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Title: A Select Collection of Old English Plays (Vol. 13 of 15)
Author: Dodsley, Robert
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "A Select Collection of Old English Plays (Vol. 13 of 15)" ***

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                          A SELECT COLLECTION

                                  OF

                          OLD ENGLISH PLAYS.

                           IN THE YEAR 1744.

                           _FOURTH EDITION_,

       NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED
                WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS,
                             AND NEW NOTES


                                  BY

                           W. CAREW HAZLITT.

                          BENJAMIN BLOM, INC.

                       [Illustration: New York]



A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.


_EDITION._

  _A Match at Mid-night. A Pleasant Comœdie: As it hath beene
    Acted by the Children of the Revells. Written by W. R. London:
    Printed by Aug. Mathewes, for William Sheares, and are to be
    sold at his Shop, in Brittaines Bursse._ 1633. 4º.



DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


  +Sir Marmaduke Many-Minds.+
  +Sir Janus Ambexter.+
  +Captain Carvegut.+
  +Lieutenant Bottom.+
  +Ancient Young.+
  +Bloodhound+, _a usurer_.
  +Alexander Bloodhound+,  }  _his two sons_.
  +Tim Bloodhound+,        }
  +Randall+, _a Welshman_.
  +Ear-lack+, _a scrivener_.
  +Sim+, _the clown_.
  +John+, _servant to the Widow_.
  +Jarvis+, _the Widow's husband, disguised like her servant_.
  _A Smith._
  +Busy+, _a Constable_.
  _Watch._

                             [+Women.+]

  +Widow Wag.+
  +Moll+, _Bloodhound's daughter_.
  +Widow's Maid.+
  +Mistress Coote+, _a bawd_.
  +Sue Shortheels+, _a whore_.

                          A MATCH AT MIDNIGHT.



ACT I., SCENE I.


         _Enter, as making themselves ready, +Tim Bloodhound+,
                          and +Sim+ the man._

    +Sim.+ Good morrow, Master Tim.

    +Tim.+ Morrow, Sim; my father stirring, Sim?

    +Sim.+ Not yet, I think; he heard some ill-news of your
    brother Alexander last night, that will make him lie an hour
    extraordinary.

    +Tim.+ Hum: I'm sorry the old man should lie by the hour; but,
    O, these wicked elder brothers, that swear refuse them,[1]
    and drink nothing but wicked sack; when we swear nothing but
    niggers-noggers, make a meal of a bloat herring, water it with
    four-shillings' beer, and then swear we have dined as well as
    my lord mayor.

    +Sim.+ Here was goody Fin, the fishwoman, fetched home her ring
    last night.

    +Tim.+ You should have put her money by itself, for fear of
    wronging of the whole heap.

    +Sim.+ So I did, sir, and washed it first in two waters.

    +Tim.+ All these petty pawns, sirrah, my father commits to my
    managing, to instruct me in this craft that, when he dies, the
    commonwealth may not[2] want a good member.

                        _Enter +Mistress Mary+._

    +Sim.+ Nay, you are cursed as much as he already.

    +Mis. Mary.+ O brother, 'tis well you are up.

    +Tim.+ Why, why?

    +Mis. Mary.+ Now you shall see the dainty widow, the sweet
    widow, the delicate widow, that to-morrow morning must be our
    mother-in-law.

    +Tim.+ What, the widow Wag?

    +Sim.+ Yes, yes; she that dwells in Blackfriars, next to the
    sign of the Fool laughing at a feather.[3]

    +Mis. Mary.+ She, she; good brother, make yourself handsome,
    for my father will bring her hither presently.

    +Tim.+ Niggers-noggers, I thought he had been sick, and had not
    been up, Sim.

    +Sim.+ Why, so did I too; but it seems the widow took him at a
    better hand, and raised him so much the sooner.

    +Tim.+ While I tie my band, prythee stroke up my foretop a
    little: niggers, an' I had but dreamed of this an hour before
    I waked, I would have put on my Sunday clothes. 'Snails, my
    shoes are pale as the cheek of a stewed pander; a clout, a
    clout, Sim.

    +Sim.+ More haste the worse speed; here's ne'er a clout now.

    +Tim.+ What's that lies by the hooks?

    +Sim.+ This? 'tis a sumner's coat.[4]

    +Tim.+ Prythee, lend's a sleeve of that; he had a noble on't
    last night, and never paid me my bill-money.

           _Enter +Old Bloodhound+, the +Widow+, her +Maid+,
                             and +Man+._[5]

    +Blood.+ Look, look, up[6] and ready; all is ready, widow. He
    is in some deep discourse with Sim, concerning moneys out to
    one or another.

    +Wid.+ Has he said his prayers, sir?

    +Blood.+ Prayer before providence! When did ye know any thrive
    and swell that uses it? He's a chip o' th' old block; I
    exercise him in the trade of thrift, by turning him to all the
    petty pawns. If they come to me, I tell them I have given over
    brokering, moiling for muck and trash, and that I mean to live
    a life monastic, a praying life: pull out the tale of Crœsus
    from my pocket, and swear 'tis called "Charity's Looking-Glass,
    or an exhortation to forsake the world."

    +Maid.+ Dainty hypocrite!                                  [_Aside._

    +Wid.+ Peace!

    +Blood.+ But let a fine fool that's well-feathered come,
    and withal good meat, I have a friend, it may be, that may
    compassionate his wants. I'll tell you an old saw[7] for't over
    my chimney yonder--

    _A poor man seem to him that's poor,
      And prays thee for to lend;
    But tell the prodigal (not quite spent)
      Thou wilt procure a friend._

    +Wid.+ Trust me, a thrifty saw.

    +Blood.+ Many will have virtuous admonitions on their walls,
    but not a piece in their coffers: give me these witty politic
    saws; and indeed my house is furnished with no other.

    +Wid.+ How happy shall I be to wed such wisdom!

    +Blood.+ Shalt bed it, shalt bed it, wench; shalt ha't by
    infusion. Look, look!

                           _Enter a +Smith+._

    +Smith.+ Save ye, Master Tim.

    +Tim.+ Who's this? goodman File, the blacksmith! I thought it
    had been our old collier. Did you go to bed with that dirty
    face, goodman File?

    +Smith.+ And rise with it too, sir.

    +Tim.+ What have you bumming out there, goodman File?

    +Smith.+ A vice, sir, that I would fain be furnished with a
    little money upon.

    +Tim.+ Why, how will you do to work then, goodman File?

    +Smith.+ This is my spare vice, not that I live by.

    +Tim.+ Hum! you did not buy this spare vice of a lean courtier,
    did ye?

    +Smith.+ No, sir, of a fat cook, that 'strained[8] of a smith
    for's rent.

    +Sim.+ O hard-hearted man of grease!

    +Tim.+ Nay, nay, Sim, we must do't sometimes.

    +Blood.+ Ha, thrifty whoreson!

    +Tim.+ And what would serve your turn, goodman File?

    +Smith.+ A noble, sir.

    +Tim.+ What! upon a spare vice to lend a noble?

    +Sim.+ Why, sir, for ten groats you may make yourself drunk,
    and so buy a vice outright for half the money.

    +Tim.+ That is a noble vice, I assure you.

    +Sim.+ How long would you have it?

    +Smith.+ But a fortnight; 'tis to buy stuff, I protest, sir.

    +Tim.+ Look you, being a neighbour, and born one for another----

    +Blood.+ Ha, villain, shalt have all!

    +Tim.+ There is five shillings upon't, which, at the
    fortnight's end, goodman File, you must make five shillings
    sixpence.

    +Smith.+ How, sir?

    +Tim.+ Nay, an' it were not to do you a courtesy----

    +Blood.+ Ha, boy!

    +Tim.+ And then I had forgot threepence for my bill; so there
    is four shillings and ninepence,[9] which you are to tender
    back five shillings sixpence, goodman File, at the end of the
    fortnight.

    +Smith.+ Well, an' it were not for earnest necessity----Ha,
    boys! I come, I come, you black rascals, let the cans go round.
                                                        [_Exit +Smith+._

    +Tim.+ Sim, because the man's an honest man, I pray lay up his
    vice, as safe as it were our own.

    +Sim.+ And if he miss his day, and forfeit, it shall be yours
    and your heirs for ever.

    +Blood.+ What, disbursing money, boy? Here is thy mother-in-law.

    +Sim.+ Your nose drops: 'twill spoil her ruff.

    +Tim.+ Pray, forsooth, what's a clock?

    +Maid.+ O, fie upon him, mistress, I thought he had begun to
    ask you blessing.

    +Wid.+ Peace, we'll have more on't.            [_Walks towards him._

    +Tim.+ I wonnot kiss, indeed.

    +Sim.+ An' he wonnot, here are those that will, forsooth.

    +Blood.+ Get you in, you rogue.                       [_Exit +Sim.+_

    +Wid.+ I hope you will, sir: I was bred in Ireland, where the
    women begin the salutation.

    +Tim.+ I wonnot kiss truly.

    +Wid.+ Indeed you must.

    +Tim.+ Would my girdle may break if I do.[10]

    +Wid.+ I have a mind.

    +Tim.+ Niggers-noggers, I wonnot.

    +Blood.+ Nay, nay, now his great oath's pass'd, there's no talk on't.
    I like him ne'er the worse; there's an old saw for't--

        _A kiss first, next the feeling sense,
        Crack say the purse-strings, out fly the pence._

    But he can talk, though: whose boy are you, Tim?

    +Tim.+ Your boy, forsooth, father.

    +Blood.+ Can you turn and wind a penny, Tim?

    +Tim.+ Better than yourself, forsooth, father.

    +Blood.+ You have looked in the church-book of late; how old
    are you, Tim?

    +Tim.+ Two and twenty years, three months, three days, and
    three quarters of an hour, forsooth, father.

    +Wid.+ He has arithmetic.

    +Blood.+ And grammar too: what's Latin for your head, Tim?

    +Tim.+ _Caput._

    +Wid.+ But what for the head of a block?

    +Tim.+ _Caput_ blockhead.

    +Blood.+ Do you hear; your ear?

    +Tim.+ _Aura._

    +Blood.+ Your eye?

    +Tim.+ _Oculus._

    +Blood.+ That's for one eye; what's Latin for two?

    +Tim.+ _Oculus-Oculus._[11]

    +Widow.+ An admirable accidental grammarian, I protest, sir.

    +Blood.+ This boy shall have all: I have an elder rogue that
    sucks and draws me; a tavern academian; one that protests to
    whores, and shares with highway lawyers; an arrant unclarified
    rogue, that drinks nothing but wicked sack.

                  _Enter +Sim+ and +Alexander+ drunk._

    +Sim.+ Here's a gentleman would speak with you.

    +Blood.+ Look, look; now he's come for more money.

    +Wid.+ A very hopeful house to match into, wench; the father a
    knave, one son a drunkard, and t'other a fool.             [_Aside._

    +Tim.+ O monster, father! Look if he be not drunk; the very
    sight of him makes me long for a cup of six.[12]

    +Alex.+ Pray, father, pray to God to bless me.          [_To +Tim+._

    +Blood.+ Look, look! takes his brother for his father!

    +Sim.+ Alas, sir! when the drink's in, the wit's out? and none
    but wise children know their own fathers.

    +Tim.+ Why, I am none of your father, brother; I am Tim; do you
    know Tim?

    +Alex.+ Yes, umph--for a coxcomb.

    +Wid.+ How wild he looks! Good sir, we'll take our leaves.

    +Blood.+ Shalt not go, faith, widow: you cheater, rogue;
    must I have my friends frighted out of my house by you? Look
    he[13] steal nothing to feast his bawds. Get you out, sirrah!
    there are constables, beadles, whips, and the college of
    extravagants, yclept Bridewell, you rogue; you rogue, there is,
    there is, mark that.

    +Alex.+ Can you lend me a mark upon this ring, sir? and there
    set it down in your book, and, umph--mark that.

    +Blood.+ I'll have no stolen rings picked out of pockets, or
    taken upon the way,[14] not I.

    +Alex.+ I'll give you an old saw for't.

    +Blood.+ There's a rogue mocks his father: sirrah, get you
    gone. Sim, go let loose the mastiff.

    +Sim.+ Alas, sir! he'll tear and pull out your son's throat.

    +Blood.+ Better pull't out than halter stretch it. Away, out of
    my doors! rogue, I defy thee.

    +Alex.+ Must you be my mother-in-law?

    +Wid.+ So your father says, sir.

    +Alex.+ You see the worst of your eldest son; I abuse nobody.

    +Blood.+ The rogue will fall upon her.

    +Alex.+ I will tell you an old saw.

    +Wid.+ Pray let's hear it.

    +Alex.+

        _An old man is a bedful of bones,
          And who can it deny?
        By whom (umph)[15] a young wench lies and groans
          For better company._

    +Blood.+ Did you ever hear such a rascal? Come, come, let's
    leave him: I'll go buy thy wedding-ring presently. You're best
    be gone, sirrah: I am going for the constable--ay, and one of
    the churchwardens; and, now I think on't, he shall pay five
    shillings to the poor for being drunk: twelve pence shall go
    into the box, and t'other four my partner and I will share
    betwixt us. There's a new path to thrift, wench; we must live,
    we must live, girl.

    +Wid.+ And at last die for all together.

                     [_Exeunt +Bloodhound+, +Widow+, +Maid+, and +Man+._

    +Sim.+ 'Tis a diamond.[16]                                 [_Aside._

    +Tim.+ You'll be at the Fountain[17] after dinner?

    +Alex.+ While 'twill run, boy.

    +Tim.+ Here's a noble now, and I'll bring you t'other as I come
    by to the tavern; but I'll make you swear I shall drink nothing
    but small beer.

    +Alex.+ Niggers-noggers, thou shalt not; there's thine own oath
    for thee: thou shalt eat nothing, an' thou wilt, but a poached
    spider, and drive it down with syrup of toads.              [_Exit._

    +Tim.+ Ah! prythee, Sim, bid the maid eat my breakfast herself.
                                                                [_Exit._

    +Sim.+ H' has turned his stomach, for all the world like a
    Puritan's at the sight of a surplice.[18] But your breakfast
    shall be devoured by a stomach of a stronger constitution, I
    warrant you.                                                [_Exit._

               _Enter +Captain Carvegut+ and +Lieutenant
                             Bottom+._[19]

    +Capt.+ No game abroad this morning? This
    Coxcomb park,[20] I think, be past the best: I have
    known the time the bottom 'twixt those hills has
    been better fledged.

    +Lieut.+ Look out, Captain, there's matter of
    employment at foot o' th' hill.

    +Capt.+ A business?

    +Lieut.+ Yes, and hopeful. There's a morning
    bird, his flight, it seems, for London: he halloos
    and sings sweetly: prythee, let's go and put him
    out of tune.

    +Capt.+ Thee and I have crotchets in our pates;
    and thou knowest two crotchets make one quaver;[21]
    he shall shake for't.                                     [_Exeunt._

                           _Enter +Randall+._

    +Ran.+

         _Did hur not see hur true loves,
           As hur came from London?
         O, if hur saw not hur fine prave loves,
           Randall is quite undone._

    Well, was never mortal man in Wales could have waged praver,
    finers, and nimblers, than Randalls have done, to get service
    in Londons: whoope, where was hur now? just upon a pridge of
    stone, between the legs of a couple of pretty hills, but no
    more near mountains in Wales, than Clim of the Clough's bow to
    hur cozen David's harp. And now hur prattle of Davie, I think
    yonder come prancing down the hills from Kingston a couple of
    hur t'other cozens, Saint Nicholas' clerks;[22] the morning was
    so red as an egg, and the place fery full of dangers, perils,
    and bloody businesses by reports: augh! her swords was trawn;
    Cod pless us! and hur cozen Hercules was not stand against
    two. Which shall hur take? If they take Randalls, will rip
    Randalls cuts out; and then Randalls shall see Paul's steeples
    no more; therefore hur shall go directly under the pridge, here
    was but standing to knees in little fine cool fair waters; and
    by cat, if hur have Randalls out, hur shall come and fetch
    Randalls, and hur will, were hur nineteen Nicholas' clerks.
                                                                [_Exit._

                  _Enter +Captain+ and +Lieutenant+._

    +Lieut.+ Which way took he?

    +Capt.+ On straight, I think.

    +Lieut.+ Then we should see him, man; he was just in mine eye
    when we were at foot o' th' hill, and, to my thinking, stood
    here looking towards us upon the bridge.

    +Capt.+ So thought I; but with the cloud of dust we raised
    about us, with the speed our horses made, it seems we lost him.
    Now I could stamp, and bite my horse's ears off.

    +Lieut.+ Let's spur towards Coomb House:[23] he struck that
    way; sure, he's not upon the road.

    +Capt.+ 'Sfoot, if we miss him, how shall we keep our word
    with Saunder Bloodhound in Fleet Street, after dinner, at the
    Fountain? he's out of cash; and thou know'st, by Cutter's
    law,[24] we are bound to relieve one another.

    +Lieut.+ Let's scour towards Coomb House; but if we miss him?

    +Capt.+ No matter; dost see yonder barn o' th' left hand?

    +Lieut.+ What of that?

    +Capt.+ At the west end I tore a piece of board out,
    And stuff'd in close amongst the straw a bag
    Of a hundred pound at least, all in round shillings,
    Which I made my last night's purchase from a lawyer.

    +Lieut.+ Dost know the place to fetch it again?

    +Capt.+ The torn board is my landmark; if we miss this,
    We make for that; and, whilst that lasts, O London,
    Thou labyrinth that puzzlest strictest search,
    Convenient inns-of-court for highway-lawyers,
    How with rich wine, tobacco, and sweet wenches,
    We'll canvas thy dark case!

    +Lieut.+ Away, let's spur.                                [_Exeunt._

                           _Enter +Randall+._

    +Ran.+ Spur did hur call hur? have made Randalls stand without
    poots in fery pitiful pickles; but hur will run as nimbles to
    Londons as creyhound after rabbits. And yet, now hur remember
    what hur cozens talkt, was some wiser and some, too, Randalls
    heard talk of parn upon left hand, and a prave bag with hundred
    pounds in round shillings, Cod pless us! And yonder was parns,
    and upon left hands too: now here was questions and demands to
    be made, why Randalls should not rob them would rob Randalls?
    hur will go to parns, pluck away pords, pull out pags, and
    show hur cozen a round pair of heels, with all hur round
    shillings; mark hur now.                                    [_Exit._

                  _Enter +Captain+ and +Lieutenant+._

    +Lieut.+ The rogue rose[25] right, and has outstripped us. This
    was staying in Kingston with our unlucky hostess, that must be
    dandled, and made drunk next her heart; she made us slip the
    very cream o' th' morning: if anything stand awkward, a woman's
    at one end on't.

    +Capt.+ Come, we've a hundred pieces good yet in the barn; they
    shall last us and Sander[26] a month's mirth at least.

    +Lieut.+ O these sweet hundred pieces! how I will kiss you and
    hug you with the zeal a usurer does his bastard money when he
    comes from church. Were't not for them, where were our hopes?
    But come, they shall be sure to thunder in the taverns. I but
    now, just now, see pottle-pots thrown down the stairs, just
    like serjeants and yeomen, one i' th' neck of another.

    +Capt.+ Delicate vision!                                  [_Exeunt._

                           _Enter +Randall+._

    +Ran.+ Hur have got hur pag and all by the hand, and hur had
    ferily thought in conscience, had not been so many round
    sillings in whole worlds, but in Wales: 'twas time to supply
    hur store, hur had but thirteenpence halfpenny in all the
    worlds, and that hur have left in hur little white purse, with
    a rope hur found py the parn, just in the place hur had this.
    Randalls will be no servingmans now; hur will buy her prave
    parels, prave swords, prave taggers, and prave feathers, and go
    a-wooing to prave, comely, pretty maids. Rob Randalls, becat!
    and hur were ten dozen of cousins, Randalls rob hur; mark hur
    now.                                                        [_Exit._

                  _Enter +Captain+ and +Lieutenant+._

    +Lieut.+ A plague of Friday mornings! the most unfortunate day
    in the whole week.

    +Capt.+ Was ever the like fate? 'sfoot, when I put it in, I was
    so wary, though it were midnight, that I watched till a cloud
    had masked the moon, for fear she should have seen't.

    +Lieut.+ O luck!

    +Capt.+ A gale of wind did but creep o'er the bottom, and,
    because I heard things stir, I stayed; 'twas twelve score past
    me.

    +Lieut.+ The pottle-pots will sleep in peace to-night.

    +Capt.+ And the sweet clinks.

    +Lieut.+ The clattering of pipes.

    +Capt.+ The Spanish fumes.

    +Lieut.+ The _More wine, boy_, the nimble _Anon, anon, sir_.[27]

    +Capt.+ All to-night will be nothing; come, we must shift.
    'Sfoot, what a witty rogue 'twas to leave this fair
    thirteenpence halfpenny and this old halter; intimating aptly,

    Had the hangman met us there, by these presages,
    Here had been his work, and here his wages.[28]

    +Lieut.+ Come, come, we must make friends.                [_Exeunt._

                _Enter +Bloodhound+, +Tim+, and +Sim+._

    +Blood.+ There, sirrah, there's his bond: run into the Strand,
    'tis six weeks since the tallow-chandler fetched my hundred
    marks I lent him to set him up, and to buy grease; this is his
    day, I'll have his bones for't else, so pray tell him.

    +Tim.+ But are a chandler's bones worth so much, father?

    +Blood.+ Out, coxcomb!

    +Sim.+ Worth so much! I know my master will make dice of
    them; then 'tis but letting Master Alexander carry them next
    Christmas to the Temple,[29] he'll make a hundred marks a night
    of them.

    +Tim.+ Mass, that's true.

    +Blood.+ And run to Master Ear-lack's the informer, in Thieving
    Lane, and ask him what he has done in my business. He gets
    abundance; and if he carry my cause with one false oath, he
    shall have Moll; he will take her with a little. Are you gone,
    sir?

    +Tim.+ No, forsooth.

    +Blood.+ As you come by Temple Bar, make a step to th' Devil.

    +Tim.+ To the Devil, father?

    +Sim.+ My master means the sign of the Devil;[30] and he cannot
    hurt you, fool; there's a saint holds him by the nose.

    +Tim.+ Sniggers! what does the devil and a saint both in a sign?

    +Sim.+ What a question's that? what does my master and his
    prayer-book o' Sunday both in a pew?

    +Blood.+[31] Well, well, ye gipsy, what do we both in a pew?

    +Sim.+ Why, make a fair show; and the devil and the saint does
    no more.

    +Blood.+ You're witty, you're witty. Call to the man o' th'
    house, bid him send in the bottles of wine to-night; they will
    be at hand i' th' morning. Will you run, sir?

    +Tim.+ To the devil, as fast as I can, sir; the world shall
    know whose son I am.                                        [_Exit._

    +Blood.+ Let me see now for a poesy for the ring: never an end
    of an old saw? 'Tis a quick widow, Sim, and would have a witty
    poesy.

    +Sim.+ If she be quick, she's with child; whosoever got it, you
    must father it; so that

        _You come o' th' nick,
        For the widow's quick._

    There's a witty poesy for your quick widow.

    +Blood.+ No, no; I'll have one shall savour of a saw.

    +Sim.+ Why then, 'twill smell of the painted cloth.[32]

    +Blood.+ Let me see, _a widow witty_----

    +Sim.+ _Is pastime pretty_:--put in that for the sport's sake.

    +Blood.+ No, no, I can make the sport. Then, _an old man_----

    +Sim.+ Then will she answer, _If you cannot, a younger
    can._[33] And look, look, sir, now I talk of the younger,
    yonder's Ancient Young come over again, that mortgaged sixty
    pound _per annum_ before he went; I'm deceived if he come not a
    day after the fair.

    +Blood.+ Mine almanac!

    +Sim.+ A prayer-book, sir?

    +Blood.+ A prayer-book; for devout beggars I hate; look, I
    beseech thee. Fortune, now befriend me, and I will call the
    plaguy whore in. Let me see, six months.

                        _Enter +Ancient Young+._

    +Anc.+ Yes, 'tis he, certain: this is a business must not be
    slackened, sir.

    +Sim.+ Look, I beseech thee; we shall have oatmeal in our
    pottage six weeks after.

    +Blood.+ Four days too late, Sim; four days too late, Sim.

    +Sim.+ Plumbs in our pudding a Sunday, plumbs in our pudding.

    +Anc.+ Master Bloodhound, as I take it.

    +Blood.+ You're a stranger, sir. [_Aside._] You shall be
    witness, I shall be railed at else, they will call me devil. I
    pray you, how many months from the first of May to the sixth of
    November following?

    +Anc.+ Six months and four days, just.

    +Blood.+ I ask, because the first of May last, a noble
    gentleman, one Ancient Young----

    +Anc.+ I am the man, sir.

    +Blood.+ My spectacles, Sim: look, Sim, is this Ancient Young?

    +Sim.+ 'Twas Ancient Young, sir.

    +Blood.+ And is't not Ancient Young?

    +Sim.+ No, sir, you have made him a young ancient.

    +Blood.+ O Sim, a chair. I know him now, but I shall not live
    to tell him.

    +Anc.+ How fare you, sir?

    +Sim.+ The better for you; he thanks you, sir.

    +Blood.+ Sick, sick, exceeding sick.

    +Anc.+ O' th' sudden? Strange!

    +Sim.+ A qualm of threescore years come over his stomach,
    nothing else.[34]                                          [_Aside._

    +Blood.+ That you, beloved you, who, of all men i' th' world,
    my poor heart doated on, whom I loved better than father,
    mother, brother, sister, uncles, aunts--what would you have?
    that you should stay four days too late!

    +Anc.+ I have your money ready;
    And, sir, I hope your old love to my father----

    +Blood.+ Nay, nay, I am noble, fellow, very noble, a very rock
    of friendship; but--but I had a house and barn burnt down to
    the ground since you were here.

    +Anc.+ How?

    +Blood.+ How? burned--ask Sim.

    +Sim.+ By fire, sir, by fire.

    +Blood.+ To build up which, for I am a poor man--a poor man, I
    was forced by course of law to enter upon your land, and so,
    for less money than you had of me, I was fain to sell it to
    another. That, by four days' stay, a man should lose his blood!
    our livings! our blood! O my heart! O my head!

    +Anc.+ Pray, take it not so heinous, we'll go to him: I'll buy
    it again of him, he won't be too cruel.

    +Blood.+ A dog, a very dog; there's more mercy in a pair of
    unbribed bailiffs. To shun all such solicitings, he's rid to
    York. A very cut-throat rogue! But I'll send to him.

    +Anc.+ An honest old man, how it moves him! [_Aside._] This was
    my negligence. Good Sim, convey him into some warmer room; and
    I pray, however Fortune--she that gives ever with the dexterity
    she takes--shall please to fashion out my sufferings, yet for
    his sake, my deceased father, the long friend of your heart, in
    your health keep me happy.

    +Blood.+ O right honest young man! Sim.

    +Sim.+ Sir.

    +Blood.+ Have I done't well?

    +Sim.+ The devil himself could not have done't better.

    +Blood.+ I tell thee an old saw, sirrah--
    _He that dissembles in wealth shall not want;
    They say doomsday's coming, but think you not on't._
    This will make the pot seethe, Sim.

    +Anc.+[35] Good sir, talk no more, my mouth runs over.      [_Exeunt
    +Bloodhound+ and +Sim+._] Sleep, wake, worthy beggar, worthy
    indeed to be one, and am one worthily. How fine it is to
    wanton without affliction! I must look out for fortunes over
    again: no, I have money here, and 'tis the curse of merit not
    to work when she has money. There was a handsome widow, whose
    wild-mad-jealous husband died at sea; let me see, I am near
    Blackfriars, I'll have one start at her, or else----

           _Enter +Bloodhound's+ daughter +Moll+, with a bowl
                               of beer._

    +Moll.+ By my troth, 'tis he! Captain Young's son. I have loved
    him even with languishings, ever since I was a girl; but should
    he know it, I should run mad, sure. What handsome gentlemen
    travel and manners make! my father begun to you, sir, in a cup
    of small beer.

    +Anc.+ How does he, pray?

    +Moll.+ Pretty well now, sir.

    +Anc.+ Mass, 'tis small indeed. [_Aside._] You'll pledge me?

    +Moll.+ Yes, sir.

    +Anc.+ Pray, will you tell me one thing?

    +Moll.+ What is't?

    +Anc.+ Which is smaller, this beer or your maidenhead?

    +Moll.+ The beer a great deal, sir.

    +Anc.+ Ay, in quality.

    +Moll.+ But not in quantity?

    +Anc.+ No.

    +Moll.+ Why?

    +Anc.+ Let me try, and I'll tell you.

    +Moll.+ Will you tell me one thing before you try?

    +Anc.+ Yes.

    +Moll.+ Which is smaller, this beer or your wit?

    +Anc.+ O the beer, the beer.

    +Moll.+ In quality?

    +Anc.+ Yes, and in the quantity.

    +Moll.+ Why, then, I pray, keep the quantity of your wit from
    the quality of my maidenhead, and you shall find my maidenhead
    more than your wit.

    +Anc.+ A witty maidenhead, by this hand.        [_Exeunt severally._

FOOTNOTES:

[1] _Refuse me_, or _God refuse me_, appears to have been among the
fashionable modes of swearing in our author's time. So in "The White
Devil," act i. sc. 1, Flamineo says, _God refuse me._ Again, in "A
Dogge of Warre," by Taylor the Water-poet, Works, 1630, p. 229--

    "Some like Dominicall Letters goe,
    In scarlet from the top to toe,
      Whose valours talke and smoake all;
    Who make (God sink 'em) their discourse
    _Refuse_, Renounce, or Dam that's worse:
      I wish a halter choake all."

Again, in "The Gamester," by Shirley, Wilding says, "_Refuse me_, if I
did."

[2] _Not_ is omitted in the 4º.--_Collier._

[3] See [Randolph's Works, by Hazlitt, p. 179.]

[4] See note to "_The Heir_," [vol. xi. 535.]

[5] Standing unseen for the present.--_Collier._

[6] The 4º reads _Look, look upon, and ready_, &c.--_Collier._

[7] A proverb or wise saying. So in "The Wife of Bath's Prologue," l.
6240--

    "But all for nought, I sette not an hawe
    Of his Proverbes, ne of his _olde sawe_."

[8] Distrained. So in "Thomas, Lord Cromwell," 1602--

    "His furniture fully worth half so much,
    Which being all _strain'd_ for the king,
    He frankly gave it to the Antwerp merchants."

[9] The 4º reads _four pence and ninepence_. This play, in the former
editions, is very incorrectly printed.

[10] So in Massinger's "Maid of Honour," act iv. sc. 5, Sylli says,
"The King ... _break girdle, break_!" Again, Falstaff says, in the
"First Part of King Henry IV."--

    "Dost thou think I'll fear thee as I fear thy father?
    Nay, an' if I do, let _my girdle break_."

To explain the phrase "_may my girdle break_," it should be remembered
that the purse was anciently worn hanging at the girdle. Hence the
propriety of Trincalo's complaint, that while Ronca embraced him his
"purse shook dangerously." See "Albumazar," act iii. sc. 7 [xi. 368].

[11] The 4º reads _Oculies, Oculies_.--_Collier._

[12] [Six-shilling beer, a stronger kind than that previously described
as four-shilling.]

[13] _Look, he'll steal nothing to feast his bawds_, is the reading of
the old copy.--_Collier._

[14] Highway.

[15] These interjections probably mean to express that Alexander
hiccups in the course of what he says.--_Collier._

[16] [In allusion to Alexander.]

[17] [A tavern so called.]

[18] The aversion of the _Puritans_ to a _surplice_ is alluded to in
many of the old comedies. See several instances in Mr Steevens's note
to "All's Well that Ends Well," act i. sc. 3.

[19] [Two footpads, who seem to have frequented the purlieus of Coomb
Park. Sham military men were as common at that time as now.]

[20] The park belonging to Coomb House.

[21] But two quavers make one crotchet: this seems to be false wit,
having no foundation in truth.--_Pegge._

[22] Highwaymen or robbers were formerly called _Saint Nicholas'
clerks_. See notes by Bishop Warburton and Mr Steevens on the "First
Part of King Henry IV.," act ii. sc. 1.

So in Dekker's "Belman of London," 1616: "The theefe that commits the
robery, and is chiefe _clarke to Saint Nicholas_, is called the high
lawyer."

And in "Looke on me London," 1613, sig. C: "Here closely lie _Saint
Nicholas Clearkes_, that, with a good northerne gelding, will gaine
more by a halter, than an honest yeoman with a teame of good horses."

[23] This ancient fabric, which is now destroyed, was the seat
of the Nevils, Earls of Warwick. It stood about a mile from
Kingston-upon-Thames, near Wolsey's Aqueducts, which convey water to
Hampton Court.--_Steevens._

[24] A cutter was, about the beginning of the last century, a cant word
for a swaggering fellow. This appears in the old black-letter play
entitled "The Faire Maid of Bristow," sig. A iij., where Sir Godfrey
says of Challener--

"He was _a cutter_ and a swaggerer."

He is elsewhere (sig. A 4) called a swaggering fellow.--_MS. note in
Oldys's Langbaine._

[25] [Old copy, _rise_. The meaning seems to be that Randall had got up
betimes.]

[26] _i.e._, Alexander Bloodhound.--_Pegge._

[27] _i.e._, The reply of drawers when they are called.

[28] [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 247-8.]

[29] It was formerly usual to celebrate Christmas, at the several inns
of court, with extraordinary festivity. Sometimes plays or masques were
performed; and when these were omitted, a greater degree of licence
appears to have been allowed to the students than at other times. In
societies where so many young men, possessed of high spirits, and
abounding with superfluous sums of money, were assembled, it will not
seem wonderful to find the liberty granted at this season should be
productive of many irregularities. Among others, gaming, in the reign
of James I., when this play was probably written, had been carried to
such an extravagant height as to demand the interposition of the heads
of some of the societies to prevent the evil consequences attending it.
In the 12th of James I. orders for reformation and better government of
the inns of court and Chancery were made by the readers and benchers
of the four houses of court; among which is the following:--"For that
disorders in the _Christmas_-time, may both infect the minds, and
prejudice the estates and fortunes, of the young gentlemen in the same
societies: it is therefore ordered, that there shall be commons of the
house kept, in every house of court, during the _Christmas_; and that
none shall play in their several halls at the dice, except he be a
gentleman of the same society, and in commons; and the benefits of the
boxes to go to the butlers of every house respectively."--Dugdale's
"Orig. Jurid.," p. 318. In the 4th of Car. I. (Nov. 17) the society of
Gray's Inn direct, "that all playing at dice, cards, or otherwise, in
the hall, buttry, or butler's chamber, should be thenceforth barred and
forbidden, at all times of the year, the twenty days in _Christmas_
only excepted."--_Ibid._ p. 286. And in the 7th of Car. I. (7th Nov.)
the society of the _Inner Temple_ made several regulations for keeping
good rule in _Christmas-time_, two of which will show how much gaming
had been practised there before that time. "8. That there shall not be
any knocking with boxes, or calling aloud for gamesters. 9. That no
play be continued within the house upon any Saturday night, or upon
Christmas-eve at night, after twelve of the clock."

Sir Simon D'Ewes also, in the MS. life of himself in the British
Museum, takes notice of the Christmas irregularities about this period
(p. 52, Dec. 1620)--"At the saied Temple was a lieutenant chosen,
and much gaming, and other excesses increased during these festivall
dayes, by his residing and keeping a standing table ther; and, when
sometimes I turned in thither to behold ther sportes, and saw the many
oaths, execrations, and quarrels, that accompanied ther dicing, I began
seriously to loath it, though at the time I conceived the sporte of
itselfe to bee lawfull."--["Life of D'Ewes," edit. 1845, i. 161.] "The
first day of Januarie [_i.e._, 1622-23] at night, I came into commons
at the Temple, wheere ther was a lieftenant choosen, and all manner of
gaming and vanitie practiced, as if the church had not at all groaned
under those heavie desolations which it did. Wherefore I was verie
gladd, when, on the Tuesday following, being the seventh day of the
same moneth, the howse broake upp ther Christmas, and added an end to
those excesses."--[Life, _ut supr._, i. 223.]

To what excess gaming was carried on in the inns-of-court at this
period may be judged from the following circumstance, that in taking
up the floor of one of the Temple halls about 1764, near one hundred
pair of dice were found, which had dropt at times through the chinks or
joints of the boards. They were very small, scarce more than two-thirds
as large as our modern ones. The hall was built in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth. [See on this subject "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain,"
i., where copious collections will be found upon this subject.]

[30] This tavern, with the same sign as above described, [existed till
1787. See Gifford's Ben Jonson, 1816, ix. 84-5.]

[31] This question is improperly given to Sim in the 4º.--_Collier._

[32] [See Dyce's Middleton, iii. 97, and v. 208.]

[33] [A line of an old song altered.]

[34] This is the reading of the quarto, but Mr Reed, without necessity
or notice, changed it thus--

"A qualm of threescore _pounds a year_ came over his stomach."

Sim refers to the age and infirmity of Bloodhound.--_Collier._

[35] All that follows, to the entrance of Moll, in the 4º is made a
continuation of what is said by Bloodhound.--_Collier._



ACT II., SCENE I.


           _A table set out. Enter two servants, +Jarvis+ and
                  +John+, as to cover it for dinner._

    +John.+ Is my mistress ready for dinner?

    +Jar.+ Yes, if dinner be ready for my mistress.

    +John.+ Half an hour ago, man.

    +Jar.+ But, prythee, sir, is't for certain? for yet it cannot
    sink into my head that she is to be married to-morrow.

    +John.+ Troth, she makes little preparation; but it may be, she
    would be wedded, as she would be bedded, privately.

    +Jar.+ Bedded, call you it? and she be bedded no better than
    he'll bed her, she may lie tantalised, and eat wishes.

    +John.+ Pox on him! they say he's the arrantest miser: we shall
    never live a good day with him.

    +Jar.+ Well, and she be snipped by threescore and ten, may
    she live six score and eleven, and repent twelve times a
    day--that's once an hour.                                   [_Exit._

                            _Enter +Widow+._

    +Wid.+ Set meat o' th' board.

    +John.+ Yes.

    +Wid.+ Why does your fellow grumble so?

    +John.+ I do not know. They say you're to marry one that will
    feed us with horse-plums instead of beef and cabbage.

    +Wid.+ And are you grieved at that?

    +John.+ No, but my friends are.

    +Wid.+ What friends are grieved?

    +John.+ My guts.

    +Wid.+ So, it seems, you begun clown----

    +John.+ Yes, and shall conclude coxcomb, and I be fed with
    herring-bones. 'Sfoot, I say no more; but if we do want as much
    bread of our daily allowance as would dine a sparrow, or as
    much drink as would fox a fly,[36] I know what I know.

    +Wid.+ And what do you know, sir?

    +John.+ Why, that there goes but a pair of shears[37] between
    a promoter and a knave; if you know more, take your choice of
    either.

    +Wid.+ 'Tis well; set on dinner.

          _Enter +Jarvis+ with a rabbit in one hand and a dish
                  of eggs in another, and the +Maid+._

    +Jar.+ O mistress, yonder's the mad gallant, Master Alexander
    Bloodhound, entered into the hall.

    +Wid.+ You should have kept him out.

    +Maid.+ Alas! ne'er a wench in town could do't, he's so nimble:
    I had no sooner opened the door, but he thrust in ere I was
    aware.

                          _Enter +Alexander+._

    +Alex.+ And how does my little, handsome, dainty, delicate,
    well-favoured, straight and comely, delicious, bewitching widow?

    +Jar.+ 'Sfoot, here's one runs division before the fiddlers.

    +Wid.+ Sir, this is no seasonable time of visit.

    +Alex.+ 'Tis pudding-time, wench, pudding-time; and a dainty
    time, dinner-time, my nimble-eyed, witty one. Woot be married
    to-morrow, sirrah?                                 [_Sits to table._

    +Jar.+ She'll be mad to-morrow, sirrah.

    +Alex.+ What, art thou a fortune-teller?

    +Jar.+ A chip of the same block--a fool, sir.

    +Alex.+ Good fool, give me a cup of cool beer.

    +Jar.+ Fill your master a cup of cool beer.

    +Alex.+ Pish! I spoke to the fool.

    +Jar.+ I thought you'd brought the fool with you, sir.

    +Alex.+ Fool, 'tis my man: shalt sit, i' faith, wench.

    +Wid.+ For once I'll be as merry as you are mad, and learn
    fashions. I am set, you see, sir; but you must pardon, sir,
    our rudeness--Friday's fare for myself, a dish of eggs and a
    rabbit; I looked for no strange faces.

    +Alex.+ Strange: mine's a good face, i' faith; prythee, buss.

    +Jar.+ Why, here's one comes to the business now.

    +Alex.+ Sirrah, woot have the old fellow?

    +Wid.+ Your father? Yes.

    +Alex.+ I tell thee thou shalt not; no, no; I have such [a rare
    one][38]--this rabbit's raw too.

    +Jar.+ There's but one raw bit, sir.

    +Alex.+ Thy jester, sure, shall have a coat.[39]

    +Wid.+ Let it be of your own cut, sir.

    +Alex.+ Nay, nay, nay; two to one is extremity--but, as I was
    telling thee, I have such a husband for thee: so knowing, so
    discreet, so sprightly--fill a cup of claret--so admirable in
    desires, so excellently deserving, that an old man--fie, fie,
    prythee. Here's to thee.

    +Wid.+ The man's mad, sure.

    +Jar.+ Mad! by this hand, a witty gallant.

    +John.+ Prythee, peace, shalt hear a song.

                        _Enter +Ancient Young+._

    +Wid.+ What cope's-mate's[40] this, trow? who let him in?

    +Jar.+ By this light, a fellow of an excellent breeding.
    He came unbidden, and brought his stool with him.

    +John.+ Look, mistress, how they stare one at another.

    +Jar.+ Yes, and swell like a couple of gibbed cats[41] met
    both by chance i' th' dark in an old garret.

    +Wid.+ Look, look; now there's no fear of the wild beasts:
    they have forgot their spleens, and look prettily; they fall
    to their pasture. I thought they had been angry, and they are
    hungry.

    +Jar.+ Are they none of Duke Humphrey's[42] furies? Do you
    think that they devised this plot in Paul's to get a dinner?

    +Wid.+ Time may produce as strange a truth. Let's note them.

                           _Enter +Randall+._

    +Ran.+ Hur loved hur once: hur loved hur no more,
    Saint Tavie, so well as hur loved hur then.

    +Wid.+ Another burr! this is the cookmaid's leaving ope the
    door; and this is the daintiest dish she has sent in--a widgeon
    in Welsh sauce! Pray, let's make a merry day on't.

    +Ran.+ What! do hur keep open house? Had heard hur was widows
    that dwelt here: are you widows, good womans?

    +Wid.+ I want a husband, sir.[43]

    +Ran.+ Augh, Randalls comes in very good times: you keep
    ordinaries, hur think. What, have you set a cat before gallants
    there?

    +Jar.+ They will eat him for the second course. [_Aside._]
    These are suitors to my mistress sure--things that she slights.
    Set your feet boldly in; widows are not caught as maids
    kiss--faintly, but as mastiffs fight--valiantly.

    +Ran.+ Is hur so: I pray pid hur mistress observe Randalls for
    valours and prave adventures?

    +Anc.+ Some beer.

    +Wid.+ Let them want nothing.

    +Anc.+ Here, widow.

    +Wid.+ I thank you, sir.

    +Alex.+ Some wine.

    +Jar.+ Here is wine for you, sir.

    +Ran.+ Randalls will not be outpraved, I warrant hur.

    +Alex.+ Here, widow.

    +Wid.+ I thank you too, sir.

    +Ran.+ Sounds, some metheglins here.

    +Wid.+ What does he call for?

    +Jar.+ Here are some eggs for you, sir.

    +Ran.+ Eggs, man! some metheglins, the wine of Wales.

    +Jar.+ Troth, sir, here's none i' th' house: pray, make a
    virtue of necessity, and drink to her in this glass of claret.

    +Ran.+ Well, because hur will make a great deals of
    necessities of virtues, mark, with what a grace Randalls will
    drink to hur mistress.

    +Maid.+ He makes at you, forsooth.

    +Wid.+ Let him come, I have ever an English virtue to put by a
    Welsh.

    +Ran.+ O noble widows, hur heart was full of woes.

    +Alex.+ No, noble Welshman, hur heart was in hur hose.

                                                  [_Takes away his cup._

    +Ran.+ Sounds, was that hur manners, to take away Randall's
    cups?

    +Anc.+ No, it showed scurvy.

    +Alex.+ Take't you at worst, then.

    +Anc.+ Whelp of the devil, thou shalt see thy sire[44] for't.

    +John+, +Jar.+ Gentlemen, what mean you?

    +Ran.+ Let hur come, let hur come; Randalls will redeem
    reputations, hur warrant hur.

    +Wid.+ Redeem your wit, sir. First for you, sir, you are a
    stranger; but you--fie, Master Bloodhound!

    +Anc.+ Ha! Bloodhound! good sir, let me speak with you.

    +Ran.+ Sounds, what does Randalls amongst ploodhounds? Good
    widows, lend hur an ear.

    +Alex.+ Ancient Young! how false our memories have played
    through long discontinuance![45] But why met here, man? Is Mars
    so bad a paymaster that our ancients fight under Cupid's banner?

    +Anc.+ Faith, this was but a sudden start, begotten from
    distraction of some fortunes: I pursue this widow but for want
    of wiser work.

    +Jar.+ The Welshman labours at it.                         [_Aside._

    +Ran.+ A pair of a hundred of seeps, thirty prave cows, and
    twelve dozen of runts.

    +Wid.+ Twelve dozen of goose!

    +Ran.+ Give hur but another hark!

    +Alex.+ He has the mortgage still, and I have a handsome
    sister: do but meet at the Fountain in Fleet Street after
    dinner; O, I will read thee a history of happiness, and thou
    shalt thank me.

    +Anc.+ Ay, read, all's well or weapons.

    +Alex.+ A word, Jarvis.                             [_Whispers him._

    +Ran.+ O prave widows, hur will meet hur there, hur knows
    hur times and hur seasons, hur warrant hur. Randalls will
    make these prave gallants hang hurselfs in those garters of
    willow-garlands apout hur pates; mark hur now, and remember.
                                                                [_Exit._

    +Anc.+ Adieu, sweet widow; for my ordinary----        [_Kisses her._

    +Wid.+ 'Twas not so much worth, sir.

    +Anc.+ You mean, 'twas worth more then; and that's another
    handsomely begged.                              [_Kisses her again._

    +Wid.+ You conclude women cunning beggars, then.

    +Anc.+ Yes, and men good benefactors. My best wishes wait on so
    sweet a mistress. Will you walk?                  [_Exit +Ancient+._

    +Alex.+ I'll follow you. Woot think on't soon at night, or not
    at all?                                        [_Aside to +Jarvis+._

    +Jar.+ I would not have my wishes wronged; if I should bring it
    about handsomely, you can be honest.                       [_Aside._

    +Alex.+ Can [I]? dost conclude me a satin cheat?           [_Aside._

    +Jar.+ No, a smooth gallant, sir. Do not you fail to be here
    soon at nine, still provided you will be honest: if I convey
    you not under her bed, throw me a top o' th' tester, and lay me
    out o' th' way like a rusty bilbo.                         [_Aside._

    +Alex.+ Enough; drink that. [_Aside, giving him money._]
    Farewell, widow; Fate, the Destinies, and the three
    ill-favoured Sisters have concluded the means, and when I am
    thy husband----

    +Wid.+ I shall be your wife.

    +Alex.+ Do but remember these cross capers then, ye
    bitter-sweet one.[46]                                       [_Exit._

    +Wid.+ Till then adieu, you bitter-sweet one.               [_Exit._

    +Jar.+ This dinner would have showed better in bed-lane; and
    she at the other side holdeth her whole nest of suitors [at]
    play. What art decks the dark labyrinth of a woman's heart!

                                                                [_Exit._

                  _Enter +Mary Bloodhound+ and +Sim+._

    +Moll.+ Marry old Ear-lack! is my father mad?

    +Sim.+ They're both a-concluding on't yonder; to-morrow's the
    day; one wedding-dinner must serve both marriages.

    +Moll.+ O Sim! the Ancient, the delicate Ancient; there's a
    man, and thou talk'st of a man; a good face, a sparkling eye, a
    straight body, a delicate hand, a clean leg and foot. Ah, sweet
    Sim! there's a man worth a maidenhead.

                  _Enter +Bloodhound+ and +Ear-lack+._

    +Sim.+ But I say, Master Ear-lack, the old man! a foot like a
    bear, a leg like a bed-staff, a hand like a hatchet, an eye
    like a pig, and a face like a winter peony;[47] there's a man
    for a maidenhead.

    +Moll.+ O look, look! O, alas! what shall I do with him?

    +Sim.+ What? why, what shall fifteen do with sixty and twelve?
    make a screen of him; stand next the fire, whilst you sit
    behind him and keep a friend's lips warm. Many a wench would be
    glad of such a fortune.

    +Blood.+ Your oath struck it dead then, o' my side?

    +Ear.+ Five hundred deep of your side, i' faith, father.

    +Blood.+ Moll, come hither, Moll; I hope Sim has discovered the
    project.

    +Ear.+ And to-morrow must be the day, Moll; both of a day: one
    dinner shall serve. We may have store of little ones; we must
    save for our family.

    +Moll.+ Good sir, what rashness was parent to this madness?
    marry an old man--Ear-lack the informer!

    +Blood.+ Madness! You're a whore.

    +Ear.+ Is she a whore, Sim?

    +Sim.+ She must be your wife, I tell-----

    +Blood.+ An arrant whore, to refuse Master Innocent Ear-lack of
    Rogue-land!--that for his dwelling: next, that he doth inform
    now and then against enormities, and hath been blanketed--it
    may be, pumped in's time; yet the world knows he does it not
    out of need: he's of mighty means, but takes delight now and
    then to trot up and down to avoid idleness, you whore.

    +Sim.+ Good sir!

    +Ear.+ Pray, father!

    +Moll.+ This wound wants oil. Good sir, in all my paths
    I will make you my guide; I was only startled
    With the suddenness of the marriage,
    In that I knew that this deserving gentleman
    And I had never so much conference,
    Whereby this coal of Paphos--by the rhetoric
    Of his love-stealing, heart-captivating language--
    Might be blown into a flame.

    +Ear.+ Does she take tobacco, father?

    +Blood.+ No, no, man; these are out of ballads; she has all the
    Garland of Good-will[48] by heart.

    +Ear.+ Snails, she may sing me asleep o' nights then, Sim.

    +Sim.+ Why, right, sir; and then 'tis but tickling you o' th'
    forehead with her heels, you are awake again, and ne'er the
    worse man.

    +Moll.+ Is he but five years older than yourself, sir?

    +Ear.+ Nay, I want a week and three days of that too.

    +Blood.+ I'll tell thee an old saw for't, girl--

        _Old say he be, old blades are best,
        Young hearts are never old._

    +Ear.+ Ha, ha!

    +Blood.+

        _Gold is great glee, gold begets rest,
        What fault is found in gold?_

    +Sim.+ I will answer presently, sir, with another saw.

    +Blood.+ Let's ha't, let's ha't.

    +Ear.+ Mark, Moll.

    +Sim.+

        _Young? say she be young, young mutton's sweet,
                Content is above gold;
        If, like an old cock, he with young mutton meet,
                He feeds like a cuckold._

    +Blood.+ A very pretty pithy one, I protest; look, an' Moll do
    not laugh: shalt have a pair of gloves for that. What leather
    dost love?

    +Sim.+ Calf, sir; sheep's too simple for me.

    +Blood.+ Nay, 'tis a witty notable knave; he should never serve
    me else.

                     _Enter +John+ with a letter._

    +John.+ My mistress remembers her love, and requests you would
    inure her so much to your patience as to read that.

    +Blood.+ Love-letters, love-lies: dost mark, Sim; these women
    are violent, Sim. Whilst I read the lie,[49] do you rail to him
    upon the brewer: swear he has deceived us, and save a cup of
    beer by't.

    +Sim.+ I will not save you a cup at that rate, sir.

    +Ear.+ I can make thee a hundred a year jointure, wench. At the
    first, indeed, I began with petty businesses, wench; and here
    I picked, and there I picked; but now I run through none but
    things of value.

    +Moll.+ Sir, many thoughts trouble me; and your words carry
    such weight, that I will choose a time, when I have nothing
    else to do, to think on 'em.

    +Ear.+ By my troth, she talks the wittiliest, an' I would
    understand her.

    +Blood.+ O nimble, nimble widow! I am sorry we have no better
    friends; [_To +John+_] but pray, commend me, though in a blunt,
    dry commendation; at the time and place appointed I wonnot
    fail. I know she has a nest of suitors, and would carry it
    close, because she fears surprisal.                  [_Exit +John+._

    +Ear.+ What news, father?

    +Blood.+ Shalt lie there all night, son.

    +Ear.+ Was that the first news I heard on't?

    +Blood.+ I must meet a friend i' th' dark soon: let me see, we
    lovers are all a little mad; do you and Moll take a turn or
    two i' th' garden, whilst Sim and I go up into the garret and
    devise till the guests come.                                [_Exit._

    +Sim.+ He's a little mad. I had best hang him upon the
    cross-beam in the garret.                                   [_Exit._

    +Ear.+ Come, Moll, come, Malkin:[50] we'll even to the camomile
    bed, and talk of household stuff; and be sure thou rememberest
    a trade.

    +Moll.+ Please you go before, sir.

    +Ear.+ Nay, an old ape has an old eye; I shall go before, an'
    thou woot show me a love-trick, and lock me into the garden. I
    will come discreetly behind, Moll.

    +Moll.+ Out upon him, what a suitor have I got! I am sorry
    you're so bad an archer, sir.

    +Ear.+ Why, bird, why, bird?

    +Moll.+ Why, to shoot at butts, when you should use
    prick-shafts: short shooting will lose you the game, I assure
    you, sir.

    +Ear.+ Her mind runs, sure, upon a fletcher[51] or a bowyer:
    howsoever, I'll inform against both; the fletcher, for taking
    whole money for pierced arrows: the bowyer, for horning
    the headmen of his parish, and taking money for his pains.
                                                              [_Exeunt._

           _Enter in the tavern, +Alexander+, the +Captain+,
             +Lieutenant+, +Sue Shortheels+, and +Mistress
                           Coote+, a bawd._

    +Alex.+ Some rich canary, boy.

    +Drawer.+ Anon, anon, sir.

    +Alex.+ [Is't] possible? Thus cheated of a hundred
    Pieces? A handsome halter, and the hangman's
    Wages popp'd in the place! What an acute wit
    We have in wickedness!

    +Capt.+ 'Tis done, and handsomely.

                           _Enter +Drawer+._

    +Drawer.+ Here's a pottle of rich canary and a quart of neat
    claret, gentlemen; and there's a gentleman below, he says he is
    your brother, Master Bloodhound: he appointed to meet you here.

    +Capt.+ The expected thing, that bought the Bristow stone.

    +Alex.+ Send him up, prythee. Remember how it must be carried.

    +Mis. Coote.+ I am her grandmother; forget not that, by any
    means.

    +Alex.+ And pray remember that you do not mump, as if you were
    chewing bacon, and spoil all.

    +Mis. Coote.+ I warrant you.


                        _Enter +Ancient Young+._

    +Alex.+ And hark.

    +Drawer.+ Are these the company, sir?

    +Anc.+ Yes, but those I like not; these are not they: I'll stay
    i' th' next room till my company come.

    +Drawer.+ Where you please, sir; pray follow me.          [_Exeunt._

    +Capt.+ I hear him coming up gingerly.

    +Alex.+ O, he tramples upon the bosom of a tavern with that
    dexterity, as your lawyers' clerks do to Westminster Hall upon
    a dirty day with a pair of white silk stockings.

                             _Enter +Tim+._

    Brother Tim, why, now you're a man of your word, I see.

    +Tim.+ Nay, I love to be as good as my say. See, brother, look,
    there's the rest of your money upon the ring. I cannot spend a
    penny, for I have ne'er a penny left. What are these? what are
    these?

    +Alex.+ Gallants of note and quality; he that sits taking
    tobacco is a captain, Captain Carvegut.

    +Tim.+ He will not make a capon of me, will he?

    +Alex.+ Are you not my brother? He that pours out the sparkling
    sprightly claret is a lieutenant under him, Lieutenant Bottom.
    He was a serjeant first.

    +Tim.+ Of the Poultry or of Wood Street?

    +Alex.+ Of the Poultry?[52] of a woodcock! A serjeant in the
    field, a man of blood.

    +Tim.+ I'll take my leave, brother, I am in great haste.

    +Alex.+ That delicate, sweet young gentlewoman----

    +Tim.+ Foh! this tobacco!

    +Alex.+ That bears the blush of morning on her cheeks,
    Whose eyes are like a pair of talking twins.

    +Tim.+ She looks just upon me.

    +Alex.+ I think you are in haste.

    +Tim.+ No, no, no, pray.

    +Alex.+ Whose lips are beds of roses, betwixt which
    There steals a breath sweeter than Indian spices.

    +Tim.+ Sweeter than ginger!

    +Alex.+ But then to touch those lips you stay too long, sure?

    +Tim.+ Pish, I tell you I do not; I know my time. Pray, what's
    her name?

    +Alex.+ But 'tis descended from the ancient stem,
    [O'] the great Trebatio,[53] Lindabride's her name;
    That ancient matron is her reverend grannum.

    +Tim.+ Niggers, I have read of her in the Mirror of
    Knighthood.[54]

    +Alex.+ Come, they shall know you.

    +Tim.+ Nay, brother.

    +Alex.+ I say they shall.

    +Tim.+ Let me go down and wash my face first.

    +Alex.+ Your face is a fine face. My brother, gentlemen.

    +Capt.+ Sir, you're victoriously welcome.

    +Tim.+ That word has e'en conquered me.

    +Lieut.+ I desire to kiss your hand, sir.

    +Tim.+ Indeed, but you shall not, sir: I went out early, and
    forgot to wash them.

    +Mis. Coote.+ Precious dotterel!                           [_Aside._

    +Capt.+ Sir, I shall call it a courtesy if you shall please to
    vouchsafe to pledge me.

    +Tim.+ What is't, brother? Four or six?[55]

    +Capt.+ Four or six! 'tis rich Canary: it came from beyond the
    seas.

    +Tim.+ I will do no courtesy at this time, sir; yet for one cup
    I care not, because it comes from beyond the seas. I think 'tis
    outlandish wine.

    +Sue.+ Look how it glides!

    +Mis. Coote.+ Now, truly, the gentleman drinks as like one
    Master Widgeon, a kinsman of mine----

    +Lieut.+ Pox on you! heildom![56]

    +Tim.+ I ha' heard of that Widgeon, I ha' been taken for
    him; and now I think on't, a cup of this is better than our
    four-shilling beer at home.

    +Lieut.+ You must drink another, sir: you drank to nobody.

    +Tim.+ Is it the law that, if a man drinks to nobody, he must
    drink again?

    +Omnes.+ Ay, ay, ay. Fill his glass.

    +Tim.+ Why, then, I will drink to nobody once more, because I
    will drink again.

    +Alex.+ Did not I tell you? More wine there, drawer.

    +Sue.+ This pageant's worth the seeing, by this hand.

    +Tim.+ Methinks this glass was better that t'other, gentlemen.

    +Capt.+ O sir, the deeper the sweeter ever.

    +Tim.+ Do you think so?

    +Lieut.+ Ever that when ye drink to nobody.

    +Tim.+ Why, then, I pray give me t'other cup, that I may drink
    to somebody.

    +Mis. Coote.+ I have not drunk yet, sir.

    +Alex.+ Again, ye witch! Drink to the young gentlewoman.

    +Tim.+ Mistress Lindabrides.

    +Sue.+ Thanks, most ingenious sir.

    +Tim.+ She's a little shame-faced. The deeper the sweeter,
    forsooth.

    +Alex.+ Pox on you for a coxcomb!

               _Enter +Ancient Young+ [standing aside]._

    +Anc.+ I' th' next room I have seen and heard all. O noble
    soldiers!

    +Tim.+ Here, boys, give us some more wine. There's a hundred
    marks, gallants; 'tis your own, an' do but let me bear an
    office amongst ye. I know as great a matter has been done for
    as small a sum. Pray let me follow the fashion.

    +Capt.+ Well, for once take up the money. Give me a cup of
    sack, and give me your hand, sir; and, because our Flemish
    corporal was lately choked at Delft with a flap-dragon,[57]
    bear you his name and place, and be henceforth called Corporal
    Cods-head. Let the health go round!

    +Tim.+ Round! An' this go not round!--Some wine there, tapster.
    Is there ne'er a tapster i' th' house?   [_+Ancient+ shows himself._

    +Alex.+ My worthy friend, thou'rt master of thy word.
    Gentlemen, 'tis Ancient Young; you're soldiers; come, come,
    save cap: compliment in cup. Prythee, sit down.

    +Anc.+ Are you a captain, sir?

    +Capt.+ Yes.

    +Anc.+ And you a lieutenant?

    +Lieut.+ Yes.

    +Anc.+ I pray, where served you last?

    +Capt.+ Why, at the battle of Prague.[58]

    +Anc.+ Under what colonel? In what regiment?

    +Capt.+ Why, let me see--but come, in company? Let's sit,
    sir. True soldiers scorn unnecessary discourse, especially in
    taverns.

    +Anc.+ 'Tis true, true soldiers do: but you are tavern-rats.

    +Capt.+ How?

    +Alex.+ Prythee!

    +Anc.+ Foul food, that lies all day undigested
    Upon the queasy stomach of some tavern,
    And are spew'd out at midnight.

    +Tim.+ Corporal Cods-head's health, sir.

    +Anc.+ In thy face, fool.                          [_+Tim+ retires._

    +Alex.+ This is cruel, Ancient.

    +Anc.+ You are but
    The worms of worth, the sons of shame and baseness,
    That in a tavern dare outsit the sun,
    And, rather than a whore shall part unpledg'd,
    You'll pawn your souls for a superfluous cup,
    Though ye cast it into the reckoning.
    The true soldier, who is all o'er, a history of man,
    Noble and valiant; wisdom is the mould
    In which he casts his actions. Such a discreet temperance
    Doth daily deck his doings, that by his modesty
    He's guess'd the son of merit, and by his mildness
    Is believed valiant. Go, and build no more
    These airy castles of hatched fame, which fools
    Only admire and fear you for: the wise man
    Derides and jeers you as puffs. [Be] really of[59]
    Virtue and valour, those fair twins,
    That are born, breathe, and die together: then
    You'll no more be called butterflies, but men:
    Think on't, and pay your reckoning.                         [_Exit._

    +Capt.+ Shall we suffer this, Saunder?

    +Alex.+ I must go after him.

    +Sue.+ Kill him, an' there be no more men in Christendom.

    +Alex.+ I know my sister loves him, and he swears he loves her;
    and, by this hand, it shall go hard if he have her not, smock
    and all. Brave, excellent man! With what a strength of zeal we
    admire that goodness in another which we cannot call our own!
                                                                [_Exit._

    +Lieut.+ He's a dead man, I warrant him.

    +Capt.+ But where's our corporal? Corporal, corporal!

    +Tim.+ Well, here's your corporal, an' you can be quiet.
    [_Looks out._[60]

    +Sue.+ Look, an' he have not ensconced[61] himself in a wooden
    castle.

    +Tim.+ Is he gone that called us butterflies?

    +Mis. Coote.+ Yes, yes; h' has taken wing; and your brother's
    gone after him, to fight with him.

    +Tim.+ That's well; he cannot in conscience but do us the
    courtesy to kill him for us. Come, gallants, what shall we
    do? I'll never go home to go to bed with my guts full of
    four-shillings beer, when I may replenish them with sack. Ha!
    now am I as lusty! Methinks we two have blue beards. Is there
    ne'er a wench to be had? Drawer, bring us up impossibilities,
    an honest whore and a conscionable reckoning.

    +Lieut.+ Why, here's all fire-wit, whe'r[62] he will or no.

    +Sue.+ A whore! O tempting, handsome sir! think of a rich wife
    rather.

    +Tim.+ Tempting, handsome sir! She's not married, is she,
    gentlemen?

    +Capt.+ A woodcock springed! Let us but keep him in this
    bacchanalian mist till morning, and 'tis done.             [_Aside._

    +Tim.+ Tempting, handsome sir! I've known a woman of handsome,
    tempting fortunes throw herself away upon a handsome, tempting
    sir.

    +Lieut.+ Hark you, sir: if she had, and could be tempted to't,
    have you a mind to marry? Would you marry her?

    +Tim.+ O, and a man were so worthy, tempting sir.

    +Lieut.+ Give me but a piece from you.

    +Tim.+ And when will you give it me again?

    +Lieut.+ Pray, give me but a piece from you. I'll pay this
    reckoning into the bargain; and if I have not a trick to make
    it your own, I'll give you ten for't--here's my witness.

    +Tim.+ There 'tis; send thee good luck with't, and go drunk to
    bed.

    +Lieut.+ Do not you be too rash, for she observes you, and is
    infinitely affected to good breeding.

    +Tim.+ I wonnot speak, I tell you, till you hold up your finger
    or fall a-whistling.

    +Capt.+ Come, we'll pay at bar, and to the Mitre in Bread
    Street;[63] we'll make a mad night on't. Please you, sweet
    ladies, but to walk into Bread Street; this gentleman has
    [had] a foolish slight supper, and he most ingeniously
    professes it would appear to him the meridian altitude of his
    desired happiness but to have the table decked with a pair of
    perfections so exquisitely refulgent.

    +Tim.+ He talks all sack, and he will drink no small beer.

    +Mis. Coote.+ Pray lead, and we[64] shall follow.

    +Sue.+ Bless mine eyes! my heart is full of changes.        [_Exit._

    +Tim.+ O, is it so? I have heard there may be more changes
    in a woman's heart in an hour than can be rung upon six bells
    in seven days. Well, go thy ways: little dost thou think how
    thou shalt be betrayed. Within this four-and-twenty hours thou
    shalt be mine own wife, flesh and blood, by father and mother,
    O tempting, handsome sir!                                 [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[36] _i.e._, Intoxicate a fly.

[37] The 4º reads a _pair of sheets_, but evidently wrong. See
Marston's "Malcontent," iv. 5.

[38] [These words seem to have dropped out of the old copy, as
Alexander immediately after puns on the word _rare_ (pronounced
sometimes like _raw_).]

[39] _i.e._, A fool's coat, such as the jesters or fools anciently
wore. See notes to "Tempest," act iii. sc. 2, by Dr Johnson and Mr
Steevens.

[40] _Copesmate_ Dr Johnson conjectures to be the same as _copsmate_,
a companion in drinking, or one that dwells under the same _cope_, or
house. I find the word used in "The Curtain-Drawer of the World," 1612,
p. 31, but not according to either of the above explanations. "Hee that
trusts a tradesman on his word, a usurer with his bond, a phisitian
with his body, and the divell with his soule, needes not care who he
trusts afterwards, nor what _copesmate_ encounters him next."

_Copesmate_, I believe, means only _companion_, a word which was used
both in a bad and good sense by our ancestors. To _cope_ is to meet
with, to encounter. Thus Hamlet--

"As e'er my conversation _cop'd_ withall."

_--Steevens._

Again, in Wither's "Abuses Stript and Whipt," 1613, bk. ii. s. 1--

    "Nay be advised (quoth his _copesmate_) harke,
    Lets stay all night, for it grows pest'lence darke."

[41] See note to "Gammer Gurton's Needle," [iii. 178], and also the
notes of Dr Percy, Mr Steevens, and Mr Tollet, to the "First Part of
King Henry IV.," act i. sc. 2.

[42] [A constant allusion in our old plays.]

[43] This reply, and the preceding question of Randall, were omitted by
Dodsley and Reed.

[44] [It is still a common expression, that a person will "see his
_grandmother_" after taking so and so.]

[45] Mr Reed allowed it to stand _continuance_ instead of
_discontinuance_, which made nonsense of the passage.--_Collier._

[46] See note to "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 3, vol. x. edit.
1778.--_Steevens._

[47] [Old copy and former editions, _pigme_. The peony is very apt
to be nipped by the frost, and so to be pinched up; hence Sim's
similitude.]

[48] One of the miscellaneous collections of songs and poems, formerly
published, called "Garlands." The names of a great number of these,
and, amongst the rest, "The Garland of Good-will," by T. D., [1604,]
are enumerated in [Hazlitt's "Handbook," 1867, art. Garlands, Deloney,
&c.]

[49] [A play on the similarity between _lye_ and _lie_, the former
being the dregs or lees of beer.]

[50] [_Moll_ and _Malkin_ are the same, of course. Ear-lack, just
after, plays on the meanings of the words _bed_ and _stuff_.]

[51] _Flechier_, Fr., a maker of arrows. We have still the Fletchers'
Company in the city of London.

[52] [The Poultry in Wood Street is meant.]

[53] [Former edits., _Tributie_.]

[54] [The "Mirror of Knighthood," better known as the "Knight of the
Sun," a romance in nine parts, translated into English by Margaret
Tyler and others, between 1579 and 1601. Complete sets are of the
greatest rarity. The bibliography of the work may be seen in Hazlitt
_v._ Knight of the Sun.]

It appears that Thomas Este, the printer, [originally] undertook the
publication of this work, which is executed by different translators,
and dedicated to different patrons. Margaret Tyler (_thine to use_,
as she says at the conclusion of her address to the reader) having no
concern with any part but the first.--_Steevens._

[55] Tim means to ask, is it _four_ or _six shilling beer_, supposing
that such was the beverage, to which the Captain replies scornfully,
_Four or six! 'Tis rich Canary_, &c. This was omitted by Mr
Reed.--_Collier._

[56] [Former edits., _Pox on you heilding. Heildom_ is a _health_, and
the lieutenant means to say that Tim should propose one.]

[57] [See Dyce's Middleton, i. 66.]

[58] This battle was fought at Weisenberg, near Prague, 18th November
1620, and was fatally decisive against the Elector Palatine who, in
consequence of it, not only lost his new kingdom of Bohemia, but also
was deprived by the Emperor of his hereditary dominions.

[59] [In the former edits, this passage stands, "_jeers ye puffs really
of_."]

[60] Tim, who has hidden or _ensconced_ himself, looks out, and
not the Captain, as Mr Reed made it, by misplacing the stage
direction.--_Collier._

[61] A _sconce_ is a petty fortification. The verb _to ensconce_
occurs more than once in Shakespeare. See note on "The Merry Wives of
Windsor," act ii. sc. 2.--_Steevens._ [This note amounts to nothing,
as the word _ensconce_ is very common, and all that is here intended
is that Tim, frightened at the Ancient, had hidden himself behind a
chest of drawers (a very petty fortification!) or some other article of
furniture.]

[62] _i.e._, Whether. It is frequently so [spelled] in ancient writers.
See Ben Jonson's "New Inn," act v. sc. 2., and Mr Whalley's note,
[Gifford's edit., v. 428.]

[63] From a passage in "Ram Alley," [x. 313], it has already appeared
there were two taverns at this time with the same sign.

[64] [Former edits., _he_.]



ACT III., SCENE I.


