patch’d together, as there be villanies in him,” &c.
&c. Dekker’s _Belman of London_, 1608, sig. D.
# 1175:
_stalled to the rogue_] “This done, the Grand Signior
called for a Gage of Bowse, which belike signified a
quart of drinke, for presently a pot of Ale being put
into his hand, hee made the yong Squire kneele downe,
and powring the full pot on his pate, vttered these
wordes, I doe _stall thee to the Rogue_ by vertue of
this soueraigne English liquor, so that henceforth it
shall be lawfull for thee to Cant (that is to say) to
be a Vagabond and Beg,” &c. Dekker’s _Belman of
London_, 1608, sig. C. “_Stalling_, making or
ordeyning.” Dekker’s _Lanthorne and Candlelight_,
1612, sig. C 3.
# 1176:
_bestow_] Old ed. “bestowes.”
# 1177:
_boards_] “_Borde_, a shilling.” Dekker’s _Lanthorne
and Candlelight_, 1612, sig. C 2.
# 1178:
_cut ben whids_] i.e. speak good words. See _Id._
ibid.
# 1179:
_trine me on the cheats_] i.e. hang me on the gallows.
See _Id._ sig. C 2, 3.
# 1180:
_maundering_] See note, p. 536—but here it means—
muttering, talking.
# 1181:
_mouse_] See note, p. 137.
# 1182:
_gallant ... brave_] i.e. smartly dressed.
# 1183:
_strike_] “The act doing, is called striking.”
Dekker’s _Belman of London_, 1608, sig. H 2.
# 1184:
_shells_] “The money, the Shelles.” _Id._ ibid.
# 1185:
_L. Nol._ ] Old ed. here, and afterwards, “_Omnes_.”
_S. Beau._, _&c._ ]
# 1186:
_figging-law_, &c.] "In making of which law, two
persons haue the chiefe voices, that is to say, the
Cutpurse and the Pickpocket, and all the branches of
this law reach to none but them and such as are made
free denizens of their incorporation....
“He that cuts the purse is called the Nip.
He that is halfe with him is the Snap or the Cloyer.
. . . . . . .
He that picks the pocket is called a Foist.
He that faceth the man, is the Stale.”
Dekker’s _Belman of London_, 1608, sig. H.
# 1187:
_at the Fortune_] See note, p. 435.
# 1188:
_The rest_] Old ed. here, and afterwards, “_Omnes_.”
# 1189:
_boiled_] “The spying of this villanie is called
Smoaking or Boiling.” Dekker’s _Belman of London_,
1608, sig. H 2.
# 1190:
_the Swan_] One of the theatres on the Bankside.
# 1191:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 1192:
_a synagogue_, &c.] According to Dekker, those who
were under the figging-law had occasionally “solemne
meetings in their hall.” _Belman of London_, 1608,
sig. H 3.
# 1193:
_pacus palabros_] _Pocas palabras_ (Spanish), i.e. few
words—an expression which is found under various
corrupted forms in our old writers. It is usually put
into the mouths of low people, among whom it seems to
have been current: “With this learned oration the
Cobler was tutord: laid his finger on his mouth, and
cried _paucos palabros_.” Dekker’s _Wonderfull Yeare_,
1603, sig. E 4.
# 1194:
_Of cheators, lifters, nips, foists, puggards,
curbers_] “The Cheating Law, or the Art of winning
money by false dyce: Those that practise this studie
call themselues Cheators, the dyce Cheaters, and the
money which they purchase Cheates.” Dekker’s _Belman
of London_, 1608, sig. E 2.—“The Lifting Law ...
teacheth a kind of lifting of goods cleane away.”
Id. sig. G 3, where various kinds of lifters are
described.—Concerning _nips_ and _foists_, see note,
p. 544.—Of _puggards_ I can find no mention: _pugging_
seems to mean thieving in the _Winter’s Tale_, act iv.
sc. 2, Malone’s _Shakespeare_ (by Boswell), vol. xiv.
p. 334; and, according to Steevens (_ad loc._), "is
used by Greene in one of his pieces."—“The Curbing Law
[teaches] how to hooke goodes out of a windowe.... He
that hookes is cald the Curber.... The Hooke is the
Courb.” Dekker, _ubi supra_, sig. G.