                     _Enter +John+ and the +Maid+._

    +John.+ But, sirrah, canst tell what my mistress means to do
    with her suitors?

    +Maid.+ Nay, nay, I know not; but there is one of them, I am
    sure, worth looking after.

    +John.+ Which is he, I prythee?

    +Maid.+ O John, Master Randall, John.

    +John.+ The Welshman?

    +Maid.+ The witty man, the pretty man, the singing-man. He has
    the daintiest ditty, so full of pith, so full of spirit, as
    they say.

    +John.+ Ditties! they are the old ends of ballads.[65]

    +Maid.+ Old ends! I am sure they are new beginnings with me.

    +John.+ Here comes my mistress.

                     _Enter +Widow+ and +Jarvis+._

    +Wid.+ Who was that knocked at the gate?

    +Jar.+ Why, your Welsh wooer.

    +Maid.+ Alas! the sight on's eyes is enough to singe my little
    maidenhead. I shall never be able to endure him.     [_Exit +Maid+._

                           _Enter +Randall+._

    +Ran.+

        _When high King Henry rul'd this land,[66]
          The couple of her name,
        Besides hur queen was tearly lov'd,
          A fair and princely--widows._

    Hark you, widows; Randalls was disturbed in cogitations about
    lands, ploughs, and cheesepresses in Wales; and, by cat, hur
    have forgot where hur and hur meet soon at pright dark evenings.

    +Wid.+ Why, on the 'Change, in the Dutch walks.

    +Ran.+ O haw, have hur? but Randalls was talk no Dutch; pray
    meet her in the Welsh walk. Was no Welsh walk there?

    +Wid.+ Fie, no! There are no Welsh merchants there?

    +Ran.+ Mass, was fery true, was all shentlemen in Wales. Hur
    never saw hur shambermaid; pray, where was her shambermaid?

    +Jar.+ Taken up i' th' kitchen, sir.

    +Ran.+ Can hur make wedding-ped pravely for Randalls and widows?

    +Wid.+ Pray tell him, Jarvis, whe'r[67] she can or no.

    +Jar.+ Sir, not to delay, but to debilitate the strength of
    your active apprehension of my mistress's favour----

    +Ran.+ Was fery good words.

    +Jar.+ Hark in your ear: she will have her nest feathered with
    no British breed.

    +Ran.+ Sounds, was not British so good as English?

    +Jar.+ Yes, where there's wisdom, wit, and valour; but, as
    amongst our English, we may have one fool, a knave, a coxcomb,
    and a coward, she bid me tell you, she has seen such wonders
    come out of Wales. In one word,[68] you're an ass, and she'll
    have none of you.

    +Ran.+ Augh, Saint Tavie, Owen, Morgan, and all hur cousins!
    was widow herself say so?

    +Wid.+ Good sir, let every circumstance make up one answer,
    take it with you.

    +Jar.+ And the Roman answer is, the English goose, sir.[69]

    +Ran.+ Sounds! hur was kill now! Gog and Gogmagog! a whole
    dozen of shiants. Make fool of Randalls! Randalls was wisht to
    as prave match as widows; was know one Mary Bloodhound, was
    ha' all, when her father kick up heels; and, by cat, though
    hur never saw hur, hur will send hur love-letters presently,
    get hur good-wills, and go to shurch and marry, and hur were
    eight-and-thirty, two hundred and nine and fifty widows. Mark
    hur now.                                          [_Exit +Randall+._

    +Jar.+ He pelts as he goes pitifully.

    +Wid.+ Where's Mary?

    +John.+ Mary!

                            _Enter +Maid+._

    +Wid.+ Pray go to Aldgate, to my sempstress, for my ruff; I
    must use it, say, to-morrow. Did ye bid her hollow it just in
    the French fashion cut?

    +Maid.+ Yes, forsooth.

    +Wid.+ 'Twas well; we have no other proof in use that we are
    English, if we do not zany them. Let John go with you.

    +Maid.+ Yes, forsooth.                                      [_Exit._

    +Jar.+ But pray, forsooth, how do you mean to dispose of your
    suitors?

    +Wid.+ Shall I tell thee? For this, thou hast given him his
    cure, and he is past care; for old Bloodhound the sawmonger,
    I writ to him to meet me soon, at ten in the dark, upon the
    'Change; and if I come not by ten, he should stay till twelve:
    intimating something mystically that, to avoid surprisals of
    other rivals, I mean to go from thence with him to lie at his
    house all night, and go to church with him i' th' morning; when
    my meaning is only knavery, to make myself merry, and let him
    cool his heels[70] there till morning.

    +Jar.+ And now have I a whimsy, newly jumped into the coll of
    ingenious apprehension, to sauce him daintily; that for that.
    What think you of the gentleman that brought a stool with him
    out of the hall, and sat down at dinner with you in the parlour?

    +Wid.+ They say he's an ancient, but I affect not his colours.

    +Jar.+ But what say you to the mad, victorious Alexander?

    +Wid.+ A wild, mad roarer, a trouble not worth minding.

    +Jar.+ He will mind you ere morning, troth, mistress.
    [_Aside._] There waits a gentleman i' th' next room that hath a
    long time loved you, and has watched for such an hour, when all
    was out of doors, to tell you so; and, none being within but
    you and I, he desires you would hear him speak, and there's an
    end on't.

    +Wid.+ What is he?

    +Jar.+ An honest man.

    +Wid.+ How know you?

    +Jar.+ Why, he told me so.

    +Wid.+ And why were you such a fool to take his own word.

    +Jar.+ Because all the wit I had could get nobody's else.

    +Wid.+ A knave will ever tell you he's an honest man.

    +Jar.+ But an honest man will never tell you he's a knave.

    +Wid.+ Well, sir, your mistress dares look upon the honest man.

    +Jar.+ And the honest man dares look upon my mistress.      [_Exit._

    +Wid.+ 'Tis the roughest, bluntest fellow. Yet, when I take
    young Bloodhound to a retired collection of scattered judgment,
    which often lies disjointed with the confused distraction of so
    many, methinks he dwells in my opinion a right ingenious[71]
    spirit, veiled merely with the vanity of youth and wildness.
    He looks, methinks, like one that could retract himself from
    his mad starts, and, when he pleased, turn tame. His handsome
    wildness, methinks, becomes him, could he keep it bounded in
    thrift and temperance. But down, these thoughts; my resolve
    rests here in private.

    But from a fool, a miser, and a man too jealous for a little
    sweetness [in] love, Cupid defend me!

         _Enter +Jarvis+ like a gentleman, very brave, with his
                    former clothes in his hand._[72]

    +Jar.+ And to a widow wise, nobly liberal and discreetly
    credulous, Cupid hath sent me.

    +Wid.+ Pray prove you, as you appear, a gentleman.
    Why, Jarvis?

    +Jar.+ Look you, here's Jarvis hangs by geometry [_Hangs up his
    livery_]; and here's the gentleman--for less I am not--that
    afar off, taken with the fainted praises of your wealthy
    beauty, your person, wisdom, modesty, and all that can make
    woman gracious, in this habit sought and obtained your service.

    +Wid.+ For heaven's sake whats your intent?

    +Jar.+ I love you.

    +Wid.+ Pray, keep off.

    +Jar.+ I would keep from you. Had my desires bodies,
    How I could beat them into better fashion,
    And teach them temperance. For I rid to find you;
    And, at a meeting amongst many dames,
    I saw you first. O, how your talking eyes,
    Those active, sparkling sweet, discoursing[73] twins,
    In their strong captivating motion told me
    The story of your heart! A thousand Cupids,
    Methought, sat playing on that pair of crystals,[74]
    Carrying, to the swiftness of covetous fancy,
    The very letters we spell love with.

    +Wid.+ Fie, fie!

    +Jar.+ I have struck her to the heart, though my face
    Apparelled with this shield of gravity, [bear][75]
    The neglected roughness of a soldier's dart.
    These diamond-pointed eyes but hither throw,
    And you will see a young spring on't; but question
    Time's fair ones, they'll confess, though with a blush.
    They have often found good wine at an old bush.
    My blood is young, and full of amorous heats,
    Which but branch'd out into these lusty veins,
    Would play and dally, and in wanton turnings
    Would teach you strange constructions, [madam.]
    Let time and place then, with love's old friend,
    Opportunity, instruct you to be wise.

    +Wid.+ Alas, sir!
    Where learned you to catch occasions thus?

    +Jar.+ Of a lawyer's clerk, wench, that, with six such catches,
    leaped in five years from his desk to his coach, drawn with
    four horses.

    +Wid.+ Do you mean marriage?

    +Jar.+ Marriage is a cloying meat; marry who thou woot to make
    a show to shroud thee from the storms round-headed opinion,
    that sways all the world, may let fall on thee. Me cousin thou
    shalt call. Once in a month or so, I'll read false letters from
    a far-distant uncle, insert his commendations to thee, hug thy
    believing husband into a pair of handsome horns; look upon him
    with one eye, and wink upon thee with the other. Wouldst have
    any more?

    +Wid.+ The return of servants, or some friendly visit, will
    intercept us now: re-assume your habit, and be but Jarvis till
    to-morrow morning, and, by the potent truth of friendship, I
    will give you plenty of cause to confess I love you truly and
    strongly.

    +Jar.+ You're in earnest?

    +Wid.+ On my life, serious; let this kiss seal it.

    +Jar.+ The softest wax ever sealed bawdy business! Now for old
    Bloodhound: I'll meet you upon the 'Change, sir, with a blind
    bargain, and then help your son to a good pennyworth; this
    night shall be all mirth, a mistress of delight.          [_Exeunt._

             _Enter +Bloodhound+_,[76] +Sim+, _and +Moll+._

    +Blood.+ Nay, nay, nay, mark what follows; I must bring her
    home i' th' dark, turn her up to bed, and here she goes to
    church. My cloak, sirrah.

    +Sim.+ 'Tis a very dark night, sir; you'll not have a cloak for
    the rain.[77]

    +Blood.+ I'm going to steal the widow from I know not how many.

    +Sim.+ Nay, then I'll let your cloak for the rain alone, and
    fetch you a cloak for your knavery.

    +Blood.+ To bed, to bed, good Sim. What, Moll, I say!

    +Moll.+ Sir.

    +Blood.+ I charge you, let not one be up i' th' house but
    yourself after the clock strikes ten, nor a light be stirring.
    Moll, trick up the green bed-chamber very daintily.

    +Moll.+ I shall, sir.

    +Blood.+ And--well-remembered, Moll--the keys of my
    compting-house are in the left pocket of my hose[78] above i'
    th' wicker chair; look to them, and have a care of the black
    box there I have often told thee of: look to that as to thy
    maidenhead.

    +Moll.+ I shall, sir.

    +Blood.+ Pray for me, all; pray for me, all.

    +Sim.+ Have you left out anything for supper?

    +Blood.+ Out, rogue! shall not I be at infinite expense
    to-morrow? fast to-night, and pray for me.

    +Sim.+ An old devil in a greasy satin doublet keep you company!
                                                               [_Aside._

    +Blood.+ Ha, what's that?

    +Sim.+ I say, the satin doublet you will wear to-morrow will be
    the best in the company, sir.

    +Blood.+ That's true, that's true. I come, widow, I come,
    wench.                                         [_Exit +Bloodhound+._

    +Moll.+ O sweet Sim, what shall I do to-morrow? To-morrow must
    be the day, the doleful day, the dismal day! Alas, Sim! what
    dost thou think in thy conscience I shall do with an old man?

    +Sim.+ Nay, you're well enough served; you know how your
    brother, not an hour ago, lay at you to have the Ancient, one
    that your teeth e'en water at; and yet you cry, I cannot love
    him, I wonnot have him.

    +Moll.+ I could willingly marry him, if I might do nothing but
    look on him all day, where he might not see me; but to lie with
    him--alas! I shall be undone the first night.

    +Sim.+ That's true: how will you go to bed else? But, remember,
    he is a man of war, an ancient, you are his colours: now, when
    he has nimbly displayed you, and handsomely folded you up
    against the next fight, then we shall have you cry, O sweet
    Sim, I had been undone, if I had not been undone.[79]

    +Moll.+ Nay, and then the old fellow would mumble me to bed.

    +Sim.+ Abed! a bawd with two teeth would not mumble bacon so:
    then he is so sparing, you shall wear nothing but from the
    broker's at second-hand; when, being an ancient's wife, you
    shall be sure to flourish.

    +Moll.+ Prythee, go in and busy the old man with a piece of
    Reynard the Fox,[80] that he may not disturb us; for at this
    hour I expect Ancient Young and my brother.

    +Sim.+ Well, I leave you to the managing of Ancient Young,
    while I go in and flap the old man i' th' mouth with a
    fox-tail.                                                   [_Exit._


                   _Enter +Alexander+ and +Ancient+._

    +Moll.+ Look, look, an' he have not brought him just upon the
    minute. O sweet, silken Ancient, my mind gives me thee and I
    shall dance the shaking of the sheets[81] together.

    +Alex.+ Now, you Mistress Figtail, is the wind come about yet?
    I ha' brought the gentleman: do not you tell him now, you
    had rather have his room than his company, and so show your
    breeding.

    +Moll.+ Now, fie upon you; by this light you're the wickedest
    fellow! My brother but abuses you: pray, sir, go over again,
    you've a handsome spying wit, you may send more truth over in
    one of your well-penned pamphlets, than all the weekly news we
    buy for our penny.

    +Anc.+ Pox on't! I'll stay no longer.

    +Alex.+ 'Sfoot, thou shalt stay longer; we'll stay her
    heart--her guts out.

    +Moll.+ Ha, ha! how will you do for a sister then?

    +Alex.+ Prythee, Moll, do but look upon him.

    +Moll.+ Yes, when I ha' no better object.

    +Alex.+ What canst thou see in him, thou unhandsome hideous
    thing, that merits not above thee?

    +Moll.+ What would I give to kiss him!                     [_Aside._

    +Alex.+ Has he not a handsome body, straight legs,[82] a good
    face?

    +Moll.+ Yes, but his lips look as if they were as hard as his
    heart.

    +Anc.+ 'Sfoot, shalt try that presently.

    +Moll.+ You're basely, sir, conditioned. Pah!

    +Alex.+ Why do you spit?

    +Moll.+ You may go. By this light, he kisses sweetly.      [_Aside._

    +Alex.+ Do but stay a little, Moll: prythee, Moll, thou knowest
    my father has wronged him; make him amends, and marry him.

    +Moll.+ Sweet Master Spendall, spare your busy breath; I must
    have a wise man, or else none.

    +Alex.+ And is not he a wise man?

    +Moll.+ No.

    +Alex.+ Why?

    +Moll.+ Because he keeps a fool company.

    +Alex.+ Why, you are now in's company.

    +Moll.+ But birds of a feather will fly together; and you and
    he are seldom asunder.

    +Alex.+ Why, you young witch, call your elder brother fool!
    But go thy ways, and keep thy maidenhead till it grow
    more deservedly despised than are the old base boots of a
    half-stewed pander: lead a Welsh morris with the apes in hell
    amongst the little devils; or, when thou shalt lie sighing by
    the side of some rich fool, remember, thou thing of thread and
    needles, not worth threepence halfpenny.

    +Moll.+ Too late, I fear; I ha' been too coy. [_Aside._] You
    are to be married then, sir?

    +Anc.+ I am indeed, sweet mistress, to a maid Of excellent
    parentage, breeding, and beauty.

    +Alex.+ I ha' thought of such musicians for thee!

    +Anc.+ But let it not be any way distasteful unto you, that
    thus I tried you; for your brother persuaded me to pretend
    to love you, that he might perceive how your mind stood to
    marriage, in that, as I guess, he has a husband kept in store
    for you.

    +Alex.+ Ay, I have provided a husband for thee, Moll.

    +Moll.+ But I'll have no husband of your providing; for, alas!
    now I shall have the old man, whether I will or no.

    +Alex.+ I have such a stripling for thee, he wants one eye, and
    is crooked-legged; but that was broke at football.

    +Anc.+ Alas! we cannot mould men, you know.

    +Alex.+ He's rich, he's rich, Moll.

    +Moll.+ I hate him and his riches. Good sir, are you to be
    married in earnest?

    +Alex.+ In earnest! Why, do you think men marry, as fencers
    sometimes fight, in jest? Shall I show her Mistress Elizabeth's
    letter I snatched from thee?                        [_To +Ancient+._

    +Anc.+ Not, and thou lovest me.

    +Moll.+ Good brother, let me see it; sweet brother, dainty
    brother, honey brother.

    +Alex.+ No indeed, you shall not see it, sweet sister, dainty
    sister, honey sister.

    +Moll.+ O good sir, since so long time I have loved you, let me
    not die for your sake.

    +Alex.+ The tide turns.                                    [_Aside._

    +Anc.+ Long time loved me!

    +Moll.+ Long ere you went to sea, I did.
    I have lov'd you very long with all my heart.

    +Alex.+ Think of Bess, think of Bess; 'tis the better match.

    +Moll.+ You wicked brother! Indeed I love you better than all
    the Besses in the world; and if to-night I shift not into
    better fortunes, to-morrow I am made the miserablest wife
    marriage and misery can produce.

    +Alex.+ Is't possible?

    +Moll.+ Alas, sir! I am to marry an old man--a very old man,
    trust me. I was strange[83] in the nice timorous temper of a
    maid: I know 'tis against our sex to say we love; but rather
    than match with sixty and ten, threescore and ten times I would
    tell you so, and tell them ten times over, too. Truth loves not
    virtue with more of virtuous truth than I do you; and wonnot
    you love me then?                                          [_Weeps._

    +Anc.+ And lie with thee too, by this hand, wench. Come, let
    us have fair weather; thou art mine, and I am thine; there's
    an end o' th' business. This was but a trick, there's the
    projector.

    +Moll.+ O, you're a sweet brother!

    +Alex.+ And now thou'rt my sweet sister. I know the old man's
    gone to meet with an old wench that will meet with him,[84]
    or Jarvis has no juice in his brains; and while I, i' th'
    meantime, set another wheel agoing at the widow's, do thou
    soon--about ten, for 'tis to be very conveniently dark--meet
    this gentleman at the Nag's Head corner, just against
    Leadenhall. We lie in Lime Street; thither he shall carry thee,
    accommodate thee daintily all night with Mistress Dorothy, and
    marry i' th' morning very methodically.

    +Moll.+ But I have the charge of my father's keys, where all
    his writings lie.

    +Anc.+ How all things jump in a just equivalency,
    To keep thee from the thing of threescore and ten!
    Didst thou not see my mortgage lately there?

    +Moll.+ Stay, stay.

    +Alex.+ A white devil with a red fox-tail in a black box.
                                                               [_Aside._

    +Moll.+ But yesterday my father showed it me, and swears, if I
    pleased him well, it should serve to jump[85] out my portion.

    +Anc.+ Prove thine old dad a prophet; bring it with thee, wench.

    +Moll.+ But now, at's parting, he charged me to have a care to
    that as to my maidenhead.

    +Alex.+ Why, if he have thy maidenhead and that into the
    bargain, thy charge is performed. Away, get thee in, forget
    not the hour; and you had better fight under Ancient Young's
    colours than the old man's standard of sixty and ten.

    +Anc.+[86] Remember this, mad-brain!                      [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[65] [Old copy, _ends of old ballets_.]

[66] A stanza, with some alterations, of the old ballad of "Fair
Rosamond," [printed in Deloney's "Garland of Good-Will."] See Percy's
"Reliques," vol. ii.

[67] See note on p. 47.

[68] The 4º reads _in one shirt_.--_Collier._

[69] A pun on the Latin word _anser_, which signifies a _goose_.

[70] To _cool his heels_ is a very common expression, which for some
reason, or perhaps no reason, was altered in the edition of 1780, to
_cool himself_.--_Collier._

[71] _Ingenious_ and _ingenuous_ were formerly used indiscriminately
for each other. [The truth seems to be that ingenuous was merely
understood formerly in the sense in which we use it now, and that
_ingenious_, on the contrary, had a larger meaning, standing generally
for the gifts of the mind or intellect. Old-fashioned people only
would say of such an one, "He's an ingenious man," meaning a person of
intellectual culture.]

[72] The stage direction in the old copy is not very intelligible:
_Enter like a gentleman very brave, with Jarvis cloaths in's
hand._--_Collier._

[73] The 4º reads _sweet discovered twins_.--_Collier._

[74] A common expression to signify the eyes. See several instances in
Mr Steevens's note on "King Henry V.," act ii. sc. 3.

[75] [The text has been changed here, with what degree of success the
reader has to determine. In the former editions it stood thus--

                    "Through my face
    Apparelled with this field of gravity,
    The neglected roughness of a soldier's dart."

Perhaps this passage was intended as an _aside_.]

[76] The 4º has _Enter Bloodhound, Ear-lack with letters, Sim, and
Moll._ But as there is no business nor speech for Ear-lack during the
whole scene, I have expunged his name.

[77] [An allusion to the proverb, "He has a cloak for every
rain"--_i.e._, an expedient for every turn of fortune.]

[78] Mr Reed altered _hose_ to _coat_ without any warrant
whatever.--_Collier._

[79] A parody of that Latin saying, _Periissem nisi
periissem_.--_Pegge._

[80] _i.e._, The story-book with that name, [first printed in 1481.
The abridged and modernised version was probably the one with which
Moll was familiar. The earliest edition of this yet discovered is dated
1620.]--_Steevens._

[81] [A play on the name of] a dance, [which is constantly mentioned in
old plays.]

[82] [Old copy, _legg'd_.]

[83] _i.e._, Shy, coy. See note to "Cymbeline," act i. sc. 7, edit.
1778.--_Steevens._

[84] _i.e._, Be even with him. The phrase occurs in Shakespeare's "Much
Ado about Nothing," act i. sc. 1. See note thereon.--_Stevens._

[85] _Jump_ is the word in the 4º, though altered in the edit. of 1780
without notice to _eke_. Moll only repeats the term used by the Ancient
just before--

"How all things jump in a just equivalency."

--_Collier._

[86] [Old copy gives this speech to Moll.]



ACT IV., SCENE I.


         _Enter +Sue+, +Tim+, +Captain+, and +Mistress Coote+._

    +Tim.+ Ha, ha, ha, grandmother! I'll tell thee the best jest.

    +Sue.+ Prythee, chick.

    +Mis. Coote.+ Jest, quotha'! Here will be jesting of all sides,
    I think, if Jarvis keep his word.

    +Tim.+ Sirrah, whilst thou wert sent for into the next room,
    up came our second course; amongst others, in a dish of
    blackbirds, there lay one that I swore was a woodcock: you were
    at table, captain?

    +Capt.+ That I was, and our brave mad crew, which for my sake
    you are pleased to make welcome.

    +Tim.+ Pish, we'll have as many more to-morrow night; but
    still I swore 'twas a woodcock: she swore 'twas a blackbird;
    now who shall we be tried by but Serjeant Sliceman, Captain
    Carvegut's cousin here? a trifling wager, a matter of the
    reckoning was laid; the serjeant swore 'twas a blackbird. I
    presently paid the reckoning, and she clapped o' the breast
    presently, and swore 'twas a woodcock, as if any other would
    pass after the reckoning was paid.

    +Mis. Coote.+ This was a pretty one, I protest.

    +Tim.+ Made sure before such a mad crew of witnesses, sirrah.
    Grannum, all's agreed, Sue's----

    +Sue.+ Ay, you may see how you men can betray poor maids.

                         _Enter +Lieutenant+._

    +Lieut.+ Do you hear, corporal? yonder's Serjeant Sliceman, and
    the brave crew that supped with us, have called for three or
    four gallons of wine, and are offering money.

    +Tim.+ How! prythee, grannum, look to Dab: do you two but hold
    them in talk, whilst I steal down and pay the reckoning.

    +Lieut.+ Do't daintily: they'll stay all night.

    +Tim.+ That's it I would have, man: we'll make them all drunk;
    they'll never leave us else, and still as it comes to a crown,
    I'll steal down and pay it in spite of their teeth. Remember,
    therefore, that ye make them all drunk; but be sure you keep me
    sober to pay the reckonings.

    +Omnes.+ Agreed, agreed.

    +Mis. Coote.+ O Jarvis, Jarvis, how I long till I see thee!
                                                              [_Exeunt._

          _Enter +Moll Bloodhound+, and +Sim+ with a letter._

    +Moll.+ There we must meet soon, and be married to-morrow
    morning, Sim: is't not a mad brother?

    +Sim.+ Yes, and I can tell you news of a mad lover.

    +Moll.+ What is he, in the name of Cupid?

    +Sim.+ Why, one Master Randalls, a Welshman: I have had such
    a fit with him; he says he was wished[87] to a very wealthy
    widow; but of you he has heard such histories, that he will
    marry you, though he never saw you; and that the parboiled Ætna
    of his bosom might be quenched by the consequent pastime in the
    Prittish flames of his Prittish plood, he salutes you with that
    love-letter.

    +Moll.+ This is a mad lover, indeed; prythee, read it.

    +Sim.+ Mass, h' has writ it in the Welsh-English; we had
    been spoiled else for want of an interpreter. But thus he
    begins:--_Mistress Maries_--

    +Moll.+ He makes two Maries serve one mistress.

    +Sim.+ Ever while you live, 'tis your first rule in Welsh
    grammars--[88]

    _That hur forsake widows, and take maids, was no great wonder,
    for sentlemen ever love the first cut._

    +Moll.+ But not o' th' coxcomb; he should have put in that.

    +Sim.+ The coxcomb follows by consequence, mark else.

    _I Randall Crack, of Carmarden, do love thee Mary Ploodhounds,
    of Houndsditch, dwelling near Aldgate, and Pishop's-gate, just
    as between hawk and buzzard._

    +Moll.+ He makes an indifferent wooing.

    +Sim.+ _And that hur loves Maries so monstrous, yet never
    saw her, was because hur hear hur in all societies so fery
    fillanously commended, but specially before one Master Pusy,
    constables of hur parish, who made hurself half foxed by
    swearing by the wines, that Maries would be monstrous good
    marriages for Randalls._

    +Moll.+ Master Busy, it seems, was not idle.

    +Sim.+ _If Maries can love a Pritain of the plood of
    Cadwallader, which Cadwallader was Prut's great grandfather,
    Randalls was come in proper persons, pring round sillings in
    hur pockets, get father's goodwill, and go to shurch a Sunday
    with a whole dozen of Welsh harps before hur. So hur rest hur
    constant lovers_,

            _Randall William ap Thomas, ap Tavy, ap Robert, ap
                Rice, ap Sheffery, Crack._

    +Moll.+ Fie! what shall I do with all them?

    +Sim.+ Why, he said these all rest your constant lovers,
    whereof, for manners'-sake, he puts himself in the first place.
    He will call here presently; will you answer him by letter or
    word of mouth?

    +Moll.+ Troth, neither of either, so let him understand.

    +Sim.+ Will ye not answer the love-sick gentleman?

    +Moll.+ If he be sick with the love of me, prythee, tell him
    I cannot endure him: let him make a virtue of necessity, and
    apply my hate for's health.                                 [_Exit._

    +Sim.+ Ay, but I'll have more care of the gentleman, I warrant
    you: if I do not make myself merry, and startle your midnight
    meeting, say Sim has no more wit than his godfathers, and they
    were both head-men of his parish.

                           _Enter +Randall+._

    +Ran.+

        _Farewell widows prave, her sall no Randalls have.
          Widows was very full of wiles;
        Mary Ploodhounds now, Randalls make a vow,
          Was run for Moll a couple of miles._

    Honest Simkins, what said Maries to Randall's letters?

    +Sim.+ You're a madman.

    +Ran.+ Augh, hur was very glad hur was mad.

    +Sim.+ The old man has money enough for her; and if you marry
    her, as, if her project take, you may, she'll make you more
    than a man.

    +Ran.+ More than mans! what's that?

    +Sim.+ Troth, cannot you tell that? this is the truth on't; she
    would be married to-morrow to one Ancient Young, a fellow she
    cannot endure: now, she says, if you could meet her privately
    to-night, between ten and eleven, just at the great cross-way
    by the Nag's Head tavern at Leadenhall.

    +Ran.+ Was high-high pump, there, as her turn in Graces Street?

    +Sim.+ There's the very place. Now, because you come the
    welcomest man in the world to hinder the match against her mind
    with the Ancient, there she will meet you, go with you to your
    lodging, lie there all night, and be married to you i' th'
    morning at the Tower, as soon as you shall please.

    +Ran.+ By cat, hur will go and prepare priests presently. Look
    you, Simkins, there is a great deal of round sillings for hur,
    hur was very lucky sillings, for came to Randalls shust for all
    the world as fortune was come to fool: tell Maries hur will
    meet hur, hur warrant hur; make many puppy fools of Ancients,
    and love her very monstrously.                              [_Exit._

    +Sim.+ Ha, ha, ha! so, so; this midnight match shall be mine;
    she told me she was to meet the Ancient there. I'll be sure the
    Ancient shall meet him there; so I shall lie abed and laugh, to
    think, if he meet her there, how she will be startled; and if
    the Ancient meet him there, how he will be cudgelled. Beware
    your ribs, Master Randall.                                  [_Exit._

                       _Enter +Old Bloodhound+._

    +Blood.+ I wonder where this young rogue spends the day. I hear
    he has received my hundred marks and my advantage with it; and,
    it may be, he went home since I went out. Jarvis was with me
    but even now, and bid me watch, and narrowly, for fear of some
    of my rival spies, for I know she has many wealthy suitors. All
    love money. This Jarvis is most neat in a love business, and,
    when we are married (because many mouths, much meat), I will
    requite his courtesy, and turn him away: the widow's all I look
    for. Nay, let her fling to see I have her possessions; there's
    a saw for't--

        _There's thriving in wiving: for when we bury
        Wives by half-dozens, the money makes merry._

    O money, money, money! I will build thee
    An altar on my heart, and offer thee
    My morning longings and my evening wishes,
    And, hadst thou life, kill thee with covetous kisses.

                      _Enter +John+ and +Jarvis+._

    +John.+ But now, and she speak, she spoils all; or if he call
    her by my mistress's name, hast thou not tricks to enjoin them
    both to silence, till they come sure?

    +Jar.+ Phaw! that's a stale one: she shall speak to him in her
    own accent; he shall call her by her own name, leaving out the
    bawd, yet she shall violently believe he loves her, and he
    shall confidently believe the same which he requires, and she
    but presents. Fall off; she comes.

                       _Enter +Mistress Coote+._

    +Mis. Coote.+ Jarvis!

    +Jar.+ Here I have discovered him; 'tis he, by his coughs.
    Remember your instructions, and use few words; say, though
    till night you knew it not, you will be married early in the
    morning, to prevent a vintner's widow that lays claim to him.

    +Blood.+ Jarvis!

    +Jar.+ Good old man, I know him by his tongue.

    +Blood.+ Is she come? Is she come, Jarvis?

    +Jar.+ Ask her if she would live, sir. She walks aloof yonder.

    +Blood.+ We shall cosen all her wooers.

    +Jar.+ Nay, amongst all of you, we'll cosen one great one,
    that had laid a pernicious plot this night, with a cluster of
    his roaring friends, to surprise her, carry her down to the
    waterside, pop her in at Puddle-dock,[89] and carry her to
    Gravesend in a pair of oars.

    +Blood.+ What, what is his name, I prythee?

    +Jar.+ He's a knight abounding in deeds of charity; his name
    Sir Nicholas Nemo.

    +Blood.+ And would he pop her in at Puddle-dock?

    +Jar.+ And he could but get her down there.

    +Blood.+ By my troth, we shall pop him fairly. Where is she?
    where is she?

    +Jar.+ Ha! do you not perceive a fellow walk up and down
    muffled yonder?

    +Blood.+ There is something walks.

    +Jar.+ That fellow has dogged us all the way, and I fear all is
    frustrate.

    +Blood.+ Not, I hope, man.

    +Mis. Coote.+ This it is to be in love; if I do not dwindle----

    +Jar.+ I know him now.

    +Blood.+ 'Tis none of Sir Nicholas' spies, is't?

    +Jar.+ He serves him.

    +Blood.+ He wonnot murder me, will he?

    +Jar.+ He shall not touch you: only, I remember, this afternoon
    this fellow, by what he had gathered by eavesdropping, or by
    frequent observation, asked me privately if there were no
    meeting betwixt you and my mistress to-night in this place, for
    a widow, he said, he knew you were to meet.

    +Blood.+ Good.

    +Jar.+ Now I handsomely threw dust in's eyes, and yet kept the
    plot swift afoot too. I told him you were here to meet a widow
    too, whom you long loved, but would not let her know't till
    this afternoon, naming to him one of my aunts[90], a widow
    by Fleet-ditch. Her name is Mistress Gray, and keeps divers
    gentlewomen lodgers.

    +Blood.+ Good again.

    +Jar.+ To turn the scent then, and to cheat inquisition the
    more ingeniously----

    +Blood.+ And to bob Sir Nicholas most neatly.

    +Jar.+ Be sure, all this night, in the hearing of any that you
    shall but suspect to be within hearing, to call her nothing but
    Mistress Coote.

    +Blood.+ Or Widow Coote.

    +Jar.+ Yes, you may put her in so; but be sure you cohere
    in every particle with the precedent fallacy, as that you
    have loved her long, though till this day--and so as I did
    demonstrate.

    +Blood.+ But how an' she should say she is not Widow Coote, and
    that she knows no such woman, and so spoil all?

    +Jar.+ Trust that with her wit and my instructions. We
    suspected a spy, and therefore she will change her voice.

    +Blood.+ Thou hast a delicate mistress of her.

    +Jar.+ One thing more, and you meet presently. Mine aunt has
    had nine husbands; tell her you'll hazard a limb, and make the
    tenth.

    +Blood.+ Prythee, let me alone; and Sir Nicholas were here
    himself, he should swear 'twere thine aunt.

    +Jar.+ [_To +Mistress Coote+._] Go forwards towards him; be not
    too full of prattle, but make use of your instructions.

    +Blood.+ Who's there? Widow Coote?

    +Mis. Coote.+ Master Bloodhound, as I take it.

    +Blood.+ She changes her voice bravely. I must tell thee,
    true widow, I have loved thee a long time (look how the rogue
    looks!), but had never the wit to let thee know it till to-day.

    +Mis. Coote.+ So I was given to understand, sir.

    +Jar.+ Is't not a fool finely?                             [_Aside._

    +John.+ Handsome, by this hand.

    +Blood.+ I like thy dwelling well upon the Fleet-ditch.

    +Mis. Coote.+ A pretty wholesome air, sir, in the summer-time.

    +Blood.+ Who would think 'twere she, Jarvis?               [_Aside._

    +Jar.+ I told ye she was tutored.                          [_Aside._

    +Blood.+ I'll home with her presently; some stays up in the
    dark.

    +Jar.+ Fool! and he have any private discourse with her, they
    discover themselves one to another, and so spoil the plot.
    No trick! no, by no means, sir, hazard your person with her;
    the bold rogue may come up close, so discover her to be my
    mistress, and recover her with much danger to you.

    +Blood.+ He has got a dagger.

    +Jar.+ And a sword six foot in length. I'll carry her home for
    you, therefore [let] not a light be stirring. For I know your
    rivals will watch your house. Sim shall show us the chamber,
    we'll conduct her up i' th' dark, shut the door to her above,
    and presently come down and let you in below.

    +Blood.+ There was never such a Jarvis heard of. Bid Sim to be
    careful; by the same token, I told him he should feed to-morrow
    for all the week after. Good night, Widow Coote; my man stayeth
    up; we will bob Sir Nicholas bravely. Good night, sweet Widow
    Coote; I do but seem to part; we'll meet at home, wench.
                                                                [_Exit._

    +Mis. Coote.+ Adieu, my sweet dear heart.

    +Jar.+ Go you with me. So, so, I'll cage this cuckoo,
    And then for my young madcap; if all hit right,
    This morning's mirth shall crown the craft o' th' night.
    Follow me warily.

    +Mis. Coote.+ I warrant thee, Jarvis, let me alone to right
    myself into the garb of a lady. O, strange! to see how dreams
    fall by contraries; I shall be coached to-morrow, and yet last
    night dreamed I was carted. Prythee, keep a little state; go,
    Jarvis.                                                   [_Exeunt._

                    _Enter +Randall+. [Midnight.]_

    +Ran.+ Was fery exceeding dark, but here is high pumps, sure,
    here is two couple of cross-ways, and there was the street
    where Grace dwells. One hundred pound in mornings in round
    shillings, and wife worth one thousand, ere hur go to bed.
    Randall's fortunes comes tumbling in like lawyers' fees, huddle
    upon huddle.

                            _Enter +Moll+._

    +Moll.+ O sweet Ancient, keep thy word and win my heart. They
    say a moonshine night is good to run away with another man's
    wife; but I am sure a dark night is best to steal away my
    father's daughter.

    +Ran.+ Mary.

    +Moll.+ O, are you come, sir? there's a box of land and
    livings, I know not what you call it.

    +Ran.+ Lands and livings?

    +Moll.+ Nay, nay; and we talk, we are undone. Do you not see
    the watch coming up Gracious Street yonder? This cross-way was
    the worst place we could have met at; but that is yours, and I
    am yours; but, good sir, do not blame me, that I so suddenly
    yielded to your love; alas! you know what a match on't I should
    have to-morrow else.

    +Ran.+ Hur means the scurvy Ancient.                       [_Aside._

    +Moll.+ I' th' morning we shall be man and wife, and
    then--Alas, I am undone! the watch are hard upon us: go
    you back through Cornhill, I'll run round about the 'Change
    by the Church Corner, down Cateaton Street, and meet you at
    Bartholomew Lane end.                                       [_Exit._

    +Ran.+ Cat's Street was call hur? sure, Randalls was wrapped
    in['s][91] mother's smock.

                    _Enter +Constable+ and +Watch+._

    +Con.+ Keep straight towards Bishopsgate: I'm deceived if I
    heard not somebody run that way.

                   _Enter +Maid+ with a bandbox._[92]

    +Watch.+ Stay, sir; her's somebody come from Aldgate Ward?

    +Maid.+ Alas! I shall be hanged for staying so long for this
    cuff.

    +Watch.+ Come before the constable here.

    +Maid.+ Let the constable come before me, and he please.

    +Con.+ How now! where ha' you been, pray, dame, ha!

    +Maid.+ For my mistress's ruff at her sempstress', sir; she
    must needs use it to-morrow, and that made me stay till it was
    done.

    +Con.+ Pray, who's your mistress? where dwell you?

    +Maid.+ With one Mistress Wag, in Blackfriars, next to the sign
    of the Feathers and the Fool, sir.

    +Con.+ O, I know her very well; make haste home; 'tis late.
    Come, come, let's back to Gracechurch; all's well, all's well.
                                                              [_Exeunt._

                _Enter severally, +Ancient+ and +Moll+._

    +Anc.+ I 'scaped the watch at Bishopsgate with ease: there is
    somebody turning down the church corner towards the Exchange;
    it may be Mistress Mary.

    +Moll.+ Ancient!

    +Anc.+ Yes.

    +Moll.+ Are you here again? you have nimbly followed me: what
    said the watch to you?

    +Anc.+ I passed them easily; the gates are but now shut in.

    +Moll.+ As we go, I'll tell thee such a tale of a Welsh wooer
    and a lamentable love-letter.

    +Anc.+ Yes, Sim told me of such a rat, and where he lodges: I
    thought I should have met him here.

    +Moll.+ Here? out upon him! But the watches walk their station,
    and in few words is safety. I hope you will play fair, and
    lodge me with the maid you told me of.

    +Anc.+ She stays up for us, wench: in the word of a gentleman,
    all shall be fair and civil.

    +Moll.+ I believe you.                                    [_Exeunt._

            _Enter at several doors, +Randall+ and +Maid+._

    +Ran.+ Sounds, was another fire-drake[93] walk in shange, we'll
    run pack; was Maries have saved her labours, and was come after
    Randalls. Maries, was Randall, that loves hur mightily Maries.

    +Maid.+ Master Randall.

    +Ran.+ How did watch let her go to Grace's Street?

    +Maid.+ They knew me, and let me pass.

    +Ran.+ Well now hur understands Maries loves Randalls so mighty
    deal.

    +Maid.+ If John have not told him, I'll be hanged.         [_Aside._

    +Ran.+ Maries shall go with Randalls to lodgings, and that hur
    father work no divorcements, he will lie with her all to-night,
    and marry her betimes next morning: meantime, hur will make
    lands and livings fast.

    +Maid.+ How? father! this is a mistake sure; and, to fashion it
    fit for mine own following, I will both question and answer in
    ambiguities that if he snap me one way, I may make myself good
    i' th' other; and as he shall discover himself, I'll pursue the
    conceit accordingly. [_Aside._] But will ye not deceive me?
    maids[94] are many men's almanacs; the dates of your desires
    out, we serve for nothing but to light tobacco.

    +Ran.+

        _If Randall false to Maries prove,
        Then let not Maries Randalls love:
        For Randalls was so true as Jove,
        And Maries was hur joy.
        If Randalls was not Pritain born,
        Let Maries Randalls prow adorn,
        And let her give a foul great horn
        To Randalls._

    Hur will love hur creat deal of much, hur warrant hur.

    +Maid.+ And 'tis but venturing a maidenhead; if the worst come
    to the worst, it may come back with advantage.            [_Exeunt._


         _Enter in her night-clothes, as going to bed, +Widow+
                              and +Maid+._

    +Wid.+ Is not Mary come home yet?

    +Maid.+ No, forsooth.

    +Wid.+ 'Tis a fine time of night, I shall thank her for't: 'tis
    past eleven, I am sure. Fetch the prayer-book lies within upon
    my bed.

    +Maid.+ Yes, forsooth.                                      [_Exit._

    +Wid.+ I wonder what this gentleman should be that catched me
    so like Jarvis: he said he has fitted old Bloodhound according
    to his quality; but I must not let him dally too long upon my
    daily company: lust is a hand-wolf, who with daily feeding, one
    time or other, takes a sudden start upon his benefactor.

                            _Enter +Maid+._

    +Maid.+ O mistress, mistress!

    +Wid.+ What's the matter, wench?

    +Maid.+ A man, a man under your bed, mistress.

    +Wid.+ A man! what man?

    +Maid.+ A neat man, a proper man, a well-favoured man, a
    handsome man.

    +Wid.+ Call up John: where's Jarvis?

    +Maid.+ Alas! I had no power to speak; his very looks are able
    to make a woman stand as still as a miller's horse, when he's
    loading. O, he comes, he comes!                             [_Exit._

                          _Enter +Alexander+._

    +Wid.+ How came you hither, sir? how got you in?

    +Alex.+ As citizens' wives do into masques, whether I would or
    no. Nay, nay, do not doubt the discretion of my constitution:
    I have brought ne'er a groat in my bosom; and, by this hand, I
    lay under thy bed with a heart as honest and a blood as cold as
    had my sister lain at top. Will you have me yet?

    +Wid.+ You're a very rude, uncivil fellow.

    +Alex.+ Uncivil! and lay so tame while you set up your foot
    upon the bed to untie your shoe! such another word, I will
    uncivilise that injured civility which you so scurvily slander,
    and reward you with an undecency proportionable to your
    understandings. Will you have me? will you marry me?

    +Wid.+ You! why, to-morrow morning I am to be married to your
    father.

    +Alex.+ What, to sixty and I know not how many? that will lie
    by your side, and divide the hours with coughs, as cocks do the
    night by instinct of nature.

    +Wid.+ And provide for his family all day.

    +Alex.+ And only wish well to a fair wife all night.

    +Wid.+ And keep's credit all day in all companies.

    +Alex.+ And discredit himself all night in your company.

    +Wid.+ Fie, fie! pray quit my house, sir.

    +Alex.+ Yours? 'tis my house.

    +Wid.+ Your house! since when?

    +Alex.+ Even since I was begotten; I was born to't. I must have
    thee, and I will have thee; and this house is mine, and none of
    thine.

                           _Enter +Jarvis+._

    +Jar.+ O mistress, the saddest accident i' th' street yonder.

    +Wid.+ What accident, prythee?

    +Jar.+ You must pardon my boldness in coming into your
    bed-chamber: there is a gentleman slain in a fray at the door
    yonder, and the people won't be persuaded but that he that did
    it took this house. There is a constable, churchwardens, and
    all the head-men of the parish be now searching; and they say
    they will come up hither to your bed-chamber, but they'll find
    him. I'll keep them down as long as I can; I can do no more
    than I can.                                                 [_Exit._

    +Wid.+ Are not you the murderer, sir?

    +Alex.+ I ha' been under thy bed, by this hand, this three
    hours.

    +Wid.+ Pray, get you down then: they will all come up, and find
    you here and all, and what will the parish think then? Pray get
    you down.

    +Alex.+ No, no, no; I will not go down, now I think on't.
    [_Makes himself unready._[95]

    +Wid.+ Why, what do you mean; you will not be so uncivil to
    unbrace you here?

    +Alex.+ By these buckles, I will, and what will they think
    on't----

    +Wid.+ Alas! you will undo me.

    +Alex.+ No, no, I will undo myself, look ye.

    +Wid.+ Good sir.

    +Alex.+ I will off with my doublet to my very shirt.

    +Wid.+ Pray, sir, have more care of a woman's reputation.

    +Alex.+ Have a care on't thyself, woman, and marry me then.[96]

    +Wid.+ Should they come up and see this, what could they
    think, but that some foul, uncivil act of shame had this night
    stained my house? and as good marry him as my name lost for
    ever.                                                      [_Aside._

    +Alex.+ Will you have me, afore t'other sleeve goes off?

    +Wid.+ Do, hang yourself; I will not have you--look, look, if
    he have not pulled it off quite: why, you wonnot pull off your
    boots too, will you?

    +Alex.+ Breeches and all, by this flesh.

    +Wid.+ What, and stand naked in a widow's chamber?

    +Alex.+ As naked as Grantham steeple or the Strand May-pole, by
    this spur: and what your grave parishioners will think on't?

    +Jar.+ Gentlemen, pray keep down.

    +Wid.+ Alas! they are at the stairs' foot; for heaven's sake,
    sir!

    +Alex.+ Will you have me?

    +Wid.+ What shall I do? no.

    +Alex.+ This is the last time of asking; they come up, and down
    go my breeches. Will you have me?

    +Wid.+ Ay, ay, ay, alas! and your breeches go down, I am undone
    for ever.

    +Alex.+ Why, then, kiss me upon't. And yet there's no cracking
    your credit: Jarvis, come in, Jarvis.

                           _Enter +Jarvis+._

    +Jar.+ I have kept my promise, sir; you've catched the old one.

    +Wid.+ How, catched? is there nobody below, then?

    +Jar.+ Nobody but John, forsooth, recovering a tobacco snuff,
    that departed before supper.

    +Wid.+ And did you promise this, sir?

    +Jar.+ A woman cannot have a handsomer cloud than a
    hair-brained husband: I will be your coz, he shall be my
    cuckold.                                                   [_Aside._

    +Wid.+ I love you for your art.                            [_Aside._

    +Jar.+ Come, come, put on, sir; I've acquainted you both with
    your father's intended marriage. I' th' morning you shall
    certify him very early by letter the quality of your fortunes,
    and return to your obedience; and that you and your wife, still
    concealing the parties, will attend him to church. John and
    I'll be there early, as commanded by my mistress, to discharge
    our attendance: about goes the plot, out comes the project, and
    there's a wedding-dinner dressed to your hands.

    +Alex.+ As pat as a fat heir to a lean shark; we shall hunger
    for't: honest Jarvis, I am thy bedfellow to-night, and
    to-morrow thy master.

    +Wid.+ You're a fine man to use a woman thus.

    +Alex.+ Pish! come, come.
    Fine men must use fine women thus, 'tis fit.
    Plain truth takes maids, widows are won with wit.

    +Jar.+ You shall wear horns with wisdom; that is in your
    pocket.                                                   [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[87] _i.e._, Recommended.

[88] _Ever while you live, 'tis your first rule in We'sh grammars_,
which is clearly a reply to Moll's remark, has been hitherto very
absurdly made a part of Randall's letter, which begins only at _That
hur forsake_, &c.

[89] On the banks of the river Thames, formerly used for a laystall for
the soil of the streets, and much frequented by barges and lighters for
taking the same away; also for landing corn and other goods.--"Stowe's
Survey," bk. iii., p. 229, vol. i edit 1720.

[90] [The cant meaning of aunt at that time was _procuress_. See Dyce's
Middleton, i. 444. The word in this acceptation is not unusual.]

[91] [See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, p. 149. _To be wrapped in his
mother's smock_ is a synonym for good fortune.]

[92] In the 4º it runs _Enter Chambermaid, Hugh with a bandbox_:
probably Hugh, though he says nothing, carried the box for the maid.
Mr. Reed made the change.--_Collier._

[93] See note to "The Miseries of Enforced Marriage," [ix. 572.]

[94] [Old copy, _many minds_.]

[95] To make one's-self _unready_ was the common term for undressing.
See several instances in Mr Steevens's note on the "First Part of King
Henry VI.," act ii. sc. 1.

[96] In the old copy, the dialogue is here confused, what is said by
Alexander being given to the widow, and what is said by the widow to
Jarvis.--_Collier._



ACT V., SCENE I.


         _Enter +Sim+ and +John+, passing over with a basin of
              rosemary[97] and a great flagon with wine._

    +Sim.+ Come, John, carry your hand steadily; the guests drop
    in apace, do not let your wine drop out.[98]

    +John.+ 'Tis as I told thee; Master Alexander, thy mistress'
    eldest son will be here.

    +Sim.+ Rose, I pray burn some pitch i' th' parlour, 'tis good
    against ill airs; Master Alexander will be here.          [_Exeunt._

                 _Enter +Old Bloodhound+ and +Jarvis+._

    +Blood.+ I am up before you, son Ear-lack. Will Ancient Young
    be here with a rich wife too? Thy mistress is not stirring yet,
    sirrah. I'll hold my life the baggage slipped to thy mistress;
    there they have e'en locked the door to them, and are tricking
    up one another: O these women! But this rogue Tim, he lay out
    to-night too; he received my hundred mark, and (I fear) is
    murdered. Truss, truss, good Jarvis.

    +Jar.+ He has been a-wooing, sir, and has fetched over the
    delicatest young virgin! Her father died but a week since, and
    left her to her marriage five thousand pound in money and a
    parcel of land worth three hundred per annum.

    +Blood.+ Nay, nay, 'tis like; the boy had ever a captivating
    tongue to take a woman. O excellent money, excellent money,
    mistress of my devotions! My widow's estate is little less too;
    and then Sander--he has got a moneyed woman too; there will be
    a bulk of money. Tim is puling, I may tell thee, one that by
    nature's course cannot live long: t'other a midnight surfeit
    cuts off: then have I a trick to cosen both their widows, and
    make all mine. O Jarvis, what a moneyed generation shall I then
    get upon thy mistress?

    +Jar.+ A very virtuous brood.

    +Blood.+ Hast done?

    +Jar.+ I have done, sir.

    +Blood.+ I'll in and get some music for thy mistress, to
    quicken her this morning; and then to church in earnest. When
    'tis done, where is Sir Nicholas Nemo and his wards.[99]

    That watch so for her? Ha, ha, ha! all's mixed with honey:
    I have mirth, a sweet young widow, and her money.
    O that sweet saint, call'd Money!                         [_Exeunt._


    +Anc.+ Joy! ay, and a hundred pound a year in a black box to
    the bargain, given away i' th' dark last night to we know not
    who, and to be heard of, we know not when. 'Sfoot, an' this be
    joy, would we had a handsome slice of sorrow to season it.

    +Alex.+ By this light, 'twas strange.

    +Moll.+ Believe me, sir, I thought I had given it you: he that
    took it called me by my name.

    +Sim.+ Did he speak Welsh or English?

    +Moll.+ Alas! I know not; I enjoined him silence, seeing the
    watch coming, who parted us.

    +Sim.+ If this were not Master Randalls of Randall Hall, that I
    told you of, I'll be flayed.

    +Alex.+ Be masked, and withdraw awhile; here comes our dad.
                                                              [_Exeunt._

           _Enter +Bloodhound+, +Sir Marmaduke Many-Minds+,
                  +Sir Janus Ambidexter+, and +Master
                                Busy+._

    +Blood.+ Why, Master Busy, asleep as thou stand'st, man!

    +Sim.+ Some horse taught him that; 'tis worth god-a-mercy.[100]

    +Con.+ I watch all night, I protest, sir; the compters pray for
    me: I send all in, cut and long tail.[101]

    +Sir Mar.+ What, what?

    +Con.+ I sent twelve gentlewomen, our own neighbours, last
    night, for being so late but at a woman's labour.

    +Blood.+ Alas, sir! a woman in that kind, you know, must have
    help.

    +Con.+ What's that to me? I am to take no notice of that: they
    might have let her alone till morning, or she might have cried
    out some other time.

    +Sir Mar.+ Nay, nay, Master Busy knows his place, I warrant you.


             _Enter +Alexander+, +Ancient Young+, +Widow+,
                           and +Moll+._[102]

    +Blood.+ Son Alexander, welcome; and Ancient Young too: I have
    heard all.

    +Alex.+ You must pardon the rudeness of the gentlewomen, sir,
    in not unmasking; they entreated me to inform you, there are
    some i' th' house to whom they would by no means be laid open.

    +Blood.+ They are witty, they are witty.

    +Alex.+ But, for myself, I am now your most obedient, virtuous
    Alexander.

    +Blood.+ Obedience! hang Virtue, let her starve. Has she money?
    has she money?

    +Alex.+ Two chests of silver and two Utopian trunks[103] full
    of gold and jewels.

    +Blood.+ They are all Alexander's women, do you mark?

    +Sim.+ Alexander was the conqueror, sir?

    +Blood.+ Come, come, we'll to church presently. Prythee,
    Jarvis, whilst the music plays just upon the delicious close,
    usher in the brides, the widow, and my Moll.       [_Exit +Jarvis+._

    +Sim.+ I tell you true, gallants, I have seen neither of them
    to-day. Shall I give him the lie?

    +Blood.+ They are both locked up, i' faith, trimming of one
    another. O these women, they are so secret in their business,
    they will make very coxcombs of us men, and do 't at pleasure
    too. 'Tis well said, friends; play, play. Where's Sim?

    +Anc.+ How he bestirs him!

    +Alex.+ Yes, he will sweat by and by.

    +Sim.+ Here is the sign of Sim, sir.

    +Blood.+ Have the guests rosemary without?

    +Sim.+ They have _Rose_ the cookmaid without; but they say you
    have Mistress _Mary_ within.

    +Alex.+ Well said, rascal.

    +Blood.+ Mary's above, goodman blockhead. Call my son,
    Ear-lack, bid him for shame make haste.

    +Sim.+ He shall make haste for shame.                       [_Exit._

    +Blood.+ I am so busied; you must bear with me, gentlemen: they
    leave it all to me here.

    +Con.+ But I will go charge some of the inferior guests, in the
    king's name, to fill some wine.

    +Blood.+ No, no, good Master Busy; we will first usher the
    brides.

                             _Enter +Sim+._

    +Sim.+ O gentlemen, where are you? Where are you? Where are
    you, gentlemen?

    +Omnes.+ What's the matter?

    +Blood.+ Where's Moll, Sim? the widow, Sim, the dainty widow?

    +Sim.+ There's no Moll; there is no dainty young widow; but
    a damnable bawd we found abed, with a face like an apple
    half-roasted.

    +Omnes.+ How's this?

    +Blood.+ Why, gentlemen!

    +Anc.+ Now it works.

    +Blood.+ Jarvis, you're a rogue: a cutpurse, Jarvis. Run, Sim,
    call my son Ear-lack: he shall put her into the spiritual court
    for this.

    +Sim.+ Nay, he has put her in there already, for we found him
    abed with her.

    +Omnes.+ Possible!

    +Blood.+ Ha, boys! the informer and the bawd, the bawd and the
    informer have got a devil betwixt them, gentlemen.

    +Sim.+ Nay, sir, the jest was, that they should fall asleep
    together, and forget themselves; for very lovingly we found
    them together, like the Gemini, or the two winter mornings met
    together. Look, look, look, where they come, sir, and Jarvis
    between 'em--just like the picture of knavery betwixt fraud and
    lechery.

          _Enter +Jarvis+, +Ear-lack+, and +Mistress Coote+._

    +Jar.+ _Tim is a puling sirrah, I may tell it thee: a midnight
    surfeit too may cut off Sander; I'll cosen their wives, make
    all mine own; and then, O Jarvis, what a moneyed generation
    shall I get upon this Widow Coote that hath two teeth!_

    +Blood.+ Did we bring you to music, with a mischief? Ear-lack,
    thou'rt a goat; thou hast abused the best bed in my house; I'll
    set a sumner[104] upon thee.

    +Ear.+ Bloodhound, thou art a usurer, and takest forty in the
    hundred; I'll inform against thee.

    +Blood.+ Are you a bawd, huswife, ha?

    +Mis. Coote.+ Alas, sir! I was merely conied, betrayed by
    Jarvis; but as I have been bawd to the flesh, you have
    been bawd to your money; so set the hare-pie against the
    goose-giblets, and you and I are as daintily matched as can be,
    sir.

    +Blood.+ Sim, run to the Widow Wag's; tell her we are both
    abused; this Jarvis is a juggler, say.

    +Anc.+ I can save Sim that labour, sir. I assure you the widow
    is married to your son Alexander, and, as a confirmation, she
    is come herself to witness it.                         [_Discovers._

    +Alex.+ Your fair young daughter is wife to this Ancient, who
    is come likewise to witness it.

    +Wid.+ The plain truth is, Master Bloodhound, I would entreat
    you to keep the kennel: the younger dog, being of the better
    scent, has borne the game before you.

    +Alex.+ We have clapped hands on't, sir; and the priest that
    should have married you to her is to marry her to me: so,
    sister, talk for yourself.

    +Blood.+ Ha, brave tricks and conceits! Can you dance, Master
    Ear-lack?

    +Ear.+ Ha, ha! the old man's a little mad. But thou art not
    married, Moll?

    +Moll.+ Yes, indeed, sir, and will lie with this gentleman soon
    at night. Do you think I would chew ram-mutton when I might
    swallow venison? That's none of Venus's documents, Monsieur
    Dotterel.

    +Ear.+ Pox of that Venus! she's a whore, I warrant her.

    +Blood.+ And were not you the other juggler with Jarvis in
    this, hey? pass and repass!

    +Alex.+ Good sir, be satisfied; the widow and my sister
    sung both one song, and what was't, but _Crabbed age and
    youth cannot live together._[105] Now we persuaded them,
    and they could not live together, they would never endure
    to lie together; this consequently descended, there was the
    antecedent: we clapped hands, sealed lips, and so fell unto the
    relative.

    +Sim.+ This was your bargain upon the exchange, sir, and
    because you have ever been addicted to old proverbs and pithy
    saws, pray let me seal up the mistake with one that will appear
    very seasonably.

    +Blood.+ And I pray let's hear it, sir.

    +Sim.+ You, a new-fangled fowler, came to show your art i' th'
    dark; but take this truth, you catched in truth a cuckoo for't.

                        _Enter +Tim+ and +Sue+._

    +Blood.+ Heyday, we are cheated by the rule, i' faith. Now,
    sirrah, they say you are to be married too.

    +Tim.+ Yes, indeed, father, I am going to the business; and,
    gentlemen all, I am come, whether you will or no, to invite
    you all to my marriage to this gentlewoman who, though a good
    face needs no mask, she's masked, to make a man think she has a
    scurvy face, when I know she has a good face. This is sack to
    them, and out of their element.

    +Blood.+ But, sirrah, setting aside marriages, where's my
    hundred marks you went to receive?

    +Tim.+ Hum!--upon such a match of mine, talk of a hundred
    marks! this is to drink ignoble four-shillings beer. A hundred
    marks! why your lawyer there can clear such a trifle in a term,
    and his clients ne'er the better.

    +Blood.+ Such a match! I pray discover her; what is she?

    +Tim.+ What is she! here's my brother knows what she is well
    enough. Come hither, Dab, and be it known unto you, her name
    is Lindabrides, descended from the Emperor Trebatio of Greece,
    and half-niece, some six-and-fifty descents, to the most
    unvanquished Clarindiana.

    +Alex.+ Who's this? Pox on't! what makes that bawd yonder?
                                                         [_Unmasks her._

    +Con.+ I am very much deceived if I did not send this
    gentlewoman very drunk t'other night to the Compter.

    +Tim.+ I tell thee, prattling constable, 'tis a lie:
    Lindabrides a drunkard!

    +Alex.+ Harkee, brother, where lies her living?

    +Tim.+ Where? why, in Greece.

    +Alex.+ In grease.

    +Sim.+ She looks as if she had sold kitchen-stuff.

    +Alex.+ This is a common whore, and you a cheated coxcomb. Come
    hither, you rotten hospital, hung round with greasy satin; do
    not you know this vermin?

    +Mis. Coote.+ I winked at you, Sue, and you could have seen me:
    there's one Jarvis, a rope on him, h' has juggled me into the
    suds too.

    +Con.+ Now I know her name too: do not you pass under the name
    of Sue Shortheels, minion?

    +Sue.+ Go look, Master Littlewit. Will not any woman thrust
    herself upon a good fortune when it is offered her?

    +Blood.+ Sir Marmaduke, you are a justice of peace; I charge
    you in the king's name, you and Master Ambidexter, to assist me
    with the whore and the bawd to Bridewell.

    +Sir Mar.+ By my troth, we will, and we shall have an excellent
    stomach by that time dinner's ready.

    +Amb.+ Ay, ay, away with them, away with them!

    +Mis. Coote.+ O this rogue Jarvis!

                                     [_Exeunt +Coote+ and +Shortheels+._

    +Blood.+ Now, now, you look like a melancholy dog, that had
    lost his dinner; where's my hundred marks now, you coxcomb?

    +Tim.+ Truly, father, I have paid some sixteen reckonings
    since I saw you: I was never sober since you sent me to the
    devil yesterday; and for the rest of your money, I sent it to
    one Captain Carvegut. He swore to me his father was my Lord
    Mayor's cook, and that by Easter next you should have the
    principal and eggs for the use, indeed, sir.

    +Blood.+ O rogue, rogue! I shall have eggs for my money:[106] I
    must hang myself.

    +Sim.+ Not before dinner, pray, sir; the pies are almost baked.

                           _Enter +Randall+._

    +Ran.+ _And Maries now was won,
    And all her pusiness done,
    And Randalls now was run_;
    Hur have made all sure, I warrant hur.

    +Alex.+ Look, look, yonder's the conceit the mistake happened
    upon last night.

    +Anc.+ And the very box at's girdle.

    +Ran.+ Cot pless hur father Ploothounds, Randalls have robbed
    Ancients, hur warrant hur.

    +Anc.+ Sir, 'tis known how you came by that box.

    +Ran.+ Augh! was hur so?
    _Will you hear a noble Pritain,
    How her gull an English Flag?_[107]

    +Anc.+ And you ought to cry.

    +Ran.+ O noble Randalls, as hur meet by Nag's-head, with Maries
    plood, prave.

    +Blood.+ Here's another madman.

    +Anc.+ Harkee in your ear, you must deliver that box to me.

    +Ran.+ Harkee in hur t'other ear, hur will not deliver hur, and
    hur were nine-and-forty Ancients, and five-and-fourscore Flags.

    +Anc.+ Let my foe write mine epitaph if I tear not my
    birthright from thy bosom?                                 [_Draws._

    +Sim.+ Gentlemen, there's Aligant[108] i' th' house, pray set
    no more abroach.

    +Ran.+ Nay, let hur come with hur pack of needles, Randalls can
    pox and bob as well as hur, hur warrant hur.

    +Blood.+ What box is that? I should know that box.

    +Alex.+ I will resolve you, sir; keep them asunder.

    +Anc.+ You will restore that box?

    +Ran.+ Hur will not restore hur: 'twas Mary Ploodhounds gave
    hur the box; Randalls have married Mary Ploodhounds, and gulled
    Ancient, mark hur now.

    +Wid.+ Mark him, good sir; methinks he says he has married Mary
    Bloodhound.

    +Anc.+ Hang him, he's mad!

    +Ran.+ Souns, make tog of Randalls? come out here, Maries.
    Look, here was Mary Ploodhounds.


                       _Enter +Maid+ and +Hugh+._

    Now I pray tumble down of hur marrow-pones, and ask hur father
    plessing?

    +Alex.+ This! why this is your maid, widow.

    +Ear.+ This is Mary the widow's maid, man.

    +Alex.+ And here is Mary Bloodhound, my choleric shred of
    Cadwallader, married to this gentleman, who has a hundred a
    year dangling at your girdle there.

    +Wid.+ I pray, mistress, are you married to this gentleman?

    +Maid.+ By six i' th' morning, forsooth: he took me for Mary
    Bloodhound, having, it seems, never seen either of us before,
    and I being something amorously affected, as they say, to his
    Welsh ditties, answered to her name, lay with him all night,
    and married him this morning; so that as he took me for her, I
    took him as he was, forsooth.

    +Sim.+ She means for a fool; I'm fain to answer you.

    +Blood.+ Ha, ha, ha! Cupid, this twenty-four hours, has done
    nothing but cut cross-capers.

    +Alex.+ Do ye hear, Sir Bartholomew Bayard,[109] that leap
    before you look? it will handsomely become you to restore the
    box to that gentleman, and the magnitude of your desires upon
    this dainty, that is so amorously taken with your ditties.

    +Ran.+ _Hur wail[110] in woe, her plunge in pain._

    And yet, by cat, her do not neither. Randalls will prove
    hurself Pritains born, and because hur understands Ancients was
    prave fellows and great travellers, there is hur box for hur.

    +Anc.+ I thank you.

    +Ran.+ And because was no remedies, before hur all, here will
    Randalls embrace Maries, and take a puss.                 [_Kisses._

                        _Enter +Jarvis+ brave._

    +Jar.+ Save you, gallants, do you want any guest?
    Call me thy coz, and carry it handsomely.

                                                      [_To the +Widow+._

    +Blood.+ Who have we here, trow?

    +Alex.+ Dost thou know the gentleman that whispered to thee?

    +Wid.+ O, wondrous well! He bid me call him coz, and carry it
    handsomely.

    +Jar.+ Widow, would I were off again.

    +Wid.+ Know, all: this gentleman has, to obtain his lust and
    loose desires, served me this seven months under the shape and
    name of Jarvis.

    +Omnes.+ Possible!

    +Wid.+ Look well; do you not know him?

    +Blood.+ The very face of Jarvis.

    +Tim.+ Ay truly, father, and he were anything like him, I would
    swear 'twere he.

    +Jar.+ I must cast my skin, and am catch'd.
    Why, coz.

    +Wid.+ Come, you're cosen'd,
    And with a noble craft. He tempted me
    In mine own house, and I bid him keep's disguise
    But till this morning, and he should perceive
    I loved him truly; intending here before you
    To let him know't, especially i' th' presence
    Of you, sir, that intend me for your wife.

    +Anc.+ What should this mean?

    +Alex.+ Some witty trick, I warrant thee: prythee, despatch him
    presently, that we were at church!

    +Wid.+ First, then, know you for truth, sir, I mean never to
    marry.

    +Blood.+ How, woman?

    +Sim.+ She has despatched you, sir!

    +Wid.+ And for a truth, sir, know you, I never mean to be your
    whore.

    +Blood.+ This is strange.[111]

    +Wid.+ But true, as she, whose chaste, immaculate soul
    Retains the noble stamp of her integrity
    With an undefac'd perfection--perchance as these.
    Nay, common fame hath scattered, you conceive me,
    Because pale Jealousy (Cupid's angry fool)
    Was frequent lodger at that sign of Folly--
    My husband's soon suspicious heart--that I,
    In a close-clouded looseness, should expose him
    To that desperate distraction of his fortunes
    That sent him to the sea, to nourish her
    With your vain hope, that the fame of frequent suitors
    Was but a mask of loose 'scapes: like men at lotteries,
    You thought to put in for one, sir; but, believe me,
    You have drawn a blank.

    +Ran.+ By cat, hur look fery blank indeed.

    +Wid.+ O my beloved husband!
    However in thy life thy jealousy
    Sent thee so far to find death, I will be
    Married to nothing but thy memory!


    +Jar.+ Let her alone, if her husband do not know this----

    +Omnes.+ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

    +Blood.+ Her husband, I told you, was a madman.

    +Anc.+ Why, her husband's dead, sir.

    +Jar.+ He is not dead, sir; he had it spread o' purpose; he is
    in England, and in your house; and look, do you not see him?

    +Wid.+ Where, where?

    +Jar.+ Here, here he is that hath found rash jealousy,
    Love's joys, and a wife whose discreet carriage
    Can intimate to all men a fair freedom,
    And to one be faithful. Such a wife I prove,
    Her husband's glory, worth a wealthy love.

    +Wid.+ You're welcome to my soul, sir.

    +Blood.+ By my troth, Master Wag, this was a wag's trick
    indeed; but I knew I knew you; I remembered you a month ago,
    but that I had forgotten where I saw you.

    +Sim.+ I knew you were a crafty merchant;[112] you helped my
    master to such bargains upon the Exchange last night: here has
    been the merriest morning after it.

    +Alex.+ My pitcher's broke just at the well-head; but give me
    leave to tell you, sir, that you have a noble wife, and indeed
    such a one as would worthily feast the very discretion of a
    wise man's desire. Her wit ingeniously waits upon her virtue,
    and her virtue advisedly gives freedom to her wit; but because
    my marriage shall seriously proceed, I wed myself, sir, to
    obedience and filial regularity, and vow to redeem, in the duty
    of a son, the affection of a father.

    +Ran.+ By cat, was as well spoke as Randall hurself could talk.

    +Blood.+ All's forgotten now, my best son Alexander;
    And that thy wedding want no good company,
    I invite you all.

    +Jar.+ Come, my deserving wife,
    Wisdom this day re-marries us. And, gentlemen,
    From all our errors we'll extract this truth:
    Who vicious ends propose,[113] they stand on wheels,
    And the least turn of chance throws up their heels;
    But virtuous lovers ever green do last,
    Like laurel, which no lightening can blast.

FOOTNOTES:

[97] "Rosemary," as Mr Steevens observes (note to "Hamlet," act iv. sc.
5), "was anciently supposed to strengthen the memory; and was not only
carried at funerals, but worn at weddings." See the several instances
there quoted. Again, in Dekker's "Wonderful Yeare," 1603: "Heere is a
strange alteration; for the _rosemary_ that was washt in sweet water to
set out the bridall, is now wet in teares to furnish her buriall."

Again, in "The Old Law," act iv. sc. 1: "Besides, there will be charges
saved, too; the same _rosemary_ that serves for the funeral will serve
for the wedding."

And in "The Fair Quarrell," act v. sc. 1--

    "+Phis.+ Your Maister is to bee married to-day.

    +Trim.+ Else all this _rosemaries_ lost."

It appears also to have been customary to drink wine at church,
immediately after the marriage ceremony was performed. So in Dekker's
"Satiro-mastix:" "And, Peter, when we are at church, bring _wine_ and
cakes." At the marriage of the Elector Palatine with the Princess
Elizabeth, daughter of James the First, it is said, "In conclusion, a
joy pronounced by the king and queen, and seconded with congratulations
of the lords there present, which crowned with draughts of _Ippocras_,
out of a great golden bowle, as a health to the prosperitie of the
marriage (began by the Prince Palatine, and answered by the Princess),
after which were served up by six or seaven barons, so many bowles
filled with wafers, so much of that worke was consummate."--Finett's
"Philoxenis," 1656, fol. 11.