# 1195:
_black-guard_] Meant, properly, the lowest drudges of
the kitchen, turnspits, carriers of wood, coal, &c.,
who attended the progresses of the court: see
Gifford’s notes on B. Jonson’s _Works_, vol. ii. p.
169; vii. p. 250.
# 1196:
_love_] Old ed. “loues.”
# 1197:
_have_] Old ed. “has.”
# 1198:
_than your six wet towns_] “These I should apprehend
to be Fulham, Richmond, Kingston, Hampton, Chertsey,
Staines.—The other intermediate towns are, Chelsea,
Battersea, Kew, Isleworth, Twickenham, and Walton. N.”
Note in Reed’s ed. of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_.
# 1199:
_ramp_] See note, p. 496.
# 1200:
_gascoyne-bride_] i.e. a bride who wears _gascoynes_,—
gaskins, or galligaskins.
# 1201:
_plunges_] i.e. difficulties, perplexities.
# 1202:
_cast_] Old ed. “casts.”
# 1203:
_monthly_] “i.e. madly; as if under the influence of
the moon.” STEEVENS.
# 1204:
_resolv’d_] i.e. satisfied.
# 1205:
_thumb_] See note, p. 536.
# 1206:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 1207:
_Cheats_] Qy. “cheaters:” see p. 546 and note; but
compare p. 554, last line but one.
# 1208:
_angels_] See note, vol. i. p. 250.
# 1209:
_me_] Old ed. “hee.”
# 1210:
_and_] i.e. if.
# 1211:
_cuck_] i.e. put me in the cucking-stool: see note, p.
185.
# 1212:
_gentlewomen_] i.e. Mrs. Gallipot, &c.—Old ed.
“Gentlewoman.”
# 1213:
_a book_] “Alluding, no doubt, to some tract of the
time. Dekker himself wrote several of the kind; but it
is not to be supposed that any of these are here so
roughly handled.” COLLIER. Not to be supposed indeed;
since Dekker wrote a portion of the present play.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
The author shifted between prose speech and blank verse, sometimes in
mid-speech. In this rendering, verse sections are given without blank
lines between speeches, with an indentation for each speech. Prose
speeches are given with a blank line between them.
The footnote scheme used lettered references, repeating a-z. On numerous
of occasions, letters were repeated, and sometimes skipped. The numeric
resequencing of notes here resolves those lapses. Footnotes are
sometimes referred to directly in a footnote by its letter designation.
The few direct references to a lettered note use the new numeric value.
Footnotes frequently refer to other notes, usually only by referring the
the page where they can be found. Sometimes those cross-references are
not accurate and the correct location cannot be ascertained.
Footnote 655 on p. 298 was misplaced. It should have followed the word
‘are’ rather than ‘gold and pearl’.
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
63.32 part of the first line of a couplet.[”] Removed.
194.34 put [t]hem together Added.
144.31 _prevented_] See note, p. 4[0/9]. Replaced.
233.1 I’ll work it so[,] Removed.
290.22 [good.] Boy, be ready, boy. _sic_
431.6 Moon-like changing dayes.[”] Added.
508.2 is worth a pair of two[.] Added.
365.32 [“]The same play upon words Removed.
ERRATA from Volume I.
A TRICK TO CATCH THE OLD ONE.
Vol. ii. p. 3.
We learn from Downes’s _Roscius Anglicanus_ that this play was one of
the early dramas revived between 1662 and 1665, p. 36, ed. Waldron.
Vol. ii. p. 5, l. 10.
_Longacre_] The editor of 1816 is mistaken: this word was used for an
estate in general; compare _Lady Alimony_, 1659, “It will run like
Quicksilver over all their Husbands Demains: and in very short time make
a quick dispatch of all his _Long acre_.” Sig. B 3.
A passage of _Gammer Gurton’s Needle_, which stands thus in the various
editions of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_,
“Tome Tannkard’s cow (be gog’s bones) she set me up her sail,
And flynging about his _halse aker_, fysking with her taile,”
&c.
has drawn forth the following extraordinary note from Steevens: “I
believe we should read _halse anchor_, or _anker_, as it was anciently
spelt; a naval phrase. The _halse_ or _halser_ was a particular kind of
cable,” &c., vol. ii. p. 11, last ed.—If Steevens, or the other editors,
had only taken the trouble to look at the 4to of 1575, they would have
found the true reading—“_halfe aker_,” i.e. small bit of ground.
--------------
THE FAMILY OF LOVE.