[98] [Old copy, _on't_.]

[99] The old copy reads _Sir Nicholas Nemo and his words_, but the
sense seems to require that it should be _Sir Nicholas Nemo and his
wards_, or watchmen or spies.--_Collier._

[100] [See "Old English Jest-Books," ii. 217-18.]

[101] [Equivalent to our modern phrase, tag, rag, and bobtail. The
original signification seems to have been descriptive of the different
kinds of horses, cuts, curtails, and longtails, and hence it came to
mean generally _all sorts and kinds_, like the modern term. Compare
Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," 1868, in _v._] This phrase occurs in
"The Merry Wives of Windsor," act iii. sc. 4. Steevens says the origin
of it was from Forest Laws, by which the dog of a man who had no right
to the privilege of chase, was obliged to be cut or lawed; and amongst
other modes of disabling him, one was by depriving him of his tail.
_Cut_ and _long tail_ therefore signified the dog of a clown and the
dog of a gentleman. [Reed (more correctly) remarks:] "_Cut and long
tail_, I apprehend referred originally to horses, when their tails were
either docked, or left to grow their full length; and this distinction
might formerly be made according to their qualities and values. A
horse therefore used for drudgery might have his tail cut, while the
tails of those which served for pomp or show, might be allowed their
utmost growth. A _cut_ appears to have been the term used for a bad
horse in many contemporary writers, and from thence to call a person
_cut_ became a common opprobrious word employed by the vulgar, when
they abused each other. See note to 'Gammer Gurton's Needle' [iii.
211.] In confirmation of this idea, it may be added, that Sim says in
the text, _Some horse taught him that_, which naturally introduces the
phrase _cut and long tail_ into the Constable's answer. The words _cut
and long tail_ occur also in 'The Return from Parnassus,' act iv. sc.
1: 'As long as it lasts, come _cut and long tail_, we'll spend it as
liberally for his sake.' There seems no doubt that _cut and long tail_
has reference to horses. Sir J. Vanbrugh, in his 'Æsop,' so employs the
phrase: the groom says, 'Your worship has six coach horses, _cut and
long tail_, two runners, half a dozen hunters,' &c."--_Collier._

[102] Their entrance is not mentioned in the 4º.--_Collier._

[103] _i.e._, Ideal ones, like the _Utopian_ schemes of
government.--_Steevens._

[104] See note to "The Heir," [xi. 535.]

[105] This elegant song was the production of our great poet
Shakespeare. It is printed in his collection of sonnets, entitled
"The Passionate Pilgrim." The reader may likewise see it in "Percy's
Reliques of Antient Poetry," vol. i. p. 259.

[106] The same phrase occurs in Shakespeare's "Winter's Tale," act i.
sc. 2, where Leontes says to Mamillius--

            "Mine honest friend,
    _Will you take eggs for money_?"

Dr Johnson says that it seems to be a proverbial expression used when
a man sees himself wronged and makes no resistance; and Mr Smith is
of opinion that it means _Will you put up affronts?_ In the present
instance it seems intended to express the speaker's fears that he shall
receive nothing in return for his money.

[107] These lines seem intended as a parody on the beginning of the old
song called "The Spanish Lady's Love." See Percy's "Reliques," vol. ii.
p. 233. An English Flag means the _Ancient_; a name which was formerly
used as synonymous to _Ensign_.

[108] _i.e._, Wine of Alicant. [But Sim means to dissuade them from
bloodshed, as there is red wine already in the house.]

[109] [See Nares, edit. 1859, in _v._ Bayard meant originally _a bay
horse_, and afterward any kind or colour.]

[110] This tune is mentioned in "Eastward Hoe," 1605. In Gascoigne's
works, 1587, fol. 278, is the following line--

"I wept for _woe_, I pin'd for deadly _paine_."

[111] Mr Reed transferred this exclamation to Alexander, but it is just
as probably what old Bloodhound says, and the old copy gives it to
him.--_Collier._

[112] [This word has been already explained more than once.]

[113] The 4º has it, _Where vicious ends prepose_, and in the next line
but one virtuous lovers are called _virtue's_ lovers. The last may be
right.--_Collier._



THE CITY NIGHTCAP.


_EDITION._

  _The City Night-Cap: Or, Crede quod habes, & habes. A
    Tragi-Comedy. By Robert Davenport. As it was Acted with
    great Applause, by Her Majesties Servants, at the Phœnix in
    Drury-Lane. London: Printed by Ja: Cottrel, for Samuel Speed,
    at the Signe of the Printing-Press, in St. Paul's Church-yard._
    1661. 4º.


PREFACE.

Robert Davenport is a writer (remarks Reed) of whom scarce any
particulars are known. It appears, from the office-book of Sir Henry
Herbert, that Davenport had licence for the "History of Henry the
First" on the 10th April, 1624; and this is the earliest memorandum
relating to him with which we have met. His dramatic productions are--

1. "The History of Henry the First," not printed.

2. "A Pleasant and Witty Comedy, called a New Trick to Cheat the
Devil," 1639, 4º.

3. "King John and Matilda," 1655, 4º.[114]

4. "The Pirate," not printed.[115]

5. "The Woman's Mistaken," not printed.

6. "The Fatal Brothers," not printed.

7. "The Politic Queen," not printed.

8. "The City Nightcap," 1661, 4º. Licensed Oct. 24, 1624.

He has also been credited with a piece called "The Pedlar," licensed
to Robert Allot, April 8, 1630; but this production, under the title
of "The Conceited Pedlar," is printed at the end of Allot's edition
of Randolph's "Aristippus," 4º, 1630. It is, of course, included in
Hazlitt's edition of Randolph, 12º, 1875.

Davenport, besides his plays, was the author of a considerable
collection of poems, the greater part of which were not published. In
1639, however, appeared a thin 4º volume, entitled "A Crowne for a
Conqueror; and Too late to call backe yesterday. Two Poems, the one
Divine, the other Morall. By R. D." In the Bodleian Catalogue this
little book is misdated 1623.[116] The latter piece is dedicated to
his noble friends, as he calls them, Mr Richard Robinson[117] and Mr
Michael Bowyer; and in his address to them he styles both the poems
some of the expense of his time at sea. From the address prefixed to
the play of "King John and Matilda," signed R. D., he appears to have
been alive in the year 1655, when that piece was first published.

FOOTNOTES:

[114] It was published by Andrew Pennycuicke, one of the performers,
who says that he was the last who played the character of Matilda. See
it criticised in the _Retrosp. Review_, iv. 87-100.

[115] In S. Sheppard's "Poems," 8º, 1651, is one "To Mr Davenport, on
his play called 'The Pirate.'"--_Collier._

[116] [For a notice of Davenport's unprinted poems, see Hazlitt's
"Handbook," 1867, in _v._]

[117] Both Robinson and Bowyer were players. The former is in the list
of the performers in Shakespeare's plays, and acted in the "Roman
Actor." The name of the latter is to be found amongst the performers in
"The Bondman," by Massinger, "King John and Matilda," &c.



DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


  +Duke of Verona.+
  +Duke of Venice+, _brother to Abstemia_.
  +Duke of Milan.+
  +Antonio+, _the duke's son_.
  +Lorenzo+, _husband to Abstemia_.
  +Philippo+, _his friend_.
  +Lodovico+, _husband to Dorothea_.
  +Lords of Verona.+
  +Senators of Venice.+
  +Sanchio+,     }  _lords of Milan_.
  +Sebastiano+,  }
  +Pandulpho.+
  +Spinoso.+
  +Jaspro.+
  +Jovani.+
  +Francisco+, _servant to Lodovico_.
  +Pambo+, _a clown_.
  +Morbo+, _a pander_.
  _A Turk, slave to Antonio.
  Two slaves to Lorenzo.
  Officers and servants._

                             WOMEN ACTORS.[118]

  +Abstemia+, _Lorenzo's wife, and sister to the Duke of Venice_.
  +Dorothea+, _Lodovico's wanton lady_.
  +Timpanina+, _a bawd_.
  _Ladies._

FOOTNOTES:

[118] _i.e._, Actors of women's parts; though _women actors_ were
brought upon the stage about the date when this play was printed, but
not when it was first performed.

                       THE CITY NIGHTCAP.[119]



ACT I.[120]


                   _Enter +Lorenzo+ and +Philippo+._

    +Lor.+ Thou shalt try her once more.

    +Phil.+ Fie, fie!

    +Lor.+ Thou shalt do't.
    If thou be'st my friend, thou'lt do't.

    +Phil.+ Try your fair wife?
    You know 'tis an old point, and wondrous frequent
    In most of our Italian comedies.

    +Lor.+ What do I care for that? let him seek new ones,
    Cannot make old ones better; and this new point
    (Young sir) may produce new smooth passages,
    Transcending those precedent. Pray, will ye do't?

    +Phil.+ Pray, fool yourself no farther: twice you have sway'd me;
    Twice have I tried her; and 'tis not yet, ye know,
    Ten days since our reconciliation.
    How will it show in you, so near a kinsman
    To the duke? nay, having woven yourself into
    The close-wrought mystery of opinion,
    Where you remain a soldier, a man
    Of brain and quality, to put your friend
    Again on such a business, and to expose
    Your fair wife to the tempest of temptation?
    And, by the white, unspotted cheek of truth,
    She is----

    +Lor.+ A woman.

    +Phil.+ A good woman.

    +Lor.+ Pish!

    +Phil.+ As far from your distrust, as bad ones are from truth.
    She is in love with virtue: would not boast it,
    But that her whole life is a well-writ story.
    Where each word stands so well-plac'd, that it passes
    Inquisitive detraction to correct.
    She's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence;
    Not that she wants apt words, for, when she speaks,
    She inflames love with wonder; but because
    She calls wise silence the soul's harmony.
    She's truly chaste; yet such a foe to coyness,
    The poorest call her courteous; and which is excellent,
    Though fair and young, she shuns t' expose herself
    To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom
    Or never walks abroad but in your company;
    And then with such sweet bashfulness, as if
    She were venturing on crack'd ice; and takes delight
    To step into the print your foot hath made,
    And will follow you whole fields: so she will drive
    Tediousness out of time with her sweet character.
    And therefore, good my friend, forbear to try
    The gold has pass'd the fire.

    +Lor.+ Thou foolish friend,
    Beauty, like the herb larix, is cool i' th' water,
    But hot i' th' stomach. Women are smooth flatterers,
    But cunning injurers.

    +Phil.+ Thou wondrous yellow friend.
    Temper an antidote with antimony,
    And 'tis infectious: mix jealousy with marriage,
    It poisons virtue: let the child feel the sting,
    He'll fly the honeycomb. Has she one action
    That can expose you to distrust?

    +Lor.+ O, when the Alexanders-leaf looks most green,
    The sap is then most bitter. An approv'd appearance
    Is no authentic instance: she that is lip-holy
    Is many times heart-hollow. Here she comes,

                          _Enter +Abstemia+._

    A prayer-book in her hand! O hypocrisy!
    How fell'st thou first in love with woman? wilt try again,
    But this one time?

    +Phil.+ Condition'd you will stand
    Ear-witness to our conference; that you may take
    In at your ear a virtue that will teach
    Your erring soul to wonder.

    +Lor.+ He would wittol me
    With a consent to my own horns. I will.
    I'll give thee a new occasion: there lurks
    In woman's blood a vindicating spirit.

    +Abs.+ I came, sir, to give you notice,
    Count Lodovico, Stroimo, Spinoso, and Pandulpho,
    With the rest of the consilliadory, certify
    They are setting forth to meet the duke your kinsman,
    Returning from Venice.

    +Lor.+ O, there he has seen the duke your brother.

    +Abs.+ Yes, sir, and they stay but for your company.

    +Lor.+ And you're cloy'd with't----

                [_Kicks her, and retires to conceal himself. She weeps._

    +Phil.+ And will you still be us'd thus? O madam,
    I do confess twice I have batter'd at
    The fort I fain would vanquish, and I know
    Ye hold out more, 'cause you would seem a soldier,
    Than in hate to the assailant. I am again
    Inflam'd with those sweet fountains, from whence flow
    Such a pair of streams. O strong force of desire!
    The quality should quench hath set on fire:
    I love you in your sorrows.

    +Abs.+ And I sorrow
    In nothing but your love. Twice, Philippo,
    Have I not beat back the impetuous storm
    Of thy incessant rudeness? Wilt thou again
    Darken fair honour with dishonesty?
    Thou know'st my lord hath long and truly lov'd thee
    In the wisdom of a friend; in a fair cause:
    He wears his good sword for thee, lays his heart
    A lodger in thy bosom, proclaims thee partner
    In all he hath but me: O, be not counterfeit!
    We all conclude, a diamond with clouds
    The goldsmith casts into his dust: and a gentleman
    So blemish'd in his honour, blots his name
    Out of the herald's book, stands a lost man
    In goodness and opinion. O Philippo,
    Make me once more so happy to believe
    'Tis but a painted passion.

    +Lor.+ Most acute witch![121]

    +Phil.+ Come, learn of your city wagtail: with one eye
    Violently love your husband, and with t'other
    Wink at your friend.

    +Lor.+ I will not trust you, brother.

    +Phil.+ He seeks: will ye not have him find? cries ye out
    In his mad fits a strumpet; rails at all women,
    Upon no cause, but because you are one:
    He gives wound upon wound, and then pours vinegar
    Into your bleeding reputation,
    Poison'd with bitter calumny. Pox on him!
    Pile a reciprocal reward upon him:
    Let ballad-mongers crown him with their scorns:
    Who buys the buck's-head well deserves the horns.
    Demur not on't, but clap them on.

    +Abs.+ You are, sir,
    Just like the Indian hyssop, prais'd of strangers
    For the sweet scent, but hated of the inhabitants
    For the injurious quality. Can he love the wife,
    That would betray the husband? Hast thou not seen me
    Bear all his injuries, as the ocean suffers
    The angry bark to plough thorough her bosom,
    And yet is presently so smooth, the eye
    Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made?
    And cannot this inform, I love him better
    In his sour follies, than you in your sweet flatteries?
    If Verona hath observ'd any errors in me,
    I well may call for grace to amend them,
    But will never fall from grace to befriend you.

    +Phil.+ With what a majesty good women thunder!

    +Lor.+ H' has given her some close nod that I am here.

    +Abs.+ Rip up the end of thy intent, and see,
    How shame and fear do lurk where you would walk,
    Like a pair of serpents in a flow'ry mead.
    Lust sees with pleasure, but with fear doth tread.

    +Phil.+ Very brave, woman!

    +Abs.+ What is the pleasure thou pursu'st? A sin
    Finish'd with infinite sorrows. Read, and find,
    How barb'rous nations punish it with death:
    How a minute's sin so stolen, though in the face
    Sit summer calms all smooth, yet thou wilt hear,
    From the eternal 'larum[122] of thy conscience,
    How it sets within thy soul continual tempests,
    Thunder and dismal blackness! Mark but the course
    Of the holy-seeming hollow man, and see
    How he that glories heaven with no honour,
    Covets to glorify himself with honesty.
    And, to put you past your hopes, let me leave this with you:--
    Thou may'st hold an elephant with a thread, eat fire
    And not be burnt, or catch birds with desire,
    Quench flame with oil, cut diamonds with glass,
    Pierce steel with feathers: this thou may'st bring to pass
    Sooner than hope to steal the husband's right,
    Whose wife is honest, and no hypocrite.[123]                [_Exit._

    +Phil.+ What think you now, sir?

    +Lor.+ [_Coming forward._] Why now I do think it possible for the world
    To have an honest woman in it. Goodbye, sir;
    I must go meet the duke. Adieu.

    +Phil.+ Farewell.
    O jealousy! how near thou dwell'st to hell!               [_Exeunt._

         _Enter +Lodovico+, +Pandulpho+, +Spinoso+, +Jaspro+_,
                        +Jovani+, _and +Clown+._

    +Lod.+ The duke not seven leagues off? my horse, rogues!

    +Pan.+ Our negligence deserves just blame; and how
    'Twill please his grace to construe it, we know not.

    +Jas.+ But where's your fair chaste wife, my lord?

    +Lod.+ Marry, with my man Francisco. O that fellow! She were
    undone without him; for indeed she takes great pleasure in him:
    he learns her music. To hear what counsel she will give him!
    if he but screw his look sometimes with the pin, she will tell
    him straight 'twas an unchristian look. I love him dearly.

    +Spin.+ But can your honour never woo your lady to a more
    sociable affability? She will not kiss, nor drink, nor talk,
    but against new fashions.

    +Lod.+ O sir, she is my crown: nor is it requisite women should
    be so sociable. I have had such a coil with her, to bring her
    but to look out at window! When we were first married, she
    would not drink a cup of wine, unless nine parts of it were
    water.

    +Omnes.+ Admired temperance!

    +Lod.+ Nay, and ye knew all, my lords, ye would say so. T'other
    day I brought an English gentleman home with me, to try a horse
    I should sell him: he (as ye know their custom, though it be
    none of ours) makes at her lips the first dash.

    +Clown.+ He dashed her out of countenance, I'm sure of that.

    +Lod.+ She did so pout and spit, that my hot-brained gallant
    could not forbear but ask the cause. Quoth she----

    +Clown.+ No, sir, she spit again before _quoth she_ left her
    lips.

    +Lod.+ I think she did indeed: but then, quoth she, A kiss,
    sir, is sin's earnest-penny. Is't not true, Pambo?

    +Clown.+ Very true, sir. By the same token, quoth he to her
    again, if you dislike the penny, lady, pray let me change it
    into English halfpence, and so gave her two for't.

    +Lod.+ But how she vexed then! Then she rattled him, and told
    him roundly, though confidence made cuckolds in England, she
    could no coxcombs in Italy.

    +Clown.+ But did ye mark how bitterly he closed it with a
    middling jest?

    +Lod.+ What was that, I prythee?

    +Clown.+ Why, quoth he again, Confidence makes not so many
    cuckolds in England, but craft picks open more padlocks in
    Italy.

    +Jov.+ That was something sharp. But there she comes.

                  _Enter +Dorothea+ and +Francisco+._

    +Lod.+ Ye shall see how I'll put ye all upon her presently.

    +Clown.+ Then I shall take my turn.

    +Dor.+ Francis.

    +Fran.+ Madam.

    +Dor.+ Have you changed the ditty you last set?

    +Fran.+ I have, madam.

    +Dor.+ The conceit may stand; but I hope you have clothed the
    method in a more Christian-like apparel.

    +Fran.+ I have, lady.

    +Dor.+ Pray, let me hear it now.

    +Fran.+ _She that in these days looks for truth,
    Seldom or never finds in sooth._

    +Dor.+ That's wondrous well.

    +Clown.+ Yes, in sadness.

    +Lod.+ Peace, sirrah! nay, she's built of modesty.

    +Fran.+ _Even as a wicked kiss defiles the lips,
    So do new fashions her that through them trips._

    +Dor.+ Very modest language.

    +Fran.+ _She that doth pleasure use for what 'twill bring her,
    Will pluck a rose, although she prick her finger._

    +Dor.+ Put in _hurt her finger_, good Francis: the phrase will
    be more decent.

    +Pan.+ Y' are a wondrous happy man in one so virtuous!

    +Lod.+ Nay, ye shall have no Count Lorenzo of me, I warrant ye.

    +Clown.+ Nor no Count Lorenzo's lady of your wife, I warrant ye.

    +Lod.+ Sweet chick, I come to take leave of thee: finger in eye
    already? We are all to meet the duke this afternoon, bird, who
    is now come from Venice. Thou may'st walk and see the Count
    Lorenzo's lady.

    +Dor.+ Alas! she's too merry for my company.

    +Jas.+ Too merry! I have seen her sad,
    But very seldom merry.

    +Dor.+ I mean, my lord,
    That she can walk, tell tales, run in the garden.

    +Clown.+ Why, then your ladyship may hold your tongue, say
    nothing, and walk in the orchard.

    +Dor.+ She can drink a cup of wine not delayed[124] with water.

    +Clown.+ Why, then you may drink a cup of water without wine.

    +Dor.+ Nay, if a nobleman come to see her lord,
    She will let him kiss her too against our custom.

    +Pan.+ Why, a modest woman may be kissed by accident, yet not
    give the least touch to her reputation.

    +Lod.+ Well said: touch her home.

    +Dor.+ Nay, but they may not: she that will kiss, they
    say,[125] will do worse, I warrant her.

    +Jov.+ Why, I have seen you, madam, kissed against your will.

    +Dor.+ Against my will, it may be, I have been kissed indeed.

    +Clown.+ Pshaw, there's nothing against a woman's will; and I
    dare be sworn, if my lady kiss but any one man, 'tis because
    she cannot do with all.

    +Lod.+ Nay, I know that to be true, my lords: and at this time,
    because you cannot do with all, pray kiss them in order; kiss
    her all over, gentlemen, and we are gone.

    +Dor.+ Nay, good my lord, 'tis against our nation's custom.

    +Lod.+ I care not; let naturals love nations:
    My humour's my humour.

    +Spin.+ I must have my turn too, then.

    +Jov.+ It must go round.

    +Dor.+ Fie, fie!

    +Lod.+ Look how she spits now!

    +Jas.+ The deeper the sweeter, lady.

    +Clown.+ The nearer the bone, the sweeter the flesh, lady.

    +Dor.+ How now, sauce-box!

    +Clown.+ Did not my lord bid the gentlemen kiss you all over?

    +Lod.+ I have sweet cause to be jealous, have I not, gentlemen?
    no. _Crede quod habes, et habes_ still. He that believes he has
    horns, has them. Will you go bring my horse, sir?

    +Clown.+ I will bring your horse, sir, and your horse shall
    bring his tail with him.                                    [_Exit._

    +Lod.+ Francis, I prythee, stay thou at home with thy lady. Get
    thy instrument ready; this melancholy will spoil her: before
    these lords here make her but laugh, when we are gone----

    +Fran.+ Laugh before these lords when they are gone, sir!

    +Lod.+ Pish! I mean, make her laugh heartily before we come
    home, and, before these lords, I promise thee a lease of forty
    crowns per annum.

    +Fran.+ Can ye tell whether she be ticklish, sir?

    +Lod.+ O, infinitely ticklish!

    +Fran.+ I'll deserve your lease, then, ere you come home, I
    warrant.

    +Lod.+ And thou shalt ha't, i' faith, boy.

                            _Enter +Clown+._

    +Clown.+ Your horse is ready, sir.

    +Lod.+ My lords, I think we have stayed with the longest.
    Farewell, Doll. _Crede quod habes, et habes_, gallants.

    +Pan.+ Our horses shall fetch it up again. Farewell, sweet lady.

    +Jas.+ Adieu, sweet mistress: and whensoe'er I marry,
    Fortune turn up to me no worse card than you are!

    +Clown.+ And whensoe'er I marry, Venus send me a card may save
    Fortune the labour, and turn up herself.                  [_Exeunt._

    +Dor.+ How now? why loiter you behind? why ride you not along
    with your lord?

    +Fran.+ To lie with your ladyship.

    +Dor.+ How?

    +Fran.+ In the bed, upon the bed, or under the bed.

    +Dor.+ Why, how now, Francis!

    +Fran.+ This is the plain truth on't, I would lie with ye.

    +Dor.+ Why, Francis----

    +Fran.+ I know too, that you will lie with me.

    +Dor.+ Nay, but, Francis----

    +Fran.+ Plague of Francis! I am neither Frank nor Francis,
    But a gentleman of Milan, that even there
    Heard of your beauty, which report there guarded
    With such a chastity, the glittering'st sin
    Held no artillery of power to shake it.
    Upon which I resolv'd to try conclusions;
    Assum'd this name and fortune, sought this service:
    And I will tell ye truly what I guess you.

    +Dor.+ You will not ravish me, Francis?

    +Fran.+ No; but unravel ye in two lines experience writ lately--

    _Extremes in virtue are but clouds to vice;
    She'll do i' th' dark who is i' th' day too nice._

    +Dor.+ Indeed ye do not well to belie me thus.

    +Fran.+ Come, I'll lie with thee, wench, and make all well
    again. Though your confident lord makes use of _Crede quod
    habes, et habes_, and holds it impossible for any to be a
    cuckold, [and] can believe himself none, I would have his lady
    have more wit, and clap them on.

    +Dor.+ And truly, Francis, some women now would do't.

    +Fran.+ Who can you choose more convenient to practise with
    than me, whom he doats on? where shall a man find a friend but
    at home? so you break one proverb's pate, and give the other a
    plaster. Is't a match, wench?

    +Dor.+ Well, for once it is: but, and ye do any more, indeed
    I'll tell my husband.

    +Fran.+ But when shall this once be? now?

    +Dor.+ Now? no indeed, Francis.
    It shall be soon at night, when your lord's come home.

    +Fran.+ Then! how is it possible?

    +Dor.+ Possible! women can make any of these things possible,
    Francis: now many casualties may cross us; but soon at night my
    lord, I'm sure, will be so sleepy, what with his journey and
    deep healths for the duke's return, that before he goes to bed
    (as he uses still when he has been hard a-drinking) he will
    sleep upon the bed in's clothes so sound, bells, would not wake
    him, rung in the chamber.

    +Fran.+ The cuckold slumbers; and though his wife hit him o'
    th' forehead with her heel, he dreams of no such matter.

    +Dor.+ Now Pambo, that makes him merry in his chamber, shall,
    when the candle's out and he asleep, bring you into the chamber.

    +Fran.+ But will he be secret?

    +Dor.+ Will he, good soul! I am not to try him now.

    +Fran.+ 'Sfoot, this is brave,
    My kind lord's fool is my cunning lady's knave.
    But, pray, how then?

    +Dor.+ When you are in at door on right before you, you shall
    feel the bed; give me but softly a touch, I'll rise, and follow
    you into the next chamber: but truly, and you do not use me
    kindly, I shall cry out and spoil all.

    +Fran.+ Use you kindly! was lady e'er used cruelly i' th' dark?
    Do you but prepare Pambo and your maid: let me alone with her
    mistress. About eleven I desire to be expected.

    +Dor.+ And till the clock strike twelve, I'll lie awake.

    +Fran.+ Now ye dare kiss?

    +Dor.+ Once with my friend, or so; yet you may take two,
    Francis.

    +Fran.+ My cast is ames-ace then.

    +Dor.+ Deuce-ace had got the game.

    +Fran.+ Why, then, you're welcome. Adieu, my dainty mistress.

    +Dor.+ Farewell, kind Francis.                            [_Exeunt._

                   _Enter +Lorenzo+, as from horse._

    +Lor.+ I have given them all the slip, the duke and all,
    And am at home before them. I cannot rest,
    Philippo and my wife run in my mind so:
    I know no cause why I should trust him more
    Than all the world beside. I remember
    He told her that I bought the buck's-head, therefore
    Deserv'd the horns: although I bid him try her,
    Yet I did not bid him bid her with one eye
    Love me, and with the other wink at a friend.
    How we long to grow familiar with affliction;
    And, as many words do aptly hold concordance
    To make one sentence, just so many causes
    Seem to agree, when conceit makes us cuckolds.

          _Enter +Philippo+ and +Abstemia+. +Lorenzo+ aside._

    And here comes proof apparent; hand in hand too!
    Now their palms meet: that grasp begets a bastard!

    +Phil.+ By your white hand, I swear 'twas only so.

    +Lor.+ Poison of toads betwixt ye!

    +Abs.+ Philippo, you have fully satisfied me.

    +Lor.+ Insatiate whore! could not I satisfy ye?
    I shall commit a murder if I stay:
    I'll go forge thunder for ye. O, let me
    Nevermore marry! what plague can transcend
    A whorish wife and a perfidious friend!                     [_Exit._

    +Phil.+ By the unblemish'd faith then of a gentleman,
    And by your potent goodness (a great oath,
    For you are greatly good), by truth itself;
    For still I swear by you--what again hath pass'd,
    Was at the first but trial of your chastity,
    Far above time or story: as I speak truth,
    So may I prosper.

    +Abs.+ And came these trials from your breast only?

    +Phil.+ Only from my breast; and by the sweet
    Excellent blush of virtue, there is in you
    Plenty of truth and goodness.

    +Abs.+ You have nobly
    Appeas'd the storm o'ertook you, and you are
    Again a good man.

          _Enter +Lorenzo+, +Pandulpho+, +Spinoso+, +Jaspor+,
                               +Jovani+._

    +Lor.+ Traitor to truth and friendship!
    Did not mine honour hold me, I should rip out
    That blushing hypocrite thy heart, that hath broke
    So strong a tie of faith: but behold
    How much of man is in me! there, I cast thee[126]
    From this believing heart to the iron hand
    Of law, the wrong'd man's saint?

    +Phil.+ What means this?

    +Pan.+ My lord, here's warrant
    For what's done, immediate from the duke;
    By force of which you're early i' th' morning
    Before his grace to answer to such injuries
    The Count Lorenzo shall allege against you.

    +Phil.+ Injuries! Why, friend, what injuries?

    +Lor.+ Can ye spell stag, sir? 'tis four letters with two horns.
    Good gentlemen, convey him from my fury,
    For fear of greater mischief.

    +Phil.+ Thou yellow fool!

                                                                [_Exit._

    +Abs.+ I would you would instruct me, noble sir,
    But how to understand all this.

    +Lor.+ Do ye see her? look on her, all, and wonder:
    Did ye ever see so foul guilt stand underneath
    A look so innocent?

    +Jov.+ I should have pawn'd
    My blood upon her honour.

    +Pan.+ Colours not in grain
    Make as fair show, but are more apt to stain.

    +Abs.+ My lord.

    +Lor.+ Ye whore!

                                               [_Kicks her. She swoons._

    +Jas.+ Look to the lady.

    +Lor.+ Look to her! hang her: let me send her now
    To the devil, with all her sins upon her head.

    +Spin.+ Bear her in gently, and see her guarded.

    +Pan.+ You are too violent, my lord.

    +Lor.+ That men should ever marry! that we should lay our heads,
    And take our horns up out of women's laps!

    +Jov.+ Be patient, good sir.

    +Lor.+ Yes, and go make potguns.

    +Jas.+ 'Tis late, and sleep would do you good, my lord.

    +Lor.+ Sleep! why, do you think I am mad, sir?

    +Jas.+ Not I, my lord.

    +Lor.+ Then you do lie, my lord,
    For I am mad, horn-mad: I shall be acted
    In our theatres of Verona. O, what poison's
    Like a false friend, and what plague more ruinous
    Than a lascivious wife? they steal our joys,
    And fill us with affliction: they leave our names
    Hedg'd in with calumny: in their false hearts
    Crocodiles breed, who make grief their disguise,
    And, in betraying, tears 'stil through their eyes.
    O, he that can believe he sleeps secure
    In a false friend's oath, or in a bad wife's arms,
    Trusts Circe's witchcraft and Calypso's charms.

    +Omnes.+ 'Tis late; let's to the Court.

                                                      [_Exeunt +Omnes+._

FOOTNOTES:

[119] The plot of this play is taken partly from "Philomela, the Lady
Fitzwater's Nightingale," by Robert Greene, 1592, 4º, which resembles
the novel of the "Curious Impertinent" in "Don Quixote," and partly
from Boccaccio's "Decameron," Gior. 7, Novella 7.--_Reed._

[120] This play, in the old copy, is divided into acts, but not into
scenes. It was therefore useless to mark "Scene I." at the beginning of
each act, as Mr Reed allowed it to stand, without the noting of any of
the other scenes.--_Collier._

[121] Of course all that Lorenzo says in this scene in the presence of
Abstemia is aside, and while he stands unseen by her.--_Collier._

[122] [Old copy, _alarm_.]

[123] The 4º reads--

"Whose wife _seems_ honest, and no hypocrite."

Mr Reed altered it as it stands in the text, and although he was
probably right, the change ought to have been noticed. _Collier._

[124] [Allayed, diluted. Mr Collier altered the word to _allayed_.]

[125] [In allusion to the proverb, "After kissing comes greater
kindness."]

[126] [Old copy, _them_].



ACT II.


         _A bed thrust out. +Lodvico+ sleeping in his clothes;
              +Dorothea+ in bed. Enter +Clown+ leading in
                             +Francisco+._

    +Fran.+ Softly, sweet Pambo: are we in the chamber yet?

    +Clown.+ Within a yard of my lady, and ye can be quiet.

    +Fran.+ Art sure my lord's asleep?

    +Clown.+ I know not; I'll go and ask him.

    +Fran.+ No, no, no, do not wake him; we are undone then, man.

    +Clown.+ Ha, ha, ha! now do I see cuckold-making is as ticklish
    a profession as coneycatching. My lord was so paid with healths
    at Court, he's fast enough.

    +Fran.+ But still I pursue wonder why my lady should prescribe
    this strange, nay wondrous desperate, way to her desires.

    +Clown.+ Is that a question to ask now? would you would grope
    out the bed; for I sleep in my talk, I am sure of that.

                                                    [_+Lodvico+ coughs._

    +Fran.+ We are lost for ever! did he not cough?

    +Clown.+ 'Tis nothing but the last cup comes up in stewed
    broth. If ever you make true whore-master, I'll be bound to
    resign my place up to my lord's page; sea-sick, before you come
    to th' salt water! let me go in your stead.

    +Fran.+ No, I'll venture, stood a gulf between,
    Belching up a tempest. O valiant lust!
    How resolute thou go'st to acts unjust!
    Pambo, good night.
    Desire drowns fear in presuppos'd delight.

    +Clown.+ Turn of your left hand, 'twill lead you to the
    devil--to my lady, I should say, presently.                 [_Exit._

    +Fran.+ Let me [see]:
    Four steps on the left hand. I have the bed,
    And on this side she lies. 'Sfoot, there's a beard!
    But all's well yet, she lies on this side, sure.
    I have her: 'tis her hand, I know the touch.
    It melts me into passion. I have much ado
    To contain my wild desires. As the wind strains
    In caverns lock'd, so through my big-swoll'n veins
    My blood cuts capers.

    +Dor.+ Who's there?

    +Fran.+ 'Tis I.

    +Dor.+ Francis!

    +Fran.+ Fortunate Francis, that was wrapped in's mother's smock.

    +Dor.+ Give me your hand, Francis.

    +Fran.+ There 'tis. I melt already!

    +Dor.+ My lord! Count Lodovico, awake!

    +Fran.+ I am lost for ever, madam.

    +Dor.+ My lord! my lord!

    +Fran.+ If I pull too hard, I shall pull her out o' th' bed too.

    +Dor.+ My lord, will ye not wake?

    +Lod.+ What's the matter? what's the matter?

    +Fran.+ How I do dwindle!

    +Dor.+ Pray, hear me, sir; I cannot sleep, till you
    Have resolv'd me one thing.

    +Lod.+ What is't, sweetheart?

    +Dor.+ Of all your men, which do you love best?

    +Lod.+ That's a strange question to ask at midnight! Francisco.

    +Dor.+ And that same false Francisco in your absence
    Most lewdly tempted me to wrong your bed.

    +Fran.+ Was ever woodcock catch'd thus!

    +Lod.+ O rogue, I'll go cut his throat sleeping.

    +Dor.+ Nay, I have fitted him most daintily.

    +Fran.+ Now, now, now, now, I am spitted.

    +Dor.+ I seem'd, sweetheart, to consent to him----

    +Fran.+ A plague of seemings. I were best confess,
    And beg pardon.

    +Dor.+ And to make him sure for your revenge, I appointed
    About this hour, the door left ope on purpose----

    +Fran.+ Ah!

    +Dor.+ To meet me in the garden.

    +Fran.+ All's well again.

    +Dor.+ Now, sweetheart,
    If thou wouldst but steal down thither, thou might'st
    Catch him, and snap the fool very finely.

    +Lod.+ O my sweet birds-nie! what a wench have I
    Of thee! _Crede quod habes, et habes_ still.
    And I had thought it possible to have been
    Cuckolded, I had been cuckolded.
    I'll take my rapier as I go, sirrah;
    And the night being dark, I'll speak like thee,
    As if thou hadst kept thy word. O villain!
    Nothing vexes me, but that he should think
    I can be a cuckold, and have such a lady.
    Do thou lie still, and I'll bring thee his heart
    For thy monkey's breakfast.

    +Dor.+ And would you part unkindly, and not kiss me?

    +Lod.+ I have no more manners than a goose. Farewell,
    My chaste, delicious Doll. What may his life
    Be compar'd to that meets with such a wife!                 [_Exit._

                            _Enter +Clown+._

    +Fran.+ Pish, Pambo!

    +Clown.+ Here, boy.

    +Fran.+ Go meet him in the garden, and hark.

    +Clown.+ Excellent! I'll play my lady, I warrant ye.

    +Fran.+ Do't daintily.

     +Clown.+ Well, I may hope for a 'squire's place; my father
    was a costermonger.[127]                                    [_Exit._

    +Fran.+ Well, now I see, as he who fain would know
    The real strain of goodness, may in her read it,
    Who can seem chaste, but not be what she seems:
    So, who would see hell's craft, in her may read it,
    Who can seem too, but not be what she seems.
    In brief, put him to school (would cheat the de'il of's right)
    To a dainty, smooth-fac'd, female hypocrite.                [_Exit._

                    _Enter +Lodovico+ and +Clown+._

    +Lod.+ Here's a wife, Pambo!

    +Clown.+ Now, _Crede quod habes, et habes_, sir.

    +Lod.+ Why, right, man; let him believe he has horns, and he
    has 'em.

    +Clown.+ To discover upon the pinch to ye!

    +Lod.+ O you kind loving husbands, like myself,
    What fortunes meet ye, fall[128] but with such wives.

    +Clown.+ Fortune's i' th' fashion of hay-forks.

    +Lod.+ Sirrah Pambo, thou shalt seldom see a harsh fellow have
    such a wife, such a fortunate wedding.

    +Clown.+ He will go to hanging as soon.

    +Lod.+ No, no; we loving souls have all the fortunes.
    There's Count Lorenzo, for example, now;
    There's a sweet coil to-morrow 'bout his wife.
    He has two servants, that will take their oaths
    They saw her dishonest with his friend Count Philippo;
    Nay, in the very act. Now what was't brought her to't,
    But his dogged usage of her?

    +Clown.+ Nay, she never lived a good day with him.

    +Lod.+ How she goes flaunting too! she must have a
    Feather in her head and a cork in her heel.

    +Clown.+ Ay, that shows her light from head to heel, sir; and
    who have heavier heads than those whose wives have light heels?
    that feather confounds her.

    +Lod.+ I shall so laugh to hear the comical history of the
    great Count Lorenzo's horns: but as I have such a wife now,
    what a villain did I entertain to teach her music? H' has done
    her no good since he came, that I saw.

    +Clown.+ Hang him, h' has made her a little perfect in
    prick-song, that's all; and it may be, she had skill in that
    before you married her too.

    +Lod.+ She could sing at the first sight, by this hand, Pambo.
    But hark! I hear somebody.

                          _Enter +Francisco+._

    +Clown.+ 'Tis he, sure; h' has a dreaming whoremaster's pace.
    Pray, let me practise my lady's part, and counterfeit for her.

    +Lod.+ Can'st thou imitate to th' life?

    +Clown.+ Can I? O wicked Francis!

    +Lod.+ Admirable! Thou shalt do't.

    +Clown.+ Pray, be you ready with your rapier to spit him then,
    and I'll watch him a good turn, I warrant ye.

    +Fran.+ Here they are. If Pambo now comes off with his part
    neatly, the comedy passes bravely. Who's there? madam?

    +Clown.+ Francis?

    +Fran.+ The same.

    +Clown.+ I think this place lies too open to the air, Francis?

    +Lod.+ Delicate Pambo.                                     [_Aside._

    +Clown.+ And truly there's a great dew fallen to-night;
    The grass is wondrous wet.

    +Lod.+ Sweet rogue!                                        [_Aside._

    +Clown.+ Come, Francis,
    And let us sport ourselves in yonder rushes,
    And being set, I'll smother thee with busses.

    +Lod.+ O villain!                                          [_Aside._

    +Fran.+ Hear me, lady:
    It is enough, my lord hath now a friend
    In these dishonest days, that dares be honest.

    +Lod.+ How is this?

    +Clown.+ Nay, for thy lord, he's a mere coxcomb, Francis.

    +Lod.+ Out, rogue!

    +Fran.+ 'Tis but your bad desires that tell you so.
    Can I contain a heart, or can that heart
    Harbour a thought of injury 'gainst him
    Under whose wing I safely stretch my pinions?
    Has he not nobly entertain'd me? stand I not
    Next neighbour, save yourself, unto his heart?

    +Lod.+ Ay, by this hand, dost thou.

    +Fran.+ And should I quit him thus? No, lady, no.

    +Lod.+ Brave Frank!

    +Fran.+ I am too wise to fall in love with woe,
    Much less with wo-man. I but took advantage
    Of my lord's absence for your trial, lady.
    For fear some fellow (far hotter rein'd than I)
    Might have sought [her] and sped: and I'd be loth
    A lord so loving----

    +Lod.+ Shalt have five leases, by these fingers.

    +Fran.+ Should have a lady false.
    Back, lady, to your yet unblemish'd bed:
    Preserve your honour and your lord's----calf's head.

    +Clown.+ Well, Francis, you had been better--if I do not tell
    my lord of this!

    +Lod.+ He has put him to't now.

    +Fran.+ Then I am lost for ever:
    You'll turn it all on me, I know; but ere
    I'll live to wrong so good a lord, or stand
    The mark unto your malice, I will first
    Fall on my sword and perish.

    +Lod.+ Hold, hold, hold, man!

    +Fran.+ Ha, who are you?

    +Lod.+ One that has more humanity in him, than to see a proper
    fellow cast himself away, I warrant thee. 'Tis I, 'tis I, man:
    I have heard all.

    +Clown.+ And 'twas I played my lady to have snapped ye.

    +Fran.+ Has she been then so good to tell your honour?
    Now am I worse afflicted than before,
    That she should thus outrun me in this race
    Of honesty.

    +Lod.+ Nay, sh' has bobb'd thee bravely.
    Sh' has a thousand of these tricks, i' faith, man:
    But howsoever, what I have found thee, I have found thee.
    Hark in thine ear, shalt have five leases
    And mine own nag, when th' hast a mind to ride.

    +Fran.+ Let me deserve, sir, first.

    +Lod.+ Shalt have them. I know what I do, I warrant thee.

    +Fran.+ I joy in such a lady.

    +Lod.+ Nay, there's a couple of you, for a wife and a friend.
    Shalt be no more my servant. I had thought to have made thee
    my steward, but thou'rt too honest for the place, that's the
    truth on't.

    +Clown.+ His superfluity is my necessity. Pray, let me ha't,
    sir.

    +Lod.+ I will talk with thee to-morrow, Pambo: thou shalt have
    something too: but I'll go to bed. Honest Francis, the dearest
    must part, I see. I will so hug the sweet rascal, that thinks
    every hour ten, till I come yonder! Good night, Frank.

    To bed, Pambo. What delight in life
    Can equal such a friend and such a wife?
    So, my dainty Doll, I come to thee.                         [_Exit._

    +Clown.+ So a city nightcap go with thee! But shall I not be
    thought on for my night's service?

    +Fran.+ O, look ye, pray forget not ye had something.

    +Clown.+ Well, and pray do you remember I had nothing.

    +Fran.+ Nothing! what's that?

    +Clown.+ Nothing, before I had something, I mean. So you are
    well-returned from Utopia.

    +Fran.+ You're very nimble, sir: good-morrow.             [_Exeunt._

       _A bar set out. Enter the +Duke of Verona+, +Pandulpho+,
               +Spinoso+, +Jaspro+, +Jovani+, +Lorenzo+,
           +Philippo+, +Abstemia+, a guard and two slaves._

    +Ver.+ Call the accus'd to th' bar.

    +Phil.+ We appear
    With acknowledg'd reverence to the presence.

    +Ver.+ We meet not
    To build on circumstances, but to come plainly
    To the business that here plac'd us. Cousin Lorenzo,
    You have free leave to speak your griefs; but this
    Desire the senate to observe, and nearly:
    I come here not your kinsman; neither, madam,
    Looking unto the greatness of your blood,
    As you are sister to the Duke of Venice;
    But as an equal judge, I come to doom,
    As circumstance[129] and proof informs.

    +Lor.+ Thus then,
    (Great sir, grave lords, and honourable auditors
    Of my dishonour) I affirm 'tis known
    To th' signory of Verona, the whole city;
    Nay, the great multitude without, that come
    This day to hear unwilling truth, can witness,
    How, since my marriage with that woman--weep'st thou?
    O truth, who would not look thee in a woman's tears!
    But showers that fall too late, produce dear years--
    All know that, since our marriage, I have perform'd
    So fairly all judicial wedlock-offices,
    That malice knew not how at my whole actions
    To make one blow, and to strike home. I did rather
    Honour her as a saint, sir, than respect her,
    As she was my wife. On pilgrimage I sent
    All my endeavours to the fair-seeming shrine
    Of their desires, where they did offer daily
    A plenal satisfaction, which she seem'd
    Reciprocally to return, paid back
    As much obedience as I lent of love:
    But then the serpent stings, when like a dove
    Opinion feathers him: women's sweet words
    As far are from their hearts, though from their breasts
    They fly, as lapwings' cries are from their nests.

    +Pan.+ O, you inveigh.

    +Lor.+ I would appear no satire.
    And for this man (how fain I would call him friend!)
    I appeal to the whole state, if at the fight
    Betwixt Biserta galleys and your grace,
    Wherein you pleas'd to send me general there,
    That he deserv'd (let me not take from him
    His merit's meet confession) but I was there,
    The man (the erring man) that crown'd his merit
    With approbation and reward; brought him home,
    Preferr'd him to those graces you heap'd on him:
    Wore him a neighbour to my heart, as lovers
    Wear jewels, left by their dead friends. I lock'd him
    Into my heart, and double-barr'd him there
    With reason and opinion: his extremities
    Fasten'd me more unto him, whilst, like an arch
    Well-built, by how much the more weight I bore,
    I stood[130] the stronger under him; so lov'd him,
    That in his absence still mine ear became
    A sanctuary to his injur'd name.

    +Ver.+ And what from hence infer you?

    +Lor.+ That 'twas base,
    Base in the depth of baseness, for this wife
    So honour'd and this smooth friend so belov'd
    To conspire betwixt them my dishonour.

    +Ver.+ How?

    +Lor.+ To stain my sheets with lust, a minute's theft;
    To brand perpetually three faces: a husband's,
    A wife's, and friend's.

    +Abs.+ O good my lord,
    Cast out this devil from you.

    +Lor.+ O good my lady,
    Keep not the devil within you, but confess.

    +Phil.+ Hear me, great sir; I will confess, Lorenzo,
    And print thee down the fool of passion.

    +Spin.+ Speak, sir.

    +Phil.+ 'Tis true, this boasting man did thus erect me
    In his opinion, plac'd me in his love,
    Grac'd me with courtesies: O the craft of jealousy!
    As boys, to take the bird, about the pit
    Cast wheat and chaff, contriving a neat train
    To entice her to her ruin--so this friend,
    Falser than city-oaths, it is not doubted,
    Having so far endear'd me, when he came
    To enjoy a fair wife, guess'd it impossible
    For me to share with him in all things else,
    And not in her; for fair wives oft, we see,
    Strike the discord in sweet friendship's harmony:
    And having no way to ensnare me so,
    To separate our loves, he seriously
    Woo'd me to try his wife.

    +Lor.+ 'Tis false.

    +Phil.+ 'Tis true,
    By all that honest men may be believed by.
    Three several times I tried her, by him urg'd to't,
    Yet still my truth not started, kept so constant,
    That till this hour this lady thus much knew not.
    I bore her brave reproofs. O, when she spake,
    The saints (sure) listen'd, and at every point
    She got th' applause of angels! Now, upon this,
    This jealous lord infers (and it may be
    But to shun futurity) that I,
    His betray'd friend, could not hold the cup,
    But I must drink the poison. No, Lorenzo,
    An honest man is still an unmov'd rock,
    Wash'd whiter, but not shaken with the shock
    Whose heart conceives no sinister device:
    Fearless he plays with flames, and treads on ice.

    +Ver.+ Cousin, did you, as your friend here affirms,
    Counsel him to these trials?

    +Lor.+ I?

    +Phil.+ You did.

    +Lor.+ Philippo, thou art fallen from a good man,
    And hast ta'en leave of modesty. Let these my servants--
    That incredulity should be induction
    To my more certain shame--let these speak
    And relate what they saw: they grew so public,
    My servants could discover them.

    +Pan.+ Speak, friends, be fearless;
    And what you know, even to a syllable,
    Boldly confess.

    +1st Slave.+ Then know, great sir, as soon
    As e'er my lord was gone to meet your grace,
    Signor Philippo and my lady privately
    Went up to her bed-chamber: we two, suspecting
    What afterwards we found, stole softly up,
    And through the key-hole (for the door was lock'd)
    We saw my lady and Count Philippo there
    Upon the bed, and in the very act,
    As my lord before affirm'd.

    +Abs.+ Canst thou hear, heaven,
    And withhold thy thunder?

    +Phil.+ My lords, one devil, ye know,
    May possess three bodies.

    +Ver.+ Will you swear this, sir?

    +1st Slave.+ I will, my lord.

    +Spin.+ And you?

    +2d Slave.+ I will, and dare, sir.

    +Lor.+ Brave rascals!

    +Ver.+ Reach them the book.

    +Abs.+ Ye poor deluded men, O, do not swear!

    +Lor.+ Think of the chain of pearl.                        [_Aside._

    +1st Slave.+ Give us the book:
    That we affirm the truth, the whole truth,
    And nothing but the truth, we swear.

    +Pan.+ Believe me, I am sorry for the lady.

    +Phil.+ How soon
    Two souls, more precious than a pair of worlds,
    Are levell'd below death!

    +Abs.+ O, hark! did you not hear it?

    +Omnes.+ What, lady?

    +Abs.+ This hour a pair of glorious towers are fallen;
    Two goodly buildings beaten with a breath
    Beneath the grave. You all have seen this day,
    A pair of souls both cast and kiss'd away.

    +Spin.+ What censure gives your grace?

    +Ver.+ In that I am a kinsman
    To the accuser, that I might not appear
    Partial in judgment, let it seem no wonder
    If unto your gravities I leave
    The following sentence: but as Lorenzo stands
    A kinsman to Verona, so forget not,
    Abstemia still is sister unto Venice.

    +Phil.+ Misery of goodness!

    +Abs.+ O Lorenzo Medico![131]
    Abstemia's lover once, when he did vow
    And when I did believe; then when Abstemia
    Denied so many princes for Lorenzo,
    Then when you swore. O maids! how men can weep,
    Print protestations on their breasts and sigh,
    And look so truly, and then weep again,
    And then protest again, and again dissemble!
    When once enjoy'd, like strange sights we grow stale,
    And find our comforts, like their wonder, fail.

    +Phil.+ O Lorenzo!
    Look upon tears, each one of which, well-valued,
    Is worth the pity of a king; but thou
    Art harder far than rocks, and can'st not prize
    The precious waters of truth's injur'd eyes.

    +Lor.+ Please your grace, proceed to censure.

    +Ver.+ Thus 'tis decreed, as these lords have set down
    Against all contradiction. Signor Philippo,
    In that you have thus grossly, sir, dishonour'd
    Even our blood itself in this rude injury
    Lights on our kinsman, his prerogative
    Implies death on your trespass; but your merit,
    Of more antiquity is than your trespass,
    That death is[132] blotted out, and in the place
    Banishment writ, perpetual banishment
    (On pain of death, if you return) for ever,
    From Verona and her signories.

    +Phil.+ Verona is kind.

    +Pan.+ Unto you, madam,
    This censure is allotted. Your high blood
    Takes off the danger of the law, nay, from
    Even banishment itself. This lord your husband
    Sues only for a legal fair divorce,
    Which we think good to grant, the church allowing:
    And in that the injury chiefly reflects
    On him, he hath free licence to marry, when
    And whom he pleases.

    +Abs.+ I thank ye,
    That you are favourable unto my love,
    Whom yet I love and weep for.

    +Phil.+ Farewell, Lorenzo.
    This breast did never yet harbour a thought
    Of thee, but man was in it, honest man:
    There's all the words that thou art worth. Of your grace,
    I humbly thus take leave: farewell, my lords:
    And lastly farewell thou, fairest of many,
    Yet by far more unfortunate. Look up
    And see a crown held for thee; win it, and die
    Love's martyr, the sad map of injury:
    And so remember, sir, your injur'd lady
    Has a brother yet in Venice.

    +Abs.+ Farewell, Lorenzo,
    Whom my soul doth [yet] love: if you e'er marry,
    May you meet a good wife: so good, that you
    May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy
    Of your suspicion: and if you hear hereafter,
    That I am dead, inquire but my last words,
    And you shall know that to the last I lov'd you:
    And when you walk forth with your second choice
    Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me,
    Imagine that you see me lean and pale,
    Strewing your paths with flowers: and when in bed
    You cast your arms about her happy side[s],
    Think you see me stand with a patient look,
    Crying, All hail, you lovers, live and prosper.
    But may she never live to pay my debts.
    If but in thought she wrong you, may she die
    In the conception of the injury.
    Pray, make me wealthy with one kiss. Farewell, sir.
    Let it not grieve you, when you shall remember
    That I was innocent: nor this forget--
    Though innocence here suffer, sigh, and groan,
    She walks but thorough thorns to find a throne.             [_Exit._

    +Ver.+ Break up the court; and, cousin, learn this rede;
    Who stabs truth's bosom, makes an angel bleed.

    +Lor.+ The storm upon my breast, sir.                     [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[127] A _costermonger_ is a seller of apples; and an _apple-squire_ was
formerly a cant term for a _pimp_.

So in Erasmus's "Praise of Folly," translated by Chaloner, 1549, sig.
P.: "Or doo you judge peradventure they coulde easily fynde in their
hertes, that so many scriveners, so many registrers, so manie notaries,
so many advocates, so many promoters, so many secretaries, so many
moyleters, so many horsekeepers, so many gentlemen of householde, so
many _apple-squires_, so many baudes, I had almost spoken a softer
worde," &c.

Again, in "Faults, Faults, and Nothing but Faultes," by Barnaby Rich,
1606, p. 24: "Shee shall not want the assistance of her ruffians,
her _apple-squires_, and of those brothell queanes that lodge, that
harbour, and that retain her."

Again, in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour," iv. 10--

    "Well, good wife bawd, Cob's wife, and you,
    That make your husband such a hoddy doddy;
    And you, young _apple-squire_, and old cuckold-maker,
    I'll ha' you every one before a justice."

See also "Dekker's Belman of London," sig. H 2.

And in Bale's "Actis of Englishe Votaries," 1550, Part I., fol. 27:
"Women in those dayes might sore have distained their newlie risen
opinion of holines, if they had chaunced to haue bene with childe by
the prelates, and therefore other spiritual remedies were sought out
for them by their good providers and proctors; ye may if ye will call
them _apple-squires_."--_Gilchrist._

[128] [Old copy, _full_.]

[129] [Old copy, _circumstances_.]

[130] [Old copy, _stand_.]

[131] [A not unusual form of De Medici.]

[132] [Old copy, _than is_.]



ACT III.


          _Enter +Lodovico+, +Jaspro+, +Jovani+, and +Clown+._

    +Lod.+ Did chronicle ever match this couple, gentlemen?

    +Jas.+ You make us wonder,
    That both should seem to yield to the temptation,
    And both so meet in one resolved goodness,
    Unknown to one another!

    +Lod.+ There lies the jest on't. Sirrah Pambo, I do but think,
    an' she had met him in the garden, how she would have rattled
    him.

    +Clown.+ And ruffled him too, sir: the camomile[133] would have
    been better for it many a day after.

    +Jov.+ Such an honest-minded servant where shall one find?

    +Lod.+ Servant! my sworn brother, man; he's too honest for an
    office, he'll never thrive in't: ye have few servants will deal
    so mercifully with their lords.

    +Jas.+ A wife! why, she's a saint; one that ever bears a good
    sound soul about her.

    +Clown.+ Yes, when she wears her new shoes.

    +Jov.+ Shall we see her, my lord?

    +Lod.+ Where is she, Pambo?

    +Clown.+ Walking a turn or two i' th' garden with Francisco,
    sir; I'll go call her.

    +Lod.+ No, no, no; let her alone: 'tis pity indeed to part
    them, they are so well-matched. Was he not reading to her?

    +Clown.+ No, sir, she was weeping to him: she heard this
    morning that her confessor, father Jacomo, was dead.

    +Jas.+ Father Jacomo dead?

    +Lod.+ Why, now shall not we have her eat one bit this five
    days.

    +Clown.+ She'll munch the more in a corner: that's the
    puritan's fast.

    +Lod.+ Nay, do but judge of her, my lords, by one thing:
    whereas most of our dames go to confession but once a month,
    some twice a quarter, and some but once a year, and that upon
    constraint too, she never misses twice a week.

    +Jas.+ 'Tis wonderful!

    +Jov.+ 'Tis a sign she keeps all well at home: they are even
    With the whole world, that so keep touch with heaven.

    +Lod.+ Nay, I told ye, ye should find no Philippo of Francisco.

    +Clown.+ And I remember I told your honour you should find no
    Abstemia of my lady.

    +Lod.+ Nor no Lorenzo of myself: he was ever a melancholy
    stubborn fellow. He kept her in too much, and see what comes
    on't! I give my wife her will, and see what comes on't too!

    +Clown.+ Nay, sir, there is two come on't, an' a man could
    discover 'em.

    +Lod.+ Two what, I prythee?

    +Clown.+ It may be two babies, sir: for they come commonly with
    giving a woman her will.

    +Lod.+ I'd laugh at that, i' faith, boy. But who has she now
    for her confessor?

    +Clown.+ She looks for one, they call him father Antony, sir;
    and he's wished[134] to her by Madonna Lussuriosa.

                  _Enter +Dorothea+ and +Francisco+._

    +Lod.+ There's another modest soul too, never without a holy
    man at her elbow! But here comes one outweighs them all. Why,
    how now, chick, weeping so fast? This is the fault of most of
    our ladies; painting--weeping for their sins I should say,
    spoils their faces.

    +Fran.+ Sweet madam.

    +Lod.+ Look, look, look! loving soul, he weeps for company!

    +Clown.+ And I shall laugh outright by and by.

    +Dor.+ O that good man!

    +Lod.+ Why, bird?

    +Jas.+ Be patient, lady.

    +Dor.+ Would he go to heaven without his zealous pupil?

    +Clown.+ It may be he knew not your mind, forsooth.

    +Dor.+ He knew my mind well enough.

    +Clown.+ Why then, it may be, he knew you could not hold out
    for the journey. Pray, do not set us all a-crying.         [_Weeps._

    +Lod.+ Prythee, sweet birds-nie, be content.

    +Dor.+ Yes, yes, content! when you two leave my company!
    No one comes near me; so that were it not
    For modest simple Francis here----

    +Clown.+ As modest as a gib-cat at midnight.               [_Aside._

    +Dor.+ That sometimes reads
    Virtuous books to me; were it not for him,
    I might go look content.[135] But 'tis no matter,
    Nobody cares for me.

    +Lod.+ Nay, prythee, Doll. Pray, gentlemen, comfort her.   [_Weeps._

    +Clown.+ Now is the devil writing an encomium upon cunning
    cuckold-makers.

    +Fran.+ You have been harsh to her of late, I fear, sir.

    +Lod.+ By this hand, I turned not from her all last night. What
    should a man do?

    +Jas.+ Come, this is but a sweet obedient shower,
    To bedew the lamented grave of her old father.

    +Clown.+ He thinks the devil's dead too.[136]

    +Dor.+ But 'tis no matter; were I such a one
    As the Count Lorenzo's lady, were I so graceless
    To make you wear a pair of wicked horns,
    You would make more reckoning of me----                    [_Weeps._

    +Lod.+ Weep again? She'll cry out her eyes, gentlemen.

    +Clown.+ No, I warrant you: remember the two lines your honour
    read last night--

                    _A woman's eye,
    'S April's dust, no sooner wet but dry._

    +Lod.+ Good pigs-nie! Frank, prythee, walk her t'other turn i'
    th' garden, and get her a stomach to her supper. We'll be with
    ye presently, wench.

    +Dor.+ Nay, when ye please; but why should I go from ye?

    +Lod.+ Loving soul! Prythee, Frank, take her away.

    +Dor.+ Pray, let me kiss ye first. Come, Francis, Nobody cares
    for us.

                            [_At the door +Francis+ kisses her. Exeunt._

    +Lod.+ Well, there goes a couple: where shall a man match you,
    indeed? Hark, Pambo!

    +Jas.+ Did you observe?

    +Jov.+ They kissed!

    +Jas.+ Peace.

    +Lod.+ And entreat Madonna Lussuriosa to sup with us: as you
    go, tell her my lady's never well but in her company.

    +Clown.+ What, if your honour invited the Count Lorenzo? he'll
    be so melancholy, now his lady and he are parted.

    +Lod.+ Pray do as you are bid, kind sir, and let him alone:
    I'll have no cuckold sup in my house to-night.

    +Clown.+ 'Tis a very hot evening; your honour will sup in the
    garden then.

    +Lod.+ Yes, marry, will I, sir; what's that to you?

    +Clown.+ Why, your honour was ever as good as your word. Keep
    the cuckolds out of door, and lay a cloth for my lord in the
    arbour, gentlemen.                                          [_Exit._

    +Lod.+ I have been this three months about a project.

    +Jov.+ What is't, my lord?

    +Lod.+ Why, I intend to compose a pamphlet of all my wife's
    virtues, put them in print, and dedicate them to the duke, as
    orthodoxal directions against he marries.

    +Jas.+ 'Twill give him apt instructions, when he does marry, to
    pick out such a woman.

    +Lod.+ Pick her! where will he pick her? as the English proverb
    says, _He may as soon find a needle in a bottle of hay._ Would
    I knew what sins she has committed, I would set them down all
    one with another; they would serve as foils to her virtues: but
    I do think she has none: d'ye think she has any, gentlemen?

    +Jov.+ O, none, sir, but has some.

    +Lod.+ Ay, piddling ones, it may be; as when a pin pricks her
    finger to cry at sight on't, and throw't away; but for other
    matters----

    +Jas.+ Now I think on't, sir, I have a device newly begotten
    that, if you be so desirous to be resolved of her perfections,
    'twill be an apt means for your intelligence.

    +Lod.+ That will be excellent; and then my book, grounded upon
    mine own experience, the report of my judgment in the choice of
    a woman, will sell them off faster than the compositor can set
    the letters together.

    +Jas.+ We will discourse it as we go: meantime, sir,
    Let this prepare the path to your construction,
    Conceit and confidence are jugglers born;
    One grafts in air, t'other hides the real horn.

    +Lod.+ Well, he that believes he has horns, has horns; and
    _Crede quod habes, et habes_, shall be my motto.          [_Exeunt._

                   _Enter +Pandulpho+ and +Spinoso+._

    +Spin.+ The powers of Venice upon our confines?

    +Pan.+ Yes: Signor Philippo, it seems, having possess'd him[137]
    With the passages that pass'd upon his sister,
    Embassadors were despatch'd to Bergamo,
    Where then his forces lay; who thus return'd,
    That he came not a public foe unto Verona,
    But to require justice against Count Lorenzo,
    To approve his sister innocent.

    +Spin.+ What witness,
    Proof, or apparent circumstance builds he
    His bold attempt upon?

    +Pan.+ He says, besides
    The honour of Philippo, he has proof
    So unresistible to affirm the plot
    Of Count Lorenzo, that he only crav'd
    (Hostages being render'd for their safe returns)
    Here in the senate-chamber the fair trial
    Might publicly be censur'd. And by this
    They are at hand.

    _Enter at one door +Duke of Venice+, +Philippo+, and +Lords+:
        at the other, +Duke+ of +Verona+, +Jaspro+, +Jovani+;
        +Lorenzo+ guarded. A bar set out. The +1st Slave+._

    +Ver.+ Fair sir, the presence is levell'd for your grievances.

    +Ven.+ First summon to the bar the Count Lorenzo.

    +Pan.+ Lorenzo Medico, stand to the bar.

    +Lor.+ I do stand to the bar.

    +Ven.+ I come not here, witness the good man's comfort,
    To add one step unto my territories; and though I burden
    The neighbour-bosom of my confines with
    The weight of armour, or do wound your breast
    (My dukedom's near next neighbour) with the hoofs
    Of war-apparell'd horses, 'tis not to seek
    For martial honours, but for civil justice.
    Conceive mine honour wounded: a sister's shame
    Is an unpleasant spot upon our arms;
    Yet that we come not here to sanctify
    A sister's sin; for if she be so prov'd,
    Shame sleep within her epitaph, and brand her;
    Let bears and wolves that angel's face confound,
    Gives goodness such a foul, unfriendly wound:
    But if she chaste be prov'd, what balm can cure
    A wounded name? As he that not inflicts
    The bitter stroke of law upon the strumpet
    Fattens the sad afflictions of a thousand;
    So who but stains an honest woman's name
    Plagues are yet kept for him: steel is no defence
    For the unclean tongue injures innocence.
    I affirm my sister wrong'd, wrong'd by this man--
    This, that has wrong'd pure judgment, and thrown poison
    Upon the face of truth; and upon him
    I seek a satisfaction.

    +Lor.+ I reply,
    The law must give you satisfaction,
    That justly did divorce us: I appeal
    To the whole consiliadory, if equal law
    In her progression went a step astray,
    Either by proof or information.
    Let the duke speak (not as he is my kinsman)
    If I produc'd not legally in court,
    Besides mine own assertion, which even reason
    Grounded on probability, two of my servants,
    That upon oath affirm'd they saw your sister
    Even in the very act of sin and shame
    With that Philippo there. Blame me not then, sir,
    If I return an error to your cause.
    Reason, the base whereon we build the laws
    You injure in this action, gives her the lie.
    Who dares not build his faith upon his eye?
    They swore what they did see; and men still fear
    (Reason concludes) what they not see, to swear.

    +Ver.+ You hear my kinsman's answer?

    +Pan.+ And 'tis requisite
    That you produce your author: it is held
    Mere madness on a hill of sand to build.

    +Phil.+ The foundation-work is mine,
    And that I answer: he builds on truth,
    The good man's mistress, and not in the sanctuary
    Of this injur'd brother's power, but the integrity
    And glory of the cause. I throw the pawn
    Of my afflicted honour, and on that
    I openly affirm your absent lady
    Chastity's well-knit abstract: snow in the fall,
    Purely refin'd by the bleak northern blast,
    Not freer from a soil; the thoughts of infants
    But little nearer heaven: and if these princes
    Please to permit, before their guilty thoughts
    Injure another hour upon the lady,
    My right-drawn sword shall prove it.

    +Lor.+ Upon my knee, sir,
    (How my soul dances!) humbly I entreat
    Your grant to his request: fight with Philippo
    I' th' midst of flame or pestilence; in a cave,
    Where basilisks do breed.

    +Ver.+ We must take counsel:
    The price of blood is precious.

    +Lor.+ Blood desires burthen:
    The price of truth is precious. For all the fights
    I have fought for you on land: the feats[138] at sea,
    Where I have tugg'd with tempests, stood storms at midnight,
    Out-star'd the flaring lightning, and the next morning
    Chas'd the unruly stubborn Turk with thunder;
    For all the bullets I have bravely shot,
    And sent death singing to the slaughter, sir----

    +Ver.+ Peace!

    +Lor.+ What should a soldier do with peace? remember
    Mine honour lies a-bleeding, and in mine yours;
    Her wide wound inward bleeds; and while you cry peace,
    Shame wars upon my name. O, rather kill me,
    Than cast me to this scandal!

    +Spin.+ The doubtful cause,
    With such a dare approv'd, you may permit it.

    +Ver.+ Your request is granted, coz.

    +Lor.+ You have now, sir, breath'd
    Fresh air in the face of fainting honour.
    Rapiers of fair equality.

    +Ven.+[139] Look with what cunning
    The spider, when she would snare the fly, doth weave
    With neater art appearance [to] deceive.
    Stay!--as you said, sir, blood is a precious price:
    Let me but see the men produc'd who swore
    They saw them in the shameful act, and then
    Farewell a sister and her honour.

    +Pan.+ Produce your servants, sir.     [_+Venice+ sends off a Lord._

    +Lor.+ Plague of this change! here's one of them; the t'other,
    In that I threaten'd him for some neglect,
    The next day ran away.

    +Ven.+ Did you, sir, swear
    You saw our sister and this gentleman
    In this base act of sin?

    +Lor.+ Fear nothing.

    +1st Slave.+ To deny truth
    Is more dangerous than to displease a duke.
    I saw it, and did swear it.

                    _Enter +Lord+, and +2d Slave+._

    +Ven.+ But here comes one
    Will swear you saw it not, and are forsworn.

    +1st Slave.+ 'Sfoot, Stratzo!

    +Spin.+ This is the other fellow took his oath.

    +Ver.+ What come you here to say, sir?

    +2d Slave.+ That we swore falsely, may it please your grace;
    Hir'd by my lord with gifts and promises:
    And as I now have spoke the truth, so Heaven
    Forgive my former perjury!

    +Ver.+ Hear you, cousin?

    +1st Slave.+ Would you would say something:
    I have nettles in my breeches.

    +Lor.+ Now, now, I hope, your eyes are open, lords;
    The bed of snakes is broke, the trick's come out,
    And here's the knot i' th' rush. Good Heaven, good Heaven!
    That craft, in seeking to put on disguise,
    Should so discover herself!

    +Ver.+ Explain yourself!

    +Lor.+ Now see, sir, where this scorpion lurks, to sting
    Mine honour unto death. This noble duke
    By nature is engaged to defend a sister;
    And to this duke so engag'd this malicious lord--
    For sin still hates her scourger--makes repair,
    And prepossesses him with that suppos'd innocence
    Of an injur'd sister, which he had hir'd this slave
    To follow him and affirm, and lays the cause
    To scruple and to conscience: they did consent
    To steal belief by seeming accident.
    Sin, juggler-like, casts sin before our eyes:
    Craft sometimes steals the wonder of the wise.
    With an equal hand now weigh me, and if I want
    A grain of honour, tear me from your blood,
    And cast me to contempt.

    +1st Slave.+ My lord would have made an excellent state-sophister.

                                                               [_Aside._

    +Ver.+ In what a strange dilemma judgment sits,
    Charm'd to her chair with wonder!

    +Ven.+ Shall I have justice?

    +Pan.+ Yes, in that this fellow swears for the duke:
    Reach him the book; you shall see him again
    Take the former oath.

    +Ver.+ This doubt must be so ended:
    If it give not satisfaction, send back our hostage;
    You have fair regress to your forces: but
    The blood remains on you; and still remember,
    The price of blood is precious.

    +Phil.+ Let us end it.

    +Ven.+ O, what a combat honour holds with conscience!
    Reach him the book; and if thou false dost say,
    May thine own tongue thine own foul heart betray.

    +1st Slave.+ Amen, say I:
    Give me the book. My oath must end all, then?

    +Spin.+ It must.

    +Lor.+ Now you shall hear him swear
    He saw them both in the base act.

    +1st Slave.+ Nay, I swear
    They are now both seen in the base act.

    +Omnes.+ How's this?

    +Pan.+ 'Tis a strange oath.

    +1st Slave.+ 'Tis true, though.

    +Lor.+ True, villain! are both now seen in the
    base act?

    +1st Slave.+ Yes, both.

    +Lor.+ Which both?

    +1st Slave.+ You and I, sir.

    +Omnes.+ How?

    +1st Slave.+ Both you and I are seen in the base act,
    Slandering spotless honour, an act so base
    The barbarous Moor would blush at.

    +Phil.+ D'ye hear him now?

    +Lor.+ Out, slave! wilt thou give ground too? fear works upon 'em:
    Did you not both here swear i' th' senate-chamber,
    You saw them both dishonest?

    +1st Slave.+ Then we swore true, sir.

    +Lor.+ I told you 'twas but fear.

    +Ver.+ Swore ye true then, sir, when ye swore
    Ye both saw them dishonest?

    +1st Slave.+ Yes, marry, did we, sir;
    For we were both two villains when we saw them,
    So we saw them dishonest.

    +Ven.+ Heaven, thou art equal!

    +1st Slave.+ This is a jealous lord, his lady chaste.
    A rock of crystal not more clear, this gentleman
    Basely abus'd; this great prince dishonour'd;
    And so we kneel for mercy.

    +Ver.+ You have redeem'd it;
    Depart, prove honest men. That I should bear
    Dishonour in my blood!

    +Omnes.+ Much-injur'd lady!

    +Ven.+ What justice, sir, belongs unto the injur'd?

    +Ver.+ First, witness Heaven, I tear thee from my blood,
    And cast thee off a stranger. Assume you, sir,
    Since the great cause is yours, my seat of justice,
    And sentence this foul homicide: it must be,
    And suddenly; he will infect the air else.
    Proceed, great sir, with rigour, whilst I stand by,
    And do adore the sentence.

    +Ven.+ Answer, Lorenzo,
    Art thou not guilty?

    +Lor.+ Give me my merit--death.
    Princes can build and ruin with one breath.

    +Ven.+ The cause may seem to merit death, in that
    Two souls were hazarded, a princess' fame,
    A duke dishonour'd, and a noble lord
    Wounded in reputation; but since she lives,
    And that no blood was spilt (though something dearer)
    Mercy thus far stretches her silver wings
    Over your trespass. We do banish you
    Both from our dukedom's limits and your own:
    If you but set a daring foot upon them,
    Whilst life lends you ability to stand,
    You fall into the pit of death, unless
    You shall find out our most unfortunate sister,
    And bring her to our court.

    +Lor.+ You, sir, are merciful!

    +Ver.+ This let me add,
    In that you have had[140] impartial justice, sir,
    Princes should punish vice in their own blood:
    Until you find that excellent injur'd lady,
    Upon this gentleman, who hath suffer'd for you,
    We confer your lands, revenues, and your place:
    That, during three days' stay within our confines,
    It shall be death to any that relieves you,
    But, as they do a beggar at their door,
    So cast you from their presence.[141]

    +Lor.+ Your dooms are just!
    O love, thy first destruction is distrust!

                     [_Exeunt +Lorenzo+_,[142] +Jaspro+, _and +Jovani+._

    +Ver.+ For you, fair sir, until we shall hear tidings
    Of your most-injur'd sister, please you to call
    My court your own--conceive it so--where live.
    Two partners in one passion we will be,
    And sweeten sorrow with a sympathy.                       [_Exeunt._

        _Enter +Lodovico+ like a friar, +Jaspro+, and +Jovani+._

    +Lod.+ What, am I fitted, gallants? am I fitted?

    +Jas.+ To th' life, able to cheat suspicion; and so like
    Father Antony the confessor, that I protest
    There's not more semblance in a pair of eggs.

    +Jov.+ An apple cut in half is not so like.

    +Lod.+ Well, lords,[143] you're mad lords to counsel me to
    this. But now, in this habit, shall I know the very core of her
    heart and her little piddling sins, which will show in my book
    as foils to her giant-bodied virtues.

    +Jas.+ That will be admirable!

    +Jov.+ We'll step aside: by this she's upon coming!

    +Jas.+ We shall know all.

    +Lod.+ Reveal, confession! but go your ways: as much as may
    lawfully be revealed, we'll laugh at at next meeting.

    +Jas.+ Come, let's be gone. But once upon a time, sir,
    A beggar found a lark's nest; and, o'erjoy'd
    At his sudden glut, for he thought 'twas full of young ones,
    Looking, they were all gone: he was forc'd again to beg,
    For he found in the lark's nest a serpent's egg.
    So much good d'ye, sir.                                   [_Exeunt._

                          _Enter +Dorothea+._

    +Lod.+ Well, thou surpassest all the courtiers in these pretty
    ones, if a man had the wit to understand them. Yonder she
    comes: I can hardly forbear blushing, but that for discovering
    myself.

    Right reverend habit, I honour thee
    With a son's obedience, and do but borrow thee,
    As men would play with flies who, i' th' midst
    Of modest mirth, with care preserve themselves.

    +Dor.+ Hail, holy father!

    +Lod.+ Welcome, my chaste daughter!

    +Dor.+ Death having taken good father Jacomo,
    Upon the plenal and approv'd report
    Of your integrity and upright dealing----

    +Lod.+ Delicate Doll!                                      [_Aside._

    +Dor.+ I have made a modest choice of you, grave sir,
    To be my ghostly father: and to you I fall
    For absolution.

    +Lod.+ Empty then, my daughter,
    That vessel of your flesh of all the dregs
    Which, since your last confession clear'd you, have
    Taken a settled habitation in you;
    And with a powerful sweet acknowledgment
    Hunt out those spirits which haunt that house of flesh.
    Tears make dry branches flourish green and fresh.

    +Dor.+ Since last I confess'd, then I do confess
    My first sin was, that my tailor bringing home
    My last new gown, having made the sleeves too flanting,
    In an unchristian passion I did bid
    The devil take him.

    +Lod.+ That was something harsh, dear daughter,
    Yet the more pardonable, for it may be your tailor
    Lies in hell night by night. Pray, to your second.

    +Dor.+ Next, in a more savage rage, my chambermaid
    Putting a little saffron in her starch,[144]
    I most unmercifully broke her head.

    +Lod.+ 'Twas rashly done too. But are you sure, dear daughter,
    The maid's head was not broke before?

    +Dor.+ No, no, sir; she came to me with ne'er a crack about her.

    +Lod.+ These will be brave sins to mix with her virtues! Why,
    they will make no more show than three or four bailiffs amongst
    a company of honest men. [_Aside._] These sins, my dove-like
    daughter, are out of contradiction venial, trivial, and light.
    Have you none of greater growth?

    +Dor.+ O yes, sir, one!

    +Lod.+ One! What should that be, I wonder?

    +Dor.+ One yet remains behind
    Of weight and consequence. The same order
    Heralds prescribe in shows, I now observe
    In placing of my sins; as there inferiors
    Fare 'fore the persons of great note,[145] so last,
    Because the last lives freshest in our memories,[146]
    My great sin comes to obliterate those pass'd.

    +Lod.+ Sh' has trod some chicken to death, I warrant her.  [_Aside._

    +Dor.+ Hear me, and let a blush make you look red.
    Unseemly I have abus'd my husband's bed.

    +Lod.+ You did ill to drink too hard ere you went to bed.

    +Dor.+ Alas, sir! you mistake me: I have lain
    With another man besides my husband.

    +Lod.+ How?

    +Dor.+ Nay, the same way I use to lie with him,
    But not altogether so often.

    +Lod.+ Why then, _Crede quod habes, et habes_, I will believe
    I have horns, for I have 'em. 'Sfoot, a woman, I perceive,
    is a neat herald; she can quarter her husband's coat with
    another's[147] arms at pleasure. But I have a penance for your
    pure whoreship. [_Aside._] You are somewhat broad: are you not
    with child, daughter?

    +Dor.+ Yes, yes; sure, 'twas that night's work.

    +Lod.+ How know you that?

    +Dor.+ Alas! by experience, sir. The kind fool my husband
    Wishes all well; but, like a light piece of gold,
    He's taken for more than he weighs.

    +Lod.+ With child! there's charges too: o' th' other side,
        there should follow
    A zealous exhortation: but great affairs
    That brook no stay make me be brief, rememb'ring
    Lawful necessity may dispense with ceremony.
    You are ingenuously sorry?

    +Dor.+ Yes, indeed, sir.

    +Lod.+ And resolve to fall no more so?

    +Dor.+ No, in truth, sir.

    +Lod.+ I then pronounce you here absolv'd. Now for your penance.

    +Dor.+ Anything.

    +Lod.+ As the fact in you seems strange, so blame me not
    If your penance be as strange. You may wonder at it,
    But it is wonderous easy in performance;
    But as your penance I enjoin it. Nay, now I remember
    In an old French authentic author, his book
    'Titled, _De Satisfactione_, I read the same
    Enjoin'd a lady of Dauphin. 'Tis no holy fast,
    No devout prayer, nor no zealous pilgrimage;
    'Tis out of the prescrib'd road.

    +Dor.+ Let it be
    So strange [that] story ne'er match'd the injunction,
    I do vow the plenal strict performance.

    +Lod.+ Listen to me.
    Soon at night (so rumour spreads it through the city)
    The two great dukes of Venice and Verona
    Are feasted by your lord, where a masque's intended.

    +Dor.+ That's true, sir.

    +Lod.+ Now, when ye all are set round about the table,
    In depth of silence, you shall confess these words
    Aloud to your husband, _You are not this child's father_:
    And, 'cause my order bars[148] me such inquisition,
    You shall say, Such a man lay with me,
    Naming the party was partner in your sin.

    +Dor.+ Good sir!

    +Lod.+ This is your penance I enjoin you: keep it,
    You are absolv'd; break it, you know the danger of it. Good-bye!

    +Dor.+ O good sir, stay! never was penance of more shame than this.

    +Lod.+ You know the danger of the breach as to us:
    'Tis the shameful loss of our religious orders,
    If we reveal.

    +Dor.+ For Heaven's sake,
    Enjoin me first upon my knees to creep
    From Verona to Loretto.

    +Lod.+ That's nothing.

    +Dor.+ Nothing indeed to this. Is this your penance,
    So wondrous easy in performance?

    +Lod.+ 'Tis irrevocable.

    +Dor.+ I am silent: your new penance may meet
    A new performance. Farewell, sir.
    You are the cruell'st e'er confess'd me before.

    +Lod.+ And this the trick to catch a right pure whore.    [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[133] The camomile is said to grow faster the more it is pressed or
trodden upon, and to this circumstance the Clown here alludes. Frequent
notice is taken of this property in the plant by our ancient writers.
As in Tofte's "Honours Academie, or the Famous Pastorall of the Faire
Shepheardesse Julietta," 1610, p. 204, 5th part: "But as gold taken
out of the burning furnace, is farre more bright and fierce, than when
it was first flung in; and as _Camomell, the more it is trod upon, the
thicker and better it groweth_: even so we see this faire Archeresh to
shew more cleare and beautifull, when the flame was once past and gone
then she had bene before."

And in the "First Part of King Henry IV.," act ii. sc. 4: "For though
_the camomile the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows_, yet
youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears."

See other instances in the notes of Mr Steevens and Dr Farmer on the
last passage.

[134] [Recommended.]

[135] [I might go in search of it.]

[136] [A proverbial expression, by which the Clown ironically suggests
that the world is going to be good at last.]

[137] That is, acquainted, or informed him. [See note at vol. ix., p.
483.]

[138] [Old copy, _fears_.]

[139] The speech following has hitherto very mistakenly been assigned
to Verona. The sense, even without comparison with the old copy, shows
the error.--_Collier._

[140] [Old copy, _made_.]

[141] [Old copy, _So cast him from our presence._]

[142] The 4º reads, _Exeunt Lord_, &c., but Lorenzo is
meant.--_Collier._

[143] [Old copy, _of lords_.]

[144] See note on "Albumazar," [xi. 328.]

[145] _i.e._, Go before. Old copy, _Far more._--_Pegge._

[146] [In the former edits, this line precedes the one before it, to
the prejudice of the sense.]

[147] [Old copy, _butcher's_.]

[148] [Old copy, _orders bar_. Mr Collier's correction. He alludes, as
Mr Collier suggests, to the religious order to which he pretends to
belong.]



ACT IV.


                          _Enter +Abstemia+._

    +Abs.+ Here, miserable, despis'd Abstemia,
    In Milan let thy misery take breath,
    Wearied with many sufferings. O Lorenzo!
    How far in love I am with my affliction,
    Because it calls thee father! Unto this house,
    Where gentlewomen lodge, I was directed;
    But I here discover
    Strange actions closely carried in this house.
    Great persons (but not good) here nightly revel
    In surfeits and in riots, yet so carried,
    That the next day the place appears a sanctuary
    Rather than sin's foul receptacle. These ways
    Have to me still been strangers; but, Lorenzo,
    Thou couldst not, though, believe it. O jealousy!
    [O] love's eclipse! Thou art, in thy disease,
    A wild mad patient, wondrous hard to please.

                    _Enter +Timpania+ and +Morbo+._

    +Mor.+ Yonder she walks, mumbling to herself. The Prince
    Antonio has blessed her with's observation; and ye win her but
    to him, your house bears the bell away. Accost her quaintly.

    +Tim.+ I warrant thee, Morbo; Madonna Timpania has effected
    wonders of more weight than a maidenhead. Have I ruined so
    many city-citadels to let in court-martialists; and shall this
    country-cottage hold out? I were more fit for a cart than a
    coach then, i' faith. How now, Millicent, how d'ye this morning?

    +Abs.+ Well, I do thank so good a landlady.

    +Tim.+ But hark you, Mill. Is the door close, Morbo?

    +Mor.+ As a usurer's conscience. Grace was coming in, till she
    saw the door shut upon her.

    +Tim.+ I'll set Grace about her business, and I come to her. Is
    here any work for Grace, with a wanion to her?[149] We shall
    have eavesdroppers, shall we?

    +Abs.+ Chastity guard me! how I tremble.

    +Tim.+ Come hither, Mistress Millicent. Fie, how you let your
    hair hang about your ears too! How do you like my house, Mill?

    +Abs.+ Well indeed, well.

    +Tim.+ Nay, I know a woman may rise here in one month, and she
    will herself. But truth's truth: I know you see something, as
    they say, and so forth. Did you see the gallant was here last
    till twelve?

    +Abs.+ Which of them mean you? Here was many.

    +Tim.+ Which? he in the white feather, that supped in the
    gallery: was't not white, Morbo?

    +Mor.+ As a lady's hand; by these five fingers.

    +Tim.+ White? No, no, 'twas a tawny, now I remember.

    +Mor.+ As a gipsy, by this hand: it looked white by
    candle-light, though.

    +Tim.+ That lusty springal,[150] Millicent, is no worse man
    Than the Duke of Milan's son.

    +Abs.+ His excellent carriage spoke him of noble birth.

    +Tim.+ And this same duke's son loves you, Millicent.

    +Abs.+ Now Heaven defend me!

    +Tim.+ What, from a duke's son? marry, come up with a murrain,
    from whence came you, trow, ha?

    +Mor.+ Thus nice Grace was at first, and you remember.

    +Tim.+ I would have ye know, housewife, I could have taken my
    coach, and fetched him one of the best pieces in Milan, and her
    husband should have looked after me, that's neighbours might
    have noted, and cried, _Farewell, naunt,[151] commend me to
    mine uncle._

    +Mor.+ And yet from these perfumed fortunes Heaven defend you!

    +Abs.+ Perfumed, indeed.

    +Mor.+ Perfumed! I am a pander, a rogue, that hangs together
    like a beggar's rags, by geometry, if there were not three
    ladies swore yesterday that my mistress perfumed the coach! so
    they were fain to unbrace all the side-parts, to take in fresh
    air.

    +Tim.+ He tells you true; I keep no common company, I warrant
    ye. We vent no breathed ware here.

    +Abs.+ But have ye so many several women to answer so many men
    that come?

    +Mor.+ I'll answer that by demonstration. Have ye not observed
    the variation of a cloud? sometimes it will be like a lion,
    sometimes like a horse, sometimes a castle, and yet still a
    cloud.

    +Abs.+ True.

    +Mor.+ Why, so can we make one wench one day look like a
    country wench, another day like a citizen's wife, another day
    like a lady, and yet still be a punk.

    +Abs.+ What shall become of me? O, the curse
    Of goodness, to leave one woe for a worse!


    +Phil.+ Morrow, sweet madam.
    O, look how, like the sun behind a cloud,
    The beams do give intelligence it is there!

    +Tim.+ You're reciprocal welcome, sir.

    +Phil.+ What, have ye not brought this young wild haggard[152]
    to the lure yet?

    +Tim.+ Faith, sir, she's a little irregular yet: but time, that
    turns citizens' caps into court-periwigs, will bring the wonder
    about.

    +Phil.+ Bless you, sweet mistress!

                     _Enter +Antonio+ and +Slave+._

    +Mor.+ 'Sfoot! here's the prince: I smell thunder.

    +Tim.+ Your grace is most methodically welcome. You must pardon
    my variety of phrase: the courtiers e'en cloy us with good
    words.

    +Ant.+ What's he?

    +Mor.+ A gentleman of Ferrara, sir; one Pedro Sebastiano.

    +Ant.+ And do ye set her out to sale? I charged ye reserve for
    me alone.

    +Tim.+ Indeed, sir----

    +Ant.+ Pox of your deeds!                              [_Kicks her._

    +Tim.+ O my sciatica!

    +Ant.+ Sirrah, you perfumed rascal!

                                         [_Kicks +Philippo+. They draw._

    +Tim.+ Nay, good my lord.

    +Mor.+ Good sir, 'tis one of the duke's chamber.

    +Phil.+ Let him be of the devil's chamber.

    +Ant.+ Sirrah, leave the house, or I will send thee out with
    thunder.

    +Slave.+ Good sir, 'tis madness here to stand him.

    +Phil.+ 'Sfoot, kicked! Pray that we meet no more again, sir:
    still keep heaven about you.[153]

    +Abs.+ Whate'er thou art, a good man still go with thee.

    +Ant.+ Will you bestow a cast of your professions?

    +Mor.+ We are vanished, sir.

    +Tim.+ This 'tis to dream of rotten glasses, Morbo.

    +Abs.+ O, what shall become of me? In his eye murder and lust
    contend.

    +Ant.+ Nay, fly not, you sweet,
    I am not angry with you; indeed, I am not.
    Do you know me?

    +Abs.+ Yes, sir, report hath given intelligence
    You are the prince, the duke's son.

    +Ant.+ Both in one.

    +Abs.+ Report, sure,
    Spoke but her native language: you are none of either.

    +Ant.+ How?

    +Abs.+ Were you the prince, you would not, sure, be slav'd
    To your blood's passion. I do crave your pardon
    For my rough language: truth hath a forehead free,
    And in the tow'r of her integrity
    Sits an unvanquish'd virgin. Can you imagine
    'Twill appear possible you are the prince?
    Why, when you set your foot first in this house,
    You crush'd obedient duty unto death,
    And even then fell from you your respect.
    Honour is like a goodly old house, which
    If we repair not still with virtue's hand,
    Like a citadel being madly rais'd on sand,
    It falls, is swallow'd, and not found [again].

    +Ant.+ If you rail upon the place, prythee,
    How cam'st thou hither?

    +Abs.+ By treacherous intelligence. Honest men so
    In the way ignorant, through thieves' purlieus go.
    Are you [the] son to such a noble father?
    [And would you] send him to's grave then,
    Like a white almond-tree, full of glad days,
    With joy that he begot so good a son.
    O sir, methinks I see sweet majesty
    Sit with a mourning sad face full of sorrows,
    To see you in this place. This is a cave
    Of scorpions and of dragons. O, turn back:
    Toads here engender; 'tis the steam of death:
    The very air poisons a good man's breath.

    +Ant.+ Within there!

                    _Enter +Timpania+ and +Morbo+._

    +Mor.+ Sir.

    +Ant.+ Is my caroch at door?

    +Tim.+ And your horses too, sir. Ye found her pliant?

    +Ant.+ Y' are rotten hospitals hung with greasy satin!

    +Tim.+ Ah!

    +Mor.+ Came this nice piece from Naples, with a pox to her?

    +Tim.+ And she has not Neapolitanised him, I'll be flea'd
    for't.                                [_Exeunt +Bawd+ and +Pander+._

    +Ant.+ Let me borrow goodness from thy lip. Farewell.
    Here's a new wonder: I have met heaven in hell.           [_Exeunt._

          _Enter +Venice+, +Verona+, +Lodovico+, +Pandulpho+,
                               +Jaspro+._

    +Ver.+ Is this your chaste, religious lady?

    +Lod.+ Nay, good my lord, let it be carried with a silent
    reputation, for the credit of the conclusion. As all here are
    privy to the passage, I do desire not to be laughed at till
    after the masque, and we are all ready. I have made bold with
    some of your grace's gentlemen, that are good dancers.

    +Ver.+ 'Tis one of my greatest wonders, credit me,
    To think what way she will devise here openly
    To perform her so strict penance.

    +Ven.+ It busies me, believe me, too.

    +Jas.+ Ye may see now, sir, how possible it is for a cunning
    lady to make an ass of a lord too confident.

    +Lod.+ An ass! I will prove a contented cuckold the wisest man
    in's company.

    +Ver.+ How prove you that, sir?

    +Lod.+ Because he knows himself.

    +Ver.+ Very well brought in.
    Is all our furniture fit, against the morning,
    To go for Milan?

    +Jas.+ Ready, and like your grace.

    +Ver.+ We are given to understand, the injur'd princess,
    Whom Count Lorenzo and noble Philippo
    Are, unknown to one another, gone in search of,
    Hath been seen there disguis'd. Strict inquisition
    From the duke himself shall, ere many days,
    Give our hopes satisfaction.

        _Enter +Dorothea+, +Ladies+, +Francisco+, and +Clown+._

    +Jas.+ The ladies, sir. Francisco keeps before, sir,
    And Pambo keeps all well behind.

    +Lod.+ Yes, there's devout lechery between hawk and buzzard.
    But, please ye, set the ladies: the masque attends your grace.
                                                                [_Exit._

    +Ver.+ Come, ladies, sit. Madonna Dorothea,
    Your ingenious lord hath suddenly prepar'd us
    For a conceited masque, and himself, it seems,
    Plays the presenter.

    +Dor.+ Now, fie upon this vanity!
    A profane masque? Chastity keep us, ladies.

    +Ven.+ What, from a masque? Whereon grounds your wish?

    +Dor.+ Marry, my lord, upon experience.
    I heard of one once brought his wife to a masque
    As chaste as a cold night; but, poor unfortunate fellow,
    He lost her in the throng; and she, poor soul,
    Came home so crush'd next morning!

    +Ven.+ 'Las, that was ill:
    But women will be lost against their will.

    +Ver.+ Silence, the masquers enter.

          _Enter +Lodovico+, +Clown+, and +Masquers+: a stag,
                      a ram, a bull, and a goat._

    +Clown.+ Look to me, master.

    +Lod.+ Do not shake: they'll think th' art out. A
    masque[154]----

    +Clown.+ A masque, or no masque; no masque but a by-clap;
    And yet a masque yclep'd _A City Nightcap._

    +Lod.+ And conve----

    +Clown.+ And conveniently for to keep off scorns.
    Considerately the cap is hedg'd with horns.

    +Lod.+ We insinuate.

    +Clown.+ Speak a little louder.

    +Lod.+ We insinuate.

    +Clown.+ We insinuate, by this stag and ram so pretty,
    With goat and bull, court, country, camp, and city.

    +Lod.+ Cuckold.

    +Clown.+ Cuckold, my lord?

    +Lod.+ 'Tis the first word of your next line.

    +Clown.+ O---- Cuckold begins with C. And is't not sport?
    The C begins with country, camp, and court:
    But here's the fine figary of our poet,
    That one may wear this nightcap, and not know it.

    +Dor.+ Why, chicken, shall they make such an ass of thee? Good
    your grace, can a woman endure to see her loving husband wear
    horns in's own house?

    +Ver.+ Pray, lady, 'tis but in jest.

    +Dor.+ In jest? Nay, for the jest sake, keep then on, sweet
    bird.

    +Clown.+ Now to our masque's name: but first, be it known-a
    When I name a city, I only mean Verona.

    Those two lines are extempore, I protest, sir; I brought them
    in, because here are some of other cities in the room, that
    might snuff pepper else.[155]

    +Ven.+ You have fairly ta'en that fear off; pray, proceed.

    +Lod.+ Your kindest men----

    +Clown.+ Your kindest men most cuckolds are, O pity!
    And where have women most their will? i'th'[156] city!
    Seek[157] for a nightcap, go to cuckolds' luck;
    Who thrives like him who hath the daintiest duck
    To deck his stall? nay, at the time of rapping,
    When you may take the watch at corners napping;
    Take it, forsooth--it is a wondrous hap,
    If you find master constable without his cap:
    So a city nightcap, for whilst he doth roam
    And fights abroad, his wife commits at home.

    +Ven.+ A Verona constable.

    +Clown.+ A constable of Verona; we will not meddle with your
    city of Venice, sir.

    Therefore 'tis fit the city, wise men say,
    Should have a cap called Cornucopia.

    +Lod.+ To con----

    +Clown.+ To conclude our cap, and stretch it on the tenter,
    'Tis known a city is the whole land's centre:
    So that a city nightcap ours we call
    By a conclusion philosophical.
    Heavy bodies tend to th' centre, so (the more the pity)
    The heaviest heads do butt upon the city:
    And to our dance this title doth redound,
    _A city nightcap_, alias, _cuckolds' round_.

    +Dor.+ Cuckolds' round! and my sweet bird leads the dance!

    +Ver.+ Be patient, madam, 'tis but honest mirth:
    From good construction pleasure finds full birth.          [_Dance._

    +Ver.+ Jaspro, fill some wine.

    +Jas.+ 'Tis here, sir.

    +Ver.+ Count Lodovico!

    +Lod.+ Sir.

    +Ver.+ I'll instantly give you a fair occasion to produce
    The performance of her penance.

    +Lod.+ I'll catch occasion by the lock,[158] sir.

    +Ver.+ Here, a health to all; it shall go round.

    +Lod.+ 'Tis a general health, and leads the rest into the field.

    +Clown.+ Your honour breaks jests as servingmen do glasses--by
    chance.

    +Ver.+ As I was drinking, I was thinking, trust me,
    How fortunate our kind host was to meet with
    So chaste a wife. Troth, tell me, good Count Lodowick,
    Admit Heaven had her----

    +Lod.+ O good your grace, do not wound me--
    Admit Heaven had her! 'las, what should Heaven do with her?

    +Ver.+ Your love makes you thus passionate; but admit so:
    Faith, what wife would you choose?

    +Lod.+ Were I to choose then, as I would I were, so this were at Japan,
    I would wish, my lord, a wife so like my lady,
    That once a week she should go to confession;
    And to perform the penance she should run,
    Nay, should do nought but dream on't, till 'twere done.

    +Jas.+ A delicate memento to put her in mind of her penance. [_Aside._

    +Dor.+ Now you talk of dreams, sweetheart, I'll tell ye a very
    unhappy one: I was a-dreamed last night of Francis there.

    +Lod.+ Of Frank?

    +Dor.+ Nay, I have done with him.

    +Lod.+ Now your grace shall see the devil outdone.

    +Ver.+ Pray, let us hear your dream.

    +Dor.+ Bless me! I am e'en asham'd to tell it: but 'tis no
        matter, chick,
    A dream is a dream, and this it was.
    Methought, sweet husband, Francis lay with me.

    +Lod.+ The best friend still at home, Francisco.
    Could the devil, sir, perform a penance neater,
    And save his credit better? On, chick; a dream is but a dream.

    +Dor.+ Methought I prov'd with child, sweetheart.

    +Lod.+ Ay, bird?

    +Fran.+ Pox of these dreams!

    +Dor.+ Methought I was brought to bed; and one day sitting
    I' th' gallery, where your masquing-suits and vizards hang,
    Having the child, methought, upon my knee,
    Who should come thither, as to play at foils,
    But thou, sweetheart, and Francis?

    +Lod.+ Frank and I! Does your grace mark that?

    +Ver.+ I do, and wonder at her neat conveyance on't.

    +Dor.+ Ye had not play'd three veneys,[159] but methought
    He hit thee such a blow upon the forehead,
    It swell'd so, that thou couldst not see.

    +Lod.+ See, see!

    +Dor.+ At which the child cried, so that I could not still it;
    Whereat, methought, I pray'd thee to put on
    The hat thou wor'st but now before the duke, thinking thereby
    To still the child: but, being frighted with't,
    He cried the more.

    +Lod.+ He! Frank, thou gett'st boys.

    +Fran.+ In dreams, it seems, sir.

    +Dor.+ Whereat I cried, methought, pointing to thee--
    Away, thou naughty man, you are not this child's father!

    +Lod.+ Meaning the child Francisco got.

    +Dor.+ The same: and then I wak'd and kiss'd thee.

    +Omnes.+ A pretty merry dream!


    +Jas.+ Your servant tells me,
    Count Lodowick, that one Father Antony,
    A holy man, stays without to speak with you.

    +Lod.+ With me or my lady?

    +Jas.+ Nay, with you, and about earnest business.

    +Lod.+ I'll go send up, and he shall interpret my lady's dream.
    Hist, Jaspro.                                             [_Exeunt._

    +Dor.+ Why, husband! my lord!

    +Fran.+ Didst mark? He must interpret.[160]

    +Clown.+ I smell wormwood and vinegar.                     [_Aside._

    +Ven.+ She changes colour.

    +Dor.+ He will not, sure, reveal confession!

    +Ver.+ We'll rise, and to our lodgings: I think your highness
    Keeps better hours in Venice?

    +Ven.+ As all do, sir:
    We many times make modest mirth a necessity
    To produce ladies' dreams.

    +Fran.+ How they shoot at us! Would I were in Milan!
    These passages fry me.

                 _Enter +Jaspro+ and +Lodovico+._[161]

    +Jas.+ Here's strange juggling come to light.

    +Ver.+ Ha; juggling!

    +Jas.+ This friar hath confess'd unto Count Lodowick,
    That this lady here, being absolv'd, confess'd
    This morning to him here, in her own house,
    Her man Francisco here had lain with her.
    At which her lord runs up and down the garden
    Like one distracted, crying, _Ware horns, ho!_

    +Dor.+ Art mad? Deny it yet; I am undone else.

    +Clown.+ Father Tony!

    +Lod.+ I confess it, I deny it--ay, anything. I do everything;
    I do nothing.

    +Ver.+ The friar's fallen frantic; and being mad,
    Depraves a lady of so chaste a breast,
    A bad thought never bred there.

    +Dor.+ 'Tis my misfortune still to suffer, sir.

    +Lod.+ Did you not see one slip out of a cloak-bag i' th'
    fashion of a flitch of bacon, and run under the table amongst
    the hogs?

    +Ven.+ He's mad, he's mad.

    +Clown.+ Ay, ay, a tithe-pig: 'twas overlaid last night, and he
    speaks nonsense all the day after----

    +Dor.+ Shall I, sir, suffer this--in mine own house too?

    +Clown.+ I'd scratch out his eyes first.

    +Ver.+ Since, lady, you and your man Francisco
    Are the two injur'd persons, here disrobe
    This irregular son of his religious mother,
    Expose him to th' apparent blush of shame,
    And tear those holy weeds off.

    +Fran.+ Now you, my frantic brother,
    Had you not been better spar'd your breath?

    +Dor.+ And ye keep counsel, sir, no better,
    We'll ease you of your orders.

    +Clown.+ Nay, let me have a hand in't: I'll tear the coat with
    more zeal than a puritan would tear a surplice.

    +Fran.+ See what 'tis to accuse when you're mad.

    +Dor.+ I confess again to you now, sir, this man did lie with
    me.

    +Clown.+ And I brought him to her chamber, too: but come, turn
    out here.

    +Duke.+ Who's this?

    +Omnes.+ 'Tis Count Lodowick.

    +Lod.+ How dreams, sweet wife, do fall out true!

    +Clown.+ I was a-dream'd, now I remember, I was whipped through
    Verona.

    +Lod.+ I was your confessor:
    Did not I enjoin your chaste nice ladyship
    A dainty penance?

    +Jas.+ And she perform'd it
    As daintily, sir, we'll be sworn for that.

    +Dor.+ O good sir, I crave your pardon!

    +Lod.+ And what say you, Francis?

    +Fran.+ You have run best, sir: vain 'tis to defend;
    Craft sets forth swift, but still fails in the end.

    +Lod.+ You brought him to her chamber, Pambo.

    +Clown.+ Good my lord, I was merely inveigled to't.

    +Lod.+ I have nothing to do with ye; I take no notice of ye; I
    have played my part off to th' life, and your grace promised to
    perform yours.

    +Ver.+ And publicly we will still raise their fame:
    Who e'er knew private sin 'scape public shame?
    You, sir, that do appear a gentleman,
    Yet are within slave to dishonest passions,
    You shall through Verona ride upon an ass
    With your face towards his back-part, and in
    Your hand his tail 'stead of a bridle.

    +Clown.+ Snails! upon an ass? an't 'ad been upon a horse, it
    had been worthy, gramercy.

    +Ver.+ Peace, sirrah:
    After that, you shall be branded in the forehead,
    And after banish'd. Away with him!

    +Fran.+ Lust is still
    Like a midnight meal: after our violent drinkings,
    'Tis swallow'd greedily; but, the course being kept,
    We are sicker when we wake than ere we slept.               [_Exit._

    +Clown.+ He must be branded! if the whoremaster be burnt, what
    shall become of the procurer?

    +Ver.+ You, madam, in that you have cosen'd sanctity,
    To promise her the vows you never paid,
    You shall unto the monastery of matrons,
    And spend your days reclusive: for we conceive it
    Her greatest plague, who her days in lust hath pass'd
    And soil'd, against[162] her will to be kept chaste.

    +Dor.+ Your doom is just: no sentence can be given
    Too hard for her plays fast and loose[163] with Heaven.

    +Lod.+ I will buss thee, and bid fair weather after thee. But
    for you, sirrah----

    +Clown.+ Nay, sir, 'tis but _crede quod habes, et habes_, at
    most; believe I have a halter, and I have one.

    +Ver.+ You, sirrah, we are possess'd, were their pander.

    +Clown.+ I brought but flesh to flesh, sir, and your grace does
    as much when you bring your meat to your mouth.

    +Ver.+ You, sirrah, at a cart's tail shall be whipped through
    the city.

    +Clown.+ There's my dream out already! but, since there is no
    remedy but that whipping-cheer must close up my stomach, I
    would request a note from your grace to the carman, to entreat
    him to drive apace; I shall never endure it else.

    +Ver.+ I hope, Count Lodowick, we have satisfied ye.

    +Lod.+ To th' full; and I think the cuckold catch'd the
    cuckold-makers.

    +Ver.+ 'Twas a neat penance; but, O the art of woman in the
    performance!

    +Lod.+ Pshaw, sir, 'tis nothing: had she been in her gran'am's place--
    Had not the devil first begun the sin,
    And cheated her, she would have cheated him.

    +Ver.+ Let all to rest: and, noble sir, i' th' morning
    With a small private train we are for Milan.
    Vice for a time may shine, and virtue sigh;
    But truth, like heaven's sun, plainly doth reveal,
    And scourge or crown, what darkness did conceal.

FOOTNOTES:

[149] This expression occurs in "Pericles, Prince of Tyre," act ii. sc,
1--

    "Look how thou stirrest now:
    Come away, I'll fetch thee with a _wannion_."

Again, in Ben Jonson's "Devil is an Ass"--

                      "And a cuckold is,
    Where'er he put his head with a _wannion_,
    If his horns be forth, the devil's companion!"

[And in a thousand other places.]

[150] _Springal_ (adolescens), a youth.--_Skinner._ So in Spenser's
"Faery Queene," bk. v. c. x. s. 6--

    "Amongst the rest which in that space befel,
    There came two _springals_ of full tender yeers."

And in "Wily Beguiled," 1606: "Pray ye, maid, bid him welcome, and make
much of him, for by my vay, he's a good proper _springold_."

[151] [_i.e._, Aunt, a phrase already explained.]

[152] "A haggard goshawke" is one that is wild and hard to reclaim. See
Latham's "Book of Faulconry," 1633.

And Massinger's "Maid of Honour," act ii. sc. 2--

    "A proud _haggard_,
    And not to be reclaim'd!"

[153] Philippo here makes his _Exit_, which is not marked in the
old copy, and, under the circumstances, is not very creditable to
him.--_Collier._

[154] Lodovico stands by, and prompts the Clown as he speaks the
prologues.--_Collier._

[155] _i.e._, Might take offence, or be affronted. To _take pepper in
the nose_, was formerly a cant phrase for being affronted or irritated;
as in Tarlton's "Newes out of Purgatory," 1630, p. 10: "Myles hearing
him name the Baker, _tooke straight pepper in the nose_, and starting
up, threw off his cardinals roabes."

[156] Old copy, _on_.

[157] Old copy, _Sick_.

[158] As we should say, _by the forelock_.

[159] _i.e._, Says Mr Steevens (note to "Merry Wives of Windsor," act
i. sc. 1), "three _venues_, Fr. three different set-to's, _bouts_, a
technical term." Several instances are there produced, to which may be
added the following:--

Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour," act i. sc. 5--

    "+Mat.+ But one _venue_, sir.

    +Bob.+ _Venue!_ fie, a most gross denomination as ever I heard."

"The Old Law," by Massinger, &c., act iii. sc. 2--

    "To give your perfum'd worship _three venues_.
    A sound old man puts his thrust better home
    Than a spic'd young man."

Greene's "Historie of Fryer Bacon and Fryer Bungay," Sig. G 4, edit.
1630--

    "Why stand'st thou, Serlsby, doubt'st thou of thy life.
    A _veney_, man! faire Margaret craves so much."

Fennor's "Compter's Commonwealth," 1617, p. 21: "Thus are my young
novices strucke to the heart at the first _venny_, and dares come no
more for feare of as sharp a repulse."

[160] [Old copy reads,] _I must interpret._ Francisco seems to allude
to Lodovico's last words.--_Pegge._

[161] Lodovico is disguised like a friar, as is evident from the rest
of the scene.--_Collier._

[162] [Old copy, _is against_.]

[163] "_Fast and loose_," says Sir John Hawkins (note to "Antony and
Cleopatra," act iv. sc. 10), "is a term to signify a cheating game, of
which the following is a description. A leathern belt is made up into
a number of intricate folds, and placed edgewise upon a table. One
of the folds is made to represent the middle of the girdle, so that
whoever should thrust a skewer into it would think he held it fast to
the table; whereas, when he has so done, the person with whom he plays
may take hold of both ends and draw it away. The trick is now known to
the common people by the name of pricking at the belt or girdle." The
Gipsies, so early as the reign of Queen Elizabeth, were great adepts in
these practices. See Scot's "Discoverie of witchcraft," 1584, p. 336;
where in the 29th chapter is described the manner of playing at _fast
and loose_ with handkerchiefs, &c.



ACT V.


               _Enter +Antonio+ and a +Slave+, one in the
                             other's habit_

    +Slave.+ But faith, sir, what's your device in this?
    This change insinuates some project.

    +Ant.+ Shall I tell thee?
    Thou art my slave; I took thee (then a Turk)
    In the fight thou know'st we made before Palermo:
    Thou art not in stricter bondage unto me
    Than I am unto Cupid.

    +Slave.+ O, then you are going, sir,
    To your old rendezvous; there are brave rogues there:
    But the duke observes you narrowly, and sets spies
    To watch if you step that way.

    +Ant.+ Why therefore, man,
    Thus many times I have chang'd habits with thee,
    To cheat suspicion: and prejudicate Nature
    (Mistress of inclinations), sure, intended
    To knit thee up so like me for this purpose;
    For th' hast been taken in my habit for me.

    +Slave.+ Yes, and have had many a French cringe,
    As I have walk'd i' th' park; and, for fear of discovery,
    I have crown'd it only with a nod.

                           _Enter a +Lord+._

    +Ant.+ Th' art a mad villain.
    But, sirrah, I am wondrously taken
    With a sweet face I saw yonder; thou know'st where.

    +Slave.+ At Venus College, the court bawdy-house.

    +Ant.+ But this maid, howsoever she came there,
    Is acquainted so with Heaven, that when I thought
    To have quench'd my frantic blood, and to have pluck'd
    The fruit a king would leap at: even then
    She beat me with such brave thunder off, as if
    Heaven had lent her the artillery of angels.

    +Slave.+ She was coy then?

    +Ant.+ Coy, man! she was honest--left coyness to court ladies:
    She spake the language of the saints, methought.
    Holy spectators sat on silver clouds,
    And clapp'd their white wings at her well-plac'd words.
    She piecemeal pull'd the frame of my intentions,
    And so join'd it again, that all the tempest
    Of blood can never move it.

    +Slave.+ Some rare phœnix! what's her name?

    +Ant.+ 'Tis Millicenta, and wondrous aptly,
    For she is mistress of a hundred thousand holy heavenly thoughts.
    Chastely I love her now, and she must know it:
    Such wondrous wealth is virtue, it makes the woman
    Wears it about her worthy of a king,
    Since kings can be but virtuous: farewell.
    A crown is but the care of deceiv'd life;
    He's king of men is crown'd with such a wife.

                            [_Exit +Antonio+, and the +Lord+ after him._

    +Slave.+ Are your thoughts levell'd at that white, then?[164]
    This shall to th' duke your dad, sir. He can never talk with me,[165]
    But he twits me still with, _I took thee at that fight
    We made before Palermo_! I did command
    Men as he did there, Turks and valiant men:
    And though to wind myself up for his ruin,
    That I may fall and crush him, I appear
    To renounce Mahomet, and seem a Christian,
    'Tis but conveniently to stab this Christian,
    Or any way confound him, and 'scape cleanly.
    Ere[166] one expects the deed: to hasten it,
    This letter came even now, which likewise certifies
    He waits me three leagues off, with a horse for flight
    Of a Turkish captain, commander of a galley.
    He keeps me as his slave, because indeed
    I play'd the devil at sea with him; but having
    Thus wrought myself into him, I intend
    To give him but this day to take his leave
    Of the whole world. He will come back by twilight:
    I'll wait him with a pistol. O sweet revenge!
    Laugh, our great prophet, he shall understand,
    When we think death farthest off, he's nearest hand.

                          _Enter +Philippo+._

    +Phil.+ You and I must meet no more, sir: there's your kick again.

                                                           [_Kicks him._

    +Slave.+ Hold, hold! what mean you, sir?

    +Phil.+ I have brought your kick back, sir----        [_Shoots him._

    +Slave.+ Hold, man, I am not----                           [_Falls._

    +Phil.+ Thou hast spoken true, thou art not---- What art thou?
    But I am for Verona.                                        [_Exit._

    +Slave.+ Mine own words catch me: 'tis I now understand,
    When we think death farthest off, he's nearest hand.        [_Dies._

                           _Enter +Lorenzo+._

    +Lor.+ She lives not, sure, in Milan! report but wore
    Her usual habit when she told in Verona
    She met Abstemia here. O Abstemia,
    How lovely thou look'st now! now thou appearest
    Chaster than is the morning's modesty,
    That rises with a blush, over whose bosom
    The western wind creeps softly. Now I remember
    How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye
    Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well,
    Unless it look'd where I look'd. O, how proud
    She was, when she could cross herself to please me!
    But where now is this fair soul? like a silver cloud,
    She hath wept herself, I fear, into th' dead sea,
    And will be found no more: this makes me mad,
    To rave and call on death; but the slave shrinks,[167]
    And is as far to find as she. Abstemia,
    If thou not answer or appear to knowledge,
    That here with shame I sought thee in this wood,
    I'll leave the blushing witness of my blood.                [_Exit._

          _Enter the +Duke of Milan+, +Sebastiano+, +Sanchio+,
                            and the +Lord+._

    +Mil.+ Followed you him thus far?

    +Lord.+ Just to this place, sir:
    The slave he loves left him; here they parted.

    +Mil.+ Certain, he has some private haunt this way.

    +Seb.+ Ha! private indeed, sir: O, behold and see
    Where he lies full of wounds!

    +Lord.+ My lord.

    +Mil.+ My son Antonio! who hath done this deed?

    +San.+ My Lord Antonio!

    +Mil.+ He's gone, he's gone! warm yet? bleeds fresh? and whilst
    We here hold passion play, we but advantage
    The flying murderer. Bear his body gently
    Unto the lodge. O, what hand hath so hid
    That sunlike face behind a crimson cloud!
    Use all means possible for life: but I fear
    Charity will arrive too late. To horse!
    Disperse through the wood: run, ride, make way,
    The sun in Milan is eclips'd this day!

    +Omnes.+ To horse, and raise more pursuit!                [_Exeunt._

                _Enter +Lorenzo+ with his sword drawn._

    +Lor.+ Abstemia! O, take her name, you winds, upon your wings,
    And through the wanton region of the air
    Softly convey it to her. There's no sweet sufferance,
    Which bravely she pass'd through, but is a thorn
    Now to my sides: my will the centre stood
    To all her chaste endeavours: all her actions,
    With a perfection perpendicular,
    Pointed upon it. She is lost! O she,
    The well-built fort of virtue's victory!
    For still she conquer'd: since she is lost, then,
    My friendly sword, find thou my heart.

    +With.+ Follow, follow!

         _Enter +Duke of Milan+, +Sanchio+, and +Sebastiano.+_

    +Mil.+ This way. What's he? lay hands on him.

    +Seb.+ The murd'rer, on my life, my lord, here in the wood
    Was close beset; he would have slain himself.

    +Mil.+ Speak, villain, art thou the bloody murderer?

    +Lor.+ Of whom?

    +San.+ His dissembled ignorance speaks him the man.

    +Seb.+ Of the duke's son, the Prince Antonio, sir:
    'Twas your hand that kill'd him.

    +Lor.+ Your lordship lies; it was my sword.

    +Mil.+ Out, slave!
    Ravens shall feed upon thee: speak, what cause
    Hadst thou with one unhappy wound to cloud
    That star of Milan?

    +Lor.+ Because he was an erring star,
    Not fix'd nor regular. I will resolve nothing:
    I did it, do not repent it; and were it
    To do again, I'd do't.

    +Omnes.+ Bloodthirsty villain!

    +Mil.+ Lead[168] him to swift destruction, tortures, and death.
    O my Antonio! how did thy youth stray,
    To meet wild winter in the midst of May?

    +Lor.+ O my Abstemia! who cast thy fate so bad,
    To clip[169] affliction, like a husband clad?             [_Exeunt._

                   _Enter +Antonio+ and +Abstemia+._

    +Abs.+ Good sir, the prince makes known his wisdom,
    To make you speaker in his cause.

    +Ant.+ Me? know, mistress,
    I have felt love's passions equal with himself,
    And can discourse of love's cause: had you seen him
    When he sent me to ye, how truly he did look;
    And when your name slipp'd through his trembling lips,
    A lover's lovely paleness straight possess'd him.

    +Abs.+ Fie, fie!

    +Ant.+ Go, says he, to that something more than woman--
    And he look'd as if by something he meant saint;
    Tell her I saw heaven's army in her eyes,
    And that from her chaste heart such excellent goodness
    Came, like full rivers flowing, that there wants nothing
    But her soft yielding will to make her wife
    Unto the Prince Antonio. O, will you fly
    A fortune, which great ladies would pursue
    Upon their knees with prayers?

    +Abs.+ No, Lorenzo,
    Had law to this new love made no denial:
    A chaste wife's truth shines through the greatest trial.


    +Mor.+ How now, what make you i' th' wood here?
    Where's my old lady?

    +Abs.+ I know not.

    +Mor.+ All the country's in an uproar yonder: the Prince
    Antonio's slain.

    +Ambo.+ How!

    +Mor.+ Nay, no man can tell how; but the murd'rer with's sword
    in's hand is taken.

    +Ant.+ Is he of Milan?

    +Mor.+ No, of Verona: I heard his name, and I have forgot it.

    +Ant.+ I am all wonder; 'tis the slave, sure!

    +Mor.+ Lor--Lor--Lorenzo.

    +Abs.+ Ha, Lorenzo! What, I pray?

    +Mor.+ Lorenzo Me--Medico has run him in the eye, some
    thirty-three inches, two barleycorns: they could scarce know
    him for the blood, but by his apparel. I must find out my
    lady; he used our house; intelligence has been given of his
    pilgrimage thither. I am afraid I shall be singed to death with
    torches, and my lady stewed between two dishes.

    +Ant.+ Why hath this thus amazed you, mistress?

    +Abs.+ O, leave me, leave me: I am all distraction;
    Struck to the soul with sorrow.

            _Enter +Milan+, +Lords+, and +Lorenzo+ guarded._

    +Ant.+ See where they come!
    My father full of tears, too. I'll stand by:
    Strange changes must have strange discovery.

    +Abs.+ 'Tis he: heart, how thou leap'st! O ye deluded,
    And full of false rash judgment! why do ye lead
    Innocence like a sacrifice to slaughter?
    Get garlands rather: let palm and laurel round[170]
    Those temples, where such wedlock-truth is found.

    +Lor.+ Ha!

    +Omnes.+ Wedlock!

    +Abs.+ O Lorenzo! thou hast suffer'd bravely,
    And wondrous far: look on me, here I come,
    Hurried by conscience to confess the deed.
    Thy innocent blood will be too great a burthen
    Upon the judge's soul.

    +Lor.+ Abstemia!

    +Abs.+ Look, look,
    How he will blind ye! by and by, he'll tell ye
    We saw not one another many a day;
    In love's cause we dare make our lives away.
    He would redeem mine: 'tis my husband, sir;
    Dearly we love together; but I, being often
    By the dead prince, your son, solicited
    To wrong my husband's bed, and still resisting,
    Where you found him dead he met me, and the place
    Presenting opportunity, he would there
    Have forc'd me to his will; but prizing honesty
    Far above proffer'd honour, with my knife,
    In my resistance, most unfortunately
    I struck him in the eye. He fell, was found,
    The pursuit rais'd, and ere I could get home
    My husband met me; I confess'd all to him.
    He, excellent in love as the sea-inhabitant,
    Of whom 'tis writ that, when the flatt'ring hook
    Has struck his female, he will help her off,
    Although he desperately put on himself,
    But if he fail, and see her leave his eye,
    He swims to land, will languish, and there die--
    Such is his love to me; for, pursu'd closely,
    He bid me save myself, and he would stay
    With his drawn sword there about the place, on purpose
    To requite my loyalty, though with his death.
    Fear forc'd my acceptance then; but conscience
    Hath brought me back to preserve innocence.

    +Seb.+ The circumstances produce probability.

    +Lor.+ By truth herself she slanders truth: she and I
    Have not met these many months. O my Abstemia!
    Thou wouldst be now too excellent.

    +Ant.+ These are strange turns.

    +Mil.+ Let not love strangle justice. Speak: on thy soul,
    Was it her hand that slew the prince?

    +Lor.+ Not, on my life;
    'Tis I have deserv'd death.

    +Abs.+ Love makes him desperate,
    Conscience is my accuser. O Lorenzo!

                                      [_The +Duke+ and +Lords+ whisper._

    Live thou, and feed on my remembrance:
    When thou shalt think how ardently I love thee,
    Drop but a pair of tears from those fair eyes,
    Thou offer'st truth a wealthy sacrifice.

    +Lor.+ Did ye hear, sir?

    +Mil.+ No, what said she?

    +Lor.+ She ask'd me, why I would cast myself away thus,
    When she in love devis'd this trick to save me.

    +San.+ There may be juggling, sir, in this: it may be
    They have both hands i' th' deed, and one in love
    Would suffer for't.

                           _Enter a +Lord+._

    +Mil.+ What news?

    +Lord.+ The Dukes of Venice and Verona,
    With some small train of gentlemen, are privately
    This hour come to the court.

    +Mil.+ Bear them to prison,
    Until we have given such entertainment sorrow
    Will give us leave to show: until that time,
    The satisfaction of my lost son's life
    Must hover 'twixt a husband and a wife.  [_Exeunt. Manet +Antonio+._

    +Ant.+ How strangely chance to-day runs! the slave kill'd
    In my apparel, and this fellow taken for't,
    Whom to my knowledge I never saw. She loves him
    Past all expression dearly. I have a trick,
    In that so infinitely dear she loves him,
    Has seal'd her mine already; and I'll put
    This wondrous love of woman to such a nonplus,
    Time hath produc'd none stranger. I will set
    Honour and Love to fight for life and death.
    Beauty (as castles built of cards) with a breath
    Is levell'd and laid flat.

          _Enter +Philippo+, putting on a disguise, lays down
                               a pistol._

    +Phil.+ Misery of ignorance!
    It was the Prince Antonio I have slain.

    +Ant.+ Ha! the clue of all this error is unravell'd,
    This is the valiant gentleman so threaten'd me:
    He met the slave, doubtless, in my habit,
    And seal'd upon him his mistaken spleen.
    If it be so, there hangs some strange intent
    In those accuse themselves for't.

    +Phil.+ It seems some other had laid the plot to kill him.
    This paper I found with him speaks as much,
    And, sent to the intended murderer,
    Happen'd (it seems) to his hands. It concurs;
    For they say, there is one taken for the fact,
    And will do me the courtesy to be hang'd for me.
    There's comfort yet in that. So, so: I am fitted;
    And will set forward.              [_+Antonio+ takes up the pistol._

    +Ant.+ Goose, there's a fox in your way.

    +Phil.+ Betrayed!

    +Ant.+ Come, I have another business afoot: I have no time
    to discover 'em now, sir. See, I can enforce you; but by
    this hand, go but with me, and keep your own counsel.
    Garden-houses[171] are not truer bawds to cuckold-making, than
    I will be to thee and thy stratagem.

    +Phil.+ Th' art a mad knave: art serious?

    +Ant.+ As a usurer when he's telling interestmoney.

    +Phil.+ Whate'er thou art, thy bluntness begets belief. Go on,
    I trust thee.

    +Ant.+ But I have more wit than to trust you behind me, sir;
    pray, get you before. I have a friend shall keep you in custody
    till I have passed a project; and if you can keep your own
    counsel, I will not injure you. And this for your comfort--the
    prince lives.

    +Phil.+ Living! Thou mak'st my blood dance.
    But prythee, let's be honest one to another.

    +Ant.+ O sir, as the justices' clerk and the constable, when
    they share the crowns that drunkards pay to the poor. Pray,
    keep fair distance, and take no great strides.            [_Exeunt._

            _Enter +Lorenzo+ and +Abstemia+, as in prison._

    +Lor.+ Can then Abstemia forgive Lorenzo?

    +Abs.+ Yes, if Lorenzo can but love Abstemia,
    She can hang thus upon his neck, and call
    This prison true love's palace.

    +Lor.+ O, let kings
    Forget their crowns that know what 'tis to enjoy
    The wondrous wealth of one so good. Now
    Thou art lovely as young[172] spring, and comely
    As is the well-spread cedar; the fair fruit,
    Kiss'd by the sun so daily, that it wears
    The lovely blush of maids, seems but to mock
    Thy soul's integrity. Here let me fall,
    And with pleading sighs beg pardon.

                           _Enter +Antonio+._

    +Abs.+ Sir, it meets you,
    Like a glad pilgrim, whose desiring eye
    Longs for the long-wish'd altar of his vow.
    But you are far too prodigal in praise,
    And crown me with the garlands of your merit.
    As we meet barks on rivers, the strong gale
    (Being best friends to us), our own swift motion
    Makes us believe that t'other nimbler rows:
    Swift virtue thinks small goodness fastest goes.

    +Lor.+ Sorrow hath bravely sweeten'd thee! What are you?

    +Ant.+ A displeasant black cloud! though I appear dismal,
    I am wondrous fruitful. What cause soever
    Mov'd you to take this murder on yourself,
    Or you to strike yourself into the hazard
    For his redemption, 'tis to me a stranger!
    But I conceive you are both innocent.

    +Lor.+ As newborn virtue. I did accuse
    My innocence, to rid me of a life
    Look'd uglier than death upon an injury
    I had done this virtuous wife.

    +Abs.+ And I accus'd
    My innocence, to save the belov'd life
    Of my most noble husband.

    +Ant.+ Why, then, now 'twould grieve you
    Death should unkindly part ye.

    +Lor.+ O, but that, sir,
    We have no sorrow. Now to part from her,
    Since Heaven hath new-married and new-made us,
    I had rather leap into a den of lions,
    Snatch from a hungry bear her bleeding prey:
    I would attempt desperate impossibilities
    With hope, rather than now to leave her.

    +Ant.+ This makes for me.                                  [_Aside._

    +Abs.+ And rather than leave you, sir, I would eat
    Hot coals with Portia, or attempt a terror
    Nature would, snail-like, shrink her head in at,
    And tremble but to think on.

    +Ant.+ Better and better.                                  [_Aside._
    If you so love him, what can you conceive
    The greatest kindness can express that love?

    +Abs.+ To save his life, since there is no hope,
    Seeing he so strongly has confess'd the murder,
    We shall meet the happiness to die together.

    +Ant.+ Fire casts the bravest heat in coldest weather:
    I'll try how ardently you burn; for know,
    Upon my faith, and as I am a gentleman,
    I have in the next room, and in the custody
    Of a true friend, the man that did the deed
    You stand accus'd for.

    +Abs.+ Hark there, Lorenzo!

    +Lor.+ Will you not let him go, sir?

    +Ant.+ That's in suspense. But, mistress, you did say,
    You durst eat coals with Portia, to redeem
    The infinitely lov'd life of your husband.

    +Abs.+ And still [do] strongly protest it.

    +Lor.+ O my Abstemia!

    +Ant.+ You shall redeem him at an easier rate:
    I have the murderer, you see, in hold.

    +Lor.+ And we are bless'd in your discovery of him.

    +Ant.+ If you will give consent that I shall taste
    That sense-bereaving pleasure so familiar
    Unto your happy husband----

    +Abs.+ How?

    +Ant.+ Pray, hear me:
    Then I will give this fellow up to the law.
    If you deny, horses stand ready for us,
    A bark for transportation; where we will live,
    Till law by death hath sever'd ye.

    +Lor.+ But we will call for present witness.

    +Ant.+ Look ye----                              [_Shows the pistol._
    Experienc'd navigators still are fitted
    For every weather. 'Tis almost past call
    To reach the nimblest ear: yet but offer it,
    I part ye presently for ever. Consider it:
    The enjoying him thou so entirely lov'st
    All thy life after; that when mirth-spent time
    Hath crown'd your heads with honour, you may sit
    And tell delightful stories of your loves;
    And when ye come to that poor minute's 'scape
    Crowns my desire, ye may let that slip by,
    Like water that ne'er meets the miller's eye.
    Compare but this to th' soon-forgotten pleasure
    Of a pair of wealthy minutes. The thriftiest[173] lapidary
    Knows the most curious jewel takes no harm
    For one day's wearing. Could you, sir (did your eye
    Nor see it worn), your wife having lent your cloak
    (If secretly return'd and folded up)--
    Could you conceive, when you next look'd upon't,
    It had neatly furnish'd out a poor friend's want?
    Be charitable, and think on't.

    +Lor.+ Dost hear, Abstemia?
    O, shall we part for ever, when a price
    So poor might be our freedom?

    +Abs.+ Now, goodness guard ye!
    Where learn't you, sir, this language?

    +Lor.+ Of true love.
    You did but now profess that you would die
    To save my life; and now, like a forward chapman,
    Catch'd at thy word, thou givest back, asham'd
    To stand this easy proffer.

    +Abs.+ Could you live,
    And know yourself a cuckold?

    +Ant.+ What a question's that!
    Many men cannot live without the knowledge.
    How can ye tell
    Whether she seems thus to respect your honour,
    But to stay till the law has chok'd you?
    It may be then she will do't with less entreaty.

    +Lor.+ Ay, there, there 'tis.

    +Abs.+ 'Tis your old fit of jealousy so judges.
    A foul devil talks within him.

    +Lor.+ O, the art,
    The wondrous art of woman! ye would do it daintily;
    You would juggle me to death; you would persuade me
    I should die nobly to preserve your honour;
    That (dead) ignobly you might prove dishonourable,
    Forget me in a day, and wed another.

    +Abs.+ Why then would I have died for you?

    +Ant.+ That was but a proffer,
    That, dying, you might idolise her love:
    'Twould have put her off the better.

    +Lor.+ O, you have builded
    A golden palace, strew'd with palm and roses,
    To let me bleed to death in! How sweetly
    You would have lost me. Abstemia, you have learn'd
    The cunning fowler's art, who pleasantly
    Whistles the bird into the snare. Good Heaven!
    How you had strew'd the enticing top o' th' cup
    With Arabian spices! But you had laid i' th' bottom
    Ephesian aconite. You are love's hypocrite;
    A rotten stick, in the night's darkness born,
    And a fair poppy in a field of corn.

    +Abs.+ O sir! hear me----                                 [_Kneels._

    +Lor.+ Away! I will no more
    Look pearl in mud. O sly hypocrisy! Durst ye
    But now die for me? Good Heaven! die for me!
    The greatest act of pain, and dare not buy me
    With a poor minute's pleasure?

    +Abs.+ No, sir, I dare not: there is little pain in death;
    But a great death in very little pleasure.
    I had rather, trust me, bear your death with honour,
    Than buy your life with baseness. As I am expos'd
    To th' greatest battery beauty ever fought,
    O, blame me not if I be covetous
    To come off with greatest honour. If I do this
    To let you live, I kill your name, and give
    My soul a wound; I crush her from sweet grace,
    And change her angel's to a fury's face.
    Try me no more, then; but, if you must bleed, boast,
    To preserve honour, life is nobly lost.

    +Lor.+ Thou wealth worth more than kingdoms! I am now
    Confirm'd past all suspicion, thou art far
    Sweeter in thy sincere truth, than a sacrifice
    Deck'd up for death with garlands. The Indian winds,[174]
    That blow off from the coast, and cheer the sailor
    With the sweet savour of their spices, want
    The delight flows in thee. Look here, look here,
    O man of wild desires! We will die the martyrs
    Of marriage; and, 'stead of the loose ditties
    With which they stab sweet modesty, and engender
    Desires in the hot-room, thy noble story           [_To +Abstemia+._
    Shall, laurel-like, crown honest ears with glory.

    +Ant.+ Murder, murder, murder!

                _Enter the three +Dukes+, with +Lords+._

    +Mil.+ Ha! who cries murder?

    +Phil.+ As y' are a gentleman, now be true to me.

    +Abs.+ Sir!

    +Ven.+ Sister!

    +Ver.+ My shame! art thou there?

    +Ven.+ O sister, can it be
    A prince's blood should stain that white hand?

    +Ambo.+ Hear us.

    +Ant.+ No, no, no, hear me: 'twas I cried murder;
    Because I have found them both stain'd with the deed
    They would have throttled me.

    +Lor.+ Hear us: by all----

    +Mil.+ Upon your lives, be silent. Speak on, sir:
    Had they both hands in our son's blood?

    +Ant.+ Two hands apiece, sir.
    I have sifted it: they both have kill'd the prince;
    But this is the chief murderer. Please you, give me audience;
    Ye shall wonder at the manner how they kill'd him.

    +Mil.+ Silence!

    +Ant.+ He came first to this woman, and (truth's truth)
    He would have lain with her.

    +Mil.+ Her own confession.

    +Ant.+ Nay, good your grace.

    +Mil.+ We are silent.

    +Ant.+ Coming to seize upon her, with the first blow
    She struck his base intent so brave a buffet,
    That there it bled to death. She said, his horse
    Would teach him better manners: there he died once.

    +Ver.+ What does this fellow talk?

    +Abs.+ I understand him.

    +Ant.+ He met her next i' the wood, where he was found dead:
    Then he came noblier up to her, and told her
    Marriage was his intent; but she as nobly
    (Belike, to let him know she was married)
    Told him, in an intelligible denial,
    A chaste wife's truth shin'd through the greatest trial:
    There the prince died again.

    +Lod.+ There's twice; beware the third time.

    +Ant.+ The third time, he came here to them both in prison,
    Brought a pistol with him, would have forc'd her again;
    But had ye seen how fairly then she slew him,
    You would have shot applauses from your eyes:
    O, she came up so bravely to that prince
    Hot potent Lust (for she slew no prince else),
    With such a valiant discipline she destroy'd
    That debosh'd[175] prince, Bad Desire; and then, by him
    So bravely too fetch'd off, that (to conclude)
    Betwixt them they this wonder did contrive,
    They kill'd the prince, but kept your son alive. [_Discovers himself._

    +Mil.+ Antonio!

    +Omnes.+ The prince!

    +Ven.+ Come home, my sister, to my heart.

    +Ver.+ And now Lorenzo is again my belov'd kinsman.

    +Ant.+ O sir, here dwells virtue epitomis'd,
    Even to an abstract, and yet that so large
    'Twill swell a book in folio.

    +Lod.+ She swells beyond my wife then:
    A pocket-book, bound in _decimo sexto_,
    Will hold her virtues, and as much spare paper left
    As will furnish five tobacco-shops.

    +Mil.+ But here's the wonder; who is it was slain
    In your apparel?

    +Phil.+ I will give them all the slip.              [_Offers to go._

    +Ant.+ Here's a gentleman of Ferrara----

    +Phil.+ As you are noble----

    +Ant.+ That saw them fight: it was the slave was slain, sir,
    I took before Palermo: he that kill'd him,
    Took him but for a gentleman his equal;
    And as this eye-witness says, he in my apparel
    Did kick the t'other first.

    +Phil.+ Nay, upon my life, sir,
    He in your apparel gave the first kick: I saw them fight,
    And I dare swear the t'other honest gentleman
    Little thought he had slain anything like the prince,
    For I heard him swear, but half an hour before,
    He never saw your grace.

    +Mil.+ Then he kill'd him fairly?

    +Phil.+ Upon my life, my lord.

    +Ven.+ T'other had but his merit then: who dies
    And seeks his death, seldom wets others' eyes.

    +Ant.+ Let this persuade you: I believe you noble.
    I have kept my word with you.

    +Phil.+ You have outdone me, sir,
    In this brave exercise of honour: but let me,
    In mine own person, thank you.

    +Omnes.+ Philippo!

    +Phil.+ Unwittingly I did an ill--as't happened,
    To a good end: that slave I for you kill'd
    Wanted but time to kill you: read that paper,
    Which I found with him, I thinking by accident
    You had intercepted it. We all have happily
    Been well deceived; you are noble, just, and true;
    My hate was at your clothes, my heart at you.

    +Ver.+ An accident more strange hath seldom happen'd.

    +Lor.+ Philippo, my best friend, 'twixt shame and love,
    Here let me lay thee now for ever.

    +Abs.+ Heaven
    Hath now plan'd all our rough woes smooth and
    even.

    +Mil.+ At court [a] large relation in apt form
    Shall tender pass'd proceedings; but to distinguish,
    Excellent lady, your unparallel'd praises
    From those but seem, let this serve: bad women
    Are nature's clouds, eclipsing her fair shine:
    The good, all-gracious, saint-like and divine.    [_Exeunt +Omnes+._


FOOTNOTES:

[164] To _levell at_, or _to hit the white_, were phrases taken from
archery, and often used by our ancient writers. _The white_ was _the
mark_ at which archers practised when they learned to shoot. So in
Massinger's "Emperor of the East," act iv. sc. 3--

        "The immortality of my fame _is the white_ I shoot at;"

in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Four [Plays in One" (Dyce's edit.), ii.
512]--

    "And let your thoughts flee higher; aim them right,
    Sir, you may hit, you have _the fairest white_;"

in Lyly's "Euphues and his England," 1582--"Vertue _is the white_ we
shoot at, not vanitie" (p. 11). Again, "He glaunced from the marke
Euphues shot at, and hit at last _the white_ which Philautus set up"
(p. 18).

Again, "An archer saye you, is to be knowen by his aime, not by his
arrowe: but your aime is so ill, that if you knewe howe farre wide
_from the white_ your shaft sticketh, you would hereafter rather breake
your bowe then bend it."--_Ibid._ 57.

[165] In this speech are to be found the outlines of the character of
_Zanga_, so admirably drawn by Dr Young. The plot of the _Revenge_ is,
however, said to have been taken from Mrs Behn's play of "Abdelazar,"
which was borrowed from "Lust's Dominion; or, The Lascivious Queen."

[166] [Old copy, _and_.]

[167] So in "Cymbeline," act v. sc. 3--

          "I in mine own woe charm'd,
    Could not find death, where I did hear him groan;
    Nor feel him, where he struck: being an ugly monster,
    'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
    Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
    That draw his knives i' th' war."

[168] [Mr Collier's correction. Old copy, _leave_.]

[169] Embrace.

[170] [_i.e._, Surround, crown.]

[171] See note to "The Miseries of Enforced Marriage" [ix. 538.]

[172] [Old copy, _a young_.]

[173] Old copy reads _thirstiest_.

[174] So Milton, in "Paradise Lost," bk. iv. 1. 159--

            "As when to them who sail
    Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past
    Mozambique, off at sea north-east winds blow
    Sabean odours from the spicy shore
    Of Araby the blest: with such delay
    Well pleas'd they slack their course, and many a league
    Cheer'd with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles."

[175] [Debauched.]



THE CITY-MATCH.


_EDITIONS._

  _The Citye Match. A Comœdye. Presented to the King and Qveene,
    at White-Hall. Acted since at Black-Friers, by his Maiesties
    Servants. Horat. de Arte Poet._ Versibus exponi Tragicis res
    Comica non vult. _Oxford, Printed by Leonard Lichfield, Printer
    to the University. Anno Dom. +M.DC.XXXIX.+ Folio._

  _Two Plaies: The City Match, a Comœdy; and the Amorous Warre, a
    Tragy Comœdy: both long since written. By J. M. of Ch. Ch. in
    Oxon. Oxford: Printed by Hen. Hall, for Ric. Davis_, 1658. 4º.

  _The City Match: a Comœdy. Presented to the King and Queene at
    White-Hall. Acted since at Black Friers, by his Majesties
    Servants. Horat. de Arte Poet._ Versibus exponi Tragicis res
    Comica non vult. _By J. M. St. of Ch. Ch. in Oxon. Oxford:
    printed by Henry Hall, Printer to the University, for Rich.
    Davis._ 1659. 8º.


INTRODUCTION.

Jasper Mayne was born at Hatherley, in Devonshire, in the year 1604;
and being sent to Westminster School, he continued there until the age
of nineteen years, without obtaining a King's scholarship. At that
time he met with a patron in Dr Bryan Duppa; by whose recommendation,
in 1623, he entered himself a servitor of Christ Church, Oxford,
and commenced M.A. June 18, 1631. He afterwards took holy orders,
and distinguished himself in the pulpit by that quaint manner of
preaching which was then in vogue. His first preferment was the
vicarage of Cassington, near Woodstock,[176] to which was afterwards
added the living of Pyrton, near Watlington, both by the presentation
of his college. These preferments lying at a small distance from the
university, he continued to reside there, and was much admired for
his wit and humour. In 1638 he completed a translation of Lucian's
Dialogues;[177] and in the next year appeared his comedy of "The
City-Match." On the breaking out of the civil war, he sided with the
royal party, to which he remained ever after firmly attached. He was
appointed in 1642 one of the divines to preach before the king and
Parliament, in that year proceeded Bachelor of Divinity, and was
created D.D. on June 7, 1646. The decline of the king's affairs caused
a very great alteration in those of our author: he was ejected from his
student's place in 1648, and soon after deprived of both his vicarages.
In the midst of these sufferings he still preserved a warm zeal for
the old establishment. In September 1652, he held a public disputation
with a noted Anabaptist preacher, in Watlington Church. He afterwards
had the good fortune to meet with a friend in the Earl of Devonshire,
who received him into his family in the character of chaplain, and
with that nobleman he resided until the Restoration. On that event he
returned back to his livings, was appointed chaplain-in-ordinary to the
king, promoted to a canon's stall at Christ Church, and raised to the
dignity of Archdeacon of Chichester.