Vol. ii. p. 106, l. 32.
_Weber remarks_, &c.] The mistake of Weber may be traced to Langbaine,
who says, “This Play is mentioned by Sir Thomas Bornwel in _The Lady of
Pleasure_, Act 1. Sc. 1.” _Acc. of English Dram. Poets_, p. 372.
Vol. ii. p. 118, note.
“a corruption of _will_.”
Read
“a corruption of _wilt_.”
Vol. ii. p. 125, l. 1.
_We saw Samson bear the town-gates on his neck from the lower to the
upper stage, with that life and admirable accord, that it shall never be
equalled, unless the whole new livery of porters set [to] their
shoulders_] Middleton seems to have had in his recollection a passage of
Shakespeare’s _Love’s Labour’s Lost_: “Sampson, master: he was a man of
good carriage, great carriage; for he carried the town-gates on his
back, like a porter.” Act i. sc. 2.
Vol. ii. p. 148, l. 28.
_familiar_] i.e. attendant demon.
Vol. ii. p. 178, l. 21.
_Europa’s sea-form_] Probably “sea-form” is used in the sense of
sea-seat,—the bull on which she sat.
Vol. ii. p. 194, l. 8.
_play Ambidexter_] I was wrong, I believe, in saying that this
expression has an allusion to Preston’s _Cambises_: it is by no means
uncommon.
YOUR FIVE GALLANTS.
Vol. ii. p. 255, l. 16.
“_Hist!_ a supply.”
Read, with old ed.,
“_Pist!_ a supply.”
See notes, vol. ii. pp. 460, 468.
Vol. ii. p. 264, l. 20.
_E’en where his fear lies most, there will I meet him._
After this line insert “_Exit_;” and in the note, for “and thrown a
scarf over his face (see what follows), the audience,” &c., read “and
having made his exit at one door, had re-entered at the other with a
scarf thrown over his face, the audience,” &c.
Vol. ii. p. 268, l. 27.
“Master, _hist_, master!”
Read, with old ed.,
“Master, _pist_, master!”
See notes, vol. ii. pp. 460, 468.
Vol. ii. p. 290, l. 7.
PUR. _Thy father gave the ram’s head, boy?_
BOY. _No, you’re deceived; my mother gave that, sir._
The boy means that she made his father a cuckold: compare Dekker’s
_Owles Almanacke_, 1618; “Men whose wiues haue light heeles, are called
_Ramme-headed Cuckolds_,” p. 10.
--------------
A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS.
Vol. ii. p. 333, l. 25.
_the glory of his complement_] I doubt if Steevens’s explanation of this
passage be the right one, or if _complement_ mean here any thing more
than courtly address.
Vol. ii. p. 369, note.
Steevens’s remark, cited here by Reed, that a horse was sometimes
denominated a _footcloth_, is certainly wrong. “Sir Bounteous,” observes
Nares (_Gloss._ in v.), “is said to [be] alight[ed] from his
_footcloth_, as one might say, alighted from his saddle.”
--------------
THE ROARING GIRL.
Vol. ii. p. 466, last line.
_the high German’s size_] This person is probably alluded to in the
following passage of Dekker’s _Newes from Hell_, &c. 1606: “As for
Rapier and dagger, the Germane may be his journeyman.” Sig. B. See also
Beaumont and Fletcher’s _Knight of the Burning Pestle_—_Works_, vol. i.
p. 215, ed. Weber; and Shirley’s _Opportunity_—_Works_, vol. iii. p.
407, where Gifford observes, that “he seems to have been ‘a master of
fence,’ or common challenger.”
Vol. ii. p. 511, l. 27.
“’Twas like a _sigh_ of his.”
Since writing the note on this passage, I have met with the following
lines in _The Travailes of the Three English Brothers_, _&c._ (by Day,
W. Rowley, and Wilkins), 1607;
“Pray Turke, let thy heart _sigth_ and thine eyes weepe.”
Sig. B 3.
“To whose continuall kneelings, teares, and _sighthes_.”
Sig. B 4.
Vol. ii. p. 530, note 1134.
I am told that a gentleman in London possesses an edition of the _Life
of Long Meg of Westminster_, printed in 1582.
Vol. ii. p. 541, l. 1.
“Peck, pennam, _lay_, or popler.”
I ought to have substituted “lap” for “lay,” as Reed (see note)
suggests.
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