Thus replaced in his favourite seat of the Muses, he continued to
reside there during the rest of his life, happy in the full enjoyment
of his promotions. He died December 6, 1672, and his corpse was
interred in the aisle adjoining to the choir of Christ Church, where a
monument was erected to his memory at the charge of Dr Robert South and
Dr John Lamphire, the executors of his will.

Besides the translation of Lucian (before mentioned) and "The
City-Match,"[178] he published several sermons and poems,[179] and "The
Amorous War:" a tragi-comedy. 4º, 1648.

["The City-Match" is an excellent comedy of intrigue and counter-plot,
with many amusing and lively situations, and frequent illustrations of
manners. The character of Dorcas, however, is forced, and her sudden
metamorphosis is wanting in probability.]


TO THE READER.

The Author of this Poem, knowing how hardly the best things protect
themselves from censure, had no ambition to make it this way public,
holding works of this light nature to be things which need an apology
for being written at all, nor esteeming otherwise of them, whose
abilities in this kind are most passable, than of masquers who spangle
and glitter for the time, but 'tis th[o]rough tinsel. As it was merely
out of obedience that he first wrote it, so when it was made, had it
not been commanded from him, it had died upon the place where it took
life. Himself being so averse from raising fame from the stage, that at
the presentment he was one of the severest spectators there, nor ever
showed other sign whereby it might be known to be his but his liberty
to despise it. Yet he hath at length consented it should pass the
press; not with an aim to purchase a new reputation, but to keep that
which he hath already from growing worse; for understanding that some
at London, without his approbation or allowance, were ready to print a
false, imperfect copy, he was loth to be libelled by his own work, or
that his play should appear to the world with more than its own faults.
Farewell.

FOOTNOTES:

[176] 8th of October 1638. Rymer's "Fœd." xx. 317.--_Gilchrist._

[177] It was not published till 1664, but the title-page expresses that
it was "made English from the original in the year 1638." This fact
also appears from the dedication to the Marquis of Newcastle, which
is a masterpiece of solid reasoning and critical acumen, where the
author mentions that "these pieces were translated for your private
entertainment above five-and-twenty years since." He adds that he
was then only a student of Christ Church, and that he should have
translated more "if the late barbarous times had not broke my study."
In the course of this preface (for the epistle is to be so considered)
Mayne very severely lashes the republicans for their ignorance and
presumptuousness.--_Collier_ (note altered).

[178] From the Prologue and Epilogue it appears that this play was
acted by command of the king, both at Whitehall and at the Blackfriars
Theatre.--_Collier._

[179] Among others he has a poem prefixed to Cartwright's "Plays and
Poems," and another "Jonsonius Virbius."--_Gilchrist._ [The late Mr
Bolton Corney thought that to Mayne ought to be attributed the verses
before the second folio of Shakespeare, signed J. M. S., _quasi_ Jasper
Mayne, Student.]



THE PROLOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN.


    The Author, royal sir, so dreads this night,
    As if for writing he were doom'd to th' sight;
    Or else, unless you do protect his fame,
    Y' had sav'd his play, and sentenc'd him to th' flame.
    For though your name or power were i' th' reprieve,
    Such works, he thinks, are but condemn'd to live.
    Which for this place, being rescu'd from the fire,
    Take ruin from th' advancement, and fall higher.
    Though none, he hopes, sit here upon his wit,
    As if he poems did, or plays commit;
    Yet he must needs fear censure that fears praise,
    Nor would write still, were't to succeed i' th' bays:
    For he is not o' th' trade, nor would excel
    In this kind, where 'tis lightness to do well.
    Yet, as the gods refin'd base things, and some
    Beasts foul i' th' herd grew pure i' th' hecatomb;
    And as the ox prepar'd and crowned bull
    Are offerings, though kept back, and altars full;
    So, mighty sir, this sacrifice being near
    The knife at Oxford, which y' have kindled here,
    He hopes 'twill from you and the Queen grow clean,
    And turn t' oblation, what he meant a scene.



THE PROLOGUE AT BLACKFRIARS.


    Were it his trade, the Author bid me say,
    Perchance he'd beg you would be good to th' play;
    And I, to set him up in reputation,
    Should hold a basin forth for approbation.
    But praise so gain'd, he thinks, were a relief
    Able to make his comedy a brief;
    For where your pity, must your judgment be,
    'Tis not a play, but you fir'd houses see.
    Look not his quill, then, should petitions run;
    No gatherings here into a Prologue spun.
    Whether their sold scenes be dislik'd, or hit,
    Are cares for them who eat by th' stage and wit.
    He's one whose unbought Muse did never fear
    An empty second day or a thin share;
    But can make th' actors, though you come not twice,
    No losers, since we act now at the king's price,
    Who hath made this play public; and the same
    Power that makes laws redeem'd this from the flame:
    For th' Author builds no fame, nor doth aspire
    To praise from that which he condemn'd to th' fire.
    He's thus secure then, that he cannot win
    A censure sharper than his own hath been.



DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


  +Warehouse+, _an old merchant_.
  +Frank Plotwell+, _his nephew_.
  +Cypher+, _his factor_.
  +Bannswright+, _old Plotwell disguised_.
  +Aurelia+, _Penelope Plotwell disguised_.
  +Seathrift+, _a merchant_.
  +Timothy+, _his son_.
  +Dorcas+, _Susan Seathrift disguised_.
  +Bright+,  }
  +Newcut+,  }  _two Templars_.
  +Mistress Scruple+, _a Puritan schoolmistress_.
  +Mistress Holland+, _a sempstress on the Exchange_.
  +Quartfield+, _a captain_.
  +Salewit+, _a poet_.
  +Roseclap+, _one that keeps an ordinary_.
  +Millicent+, _his wife_.
  +'Prentice.+
  +Two Footmen.+
  +Boy+ _that sings_.

                          _The Scene, London._

                          THE CITY-MATCH.[180]



ACT I., SCENE I.


                      _+Warehouse+, +Seathrift+._

    +Sea.+ I promise you 'twill be a most rare plot.

    +Ware.+ The city, Master Seathrift, never yet
    Brought forth the like: I would have them that have
    Fin'd twice for sheriff, mend it.

    +Sea.+ Mend it! why,
    'Tis past the wit o' th' court of aldermen.
    Next merchant-tailor, that writes chronicles,[181]
    Will put us in.

    +Ware.+ For, since I took him home,
    Though, sir, my nephew, as you may observe,
    Seem quite transfigur'd, be as dutiful
    As a new 'prentice, in his talk declaim
    'Gainst revelling companions, be as hard
    To be entic'd from home as my door-posts,
    This reformation may but be his part,
    And he may act his virtues. I have not
    Forgot his riots at the Temple. You know, sir----

    +Sea.+ You told me, Master Warehouse.

    +Ware.+ Not the sea,
    When it devour'd my ships, cost me so much
    As did his vanities. A voyage to the Indies
    Has been lost in a night: his daily suits
    Were worth more than the stock that set me up;
    For which he knew none but the silk-man's book,
    And studied that more than the law. He had
    His loves, too, and his mistresses; was enter'd
    Among the philosophical madams;[182] was
    As great with them as their concerners; and, I hear,
    Kept one of them in pension.

    +Sea.+ My son too
    Hath had his errors: I could tell the time
    When all the wine which I put off by wholesale
    He took again in quarts; and at the day
    Vintners have paid me with his large scores: but
    He is reformed too.

    +Ware.+ Sir, we now are friends
    In a design.

    +Sea.+ And hope to be in time
    Friends in alliance, sir.

    +Ware.+ I'll be free;
    I think well of your son.

    +Sea.+ Who? Timothy?
    Believe't, a virtuous boy; and for his sister,
    A very saint.

    +Ware.+ Mistake me not, I have
    The like opinion of my nephew, sir;
    Yet he is young, and so is your son; nor
    Doth the church-book say they are past our fears.
    Our presence is their bridle now; 'tis good
    To know them well whom we do make our heirs.

    +Sea.+ It is most true.

    +Ware.+ Well; and how shall we know
    How they will use their fortune, or what place
    We have in their affection, without trial?
    Some wise men build their own tombs; let us try,
    If we were dead, whether our heirs would cry,
    Or wear[183] long cloaks. This plot will do't.

    +Sea.+ 'Twill make us
    Famous upon the Exchange for ever. I'll home,
    And take leave of my wife and son.

    +Ware.+ And I'll
    Come to you at your garden-house.[184] Within there.

                                                    [_Exit +Seathrift+._


SCENE II.

                           _Enter +Cypher+._

    +Ware.+ Now, Cypher, where's my nephew?

    +Cyph.+ In the hall,
    Reading a letter which a footman brought
    Just now to him from a lady, sir.

    +Ware.+ A lady!

    +Cyph.+ Yes, sir, a lady in distress; for I
    Could overhear the fellow say she must
    Sell her coach-horses, and return again
    To her needle, if your nephew don't supply her
    With money.

    +Ware.+ This is some honourable sempstress.
    I am now confirm'd: they say he keeps a lady,
    And this is she. Well, Cypher, 'tis too late
    To change my project now. Be sure you keep
    A diary of his actions; strictly mark
    What company comes to him; if he stir
    Out of my house, observe the place he enters:
    Watch him, till he come out: follow him (disguis'd)
    To all his haunts.

    +Cyph.+ He shall not want a spy, sir.
    But, sir, when you are absent, if he draw not
    A lattice to your door, and hang a bush out----

    +Ware.+ I hope he will not make my house a tavern.

    +Cyph.+ Sir, I am no Sybil's son.

    +Ware.+ Peace, here he comes.


SCENE III.

           _Enter +Plotwell+, in a sad posture. +Warehouse+,
                         +Plotwell+, +Cypher+._

    +Ware.+ Good morrow, nephew. How now? sad? how comes
    This melancholy?

    +Plot.+ Can I choose but wear
    Clouds in my face, when I must venture, sir,
    Your reverend age to a long-doubtful voyage,
    And not partake your dangers?

    +Ware.+ Fie! these fears,
    Though they become you, nephew, are ominous.
    When heard you from your father?

    +Plot.+ Never since
    He made the escape, sir.

    +Ware.+ I hear he is in Ireland:
    Is't true he took your sister with him?

    +Plot.+ So
    Her mistress thinks, sir: one day she left th' Exchange,
    And has not since been heard of.

    +Ware.+ And, nephew,
    How like you your new course; which place prefer you--
    The Temple or Exchange? Where are, think you,
    The wealthier mines--in the Indies or
    Westminster Hall?

    +Plot.+ Sir, my desires take measure
    And form from yours.

    +Ware.+ Nay, tell me your mind plainly
    I' th' city-tongue. I'd have you speak like Cypher:
    I do not like quaint figures, they do smell
    Too much o' th' inns-of-court.

    +Plot.+ Sir, my obedience
    Is ready for all impressions which----

    +Ware.+ Again!

    +Plot.+ Sir, I prefer your kind of life, a merchant.

    +Ware.+ 'Tis spoken like my nephew; now I like you,
    Nor shall I e'er repent the benefits
    I have bestow'd; but will forget all errors        [_Exit +Cypher+._
    As mere seducements, and will not only be
    An uncle, but a father to you; but then
    You must be constant, nephew.

    +Plot.+ Else I were blind
    To my good fortune, sir.

    +Ware.+ Think, man, how it may
    In time make thee o' th' city-senate, and raise thee
    To the sword and cap of maintenance.

    +Plot.+ Yes, and make me
    Sentence light bread and pounds of butter on horseback.    [_Aside._

    +Ware.+ Have gates and conduits dated from thy year;
    Ride to the 'spital on thy free beast.

    +Plot.+ Yes,
    Free of your company.                                      [_Aside._

    +Ware.+ Have the people vail
    As low to his trappings, as if he thrice had fin'd
    For that good time's employment.

    +Plot.+ Or as if
    He had his rider's wisdom.                                 [_Aside._

    +Ware.+ Then the works
    And good deeds of the city to go before thee,
    Besides a troop of varlets.[185]

    +Plot.+ Yes, and I
    To sleep the sermon in my chain and scarlet.               [_Aside._

    +Ware.+ How say you? Let's hear that!

    +Plot.+ I say, sir, I
    To sit at sermon in my chain and scarlet.

    +Ware.+ 'Tis right; and be remembered at the Cross.[186]

    +Plot.+ And then at sessions, sir, and all times else,
    Master Recorder to save me the trouble,
    And understand things for me.                              [_Aside._

    +Ware.+ All this is possible,
    And in the stars and winds: therefore, dear nephew,
    You shall pursue this course; and, to enable you,
    In this half-year that I shall be away,
    Cypher shall teach you French, Italian, Spanish,
    And other tongues of traffic.

    +Plot.+ Shall I not learn
    Arithmetic too, sir, and shorthand?

    +Ware.+ 'Tis well-remembered; yes, and navigation.

                           _Enter +Cypher+._

    +Cyph.+ Sir, Master Seathrift says you will lose the tide;
    The boat stays for you.

    +Ware.+ Well, nephew, at my return,
    As I hear of your carriage, you do know
    What my intentions are; and, for a token
    How much I trust your reformation,
    Take this key of my counting-house, and spend
    Discreetly in my absence. Farewell. Nay,
    No tears; I'll be here sooner than you think on't.
    Cypher, you know what you have to do.

    +Cyph.+ I warrant you, sir.                     [_Exit +Warehouse+._

    +Plot.+ Tears! yes, my melting eyes shall run; but it
    Shall be such tears as shall increase the tide
    To carry you from hence.

    +Cyph.+ Come, Master Plotwell, shall I
    Read to you this morning?

    +Plot.+ Read! what? how the price
    Of sugar goes; how many pints of olives
    Go to a jar; how long wine works at sea;
    What difference is in gain between fresh herrings
    And herrings red?

    +Cyph.+ This is fine: ha' you
    Forgot your uncle's charge?

    +Plot.+ Prythee, what was't?

    +Cyph.+ To learn the tongues and mathematics.

    +Plot.+ Troth,
    If I have tongue enough to say my prayers
    I' th' phrase o' th' kingdom, I care not: otherwise,
    I'm for no tongues but dried ones, such as will
    Give a fine relish to my backrag;[187] and for mathematics,
    I hate to travel by the map; methinks
    'Tis riding post.

    +Cyph.+ I knew 'twould come to this.
    Here be his comrades.                                      [_Aside._

    +Plot.+ What, my Fleet Street friends?             [_Exit +Cypher+._


SCENE IV.

                     _Enter +Bright+ and +Newcut+._

    +Bright.+ Save you, merchant Plotwell!

    +New.+ Master Plotwell, citizen and merchant, save you!

    +Bright.+ Is thy uncle
    Gone the wish'd voyage?

    +Plot.+ Yes, he's gone; and, if
    He die by th' way, hath bequeath'd me but some
    Twelve hundred pound a year in Kent; some three-
    Score thousand pound in money, besides jewels, bonds,
    And desperate debts.

    +New.+ And dost not thou fall down,
    And pray to th' winds to sacrifice him to
    Poor John and mackarel?

    +Bright.+ Or invoke some rock
    To do thee justice?

    +New.+ Or some compendious cannon
    To take him off i' th' middle?

    +Plot.+ And why, my tender,
    Soft-hearted friends?

    +Bright.+ What, to take thee from the Temple,
    To make thee an old juryman, a Whittington?

    +New.+ To transform thy plush to penny-stone; and scarlet
    Into a velvet jacket, which hath seen
    Aleppo twice, is known to the great Turk,
    Hath 'scap'd three shipwrecks to be left off to thee,
    And knows the way to Mexico as well as the map?

    +Bright.+ This jacket surely was employed in finding
    The north-east passage out, or the same jacket
    That Coriat[188] died in.

    +Plot.+ Very good.

    +New.+ In Ovid
    There is not such a metamorphosis
    As thou art now. To be turned into a tree
    Or some handsome beast, is courtly to this.
    But for thee, Frank, O transmutation!
    Of satin chang'd to kersey hose I sing.[189]
    'Slid, his shoes shine too.[190]

    +Bright.+ They have the Gresham dye.
    Dost thou not dress thyself by 'em? I can see
    My face in them hither.

    +Plot.+ Very pleasant, gentlemen.

    +Bright.+ And faith, for how many years art thou bound?

    +Plot.+ Do you take me for a 'prentice?

    +New.+ Why, then, what office
    Dost thou bear in the parish this year? Let's feel:
    No batteries[191] in thy head, to signify
    Th' art a constable?

    +Bright.+ No furious jug broke on it
    In the king's name?

    +Plot.+ Did you contrive this scene
    By the way, gentlemen?

    +New.+ No; but the news
    Thou shouldst turn tradesman, and this pagan dress,
    In which if thou shouldst die, thou wouldst be damn'd
    For an usurer, is comical at the Temple.
    We were about to bring in such a fellow
    For an apostate in our antimasque.
    Set one to keep the door, provide half-crown rooms,
    For I'll set bills up of thee. What shall I
    Give thee for the first day?

    +Bright.+ Ay, or second?
    For thou'lt endure twice or thrice coming in.

    +Plot.+ Well, my conceited Orient friends, bright offspring
    O' th' female silkworm and tailor male, I deny not
    But you look well in your unpaid-for glory;
    That in these colours you set out the Strand,
    And adorn Fleet Street; that you may laugh at me,
    Poor working-day o' th' city, like two festivals
    Escap'd out of the Almanac.

    +New.+ Sirrah Bright,
    Didst look to hear such language beyond Ludgate?

    +Bright.+ I thought all wit had ended at Fleetbridge;
    But wit that goes o' th' score, that may extend,
    If't be a courtier's wit, into Cheapside.

    +Plot.+ Your mercer lives there, does he? I warrant you,
    He has the patience of a burnt heretic.
    The very faith that sold to you these silks,
    And thinks you'll pay for 'em, is strong enough
    To save the infidel part o' th' world or Antichrist.

    +Bright.+ W' are most mechanically abused.

    +New.+ Let's tear his jacket off.

    +Bright.+ A match! take that side.

    +Plot.+ Hold, hold!

    +Bright.+ How frail a thing old velvet is! it parts
    With as much ease and willingness as two cowards.

                                            [_They tear off his jacket._

    +New.+ The tend'rest weed that ever fell asunder.

    +Plot.+ Ha' you your wits? What mean you?

    +Bright.+ Go, put on
    One of thy Temple suits, and accompany us,
    Or else thy dimity breeches will be mortal.

    +Plot.+ You will not strip me, will you?

    +New.+ By thy visible ears, we will.

    +Bright.+ By this two-handed beaver, which is so thin
    And light, a butterfly's wings put to't would make it
    A Mercury's flying hat, and soar aloft.

    +Plot.+ But do you know, to how much danger
    You tempt me? Should my uncle know I come
    Within the air of Fleet Street----

    +New.+ Will you make
    Yourself fit for a coach again, and come
    Along with us?

    +Plot.+ Well, my two resolute friends,
    You shall prevail. But whither now are your
    Lewd motions bent?

    +New.+ We'll dine at Roseclap's: there
    We shall meet Captain Quartfield and his poet;
    They shall show us another fish.

    +Bright.+ But, by the way, we have agreed to see
    A lady, you mechanic.

    +Plot.+ What lady?

    +New.+ Hast not thou heard of the new-sprung lady?

    +Bright.+ One
    That keeps her coachman, footboy, woman, and spends
    A thousand pounds a year by wit.

    +Plot.+ How? wit!

    +New.+ That is her patrimony, sir. 'Tis thought
    The fortune she is born to will not buy
    A bunch of turnips.

    +Plot.+ She is no gamester, is she? Nor carries false dice?

    +Bright.+ No, but has a tongue,
    Were't in a lawyer's mouth, would make him buy
    All young heirs near him.

    +Plot.+ But does no man know from whence she came?

    +Bright.+ As for her birth, she may
    Choose her own pedigree: it is unknown
    Whether she be descended of some ditch
    Or duchess.

    +New.+ She's the wonder of the court
    And talk o' th' town.

    +Plot.+ Her name?

    +New.+ Aurelia.

    +Plot.+ I've heard of her. They say she does fight duels,
    And answers challenges in wit.

    +Bright.+ She has been thrice in the field.

    +Plot.+ I' th' field?

    +New.+ Yes, in Spring Garden;
    Has conquer'd, with no second but her woman,
    A Puritan, and has return'd with prizes.

    +Plot.+ And no drum beat before her?

    +New.+ No, nor colours
    Flourish'd. She has made a vow never to marry,
    'Till she be won by stratagem.

    +Plot.+ I long to see her.

    +Bright.+ I' th' name of Guildhall, who comes here?


SCENE V.

                           _Enter +Timothy+._

    +Tim.+ By your leave, gentlemen.

    +Plot.+ Master Timothy!
    Welcome from the new world. I look'd you should
    Ha' past through half the signs in heaven by this,
    And ha' convers'd with the dolphins. What! not gone
    To sea with your father?

    +Tim.+ No, faith, I do not love
    To go to sea; it makes one lousy, lays him
    In wooden sheets, and lands him a preservative
    Against the plague: besides, my mother was
    Afraid to venture me.

    +Plot.+ Believe't, she's wise
    Not to trust such a wit to a thin frail bark,
    Where you had sail'd within three inches of
    Becoming a Jonas. Besides the tossing, to have
    All the fierce blust'ring faces in the map
    Swell more tempestuously upon you than
    Lawyers preferr'd or trumpeters. And whither
    Were you bound now?

    +Tim.+ I only came to have
    Your judgment of my suit.

    +Plot.+ Surely the tailor
    Has done his part.

    +Tim.+ And my mother has done hers;
    For she has paid for't. I never durst be seen
    Before my father out of duretta[192] and serge:
    But if he catch me in such paltry stuffs,
    To make me look like one that lets out money,
    Let him say, "Timothy was born a fool."
    Before he went, he made me do what he list;
    Now he's abroad, I'll do what I list. What
    Are these two? Gentlemen?

    +Plot.+ You see they wear
    Their heraldry.

    +Tim.+ But I mean, can they roar,
    Beat drawers, play at dice, and court their mistress?
    I mean forthwith to get a mistress?

    +Plot.+ But
    How comes this, Master Timothy? you did not
    Rise such a gallant this morning.

    +Tim.+ All's one for that.
    My mother lost her maidenhead that I
    Might come first into the world; and, by God's lid,
    I'll bear myself like the elder brother, I.
    D'you think, I'll all days of my life frequent
    Saint Antlins, like my sister? Gentlemen,
    I covet your acquaintance.

    +Bright.+ Your servant, sir.

    +New.+ I shall be proud to know you.

    +Tim.+ Sir, my knowledge
    Is not much worth. I'm born to a small fortune;
    Some hundred thousand pound, if once my father
    Held up his hands in marble, or kneel'd in brass.
    What are you? inns-of-court men?

    +New.+ The catechism
    Were false, should we deny it.

    +Tim.+ I shall shortly
    Be one myself; I learn to dance already,
    And wear short cloaks. I mean in your next masque
    To have a part: I shall take most extremely.

    +Bright.+ You will inflame the ladies, sir: they'll strive,
    Who shall most privately convey jewels
    Into your hand.

    +New.+ This is an excellent fellow.
    Who is't?

    +Plot.+ Rich Seathrift's son, that's gone to sea
    This morning with my uncle.

    +Bright.+ Is this he
    Whose sister thou shouldst marry? The wench that brings
    Ten thousand pound?

    +Plot.+ My uncle would fain have me [marry her];
    But I have cast her off.

    +Bright.+ Why?

    +Plot.+ Faith, she's handsome,
    And had a good wit; but her schoolmistress
    Has made her a rank Puritan.

    +New.+ Let's take him
    Along with us, and Captain Quartfield shall show him.

    +Plot.+ 'Twill be an excellent comedy; and afterwards
    I have a project on him.

    +Tim.+ Gentlemen,
    Shall we dine at an ordinary? You
    Shall enter me among the wits.

    +Plot.+ Sir, I
    Will but shift clothes, then we'll associate you,
    But first you shall with us, and see a lady
    Rich as your father's chests and odd holes,[193] and
    Fresh as Pygmalion's mistress, newly waken'd
    Out of her alabaster.

    +Tim.+ Lead on:
    I long to see a lady, and to salute her.                  [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[180] In the year 1755, a gentleman of great eminence in his profession
made a few alterations in this play, and presented it to the
governors of the Lock Hospital, near Hyde Park Corner, who obtained a
representation of it at Drury Lane for the benefit of that charity.
It was at the same time printed in 8º, under the title of "The
Schemers; or, The City-Match."

Mr Bromfield, the surgeon, as Mr Davies, who acted in it, told
me.--_Reed._

[181] The merchant-tailor here alluded to was John Stowe, author of
the "Chronicles of England," who was of that company, and a tailor by
profession.

[182] See Ben Jonson's "Silent Woman."--_Pegge._

[183] All the editions read _their_.

[184] See extract from Stubbes, quoted in note to "The Miseries of
Enforced Marriage" [ix., 538.]

[185] [An allusion to the Lord Mayor's Show, into which were generally
introduced symbolical representations of the civic virtues.]

[186] At St Paul's Cross, where [the Lord Mayor heard his inauguration
sermon.]

[187] This was a wine which was brought from Baccarach, in Germany, as
appears from Heywood's "Philo-cothonista," 1635, p. 48. It is there
mentioned along with Rhenish.

Ray, in his "Travels," vol. i. p. 64, says: "Next we came to Baccarach,
a walled town on the right hand, having many towers, subject to the
Prince Elector Palatine, _famous for the goodness of its wine_, as is
also Rhincow, a town not far from Mentz."--_Reed._

[188] See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 227.]

[189] [A sort of playful parody on the exordium to Ovid's
"Metamorphoses."]

[190] The citizens of Charles I.'s time, and earlier, were as famous
for the brightness of their shoes as some particular professions at
present. In "Every Man in his Humour," act ii. sc. 1, Kitely says--

    "Whilst they, sir, to relieve him in the fable,
    Make their loose comments upon every word,
    Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all over,
    From my flat cap _unto my shining shoes_."

[191] [Bruises or contusions occasioned by assaults.]

[192] [Probably some strong, coarse sort of substance like corduroy.]

[193] [Apparently this word means the secret pigeon-holes in a desk or
secretary.]



ACT II., SCENE I.


                         _+Aurelia+, +Dorcas+._

    +Aur.+ Why, we shall have you get in time the turn-
    Up of your eyes, speak in the nose, draw sighs
    Of an ell long, and rail at discipline.
    Would I could hear from Bannswright! Ere I'll be tortur'd
    With your preciseness thus, I'll get dry palms
    With starching, and put on my smocks myself.

    +Dor.+ Surely you may, and air 'em too: there have been
    Very devout and holy women that wore
    No shift at all.

    +Aur.+ Such saints, you mean, as wore
    Their congregations, and swarm'd with Christian vermin.
    You'll hold clean linen heresy?

    +Dor.+ Surely, yes,
    Clean linen in a surplice: that and powders
    Do bring dry summers, make the sickness rage,
    And the enemy prevail. It was reveal'd
    To Mistress Scruple and her husband, who
    Do verily ascribe the German war
    And the late persecutions to curling,
    False teeth, and oil of talc.[194]

    +Aur.+ Now she is in,
    A lecturer will sooner hold his peace
    Than she.

    +Dor.+ And surely, as Master Scruple says----

    +Aur.+ That was her schoolmaster; one that cools a feast
    With his long grace, and sooner eats a capon,
    Than blesses it.

    +Dor.+ And proves it very well,
    Out of a book that suffer'd martyrdom[195]
    By fire in Cheapside; since amulets and bracelets,
    And love-locks, were in use, the price of sprats,
    Jerusalem artichokes, and Holland cheese,
    Is very much increased: so that the brethren--
    Botchers I mean, and such poor zealous saints
    As earn five groats a week under a stall,
    By singing psalms, and drawing up of holes,
    Can't live in their vocation, but are fain
    To turn----

    +Aur.+ Old breeches.

    +Dor.+ Surely, teachers and prophets.


SCENE II.

                         _Enter +Bannswright+._

    +Aur.+ O Master Bannswright, are you come!
    My woman
    Was in her preaching fit: she only wanted
    A table's end.

    +Ban.+ Why, what's the matter?

    +Aur.+ Never
    Poor lady had so much unbred holiness
    About her person; I am never dress'd
    Without a sermon; but am forc'd to prove
    The lawfulness of curling-irons, before
    She'll crisp me in a morning. I must show
    Text for the fashions of my gowns. She'll ask
    Where jewels are commanded? or what lady
    I' th' primitive times wore ropes of pearl or rubies?
    She will urge councils for her little ruff,
    Call'd in Northamptonshire;[196] and her whole service
    Is a mere confutation of my clothes.

    +Ban.+ Why, madam, I assure you, time hath been,
    However she be otherwise, when she had
    A good quick wit, and would have made to a lady
    A serviceable sinner.

    +Aur.+ She can't preserve
    The gift, for which I took her; but, as though
    She were inspir'd from Ipswich,[197] she will make
    The _Acts and Monuments_ in sweetmeats, quinces
    Arraign'd and burnt at a stake: all my banquets
    Are persecutions; Dioclesian's days
    Are brought for entertainment, and we eat martyrs.

    +Ban.+ Madam, she is far gone.

    +Aur.+ Nay, sir, she is a Puritan at her needle too.

    +Ban.+ Indeed!

    +Aur.+ She works religious petticoats;[198] for flowers
    She'll make church-histories. Her needle doth
    So sanctify my cushionets; besides,
    My smock-sleeves have such holy embroideries,
    And are so learned, that I fear in time
    All my apparel will be quoted by
    Some pure instructor.[199] Yesterday I went
    To see a lady that has a parrot: my woman,
    While I was in discourse, converted the fowl;
    And now it can speak nought but Knox's works;[200]
    So there's a parrot lost.

    +Ban.+ Faith, madam, she
    Was earnest to come to you. Had I known
    Her mistress had so bred her, I would first
    Have preferred her to New England.[201]

    +Dor.+ Surely, sir,
    You promised me, when you did take my money,
    To help me to a faithful service, a lady
    That would be saved, not one that loves profane,
    Unsanctified fashions.

    +Aur.+ Fly my sight,
    You goody Hofman,[202] and keep your chamber, till
    You can provide yourself some cure, or I
    Will forthwith excommunicate your zeal,
    And make you a silent waiting-woman.

    +Ban.+ Mistress Dorcas,
    If you'll be usher to that holy, learned woman
    That can heal broken shins, scald heads and th' itch,
    Your schoolmistress; that can expound, and teaches
    To knit in Chaldee, and work Hebrew samplers,
    I'll help you back again.

    +Dor.+ The motion, sure, is good,
    And I will ponder of it.                           [_Exit +Dorcas+._

    +Aur.+ From thy zeal,
    The frantic ladies' judgments, and Histriomastix,[203]
    Deliver me! This was of your preferring;
    You must needs help me to another.

    +Ban.+ How
    Would you desire her qualified? deformed
    And crooked? like some ladies who do wear
    Their women like black patches, to set them off?

    +Aur.+ I need no foil, nor shall I think I'm white
    Only between two Moors; or that my nose
    Stands wrong, because my woman's doth stand right.

    +Ban.+ But you would have her secret, able to keep
    Strange sights from th' knowledge of your knight, when you
    Are married, madam; of a quick-feigning head?

    +Aur.+ You wrong me, Bannswright: she whom I would have
    Must to her handsome shape have virtue too.

    +Ban.+ Well, madam, I shall fit you. I do know
    A choleric lady which, within these three weeks,
    Has, for not cutting her corns well, put off
    Three women; and is now about to part
    With the fourth--just one of your description.
    Next change o' th' moon or weather, when her feet
    Do ache again, I do believe I shall
    Pleasure your ladyship.

    +Aur.+ Expect your reward.                    [_Exit +Bannswright+._


SCENE III.

           _Enter +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Timothy+, +Plotwell+._

    +Tim.+ Lady, let me taste the Elysium of your lips.

    +Aur.+ Why, what are you? You will not leap me, sir?
    Pray, know your distance.

    +Tim.+ What am I, sweet lady?
    My father is an alderman's fellow; and I
    Hope to be one in time.

    +Aur.+ Then, sir, in time
    You may be remembered at the quenching of
    Fir'd houses, when the bells ring backward,[204] by
    Your name upon the buckets.[205]

    +Tim.+ Nay, they say
    You have a good wit, lady, and I can find it
    As soon as another. I in my time have been
    O' th' university, and should have been a scholar.

    +Aur.+ By the size of your wit, sir, had you kept
    To that profession, I can foresee
    You would have been a great persecutor of nature
    And great consumer of rush candles, with
    As small success as if a tortoise should
    Day and night practise to run races. Having
    Contemplated yourself into ill-looks,
    In pity to so much affliction,
    You might ha' pass'd for learned; and't may be,
    If you had fallen out with the Muses, and
    'Scap'd poetry, you might have risen to scarlet.

    +Tim.+ Here's a rare lady with all my heart. By this
    Light, gentlemen, now have I no more language
    Than a dumb parrot. A little more, she'll jeer me
    Into a fellow that turns upon his toe
    In a steeple, and strikes quarters![206]

    +Bright.+ And why should you
    Be now so dainty of your lips? Verily,
    They are not virgins: they have tasted man.

    +Aur.+ And may again; but then I'll be secur'd
    For the sweet air o' th' parties. If you
    Will bring it me confirm'd under the hands
    Of four sufficient ladies, that you are
    Clean men, you may chance kiss my woman.

    +New.+ Lady,
    Our lips are made of the same clay that yours [are,]
    And have not been refused.

    +Aur.+ 'Tis right, you are
    Two inns-of-court men.

    +Bright.+ Yes, what then?

    +Aur.+ Known Cladders[207]
    Through all the town.

    +Bright.+ Cladders?

    +Aur.+ Yes, catholic lovers,
    From country madams to your glover's wife,
    Or laundress;[208] will not let poor gentlewomen
    Take physic quietly, but disturb their pills
    From operation with your untaught visits;
    Or, if they be employ'd, contrive small plots
    Below stairs with the chambermaid; commend
    Her fragrant breath, which five yards off salutes,
    At four deflow'rs a rose, at three kills spiders.

    +New.+ What dangerous truths these are!

    +Aur.+ Ravish a lock
    From the yellow waiting-woman; use stratagems
    To get her silver whistle, and waylay
    Her pewter-knots or bodkin.

    +New.+ Pretty, pretty!

    +Bright.+ You think you have abus'd us now?

    +Aur.+ I'll tell you:
    Had I in all the world but forty mark,
    And that got by my needle, and making socks,
    And were that forty mark mill'd sixpences,
    Spur-royals, Harry-groats,[209] or such odd coin
    Of husbandry, as in the king's reign now
    Would never pass, I would despise you.

    +New.+ Lady,
    Your wit will make you die a wither'd virgin.

    +Bright.+ We shall in time, when your most tyrant tongue
    Hath made this house a wilderness, and you
    As unfrequented as a statesman fallen;
    When you shall quarrel with your face and glass,
    Till from your pencil you have rais'd new cheeks--
    See you beg suitors, write bills o'er your door:
    "Here is an ancient lady to be let."

    +New.+ You think you are handsome now, and that your eyes
    Make star-shooting, and dart.[210]

    +Aur.+                         'T may be I do.

    +New.+ May I not prosper if I have not seen
    A better face in signs or gingerbread.

    +Tim.+ Yes, I for twopence oft have bought a better.

    +Bright.+ What a sweet, innocent look you have!

    +Plot.+ Fie, gentlemen,
    Abuse a harmless lady thus! I can't
    With patience hear your blasphemies. Make me
    Your second, madam.

    +Tim.+ And make me your third.

    +Aur.+ O prodigy, to hear an image speak!
    Why, sir, I took you for a mute i' th' hangings.
    I'll tell the faces.

    +Tim.+ Gentlemen, do I
    Look like one of them Trojans?[211]

    +Aur.+ 'tis So; Your Face
    Is missing here, sir; pray, step back again,
    And fill the number. You, I hope, have more
    Truth in you than to filch yourself away,
    And leave my room unfurnish'd.

    +Plot.+ By this light
    She'll send for a constable straight, and apprehend him
    For thievery.

    +Tim.+ Why, lady, do you think me
    Wrought in a loom, some Dutch piece weav'd at Mortlake?[212]

    +Aur.+ Surely You Stood So Simply, Like a Man
    Penning of recantations, that I suspected
    Y' had been a part of the monopoly.
    But now I know you have a tongue, and are
    A very man, I'll think you only dull,
    And pray for better utterance.

    +Plot.+ Lady, you make
    Rash judgment of him; he was only struck
    With admiration of your beauty.

    +Tim.+ Truly, and so I was.

    +Aur.+ Then you can wonder, sir?

    +Plot.+ Yes, when he sees such miracles as you.

    +Aur.+ And love me, can't you?

    +Tim.+ Love you! By this hand,
    I'd love a dog of your sweet looks: I am
    Enamour'd of you, lady.

    +Aur.+ Ha, ha, ha! now surely
    I wonder you wear not a cap: your case
    Requires warm things! I'll send you forth a caudle.         [_Exit._

    +Bright.+ The plague of rotten teeth, wrinkles, loud lungs,
    Be with you, madam.

    +Tim.+ Had I now pen and ink,
    If I were urg'd, I'd fain know whether I
    In conscience ought not to set down myself
    No wiser than I should be?

    +Plot.+ Gentlemen, how like you her wit?

    +Tim.+ Wit! I verily
    Believe she was begotten by some wit;
    And he that has her may beget plays on her.

    +New.+ Her wit had need be good, it finds her house.

    +Tim.+ Her house! 'tis able to find the court: if she
    Be chaste to[213] all this wit, I do not think
    But that she might be shown.

    +Bright.+ She speaks with salt,
    And has a pretty scornfulness, which now
    I've seen, I'm satisfied.

    +New.+ Come then away to Roseclap's.

    +Tim.+ Lead on; let us dine. This lady
    Runs in my head still.

                          _Enter a +Footman+._

    +Foot.+ Sir, my lady prays
    You would dismiss your company; she has
    Some business with you.

    +Plot.+ Gentlemen, walk softly; I'll overtake you.

    +Bright.+ Newcut, 'slight! her wit
    Is come to private meetings!

    +New.+ Ay, I thought
    She had some other virtues. Well, make haste,
    We'll stay without; when thou hast done, inform us
    What the rate is: if she be reasonable,
    We'll be her customers.

    +Plot.+ Y' are merry, sir.    [_Exit +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Timothy+._


SCENE IV.

                           _Enter +Aurelia+._

    +Plot.+ Nay, sister, you may enter; they are gone.
    I did receive your ticket this morning. What!
    You look the mine should run still?

    +Aur.+ O, you are
    A careful brother to put me on a course
    That draws the eyes o' th' town upon me, and makes me
    Discourse for ordinaries, then leave me in't.
    I will put off my ladyship, and return
    To Mistress Holland, and to making shirts
    And bands again.

    +Plot.+ I hope you will not.

    +Aur.+ I repent I left th' Exchange.

    +Plot.+ Faith, I should laugh
    To see you there again, and there serve out
    The rest of your indentures, by managing
    Your needle well, and making nightcaps by
    A chafing-dish in winter mornings, to keep
    Your fingers pliant. How rarely 'twould become you
    To run over all your shop to passengers
    In a fine sale-tune!

    +Aur.+ What would you have me do?
    D'ye think I'm the Dutch virgin, that could live
    By th' scent of flowers?[214] Or that my family
    Are descended of cameleons,
    And can be kept with air? Is this the way
    To get a husband; to be in danger to be
    Shut up for house-rent, or to wear a gown
    Out a whole fashion, or the same jewels twice?
    Shortly my neighbours will commend my clothes
    For lasting well, give them strange dates, and cry,
    "Since your last gorget and the blazing star."

    +Plot.+ Prythee, excuse me, sister, I can now
    Rain showers of silver into thy lap again.
    My uncle's gone to sea, and has left me
    The key to th' golden fleece. Thou shalt be still
    A madam, Pen; and to maintain thy honour,
    And to new-dub thee, take this.                [_Gives her a purse._
    But, sister, I
    Expected you ere this, out of the throng
    Of suitors that frequent you, should have been
    Made a true lady--not one in type or show.
    I fear you are too scornful, look too high.

    +Aur.+ Faith, brother, 'tis no age to be put off
    With empty education; few will make jointures
    To wit or good parts. I may die a virgin,
    When some old widow, which at every cough
    Resigns some of her teeth, and every night
    Puts off her leg as duly as French hood,
    Scarce wears her own nose, hath no eyes but such
    As she first bought in Broad Street, and every morning
    Is put together like some instrument,
    Having full coffers, shall be woo'd, and thought
    A youthful bride.

    +Plot.+ Why, sister, will you like
    A match of my projection? You do know
    How ruinous our father's fortunes are.
    Before he broke, you know, there was a contract
    Between you and young Seathrift. What if I
    Make it a wedding?

    +Aur.+ Marry a fool, in hope
    To be a Lady Mayoress?

    +Plot.+ Why, sister, I
    Could name good ladies that are fain to find
    Wit for themselves and knights too.

    +Aur.+                       I have heard
    Of one, whose husband was so meek, to be
    For need her gentleman-usher; and, while she
    Made visits above stairs, would patiently
    Find himself business at trey-trip[215] i' th' hall.

    +Plot.+ He's only city-bred; one month of your
    Sharp conversation will refine him; besides,
    How long will't be ere your dissembled state
    Meet such another offer?

    +Aur.+ Well, brother, you shall dispose of my affections.

    +Plot.+ Then some time
    This afternoon I'll bring him hither: do you
    Provide the priest: your dining-room will serve
    As well as the church.

    +Aur.+ I will expect you.                    [_Exeunt several ways._


SCENE V.

            _Enter +Captain Quartfield+ beating +Roseclap+;
           +Salewit+ and +Millicent+ labouring to part them._

    +Quart.+ Sirrah, I'll beat you into air.

    +Rose.+ Good captain!

    +Quart.+ I will, by Hector.

    +Rose.+ Murder, murder, help!

    +Quart.+ You needy, shifting, cosening, breaking slave.

    +Mil.+ Nay, Master Salewit, help to part 'em.

    +Sale.+ Captain!

    +Quart.+ Ask me for money? dog!

    +Rose.+ O, I am kill'd!

    +Mil.+ Help, help!

    +Sale.+ Nay, captain.

    +Quart.+ Men of my coat pay!

    +Mil.+ I'll call in neighbours. Murder, murder!

    +Quart.+ Rascal,
    I'll make you trust, and offer me petitions
    To go o' th' score.

    +Rose.+ Good: 'tis very good.

    +Mil.+ How does thy head, sweetheart?

    +Rose.+ Away, be quiet, Millicent.

    +Sale.+ Roseclap, you'll never leave this: I did tell you,
    Last time the captain beat you, what a lion
    He is, being ask'd for reckonings.

    +Mil.+ So you did,
    Indeed, good Master Salewit; yet you must
    Ever be foolish, husband.

    +Sale.+ What if we
    Do owe you money, sir; is't fit for you
    To ask it?

    +Rose.+ Well, Sir, There Is Law. I Say
    No more, but there is law.

    +Quart.+ What law, you cur?
    The law of nature, custom, arms, and nations,
    Frees men of war from payments.

    +Rose.+ Yes, your arms, captain; none else.

    +Quart.+ No soldiers ought to pay.

    +Sale.+ Nor poets:
    All void of money are privileged.

    +Mil.+ What would you have?
    Captains and poets, Master Salewit says,
    Must never pay.

    +Sale.+ No, nor be ask'd for money.

    +Rose.+ Still, I say, there is law.

    +Quart.+ Say that again,
    And, by Bellona, I will cut thy throat.

    +Mil.+ You long to see your brains out.

    +Quart.+ Why, you mongrel,
    You John-of-all-trades, have we been your guests
    Since you first kept a tavern; when you had
    The face and impudence to hang a bush
    Out to three pints of claret, two of sack,
    In all the world?

    +Sale.+ After that, when you broke,
    Did we here find you out, custom'd your house,
    And help'd away your victuals, which had else
    Lain mouldy on your hands?

    +Rose.+ You did indeed,
    And never paid for't. I do not deny,
    But you have been my customers these two years;
    My jack went not, nor chimney smok'd without you.
    I will go farther; your two mouths have been
    Two as good eating mouths as need to come
    Within my doors; as curious to be pleased,
    As if you still had eaten with ready money;
    Had still the meats in season; still drank more
    Than your ordinary came to.

    +Sale.+ And your conscience now
    Would have this paid for?

    +Rose.+ Surely, so I take it.

    +Sale.+ Was ever the like heard?

    +Quart.+ 'Tis most unreasonable;
    He has a harden'd conscience. Sirrah cheater,
    You would be question'd for your reckonings, rogue.

    +Rose.+ Do you inform?

    +Quart.+ I hear one o' th' sheriffs
    Paid for the boiling of a carp a mark.

    +Sale.+ Most unheard-of exactions!

    +Rose.+ Yet surely, captain,
    No man had cheaper reckonings than yourself
    And Master Salewit here.

    +Quart.+ How cheap?

    +Rose.+ I say
    No more, good captain; not to pay is cheap,
    A man would think.

    +Quart.+ Sir, don't you reckon air,
    And make it dear to breathe in your house, and put
    The nose to charges?

    +Rose.+ Right; perfum'd air, captain.

    +Quart.+ Is not the standing of the salt an item,
    And placing of the bread?

    +Rose.+ A new way, captain.

    +Quart.+ Is not the folding of your napkins brought
    Into the bill?

    +Rose.+ Pinch'd napkins, captain, and laid
    Like fishes, fowls, or faces.

    +Sale.+ Then remember
    How you rate salads, Roseclap; one may buy
    Gardens as cheap.

    +Rose.+ Yes, Master Salewit, salads
    Taken from Euclid, made in diagrams,
    And to be eaten in figures.

    +Quart.+ And we must pay for your inventions, sir?

    +Rose.+ Or you are damn'd:
    Good captain, you have sworn to pay this twelvemonth.

    +Quart.+ Peace! you loud, bawling cur; do you disgrace me
    Before these gallants? See if I don't kill you.


SCENE VI.

           _Enter +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Timothy+, +Plotwell+._

    +Bright.+ Save you, Captain Quartfield, and my brave wit,
    My man of Helicon. Salute this gentleman,
    He is a city wit.

    +New.+ A corporation went to the bringing of him forth.

    +Quart.+ I embrace him.

    +Sale.+ And so do I.

    +Tim.+ You are a poet, sir,
    And can make verses, I hear?

    +Sale.+ Sir, I am
    A servant to the Muses.

    +Tim.+ I have made
    Some speeches, sir, in verse, which have been spoke
    By a green Robin Goodfellow from Cheapside conduit,[216]
    To my father's company, and mean this afternoon
    To make an epithalamium upon my wedding.
    A lady fell in love with me this morning:
    Ask Master Francis here.

    +Plot.+ Heart! you spoil all.
    Did not I charge you to be silent?

    +Tim.+ That's true;
    I had forgot. You are a captain, sir?

    +Quart.+ I have seen service, sir.

    +Tim.+ Captain, I love
    Men of the sword and buff; and if need were,
    I can roar too, and hope to swear in time,
    Do you see, captain?

    +Plot.+ Nay, captain, we have brought you
    A gentleman of valour, who has been
    In Moorfields often: marry, it has been
    To 'squire his sisters, and demolish custards
    At Pimlico.[217]                           [_+Timothy+ walks aside._

    +Quart.+ Afore me, Master Plotwell;
    I never hop'd to see you in silk again.

    +Sale.+ I look'd the next Lord Mayor's day to see you o' th' livery,
    Or one o' th' bachelor whifflers.[218]

    +Quart.+ What, is your uncle dead?

    +Plot.+ He may in time: he's gone
    To sea this morning, captain; and I am come
    Into your order again. But hark you, captain,
    What think you of a fish now?

    +Quart.+ Mad wags, mad wags.

    +Bright.+ By Heaven, it's true. Here we have brought one with us.

    +New.+ Rich Seathrift's son: he'll make a rare sea-monster.

    +Quart.+ And shall's be merry, i' faith?

    +Bright.+ Salewit shall make a song upon him.

    +New.+ And Roseclap's boy shall sing it.

    +Sale.+ We have the properties of the last fish.[219]

    +Quart.+ And if I
    At dinner do not give him sea enough,
    And afterwards, if I and Salewit do not
    Show him much better than he that shows the Tombs,
    Let me be turned into a sword-fish myself.

    +Plot.+ A natural change for a captain! How now, Roseclap,
    Pensive, and cursing the long vacation?
    Thou look'st as if thou mean'st to break shortly.

    +Rose.+ Ask the captain why I am sad?

    +Quart.+ Faith, gentlemen,
    I disciplin'd him for his rudeness.

    +Plot.+ Why, these
    Are judgments, Roseclap, for dear reckonings.

    +Tim.+ Art thou the half-crown fellow of the house?

    +Rose.+ Sir, I do keep the ordinary.

    +Tim.+ Let's have wine enough;
    I mean to drink a health to a lady.

    +Plot.+ Still
    Will you betray your fortune? One of them
    Will go and tell her who you are, and spoil
    The marriage.

    +Tim.+ No; peace! Gentlemen, if you'll
    Go in, we'll follow.

    +Rose.+ Please you enter, dinner
    Shall straight be set upon the board.

    +Bright.+ We'll expect you. Come, gentlemen.

                   [_Exeunt +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Salewit+, +Quartfield+,
                                                        and +Roseclap+._

    +Tim.+ But, Master Francis, was that
    The business, why she call'd you back?

    +Plot.+ Believe it;
    Your mother's smock shin'd at your birth, or else
    You wear some charm about you.

    +Tim.+ Not I, truly.

    +Plot.+ It cannot be she should so strangely doat
    Upon you else. 'Slight! had you stay'd, I think
    She would have woo'd you herself.

    +Tim.+ Now I remember,
    One read my fortune once, and told my father,
    That I should match a lady.

    +Plot.+ How things fall out!

    +Tim.+ And did she ask you who I was?

    +Plot.+ I told her you were a young knight.

    +Tim.+ Good.

    +Plot.+ Scarce come to th' years of your discretion yet.

    +Tim.+ Good still.

    +Plot.+ And that a great man
    Did mean to beg you[220]----for his daughter.

    +Tim.+ Most rare: this afternoon's the time.

    +Plot.+ Faith, she
    Looks you should use a little courtship first;
    That done, let me alone to have the priest
    In readiness.

    +Tim.+ But were I not best ask my friends' consent?

    +Plot.+ How! Friends' consent? that's fit
    For none but farmers' sons and milkmaids. You shall not
    Debase your judgment. She takes you for a wit,
    And you shall match her like one.

    +Tim.+ Then I will.

    +Plot.+ But no more words to th' gallants.

    +Tim.+ Do you think I am a sieve, and cannot hold?

                          _Enter +Roseclap+._

    +Rose.+ Gentlemen, the company are sat.

    +Tim.+ It shall be yours.

    +Plot.+ Nay, sir, your fortune claims precedency.         [_Exeunt._


SCENE VII.

                 _+Warehouse+, +Seathrift+, +Cypher+._

    +Ware.+ Fetch'd abroad by two gallants, say you?

    +Cyph.+ Yes, sir,
    As soon as you were gone: he only stay'd
    To put on other clothes.

    +Sea.+ You say, my son went with 'em too?

    +Cyph.+ Yes, sir.

    +Ware.+ And whither went they?

    +Cyph.+ I follow'd 'em to Roseclap's ordinary.

    +Ware.+ And there you left 'em?

    +Cyph.+ Yes, sir, just before
    I saw some captains enter.

    +Sea.+ Well, I give
    My son for lost, undone past hope.

    +Ware.+ There is
    No more but this; we'll thither straight: you, Cypher,
    Have your instructions.

    +Cyph.+ Sir, let me alone
    To make the story doleful.

    +Ware.+ Go, make you ready then.                   [_Exit +Cypher+._
    Now, Master Seathrift, you may see what these
    Young men would do, left to themselves.

    +Sea.+ My son shall know he has a sister.

    +Ware.+ And my nephew
    That once he had an uncle. To leave land
    Unto an unthrift, is to build on sand.                    [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[194] "_Talc_, in natural history, is a shining, squamous, fissile
species of stone, easily separable into thin, transparent scales
or leaves."--Chambers's "Dictionary." It was anciently found only
in Spain, but since, in several parts of Europe, Asia, and Africa.
"Some chemists," says the same writer, "and other empirics, have held
that talc might be used for many important purposes, and pretend to
draw from it that precious oil so much boasted of by the ancients,
particularly the Arabs, called _oil of talc_, which is supposed a
wonderful cosmetic, and preserver of the complexion; but the truth
is, the word _talc_, among them, signified no more than an equal
disposition of the humours, which keeps the body in good temperament
and perfect health. Now, as nothing contributes more than health to the
preserving of beauty, this has given occasion to the chemists to search
this _oil of talc_, which is to maintain the body in this disposition,
and to engage the ladies to be at the expense of the search."

["_Talc_ is a cheap kind of mineral, which this county (Sussex)
plentifully affords, though not so fine as that which is fetched from
Venice. It is white and transparent like crystal, full of strekes or
veins, which prettily scatter themselves. Being calcined, and variously
prepared, it maketh a curious _white-wash_, which some justify lawful,
because clearing, not changing, the complexion."--Fuller's "Worthies,"
quoted by Gifford (Ben Jonson, iv. 94).]

[195] This was Prynne's celebrated work, entitled, "Histriomastix,"
&c., which was, by the sentence of the Star Chamber, ordered to be
burnt.

[196] The county in which the celebrated Robert Browne (who may be
esteemed the head of the Puritans) was beneficed, and afterwards died
in gaol, at a very advanced age.

[197] Alluding to the second publication for which Prynne was
prosecuted, and sentenced to lose the remainder of his ears. It was
entitled, "News from Ipswich, and the Divine Tragedy, recording God's
fearful Judgments against Sabbath-Breakers. 4º, 1636." [He published it
under the name of Matthew White.]

[198] It appears to have been the custom at this time to work religious
and other stories in different parts of the dress then worn. In
Beaumont and Fletcher's "Custom of the Country," ii. 3, [Dyce's edit.
iv. 422,] Rutilio says--

    "Having a mistress, sure you should not be
    Without _a neat historical shirt_."

[199] [This passage is quoted in the editions of Beaumont and Fletcher,
to illustrate a passage in the "Custom of the Country," (see below) but
it is questionable, perhaps, whether the allusions here are to be taken
quite seriously.]

[200] See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 300.]

[201] See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 316.]

[202] [An allusion which I cannot explain. It has no connection with
Chettle's play.]

[203] Prynne's book, mentioned before.

[204] [See a note in Hazlitt's "Popular Poetry," ii. 153.]

[205] [A curious little illustration of contemporary civic usages.]

[206] Alluding to an automaton, like those at St Dunstan's, Fleet
Street. See notes on Shakespeare's "King Richard III.," edit. 1778, p.
113, vol. vii.--_Steevens._

[207] [Nares, in his "Glossary," 1859, in _v._, seems to say that
this is the only passage where this phrase occurs. Fortunately it is
explained for us. But its origin is obscure.]

[208] [The name given to the women who attended on the chambers in the
inns-of-court. It is not obsolete.]

[209] In the third year of James I., rose-_rials_ (or _royals_) of
gold were coined at 30s. apiece, and _spur-rials_ at 15s. each. For
_Harry-groats_, see note to "The Antiquary," _post_.

[210] So Chapman, in his "Hymn to Hymen," at the end of the "Masque of
the Middle Temple and Lincoln's Inn," 1613--

              "Let such glances fly,
    As make stars shoot to imitate her eye."

--_Collier._

[211] [Probably the arras in the room represented some scene in the
siege of Troy.]

[212] The art of weaving tapestry was brought into England by William
Sheldon, Esq., about the end of the reign of Henry VIII. (See Dugdale's
"Warwickshire," p. 584.) In the time of James I., a manufacture of
tapestry was set up at Mortlake, in Surrey, and soon arrived at a high
degree of excellence. King James gave £2000 towards the undertaking;
and Sir Francis Crane erected the house to execute the design in.
Francis Cleyn painted for the workmen, and to such a pitch of
perfection had the art been carried, that Archbishop Williams paid for
the four seasons, worked, I suppose, for hangings, £2500.--(Walpole's
"Anecdotes," ii. 21-128.) _Mortlake tapestry_ continued long in repute,
and is mentioned in Oldham's Satire in imitation of the Third Satire of
Juvenal--

            "Here some rare piece
    Of Rubens or Vandyke presented is:
    There a rich suit of _Mortlack tapestry_,
    A bed of damask or embroidery."

[213] [_i.e._, Added to.]

[214] The following seems to be the story here alluded to: "But the
strangest I have met with in this kinde, is the historie of Eve
Fleigen, out of the _Dutch_ translated into English, and printed at
London, Anno 1611: who being borne at Meurs, is said to have taken no
kinde of sustenance by the space of fourteen yeeres together; that is,
from the yeere of her age twenty-two to thirty-six, and from the yeere
of our Lord, 1597 to 1611; and this we have confirmed by the testimony
of the magistrate of the towne of Meurs, as also by the minister, who
made tryall of her in his house thirteene days together, by all the
meanes he could devise, but could detect no imposture. Over the picture
of this maiden, set in the front of the Dutch copie, stand these Latin
verses--

    'Meursæ hæc quem cernis decies ter sexque peregit
    Annos, bis septem prorsus non vescitur annis
    Nec potat, sic sola sedet, sic pallida vitam
    Ducit, et _exigui se oblectat floribus horti_."

Thus rendred in the English copie--

    "This maid of Meurs thirty-six yeares spent,
    Fourteene of which she tooke no nourishment:
    Thus pale and wan shee sits, sad and alone,
    _A garden's all shee loves to looke upon_."

--Hakewill's "Apologie," fol. 1635, p. 440.

In Davenant's "News from Plymouth," act i. sc. 1, the same person is
mentioned--

    "How? Do you think I bring you tidings of
    The Maid of Brabant, that liv'd by her smell;
    That din'd on a rose, and supp'd on a tulip?"

[The narrative of Eve Fleigen, above referred to, is appended to an
excessively rare tract of eight 4º leaves, printed in 1611, and noticed
in Hazlitt's "Handbook," 1867, p. 277.]

[215] Or, as it was more frequently written, _tray-trip_. This game is
mentioned very frequently in our ancient writers, but it is by no means
clear what the nature of it was. Mr Steevens considers it as a _game at
cards_; and Mr Tyrwhitt, as a _game at tables_. In opposition to both,
Mr Hawkins was of opinion that it was the same play which is now called
"Scotch Hop," the amusement at present of the lower class of young
people. In support of this idea, the above passage was quoted by that
gentleman. See notes on "Twelfth Night," act ii. sc. 5.

The truth of Mr Tyrwhitt's conjecture will be established by the
following extract from "Machiavell's Dogge," 1617, 4º, sig. B.

    "But leaving cardes, lett's goe to dice a while,
    To passage, _trei-trippe_, hazarde, or mum-chance,
    But subtill mates will simple mindes beguile,
    And blinde their eyes with many a blinking glaunce.

    "Oh cogges and stoppes, and such like devilish trickes,
    Full many a purse of golde and silver pickes.

    "And therefore, first for hazard, hee that list,
    And passeth not, puts many to a blancke;
    And _trippe without a treye_ makes hard, I wist,
    To sitte and mourne among the sleepers ranke.

    And for mum-chance howe'er the chance doe fall,
    You must be mum for fear of marring all."

[See also "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," 1870, ii. 340.]

[216] Alluding to the quaint speeches anciently delivered by fantastic
characters during pageants and processions, such as that of the Lord
Mayor, those at the entry of foreign princes, &c. The speakers were
usually placed on _conduits_, _market crosses_, and other elevated
situations.--_Steevens._

[217] [According to some, a person who kept a tavern at or near Hoxton,
but according to others, a place in that neighbourhood remarkable for
selling ale. This is a doubtful matter. The ales of Pimlico, near
London, are still famous.] See "Pimlyco, or Runne Red cap, 'tis a mad
world at Hogsden," 1609. [As only one copy of it is known, it might be
rather difficult to _see_ it.]

[218] [See Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," in _v._ A _whiffler_ was
originally a player on a _whiffle_ or fife in a procession, and hence
was a name applied to the boys who walked (generally with flags) in the
procession on Lord Mayor's Day.]

_Bachelors whifflers_ should properly be _young men_ free of the
company. They attend on the Lord Mayor's Day, and are supposed to be
out of their apprenticeships the preceding year. They are considered by
the company they belong to pretty nearly in the same point of view as a
gentleman considers the upper servants he keeps _out of livery_.--_N._

In some companies, I am well informed, the children are named _The
Whiflers_.--_Reed_ (note altered).

[219] See note p. 248 to this play.

[220] [A piece of wit on the part of Plotwell, who meant slyly to
insinuate that Timothy was fit to be begged for a fool, a custom which
was once common, and does not require explanation.]



ACT III., SCENE I.


          _+Bright+, +Newcut+, +Plotwell+, +Roseclap+, hanging
                out the picture of a strange fish._[221]

    +Bright.+ 'Fore Jove, the captain fox'd[222] him rarely.

    +Rose.+ O sir,
    He is used to it: this is the fifth fish now
    That he hath shown thus. One got him twenty pound.

    +New.+ How, Roseclap?

    +Rose.+ Why the captain kept him, sir,
    A whole week drunk, and show'd him twice a-day.

    +New.+ It could not be like this.

    +Rose.+ Faith, I do grant
    This is the strangest fish. Yon I have hung
    His other picture in the fields, where some
    Say 'tis an o'ergrown porpoise; others say
    'Tis the fish caught in Cheshire; one, to whom
    The rest agree, said 'twas a mermaid.

    +Plot.+ 'Slight!
    Roseclap shall have a patent of him. The birds
    Brought from Peru, the hairy wench,[223] the camel,
    The elephant, dromedaries, or Windsor Castle,
    The woman with dead flesh, or she that washes,
    Threads needles, writes, dresses her children, plays
    O' th' virginals with her feet, could never draw
    People like this.

    +New.+ O, that his father were
    At home to see him!

    +Plot.+ Or his mother come,
    Who follows strange sights out of town, and went
    To Brentford to a motion.

    +Bright.+ Bid the captain hasten,
    Or he'll recover, and spoil all.

    +Rose.+ They're here!


SCENE II.

    _Enter +Quartfield+ and +Salewit+, dressed like two trumpeters,
        keeping the door; +Mistress Seathrift+ and +Mistress
        Holland+, with a 'prentice before 'em, as comers-in._

    +Quart.+ Bear back there!

    +Sale.+ Pray you, do not press so hard.

    +Quart.+ Make room for the two gentlewomen.

    +Mis. Sea.+ What is't?

    +Sale.+ Twelvepence apiece.

    +Mis. Hol.+ We will not give't.

    +Quart.+ Make room for them that will, then.

    +Plot.+ O fortune, here's his mother!

    +Bright.+ And who's the other?

    +Plot.+ One Mistress Holland, the
    Great sempstress on the Exchange.

    +Mis. Hol.+ We gave but a groat
    To see the last fish.

    +Quart.+ Gentlewoman, that
    Was but an Irish sturgeon.

    +Sale.+ This came from
    The Indies, and eats five crowns a day in fry,
    Ox-livers, and brown paste.

    +Mis. Sea.+ Well, there's three shillings.
    Pray, let us have good places now.

    +Quart.+ Bear back there!

    +Mis. Hol.+ Look, Mistress Seathrift, here be gentlemen.
    Sure, 'tis a rare fish.

    +Mis. Sea.+ I know one of 'em.

    +Mis. Hol.+ And so do I; his sister was my 'prentice.

    +Mis. Sea.+ Let's take acquaintance with him.

    +Plot.+ Mistress Seathrift,
    Hath the sight drawn you hither?

    +Mis. Sea.+ Yes, sir, I
    And Mistress Holland here, my gossip, pass'd
    This way, and so call'd in. Pray, Master Plotwell,
    Is not my son here? I was told he went
    With you this morning.

    +Plot.+ You shall see him straight.

    +Mis. Hol.+ When will the fish begin, sir?

    +Bright.+ Heart! she makes him a puppet-play.

    +Plot.+ Why, now, they only stay
    For company, 't has sounded twice.[224]

    +Mis. Sea.+ Indeed
    I long to see this fish. I wonder whether
    They will cut up his belly; they say a tench
    Will make him whole again.

    +Mis. Hol.+ Look, Mistress Seathrift, what claws he has!

    +Mis. Sea.+ For all the world like crabs.

    +Mis. Hol.+ Nay, mark his feet too.

    +Mis. Sea.+ For all the world like plaice.

    +Bright.+ Was ever better sport heard?

    +New.+ Prythee, peace.

    +Mis. Hol.+ Pray, can you read that? Sir, I warrant
    That tells where it was caught, and what fish 'tis.

    +Plot.+ _Within this place is to be seen
                A wondrous fish. God save the queen._

    +Mis. Hol.+ Amen! she is my customer, and I
    Have sold her bone-lace often.

    +Bright.+ Why, the queen? 'Tis writ _the king_.

    +Plot.+ That was to make the rhyme.

    +Bright.+ 'Slid, thou didst read it, as 'twere some picture of
    An Elizabeth-fish.[225]

    +Quart.+ Bear back there!

    +Sale.+ Make room! you
    Friend, that were going to cut a purse there, make
    Way for the two old gentlemen to pass.

             _Enter +Warehouse+ and +Seathrift+ disguised._

    +Ware.+ What must we give?

    +Quart.+ We take a shilling, sir.

    +Sale.+ It is no less.

    +Sea.+ Pray God your fish be worth it.
    What, is't a whale, you take so dear?

    +Quart.+ It is a fish taken in the Indies.

    +Ware.+ Pray despatch then, and show't us quickly.

    +Sale.+ Pray, forbear: you'd have your head broke, cobbler.

    +Ware.+ Yonder is my nephew in his old gallantry.

    +Sea.+ Who's there too? my wife
    And Mistress Holland! Nay, I look'd for them.
    But where's my wise son?

    +Ware.+ Mass, I see not him.

    +Quart.+ Keep out, sir.

    +Sale.+ Waterman, you must not enter.

                                 [_+Cypher+ presses in like a waterman._

    +Quart.+ This is no place for scullers.

    +Cyph.+ I must needs speak
    With one Master Plotwell----

    +Quart.+ You must stay.

    +Sale.+ Thrust him out.

    +Cyph.+ ----and one Master Seathrift
    On urgent business.

    +Sale.+ They are yet employ'd
    In weightier affairs. Make fast the door.

                                                 [_They thrust him out._

    +Quart.+ There shall no more come in. Come in, boy.

    +Sea.+ Don't they speak as if my son were in the room?

    +Ware.+ Yes, pray observe and mark them.

    +Quart.+ Gentlemen
    And gentlewomen, you now shall see a sight
    Europe never show'd the like. Behold this fish!

                           [_Draws a curtain; behind it +Timothy+ asleep
                                                   like a strange fish._

    +Mis. Hol.+ O Strange! Look How It Sleeps!

    +Bright.+ Just like a salmon upon a stall in Fish
    Street.

    +Mis. Sea.+ How it snorts too! just like my husband.

    +Ware.+ 'Tis very like a man.

    +Sea.+ 'T has such a nose and eyes.

    +Sale.+ Why, 'tis, a man-fish;
    An ocean centaur, begot between a siren
    And a he stock-fish.

    +Sea.+ Pray, where took ye him?

    +Quart.+ We took him strangely in the Indies, near
    The mouth of Rio de la Plata, asleep
    Upon the shore, just as you see him now.

    +Mis. Hol.+ How say ye, asleep!

    +Ware.+ How! Would he come to land?

    +Sea.+ 'Tis strange a fish should leave his element!

    +Quart.+ Ask him what things the country told us.

    +Sale.+ You
    Will scarce believe it now. This fish would walk you
    Two or three mile o' th' shore sometimes; break houses,
    Ravish a naked wench or two (for there
    Women go naked), then run to sea again.

    +Quart.+ The country has been laid,[226] and warrants granted
    To apprehend him.

    +Ware.+ I do suspect these fellows:
    They lie as if they had patent for it.

    +Sea.+ The company,
    Should every one believe his part, would scarce
    Have faith enough among us.

    +Ware.+ Mark again.

    +Sale.+ The States of Holland would have bought him of us,
    Out of a great design.

    +Sea.+ Indeed!

    +Sale.+ They offer'd a thousand dollars.

    +Quart.+ You cannot enter yet.                        [_Some knock._

    +Ware.+ Indeed! so much! Pray, what to do?

    +Sale.+ Why, sir,
    They were in hope, in time, to make this fish
    Of faction 'gainst the Spaniard, and do service
    Unto the state.

    +Sea.+ As how?

    +Sale.+ Why, sir, next plate-fleet,
    To dive, bore holes i'th' bottom of their ships,
    And sink them. You must think a fish like this
    May be taught Machiavel, and made a state-fish.

    +Plot.+ As dogs are taught to fetch.

    +New.+ Or elephants to dance on ropes.

    +Bright.+ And, pray, what honour would
    The states have given him for the service?

    +Quart.+ That, sir, is uncertain.

    +Sale.+ Ha' made him some sea-count; or, 't may be, admiral.

    +Plot.+ Then, sir, in time,
    Dutch authors, that writ _Mare Liberum_,[227]
    Might dedicate their books to him?

    +Sale.+ Yes, being
    A fish advanc'd, and of great place. Sing, boy!
    You now shall hear a song upon him.

    +Bright.+ Listen.

    +New.+ Do they not act it rarely?

    +Plot.+ If 'twere their trade, they could not do it better.

    +Sea.+ Hear you that, sir?

    +Ware.+ Still I suspect.

    +Mis. Hol.+ I warrant you, this fish
    Will shortly be in a ballad.

    +Sale.+ Begin, boy.

                                +Song.+

        _We show no monstrous crocodile,
        Nor any prodigy of Nile;
        No Remora that stops your fleet,[228]
        Like serjeants gallants in the street;
        No sea-horse which can trot or pace,
        Or swim false galop, post, or race:
        For crooked dolphins we not care,
        Though on their back a fiddler were:
        The like to this fish, which we show,
        Was ne'er in Fish Street, old or new;
        Nor ever serv'd to th' sheriff's board,
        Or kept in souse for the Mayor Lord.
        Had old astronomers but seen
        This fish, none else in heaven had been._

    +Mis. Hol.+ The song has waken'd him; look, he stirs!

    +Tim.+ O captain, pox--take--you--captain.

    +Mis. Sea.+ Hark, he speaks!

    +Tim.+ O--my--stomach----

    +Ware.+ How's this?

    +Sea.+ I'll pawn my life, this is imposture.

    +Tim.+ O, O----

    +Plot.+ Heart! the captain did not give him his full load.

    +Ware.+ Can your fish
    Speak, friends? The proverb says they're mute.

    +Quart.+ I'll tell you,
    You will admire how docile he is, and how
    He'll imitate a man: tell him your name,
    He will repeat it after you; he has heard me
    Call'd captain, and my fellow[s] curse sometimes,
    And now you heard him say, pox-take-you, captain.

    +Sale.+ And yesterday, I but complain'd my stomach
    Was overcharg'd, and how he minds it!

    +New.+ Strange!

    +Bright.+ Ay, is it not?

    +Plot.+ The towardness of a fish!

    +Sale.+ Would you think, when we caught him, he should speak
    _Drake, Drake_?[229]

    +Bright.+ And did he?

    +Quart.+ Yes, and _Hawkins_;[230]
    A sign he was a fish that swam there when
    These two compass'd the world.

    +New.+ How should he learn their names, I wonder?

    +Sale.+ From the sailors.

    +New.+ That may be.

    +Quart.+ He'll call for drink, like me, or anything
    He lacks.

    +Tim.+ O Gad, my head----

    +Quart.+ D'you hear him?

    +Tim.+ O hostess, a basin----

    +Plot.+ 'Slid, he'll spew.

    +Bright.+ No matter.

    +Quart.+ Nay, I have seen him fox'd, and then maintain
    A drunken dialogue.

    +Mis. Hol.+ Lord, how I long
    To hear a little! Pray try him with some questions;
    Will you, my friend?

    +Quart.+ Sometimes he will be sullen,
    And make no answers.

    +Sale.+ That is when he's anger'd,
    Or kept from drink long.

    +Quart.+ But I'll try him.

    +Mis. Sea.+ To see what creatures may be brought to!

    +Quart.+ Tim, you are drunk.

    +Tim.+ Plague take you, captain. O--Lord, you made me----

    +Sea.+ 'Sdeath, my son's name! Tim do you call him?

    +Sale.+ He'll answer to no name but that.

    +Quart.+ And, Tim, what think you of a wench now?

    +Tim.+ O, I am sick; where is she? O----

    +Sea.+ I'll lay my life, this fish is some confederate rogue.

    +Quart.+ I drink to you, Timothy, in sack.

    +Tim.+ O, O!

    +Quart.+ A health, Tim.

    +Tim.+ I can drink no more,--O!

    +Sale.+ What, not pledge your mistress!

    +Tim.+ O, let me alone.

    +Sale.+ He is not in the mood now;
    Sometimes you'd wonder at him.

    +Quart.+ He is tired
    With talking all this day. That, and the heat
    Of company about him, dull him.

    +Ware.+ Surely,
    My friends, it is to me a miracle
    To hear a fish speak thus.

    +Quart.+ So, sirs, 't has been
    To thousands more.

    +Sale.+ Come now next Michaelmas,
    'Tis five year we have shown him in most courts
    In Christendom; and you will not believe,
    How with mere travelling and observation
    He has improved himself, and brought away
    The language of the country.

    +Sea.+ May not I ask him
    Some questions?

    +Quart.+ Sir, you may; but he
    Will answer none but one of us.

    +Mis. Sea.+ He's used, and knows their voices.

                                                    [_Knocking at door._

    +Sale.+ He is so, mistress. Now, we'll open door.

    +Ware.+ Well, my belief doth tell me
    There is a mist before our eyes.

    +Mis. Sea.+ I mar'l
    My wise son miss'd this show.

    +Quart.+ Good people, we
    Do show no more to-day: if you desire

                                    [_They draw the curtain before him._

    To see, come to us in King Street to-morrow.

    +Mis. Hol.+ Come, gossip, let us go; the fish is done.

    +Mis. Sea.+ By your leave, gentlemen. Truly, 'tis a dainty fish.[231]

                        [_Exit +Mistress Seathrift+, +Mistress Holland+,
                                                       and +'Prentice+._


SCENE III.

                   _Enter +Cypher+, like a Waterman._

    +Cyph.+ Pray, which is Master Plotwell?

    +Plot.+ I am he, friend;
    What is your business?

    +Cyph.+ Sir, I should speak
    With young Master Seathrift too.

    +Plot.+ Sir, at this time,
    Although no crab, like you, to swim backward, he is
    Of your element.

    +Cyph.+ Upon the water?

    +Plot.+ No,
    But something that lives in't. If you but stay
    Till he have slept himself a land-creature, you may
    Chance see him come ashore here.

    +Tim.+ O--my head--
    O--Captain--Master Francis--Captain--O----

    +Plot.+ That is his voice, sir.

    +Sea.+ Death o' my soul! my son!

    +Cyph.+ He is in drink, sir, is he?

    +Plot.+ Surely, friend, you are a witch;[232] he is so.

    +Cyph.+ Then I must tell the news to you: 'tis sad.

    +Plot.+ I'll hear't as sadly.

    +Cyph.+ Your uncle, sir, and Master Seathrift are
    Both drown'd, some eight miles below Greenwich.

    +Plot.+ Drown'd!

    +Cyph.+ They went i' th' tilt-boat, sir, and I was one
    O' th' oars that rowed him: a coal-ship did o'errun us.
    I 'scaped by swimming; the two old gentlemen
    Took hold of one another, and sunk together.

    +Bright.+ How some men's prayers are heard!
    We did invoke
    The sea this morning, and see, the Thames has took 'em.

    +Plot.+ It cannot be: such good news, gentlemen,
    Cannot be true.

    +Ware.+ 'Tis very certain, sir.
    'Twas talk'd upon th' Exchange.

    +Sea.+ We heard it too
    In Paul's now, as we came.

    +Plot.+ There, friend, there is
    A fare for you. I'm glad you 'scap'd; I had
    Not known the news so soon else.                 [_Gives him money._

    +Cyph.+ Sir, excuse me.

    +Plot.+ Sir, it is conscience; I do believe you might
    Sue me in Chancery.

    +Cyph.+ Sir, you show the virtues of an heir.

    +Ware.+ Are you rich Warehouse's heir, sir?

    +Plot.+ Yes, sir, his transitory pelf,
    And some twelve hundred pound a year in earth,
    Is cast on me. Captain, the hour is come,
    You shall no more drink ale, of which one draught
    Makes cowards, and spoils valour; nor take off
    Your moderate quart-glass. I intend to have
    A musket for you, or glass-cannon, with
    A most capacious barrel, which we'll charge
    And discharge with the rich valiant grape
    Of my uncle's cellar. Every charge shall fire
    The glass, and burn itself i' th' filling, and look
    Like a piece going off.

    +Quart.+ I shall be glad
    To give thanks for you, sir, in pottle-draughts,
    And shall love Scotch coal for this wreck the better,
    As long as I know fuel.

    +Plot.+ Then my poet
    No longer shall write catches or thin sonnets,
    Nor preach in verse, as if he were suborn'd
    By him that wrote the Whip,[233] to pen lean acts,
    And so to overthrow the stage for want
    Of salt or wit. Nor shall he need torment
    Or persecute his Muse; but I will be
    His god of wine t' inspire him. He shall no more
    Converse with the five-yard butler who, like thunder,
    Can turn beer with his voice, and roar it sour;
    But shall come forth a Sophocles, and write
    Things for the buskin. Instead of Pegasus,
    To strike a spring with's hoof, we'll have a steel
    Which shall but touch a butt, and straight shall flow
    A purer, higher, wealthier Helicon.

    +Sale.+ Frank, thou shalt be my Phœbus. My next poem
    Shall be thy uncle's tragedy, or the life
    And death of two rich merchants.

    +Plot.+ Gentlemen,
    And now, i' faith, what think you of the fish?

    +Ware.+ Why as we ought, sir, strangely.

    +Bright.+ But do you think it is a very fish?

    +Sale.+ Yes.

    +New.+ 'Tis a man.

    +Plot.+ This valiant captain and this man of wit
    First fox'd him, then transformed him. We will wake him,
    And tell him the news. Ho, Master Timothy!

    +Tim.+ Plague take you, captain!

    +Plot.+ What, does your sack work still?

    +Tim.+ Where am I?

    +Plot.+ Come, y' have slept enough.

    +Bright.+ Master Timothy!
    How, in the name of fresh cod, came you chang'd
    Into a sea-calf thus?

    +New.+ 'Slight, sir, here be
    Two fishmongers to buy you; bate the price,
    Now y' are awake, yourself.

    +Tim.+ How's this? my hands
    Transmuted into claws? my feet made flounders?
    Array'd in fins and scales? Aren't you
    Asham'd to make me such a monster? Pray,
    Help to undress me.

    +Plot.+ We have rare news for you.

    +Tim.+ No letter from the lady, I hope.

    +Plot.+ Your father
    And my grave uncle, sir, are cast away.

    +Tim.+ How?

    +Plot.+ They by this have made a meal
    For jacks and salmon: they are drown'd.

    +Bright.+ Fall down,
    And worship sea-coals; for a ship of them
    Has made you, sir, an heir.

    +Plot.+ This fellow here
    Brings the auspicious news: and these two friends
    Of ours confirm it.

    +Cyph.+ 'Tis too true, sir.

    +Tim.+ Well,
    We are all mortal; but in what wet case
    Had I been now, if I had gone with him!
    Within this fortnight I had been converted
    Into some pike; you might ha' cheapen'd me
    In Fish Street; I had made an ordinary,
    Perchance, at the Mermaid.[234] Now could I cry
    Like any image in a fountain, which
    Runs lamentations. O my hard misfortune!       [_He feigns to weep._

    +Sea.+ Fie, sir! good truth, it is not manly in you
    To weep for such a slight loss as a father.

    +Tim.+ I do not cry for that.

    +Sea.+ No?

    +Tim.+ No, but to think,
    My mother is not drown'd too.

    +Sea.+ I assure you,
    And that's a shrewd mischance.

    +Tim.+ For then might I
    Ha' gone to th' counting-house, and set at liberty
    Those harmless angels, which for many years
    Have been condemn'd to darkness.

    +Plot.+ You'd not do
    Like your penurious father, who was wont
    To walk his dinner out in Paul's, whilst you
    Kept Lent at home, and had, like folk in sieges,
    Your meals weigh'd to you.

    +New.+ Indeed they say he was
    A monument of Paul's.

    +Tim.+ Yes, he was there
    As constant as Duke Humphrey.[235] I can show
    The prints where he sat holes i' th' logs.

    +Plot.+ He wore
    More pavement out with walking than would make
    A row of new stone-saints, and yet refused
    To give to th' reparation.[236]

    +Bright.+ I've heard
    He'd make his jack go empty to cosen neighbours.

    +Plot.+ Yes, when there was not fire enough to warm
    A mastich-patch t' apply to his wife's temples,
    In great extremity of toothache. This is
    True, Master Timothy, is't not?

    +Tim.+ Yes: then linen
    To us was stranger than to Capuchins.
    My flesh is of an order with wearing shirts
    Made of the sacks that brought o'er cochineal,
    Copperas, and indigo. My sister wears
    Smocks made of currant-bags.

    +Sea.+ I'll not endure it:
    Let's show ourselves.                                      [_Aside._

    +Ware.+ Stay: hear all first.                              [_Aside._

    +New.+ Thy uncle was such another.

    +Plot.+ I have heard
    He still last left th' Exchange; and would commend
    The wholesomeness o' th' air in Moorfields, when
    The clock struck three sometimes.

    +Plot.+ Surely myself,
    Cypher, his factor, and an ancient cat
    Did keep strict diet, had our Spanish fare,
    Four olives among three. My uncle would
    Look fat with fasting; I ha' known him surfeit
    Upon a bunch of raisins, swoon at sight
    Of a whole joint, and rise an epicure
    From half an orange.                             [_They undisguise._

    +Ware.+ Gentlemen, 'tis false.
    Cast off your cloud. D'ye know me, sir?

    +Plot.+ My uncle!

    +Sea.+ And do you know me, sir?

    +Tim.+ My father!

    +Ware.+ Nay,
    We'll open all the plot; reveal yourself.

    +Plot.+ Cypher, the waterman!

    +Quart.+ Salewit, away!
    I feel a tempest coming.

                                     [_Exit +Quartfield+ and +Salewit+._

    +Ware.+ Are you struck
    With a torpedo, nephew?

    +Sea.+ Ha' you seen too
    A Gorgon's head, that you stand speechless? or
    Are you a fish in earnest?

    +Bright.+ It begins to thunder.

    +New.+ We will make bold to take our leaves.

    +Ware.+ What, is your captain fled?

    +Sea.+ Nay, gentlemen, forsake your company!

    +Bright.+ Sir, we have business.    [_Exeunt +Bright+ and +Newcut+._

    +Sea.+ Troth, it is not kindly done.

    +Ware.+ Now, Master Seathrift,
    You see what mourners we had had, had we
    Been wreck'd in earnest. My griev'd nephew here
    Had made my cellar flow with tears; my wines
    Had charg'd glass-ordnance; our funerals had been
    Bewail'd in pottle-draughts.

    +Sea.+ And at our graves
    Your nephew and my son had made a panegyric,
    And open'd all our virtues.

    +Ware.+ Ungrateful monster!

    +Sea.+ Unnatural villain!

    +Ware.+ Thou enemy to my blood!

    +Sea.+ Thou worse than parricide!

    +Ware.+ Next my sins, I do repent I am thy uncle.

    +Sea.+ And I thy father.

    +Ware.+ Death o' my soul! Did I, when first thy father
    Broke in estate, and then broke from the compter,
    Where Master Seathrift laid him in the hole
    For debt, among the ruins of the city
    And trades like him blown up, take thee from dust,
    Give thee free education, put thee in
    My own fair way of traffic--nay, decree
    To leave thee jewels, land, my whole estate;
    Pardon'd thy former wildness; and couldst thou sort
    Thyself with none but idle gallants, captains,
    And poets, who must plot before they eat,
    And make each meal a stratagem? Then could none
    But I be subject of thy impious scoffs?
    I swoon at sight of meat! I rise a glutton
    From half an orange! Wretch, forgetful wretch!
    'Fore Heaven, I count it treason in my blood
    That gives thee a relation. But I'll take
    A full revenge. Make thee my heir! I'll first
    Adopt a slave brought from some galley; one
    Which laws do put into the inventory,
    And men bequeath in wills with stools and brasspots;
    One who shall first be household-stuff, then my heir;
    Or, to defeat all thy large aims, I'll marry.
    Cypher, go, find me Bannswright; he shall straight
    Provide me a wife: I will not stay to let
    My resolution cool. Be she a wench
    That every day puts on her dowry, wears
    Her fortunes, has no portion, so she be
    Young, and likely to be fruitful, I'll have her:
    By all that's good, I will: this afternoon!
    I will about it straight.

    +Sea.+ I follow you.                [_Exeunt +Warehouse+, +Cypher+._
    And as for you, Tim, mermaid, triton, haddock,
    The wondrous Indian fish caught near Peru,
    Who can be of both elements, your sight
    Will keep you well. Here I do cast thee off,
    And in thy room pronounce to make thy sister
    My heir: it would be most unnatural
    To leave a fish land. 'Las! sir, one of your
    Bright fins and gills must swim in seas of sack,
    Spout rich canaries up like whales in maps:[237]
    I know you'll not endure to see my jack
    Go empty, nor wear shirts of copperas-bags,
    Nor fast in Paul's, you! I do hate thee now
    Worse than a tempest, quicksand, pirate, rock,
    Or fatal lake, ay, or a privy-seal.[238]
    Go, let the captain make you drunk, and let
    Your next change be into some ape--'tis stale
    To be a fish twice--or some active baboon:
    And, when you can find money out, betray
    What wench i' th' room has lost her maidenhead;
    Can mount to the king, and can do all your feats,
    If your fine chain and yellow coat come near
    Th' Exchange, I'll see you. So I leave you.     [_Exit +Seathrift+._

    +Plot.+ Now,
    Were there a dext'rous beam and twopence hemp,
    Never had man such cause to hang himself.

    +Tim.+ I have brought myself to a fine pass too. Now
    Am I fit only to be caught, and put
    Into a pond to leap carps, or beget
    A goodly race of pick'rel.


SCENE IV.

                  _Enter +Quartfield+ and +Salewit+._

    +Quart.+ How now, mad lads; what! is the storm broke up?

    +Sale.+ What, sad, like broken gamesters! Master Timothy,
    'Slight, who would think your father should lay wheels[239]
    To catch you thus?

    +Tim.+ If ever I be drunk with captains more----

    +Plot.+ Where's Bright and Newcut?

    +Sale.+ They were sent for to the Temple, but left word
    They would be here at supper.

    +Plot.+ They are sure friends to leave us in distress.

    +Quart.+ What a mad plot
    These two old merchants had contriv'd, to feign
    A voyage, then to hunt you out disguised,
    And hear themselves abused?

    +Sale.+ We heard all.

    +Quart.+ If I had stay'd, they had paid me for a captain.

    +Sale.+ They had a fling at me. But do you think
    Your uncle in this furious mood will marry?

    +Plot.+ He deeply swore it: if he do, the sleight
    Upon the cards, the hollow die, Park Corner
    And Shooter's Hill, are my revenue.

    +Tim.+ Yes: and as for me, my destiny will be
    To fight by th' day, carry my kitchen and
    Collation at my back, wear orderly
    My shirt in course, after't has been the shift
    Of a whole regiment in the low countries;
    And, after all, return with half a leg,
    One arm, perchance my nose shot off, to move
    Compassion in my father who, in pity
    To so much ruin, may be brought to buy
    Some place for me in an hospital, to keep me
    From bridges, hill-tops, and from selling switches.

    +Rose.+ Yonder's your uncle at the field-door, talking
    With Bannswright, as hot and earnest for a wench
    As a recover'd Monsieur.

    +Quart.+ What is this Bannswright?

    +Sale.+ A fellow much employed about the town,
    That contrives matches: one that brings together
    Parties that never saw or never met,
    Till't be for good and all; knows to a penny
    Estates and jointures: I'll undertake he has
    Now lying by him (unprovided) some twenty
    Widows of all fortunes that want husbands,
    And men that want wives; and, at an hour's warning,
    Can make things ready for the priest.

    +Quart.+ Let us
    Devise to get him hither, and cross the match.

    +Plot.+ I have great interest in him; the fellow loves me.
    Could I speak with him, and draw him to be
    An actor in't, I have a stratagem
    That can redeem all, and turn the plot
    Upon these sage heads.

                         _Enter +Bannswright+._

    +Sale.+ By Minerva, look! here's Bannswright!

    +Plot.+ Master Bannswright!

    +Ban.+ Save you, gallants.

    +Plot.+ You are employed, I hear, to find a wife out
    For my young sprightly uncle.

    +Ban.+ Sir, he has
    Retain'd me to that purpose: I just now
    Came from him.

    +Plot.+ And do you mean the match
    Shall then proceed?

    +Ban.+ I have a lieger[240] wench
    In readiness: he's gone to put himself
    Into fit ornaments for the solemnity.
    I'm to provide the priest and licence: we go
    Some two hours hence to church.

    +Quart.+ Death! you pander,
    Forbid the banns, or I will cut your wizzel,[241]
    And spoil your squiring in the dark. I've heard
    Of your lewd function, sirrah! You prefer
    Wenches to bawdy-houses, rascal!

    +Ban.+ Good sir,
    Threaten me not in my vocation.

    +Plot.+ Why, Bannswright, you can be but paid. Say I
    Procure the wench, a friend of mine, and double
    Your bargain. Such a fair reward, methinks,
    Should make thee of my project. Thou dost know
    My fortunes are engaged, and thou may'st be
    The happy instrument to recover 'em.
    Be my good angel once! I have a plot
    Shall make thee famous.

    +Quart.+ By Mars, deny, and I
    Will act a tragedy upon thee.

    +Ban.+ Gentlemen,
    I am a friend to wit, but more to you, sir,
    Of whose misfortunes I will not be guilty.
    Though, then, your uncle has employ'd me, and
    Has deeply sworn to wed this afternoon
    A wife of my providing, if you can
    O'erreach the angry burgess, sir, and bring
    His wisdom to the gin, show me the way;
    I'll help to lay the trap.

    +Quart.+ Now thou art
    An honest-hearted pimp: thou shalt for this
    Be drunk in Vine-dee,[242] rascal; I'll begin
    A runlet to thee.

    +Ban.+[243] Gentlemen, let's in,
    I'll tell you my design. You, Salewit, must
    Transform yourself to a French deacon: I
    Have parts for Bright and Newcut too. Mischief
    Upon their absence!

    +Sale.+ We'll send for 'em.

    +Ban.+ And for Master Timothy, I have a project
    Shall make his father everlastingly
    Admire his wit, and ask him blessing.

    +Quart.+ Come,
    Let's in and drink a health to our success.

    +Tim.+ I'm for no healths, unless the glass be less.      [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[221] Mr Steevens observes (note to "The Tempest," act ii. sc. 2)
that it was formerly very common to exhibit fishes, either real or
imaginary, in this manner, and that it appears from the books of
Stationers' Hall, that in 1604 was published, "A strange reporte of a
monstrous _fish_, that appeared in the form of a woman from her waist
upward, seene in the sea."

The Italians use _Nuovo Pesce_ in much the same manner as we employ the
phrase "a strange fish." "Nuovo pesce era questo ru-Marco"--Domenichi's
"Facetie," 1565, p. 268.

[222] Made him drunk, or intoxicated him.

[223] Probably the same mentioned by Sir Kenelm Digby. See note to "The
Ordinary" [xii., 245.]

[224] Meaning that the trumpet has been sounded twice, in imitation
of the theatres, where, before the play begins by the entrance of the
prologue, there were what were called three soundings. See Malone's
"Shakespeare," by Boswell, iii. 114.--_Collier._

[225] [See Mr Huth's "Ancient Ballads and Broadsides," 1867, p. 213.]

[226] _The country has been laid_, means that the country has been
_way-laid_ for the purpose of catching him. This was the common mode
of expression at the time, as appears from Middleton's "Chaste Maid in
Cheapside," 1630, and other authorities--

           "_Lay_ the water-side--she's gone for ever else!"

Again, in the same play--

            "My mother's gone to _lay_ the common staires."

--_Collier._

[227] "Mare Liberum," was the title of a book written by the celebrated
Grotius, to prove that the sea was free to every nation, in opposition
to those who wished to circumscribe the Dutch trade. It was printed in
1609, and among other answers which appeared to it, was one by Selden,
which he entitled "Mare Clausum."

[228] The _echineis_, a fish which by adhering to the bottoms of ships,
was supposed to retard their course. So Lucan, lib. vi. v. 674--

    "Puppim retinens, Euro tendente rudentes,
    In mediis _echineis_ aquis."

--_Steevens._

[229] Sir Francis Drake.

[230] There were two of that name, father and son, in the time of Queen
Elizabeth, both eminent navigators. See their lives in "Biographia
Britannica."

[231] There is an incident of this kind, where a man is shown for a
fish against his will, and thrust under water whenever he attempts to
speak, in the "Vida de Lazarillo de Tormes."--_Collier._

[232] [This word was applied formerly to both sexes. See "Gesta
Romanorum," edit. Madden, p. 456.]

[233] Prynne and his "Histriomastix," so often noticed in this play.

[234] A tavern which used to be frequented by Ben Jonson, Beaumont and
Fletcher, and other wits of the times, and often mentioned in their
works. From the following enumeration of taverns, in an old poem called
"Newes from Bartholmew Fayre" [by Richard West, 1607], the title-page
of which is lost, we find it was situate in Cornhill:--

    "There hath beene great sale and utterance of wine,
    Besides beere and ale, and ipocras fine,
    In every country, region, and nation;
    Chefely at Billingsgate, at _the Salutation_,
    And _Bores Head_, neere London Stone,
    _The Swan_ at Dowgate, a taverne well knowne,
    _The Miter_ in Cheape, and then _the Bull Head_,
    And many like places that make noses red;
    _The Bores Head_ in Old Fish Street, _three Cranes_ in the Vintree,
    And now of late, St Martin's in the Sentree:
    _The Windmill_ in Lothbury, _the Ship_ at the Exchange,
    _King's Head_ in New Fish Streete, where roysters do range;
    +The Mermaid in Cornhill+; _Red Lion_ in the Strand,
    _Three Tuns_ in Newgate Market, Old Fish Street, at _the Swan_."

[235] [An allusion which has been often explained.]

[236] About the year 1631, Archbishop Laud, under the patronage of
Charles I., undertook the repairing and rebuilding of St Paul's.
On this occasion the king went to the cathedral, and, after divine
service was performed, solemnly promised to exert his best endeavours
to repair the ruins which time, or the casualties of weather, had made
therein. In consequence of this scheme, many applications were made to
noblemen and gentlemen for their assistance, and, on their refusal to
contribute, some were very severely censured, and even fined.

[237] Most of our ancient maps will sufficiently illustrate this image.
The vacant spaces, occasioned by tracts of sea, are usually ornamented
with these monsters spouting water.--_Steevens._

[238] Among the illegal modes of raising money adopted by Charles I.,
after he determined to govern without a parliament; the borrowing of
money by writs of privy-seal was one not the least burdensome and
oppressive. The manner was to direct these writs to particular persons
by name, requiring the loan of money, or plate to the amount of the
money, to be paid or delivered to a particular person, for the king's
use. The form of the writs may be seen in "The Parliamentary History,"
xiii., 84, where one of them is printed. [But in this passage this
speaker also intends a play on the double meaning of _seal_.]

[239] Alluding to a method of catching pikes.--_Pegge._

[240] [Probably, nimble, sprightly, Fr. _leger_; unless it should be in
the sense indicated by Nares in his "Glossary" under Liedger, _i.e._,
resident; but Bannswright is not described as a pander.]

[241] A corruption, probably, of _wizand_, or _weazon_.--_Steevens._

[242] Perhaps he means to say _Vin de Dieu_; _i.e._, _Lacrymæ
Christi_.--_Steevens._

[243] [The old copy here, and again just below, has improperly
Plotwell, for Bannswright must be supposed to maintain his disguise at
present.]



ACT IV., SCENE I.


             _+Seathrift+, +Mistress Seathrift+, +Mistress
                     Holland+, +Mistress Scruple+._

    +Sea.+ I did commit her to your charge, that you
    Might breed her, Mistress Scruple, and do require
    Her at your hand. Here be fine tricks, indeed!
    My daughter Susan to be stol'n a week,
    And you conceal it. You were of the plot,
    I do suspect you.

    +Mis. Scr.+ Sir, will you but hear me meekly?

    +Sea.+ No, I'll never trust again
    A woman with white eyes, that can take notes,
    And write a comment on the catechism:
    All your devotion's false. Is't possible
    She could be gone without your knowledge?

    +Mis. Scr.+ Will you
    Attend me, Mistress Seathrift? If my husband,
    To wean her from love-courses, did not take
    More pains with her than with his Tuesday lectures,
    And if I did not every day expound
    Some good things to her 'gainst the sin o' th' flesh,
    For fear of such temptations, to which frail girls
    Are very subject, let me never more
    Be thought fit t' instruct young gentlewomen
    Or deal in tent-stitch. Whoe'er 'twas that seduced her,
    She took my daughter Emlin's gown and ruff,
    And left her own clothes; and my scholars say,
    She often would write letters.

    +Sea.+ Why, 'tis right:
    Some silenc'd minister has got her. That I
    Should breed my daughter in a conventicle!

    +Mis. Sea.+ Pray, husband, be appeas'd.

    +Sea.+ You are a fool.

    +Mis. Sea.+ You hear her mistress could not help it.

    +Sea.+ Nor your son help being a fish.

    +Mis. Hol.+ Why, sir, was he
    The first that was abus'd by captains?

    +Sea.+ Go: you talk like prating gossips.

    +Mis. Hol.+ Gossips! 'slight, what gossips, sir?

    +Mis. Sea.+ What gossips are we? speak.

    +Sea.+ I'll tell you, since you'd know. My wife and you,
    Shrill Mistress Holland, have two tongues, that when
    They're in conjunction, are busier, and make
    More noise than country fairs, and utter more tales
    Than blind folks, midwifes, nurses. Then no show,
    Though't be a juggler, 'scapes you: you did follow
    The Elephant so long, and King of Sweden,
    That people at last came in to see you. Then
    My son could not be made a fish, but who
    Should I find there, much taken with the sight,
    But you two! I may now build hospitals,
    Or give my money to plantations.                [_Exit +Seathrift+._

    +Mis. Sea.+ Let's follow him. Come, Mistress Scruple,.

    +Mis. Hol.+ Just as your Sue left her schoolmistress,
    My Pen left me.

    +Mis. Scr.+ They'll come again, I warrant you.            [_Exeunt._


SCENE II.

                        _+Plotwell+, +Aurelia+._

    +Plot.+ Sister, 'tis so projected, therefore make
    No more demurs: the life of both our fortunes
    Lies in your carriage of things well. Think therefore
    Whether you will restore me, and advance
    Your own affairs; or else within this week
    Fly this your lodging, like uncustom'd sinners,
    And have your coach-horses transform'd to rent;
    Have your apparel sold for properties,[244]
    And you return to cut-work. By this hand,
    If you refuse, all this must happen.

    +Aur.+ Well, sir,
    Necessity, which hath no law, for once
    Shall make me o' th' conspiracy; and since
    We are left wholly to our wits, let's show
    The power and virtue of 'em. If your Bannswright
    Can but persuade my uncle, I will fit
    Him with a bride.

    +Plot.+ The scene is laid already:
    I have transform'd an English poet into
    A fine French teacher, who shall join your hands
    With a most learned legend out of Rab'lais.

    +Aur.+ But for my true groom who, you say, comes hither
    For a disguis'd knight, I shall think I wed
    His father's counting-house, and go to bed
    To so much bullion of a man. Faith, I've
    No mind to him: brother, he hath not wit enough
    To make't a lawful marriage.

    +Plot.+ Y' are deceiv'd:
    I'll undertake, by one week's tutoring,
    And carrying him to plays and ordinaries,
    Engaging him in a quarrel or two, and making
    Some captain beat him, to render him a most
    Accomplish'd gallant. Or say he be born, sister,
    Under the city-planet, pray, what wise lady
    Desires to match a wise knight? You'd marry some
    Philosopher now, that should every night
    Lie with you out of Aristotle, and loose
    Your maidenhead by demonstration.
    Or some great statesman, before whom you must sit
    As silent and reserv'd, as if your looks
    Had plots on foreign princes; and must visit
    And dress yourself by Tacitus. What he wants
    In naturals, his fortunes will make up
    In honours, Pen. When he's once made a lord,
    Who'll be so saucy as to think he can
    Be impotent in wisdom? She that marries
    A fool is an Hermaphrodite; the man
    And wife too, sister. Besides, 'tis now too late;
    He'll be here presently, and comes prepar'd
    For Hymen. I took up a footman for him,
    And left him under three tiremen's hands, besides
    Two barbers.

    +Aur.+ Well, sir, I must then accept him
    With all his imperfections. I have
    Procured a Sir John yonder.

    +Plot.+ Who is't?

    +Aur.+ One that preaches the next parish once a week
    Asleep for thirty pounds a year.

                          _Enter a +Footman+._

    +Foot.+ Here is a knight
    Desires your ladyship will give him audience.

    +Aur.+ 'Tis no knight ambassador?

    +Foot.+ He rather looks like a Knight o' th' Sun.

    +Plot.+ 'Tis he.

    +Aur.+ Let him come in.

    +Plot.+ If you be coy now, Pen,                   [_Exit +Footman+._
    You spoil all.

    +Aur.+ Well, sir, I'll be affable.


SCENE III.

             _Enter +Timothy+ fantastically dressed, and a
                              +Footman+._

    +Plot.+ Here he comes!

    +Tim.+ Sirrah, wait me in the hall,
    And let your feet stink there: your air's not fit
    To be endured by ladies.

    +Plot.+ What! quarrel with your footman, sir?

    +Tim.+ Hang him, he casts a scent
    That drowns my perfumes, and is strong enough
    To cure the mother of palsy. Do I act
    A knight well?

    +Plot.+ This imperiousness becomes you,
    Like a knight newly dubb'd, sir.

    +Tim.+ What says the lady?

    +Plot.+ Speak lower. I have prepar'd her; show yourself
    A courtier: now she's yours!

    +Tim.+ If that be all,
    I'll court her as if some courtier had begot me
    I' th' gallery at a masque.

    +Plot.+ Madam, this gentleman
    Desires to kiss your hands.

    +Tim.+ And lips too, lady.

    +Aur.+ Sir, you much honour both.

    +Tim.+ I know that,
    Else I'd not kiss you. Yesterday I was
    In company with ladies, and they all
    Long'd to be touch'd by me.

    +Aur.+ You cannot cure
    The evil, sir; nor have your lips the virtue
    To restore ruins, or make old ladies young?

    +Tim.+ Faith, all the virtue that they have is, that
    My lips are knighted. I am born, sweet lady,
    To a poor fortune, that will keep myself
    And footman, as you see, to bear my sword
    In cuerpo[245] after me. I can at court,
    If I would, show my gilt[246] i' th' presence; look
    After the rate of some five thousands
    Yearly in old rents; and, were my father once
    Well wrapp'd in sear-cloth, I could fine for sheriff.

    +Plot.+ Heart! you spoil all.                              [_Aside._

    +Tim.+ Why?

    +Plot.+ She verily believ'd y' had ne'er a father.         [_Aside._

    +Aur.+ Lives your father then, sir?
    That gentleman told me he was dead.

    +Tim.+ 'Tis true,
    I had forgot myself: he was drowned, lady,
    This morning, as he went to take possession
    Of a summer-house and land in the Canaries.

    +Plot.+ Now y' have recovered all.

    +Tim.+ D' you think I have
    Not wit enough to lie?                                     [_Aside._

    +Plot.+ Break your mind to her;
    She does expect it.

    +Tim.+ But, lady, this is not
    The business which I came for.

    +Aur.+ I'm at leisure
    To hear your business, sir.

    +Plot.+ Mark that!

    +Tim.+ Indeed,
    Sweet lady, I've a motion which was once
    Or twice this morning in my mouth, and then
    Slipp'd back again for fear.

    +Aur.+ Cowards ne'er won
    Ladies or forts, sir.

    +Tim.+ Say then I should feel
    Some motions, lady, of affection, might
    A man repair Paul's with his heart, or put it
    Into a tinder-box?

    +Aur.+ How mean you, sir?

    +Tim.+ Why, is your heart a stone or flint?

    +Aur.+ Be plain, sir, I understand you not.

    +Tim.+ Not understand me?
    Y'are the [first] lady that e'er put a man
    To speak plain English: some would understand
    Riddles and signs. Say, I should love you, lady!

    +Aur.+ There should be no love lost, sir.

    +Tim.+ Say you so?
    Then, by this air, my teeth e'en water at you:
    I long to have some offspring by you. We
    Shall have an excellent breed of wits:
    I mean my youngest son shall be a poet; and
    My daughters, like their mother, every one
    A wench o' th' game. And for my eldest son,
    He shall be like me, and inherit. Therefore
    Let's not defer our joys, but go to bed
    And multiply.

    +Aur.+ Soft, sir, the priest must first
    Discharge his office. I do not[247] mean to marry,

               _Enter +Dorcas+ out of her Puritan dress._

    Like ladies in New England, where they couple
    With no more ceremony than birds choose their mate
    Upon St Valentine's day.

    +Dor.+ Madam, the preacher
    Is sent for to a churching, and doth ask
    If you be ready: he shall lose, he says,
    His chrysome[248] else.

    +Aur.+ O miracle! out of
    Your little ruff, Dorcas, and in the fashion!
    Dost thou hope to be saved?

    +Dor.+ Pray, madam, do not
    Abuse me; I will tell you more anon.

    +Plot.+ Tell him she's coming.

    +Aur.+ Sir, please you, partake
    Of a slight banquet?                               [_Exit +Dorcas+._

    +Plot.+ Just as you are sat,
    I'll steal the priest in.

    +Tim.+ Do.

    +Plot.+ When you are join'd,
    Be sure you do not oversee, but straight
    Retire to bed: she'll follow.
    'Tis not three o'clock i' th' afternoon.

    +Tim.+ 'Tis but drawing
    Your curtains, and you do create your night.
    All times to lovers and new-married folks
    May be made dark.

    +Tim.+ I will, then. By this room,
    She's a rare lady! I do almost wish
    I could change sex, and that she might beget
    Children on me.

    +Plot.+ Nay, will you enter?

    +Tim.+ Lady,
    Pray, will you show the way?

    +Plot.+ Most city-like!
    'Slid, take her by the arm, and lead her in.

    +Tim.+ Your arm, sweet lady.                              [_Exeunt._


SCENE IV.

                         _+Bright+, +Newcut+._

    +Bright.+ But are you sure they're they?

    +New.+ I'll not believe
    My treacherous eyes again, but trust some dog
    To guide me, if I did not see his uncle
    Coming this way, and Bannswright with him.

    +Bright.+ Who?
    The fellow that brings love to banns, and banns
    To bare thighs 'bout the town?

    +New.+ The very same, sir;
    The City-Cupid, that shoots arrows betwixt
    Party and party. All the difference is,
    He has his eyes, but they he brings together
    Sometimes do not see one another, till
    They meet i' th' church.

    +Bright.+ What say you now, if Warehouse
    Should in displeasure marry?

    +New.+ 'Tis so; this fellow
    In's company confirms me. 'Tis the very business,
    Why Plotwell has sent for us.

    +Bright.+ Here they come:
    Prythee, let's stand and overhear 'em.

    +New.+ Stand close, then.


SCENE V.

                  _Enter +Warehouse+, +Bannswright+._

    +Ware.+ Madam Aurelia is her name?

    +Ban.+ Her father
    Was, sir, an Irish baron, that undid
    Himself by housekeeping.

    +Ware.+ As for her birth,
    I could wish it were meaner: as many knights
    And justices of peace as have been of
    The family are reckoned into the portion.
    She'll still be naming of her ancestors,
    Ask jointure by the herald's book, and I,
    That have no coat, nor can show azure lions
    In fields of argent, shall be scorn'd; she'll think
    Her honour wrong'd to match a man that hath
    No 'scutcheons but them of his company,
    Which once a year do serve to trim a lighter
    To Westminster and back again.

    +Ban.+ You are mistaken, sir. This lady, as she is
    Descended of a great house, so she hath
    No dowry but her arms: she can bring only
    Some libbards'[249] heads or strange beasts which, you know,
    Being but beasts, let them derive themselves
    From monsters in the globe, and lineally
    Proceed from Hercules' labours, they will never
    Advance her to a husband equal to
    Herself in birth, that can give beasts too. She
    Aims only to match one that can maintain
    Her some way to her state. She is possess'd,
    What streams of gold you flow in, sir.

    +Ware.+ But can she
    Affect my age?

    +Ban.+ I ask'd her that, and told her
    You were about some threescore, sir, and ten;
    But were as lusty as one of twenty, or                     [_Aside._
    An aged eunuch.

    +Ware.+ And what replied she?

    +Ban.+ She,
    Like a true Lucrece, answer'd it was fit
    For them to marry by the church-book, who
    Came there to cool themselves; but to a mind
    Chaste, and endued with virtue, age did turn
    Love into reverence.

    +Bright.+ Or sir-reverence.                                [_Aside._

    +New.+ Prythee, observe.

    +Ware.+ Is she so virtuous, then?

    +Ban.+ 'Tis all the fault she has: she will outpray
    A preacher at St Antlin's, and divides
    The day in exercise. I did commend
    A great precisian to her for her woman,
    Who tells me that her lady makes her quilt
    Her smocks before for kneeling.

    +Ware.+ Excellent creature!

    +Ban.+ Then, sir, she is so modest.

    +Ware.+ Too?

    +Ban.+ The least
    Obscene word shames her; a lascivious figure
    Makes her do penance, and she maintains the law,
    Which forbids fornication, doth extend
    To kissing too.

    +Ware.+ I think the time an age,
    Till the solemnity be pass'd.

    +Ban.+ I have
    Prepar'd her, sir, and have so set you out!
    Besides, I told her how you had cast off
    Your nephew; and, to leave no doubt that you
    Would e'er be reconcil'd, before she went
    To church, would settle your estate on her
    And on the heirs of her begotten.

    +Ware.+ To make all sure,
    We'll call upon my lawyer by the way,
    And take him with us.

    +Ban.+ You must be married, sir,
    At the French church: I have bespoke the priest;
    One that will join you i' th' right Geneva form,
    Without a licence.

    +Ware.+ But may a man
    Wed in a strange tongue?

    +Ban.+ I have brought together
    Some in Italian, sir; the language doth
    Not change the substance of the match; you know
    No licence will be granted; all the offices
    Are beforehand brib'd by your nephew.

    +Ware.+ Well,
    Let's to the lady straight. To cross him, I
    Would marry an Arabian, and be at charge
    To keep one to interpret, or be married
    In China language, or the tongue that's spoke
    By the Great Cham.          [_Exeunt +Warehouse+ and +Bannswright+._

    +Bright.+ Now, Newcut, you perceive
    My divination's true; this fellow did
    Portend a wedding.

    +New.+ Plague o' th' prognostication!
    Who'd think that madam were the party?

    +Bright.+ O sir,
    She'll call this wit, to wed his bags and lie
    With some Platonic servant.

    +New.+ What if we,
    Before we go to Plotwell, went to her,
    And strived to dissuade her?

    +Bright.+ Let's make haste,
    They'll be before us, else.                               [_Exeunt._


SCENE VI.

            _Enter +Timothy+ unbuttoning himself; +Aurelia+,
                   +Plotwell+, +Dorcas+, +Footman+._

    +Tim.+ By this hand, lady, you shall not deny me:
    Since we are coupled, I shall think the priest
    Has not done all, as long as I'm a virgin.

    +Aur.+ Will you not stay till night, sir?

    +Tim.+ Night! No, faith;
    I've sworn to get my first child by day: you may
    Be quick by night.

    +Plot.+ Madam, your knight speaks reason.

    +Tim.+ I will both speak and do it.

    +Aur.+ Well, sir, since
    There is no remedy, your bed's prepar'd;
    By that time you are laid, I'll come. Meantime,
    I'll pray that gentleman to conduct you. There's
    My footman to pluck off your stockings.

    +Plot.+ Come, sir.

    +Tim.+ Sweet lady, stay not long.

    +Plot.+ I'll promise for her.

                         [_Exeunt +Timothy+, +Plotwell+, and +Footman+._

    +Dor.+ Faith, I admire your temperance, to let
    Your bridegroom go to bed, and you not follow.
    Were I in your case, I should ha' gone first,
    And warm'd his place.

    +Aur.+ Well, wench; but that thou hast
    Reveal'd thyself unto me, I'd admire
    To hear a saint talk thus. To one that knows not
    The mystery of thy strange conversion, thou
    Wouldst seem a legend.

    +Dor.+ Faith, I've told you all,
    Both why I left my schoolmistress, who taught me
    To confute curling-irons, and why I put
    Myself on this adventure.

    +Aur.+ Well, wench, my brother
    Has had his plots on me, and I'll contribute
    My help to work thy honest ones on him:
    Do but perform thy task well, and thou winn'st
    him.

    +Dor.+ Let me alone; never was man so fitted
    With a chaste bride, as I will fit his uncle.

                           _Enter +Footman+._

    +Foot.+ Madam, your knight doth call most fiercely for you. [_Exit._

    +Aur.+ [+to Dorc.+] Prythee, go tell him some business keeps me yet,
    And bid him stay himself with this kiss.


SCENE VII.

               _As they kiss, enter +Bright+, +Newcut+._

    +Bright.+ By your leave, madam! What, for practice' sake,
    Kissing your woman? Lord, how a lady's lips
    Hate idleness, and will be busied when
    The rest lies fallow! and rather than want action,
    Be kind within themselves, an't be t' enjoy
    But the poor pleasure of contemplation.

    +New.+ And how do you find her, madam?

    +Aur.+ Stay, wench.

    +New.+ Lord!
    Does it not grieve you now, and make you sigh,
    And very passionately accuse nature,
    And say she was too hard to make your woman
    Able to kiss you only, and do no more?

    +Bright.+ Is it not pity, but, besides the gift
    Of making caudles, and using of her pencil,
    She had the trick o' th' other sex?

    +Aur.+ Methinks
    Your own good breeding might instruct you that
    My house is not a new foundation, where
    You might, paying the rate, approach, be rude,
    Give freedom to your unwash'd mouths.

    +Dor.+ My lady
    Keeps no poor nuns, that sin for victuals, for you,
    With whom this dead vacation[250] you may trade
    For old silk stockings and half-shirts. They say
    You do offend o' th' score, and sin in chalk,[251]
    And the dumb walls complain you are behind
    In pension;[252] so that your distressed vestals
    Are fain to foot their stockings, pay the brewer
    And landlord's rent in woman-kind, and long
    More earnestly for the term than Norfolk lawyers.

    +Bright.+ Why, you have got a second, lady: your woman
    Doth speak good country language.

    +New.+ Offers at wit, and shows teeth for a jest.

    +Bright.+ We hear you are to marry an old citizen.

    +Aur.+ Then surely you were not deaf.

    +New.+ And do you mean his age--
    Which hath seen all the kingdom buried thrice,
    To whom the heat of August is December.            [_Exit +Dorcas+._
    Who, were he but in Italy, would save
    The charge of marble vaults, and cool the air
    Better than ventiducts--shall freeze between
    Your melting arms? Do but consider, he
    But marries you as he would do his furs,
    To keep him warm.

    +Aur.+ But he is rich, sir.

    +Bright.+ Then,
    In wedding him you wed more infirmities
    Than ever Galen wrote of: he has pains
    That put the doctors to new experiments.
    Half his diseases in the city bill
    Kill hundreds weekly: alone [an] hospital
    Were but enough for him.

    +New.+ Besides,
    He has a cough that nightly drowns the bellman;
    Calls up his family; all his neighbours rise,
    And go by it, as by the chimes and clock.
    Not four loam walls, nor sawdust put between,
    Can dead it.

    +Aur.+ Yet he is still rich.

    +Bright.+ If this
    Cannot affright you, but that you will needs
    Be blind to wholesome counsel, and will marry
    One who, by th' course of nature, ought t' have been
    Rotten before the queen's time, and in justice
    Should now have been some threescore years a ghost,
    Let pity move you. In this match you quite
    Destroy the hopes and fortunes of a gentleman,
    For whom, had his penurious uncle starv'd,
    And pin'd himself his whole life, to increase
    The riches he deserves t' inherit, it
    Had been his duty.

    +Aur.+ You mean his nephew Plotwell?
    A prodigal young man: one whom the good
    Old man, his uncle, kept to th' inns-of-court,
    And would in time ha' made him barrister,
    And rais'd him to his satin cap and biggon,[253]
    In which he might ha' sold his breath far dearer,
    And let his tongue out at a greater price
    Than some their manors. But he did neglect
    These thriving means, followed his loose companions,
    His Brights and Newcuts--two, they say, that live
    By the new heresy, Platonic love;
    Can take up silks upon their strengths, and pay
    Their mercer with an infant.[254]

    +Bright.+ Newcut!

    +New.+ Ay, I do observe her character. Well, then,
    You are resolved to marry?

    +Aur.+ Were the man
    A statue, so it were a golden one,
    I'd have him.

    +Bright.+ Pray, then, take along to church
    These few good wishes. May your husband prove
    So jealous to suspect that, when you drink
    To any man, you kiss the place where his
    Lips were before, and so pledge meetings: let him
    Think you do cuckold him by looks; and let him
    Each night, before you go to rest, administer
    A solemn oath, that all your thoughts were chaste
    That day, and that you sleep with all your hairs.

    +New.+ And, which is worse, let him forget he lay
    With you himself; before some magistrate
    Swear 'twas some other, and have it believ'd
    Upon record.

                          _Enter +Plotwell+._

    +Plot.+ Sister, I've left your bridegroom
    Under this key lock'd in, t' embrace your pillow.
    Sure, he has ate eringoes, he's as hot--
    He was about to fetch you in his shirt.

    +Bright.+ How's this? His sister!

    +New.+ I conceive not this.

    +Plot.+ My noble friends, you wonder now to hear
    Me call her sister.

    +Bright.+ Faith, sir, we wonder more
    She should be married.

    +New.+ If't be your sister, we
    Have labour'd her she should not match her uncle,
    And bring forth riddles: children that should be
    Nephews to their father, and to their uncle sons.

    +Plot.+ I laugh now at your ignorance: why, these
    Are projects, gentlemen: fine gins and projects.
    Did Roseclap's boy come to you?

    +Bright.+                         Yes.

    +Plot.+                           I have
    A rare scene for you.

    +New.+ The boy told us you were
    Upon a stratagem.

    +Plot.+              I've sent for Roseclap
    And Captain Quartfield to be here: I have
    Put Salewit into orders; he's inducted
    Into the French Church: you must all have parts.

    +Bright.+ Prythee, speak out of clouds.

    +Plot.+ By this good light,
    'Twere justice now to let you both die simple
    For leaving us so scurvily.

    +New.+ We were
    Sent for in haste by th' benchers to contribute
    To one of 'em that's Reader.[255]

    +Plot.+ Come with me;
    I'll tell you then. But first I'll show you a sight
    Much stranger than the fish.

                           _Enter +Dorcas+._

    +Dor.+ Madam, here's Bannswright
    And an old merchant to desire access.

    +Aur.+ Bid 'em come in.                            [_Exit +Dorcas+._

    +Plot.+ Gentlemen, fall off:
    If we be seen, the plot is spoil'd. Sister,
    Now look you do your part well.

    +Aur.+ I am perfect.       [_Exeunt +Plotwell+, +Bright+, +Newcut+._


SCENE VIII.

             _Enter +Bannswright+, +Warehouse+, +Dorcas+._

    +Ban.+ Madam, this is the gentleman I mention'd,
    I've brought him here, according to my function,
    To give you both an interview: if you
    Be ready, the church and priest are.

    +Aur.+ Is this, sir,
    The wealthy merchant?

    +Ban.+ Madam, this is he
    That, if you'll wear the price of baronies,
    Or live at Cleopatra's rate, can keep you.

    +Aur.+ Come you a suitor, sir, to me?

    +Ware.+ Yes, lady,
    I did employ my speaker there, who hath,
    I hope, inform'd you with my purpose.

    +Aur.+ Surely
    Your speaker then hath err'd; I understood
    Him for my woman: if you can like her, sir,
    It being, for aught I hear, all one to you,
    I've woo'd her for you. But, for myself, could you
    Endow me with the stream that ebbs and flows
    In waves of gold, I hope you do not think
    I'd so much stain my birth, as to be bought
    To match into a company. Sir, plainly,
    I'm match'd already.

    +Ware.+ Bannswright, did not you
    Tell me she'd have me?

    +Ban.+ Faith, sir, I have ears
    That might deceive me; but I did dream waking,
    If she were not the party. Madam, pray you,
    One word in private.

    +Aur.+ I'll prevent you. 'Tis true,
    My brother laid the scene for me; but since
    We've chang'd the plot, and 'tis contriv'd my woman
    Shall undertake my part.                                   [_Aside._

    +Ban.+ I am instructed
    I was mistaken, sir; indeed the lady
    Spoke to me for her gentlewoman. How
    Do you affect her, sir? you see she is
    As handsome as her lady; and, her birth
    Not being so high, she will more size with you.

    +Ware.+ I say, I like her best. Her lady has
    Too much great house in her.

    +Ban.+ 'Tis right; this you
    May govern as you list. I'll motion't. Lady,
    Pray, pardon our mistake; indeed our errand
    Was chiefly to your gentlewoman.

    +Aur.+ Sir,
    She's one, whose fortune I so much intend;
    And yours, sir, are so fair that, though there be
    Much disproportion in your age, yet I
    Will overrule her, and she shall refer
    Herself to be dispos'd by me.

    +Ware.+ You much oblige me, madam.

    +Aur.+ Dorcas, this is the merchant
    I have provided for you: he is old,
    But he has that will make him young, much gold.

    +Dor.+ Madam, but that I should offend against
    Your care, as well as my preferment, I'd
    Have more experience of the man I mean
    To make my husband. At first sight to marry,
    Must argue me of lightness.

    +Aur.+ Princes, Dorcas,
    Do woo by pictures and ambassadors,
    And match in absent ceremonies.

    +Dor.+ But
    You look for some great portion, sir?

    +Ware.+ Fair mistress,
    Your virtues are to me a wealthy dowry;
    And if you love me, I shall think you bring
    More than the Indies.

    +Dor.+ But, sir, 't may be,
    You'll be against my course of life. I love
    Retirement, must have times for my devotion,
    Am little us'd to company, and hate
    The vanity of visits.

    +Ware.+ This makes me
    Love you the more.

    +Dor.+ Then I shall never trust you
    To go to sea, and leave me: I shall dream
    Of nought but storms and pirates; every wind
    Will break my sleep.

    +Ware.+ I'll stay at home.

    +Dor.+ Sir, there
    Is one thing more: I hear you have a nephew
    You mean to make your heir; I hope you will
    Settle some jointure on me.

    +Ware.+ He's so lost
    In my intents that, to revenge myself,
    I take this course. But, to remove your doubts,
    I've brought my lawyer with blank deeds:
    He shall put in your name; and I, before
    We go to church, will seal 'em.

    +Dor.+ On these terms,
    Where is your priest, sir?

    +Ware.+ He expects me at
    The French Church, mistress.

    +Aur.+ Come, when you have seal'd, sir:
    I'll bear a part in the solemnity.                        [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[244] _i.e._, To make some of the lesser necessaries of a theatre,
_properties_ being the usual term for them. So Bottom, in the
"Midsummer Night's Dream"--

"I will draw a bill of _properties_."

See a note on this passage.--_Steevens._

Mr Steevens, in his note upon "Midsummer Night's Dream," (Malone's
Shakespeare, by Boswell, v. 198), says that _dresses_ were not
included in the _properties_ of theatres. Maine's authority is to the
contrary, if Aurelia's apparel were to be used for the apparel of the
actors.--_Collier._

[245] _Cuerpo_ is an undress: the Spaniards, from whom we borrowed
the word, apply it to a person in a light jacket without his cabot or
cloak.--Mr Gifford's note on the "Fatal Dowry," iii. 390. Cuerpo is the
_body_, and _in cuerpo_ means in body clothing.--_Collier._

[246] _i.e._, The gold on my apparel. So in "King Henry V."

"Our gayness and our _gilt_ are all besmerch'd."

See a note on this passage, vi., 128, edit. 1778.--_Steevens._

[247] [Omitted in former edit.]

[248] [The christening-fee.] The chrysome was the white cloth thrown
over the new-baptized child. This perhaps was the perquisite of the
officiating clergyman. The child itself, however, was sometimes
called a _chrysome_. See a note on "King Henry V.," vi., 52, edit.
1778.--_Steevens._

[249] _i.e._, Leopards, animals often introduced into heraldic devices.

[250] [Former edit., _vocation_.]

[251] [Run into debt. Scores used to be chalked up at taverns. Hence
the proverb, "The tapster is undone by chalk!" From being a particular
phrase, it became general.]

[252] [The allowance to a kept mistress.]

[253] A _biggon_ was a kind of coif formerly worn by men. It is now
only in use for children.

[254] [Granting _infant_ to be the right word, we are perhaps to
suppose that illegitimate children were surreptitiously deposited on
mercers' counters, occasionally, wrapped up as parcels. _Upon their
strengths_ appears to mean _upon their credit_.]

[255] From Dugdale's "Origines Juridiciales," p. 207, &c., we learn
that the office of a Reader at the Middle Temple was held at a great
charge to the person who executed it. "His expences," says that author,
"during this time of _reading_, are very great; insomuch, as some have
spent above six hundred pounds in two dayes less than a fortnight,
which now is the usual time of _reading_." It appears also that many
gentlemen, who were put by their _reading_, were removed from the
Bar-table unto a table called, The Auncients Table; "And it is no
disgrace," says the same author, "for any man to be removed hither; for
by reason of the excessive chardge of _readings_, many men of great
learning and competent practise, as well as others of less learning,
but great estates, have refused to Read, and are here placed." To
relieve the gentlemen who undertook this expensive office, it seems to
have been usual to call upon the students for their assistance; and
this circumstance is alluded to in the text. [The Ancients' Table is
the same as the Benchers', and at Gray's Inn the Benchers are still
called _Ancients_.]



ACT V., SCENE I.


       _+Plotwell+, +Aurelia+, +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Quartfield+,
                 +Roseclap+, two +Footmen+, +Cypher+._

    +Plot.+ Well, sister, by this hand, I was afraid
    You had marr'd all; but I am well content
    You have outreach'd me. If she do act it well now,
    By Jove, I'll have her.

    +Aur.+ She hath studied all
    Her cues already.

    +Plot.+ Gentlemen, how do
    You like the project?

    +Bright.+ Theirs was dull and cold,
    Compar'd to ours.

    +New.+ Some poet will steal from us,
    And bring't into a comedy.

    +Quart.+ The jest
    Will more inspire than sack.

    +Plot.+ I have got Cypher
    Over to our side too: he has been up and down
    To invite guests to th' wedding.

                    _Enter +Salewit+ like a Curate._

    How now, Salewit, are they gone home?

    +Sale.+ Yes, faith, for better for worse.
    I've read a fiction out of Rab'lais to 'em
    In a religious tone, which he believes
    For good French liturgy. When I had done,
    There came a christening.

    +Plot.+ And didst thou baptize
    Out of thy Rab'lais too?

    +Sale.+ No, faith; I left 'em
    In expectation of their pastor.

    +Bright.+ Newcut,
    Who does he look like in that dress?

    +New.+ Hum! why
    Like a Geneva weaver in black, who left[256]
    The loom, and enter'd into th' ministry
    For conscience' sake.

    +Plot.+ Well, gentlemen, you all
    Do know your parts: you, Captain and Bannswright,
    Go, get your properties. For you two, these
    Two mules shall carry you in greater state
    And more ease than the fistula. You, sister,
    We'll leave unto your knight, to come anon.
    Roseclap and I will thither straight. You, Cypher,
    Know what you have to do.

    +Sale.+ And as for me,
    I'm an invited guest, and am to bless
    The venison in French, or in a grace
    Of broken English.

    +Quart.+ Before we do divide
    Our army, let us dip our rosemaries[257]
    In one rich bowl of sack to this brave girl,
    And to the gentleman that was my fish.

    +All.+ Agreed, agreed.

    +Plot.+ Captain, you shall dip first.                     [_Exeunt._


SCENE II.

                        _+Warehouse+, +Dorcas+._

    +Ware.+ My dearest Dorcas, welcome. Here you see
    The house you must be mistress of, which with
    This kiss I do confirm unto you.

    +Dor.+ Forbear, sir.

    +Ware.+ How! wife, refuse to kiss me?

    +Dor.+ Yes, unless
    A sweeter air came from you; y' have turned my stomach.
    I wonder you can be so rude to ask me,
    Knowing your lungs are perish'd.

    +Ware.+ This is rare,
    That I should live to this great age, and never
    Till now know I was rotten!

    +Dor.+ I shall never
    Endure your conversation: I hope you have
    Contriv'd two beds, two chambers, and two tables.
    It is an article, that I should live
    Retir'd--that is, apart.

    +Ware.+ But pray you, wife, are you in earnest?

    +Dor.+ D'you think I'll jest with age?

    +Ware.+ Will you not lie with me, then?

    +Dor.+ Did ever man
    Of your hairs ask such questions? I do blush
    At your unreasonableness.

    +Ware.+ Nay, then----

    +Dor.+ Is't fit I should be buried?

    +Ware.+ I reach you not.

    +Dor.+ Why, to lie with you were a direct emblem
    Of going to my grave.

    +War.+ I understand you.

    +Dor.+ I'll have your picture set in my weddingring
    For a Death's head.

    +Ware.+ I do conceive you.

    +Dor.+ I'd
    Rather lie with an ancient tomb, or embrace
    An ancestor than you. D'you think I'll come
    Between your winding-sheets? For what? To hear you
    Depart all night, and fetch your last groan; and
    I' th' morning find a deluge on the floor;
    Your entrails floating, and half my husband spit
    Upon the arras.

    +Ware.+ I am married----

    +Dor.+ Then,
    For your abilities, should twelve good women
    Sit on these reverend locks, and on your heat
    And natural appetite, they would just find you
    As youthful as a coffin, and as hot
    As the sultry winter that froze o'er the Thames--
    They say the hard time did begin from you.

    +Ware.+ Good, I am made the curse of watermen.

    +Dor.+ Your humours come frost from you, and your nose
    Hath icicles in June.

    +Ware.+ Assist me, patience!
    Why, hear you, mistress--you that have a fever
    And dog-days in your blood--if you knew this,
    Why did you marry me?

    +Dor.+ Ha, ha, ha!

    +Ware.+ She laughs.

    +Dor.+ That your experienc'd age,[258] that hath felt springs
    And falls this forty years, should be so dull
    To think I have not them that shall supply
    Your cold defects!

    +Ware.+ You have your servants, then,
    And I am fork'd? hum!

    +Dor.+ Do you think
    A woman young, high in her blood----

    +Ware.+ And hot
    As goats or marmosites----

    +Dor.+ Apt to take flame at
    Every temptation----

    +Ware.+ And to kindle at
    The picture of a man----

    +Dor.+                     Would wed dust, ashes,
    A monument, unless she were----

    +Ware.+ Crack'd, tried, and broken up?

    +Dor.+ Right, sir, or lack'd a cloak?

    +Ware.+ Mischief and hell! and was there none to make
    Your cloak but I?

    +Dor.+ Not so well-lin'd!

    +Ware.+ O, you
    Stay'd for a wealthy cuckold; your tame beast
    Must have his gilded horns?

    +Dor.+ Yes, sir; besides,
    Your age being impotent, you would, I knew,
    In conscience wink at my stol'n helps, if I
    Took comfort from abroad.

    +Ware.+ Yes, yes; yes, yes!
    You shall be comforted: I will maintain
    A stallion for you.

    +Dor.+ I will have friends come to me.
    So you'll conceal----

    +Ware.+ Alas! I'll be your pander;
    Deliver letters for you, and keep the door.

    +Dor.+ I'll have a woman shall do that.

    +Ware.+ O impudence!
    Unheard-of impudence!

    +Dor.+ Then, sir, I'll look
    Your coffers shall maintain me at my rate.

    +Ware.+ How's that?

    +Dor.+ Why, like a lady; for I do mean
    To have you knighted.

    +Ware.+ I shall rise to honour.

    +Dor.+ D'you think I'll have your factor move before me,
    Like a device stirr'd by a wire, or like
    Some grave clock wound up to a regular pace?

    +Ware.+ No, you shall have your usher, dame, to stalk
    Before you, like a buskin'd prologue,[259] in
    A stately, high, majestic motion, bare.

    +Dor.+ I do expect it: yes, sir, and my coach,
    Six horses and postillion; four are fit
    For them that have a charge of children: you
    And I shall never have any.

    +Ware.+ If we have,
    All Middlesex is father.

    +Dor.+ Then I'll have
    My footman to run by me when I visit,
    Or take the air sometimes in Hyde Park.

    +Ware.+ You,
    Besides being chaste, are good at races too:
    You can be a jockey for a need?

    +Dor.+ Y' are pleasant, sir.

    +Ware.+ Why, hark you, hark you, mistress; you told me
    You lov'd retirement, loved not visits, and bargain'd
    I should not carry you abroad.

    +Dor.+ You! no.
    Is't fit I should be seen at court with you?
    Such an odd sight as you would make the ladies
    Have melancholy thoughts.

    +Ware.+ You bound me, too,
    I should not go to sea: you lov'd me so,
    You could not be without me.

    +Dor.+ Not if you stay'd
    Above a year; for should I, in a long voyage,
    Prove fruitful, I should want a father to
    The infant.

    +Ware.+ Most politicly kind,
    And, like a whore, perfect i' th' mystery!
    It is beyond my sufferance.

    +Dor.+ Pray, sir, vex [not]:
    I'll in and see your jewels, and make choice
    Of some for every day; and some to wear
    At masques.                                                 [_Exit._

    +Ware.+ 'Tis very good. Two days
    Of this I shall grow mad; or, to redeem
    Myself, commit some outrage. O--O--O!


SCENE III.

                   _Enter +Plotwell+ and +Roseclap+._

    +Plot.+ Sir, I am sorry such a light offence
    Should make such deep impressions in you: but that
    Which more afflicts me than the loss of my
    Great hopes, is that y' are likely to be abused, sir;
    Strangely abused, sir, by one Bannswright. I hear
    You are to marry----

    +Ware.+ Did you hear so?

    +Plot.+ Madam Aurelia's woman.

    +Ware.+ What of her, sir?

    +Plot.+ Why, sir, I thought it duty to inform you,
    That you would better match a ruin'd bawd;
    One ten times cured by sweating and the tub,[260]
    Or pain'd now with her fiftieth ache, whom not
    The pow'r of usquebaugh, or heat of fevers
    Quickens enough to wish; one of such looks,
    The judges of assize, without more proof,
    Suspect, arraign, and burn for witchcraft.

    +Ware.+ Why, pray?

    +Plot.+ For she being pass'd all motions, impotence will be a
        kind of chastity, and you
    Might have her to yourself: but here is one
    Knows this to be----

    +Ware.+ An arrant whore?

    +Rose.+ I see
    You have heard of her, sir. Indeed she has
    Done penance thrice.

    +Ware.+ How say you, penance?

    +Rose.+ Yes, sir, and should have suffer'd----

    +Ware.+ Carting, should she not?

    +Rose.+ The marshal had her, sir.

    +Ware.+ I sweat, I sweat!

    +Rose.+ She's of known practice, sir: the clothes she wears
    Are but her quarter's sins: she has no linen
    But what she first offends for.

    +Ware.+ O bless'd Heaven,
    Look down upon me!

    +Plot.+ Nay, sir, which is more,
    She has three children living; has had four.

    +Ware.+ How! children! Children, say you?

    +Plot.+ Ask him, sir.
    One by a Frenchman.

    +Rose.+ Another by a Dutch.

    +Plot.+ A third by a Moor, sir; born of two colours,
    Just like a serjeant's man.

    +Ware.+ Why, she has known, then,
    All tongues and nations?

    +Rose.+ She has been lain with farther
    Than ever Coriat travell'd, and lain in
    By two parts of the map, Afric and Europe,
    As if the state maintain'd her to allay
    The heat of foreigners.

    +Ware.+ O, O, O, O!

    +Plot.+ What ail you, sir?

    +Ware.+ O nephew, I am not well, I am not well!

    +Plot.+ I hope you are not married?

    +Ware.+ It is too true.

    +Rose.+ God help you, then!

    +Ware.+ Amen. Nephew, forgive me.

    +Rose.+ Alas! good gentleman!

    +Plot.+ Would you trust Bannswright, sir?

    +Ware.+ Nephew, in hell
    There's not a torment for him. O that I could
    But see that cheating rogue upon the rack now!
    I'd give a thousand pound for every stretch,
    That should enlarge the rogue through all his joints,
    And but just show him hell, and then recall
    His broken soul, and give him strength to suffer
    His torture often. I would have the rascal
    Think hanging a relief, and be as long
    A-dying as a chopp'd eel, that the devil
    Might have his soul by pieces. Who's here? a sailor?


SCENE IV.

                    _Enter +Cypher+, like a sailor._

    +Cyph.+ Are you, sir, Warehouse the rich merchant?

    +Ware.+ Sir, my name is Warehouse.

    +Cyph.+ Then you are not, sir,
    So rich by two ships as you were.

    +Ware.+ How mean you?

    +Cyph.+ Your two ships, sir, that were now coming home
    From Ormus, are both cast away: the wreck
    And burden on the place was valued at
    Some forty thousand pound. All the men perish'd
    By th' violence of the storm: only myself
    Preserv'd my life by swimming, till a ship
    Of Bristol took me up, and brought me home
    To be the sad reporter.

    +Ware.+ Was nothing sav'd?

    +Cyph.+ Two small casks; one of blue figs, the other
    Of pickled mushrooms, which serv'd me for bladders,
    And kept me up from sinking. 'Twas a storm
    Which, sir, I will describe to you. The winds
    Rose of a sudden with that tempestuous force----

    +Ware.+ Prythee, no more, I've heard too much. Would I
    Had been i' th' tempest.

    +Cyph.+ Good your worship, give
    A poor seafaring man your charity
    To carry me back again. I'm come above
    A hundred mile to tell you this.

    +Ware.+ Go in,
    And let my factor, if he be come in,
    Reward thee: stay and sup, too.

    +Cyph.+ Thank your worship.                        [_Exit +Cypher+._

    +Ware.+ Why should I not now hang myself? Or, if
    It be a fate that will more hide itself,
    And keep me from discredit, tie some weight
    About my neck to sink me to the bottom
    O' th' Thames, not to be found, [and so] to keep my body
    From rising up and telling tales. Two wrecks,
    And both worth forty thousand pound there! Why,
    That landed here were worth an hundred. I
    Will drown myself. I nothing have to do
    Now in this world but drown myself.

    +Plot.+ Fie! these
    Are desperate resolutions. Take heart, sir;
    There may be ways yet to relieve you.

    +Ware.+ How?

    +Plot.+ Why, for your lost ships, say, sir, I should bring
    Two o' th' Assurance Office that should warrant
    Their safe return? 'Tis not known yet: would you
    Give three parts to secure the fourth?

    +Ware.+ I'd give ten to secure one.

    +Plot.+ Well, sir, and for your wife,
    Say I should prove it were no lawful match,
    And that she is another man's--you'd take
    The piece of service well?

    +Ware.+ Yes, and repent
    That when I had so good an heir begot
    Unto my hand, I was so rash to aim
    At one of my own dotage.

    +Plot.+ Say no more, sir;
    But keep the sailor, that he stir not. We'll
    About it straight.              [_Exeunt +Plotwell+ and +Roseclap+._

    +Ware.+ How much I was deceiv'd
    To think ill of my nephew, in whose revenge
    I see the heavens frown on me! Seas and winds
    Swell and rage for him against me; but I will
    Appease their furies, and be reconciled.


SCENE V.

         [_Manet +Warehouse+._] _Enter +Seathrift+, +Mistress
               Seathrift+, +Mistress Holland+, +Mistress
                              Scruple+._

    +Mis. Sea.+ Much joy to you, sir; you have made quick despatch.
    I like a man that can love, woo, and wed,
    All in an hour. My husband was so long
    A-getting me; so many friends' consents
    Were to be ask'd, that when we came to church,
    'Twas not a marriage, but our times were out,
    And we were there made free of one another.

    +Mis. Hol.+ I look'd to find you abed and a young sheriff
    Begot by this. My husband, when I came
    From church, by this time had his caudle: I
    Had not a garter left, nor he a point.

    +Mis. Scr.+ Surely, all that my husband did the first
    Night we were married, was to call for one
    Of his wrought caps more to allay his rheum.

    +Mis. Hol.+ We hear y' have match'd a courtier, sir: a gallant:
    One that can spring fire in your blood, and dart
    Fresh flames into you.

    +Mis. Sea.+ Sir, you are not merry:
    Methinks you do not look as you were married.

    +Mis. Hol.+ You rather look as you had lost your love.

    +Mis. Scr.+ Or else, as if your spouse, sir, had rebuk'd you.

    +Sea.+ How is it, sir? You see I have brought along
    My fiddlers with me; my wife and Mistress Holland
    Are good wind-instruments. 'Tis enough for me
    To put on sadness.

    +Ware.+ You, sir, have no cause.

    +Sea.+ Not I! Ask Mistress Scruple. I have lost
    My daughter, sir: she's stol'n. Then, sir, I have
    A spendthrift to my son.

    +Ware.+ These are felicities
    Compar'd to me. You have not match'd a whore, sir,
    Nor lost two ships at sea.

    +Sea.+ Nor you, I hope?

    +Ware.+ Truth is, you are my friends; I am abus'd,
    Grossly fetch'd over. I have match'd a stew,
    The notedst woman o' th' town.

    +Mis. Sea.+ Indeed, I heard
    She was a chambermaid.

    +Mis. Hol.+ And they by their place
    Do wait upon the lady, but belong
    Unto the lord.

    +Sea.+ But is this true?

    +Ware.+ Here was
    My nephew just now, and one Roseclap, who tell me
    She has three children living; one dapple-grey,
    Half Moor, half English: knows as many men
    As she that sinned by th' calendar, and divided
    The nights o' th' year with several men.

    +Sea.+ Bless me, goodness!

    +Ware.+ Then, like a man condemned to all misfortunes,
    I have estated her in all I have.

    +Sea.+ How!

    +Ware.+ Under hand and seal, sir, irrecoverably.


SCENE VI.

                           _Enter +Salewit+._

    +Mis. Hol.+ Look, Mistress Scruple, here's your husband.

    +Sale.+ Be the leave of the fair companée.

    +Mis. Scr.+ My husband!
    His cold keeps him at home. Surely I take
    This to be some Dutch elder.

    +Sale.+ Where is
    The breed an breedgroom? O monsieur, I'm com't
    To give you zhoy, and bless your capòn; where
    Is your fair breed?

    +Ware.+ O Monsieur, you have join'd me
    To a chaste virgin. Would, when I came to you,
    Y' had used your ceremonies about my funeral.

    +Sale.+ Fooneral? Is your breed dead?

    +Ware.+ Would she were,
    I'd double your fee, Monsieur, to bury her.

    +Sale.+ Ee can but leetle English.

    +Ware.+ No, I see you are but new come over.

    +Sale.+ Dover! Tere Ee landed.

    +Ware.+ Ay, sir, pray walk in; that door
    Will land you in my dining-room.

    +Sale.+ Ee tank you.                                        [_Exit._

    +Ware.+ This is the priest that married us.

    +Sea.+ This is a Frenchman, is't not?

    +Ware.+ 'Twas at the French church.


SCENE VII.

           _Enter two +Footmen+, bearing the frame of a great
                       picture. Curtains drawn._

    +1st Foot.+ Set 'em down gently; so.

    +2d Foot.+ They make me sweat.
    Pictures, quoth you; 'slight, they have weight enough
    To be the parties.

    +1st Foot.+ My lady, sir, has sent
    A present to your wife.

    +Ware.+ What lady, pray?

    +1st Foot.+ Madam Aurelia, sir.

    +Ware.+ O!----

    +2d Foot.+ Sir, they are
    A brace of pictures, with which my lady prays
    She will adorn her chamber.

    +Ware.+ Male pictures, pray,
    Or female?

    +1st Foot.+ Why d'you ask?

    +Ware.+ Because, methinks,
    It should be Mars and Venus in a net;
    Aretine's postures,[261] or a naked nymph
    Lying asleep, and some lascivious satyr
    Taking her lineaments. These are pictures which
    Delight my wife.

    +2d Foot.+ These are night-pieces, sir.

    +Mis. Hol.+ Lord, how I long to see 'em! I have at home
    The finest ravish'd Lucrece.

    +Mis. Scr.+ So have I
    The finest fall of Babylon! There is
    A fat monk spewing churches, save your presence.

    +Mis. Hol.+ Pray, will you open 'em?

    +1st Foot.+ My lady charged us
    None should have sight of 'em, sir, but your wife.

    +Ware.+ Because you make so dainty, I will see 'em.

                                         [_Draws the curtain; within are
                                      discovered +Bright+ and +Newcut+._

    +2d Foot.+ 'Tis out of our commission.

    +Ware.+ But not of mine. Hell and damnation!

    +1st Foot.+ How do you like 'em, sir?

    +Mis. Hol.+ Look, they are pictur'd in their clothes!

    +Mis. Sea.+ They stir, too.

    +2d Foot.+ Sir, they are drawn to life; a master's hand
    Went to 'em, I assure you.

    +Ware.+ Out, varlets, bawds!
    Panders, avoid my house! O devil! are you
    My wife's night-pieces?                            [_They come out._

    +Bright.+ Sir, you are rude, uncivil,
    And would be beaten.

    +New.+ We cannot come in private
    On business to your wife, but you must be
    Inquisitive. Sir, thank God 'tis in your own house;
    The place protects you.

    +Bright.+ If such an insolence
    'Scape unreveng'd, henceforth no ladies shall
    Have secret servants.

    +New.+ Here she comes; we'll ask
    If she gave you commission to be so bold.

    +Ware.+ Why this is far beyond example rare.
    Now I conceive what is Platonic love:
    'Tis to have men, like pictures, brought disguised,
    To cuckold us with virtue.                          [_They whisper._


SCENE VIII.

                           _Enter +Dorcas+._

    +Dor.+ He would not offer't, would he?

    +Bright.+ We have been
    In danger to be searched: hereafter we
    Must first be question'd by an officer,
    And bring it under hands we are no men,
    Or have nought dangerous about us, before
    We shall obtain access.

    +New.+ We do expect
    In time your husband, to preserve you chaste,
    Should keep you with a guard of eunuchs, or
    Confine you, like Italians, to a room
    Where no male beast is pictur'd, lest the sight
    Of aught that can beget should stir desires.

    +Dor.+ I mar'l, sir, who did license you to pry,
    Or spy out any friends that come to me;
    It shows an unbred curiosity,
    Which I'll correct hereafter. You will dare
    To break up letters shortly, and examine
    My tailor, lest, when he brings home my gown,
    There, be a man in't. I'll have whom I list,
    In what disguise I list, and when I list,
    And not have your sour eyes so saucy to peep,
    As if you, by prevention, meant to kill
    A basilisk.

    +Ware.+ Mistress, do what you list,
    Send for your couch out, lie with your gallants there
    Before us all: or, if you have a mind
    To fellows that can lift weights, I can call
    Two footmen too.

    +Sea.+ You are too patient, sir:
    Send for the marshal, and discharge your house.

    +Mis. Sea.+ Truly a handsome woman! what pity 'tis
    She is not honest.                                         [_Aside._

    +Mis. Hol.+ Two proper gentlemen, too.
    Lord, that such pictures might be sent to me!

                                                               [_Aside._


SCENE IX.

          _Enter +Plotwell+ and +Roseclap+, with +Bannswright+
                      and +Quartfield+ disguised._

    +Ware.+ O nephew, welcome to my ransom! here
    My house is made a new erection; gallants
    Are brought in varied forms. Had I not look'd
    By providence into that frame, these two
    Had been convey'd for night-pieces and landskips
    Into my chaste bride's chamber. Till now, she took
    And let herself out; now she will be able
    To hire and buy offenders.

    +Plot.+ I'll ease you, sir;
    We two have made a full discovery of her.

    +Rose.+ She's married to another man, sir.

    +Ware.+ Good nephew, thou art my blessed angel.
    Who are these two?

    +Plot.+ Two that will secure your ships,
    Sent by the office. Seal you, sir: th' have brought
    Th' assurance with 'em.

    +Ware.+ Nephew, thou were't born
    To be my dear preserver.

    +Plot.+ It is duty, sir,
    To help you out with your misfortunes. Gentlemen,
    Produce your instruments. Uncle, put your seal
    And write your name here; they will do the like
    To the other parchment. So, now deliver.

                   [_They subscribe, seal, and deliver interchangeably._

    +Ware.+ I do deliver this as my act and deed.

    +Ban.+, +Quart.+ And we this, as our act and deed.

    +Plot.+ Pray, gentlemen,
    Be witness here. Upon a doubtful rumour
    Of two ships wreck'd, as they return'd from Ormus,
    My uncle covenants to give three parts
    To have the fourth secured. And these two here,

                       [_+Seathrift+, +Roseclap+, +Bright+, and +Newcut+
                                                subscribe as witnesses._

    As delegates of the office, undertake
    At that rate to assure them. Uncle, now
    Call forth the sailor, and send for the priest
    That married you.

                    _Enter +Salewit+ and +Cypher+._

    +Ware.+ Look, here they come.

    +Plot.+ First then,
    Not to afflict you longer, uncle; since
    We now are quiet, know all this was my project.

    +Ware.+ How!

    +Plot.+ Your two ships are richly landed: if
    You'll not believe me, here's the sailor who, [_+Cypher+ undisguises._
    Transform'd to Cypher, can tell you.

    +Cyph.+ 'Tis very true, sir.
    I hired this travelling case of one o' th' sailors
    That came in one of 'em: they lie at Blackwall.
    Troth, I in pity, sir, to Master Plotwell,
    Thought it my duty to deceive you.

    +Ware.+ Very well, sir;
    What, are these masquers too?

    +Plot.+ Faith, sir, these                          [_Exit +Cypher+._
    Can change their forms too. They are two friends, [_They undisguise._
    Worth threescore thousand pounds, sir, to my use.

    +Ware.+ Bannswright and Captain Quartfield!

    +Quart.+ Nay, old boy,
    Th' hast a good pennyworth on't. The jest is worth
    Three parts of four.

    +Ban.+ Faith, sir, we hope you'll pay
    Tonnage and poundage into th' bargain.

    +Ware.+ O, you are a precious rogue! you ha' preferr'd me
    To a chaste Lucrece, sirrah!

    +Ban.+ Your nephew, sir,
    Hath married her with all her faults. They are
    New-come from church.

    +Ware.+ How!

    +Plot.+ Wonder not, sir: you
    Were married but in jest. 'Twas no church-form,
    But a fine legend out of Rab'lais.

    +Sale.+ Troth,
    This reverend weed cast off, I'm a lay poet, [_+Salewit+ undisguises._
    And cannot marry, unless't be in a play--
    In the fifth act or so; and that's almost
    Worn out of fashion too.

    +Mis. Sea.+ These are the two
    That show'd my son.                                        [_Aside._

    +Mis. Hol.+ Let's have our money back.                     [_Aside._

    +Plot.+ But, uncle, for the jointure you have made her
    I hope you'll not retract. That and three parts
    Of your two ships, besides what you will leave
    Us at your death, will make a pretty stock
    For young beginners.

    +Ware.+ Am I o'erreach'd so finely?

    +Sea.+ But are you married, sir, in earnest?

    +Plot.+ Troth
    We have not been abed yet, but may go,
    And no law broken.

    +Sea.+ Then I must tell you, sir,
    Y' have wrong'd me; and I look for satisfaction.

    +Plot.+ Why, I beseech you, sir?

    +Sea.+ Sir, were not you
    Betroth'd once to my daughter?

    +Mis. Sea.+ And did not I
    And Mistress Holland help to make you sure?

    +Plot.+ I do confess it.

    +Sea.+ Bear witness, gentlemen, he doth confess it.

    +Plot.+ I'll swear it too, sir.

    +Sea.+ Why,
    Then, have you match'd this woman?

    +Plot.+ Why! because
    This is your daughter, sir. I'm hers by conquest
    For this day's service.

    +Sea.+ Is't possible I should
    Be out in my own child so?

    +Mis. Sea.+ I told you, husband.

    +Mis. Scr.+ Surely my spirit gave me it was she;
    And yet to see, now you have not your wire
    Nor city ruff on, Mistress Sue, how these
    Clothes do beguile! In truth, I took you for
    A gentlewoman.

    +Sea.+ Here be rare plots indeed!
    Why, how now, sir, these young heads have outgone us.
    Was my son o' th' plot too?

    +Plot.+ Faith, sir, he
    Is married too. I did strike up a wedding
    Between him and my sister.

                    _Enter +Timothy+ and +Aurelia+._

    Look, sir!
    They come without their maidenheads.[262]

    +Sea.+ Why, this
    Is better still. Now, sir, you might have ask'd
    Consent of parents.

    +Tim.+ Pray forgive me, sir.
    I thought I had match'd a lady, but she proves----

    +Sea.+ Much better, sir: I'd chide you as a fish,
    But that your choice pleads for you.

    +Tim.+ Mother, pray
    Salute my wife, and tell me if one may not
    Lie with her lips: nay, you too, Mistress Holland,
    You taught her to make shirts and bone-lace; she's
    Out of her time now.

    +Mis. Hol.+ I release her, sir.

    +Ware.+ I took your sister for a lady, nephew.

    +Plot.+ I kept her like one, sir. My Temple scores
    Went to maintain the title out of hope
    To gain some great match for her; which you see
    Is come to pass.

    +Ware.+ Well, Master Seathrift,
    Things are just fallen out as we contriv'd 'em:
    I grieve not I'm deceiv'd. Believe me, gentlemen,
    You all did your parts well; 'twas carried cleanly;
    And though I could take some things ill of you,
    Fair mistress, yet 'twas plot, and I forget it.
    Let's in and make 'em portions.

    +Sea.+ Lead the way, sir.

    +Ban.+ Pray stay a little.

    +Ware.+ More revelations yet?

    +Ban.+ I all this while have, stood behind the curtain.
    You have a brother, sir, and you a father.

    +Plot.+ If he do live, I have.

    +Ban.+ He in his time
    Was held the wealthiest merchant on th' Exchange.

    +Ware.+ 'Tis true, but that his shipwrecks broke him.

    +Ban.+ And
    The debt for which he broke I hear you have
    Compounded.

    +Sea.+ I am paid it.

    +Ban.+ Then I thank you.               [_+Bannswright+ undisguises._

    +Ware.+ My brother Plotwell!

    +Ban.+ Son, I wish you joy.

    +Plot.+ O my bless'd stars! my father!

    +Ban.+ And to you, fair mistress,
    Let it not breed repentance that I have,
    For my security, to 'scape your father,
    Awhile descended from myself to this
    Unworthy shape. Now I can cast it off,
    And be my true self. I have a ship which fame
    Gave out for lost, but just now landed too,
    Worth twenty thousand pounds, towards your match.

    +Sea.+ Better and better still.

    +Ware.+ Well, what was wanting
    Unto our joys, and made these nuptials
    Imperfect, brother, you by your discovery
    Have fully added.

                           _Enter +Cypher+._

    +Cyp.+ Sir, the two sheriffs are
    Within, and have both brought their wives.

    +Ware.+ The feast
    Intended for my wedding shall be yours.

    To which I add--_May you so love to say,
    When old, your time was but one marriage-day._


FOOTNOTES:

[256] Dr Warburton observes (note to "Henry IV.," Part I., act ii. sc.
4) that in the persecutions of the Protestants in Flanders under Philip
II. those who came over into England on that occasion brought with them
the woollen manufactory. These being Calvinists were joined by those
of the same persuasion from other countries, and amongst the rest from
Geneva.

[257] _Rosemary_ was anciently supposed to strengthen the memory, and
was therefore distributed at marriages and funerals. See a note on
"Hamlet," x. 355, edit. 1778.

[258] [Old copies, _ach_.]

[259] The stately step and pompous manner, used by the
prologue-speakers of the times, are still retained in delivering the
few lines used as a prologue in "Hamlet." These particularities seem to
have been delivered traditionally to the present race of actors from
their brethren in the seventeenth century.

[260] See a note on "Timon of Athens," edit. 1778, viii.
409.--_Steevens._

[261] See [Randolph's Works, by Hazlitt, i. 209.] Aretine's _pictures_,
there mentioned, were in fact Aretine's pictures of postures here
alluded to.--_Collier._

[262] In the old copies the name of Penelope (_i.e._, Aurelia) is
placed before this line, but it seems to belong to Plotwell, and to be
a continuation of what he has just before said.--_Collier._



THE EPILOGUE AT WHITEHALL.


    The author was deceiv'd; for, should the parts
    And play which you have seen plead rules and arts,
    Such as strict critics write by, who refuse
    T' allow the buskin to the Comic Muse;
    Whose region is the people, every strain
    Of royalty being tragic, though none slain;
    He'd now, Great Sir, hold all his rules untrue,
    And think his best rules are the Queen and You.
    He should have search'd the stories of each age,
    And brought five acts of princes on the stage;
    He should have taken measure, and rais'd sport
    From persons bright and glorious as your court,
    And should have made his argument to be
    Fully as high and great as they that see.
    Here, he confesseth, you did nothing meet,
    But what was first a comedy i' th' street:
    Cheapside brought into verse; no passage strange
    To any here that hath been at th' Exchange.
    Yet he hopes none doth value it so low,
    As to compare it with my Lord Mayor's Show.
    'Tis so unlike that some, he fears, did sit,
    Who, missing pageants, did o'ersee the wit.
    Since then his scene no pomp or highness boasts,
    And low things grac'd show princes princes most,
    Your royal smiles will raise't, and make him say,
    He only wrote, your liking made, the play.



THE EPILOGUE AT BLACKFRIARS.


    Once more the Author, ere you rise, doth say,
    Though he have public warrant for his play,
    Yet he to the King's command needs the King's writ
    To keep him safe, not to be arraign'd for wit.
    Not that he fears his name can suffer wrack
    From them who sixpence pay and sixpence crack,
    To such he wrote not; though some parts have been
    So like here, that they to themselves came in.
    To them who call't reproof to make a face,
    Who think they judge, when they frown i' th' wrong place,
    Who, if they speak not ill o' th' poet, doubt
    They lose by the play, nor have their two shillings out;
    He says, he hopes they'll not expect he'd woo,
    The play being done, they'd end their sour looks too.
    But before you, who did true hearers sit,
    Who singly make a box, and fill the pit,
    Who do[263] this comedy read, and unseen,
    Had throng'd theatres and Blackfriars been,
    He for his doom stands: your hands are his bays,
    Since they can only clap who know to praise.

FOOTNOTES:

[263] [Old copy, _to_.]



THE QUEEN OF ARRAGON.


_EDITION._

  _The Queene of Arragon. A Tragi-Comedie. London Printed by Tho.
    Cotes, for William Cooke, and are to be sold at his shop at
    Furnivals Inne gate in Holburne 1640. Folio._


INTRODUCTION.

William Habington, the son of Thomas Habington,[264] of Hendlip, in the
county of Worcester, Esq., was born at the seat of his father, on the
4th, or, as others say, the 5th, of November 1605.[265] He received his
education at St Omers and Paris, and at the former of these places was
earnestly solicited to become one of the order of the Jesuits. On his
return from Paris, being then at man's estate, he was instructed at
home in matters of history by his father, and became an accomplished
gentleman. He married Lucia, daughter of William Lord Powis, and is
charged by Wood with running with the times, and being not unknown to
Oliver Cromwell. He died the 30th of November 1654, and was buried in
the vault at Hendlip, by the bodies of his father and grandfather.

Besides the play now republished, he was the author of--

1. Poems, under the title of "Castara," 4º, 1634; 12º, 1635, 1640.[266]
They are divided into three parts, each under a different title,
suitable to the subject: the first, written when he was suitor to his
wife, is ushered in by a character of a mistress, written in prose: the
second contains verses written to her after marriage; after which is a
character of a friend, before several funeral elegies: and the third
consists of Divine Poems, preceded by the portrait of a holy man.[267]

2. "Observations upon History." 8º, 1641.

3. "History of Edward IV., King of England," fº, 1640, written and
published at the desire of King Charles I.[268]

Wood observes that the MSS. which our author and his father left[269]
were then in the hands of the former's son, and might be made useful
for the public, if in the possession of any other person.[270]

FOOTNOTES:

[264] This Thomas Habington was born 26th October 1560, and married
Mary, the sister of Lord Mounteagle, the lady who is supposed to have
written that letter to her brother which occasioned the discovery
of the Gunpowder Plot. For harbouring Garnet and Alchorne, two
Popish priests, he is said to have been condemned to die, but by the
intercession of Lord Mounteagle he was reprieved and pardoned. He lived
many years afterwards, not dying until the 8th of October 1647, at the
advanced age of eighty-seven years. Wood says he surveyed the county of
Worcester, and made a collection of most of its antiquities. He also
translated "The Epistle of Gildas, the most ancient British author,"
12º, 1638, and had a considerable hand in the "History of Edward IV.,"
published by his son.

[265] In a poem on p. 104 of his "Castara," 1640, Habington claims
alliance with several noble families--

    "Now I resolve, in triumph of my verse,
    To bring great _Talbot_ from that foreign herse
    Which yet doth to her fright his dust enclose:
    Then to sing _Herbert_, who so glorious rose
    With the fourth Edward, that his faith doth shine
    Yet in the faith of noble _Pembroke's_ line.
    Sometimes my swelling spirits I prepare
    To speak the mighty _Percy_, nearest heir
    In merits, as in blood, to Charles the Great:
    Then _Derby's_ worth and greatness to repeat;
    Or _Morley's_ honour, or _Mounteagle's_ fame,
    Whose valour lives eterniz'd in his name:
    But while I think to sing those _of my blood_,
    And my _Castaras_," &c.

--_Collier._

[266] Mr Park, in a MS. note to a copy of these poems, in 1640,
observes, "The first and second parts of these poems were printed in
1634, 4º; again (with additions) in 1635, 12º; and the third part was
added in 1640. He is said to have entitled his collection "Castara"
in compliment to his mistress, Lucia, daughter of Lord Powis, who
became his wife." This is evident from a poem on p. 102 of the edition
of 1640, addressed to Lord Powis, where he speaks of his daughter as
Castara.--_Collier._

[267] Phillips, speaking of Habington ("Theatrum Poetarum," 1675),
says "that he may be ranked with those who deserve neither the highest
nor the lowest seat in the theatre of fame." Mr Park is of opinion
"that this character of him is rather below par; for he appears (as
an amatory poet) to have possessed a superior degree of unaffected
tenderness and delicacy of sentiment to either Carew or Waller, with
an elegance of versification very seldom inferior to his more famed
contemporaries." Perhaps Habington's "amiable piety," rendered him a
peculiar favourite with Mr Park.--_Collier._

[268] Phillips, in his "Theatrum Poetarum," complains that this work
is written in a style "better becoming a poetical than a historical
subject."--_Collier._ [In "Jonsonus Virbius," verses to the memory of
Ben Jonson, 1638, is a poem by W. Abington.]

[269] The collections he made of the antiquities, &c., of
Worcestershire, formed the foundation of Dr Nash's history of that
county.--_Collier._

[270] The following is from "Wit's Recreations," 1640--

        +"To Mr. William Habington, on his 'Castara,' a Poem.+

        Thy Muse is chaste, and thy Castara too;
        'Tis strange at Court: and thou hadst power to woo
        And to obtain what others were denied,
        The fair Castara for thy virtuous bride.
        Enjoy what you dare wish, and may there be
        Fair issues branch from both to honour thee."

--_Gilchrist._



THE PROLOGUE AT COURT.


    Had not obedience o'errul'd the Author's fear
    And judgment too, this humble piece had ne'er
    Approach'd so high a majesty: not writ
    By the exact and subtle rules of wit,
    Ambitious for the splendour of this night,
    But fashion'd up in haste for 's own delight.
    This by my lord[271] with as much zeal as e'er
    Warm'd the most loyal heart, is offer'd here,
    To make this night your pleasure, although we,
    Who are the actors, fear 'twill rather be
    Your patience; and if any mirth, we may
    Sadly suspect, 'twill rise quite the wrong way.
    But you have mercy, sir; and from your eye,
    Bright madam, never yet did lightning fly;
    But vital beams of favour, such as give
    A growth to all who can deserve to live.
    Why should the author tremble then, or we
    Distress our hopes, and such tormentors be
    Of our own thoughts? since in those happy times
    We live, when mercy's greater than the crimes.

FOOTNOTES:

[271] Meaning, most likely, the Earl of Pembroke, at whose instance the
play was represented before the King and Queen at court.--_Collier._



THE PROLOGUE AT THE FRIARS.


    Ere we begin, that no man may repent
    Two shillings and his time, the Author sent
    The prologue with the errors of his play,
    That, who will, may take his money and away.
    First for the plot, it's no way intricate
    By cross deceits in love, nor so high in state,
    That we might have given out in our playbill,
    This day's "The Prince," writ by Nick Machiavil.
    The language too is easy, such as fell
    Unstudied from his pen: not like a spell
    Big with mysterious words, such as enchant
    The half-witted, and confound the ignorant.
    Then what must needs afflict the amorist,
    No virgin here in breeches casts a mist
    Before her lover's eyes: no ladies tell,
    How their blood boils, how high their veins do swell.
    But, what is worse, no bawdy mirth is here
    (The wit of bottle-ale and double-beer),
    To make the wife of citizen protest,
    And country-justice swear 'twas a good jest.
    Now, sirs, you have the errors of his wit:
    Like or dislike, at your own perils be't.



THE ACTOR'S NAMES.


  +The Queen of Arragon.+
  +Decastro+, _General of the Forces of Arragon, in love with the queen_.
  +Ossuna+, _friend to Decastro_.
  +Florentio+, _General of the Forces of Castile, enamoured of the queen_.
  +Velasco+, _a great commander under Florentio_.
  +Ascanio+, _the King of Castile disguised_.
  +Lerma+, _a nobleman privy to his disguise_.
  +Oniate+, _a sober courtier_.
  +Sanmartino+, _a half-witted lord_.
  +Browfildora+, _dwarf to Sanmartino_.

  +Floriana+, _wife to Sanmartino_.
  +Cleantha+, _a witty court-lady_.

  +Captain.+
  +Servants.+
  _Several +Soldiers+._

                       THE QUEEN OF ARRAGON.[272]



ACT I., SCENE I.


                  _Enter +Sanmartino+ and +Cleantha+._

    +Cle.+ My lord, let's change the subject: love is worn
    So threadbare out of fashion, and my faith
    So little leans to vows----

    +San.+ The rage of time
    Or sickness first must ruin that bright fabric
    Nature took pride to build.

    +Cle.+ I thank my youth then
    For the tender of your service; 'tis the last
    Good turn it did me. But by this my fears
    Instruct me, when the old bald man, call'd Time,
    Comes stealing on me, and shall steal away
    What you call beauty, my neglected face
    Must be enforc'd to go in quest for a new
    Knight-errant.

    +San.+ Slander not my constant faith,
    Nor doubt the care Fate hath to stop the motion
    Of envious Time, might it endanger so
    Supreme a beauty.

    +Cle.+ Sure, my lord, Fate hath
    More serious business, or divines make bold
    T' instruct us in a schism. But grant I could
    Induce myself (which I despair I shall)
    To hear and talk that empty nothing Love,
    Is't now in season, when an army lies
    Before our city-gates, and every hour
    A battery expected? Dear my lord,
    Let's seal our testament, and prepare for heaven;
    And, as I am inform'd by them who seem
    To know some part o' th' way, Love's not the nearest
    Path that leads thither.

    +San.+ Madam, he is but
    A coward lover whom or death or hell
    Can fright from's mistress: and, for danger now
    Threat'ning the city, how can I so arm
    Myself, as by your favour proof against
    All stratagems of war?

    +Cle.+ Your lordship then
    Shall walk as safe as if a Lapland witch
    (You will not envy me the honour of
    The metaphor) preserv'd you shot-free. But
    Who is your confessor? Yet spare his name;
    His function will forgive the glory of it:
    Sure he's ill-read in cases to allow
    A married lord the freedom of this courtship.

    +San.+ Can you think, madam, that I trust my sins
    (But virtues are those loves I pay your beauty)
    To th' counsel of a cassock? Who hath art
    To judge of my confession, must have had
    At least a privy chamberer to his father.
    We of the court commit not, as the vulgar,
    Dull, ignorant sins: then, that I'm married, madam,
    Is rather safety to our love.

    +Cle.+ My heart!
    How sick am I o' th' sudden! Good my lord,
    Call your dwarf hither.

    +San.+ Garragantua! boy.

                         _Enter +Browfildora+._

    +Cle.+ Prythee, thy pedigree?

    +San.+ Madam, what mean you?

    +Cle.+ O, anything, but to divert from love:
    Another word of courtship, and I swoon.

    +Brow.+ My ancestors were giants, madam; giants,
    Pure Spanish, who disdain'd to mingle with
    The blood of Goth or Moor. Their mighty actions,
    In a small letter, nature printed on
    Your little servant.

    +Cle.+ How so very little?

    +Brow.+ By the decay of time, and being forc'd
    From fertile pastures to the barren hills
    Of Biscay: even in trees you may observe
    The wonder which, transplanted to a soil
    Less happy, lose in growth. Is not the once
    Huge body of the Roman empire now
    A very pigmy?

    +Cle.+ But why change you not
    That so gigantic name of Browfildora?

    +Brow.+ Spite of malignant nature, I'll preserve
    The memory of my forefathers: they shall live
    In me contracted.

    +San.+ Madam, let's return
    To the love we last discours'd on.

    +Cle.+ This, my lord,
    Is much more serious. What coarse thing is that?

                    _Enter +Oniate+ and +Floriana+._

    +Flo.+ I owe you, sir, for the pleasure of this walk.

    +Oni.+ Madam, it was to me the highest honour.     [_Exit +Oniate+._

    +Cle.+ Welcome, O, welcome, to redeem me!--What
    Can the best wit of woman fancy we
    Have been discoursing of?

    +Flo.+ Sure, not of love?

    +Cle.+ Of that most ridiculous hobby-horse, love;
    That fool that fools the world; that spaniel love,
    That fawns [the more] the more 'tis kick'd!

    +San.+ Will you betray me?

    +Cle.+ Thy lord hath so protested, Floriana,
    Vowed such an altar to my beauty, swore
    So many oaths, and such profane oaths too,
    To be religious in performing all
    That's impious towards heaven, and to a lady
    Most ruinous.

    +Flo.+ Good Cleantha, all your detraction
    Wins no belief on my suspicion.

    +Cle.+ Be credulous, and be abus'd. Floriana,
    There's no vice so great as to think him virtuous.
    Go mount your milk-white steed, Sir Lancelot,
    Your little squire attends you there: in suburbs
    Enchanted castles are, where ladies wait
    To be deliver'd by your mighty hand;
    Go and protest there.

    +San.+ I thank your favour, madam.             [_Exit +Sanmartino+._

    +Cle.+ It is not so much worth, sir. Come, we'll follow.

    +Flo.+ But stay, Cleantha. Prythee, what begot
    That squeamish look, that scornful wry o' the mouth,
    When Oniate parted?

    +Cle.+ Why, thou hadst
    So strange a fellow in thy company,
    His garb was so uncourtly, I grew sick.

    +Flo.+ He is a gentleman; and, add to that,
    Makes good the title.

    +Cle.+ Haply he may so,
    And haply he's enamour'd on thy beauty.

    +Flo.+ On mine, Cleantha?

    +Cle.+ Yes, dear Floriana;
    Yet neither danger to thy chastity,
    Nor blemish to thy fame: custom approves it.
    But I owe little to my memory,
    If I e'er saw him 'mong the greater ladies:
    Sure, he's some suburb-courtier.

    +Flo.+ He's noble,
    And hath a soul--a thing is question'd much
    In most of the gay youths whom you converse with.

    +Cle.+ But how disorderly his hair did hang.

    +Flo.+ Yet 'twas his own.

    +Cle.+ How ill turn'd up his beard;
    And for his clothes----

    +Flo.+ Though not fresh every morning,
    Yet in the fashion.

    +Cle.+ Yes, i' th' sober fashion,
    Which courtiers wear who hope to be employ'd,
    And aim at business. But he's not genteel;
    Not discomposed enough to court a lady.

    +Flo.+ His thoughts are much more serious.

    +Cle.+ Guard me, Fortune!
    I would not have the court take notice that
    I walked one hour with that state-aphorism
    Each autumn to renew my youth. Let us
    Discourse with lords, whose heads and legs move more
    Than do their tongues, and to as good a sense;
    Who, snatching from my hand a glove, can sigh,
    And print a kiss, and then return it back;
    Who on my busk,[273] even with a pin, can write
    The anagram of my name, present it humbly,
    Fall back, and smile.

    +Flo.+ Cleantha, I perceive
    There is small hope of thy conversion;
    Thou art resolv'd to live in this heresy.

    +Cle.+ Yes; since 'tis the religion of our sex:
    Sweet Floriana, I will not yet suffer
    For unregarded truth court persecution.

         _Enter +Ossuna+ and +Oniate+, with divers +Soldiers+._

    But what are they appear there?

    +Flo.+ We'll away.              [_Exeunt +Floriana+ and +Cleantha+._

    +Oss.+ This is the place for interview. You, who are
    Deputed for this service from the Lord
    Florentio, use such caution as befits
    Your charge. Howe'er, your general's person's safe,
    The Lord Decastro having pass'd his word.

    +Oni.+ Yet 'tis my wonder that Florentio,
    A soldier so exact, practis'd in all
    The mysteries of war and peace, should trust
    Himself, where th' enemies' faith must best secure him.

    +Oss.+ The great Decastro, sir, whom our late king
    Deputed regent at his death, and whom
    The kingdom judgeth fit to marry with
    His only heir the present queen (though she
    Disdain his love and our desires) hath proved
    To time and fortune that he fears no danger,
    But what may wound his honour. How can then
    Florentio (though he now sit down before
    Our city with so vast an army) choose
    A place for interview by art and nature
    So fortified, as where Decastro's faith
    Makes it impregnable?

    +Oni.+ Distrust, my lord,
    Is the best councillor to great designs:
    Our confidence betrays us. But between
    These two are other seeds of jealousy,
    Such as would almost force religion break
    Her tying vows, authorise perjury,
    And make the scrupulous casuist say, that faith
    Is the fool's virtue. They both love the queen:
    Decastro building on his high deserts,
    And vote of Arragon; Florentio, on
    The favour he gain'd from her majesty
    When here he lived employed by his great master,
    King of Castile.

    +Oss.+ Such politic respects
    May warrant the bad statesman to dark actions;
    But both these generals by a noble war
    Resolve to try their fate.

    +Oni.+ But here, my lord,

                         _Enter +Sanmartino+._

    Is a full period to all serious thought.
    This lord is so impertinent, yet still
    Upon the whisper.

    +Oss.+ He's a mischief, sir,
    No court is safe from.

    +Oni.+ What fine tricks he shows
    Each morning on his jennet, but to gain
    A female vision from some half-op'd window:
    And if a lady smile by accident,
    Or but in scorn of him, yet he (kind soul)
    Interprets it as prophecy to some
    Near favour to ensue at night.

    +Oss.+ I wonder
    What makes him thought a wit?

    +Oni.+ A copper wit,
    Which fools let pass for current: so false coin,
    Such very alchemy that, who vents him
    For aught but parcel-ass, may be in danger.
    Look on him, and in little there see drawn
    The picture of the youth is so admired
    Of the spruce sirs, whom ladies and their women
    Call the fine gentleman.

    +Oss.+ What are those papers,
    With such a sober brow he looks upon?

    +Oni.+ Nor platform[274] nor intelligence; but a prologue
    He comes to whisper to one of the maids
    I' th' privy chamber after supper.

    +Oss.+ I praise the courage of his folly yet,
    Whom fear cannot make wiser.

    +San.+ My good lord,
    Brave Oniate, saw you not the general?

    +Oni.+ He's upon entrance here. And how, my lord?
    I saw your lordship turning over papers!
    What's the discovery?

    +San.+ It may import
    Decastro's knowledge. Never better language
    Or neater wit: a paper of such verses,
    Writ by th' exactest hand.

    +Oss.+ In time of business,
    As serious as our safety, to intrude
    The dreams of madmen!

    +San.+ My judicious lord,
    It, with the favour of your lordship, may
    Concern the general: such high rapture
    In admiration of the queen, whom he
    Pretends to love! How will her majesty
    Smile on his suit, when in the heat of business
    He not neglects this amorous way to woo her?

                          _Enter +Decastro+._

    +Dec.+ No man presume t' advance a foot. My lord
    Ossuna, I desire your ear.

    +San.+ My lord,
    I have a piece here of such elegant wit.

    +Dec.+ Your pardon, good my lord; we'll find an hour
    Less serious to advise upon your papers,
    And then at large we'll whisper.

    +San.+ As you please,
    My lord: you'll pardon the error of my duty.   [_Exit +Sanmartino+._

    +Oss.+ The queen, my lord, gave free access to what
    I spoke o' th' public; but when I began
    To mention love----

    +Dec.+ How? did she frown, or with
    What murdering scorn heard she Decastro named?
    Love! of thy labyrinth of art what path
    Left I untrodden? Humbly I have labour'd
    To win her favour; and when that prevail'd not,
    The kingdom in my quarrel vow'd to empty
    The veins of their great body.

    +Oss.+ Sir, her heart
    Is mightier than misfortune. Though her youth,
    Soft as some consecrated virgin wax,
    Seem easy for impression, yet her virtue
    Hard as a rock of diamond, breaks all
    The battery of the waves.

    +Dec.+ Unkind and cruel!

    +Oss.+ She charg'd me tell you that a faithless Moor,
    Who had gain'd honour only by the ruin
    Of what we hold religious, sooner she
    Would welcome to her bed, than who t' his queen
    And Love had been a rebel.

    +Dec.+ How a rebel?
    The people's suffrage, which inaugurates princes,
    Hath warranted my actions.

    +Oss.+ But she answers,
    The subtle arts of faction, not free vote,
    Commanded her restraint.

    +Dec.+ May even those stars,
    Whose influence made me great, turn their aspècts
    To blood and ruin, if ambition rais'd
    The appetite of love. Her beauty hath
    A power more sovereign than the Eastern slave
    Acknowledg'd ever in his idol king.
    To that I bowed a subject: but when I
    Discover'd that her fancy fix'd upon
    Florentio (General now of th' enemy's army),
    I let the people use their severe way,
    And they restrain'd her.

    +Oss.+ But, my lord, their guilt
    Is made your crime. Yet all this new affliction
    Disturbs her not to anger, but disdain.

    +Dec.+ She hath a glorious spirit. Yet the world,
    The envious world itself, must justify,
    That howsoever fortune yielded up
    The sceptre to my power, I did but kiss it,
    And offer'd it again into her hand.

              _Enter +Florentio+, +Velasco+, and others._

    +Oni.+ My lord, the general of Castile, Florentio.

    +Dec.+ He's safely welcome. Now let each man keep
    At a due distance. I have here attended
    Your lordship's presence.

    +Flo.+ O my lord, are we,
    Whom love obligeth to the same allegiance,
    Brought hither on these terms?

    +Dec.+ They're terms of honour,
    And I yet never knew to frame excuse,
    Where that begot the quarrel.

    +Flo.+ Yet methinks
    We might have found another way to it.
    We might have sought out danger, where the proud,
    Insulting Moor profanes our holy places.
    The noise of war had been no trouble then;
    But now too much 'twill fright the gentle ear
    Of her we both are vow'd to serve.

    +Dec.+ That love,
    Which arms us both, bears witness that I had
    Much rather have encounter'd lightning, than
    Create the least distraction to her peace.
    But since the vote of Arragon decrees
    That my long service hath the justest claim
    To challenge her regard, thus I must stand
    Arm'd to make good the title.

    +Flo.+ This vain language
    Scarce moves my pity. What desert can rise
    So high to merit her? Were each short moment
    O' th' longest-liv'd commander lengthen'd to
    An age, and that exposed to dangers mighty,
    As cowards frame them, can you think his service
    Might challenge her regard? Like th' heavenly bounty,
    She may distribute favour; but 'tis sin
    To say our merits may pretend a title.

    +Dec.+ You talk, sir, like a courtier.

    +Flo.+ But, my lord,
    You'll find a soldier in this arm which, strengthen'd
    By such a cause, may level mountains high,
    As those the giants (emblems of your thoughts)
    Piled up to have scal'd heaven.

    +Dec.+ That must be
    Decided by the sword: and if, my lord,
    Our interview hath no more sober end
    Than a dispute so froward, let us make
    The trumpet drown the noise.

    +Flo.+ You shall not want
    That music. But before we yielded up
    Our reason unto fury, I desired
    We might expostulate the ground of this
    So fatal war, and bring you to that low
    Obedience nature placed you in.

    +Dec.+ My ear attends you.

    +Flo.+ Where is then that humble zeal
    You owe a mistress, if you can throw off
    That duty which you owe her as your queen?
    What justice (that fair rule of human actions)
    Can you pretend for taking arms?

    +Dec.+ Pray, forward.

    +Flo.+ I'll not deny (for from an enemy
    I'll not detract) during her nonage, when
    The public choice and her great father's will
    Enthron'd you in the government, you manag'd
    Affairs with prudence equal to the fame
    You gain'd: and when your sword did fight her quarrel,
    'Twas crown'd with victory.

    +Dec.+ I thank your memory.

    +Flo.+ But hence ambition and ingratitude
    Drew only venom: for by these great actions
    You labour'd not t' advance her state or honour,
    But subtly wrought upon the people's love--
    A love begot by error, following still
    Apparency, not truth.

    +Dec.+ You construe fairly.

    +Flo.+ The sun is not more visible, when not
    One cloud wrinkles the brow of heaven; for
    On that false strength you had i' th' multitude
    You swell'd to insolence, dared court your queen,
    Boasting your merit like some wanton tyrant
    I' th' vanity of a new conquest. And,
    When you perceiv'd her judgment did instruct her
    To frown on the attempt, profanely, 'gainst
    All laws of love and majesty, you made
    The people in your quarrel seize upon
    The sacred person of the fairest queen
    Story e'er boasted.

    +Dec.+ Have you done, my lord?

    +Flo.+ Not yet. This injury provok'd my master
    To raise these mighty forces for her rescue,
    And named me general: whose aim is not
    A vain ambition, but t' advance her service.
    Ere we begin to punish, take this offer:
    Restore the queen to liberty, with each
    Due circumstance that such a majesty
    May challenge, freely to make choice of whom
    She shall advance to th' honour of her bed.
    If your deserts bear that high rate you mention,
    Why should you doubt your fortune? On these terms
    The king, King of Castile, may be induced
    To pardon the error of your ruin.

    +Dec.+ Thus,
    In short, my answer. How unlimited
    Soe'er my power hath been, my reason and
    My love have circumscrib'd it. True, the queen
    Stands now restrain'd: but 'tis by the decree
    Of the whole kingdom, lest her error should
    Persuade her to some man less worthy.

    +Flo.+ How!

    +Dec.+ Less worthy than myself; for so they judge
    The proudest subject to a foreign prince.
    But when you mention love, where are your blushes?
    What can you answer for the practising
    The queen's affection, when embassador
    You lay here from Castile, pretending only
    Affairs importing both the kingdoms? Nor
    Can you, my lord, be tax'd by your discretion,
    That by the humblest arts of love you labour
    To win so bright a beauty, and a queen
    So potent. Your affection looks not here
    Without an eye upon your profit.

    +Flo.+ Witness, Love!

    +Dec.+ No protestation. If you will withdraw
    Your forces from our kingdom, and permit
    Us to our laws and government, that peace,
    Which hath continued many ages sacred,
    Stands firm between us. But if not----

    +Flo.+ To arms!

    +Dec.+ Pray stay, my lord. Doth not your lordship see
    Th' advantage I have in the place? With how
    Much ease I may secure my fortune from
    The greatest danger of your forces?

    +Flo.+ Ha!
    'Twas inconsiderate in me: but I trusted
    To th' honour of your word, which you'll not violate.

    +Dec.+ Go safely off, my lord. And now be dumb
    All talk of peace: we'll parley in the drum.

                               [_Exeunt several ways, the drum beating._

FOOTNOTES:

[272] This play being by the author communicated to Philip Earl of
Pembroke, Lord Chamberlain of the Household to King Charles I., he
caused it to be acted at court, and afterwards published against the
author's consent. It was revived at the Restoration, when a Prologue
and Epilogue, written by the author of "Hudibras," were spoken.--See
Butler's "Remains," vol. i. p. 185.

[273] See note to "Lingua," act ii. sc. 2.

[274] [Programme of policy.]



ACT II., SCENE I.


             _Enter +Sanmartino+, +Captain+, +Soldier+, and
                            +Browfildora+._

    +Capt.+ Come on, you Atlases of Arragon:
    You by whose powers the Castilian cloud
    Was forc'd to vanish. We have ferk'd Florentio
    In the right arm; made the enamour'd Don
    Retire to doleful tent.

    +San.+ We sallied bravely.

    +Capt.+ Thou didst i' th' sally fight like lightning, Conde;
    Let the air play with thy plume, most puissant peer.
    No Conde Sanmartino now, but Conde
    St George, that Cappadocian man-at-arms.
    Thou hast done wonders, wonders big with story,
    Fit to be sung in lofty epic strain;
    For writing which the poet shall behold,
    That which creates a Conde, gold; gold which
    Shall make him wanton with some suburb muse,
    And Hippocrene flow with Canary billow.
    Th' art high in feat of arms.

    +San.+ Captain, I think I did my part.

    +Capt.+ Base is the wight that thinks:[275]
    Let Condes small in spirit drink harsh sherry,
    Then quarrel with promoting knights, and fine for't:
    Thou art in mettle mighty, tough as steel,
    As Bilboa or Toledo steel. Fight on,
    Let acres sink, and bank of money melt;
    Forsake thy lady's lap, and sleep with us
    Upon the bed of honour, the chill earth.
    'Tis that will make thee held a potent peer,
    'Mong men o' th' pike, of buff, and bandolier.

    +San.+ Thou speak'st brave language, captain.

    +Capt.+ I'll maintain
    'Tis Arragonian, Conde.

    +Brow.+ Captain Cedar,
    Though in thy language lofty, give a shrub
    Leave to salute thee. Sure, we two are near
    In blood and great attempt. Don Hercules
    Was, as I read in Chaldean chronicle,
    Our common ancestor; Don Hercules,
    Who rifled nymph on top of Apennine.

    +Capt.+ Small imp, avaunt!

    +Brow.+ Stout sturdy oak, that grows
    So high in field of Mars, O, let no tempest
    Shake thee from hence! And now I have with labour
    Attain'd thy language, I'll thy truchman[276] be.
    Interpret for thee to those smaller souls,
    Who wonder when they understand not: souls
    Whom courtiers' gaudy outside captivates
    And plume of coronel.

    +Capt.+ I must expire,
    Not talk to fish. Seest thou that man of match?
    Though small in stature, mighty he's in soul,
    And rich in gifts of mind, though poor in robes:
    Reward, like Philip's heir, his daring arm,
    Which fetch'd thee off from danger. Once again,
    Most doughty Don, adieu.

    +Brow.+ Great Don Saltpetre,
    I am the servant of thy fam'd caliver.

    +San.+ These are strong lines. Now, friend, art thou o' th' garrison?

    +Sol.+ If't please your lordship.

    +San.+ It doth not please me,
    It is indifferent: I care not what thou art.
    Art thou extremely poor?

    +Sol.+ If't please your lordship.

    +San.+ No, not that neither. Why should I malign
    So far thy fortune as to wish thee poor?
    'Twere safer for my purse if thou wert rich;
    Then all reward were base.

    +Sol.+ If't please your lordship.

    +San.+ O, no more prologue! Prythee, the first scene:
    To the business, man.

    +Sol.+ Then I must tell your lordship,
    I scorn that wealth makes you thus wanton, and
    That wit which fools you. Did the royal favour
    Shine but on you, without enlarging warmth
    To any other, I in this torn outside
    Should laugh at you, if insolent.

    +San.+ This is saucy.

    +Sol.+ I tell thee, petulant lord, I'll cut thy throat,
    Unless thou learn more honour.

    +San.+ What shall I do?

                   _Enter +Floriana+ and +Cleantha+._

    But see Cleantha! Not to be made Grandee,
    Would I she should discover me in parley
    With such coarse clothes. There, fellow, take that gold,
    And let me see thy face no more. Away!

    +Sol.+ There 'tis again. I will not owe one hour

                                               [_Throws back the money._

    Of mirth to such a bounty: I can starve
    At easier rate, than live beholden to
    The boast of any giver. Lord! I scorn
    Thee, and that gold which first created thee.     [_Exit +Soldier+._

    +Flo.+ That soldier seem'd to carry anger in
    His look, my lord.

    +San.+ What should his anger move me?

    +Cle.+ O no, my lord: the world speaks wonders of
    Your mighty puissance.

    +Flo.+ 'Tis my joy y'are safe.
    But why adventured you into this quarrel?[277]

    +Cle.+ The queen will hardly thank your valour, since
    They of Castile profess'd themselves her soldiers.

    +San.+ The queen must pardon courage; men who are
    Of daring spirit, so they may but fight,
    Examine not the cause.

    +Flo.+ She doth expect us.                                  [_Exit._

    +Cle.+ I will attend her here, for here she gives
    Decastro audience. I must not lose
    This lord yet, it so near concerns my mirth.

    +San.+ Madam, I wonder with what confidence
    You, after such an injury, dare endanger
    Discourse with me.

    +Cle.+ I injure you, my lord,
    Whose favour I have courted with more zeal
    Than well my sex can warrant; triumph not
    Too much upon my weakness, 'cause you have
    Got victory o'er my heart; take not delight
    To make my grief your sport.

    +San.+ Be witty still,
    And keep me for a trophy of your pride.
    I hope to see that beauty at an ebb;
    Where will be then your overflow of servants?
    You'll then repent your pride.

    +Cle.+ O never, never;
    If you'll particularise your vows to me--
    You, who to th' title of the courtly lord
    Have added that of valiant; and beshrew me,
    She's no good housewife of her fame that wants
    A daring servant.

    +San.+ This perhaps may work.                              [_Aside._

    +Cle.+ If she live single, he preserves her name,
    And scarce admits a whisper that the jealous
    May construe points at her; and if she marry,
    He awes the husband, if by chance or weakness
    She have offended.

    +San.+ This cannot be fiction.                             [_Aside._

    +Cle.+ Then, if she use but civil compliment
    To a courtier bachelor, he straight bespeaks
    The licence and the favours, and calls in
    Some wit into his counsel for the poesy;
    While I feel no temptation to such folly
    But with a married lord.

    +San.+ How, gentle madam?

    +Cle.+ Our walks are privileg'd, our whispers safe,
    No fear of laying contracts to my charge,
    Nor much of scandal: and if there be cause,
    Who is so fond a gamester of his life,
    As merely out of spleen to stake it? But,
    My lord, I now suspect you constru'd ill
    That language I used to your lady, when
    I told her of your love: but I presume
    You were not so dull-sighted as in that
    Not to discern the best disguise for love.

    +San.+ What a suspicious ass was I! How captious!
    I ne'er mistrusted my own wit before.
    Mischief, how dull was I!

    +Cle.+ Pray turn your face
    Away. Now know, when worth and valour are
    Led on by love, to win my favour. But--
    The queen!

         _Enter +Queen+, +Decastro+, +Ossuna+, +Floriana+, &c._

    +San.+ Divine Cleantha! Noblest lady!

    +Dec.+ Ossuna, let me beg thy care: though we
    Bravely repuls'd the enemy, they seem
    To threaten a new assault.

    +Oss.+ Command your servant.

    +Dec.+ Bear then a vigilant eye, and by your scouts
    Learn if they any new attempt prepare.             [_Exit +Ossuna+._
    May't please your majesty, command these many
    Ears from your presence.

    +Queen.+ Good my lord, you who
    Have power to guide your queen, may make our presence
    Or full or empty, as you please.

    +Dec.+ Then with
    Your licence, madam, they may all withdraw.

    +Queen.+ Not with our licence. If your usurped greatness
    Will banish all attendance from our person,
    I must remain alone; but not a man
    Stir hence with our good liking.

    +Dec.+ If your will
    (Averse from sober counsel) would submit
    To safe advice----

    +Queen.+ You have instructed it
    To more obedience than I guess my birth
    Did e'er intend. But pray, my lord, teach me
    To know my fault, and I will find amendment,
    If not repentance, for it.

    +Dec.+ Then, great madam,
    I must acquaint you that the supreme law
    Of princes is the people's safety, which
    You have infring'd, and drawn thereby into
    The inward parts of this great state a most
    Contagious fever.

    +Queen.+ Pray, no metaphor.

    +Dec.+ You have invited war to interrupt,
    With its rude noise, the music of our peace:
    A foreign enemy gathers the fruit
    The sweat and labour of your subjects planted:
    In the cool shadow of the vine we prun'd
    He wantonly lies down, and roughly bids
    The owner press the grape, that with the juice
    His blood may swell up to lascivious heats.

    +Queen.+ My lord, I answer not th' effects of war;
    But I must pay Castile all thankful service
    For his fair charity.

    +Dec.+ Do you then, madam,
    Reckon on mischief as a charity?

    +Queen.+ Yes, such a mischief as is merciful,
    And I a queen oppress'd. But how dares he,
    Whose duty ought with reverence obey,
    And not dispute the counsels of his princess,
    Question my actions? Whence, my lord, springs this
    Ill-tutor'd privilege?

    +Dec.+ From the zeal I owe
    The honour of our nation, over which
    Kings rule but at the courtesy of time.

    +Queen.+ You are too bold; and I must tell your pride,
    It swells to insolence: for, were your nature
    Not hood-wink'd by your interest, you would praise
    The virtue of his courage, who took arms
    To an injur'd lady's rescue.

    +Dec.+ 'Twas ambition,
    Greedy to make advantage of that breach
    Between you and your people, arm'd Castile.
    Unpitied else you might have wept away
    The hours of your restraint.

    +Queen.+ Poor erring man!
    Could thy arts raise a tempest blacker yet,
    Such as would fright thyself, it could not for
    One moment cloud the splendour of my soul,
    Misfortune may benight the wicked; she,
    Who knows no guilt, can sink beneath no fear.

    +Dec.+ Your majesty mistakes the humble aim
    Of my address. I come not to disturb
    Th' harmonious calm your soul enjoys: may pleasure
    Live there enthron'd, till you yourself shall woo
    Death to enlarge it! May felicities,
    Great as th' ideas of philosophy,
    Wait still on your delight! May fate conspire
    To make you rich and envied!

    +Queen.+ Pray, my lord,
    Explain the riddle. By the cadence of
    Your language, I could guess you have intents
    Far gentler than your actions.

    +Dec.+ If your care,
    Great madam, would convey into your heart
    The story of my love: my love, a flame----

    +Queen.+ Leave off this history of love and flame,
    And honestly confess your fears, my lord,
    Lest Castile should correct you.

    +Dec.+ Correct me!
    No, madam, I have forc'd them t' a retreat,
    And given my fine young general cause to wish
    He had not left his amorous attempts
    On ladies to assault our city.

    +Queen.+ But he is not wounded?

    +Dec.+ Not to death, perhaps;
    But certainly w' have open'd him a vein,
    Will cure the fever of his blood.

    +Queen.+ O, stay!

    +Dec.+ Torment! And doth she weep? I might have fall'n
    Down from some murdering precipice to dust,
    And miss'd the mercy of one tear, though it
    Would have redeem'd me back to life again.
    Accurs'd be that felicity that must
    Depend on woman's passion.                                 [_Aside._

    +Queen.+ [_Solil._] Florentio!
    If in my quarrel thou too suddenly
    Art lost i' th' shades of death, O, let me find
    The holy vault where thy pale earth must lie,
    There will I grow and wither.

    +Dec.+ This is strange!
    My heart swells much too big to be kept in.                [_Aside._

    +Queen.+ [_Solil._] But if that providence, which rules the world,
    Hath, to preserve the stock of virtue, kept
    Thee yet alive----

    +Dec.+ And what, if yet alive?
    Pray, recollect your reason, and consider
    My long and faithful service to your crown;
    The fame of my progenitors, and that
    Devotion the whole kingdom bears me. How
    Hath nature punish'd me, that, bringing all
    The strength of argument to force your judgment,
    I cannot move your love?

    +Queen.+ My lord, you plead
    With so much arrogance, and tell a story
    So gallant for yourself, as if I were
    Exposed a prize to the cunning'st orator.

    +Dec.+ No, madam, humbler far than the tann'd slave
    Tied to th' oar, I here throw down myself                 [_Kneels._
    And all my victories. Dispose of me
    To death; for what hath life merits esteem?
    What tie, alas! can I have to the world,
    Since you disdain my love?

    +Flo.+ Will you permit
    The general kneel so long?

    +Queen.+ Fear not, Floriana;
    My lord knows how to rise, though I should strive
    To hinder it.

    +Dec.+ Here, statue-like, I'll fix
    For ever, till your pity (for your love
    I must despair) enforce a life within me.

                     _Alarum, and enter +Ossuna+._

    +Oss.+ O my lord!
    To arms, to arms! The enemy, encouraged
    By a strange leader, wheel'd about the town,
    And desperately surpris'd the careless guard.
    One gate's already theirs.

    +Dec.+ Have I your licence?

    +Queen.+ To augment your own command, and keep me still
    An humble captive.

    +Dec.+ Madam, your disdain
    Distracts me more than all th' assaults of fortune!

                           [_Exeunt all but the +Queen+, +Floriana+, and
                                                            +Cleantha+._

    +Queen.+ My fate, O, whither dost thou lead me? Why
    Is my youth destin'd to the storms of war?
    What is my crime, you heavenly Powers, that it
    Must challenge blood for expiation?

    +Cle.+ Madam!

    +Queen.+ Fortune! O cruel! for, which side soe'er
    Is lost, I suffer; either in my people
    Or slaughter of my friends. No victory
    Can now come welcome: the best chance of war
    Makes me howe'er a mourner.

    +Cle.+ Madam, you
    Have lost your virtue, which so often vow'd
    A clear aspèct, what cloud soever darken'd
    Your present glory.

    +Queen.+ I had [such] thoughts, Cleantha;
    But they are vanish'd. What shall we invent
    To take off fear and trouble from this hour?
    Poor Floriana, thou art trembling now
    With thought of wounds and death, to which the courage
    Of thy fierce husband, like a headstrong jade,
    May run away with him. But clear thy sorrows:
    If he fall in this quarrel, thou shalt have
    Thy choice 'mong the Castilian lords; and (give
    My judgment faith) there be brave men among them.

    +Flo.+ Madam, I have vowed my life to a cloister,
    Should I survive my lord.

    +Queen.+ And thou art fearful
    Thou shalt be forc'd to make thy promise good!
    Alas, poor soul! enclosure and coarse diet,
    Much discipline and early prayer, will ill
    Agree with thy complexion. There's Cleantha,
    She hath a heart so wean'd from vanity,
    To her a nunnery would be a palace.

    +Cle.+ Yes, if your majesty were abbess, madam:
    But cloister up the fine young lords with us,
    And ring us up each midnight to a masque,
    Instead of matins, and I stand prepar'd
    To be profess'd without probation.                    [_Drum beats._

    +Flo.+ Hark! what noise is that?

    +Queen.+ 'Tis that of death and mischief.
    My griefs! but I'll dissemble them [_Aside._]--Yet why,
    Cleantha, being the sole beauteous idol
    Of all the superstitious youth at court,
    Remain'st thou yet unmarried?

    +Cle.+ Madam, I
    Have many servants, but not one so valiant,
    As dares attempt to marry me.

    +Queen.+ There's not a wit, but under some feign'd name
    Implores thy beauty: sleep cannot close up
    Thy eyes, but the sad world benighted is,
    Or else their sonnets are apocryphal:
    And when thou wak'st, the lark salutes the day,
    Breaking from the bright east of thy fair eyes.
    And if 'mong thy admirers there be some
    Poor drossy brain, who cannot rhyme thy praise,
    He wooes in sorry prose.

                           _Enter +Servant+._

    +Ser.+ Half of the city
    Already is possess'd by th' enemy!
    Our soldiers fly from the assailants, who
    With moderation use their victory.
    So far from drawing blood, th' abstain from spoil.

    +Queen.+ My comforts now grow charitable. This
    Is the first dawning of some happier fortune.              [_Aside._

    +Flo.+ Where did you leave my lord?

    +Ser.+ Retiring hither.

    +Queen.+ And your good nature will in time, Cleantha,
    Believe all flattery for truth.

    +Cle.+ In time
    I shall not: but for the present, madam, give
    Leave to my youth to think I may be prais'd,
    And merit it. Hereafter, when I shall
    Owe art my beauty, I shall grow perhaps
    Suspicious there's small faith in poetry.

    +Queen.+ Can'st thou think of hereafter? Poor Cleantha!
    Hereafter is that time th' art bound to pray
    Against: hereafter is that enemy
    That without mercy will destroy thy face;
    And what's a lady then?

    +Cle.+ A wretched thing!
    A very wretched thing! So scorn'd and poor,
    'Twill scarce deserve man's pity; and I'm sure
    No arms can e'er relieve it.

    +Queen.+ Floriana,
    You yield too much to fear: misfortune brings
    Sorrow enough; 'tis envy[278] to ourselves
    T' augment it by prediction.

                         _Enter +Sanmartino+._

    +Cle.+ See, your lord!

    +San.+ Fly, madam, fly! The army of Castile,
    Conducted by an unknown leader, masters
    The town. Decastro, yielding up his fate
    To the prevailing enemy, is fled.

    +Cle.+ And shall the queen fly from her friends, my lord?

    +San.+ You have reason, madam. I begin to find
    Which way the gale of favour now will blow.
    I will address to the most fortunate.          [_Exit +Sanmartino+._

    +Queen.+ Some music, there! my thoughts grow full of trouble.
    I'll re-collect them.

    +Cle.+ May it please you, madam,
    To hear a song presented me this morning?

    +Queen.+ Play anything.

                               SONG.[279]

        _Not the Phœnix in his death,
          Nor those banks, where violets grow,
          And Arabian winds still blow,
        Yield a perfume like her breath.
            But O! marriage makes the spell:
            And 'tis poison, if I smell._

        _The twin-beauties of the skies
          (When the half-sunk sailors haste
          To rend sail, and cut their mast),
        Shine not welcome as her eyes.
            But those beams, than storms more black,
            If they point at me, I wrack._

        _Then, for fear of such a fire,
          Which kills worse than the long night
          Which benumbs the Muscovite,
        I must from my life retire.
            But, O no! For, if her eye
            Warm me not, I freeze and die._

        _During the song [the +Queen+ falls into a slumber, and]
              enter +Ascanio+, +Lerma+, +Sanmartino+, &c._

    +Asc.+ Cease the uncivil murmur of the drum!
    Nothing sound now, but gentle; such as may not
    Disturb her quiet ear. Are you sure, Lerma,
    Th' obedient soldier hath put up his sword?

    +Ler.+ The citizen and soldier gratulate
    Each other, as divided friends new meeting:
    Nor is there execution done, but in pursuit
    Of th' enemy without the walls.

    +Asc.+ 'Tis very well. My lord, is that your queen?

    +San.+ It is the queen, sir.

    +Asc.+ Temper'd like the orbs
    Which, while we mortals weary life in battle,
    Move with perpetual harmony. No fear
    Eclipseth the bright lustre of her cheek,
    While we, who (infants) were swath'd up in steel,
    And in our cradle lull'd asleep by th' cannon,
    Grow pale at danger.

    +San.+ I'll acquaint her, sir,
    That you attend here.

    +Asc.+ Not for a diamond
    Big as our Apennine. She's heavenly fair;
    And, had not nature plac'd her in a throne,
    Her beauty yet bears so much majesty,
    It would have forc'd the world to throw itself
    A captive at her feet. [_The +Queen+ wakes._] But see, she moves!
    I feel a flame within me, which doth burn
    Too near my heart; and 'tis the first that ever
    Did scorch me there.

    +San.+ Madam, here's that brave soldier
    Which reinforc'd the army of Castile:
    His name as yet unknown.

    +Asc.+ And must be so.
    Nor did I merit name before this hour
    In which I serve your majesty. Enjoy
    The fortune of my sword, your liberty;
    And, since your rebel subjects have denied
    Obedience, here receive it from us strangers.

    +Queen.+ I know not, sir, to whom I owe the debt,
    But find how much I stand oblig'd.

    +Asc.+ You owe it
    To your own virtue, madam, and that care
    Heaven had to keep part of itself on earth
    Unruin'd. When I saw the soldier fly,
    Sent hither from Castile to force your rescue,
    Their general hurt almost to death, I urg'd
    Them with the memory of their former deeds,
    Deeds famed in war; and so far had my voice
    (Speaking your name) power to confirm their spirits,
    That they return'd with a brave fury, and
    Yield you up now your humbled[280] Arragon.

    +Queen.+ My ignorance doth still perplex me more:
    And to owe thanks, yet not to know to whom,
    Nor how to express a gratitude, will cloud
    The glory of your victory, and make
    Me miserable however.

    +Asc.+ I must penance
    My blood with absence, for it boils too high.              [_Aside._
    When we have order'd your affairs, my name
    Shall take an honour from your knowledge, madam.

    +Queen.+ You have corrected me. Sir, we'll expect
    The hour yourself shall name, when we may serve.

    +Asc.+ I'm conquer'd in my victory! But I'll try
    A new assault, and overcome or die.                       [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[275] A sort of parody on the exclamation of Pistol in "Henry V.," act
ii. sc. 1--

"Base is the slave that pays!"

Mr Steevens, in a note on the passage, points out a similar expression
in Heywood's "Fair Maid of the West."--_Collier._

[276] _i.e._, Thine interpreter. _Trucheman_, Fr. See
Cotgrave.--_Steevens._

The word is not very common in our old writers, but it is found [in two
or three plays printed in the present series, and] in a passage quoted
in "England's Parnassus," 1600, [from Greene's "Menaphone," 1589]--

    "Seld speaketh love, but sighes his secret paines;
    Teares are his _truch-men_; words do make him tremble."

Again, in Whetstone's "Heptameron," 1582: "For he that is the
_Troucheman_ of a stranger's tongue may well declare his meaning, but
yet shall marre the grace of his tale."--_Collier._

[In "England's Parnasaus," 1600, is the following line from James I.'s
"Essayes of a Prentise," 1584--

          "Dame Nature's trunchmen, heavens interprets true;"

and Park, in his reprint of the book, not knowing the meaning of
_trouchman_, supposed _trunchman_ to be misprinted for _trenchman_.]

[277] This question, by an error of the press, Dodsley and Reed both
allowed to be given to Florentio.--_Collier._

[278] [Spite, hatred.]

[279] In the old folio, 1640, this song, and another song in act iv.,
are, as was not unusual at the time, appended at the conclusion of the
play. They are here inserted in their right places.--_Collier._

[280] [Old copy, _your own humbled_.]



ACT III., SCENE I.


                    _Enter +Velasco+ and +Oniate+._

    +Oni.+ My lord, it shows a happy discipline,
    Where the obedient soldier yields respect
    To such severe commands, now when victory
    Gives licence to disorder.

    +Vel.+ Sir, our general,
    The Lord Florentio, is a glorious master
    In th' art of war: and though time makes him not
    Wise at th' expense of weakness or diseases, yet
    I have beheld him by the easy motion
    But of his eye repress sedition,
    When it contemned the frown of majesty;
    For never he who by his prince's smile
    Stood great at court attained such love and awe
    With that fierce viper, the repining people.

    +Oni.+ Our kingdom owes its safety to that power.
    For how dejected look'd our magistrates
    When conquest gave admittance to the soldier!
    But how their fears forsook them when they saw
    Your entry with such silence!

    +Vel.+ Sir, Castile
    Aim'd not at spoil or ruin in this war,
    But to redress that insolence your queen
    Did suffer under in Decastro's pride.

    +Oni.+ And yet auxiliaries oft turn their swords
    To ruin whom they come to rescue.

    +Vel.+ The barbarous keep no faith in vows: but we--
    We of Castile, though flattering advantage
    Persuade to perjury, have still observ'd
    Friendship inviolate, no nation suffering,
    To which we give our oath.

    +Oni.+ You speak, my lord,
    Your glories nobly. And it is our joy,
    Your general's wound but frighted us.

    +Vel.+ The surgeons
    Affirm there is no danger, and have licensed
    His visit to the queen.

    +Oni.+ 'Tis thought, howe'er,
    His love had not obey'd such a restraint,
    Though death had threaten'd him. But in his health
    Consists the common safety, since those forces
    Decastro in the morning did expect,
    Ere you the town assaulted, are discover'd,
    To which he fled, expell'd the city.

    +Vel.+ Sir,
    We shall contemn, and with ease break that army,
    Whose general we have vanquished, having won
    The city and your queen into our power.

                         _Enter +Sanmartino+._

    +San.+ Save you, my lord. Sir, your most obedient:
    And how likes your good lordship the great acts
    Of the strange cavalier? Was not his conduct
    Most happy for you in the late assault?

    +Vel.+ He happily supplied the office of
    Our general: howe'er, your city had
    Been ours; for though our Spanish forces may
    At first seem beaten, and we to retreat
    Awhile, to animate a giddy enemy,
    Yet we recover by our art and patience
    What fortune gives away. This unknown leader
    (I know not how to style him) press'd among
    Our soldiers, as they were returning back
    After a small repulse: encouraged them,
    (Though it was much superfluous) and got honour
    Perhaps not so deservingly; but 'twas well.

    +Oni.+ Your soldiers speak his glory even with wonder.

    +Vel.+ The ignorant are prone to it: but, sir,
    I think in our whole army there fought none
    But who had equal spirit. Fortune may
    Bestow success according to her dotage:
    I answer not for that.

    +San.+ This is pure Castile.
    But what is his birth, country, quality,
    And whither is he bound?

    +Vel.+ I seldom trouble
    My language with vain questions. Some report
    (It not imports who are the authors) that
    His country's Sicily, his name Ascanio
    (Or else some sound like that): that he's a lord
    (But what's an island-lord?) and that he came
    Into our continent to learn men and manners:
    And well he might; for the all-seeing sun
    Beholds no nation fiercer in attempt,
    More staid in counsel.

    +Oni.+ He's of a brave presence:
    I never saw more majesty in youth;
    Nor never such bold courage in a face
    So fashion'd to delight.

    +San.+ The queen commends him
    Almost with wonder.

    +Vel.+ Did the queen regard
    A man unknown?

    +Oni.+ His merits spoke his worth,
    And well might challenge a particular eye.

    +San.+ But his, as if in that dumb oratory
    He hoped to talk all the history of love,
    Still fix'd upon her.

    +Vel.+ Your most humble servant.                  [_Exit +Velasco+._

    +Oni.+ This is abrupt.

    +San.+ What most politic flea
    Is got into his Donship's ear?

    +Oni.+ Now must
    The Junto sit till midnight, till they rack
    Some strange design from this intelligence.

               _Enter +Cleantha+, and offers to go out._

    +San.+ Nay! on my honour, madam!

    +Cle.+ Good my lord!

    +San.+ Benight us not so soon! That short-liv'd day
    That gives the Russian in the winter hope
    Of heat, yet fails him, not so suddenly
    Forsakes the firmament. Stay, fairest madam,
    That we may look on you and live.

    +Cle.+ My lord, I fear you two were serious.

    +San.+ Never I, upon my conscience, madam.

    +Oni.+ No, I'll swear;
    Nor none of the whole form of you at court,
    Unless the stratagem be for a mistress,
    A fashion, or some cheating-match at tennis.

    +Cle.+ But happily[281] that gentleman had business.
    His face betrays my judgment if he be
    Not much in project.

    +San.+ You mistake him, madam.
    Though he talk positive, and bustle 'mong
    The sober lords, pretend to embassies
    And state-designs all day; he's one of us
    At night; he'll play, he'll drink,--you guess the rest.
    He'll quarrel too, then underhand compound.
    Why, for a need he'll jeer and speak profane;
    Court, and then laugh at her he courted. Madam,
    Forgive him his pretence to gravity,
    And he's an absolute cavalier.

    +Cle.+ My lord,
    He owes you for this fair certificate;
    Yet I fear your character's beyond his merit.

    +Oni.+ Madam, dissemble not so great a virtue;
    Nor, to obey the tyranny of custom,
    Become the court's fair hypocrite. I know
    This vanity for fashion-sake you wear,
    And all those gaieties you seem t' admire
    Are but your laughter.

    +Cle.+ Sir, your charity
    Abuseth you extremely.

    +Oni.+ Come, you cannot
    Disguise that wisdom, which doth glory in
    The beauteous mansion it inhabits. Madam,
    This soul of mine, how coarse soe'er 'tis cloth'd,
    Took the honour to admire you, soon as first
    You shin'd at court: nor had a timorous silence
    So long denied me to profess my service,
    But that I fear'd I might be lost i' the crowd
    Of your admirers.

    +Cle.+ Nor can I perceive
    Any strong hope now to the contrary.

    +Oni.+ Nor I: but give me licence t' undeceive
    The world, that so mistakes you. This young lord
    Flatters his folly that indeed you are
    Sick of that humour you but counterfeit;
    Believes y' are frail and easy; since, if not,
    His courtship were without design.

    +Cle.+ My lord,
    What means the gentleman? He hopes to talk me
    Into a virtue I ne'er practis'd yet,
    And much suspect I never shall.

    +San.+ Pray, madam,
    Pardon his ignorance: 'tis want of breeding.

    +Oni.+ Pardon your mirth, fair madam, and brush off
    This honour'd dust that soils your company;
    This thing whom nature carelessly obtruded
    Upon the world to teach that pride and folly
    Make titular greatness th' envy but of fools,
    The wise man's pity.

    +San.+ Sir, your words are rude.

    +Oni.+ Sure, no, my lord: perhaps in times of yore
    They might be construed so, when superstition
    Worshipp'd each lord an idol. Now we find,
    By sad experience, that you are mere men,
    If vice debauch you not to beasts.

    +San.+ The place is privileg'd, sir.

    +Oni.+ I know it is, and therefore speak thus boldly.
    If you grow hot, you have your grots, my lord,
    And in your villa you may domineer
    O'er th' humble country-gentleman, who stands
    Aloof and bare.

    +Cle.+ My lord, leave off the combat;
    Y' are hardly match'd. And see, the Lord Florentio!

                   _Enter +Florentio+ and +Velasco+._

    The queen attends his coming. Sir, you'll find
    A more convenient school to read this lecture.

    +Oni.+ But none so beautiful to hear me.

                       [_Exeunt, several ways, +Sanmartino+, +Cleantha+,
                                                          and +Oniate+._

    +Flo.+ And are you sure, my lord, he durst presume
    To look up at her?

    +Vel.+ Yes, and she commends
    His person and his spirit.

    +Flo.+ 'Twas too much
    T' observe his person. Sure, his spirit's great,
    And well may challenge the queen's memory.
    I have not seen him yet.

    +Vel.+ Nor I, my lord.

    +Flo.+ He had a fortune gentler far than mine.
    In envy of that service which I vowed
    To Arragon, Heaven used a stranger's arm
    In this great action: I was judged a thing
    Unfit for use.

    +Vel.+ Your glory was the greater,
    Your courage even opposing 'gainst your fate
    In the attempt.

    +Flo.+ But yet, mistaken man
    Esteems the happy only valiant.
    And if the queen, Velasco, should smile on
    His merits, and forget that love I have
    With such religion paid her----But these doubts
    Are impious, and I sin if I but listen
    To their disloyal whispers. And behold,

            _Enter the +Queen+, +Floriana+, +Cleantha+, &c._

    She opens, like a rock of diamond,
    To th' curious search of th' almost bankrupt merchant!
    So doth the pilot find his star, when storms
    Have even sunk his bark. Divinest madam!

    +Queen.+ Welcome, my lord! But pardon me my joys,
    If I must interrupt you with a sigh.
    I cannot look upon Florentio's arm,
    But I must grieve it bled for me.

    +Flo.+ O, spare
    The treasure of those tears! Some captive king,
    Whom fortune hath lock'd up in iron, wants
    One such to buy his freedom. Madam, all
    Those streams of blood which flow to warm my earth,
    Lest it congeal to death, cannot compare
    For value with the least drop shed for you,
    By such a quarrel made inestimable.

    +Queen.+ The war, I see, hath only been the field
    To exercise your fancy. Your discourse
    Shows that the court was kept beneath your tent;
    Yet cannot I, my lord, be jealous, but
    'Tis mingled with some love.

    +Flo.+ 'Tis a pure love,
    Unmix'd as is the soul. The world perhaps
    May judge a kingdom hath enamour'd me,
    And that your titles dress you forth, to raise
    My appetite up higher. Pardon love,
    If it grow envious even of your fortune,
    And that I'm forc'd to wish you had been daughter
    Of some poor mountain-cottager, without
    All dowry but your own beauty.[282] Then I might
    Have showed a flame untainted with ambition,
    And courted you; but now the circumstance
    Of greatness seems to challenge more than I
    Have power to give, and, working up my love,
    I serve my fortune.

    +Queen.+ You have not, my lord,
    Found me uneasy to your vows: and, when
    The troubled stream of my tempestuous state
    Shall meet a perfect calm, you then shall know
    How worthy I esteem your virtue.

    +Flo.+ Speak but those words again, and seat me in
    An orb above corruption! O, confirm
    Your thoughts but with a promise.

    +Queen.+ How, a promise!
    I shall repent my favour if I hear
    A syllable which sounds like that. Upon
    My marriage-day I have vowed to bring myself
    A free oblation to the holy altar;
    Not, like a fearful debtor, tender low[283]
    To save my bond. My lord, I must not hear
    One whisper of a promise.

    +Flo.+ I'm silent,
    And use me as your vassal; for a title
    More glorious I shall never covet. But----

    +Queen.+ No jealousy, my lord.

                            _Enter +Lerma+._

    +Ler.+ Your majesty
    Is great in mercy; and I hope a stranger
    Shall meet it, if his speech be an offence.

    +Queen.+ Your pleasure, sir?

    +Ler.+ The Lord Ascanio charg'd                           [_Kneels._
    Me fall yet lower, if the earth would license;
    For to so high a majesty obedience
    Cannot bend down enough: then he commanded,
    I, in his name, should beg the honour for him,
    Before he take his journey from your country,
    To kiss your hand.

    +Queen.+ Pray, sir, let's know the hour;
    But let it not be sudden. Years should sweat
    In preparation for his entertainment,
    And poets rack invention, till it reach
    Such praises as would reach the victories
    Of th' old heroes.

    +Ler.+ Madam, if his arm
    Did actions worthy memory, it receiv'd
    An influence from your quarrel, in the which
    A dwarf might triumph o'er an army. But
    He humbly craves his audience may not be
    With crowd and noise, as to embassadors;
    But with that silence which befits his business,
    For 'tis of moment.

    +Queen.+ Sir, we will obey
    His own desires, though ours could wish his welcome
    With a full ceremony. I attend him.                 [_Exit +Lerma+._

    +Flo.+ Madam, this stranger----

    +Queen.+ Pray, my lord, let love
    Not interrupt your business. I believe,
    The army which Decastro so expected
    Being now arriv'd, your soldiers tired, the city
    Ill-settled in her faith, much counsel will
    Be needful. When your leisure shall permit,
    Our joy shall be to see you.

    +Flo.+ I'm all obedience.

                     [_Exeunt +Queen+ and +Florentio+ at several doors._

                  _Manet +Sanmartino+ and +Cleantha+._

    +San.+ And when, sweet madam, will you crown our joys?
    Let's not, like riotous gamesters, throw away
    The treasure of our time: appoint the hour,
    The hour which must wear garlands of delight,
    By which we'll make't the envy of the age.

    +Cle.+ My lord, what mean you?

    +San.+ What all fine lords mean
    Who have plenty, youth and title.

    +Cle.+ But my fame!

    +San.+ 'Tis the fool's bugbear.

    +Cle.+ Then my conscience!

    +San.+ A scarecrow for old wives, whom wrinkles make
    Religious.

    +Cle.+ What will the court say?

    +San.+ Why, nothing.
    In mercy to themselves, all other ladies
    Will keep your counsel.

    +Cle.+ But will you not boast it?

    +San.+ I'll be degraded first.

    +Cle.+ Well, I'm resolv'd.

    +San.+ But when, sweet madam? Name
    The moment.

    +Cle.+ Never: for now I weigh things better;
    The antidote 'gainst fear is innocence.

    +San.+ Will you delude my hopes then? Pity, madam,
    A heart that withers if denied this favour.

    +Cle.+ In pity I may be induced to much;
    And, since you urge compassion, I will meet.

    +San.+ Where, excellent madam?

    +Cle.+ I' th' sycamore-walk.

    +San.+ The minute! O, the minute!

    +Cle.+ An hour hence.

    +San.+ Felicity! fit for thy envy, Love!
    You will not fail now, madam?

    +Cle.+ To be such,
    As you shall count that hour your happiest.               [_Exeunt._

                  _Enter +Browfildora+ and +Oniate+._

    +Oni.+ This is a challenge! Prythee, my small friend,
    May not a man take th' height of my lord's spirit,
    Looking on thee?

    +Brow.+ Pray, sir, leave off your mirth,
    And write my lord your answer.

    +Oni.+ Little sir,
    I never learnt that pretty quality:
    I cannot write; only by word of mouth----

    +Brow.+ Your place, sir?

    +Oni.+ The market-place.

    +Brow.+ 'Tis fantastic: and my lord will take it ill.
    Your weapons, sir.

    +Oni.+ Two English mastiffs, which
    Are yet but whelps, and not transported hither:
    So that the time will be, I know not when.

    +Brow.+ Your sport is dangerous. If my lord forgive you,
    I must resent th' affront as to myself,
    And will expect a most severe account.

    +Oni.+ Thou less, though[284] angrier, thing than wasp, farewell.

                                                              [_Exeunt._

                     _Enter +Queen+ and +Ascanio+._

    +Queen.+ I am inform'd, my lord, that you have business,
    And 'tis of moment?

    +Asc.+ Great as that of Nature's
    In her most mighty work, Creation.
    For to preserve from dissolution equals
    The gift of our first being. Not to hold
    Your majesty in riddles, 'tis to beg
    Your pardon for a soldier doom'd to die;
    Inevitably doom'd, unless your mercy
    Step between him and death.

    +Queen.+ My lord, we use
    T' examine well the fact for which he is
    To suffer, ere we pardon. There be crimes
    Of that black quality which often makes
    Mercy seem cruel.

    +Asc.+ That's the fear which frights
    Me to this paleness: sure, his crime is great;
    But fondly I, presuming on the service
    My fortune lately did you, gave my vow
    Ne'er to forsake your ear with earnest prayers,
    Till you had granted.

    +Queen.+ Would you had not vowed;
    For by the practice of my enemies
    My fame is 'mong the people yet unsettled,
    And my capacity for government
    Held much too feeble. Should I then by this
    Provoke them to disdain me, I might run
    Apparent hazard even of ruin, now
    War so distracts our kingdom. But, my lord,
    Your merits are too ponderous in the scale,
    And all respects weigh light--you have his pardon.

    +Asc.+ Your hand on that. The down on the swan's bosom,

                                                 [_Kisses and holds it._

    Not white and soft as this: here's such a dew
    As drops from bounteous heaven in the morning,
    To make the shadowy bank pregnant with violets.

    +Queen.+ My lord!

    +Asc.+ I kiss'd it, and the Phœnix seem'd
    (The last of the whole race) to yield a perfume
    More sweet than all his dying ancestors
    Breath'd from their funeral piles. O, shrink not back!
    My life is so concomitant with love,
    That if you frown on either, both expire,
    And I must part for ever hence.

    +Queen.+ How strange appears this ecstasy! My lord, I fear
    Your brain feels some disturbance: if I cause it,
    I will remove the object.

    +Asc.+ Pardon, madam,
    The error of my fancy (which oft seems
    To see things absent), if my tongue did utter
    What misbecame your ear; and do not forfeit
    Your servant to perpetual misery,
    For want of a short patience.

    +Queen.+ No, my lord;
    I have the memory of your great deeds
    Engrav'd so deep, no error can have power
    To raze them from a due respect. You begg'd
    To have a pardon: speak th' offender's name.

    +Asc.+ Th' offender's name is Love; his crime high treason;
    A plot, how to surprise and wound your heart:
    To this conspirator I have given harbour,
    And vow'd to beg your mercy for him.

    +Queen.+ How!

    +Asc.+ And if you break your grant, I will hereafter
    Scorn all your sex, since the most excellent
    Is cruel and inconstant.

    +Queen.+ Pray, my lord,
    Go recollect your reason, which your passion
    Hath too much scatter'd. Make me not have cause
    To hate whom I would ever strive to honour.

    +Asc.+ Madam, you haply scorn the vulgar earth,
    Of which I stand compacted: and because
    I cannot add a splendour to my name,
    Reflective from a royal pedigree,
    You interdict my language: but be pleas'd
    To know, the ashes of my ancestors,
    If intermingled in the tomb with kings,
    Could hardly be distinguished. The stars shoot
    An equal influence on the open cottage,
    Where the poor shepherd's child is rudely nurs'd,
    And on the cradle, where the prince is rock'd
    With care and whisper.

    +Queen.+ And what hence infer you?

    +Asc.+ That no distinction is 'tween man and man,
    But as his virtues add to him a glory,
    Or vices cloud him.

    +Queen.+ But yet Heaven hath made
    Subordination and degrees of men,
    And even religion doth authorise us
    To rule, and tells the subject 'tis a crime,
    And shall meet death, if he disdain obedience.

    +Asc.+ Kind Heaven made us all equal, till rude strength
    Or wicked policy usurp'd a power:
    And for religion, that exhorts t' obey
    Only for its own ease.

    +Queen.+ I must not hear
    Such insolence 'gainst majesty; and yet
    This less offends than love.

    +Asc.+ If reason bends
    You not to mercy, let my passion plead,
    And not meet death from her, in whose fair quarrel
    I could each moment bring a life to th' hazard.
    Philosophy hath taught me that content
    Lives under the coarse thatch of labourers
    With much more quiet than where the fam'd hand
    Of artists to the life have richly drawn
    Upon the roofs the fictions of the gods.
    How happy then might I lengthen my life,
    With some fair country girl, so ignorant
    She knew not her own beauties, rather than
    Endanger death and scorn in your denial,
    And in your grant nothing but pomp and envy!

    +Queen.+ My lord, be wise, and study that best content.
    This bold presumptuous love hath cancell'd all
    The bonds I owed your valour: henceforth hope
    Not for that usual favour I show strangers,
    Since you have thus abus'd it. Would I might
    With safety have appear'd more grateful.                    [_Exit._

    +Asc.+ She's gone, as life from the delinquent, when
    Justice sheathes up her sword. I fain would have
    Conceal'd love's treason, but desire t' obtain her
    Put me to th' torture, till each nerve did crack,
    And I confess'd, then died upon the rack.                   [_Exit._

FOOTNOTES:

[281] Peradventure. Dr Johnson observes that in this sense _happily_
is written erroneously for _haply_--[a distinction surely without a
difference, since both are the same, _haply_ being merely a contracted
form of the other.]

"One thing more I shall wish you to desire of them, who _happily_ may
peruse these two treatises."--_Digby._

[282] Habington has the same thought in his "Castara," edit. 1640, p.
51--

            "Would Castara were
    The daughter of some mountain-cottager,
    Who, with his toil worn out, could dying leave
    Her no more dowre than what she did receive
    From bounteous nature; her would I then lead
    To th' temple, rich in her own wealth."

--_Steevens._

[283] [Old copy, _love_.]

[284] [Old copy, _thought_.]



ACT IV., SCENE I.


                   _Enter +Cleantha+ and +Floriana+._

    +Flo.+ Thy pride is such a flatterer of thy beauty,
    That no man sighs by accident, but thou
    Dost pity as enamour'd.

    +Cle.+ Floriana!
    Not so kind-natur'd, surely. I have put
    The sighs of courtiers in a scale, and find
    Some threescore thousand may weigh down a feather;
    I have tried their tears which, though of briny taste,
    Can only season the hearts of fools, not women.
    Their vows are like their duels, ever grounded
    Upon the idlest quarrel.

    +Flo.+ This experience
    Perhaps instructs you to; but yet your pride,
    I fear, is over-easy to believe.
    'Tis merely to fly idleness that my lord
    Hath troubled you with courtship: if the queen
    Would make a statesman, she might cure a lover.
    Want of employment made him dream on beauty,
    And yours came first t' his fancy.

    +Cle.+ I begin
    To think his making love but vanity,
    And a mistake in wit.

    +Flo.+ And you begin
    Perhaps to fear it?

    +Cle.+ True, perhaps I do;
    For though we care not for the lover, yet
    We love the passion: though we scorn the offering,
    We grieve to see it thrown away, and envy,
    If consecrated to another. Woman
    Hath no revenge 'gainst th' injury of custom,
    Which gives man superiority, but thus
    To fool it to subjection.

    +Flo.+ Yet, Cleantha,
    I could have wish'd your charity had spar'd
    This triumph o'er my lord.

    +Cle.+ You see I take
    The next way to redeem him. This the hour,
    And this the place. Here he resolves to raise
    A trophy in my ruin: and behold--

              _Enter +Sanmartino+, winding up his watch._

    The just man of his promise! Not a minute
    He fails when sin's the payment.

    +Flo.+ I'll endanger
    His virtue to a blush, and happily
    Convert an infidel.

    +Cle.+ This is my province,
    Nor shall you envy me the honour of
    A work so meritorious. Let him walk
    Awhile, and sin with his own fancy; then
    I'll undertake him, and if there be need,
    Be you prepared to assist me.

    +Flo.+ Thou dost build
    Such forts on the opinion of thy wit!

                                    [_Exeunt +Floriana+ and +Cleantha+._

    +San.+ 'Tis a full hour, and half a minute over,
    And yet she not appears! How we severe
    Strict creditors in love stand on the minute,
    But yet the payment never comes unwelcome;
    Until the gold through age grow foul and rusty,
    We stand not on a grain or two too light.

                         _Enter +Browfildora+._

    Now your discovery?

    +Brow.+ My lord, I have
    Made search in every alley, every arbour,
    Not left a bush wherein my littleness
    Could creep without due scrutiny; and yet
    No whispering of taffaty: no dazzling
    Of your bright mistress forc'd me to a wink.
    I saw no mortal beauty.

    +San.+ Sure, she'll not
    Be so unworthy to delude me now!

    +Brow.+ But I had a more prosperous fate in love.
    My lord, I met my mistress.

    +San.+ You a mistress!

    +Brow.+ A mistress, to whose beauty I have paid
    My vows, most fervent vows, e'er since I was
    Of stature fit to be an amorist.

    +San.+ One of the maids-of-honour to Queen Mab?

    +Brow.+ Your lordship guesses near; for she is one
    O' th' chamberers to her Fairy Majesty:
    A lady of most subtle wit, who, while
    She puts a handkerchief or gorget on,
    Her little highness holds intelligence.
    She raiseth factions, and unites the angry:
    She's much upon design.

    +San.+ Where found you her?

    +Brow.+ Walking alone, under the shadow of
    A tulip, and inveighing 'gainst court-arts,
    'Cause one of Oberon's grooms had got from her
    The monopoly of transporting gnats--
    A project she long aim'd at.

    +San.+ No more fooling:
    I am grown angry with my patience.
    Boy, sing those verses were presented me
    This morning.

    +Brow.+ I will creep behind a bush,
    And then for voice vie with the nightingale:
    If seen, I am so bashful.

    +San.+ Take your way.

                          +Song+ (_without_).

    _Fine young folly, though you were
    That fair beauty I did swear,
      Yet you ne'er could reach my heart;
    For we courtiers learn at school
    Only with your sex to fool;
      Y'are not worth the serious part._

    _When I sigh and kiss your hand,
    Cross my arms, and wond'ring stand,
      Holding parley with your eye:
    Then dilate on my desires,
    Swear the sun ne'er shot such fires;
      All is but a handsome lie._

    _When I eye your curl or lace,
    Gentle soul, you think your face
      Straight some murder doth commit;
    And your virtue doth begin
    To grow scrupulous of my sin,
      When I talk to show my wit._

    _Therefore, madam, wear no cloud,
    Nor to check my love grow proud;
      In sooth I much do doubt,
    'Tis the powder in your hair,
    Not your breath, perfumes the air,
      And your clothes that set you out._

    _Yet though truth has this confess'd,
    And I vow I love in jest:
      When I next begin to court,
    And protest an amorous flame,
    You will swear I in earnest am:
      Bedlam! this is pretty sport._

              _As the song ends, enter +Cleantha+ veiled._

    She breaks forth like the morning in a cloud.
    'Tis for the safety of my eyes you veil
    The glory of your beauties, which else might
    Dazzle, not catch the sight; but I discern
    A fair Cleantha through this gloominess.
    Appear and speak, bright madam. Why such silence?
    O, famish not my ear, which greedily
    Longs to devour the music of your language:
    Is it to teach me that delight must be
    Entomb'd in secrecy, or else to show
    How mad a spendthrift I'm to talk away
    The treasure of this hour? Come, fair, unveil.

    +Cle.+ O, give me leave yet to retain my blushes.

    +San.+ Deceit of timorous modesty! Traitors
    To love your blushes are: your fears are envious
    Of your delights. Let's vanish hence, and ne'er
    To th' vulgar eye appear, till we,
    Grown old in pleasure, be transform'd t' a vine
    Or ivy, so for ever to entwine.

    +Cle.+ Then I unveil.

    +San.+ O, fly into my arms,
    As a rich odour to the ravish'd sense!
    Perfume me with thy kisses.

    +Cle.+ Stay, my lord!
    Actions of moment (as I take this is)
    Must be maturely thought on. I have call'd
    My reason to account.

    +San.+ Your reason, madam!

    +Cle.+ Yes, my good lord: that only doth distinguish
    A woman from brute beasts; or, what's more sensual,
    A vain loose man. What sin scandals my carriage,
    To give encouragement to this presumption?
    What privileg'd this attempt?

    +San.+ That tempting beauty.

    +Cle.+ It is a traitor then to my pure thoughts;
    And, to preserve your eye, would it were wrinkled:
    I could much easier suffer the reproach
    Of age than your bold courtship. If a lady
    Be young and sportive, use curiosity,
    And perhaps art, to help where nature seem'd
    Imperfect in her work, will you, from the
    False argument of your own loose blood, conclude
    Her guilty? Or, if she select a friend,
    Whose innocence gives warrant to her faith,
    Will you infer their whispers have no aim
    But that of brothels? 'Cause you find yourself
    Nought but loose flesh, will you turn heretic,
    And thence deny the soul?

    +San.+ This language, madam,
    Sounds nothing to the purpose of our meeting.

    +Cle.+ More to the benefit. But in your patent,
    'Mong all the privileges of a Conde,
    Where find you lust inserted? Without which,
    Till age hath made you wise or impotent,
    You think your honour is defective. 'Cause
    Your clothes are handsome and mine too, must we
    Deform our minds? Is it sufficient motive
    To sin, if opportunity and youth
    Persuade us? Such as you are those foul plagues
    Infect the air which breathes our fame, and make
    The cautious sirs o' th' country shun us.

    +San.+ Madam!

    +Cle.+ When we admit you to our bed-chamber,
    Powder, or haply bathe before you; what
    Of honour's here more than a groom may boast
    Our maids are tir'd with? Yet this with a smile
    Is whisper'd to your friend, and you infer
    How easy a more near approach will be.
    My lord, learn virtue, and your wit may then
    Not serve you to so fond a purpose. If
    That courage you are famed for be no slander,
    Go to the wars. 'Twill be a far less maim
    To lose an eye there than your honour here.
    If peace enamour you, and the court, live honest:
    And hope the heir, who shall succeed you, may
    Be yours. Revenge destroys more chastity
    Than all the temptings of such lords as you.

    +San.+ You shall not talk me, madam, from that pleasure
    This hour doth promise me.

    +Cle.+ You'll not commit
    A rape, my lord?

    +San.+ That is a question as
    Yet unresolv'd; for force is my last refuge.

    +Cle.+ Think on the danger; for the sin, I see,
    Little distracts your conscience.

    +San.+ I propose
    Felicity, which none can merit who
    Refuse so poor a venture. Here I vow,
    No prayer or art shall free you. If you will
    Hazard a life devoted to your service,
    I'll die your martyr.

    +Cle.+ Come, my lord, I'll free you
    From all such hazard.

    +San.+ There spoke harmony!

    +Cle.+ I'll not be cruel. You shall have kisses, such
    As will melt your soul into your lips: and what
    Is sweetest, no repentance shall be th' issue

                    _Enter +Floriana+ and +Oniate+._

    Of your delight. Look here, my lord! She's yours.

    +San.+ No halter now nor tree convenient? O!
    A steeple would be precious for my purpose!
    But Oniate's there. I'll fight with him,
    Be kill'd and be redeem'd. Sir, you receiv'd
    A challenge from me! but return'd no answer.

    +Oni.+ My lord, I had other business; you'll excuse me.

    +San.+ What satisfaction do men give when challeng'd?

    +Oni.+ According to their spirit: if they be
    Regardless of their fame, then they submit;
    If not, they fight.

    +San.+ What, sir, will you then do?

    +Oni.+ Let me consider. Neither.

    +San.+ Come, you shall fight.

    +Oni.+ My lord, I will not.

    +San.+ Then you shall subscribe
    Yourself a coward.

    +Oni.+ Not for the whole world!
    Such an apparent lie would be a sin
    Too heavy to my conscience. I subscribe
    Myself a coward! If I should, no soldier
    Would think but that my hand were counterfeited.

    +San.+ Then you must fight.

    +Oni.+ My lord, on no condition. Hope not for it.

    +San.+ Then you shall swear never to speak my name
    But with respect.

    +Oni.+ Hereafter, if you can
    Deserve it. For the present I must crave
    Your pardon with much mirth to laugh at you.

    +San.+ Sir, I shall meet you.

    +Oni.+ It shall contradict
    All my endeavours then.

    +San.+ I go, sir. But----                      [_Exit +Sanmartino+._

    +Cle.+ For mercy sake, go with thy lord. Repentance
    May turn to desperation.

    +Flo.+ I'll preserve him.                                   [_Exit._

    +Cle.+ Have you no business, sir, imports you more,
    Than t' hold discourse with me? Troth, I shall pity
    You want employment.

    +Oni.+ Madam, what can be
    More serious?

    +Cle.+ Nothing more, if your design
    Be to convert me: for I know you hold
    All ladies in a schism who are young and proud.

    +Oni.+ Your pardon, madam. I believe you[285] cunning
    Court-ladies choose some petty venial errors
    To set perfection off; for should you not
    Usurp a handsome pride, your fame would lie,
    Like unwall'd cities, open to the prey
    Of each invading youth. Did you not show
    A scorn, you would deserve it.

    +Cle.+ Sir, take heed.
    Hope not to win my favour by extolling
    What in our better thoughts we ourselves condemn.
    I am so wearied out with vows and oaths,
    With impious praises and most tedious flattery,
    That nothing but plain-speaking truth can gain
    On my affection.

    +Oni.+ Madam, your affection?

    +Cle.+ Pray, sir, do not comment upon the word;
    It doth portend no danger to you.

    +Oni.+ And if it did, where's the beatitude?
    For though I grant your virtues great as beauty
    Can entertain, and foolish I resolv'd
    To captivate my stock of life t' a woman,
    Yet would I not adventure on you, if
    You did not vow to perform articles.

    +Cle.+ Suppose the business come to articles?

    +Oni.+ I' th' first then, you should covenant love; not squinting
    On every finer youth or greater lord,
    But looking straight on me.

    +Cle.+ To the second, sir.

    +Oni.+ No dotage on the court, so far that my
    Estate must rue it; and no vanity
    Be started up, but my fond lady must
    Be melancholy, and take physic till
    She get into it.

    +Cle.+ Why, you envy then
    Us our own trouble; keep us from the expense,
    And leave us to our discontent for penance.

    +Oni.+ No! I would have the mind serene: without
    All passion, though a masque should be presented,
    And you i' th' country. I must have you wise,
    To know your beauty mortal, which you must
    Preserve to warm my eye, not aid by arts,
    To keep the courtier's wit in exercise.
    From his so practis'd flattery your ear
    Must turn with a brave scorn; and when his eye
    Doth offer parley, seem so ignorant
    As not to understand the language.

    +Cle.+ Sir,
    You haply will debar us our she-friends too?

    +Oni.+ As secret enemies, who'll first betray you.

    +Cle.+ You'll not allow us, wearied of our husbands,
    To send them on discovery of new worlds?
    Or if we take a toy ourselves to travel,
    Perhaps to Barbary or Tartary,
    Or the remotest parts?

    +Oni.+ To Bedlam sooner.

    +Cle.+ Or, if our sex should warrant it by custom,
    To play at tennis, or run at the ring,
    Or any other martial exercise:
    I fear me, scrupulous sir, you will condemn it
    As dangerous to my honour?

    +Oni.+ Sure, I should.

    +Cle.+ I then perceive small hope of our agreement.

    +Oni.+ But I a confidence; for I discern
    How much you loathe these follies you pretend.

    +Cle.+ Good sir, no more of this so kind mistake;
    You'll find some other lady more deserves it,
    And I aspire not to the honour.

    Oni. I'll try yet farther.        [_Exeunt +Oniate+ and +Cleantha+._

                     _Enter +Lerma+ and +Velasco+._

    +Ler.+ My lord, you offer nobly.

    +Vel.+ 'Tis a step
    Beneath Florentio's greatness, whether you
    His birth consider or his place. Sir, the queen
    By nature's seated and her high deserts,
    Where only mighty souls (such as the general's)
    May offer to aspire.

    +Ler.+ My lord, your lapse
    To this proud language is so injurious, that
    I must be forc'd to purge the humour. That
    The Lord Florentio offers by a duel
    To show no man can have fairer pretence
    To serve the queen, must be allowed; but that
    You dare cast disregard upon this lord,
    Although a stranger, urgeth me t' intreat
    You'd draw your sword.

    +Vel.+ It hath seen light, and made
    Way through an army, when fond victory
    Smil'd on our enemies: it hath done wonders,
    When the thick troops of Moors invaded us.
    It fears no opposition.

    +Ler.+ Show th' effect of't.

    +Vel.+ Not in a cause so trivial. Each small breath
    Disturbs the quiet of poor shallow waters;
    But winds must arm themselves ere the large sea
    Is seen to tremble. Pray your pardon, sir:
    I must not throw away my courage on
    A cause so trivial.

    +Ler.+ As you please, my lord.
    But, to omit all circumstance, you bring
    A challenge to my Lord Ascanio:
    The reason of the Lord Florentio's anger,
    A rivalship in love.

    +Vel.+ You speak it right.

    +Ler.+ I'll bring you back his resolution
    Before you have attended many minutes.

    +Vel.+ Sir, 'twill be decent, for my nature knows
    Not how to wait: and if no delays
    Be used, 'twill show a fierce valour in him,
    And happily prevent discovery.
    For you may easily conjecture, that
    A general's absence soon will wake the eye
    Of the suspicious soldier.

    +Ler.+ Is my lord
    In readiness?

    +Vel.+ He walks not far from hence.

    +Ler.+ You shall have use then but of a short patience.     [_Exit._

    +Vel.+ It will be grateful to us, sir. My lord!

                          _Enter +Florentio+._

    +Flo.+ And will Ascanio meet?

    +Vel.+ Immediately.

    +Flo.+ I had no other way; yet this is rough,
    And justice whispers 'tis unsafe to tread it.
    If to love her be sinful, what am I?
    How dare I call his passion to the bar,
    And nourish it myself? Why may not he,
    Who hath as bold a fortune, entertain
    As bold a love: and in the fate of war
    Having outgone my service, why not then
    Present it to the selfsame altar? But
    We cannot harbour both in the same port;
    Or he or I am shipwreck'd: for the storm
    Is rais'd, and, to appease it, death must be
    The sacrifice.

                            _Enter +Lerma+._

    +Vel.+ My lord, here is the second.
    This stranger dares not meet with your great spirit.

    +Flo.+ Suspect him not, my lord: he hath a courage
    Above the sense of fear. Well, sir, your answer?

    +Ler.+ My Lord Ascanio could have wish'd his life
    Might have been destin'd to a happier purpose,
    And charged me tell your lordship that he had
    Much rather have been lost with common dust
    In the cheap churchyard, than endanger'd fame
    In this great duel.

    +Flo.+ Sir, explain his reasons.

    +Ler.+ He calls to his sad thoughts the mischiefs, which
    This kingdom needs must fall into, when you
    Shall perish by his sword; for certainly
    You cannot 'scape it, thus provoking death.
    Then to what ruin may the queen, whose safety
    You both have labour'd, be engag'd? He could
    With patience almost suffer on his name
    The infamy of coward, rather than
    Hazard the quiet of her estate. But you----

    +Flo.+ Let me consider: 'tis an idle rage
    That heats me to this quarrel. Let her fate
    Remain unshaken, though she choose my foe
    Into her love and bosom. If she live
    Above the fear of ruin, I am mighty--
    Mighty enough, though by my griefs grown feeble,
    And weaken'd too: diseases fright the healthy.
    I will refer my cause and life to her,
    And ne'er dispute it by the sword.

    +Vel.+ My lord!

    +Flo.+ Velasco, I am safe enough against
    The taint of coward. Spain bears witness that
    I dare, as far as honour dares give warrant;
    But in this cause----

    +Vel.+ My lord, you'll lose the glory
    Of all your former actions, and become
    The mirth of courtiers--empty things, who brawl,
    Not fight, if you return after a challenge
    Without performance.

    +Flo.+ 'Tis a serious truth.

    +Vel.+ Moreover, this young gentleman hath hope
    To talk you from your resolution.
    The Lord Ascanio will too much exult,
    If this way too he can o'ercome you.

    +Flo.+ It must not be, sir: tell my lord I wait
    His leisure.

    +Ler.+ And your lordship shall not have
    Reason to think it long. Prepare yourself.
    His only prayer is now that, when he comes,
    There may be no discourse to take up time;
    He hath desire the business may be all:
    What he can say hath been by me deliver'd.                  [_Exit._

    +Flo.+ We will obey him. Tyrant Love! why is
    Thy cruelty so wanton, to delight
    In murder? Like that impious Roman prince,
    Thou joy'st to smother whom thou lov'st in roses,
    And stifle them with the choicest perfumes. But
    This is no place for reason; she may hold
    Dispute in sober schools, where study raises
    The soul to knowledge: here's the theatre
    For the brute part of man to fight his last.
    I must redeem the laurel fortune crown'd
    His temples with, or perish in th' attempt:
    My fate decrees it.

                     _Enter +Ascanio+ and +Lerma+._

    +Ler.+ Here's my Lord Ascanio.

    +Flo.+ Why doth he turn his face away, as if
    He durst not look on danger? Do his fears
    Now triumph o'er his courage?

    +Ler.+ Put it to the trial.                           [_They fight._

    +Flo.+ He's more than mortal, sure. He strikes like lightning,
    Himself not passive. But I'll try again,
    And disenchant the sorcerer. Ay, there
    I reach'd him home: you bleed; open your doublet;
    The wound, perhaps, is dangerous.

    +Asc.+ But a scratch.

    +Flo.+ Sure I have heard that voice, and seen that face!
    Velasco, 'tis the king.

    +Asc.+ My lord, what mean you?

    +Flo.+ Some planet strike me dead, and fix this arm
    A monument to tell posterity
    The treason of my error! Mighty sir,
    Show mercy to your creature, that my death
    (Which hastily steals on me) may not be
    Too foul for after-story.

    +Asc.+ Rise, Florentio,
    This act cannot endure the name of treason.

    +Flo.+ Some surgeons, quick, to search the wound! O sir,
    How do you feel yourself? Speak life, or I
    Shall sink down to my centre.

    +Asc.+ Not a man
    Stir hence: thy sword was loyal as thy thoughts,
    And scarce hath pierc'd the skin. O my Florentio!

    +Flo.+ My lord and king! But why did you engage
    Your sacred person into danger? 'Twas not well:
    How many thousand lives depend on yours!

    +Asc.+ Envy o' th' greatness I possess'd without
    The merit, and desire to know those perils
    We wantonly our subjects cast upon
    On every weak exception, wrought my youth
    Into this action. Nor can I repent
    Th' experience of this war.

    +Flo.+ But, O great sir,
    Why did your majesty suffer this duel?
    'Twas cruel and unkind. How easily
    This hand might have committed sacrilege!
    The very thought whereof, like some pale vision,
    Congeals my blood.

    +Asc.+ Search not that wound too deep.
    Florentio! I shall blush--blush like some lady
    Surpris'd in sin--if you too far examine.

    +Flo.+ Conceal it not, great sir, though in the speaking
    Poison steal through my ear. Be confident:
    Unveil your thoughts.

    +Asc.+ You needs must hate me, then,
    And will have justice to throw off that duty
    You owe me as a subject. Let it be
    Unspoken still, though smothering it be death.

    +Flo.+ Good Heaven defend! What is an army of us
    Exposed to certain slaughter, if compared
    To th' shortest moment that should serve your quiet?
    And shall I live, and see my sovereign wear
    A sorrow on his brow?

    +Asc.+ Florentio! thou
    Art glorious in thy virtue. So was I,
    Till looking on the queen I grew o' th' sudden
    Darker than midnight.

    +Flo.+ O my cruel fate!                                    [_Aside._

    +Asc.+ I grew a thief, a most ungrateful thief
    In my designs, and labour'd to have stole
    The jewel of thy life from thee; a jewel
    Myself so freely had bestowed upon
    The merits of thy youth.

    +Flo.+ My soul foresaw this.

    +Asc.+ How justly had I perish'd by thy sword!
    How happy for my safety! Then had I
    Been lost in my disguise, or died, my crime
    Unknown unto the world. Now, if I live,
    I must wade through a sea of injuries,
    T' attain an unsafe haven.

                          _Enter the +Queen+._

    +Flo.+ Cheer yourself,
    Dread sir. Though, as I give the legacy,
    I breathe my last, yet will I show a heart
    Thankful to your great favours. Madam, here
    Behold the Sovereign of Castile.

    +Queen.+ You have
    Been cruel in your kindness, sir, to keep
    So long your sacred person hid from us.

    +Flo.+ He is your lover, madam, and deserves
    The title: whether you observe his youth,
    So beauteous nature doats upon her work,
    Or weigh his greatness, powerful to defend you
    Should fate and all mankind conspire your ruin.
    And add to that, he merits you, his sword
    Having restored your freedom, when poor I
    Was judg'd, like some old instrument of war,
    Unfit for service. All my interest
    I here resign to th' author of my fate;
    My love I cannot, which must still remain
    Companion to my life: but I'll take heed
    My wound appear not, though it inward bleed.                [_Exit._

    +Asc.+ I wait here, madam, and attend your sentence;
    For 'tis my doom.

    +Queen.+ I am that sad wretch,
    Stands trembling at the bar. I know your merit,
    And know a gratitude, great as e'er was owing,
    By an injured soul relieved: I duly weigh
    That double tie, which doth oblige me yours.
    First, when you sent your soldiers to my rescue;
    Then, by exposing your most sacred person
    To th' dangers of a war.

    +Asc.+ A trivial nothing.

    +Queen.+ What honour can come equal to my state,
    As by so high a match? And 'gainst your person
    The envious cannot find a quarrel.

    +Asc.+ Madam,
    All this is circumstance the politic
    Busy their fancy with. I bring a love,
    An humble love, which is of value to
    Ennoble the parch'd labourer, and force
    An empress listen to his vows. Consider
    In me nothing of fortune; only look
    On that to which love new-created me.
    If once receiv'd your servant, what's Castile
    In the comparison? For princes are
    Too bold, if they bring wealth and victory
    To enter competition with those treasures
    A lover aims at in his mistress' favour.
    May I not hope your smile?

    +Queen.+ You must command it.

    +Asc.+ Then give me leave to whisper to my hopes
    What strange felicities I shall enjoy.

    +Queen.+ But, sir, consider how you gave away
    To your Florentio all that claim you might
    Have to me, as so great a neighbouring prince.

    +Asc.+ It was a gift my ignorance made, which I
    Was cosen'd in; for had my eye been honour'd
    With sight of such a beauty, safer he
    Might have petition'd for my sceptre, and
    The grant had not so soon begot repentance.

    +Queen.+ But promises of princes must not be
    By after-arts evaded. Who dares punish
    The breach of oath in subjects, and yet slight
    The faith he hath made them keep?

    +Asc.+ But my Florentio
    Hath given me back his interest.

    +Queen.+ That gift
    Was like a vow extorted, which religion
    Cancels, as forc'd from conscience.

    +Asc.+ But yourself
    Are free, and never by an oath made his.

    +Queen.+ My resolution, grounded on his service,
    Ties more than formal contracts.

    +Asc.+ I'll not urge
    You farther, but by these, which never yet
    Found passage through my eyes, not he nor all
    Mankind, contracted to one heart, can harbour
    A love that equals that I burn with. Madam,
    Think on't; and let your thoughts find out that path
    Which leads to mercy.                             [_Exit +Ascanio+._

    +Queen.+ How I am dazzled,
    Plac'd on a precipice by tyrant Love!
    The king is noble, and his merits claim
    A retribution great as I can make.
    He loves me, and yields only to Florentio,
    In the priority of service. My sad soul!

          _Enter +Florentio+, looks on the +Queen+, sighs, and
                            goes in again._

    Between these two I might stand distracted!
    But, virtue, guide me: nor can I e'er stray
    While that directs, and honour leads the way.             [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[285] [Old copy, _in_.]



ACT V., SCENE I.


                    _Enter +Decastro+ and his Army._

    +Dec.+ My fortune yet forsakes me not. There's something
    Whispers my soul that, though a storm did cloud
    My morning, I shall set the envy of
    My yet prevailing enemy. Had you,
    My fellow-soldiers, not been three hours' march
    From aiding us when the Castilian army
    Made the assault, we had given their fate a check,
    And taught them how unsafe it is to court
    Dangers abroad. I must entreat your courage
    To suffer for some moments; a short time
    Will bring us the queen's answer; if she yield
    (As reason may persuade her), we shall spare
    Much loss of blood; if not, your valour will
    Have liberty to show itself. Yet still
    Remember, that the city's forc'd t' obey
    A stranger; in their votes they fight for us.
    Did no man see the Lord Ossuna since
    Our fight i' th' morning?

    +Capt.+ He appear'd not, since
    We left the city to the enemy;
    Which hath bred jealousy, my lord, that he
    Chang'd with the present fortune.

    +Dec.+ Doubt him not:
    He hath a heart devoted to the greatness
    And safety of his country. Well, he may
    Be lost i' th' number of the slain; but fate
    Cannot enforce him stoop beneath the vow
    Of rescuing Arragon from foreign arms.

           _Enter two common +Soldiers+ haling +Ossuna+ in as
                               a hermit._

    What insolence is this? Unhand the man!
    Methinks his habit should beget respect.

    +Sol.+ My lord, we guess he is some spy, he came
    Skulking from th' enemy's camp. Pray, guard
    Your person; mischief often lurks in shapes
    As holy.

    +Dec.+ I allow your care, and thank it:
    Leave him to me, and for awhile retire.                   [_Exeunt._

    +Oss.+ Your lordship knows me not?

    +Dec.+ Ossuna, welcome!
    Bless'd be thy better angel who preserv'd thee!
    How happy to the fortune of this war
    Art thou restor'd! I should have fought unarm'd,
    Had I not had the fate t' embrace thee thus.
    How was my friend preserv'd?

    +Oss.+ By virtue of
    This sacred habit. In the midst of war
    Disguis'd I thus escap'd, though close pursued
    By some of the queen's faction. To this weed
    I owe my safety.

    +Dec.+ Quickly throw it off,
    And reinvest thy body in that steel,
    With which thou still hast triumph'd. O my lord,
    How oft have we, all bath'd in blood and sweat,
    Through clouds of dust, found out the way to force
    Back victory to our side, when Fortune seem'd
    To doat on th' enemy! We two have grown
    Like cedars up together, and made all
    Seem shrubs to us, no man sleeping secure
    But in our shadows.

    +Oss.+ Yes, we have been happy.

    +Dec.+ Thou speak'st so hollow, as there were a doubt
    We might not be so still.

    +Oss.+ But there's no faith
    In human fate. An emperor[286] did serve
    As footstool to the conqueror, and are we
    Better assur'd of destiny?

    +Dec.+ What strange
    Unworthy faintness weakens his great soul
    Who heretofore ne'er understood the language
    Danger speaks in? Hath one defeat lost you
    That mighty courage, which hath fix'd upon
    Your name a glorious memory? Reassume
    Yourself, my lord: let no degenerate fear
    Benight the lustre of your former acts.

    +Oss.+ I call yourself and Arragon to witness,
    My life hath yet been such, the reverend shades
    Of my great ancestors need not look pale,
    Or blush to know my story. To yourself,
    To whose brave youth I tied my youth a servant,
    I ever have perform'd all offices,
    Due to so brave a friendship.

    +Dec.+ 'Tis confess'd.

    +Oss.+ And here I vow, setting aside those fears
    Distract me as a Christian, I could smile,
    Smile like some wanton mistress upon death,
    Whatever shape it wears.

    +Dec.+ My lord, this war
    Is warranted by casuists for lawful;
    But they (you'll say) flatter the present state,
    And make divinity serve human ends.
    But in itself it's just: a war your judgment
    Gave approbation to, and urg'd me first
    To undertake. Therefore make good your own,
    And throw off this unuseful habit.

    +Oss.+ Never.

    +Dec.+ What said my friend?

    +Oss.+ By all things sacred, never.
    In this I will grow old, and with the weight
    Of years bend to the earth. In this I'll breathe
    A happier air than you in all your soft
    And varied silks.

    +Dec.+ Some coward devil, sure,
    Possesseth him.                                            [_Aside._

    +Oss.+ My lord, I am instructed
    T' a patience far above your injuries;
    Nor shall your scorn or anger triumph o'er
    My resolution. I'm fix'd here, unmov'd
    As is the centre.

    +Dec.+ I was much to blame:
    This may be a brave virtue. Pray, my lord,
    Give me your reasons why you tread this path,
    So little beaten by the feet of courtiers?
    I would not have the world mistake your aim,
    And construe it to fear or melancholy.

    +Oss.+ That cannot shake me: he who by the card
    O' th' world's opinion steers his course, shall harbour
    In no safe port. But to your ear, my lord,
    I give this free account. Seven winters pass'd,
    When I set sail from Sicily, a storm
    O'ertook the ship, so powerful, that the pilot
    Gave up the stern to the ordering of the waves,
    His art and hand grown useless; those kind stars
    The sailors used t' invoke were lost i' th' tempest,
    And nothing but a night, not to be seen,
    Was seen by us. When every one began
    T' advance himself toward death, as men condemn'd
    To th' axe, when hope of pardon is shut out;
    I, spite o' th' envious cloud, look'd up to heaven.
    And darted my faith thither, vowing to
    Forsake the flatter'd pomp and business of
    The faithless world, if I with safety might
    Attain the land.

    +Dec.+ Was not I there, my lord?

    +Oss.+ You were.

    +Dec.+ And made not I the selfsame vow?

    +Oss.+ Heaven hath recorded that we both did vow it--
    O' th' sudden, night forsook us, and the loud
    Unruly winds fled to their unknown dwellings;
    When a soft breath 'gan whisper to our sails,
    A calm was to ensue.

    +Dec.+ My memory
    Afflicts me much. But these are feeble vows,
    Made only by our fears: we ought to have
    Our reason undismay'd, whene'er a promise
    Can force performance.

    +Oss.+ I dispute it not--
    Soon as I reach'd the shore, I courted on
    Those vanities which had my youth enamour'd,
    Yet still with some remorse. Honours betray'd me
    Into a glorious trouble, and I grew
    Proud of my burthen; but if Heaven had been
    Severe to my delays in this diseas'd
    Surfeit of pomp, my soul might have been call'd
    T' her last account: and, O my lord, where then
    Had breach of vow been safe?

    +Dec.+ These are sad thoughts.

    +Oss.+ But necessary. When the morning's loss
    Made me search out a shape for flight, this habit
    Itself presented, and again redeem'd me;
    And know, I am resolv'd ne'er to forsake it,
    Till in the vault my earth and it together
    Shall wear away to dust.

    +Dec.+ My lord, you have
    Good title to your virtue. Pray, retire
    Into my tent: this sudden change, if known,
    May much amaze the soldier, and endanger
    The glory of th' attempt. I shall entreat
    Your prayer, since you deny your arm.

    +Oss.+ My lord, may Heaven direct you!             [_Exit +Ossuna+._

    +Dec.+ What have I obtain'd
    By all this sweat of business? Like the wind,
    Prosperous ambition only swell'd my sail,
    To give me courage to encounter with
    A tempest. Early cares and midnight frights,
    Faint hopes and causeless fears, successively,
    Like billows, have moved in me. What a fool
    Is human wisdom; what a beggar wealth;
    How scorn'd a nothing that proud state we doat on!
    Time laughs us out of greatness, and shuts up
    Our wide designs in a dark narrow room,
    Whence, when the valiant monarch shall creep forth,
    He will, like some poor coward, hide his eyes,
    And hope to skulk away. But these are thoughts,
    And now 'tis time for action.

                           _Enter +Soldier+._

    +Sol.+ If your lordship
    Will please for some few moments to retire
    Into your tent, her majesty in person
    Will give you parley here.

    +Dec.+ In person, sir?
    The favour bears some omen! She who in
    The tempest of misfortune still did spread
    Her sails at large, why doth she strike them now,
    The wind so prosperous? This is a descent
    Beneath her greatness.

    +Sol.+ I reach not, my lord,
    The mysteries of princes; but this message
    She charg'd me to return.

    +Dec.+ The acts of princes
    Are govern'd often by as frail a passion
    As those are of the vulgar: the same rage
    That stirs two footmen to a fray, creates
    War between kingdoms; but the zealous subject,
    Gazing afar on th' actions of the proud,
    Finds towers and lions in an empty cloud.
    But I'll obey her leisure. Watch you here
    Till you discover her advanc'd this way.         [_Exit +Decastro+._

                    _Enter +Ascanio+, +Florentio+._

    +Flo.+ Sir, you created me, and rais'd me up
    To th' state of duke, when I was common dust;
    And, had not fortune given me interest
    I' th' favour of the queen, I had continued
    In the worst fate of man, ingratitude.
    Now I can boast I have restored you back
    A love rich as the bounty you shower'd on me:
    'Tis all the stock of my poor life.

    +Asc.+ Sad fate!
    That I must wound thee to the heart to cure
    My leprosy with thy blood. Florentio, search
    I' th' stock of women; there's some other beauty.

    +Flo.+ O, no! no other.

    +Asc.+ I'll endow her with
    The wealth of all Castile.

    +Flo.+ Poor empty nothing!

    +Asc.+ If sovereignty be the idol of thy soul,
    I will divide my kingdom. Thou shalt reign
    As independent as myself.

    +Flo.+ Great sir,
    Continue but your favour, and my stars
    Cannot afford a greatness equals it.
    The treasures of th' ambitious are the scorn
    Of those who seriously contemplate life.
    My fortune's high enough: and now my thoughts
    Grow temperate. Not for the empire of the east,
    (Which yet retains the treasures man enjoy'd
    Ere he grew black with sin), would I have wanted
    This bless'd occasion to express the zeal
    I owe my prince. Here, with as free a soul
    I give her to your arms as e'er you threw
    A smile upon my service.

    +Asc.+ Thanks, dear friend!
    (That word must speak our loves). By this great gift
    Thou hast redeem'd me from the torture, and
    Possess'd me of the fairest.

    +Flo.+ O!

    +Asc.+ The fairest nature e'er made for wonder.

    +Flo.+ She is fair.

    +Asc.+ Enjoying her, thy king shall live, who else
    Were desperate beyond cure. He shall be envied;
    And every year, as age threatens decay,
    He shall regain new life from her. Florentio,
    Believe't, there's miracle in such a beauty.

    +Flo.+ Surely there is.

          _Enter +Queen+, +Sanmartino+, +Oniate+, +Cleantha+,
                              +Floriana+._

    And see sh' appears! how like some heavenly vision,
    That kills with too much glory!

    +Asc.+ Stand still, and wonder with me.

    +Queen.+ Cleantha! O, the prodigy! And how
    Wilt thou endure his serious face? Can'st thou,
    Whom nothing tempted but wit parcel-gilt
    And the last fashion, suffer Oniate?

    +Cle.+ Madam, I undertake him for a penance:
    Perhaps he was enjoin'd me.

    +Queen.+ It was Love
    You went to shrift with then. And yet how that
    Young wanton Idleness should counsel you
    To this conversion, still is more my riddle.

    +Cle.+ The court is full of wonders, madam; and
    'Tis handsome to do things extravagant.

    +Queen.+ But how, in th' heat of war, your thoughts should be
    So apt for Love's impression?

    +Cle.+ Love will dance
    As nimbly to the trumpet, fife, or drum,
    As to those many violins which play
    So loud at court. Moreover, it concern'd
    My safety; I so straitly was besieg'd,
    And by so strong a Cæsar.

    +Queen.+ O my lord!
    I am informed with how fierce a spirit
    You do assault our ladies.

    +San.+ Pray, your mercy!
    And if your majesty will please to banish
    The art of making love quite from the court,
    I'll not be out of fashion.

    +Queen.+ For your sake
    I will contrive it so: and, good my lord,
    Will you begin th' example, you will see
    How soon the fine young lords will follow you.--
    Your pardon, sir; had I but seen your highness,
    I had not lost so much of language from
    A most expressive gratitude.

    +Asc.+ Madam, you pay a trivial debt with too great interest;
    For how contemn'd a slightness was my life
    Until employ'd to serve you?

    +Flo.+ She glanced this way,
    And love's artillery played from her eye.
    Unhappy bankrupt, what a kingdom have
    I forfeited! So often in a calm
    Some vessel, rich in freight and proud in sail,
    Doth spring a sudden leak, and sinks for ever.

    +Asc.+ But, madam, is there hope your heart can yield
    To an exchange in love? My title's good,
    Florentio having given up his claim.

                        _Enter +Decastro+, &c._

    +Queen.+ But, sir, th' estate is still my own; nor have
    I need to sell it. But Decastro's here;
    And if your majesty will deign your presence
    Unto the parley, 'twill advance the honour
    And purpose of our meeting.

    +Asc.+ I'm your servant.

    +Queen.+ My lord, you see how near the safety of
    Our subjects toucheth us: we can stoop thus
    Beneath our majesty, and enter parley
    Even with a rebel.

    +Dec.+ Madam, 'tis in vain
    To hold dispute 'gainst what you will condemn;
    And it were insolence to boast my power
    Or speak my right, now when the hearts of all men
    Confirm the justice of my taking arms.
    Cast but your eye on this vast body, which
    The kingdom doth unite in my defence,
    And see how ruinous is your error, that
    Must lean to foreign succours.

    +Queen.+ 'Tis a refuge
    Your practice forc'd me to.

    +Dec.+ But would your highness
    Had lent a gentler ear to the safe counsel
    Of him who had no crime but too much love!

    +Flo.+ My lord, that word fell rudely from your tongue,
    And, I may say, unmannerly: 'tis duty
    You owe the queen.

    +Dec.+ Right, sir; an humble duty,
    Ambitious to expose my life to dangers,
    Greater than any other soul dares fancy.

    +Asc.+ Pray stay, Florentio: this is now my cause,
    And I (proud man) will tell you, your great heart
    Doth want expansion to receive a love
    Worthy her scorn.

    +Dec.+ And I will answer you,
    Proud monarch of Castile, what mould
    Soever nature casts me in, my mind
    Is vaster than your empire; and I can
    Love equally with him whose name did conquer
    Kingdoms as large as yours.

    +Asc.+ Your majesty
    Must license here my rage, to teach his folly
    (Presumptuous folly) a submiss repentance.

    +Dec.+ Sir, here I stand prepar'd.                [_A shout within._

    +Queen.+ What noise is that?

    +Oni.+ The city's all in mutiny, and vow
    To perish in the Lord Decastro's cause:
    They're ready now to lay rude hands upon
    The garrisons of Castile. Your majesty
    Should hinder mischief, if you suddenly
    Return, and by your presence stop their fury.

    +Dec.+ Pray, Oniate, take this signet: tell
    The magistrates her majesty and I
    Are now accorded, with a due regard
    To th' public safety. Take some of my army,
    To give authority to what you say.
    Assure them all is well.                           [_Exit +Oniate+._

    +Asc.+ What means this wonder?

    +Flo.+ This speaks him noble, even to our envy.

    +Queen.+ My lord, in this you have oblig'd us. Pray,
    Inform us of your thoughts, that we may study
    To make this parley happy.

    +Dec.+ Mighty lady,
    I find my love hath not been dress'd so smooth
    To tempt your liking: and I must confess,
    My passion (like the spleen of witches) hath
    Begot whirlwinds and thunder. Would I might
    Have found a softer way t' have wrought my ends!
    For by your beauty (the most sacred oath
    A lover can swear by) that was the mark,
    The sole fair mark I aim'd at. For, if pride
    Had oversway'd my love, I could have stood
    O' th' level with that prince, so much your people
    Were vow'd to my devotion.

    +Queen.+ O my lord,
    You fairly speak your virtues.

    +Dec.+ And but view
    The vastness and good order of my camp,
    Your best towns sworn to run my fortune, and
    You'll say 'twas love did beg this interview.

    +Asc.+ My lord, your language cannot fright us from
    The queen's defence.

    +Dec.+ Great sir, she needs it not.
    Down on your knees, my fellow-soldiers, and
    With me bow to your sovereign: swear with me
    Never to lift your arm 'gainst her command.
    Thus as your subject; as your lover thus--
    Thus to the earth I fall, and with my lips
    Seal my obedience.                            [_Kisseth the ground._

    +Queen.+ Pray, rise up, my lord.
    Would I could merit thus much favour; but----

    +Dec.+ Pardon. I interrupt you--but you cannot
    Find love to answer mine; nor will I force it.
    Be happy in your choice, and wheresoe'er
    You fix, shine ever glorious. From this hour
    I'll never more disturb you.

    +Queen.+ Now beshrew me,
    Methinks I feel compassion. [_Aside._] Good my lord,
    Write in that blank all your demands, and, by
    The honour of a princess, I'll deny
    Nothing you shall insert.         [_He looks on it, and returns it._

    +Dec.+ There 'tis again,
    The paper innocent as when you gave it.

    +Queen.+ My lord, you have writ nothing.

    +Dec.+ And 'tis nothing,
    Now I have miss'd yourself, I can demand.
    Fortune, contract thy treasure from all nations,
    And gild it o'er with honour and with beauty,
    Yet hast thou not the power to force one wish,
    Now I have lost this lady.

    +Asc.+ A great spirit!

    +Dec.+ One humble prayer I have, which must not be
    Denied: and 'tis, your majesty will give
    Me leave ne'er more to see you.

    +Queen.+ O my lord----

    +Dec.+ My vow's irrevocable. I shall secure
    Your kingdom best by absence, and my eye
    Will never brook so rich a treasure made
    The purchase[287] of another. To a cave,
    Some undiscover'd cave, to which no path
    Doth lead the wandering lover, I have vowed
    The remnant of my days.

                           _Enter +Ossuna+._

    +Flo.+ A strange conversion!
    And 'twill behove my fate to follow him.

    +Dec.+ My Lord Ossuna here and I have sworn
    Our lives to solitude, which we'll observe
    Religiously: and since I cannot prove
    Possessor, I'll be conqueror, in love.

    +Asc.+ Pray stay, my lord. Behold Florentio there,
    He hath outdone you: he, for love of me,
    Hath done what you for love of heaven. All
    The interest he had in that bright queen
    He hath resign'd to me.

    +Dec.+ He hath paid you for your favours.

    +Flo.+ 'Tis confess'd: what's mine is yours.

    +Asc.+ Thanks, my Florentio; for with her my youth
    May be still happy, and my age disdain
    To know a weakness. From her eyes I may
    Draw still new vital heat, and find what fools
    Have studied for, th' elixir: in her arms
    I may be safe 'gainst all invasion from
    Abroad, or civil dangers nurs'd at home.

    +Queen.+ Your highness' pardon. I confess how high
    Your merits rise in my esteem; but must not,
    To honour your deserts, myself become
    Unworthy after-story, blemish'd with
    That scorn which still defames our sex, register'd
    A most inconstant woman; or, what's much
    More infamous, one who reserves her love
    To serve her profit, and exposeth it
    To the merchant that bids fairest.

    +Asc.+ Madam, spare that breath to clear
    The air, when poison'd by contagion.
    I know your settled thoughts, and that my power
    Or title weighs not in your love. Florentio,
    I will no longer rack you: though the queen
    Be th' only fire e'er warm'd this heart, and I
    Despair ever to love again, I will
    Disdain to be unjust. I will not be
    O'ercome in friendship: reassume thy right.

    +Flo.+ Sir, you undo me. In your injury
    I was less wretched: like a bankrupt now,
    Without all hope of payment, I must owe.

    +Asc.+ Th' ambition of my service, and disguise,
    Was to advance your fortune, madam; nor
    Can I attempt you farther, though the conquest
    Would wreathe my temples with a prouder laurel
    Than the addition of the world unto
    My sceptre. Be safe in your choice, and happy.

    +Queen.+ This goodness grows even to a miracle.
    In his behalf, sir, I must vow myself
    A subject, and your servant.

    +Asc.+ O, command;
    For I have nothing, madam, but obedience.
    My kingdom shall be proud to share with yours
    In danger, and I'll glory to be styled
    Your soldier.

    +Flo.+ I am lost in wonder! Sir,
    I know not how to entertain this blessing:
    I fear my joys will be my ruin.

    +Dec.+ Be both happy;
    And may time never father that black moment,
    Which shall appear to you less fortunate!

    +Asc.+ Join then your hands for ever. He doth live
    Mighty indeed, who hath power and will to give.           [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[286] Bajazet and Tamerlane.

[287] [Prize.]



THE EPILOGUE AT COURT.


    We have nothing left us but our blushes now
    For your much penance; and though we allow
    Our fears no comfort, since you must appear
    Judges corrupt, if not to us severe:
    Yet in your majesty we hope to find
    A mercy, and in that our pardon sign'd.
    And how can we despair you will forgive
    Them who would please, when oft offenders live?
    And if we have err'd, may not the courteous say,
    'Twas not their trade, and but the Author's play?



THE EPILOGUE AT THE FRIARS.


    What shall the Author do? It madness were
    To entreat a mercy from you, who are severe
    Stern judges, and a pardon never give;
    For only merit with you makes things live.
    He leaves you therefore to yourselves, and may
    You gently 'quit, or else condemn, the play,
    As in an upright conscience you'll think fit:
    Your sentence is the life and death of wit.
    The Author yet hath one safe plea, that though
    A Middlesex jury on his play should go,
    They cannot find the murder wilful, since
    'Twas acted by command in his own defence.



THE ANTIQUARY.


_EDITION._

  _The Antiquary. A Comedy, Acted by her maiesties Servants, at the
    Cock-Pit. Written by Shackerly Mermion, Gent. London. Printed
    by F. K. for I. W. and F. E. and are to be sold at the Crane,
    in St. Paul's Church-yard. 1641. 4º._


INTRODUCTION.

Shakerley Marmion was born at Aynho,[288] near Brackley, in the
county of Northampton, where his father was lord of the manor, and in
possession of a considerable estate. He received the early part of
his education at the free school, at Thame, in the county of Oxford,
under the care of Richard Boucher, commonly called Butcher, the master
thereof. In the year 1617 he became a gentleman-commoner of Wadham
College, in Oxford, and in 1624,[289] took the degree of Master of
Arts. Anthony Wood[290] says that he was "a goodly proper gentleman,
and had once in his possession seven hundred pounds per annum at
least." The whole of this ample fortune he dissipated; after which he
went into the Low Countries; but not meeting with promotion according
to his expectation, he returned to England, and was admitted one of the
troop raised by Sir John Suckling for the use of King Charles I. in
his expedition against the Scots, in the year 1639: but falling sick
at York, he returned to London, where he died in the same year.[291]
Besides several poems, scattered about in different publications,[292]
he wrote three plays,[293] viz.--

1. "Holland's Leaguer,[294] an excellent comedy, as it hath bin lately
and often acted with great applause by the high and mighty Prince
Charles his servants, at the private house in Salisbury Court, 1632."
4º.

To the _Dramatis Personæ_ of this play the names of the several
performers are added.[295]

2. "A Fine Companion,[296] acted before the king and queene, at White
hall, and sundrie times with great applause, at the private house in
Salisbury Court, by the Prince his servants. 1633." 4º.

3. "The Antiquary, a Comedy, acted by her Majesties servants, at the
Cockpit. 1641." 4º.

He also published "Cupid and Psyche; or an epick poem of Cupid and his
Mistress, as it was lately presented to the Prince Elector," 1637,[297]
1666.

Prefixed to this are complimentary verses by Richard Brome, Francis
Tuckyr, Thomas Nabbes, and Thomas Heywood.

Wood says he left some things in MS. ready for the press, which were
either lost or in obscure hands.

FOOTNOTES:

[288] Some authorities state that he was born "about the beginning of
January 1602," and this date seems consistent with the time when he was
entered at Wadham College.--_Collier._

[289] Langbaine, p. 345.

[290] "Athenæ Oxonienses," ii. 19. Oldys, in his MSS. notes on
Langbaine, says it was our author's father who squandered away his
fortune; but as he quotes no authority for this assertion, I have
followed Wood's account.

[291] Oldys' MSS. notes to Langbaine.

[292] [Among the rest, there are some verses by Marmion before Thomas
Heywood's "Dialogues and Dramas," 1637.]

[293] "The Crafty Merchant; or, The Soldier'd Citizen," has also been
attributed to Shakerley Marmion, but on no sufficient evidence, as well
as a pastoral, called "The Faithful Shepherd," which Philips assigns
to him. The first of these, which evidently was a comedy, was never
printed.--_Collier._ ["The Crafty Merchant," which seems to have been
originally entitled "The Merchant's Sacrifice," is in the list of plays
destroyed, according to Warburton the herald, by the ignorance of his
cook. It is there given to Marmion. See Lansd. MS. 807.]

[294] [In 1632, Nicholas Goodman published a prose tract entitled:
"Holland's Leagver; or, an Historicall Discourse of the Life and
Actions of Dona Britanica Hollandia," &c. See the full title in
Hazlitt, p. 232. "Holland's Leaguer," it may be well to explain, was
the name of one of the licensed stews in Southwark. It was a large
detached building, and stood till within some hundred years ago on the
site of Holland Street, Surrey Road. Boydell published a print in 1818,
containing a view of it.]

[295] They may be worth subjoining in a note: they were, William
Browne, Ellis Worth, Andrew Keyne, Matthew Smith, James Sneller,
Henry Gradwell, Thomas Bond, Richard Fowler, Edward May, Robert Huyt,
Robert Stafford, Richard Godwin, John Wright, Richard Fouch, Arthur
Savill, and Samuel Mannery. The last six played the female parts in the
play.--_Collier._

[296] The Prologue is a short conversation between a Critic and the
Author, which contains the following hit, perhaps at Ben Jonson:--

    "+Critic.+ Are you the author of this play?

    +Author.+ What then?

    +Critic.+ Out o' this poetry! I wonder what
    You do with this disease, a seed of vipers
    Spawn'd in Parnassus' pool; whom the world frowns on,
    And here you vent your poison on the stage.

    +Author.+ What say you, sir?

    +Critic.+ Oh, you are deaf to all
    Sounds but a _plaudite_; and yet you may
    Remember, if you please, what entertainment
    Some of your tribe have had, that have took pains
    To be contemn'd and laugh'd at by the vulgar,
    And then ascrib'd it to their ignorance.
    I should be loath to see you move their spleens
    With no better success, and then with some
    Commendatory epistles, fly to the press
    To vindicate your credit.

    +Author.+ What if I do?

    +Critic.+ By my consent, I'll have you
    Banish'd the stage, proscrib'd and interdicted
    Castalian water, and poetical fire."

--_Collier._

[297] [In a copy now before me, which, a note on the fly-leaf says,
sold at Sotheby's, in 1817, for £6. 16s. 6d., the date 1637 on the
engraved title has been altered with the pen, the "7" being changed
into "8." There is only one edition in 4º; but this circumstance has
led to the mistaken notion that there were impressions in 1637 and
1638.]



DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


  +The Duke of Pisa.+[298]
  +Leonardo+,  }  _two courtiers_.
  +Donato+,    }
  +Veterano+, _the Antiquary_.
  +Gasparo+, _a magnifico of Pisa_.
  +Lorenzo+, _an old gentleman_.
  +Mocinigo+, _an old gentleman that would appear young_.
  +Lionel+, _nephew to the Antiquary_.
  +Petrucio+, _a foolish gentleman, son to Gasparo_.
  +Aurelio+, _a young gentleman_.
  +Aurelio's Father+, _in the disguise of a bravo_.
  _His +Boy+._
  +Petro+, _the Antiquary's boy_.

  +Æmilia+, _wife to Lorenzo_.
  +Lucretia+, _daughter to Lorenzo_.
  +Angelia+, _sister to Lionel, in the disguise of a page_.
  +Julia+,   }  _two waiting-women_.
  +Baccha+,  }
  _A +Cook+._
  _Two +Servants+._

                           _The Scene, Pisa._

FOOTNOTES:

[298] The scene, however, seems to be laid at Venice. The Rialto is
mentioned in act i., and Venice is again spoken of in act iii. as where
the transactions of the play are carried on.--_Pegge._

[It may be added that there was never any _Duke of Pisa_, and that most
of the names are Venetian.]

                          THE ANTIQUARY.[299]



ACT I., SCENE I.

                    _Enter +Lionel+ and +Petrucio+._

    +Lio.+ Now, sir, let me bid you welcome to your country and
    the longing expectation of those friends that have almost
    languished for the sight of you. [_Aside._] I must flatter him,
    and stroke him too; he will give no milk else.

    +Pet.+ I have calculated by all the rules of reason and art
    that I shall be a great man; for what singular quality concurs
    to perfection and advancement that is defective in me? Take my
    feature and proportion; have they not a kind of sweetness and
    harmony, to attract the eyes of the beholders? the confirmation
    of which many authentical judgments of ladies have sealed and
    subscribed to.

    +Lio.+ How do you, sir? are you not well?

    +Pet.+ Next, my behaviour and discourse, according to
    the court-garb, ceremonious enough, more promising than
    substantial, able to keep pace with the best hunting wit
    of them all: besides, Nature has blessed me with boldness
    sufficient and fortune with means. What then should hinder me?
    Nothing but destiny, villanous destiny, that chains virtue to
    darkness and obscurity. Well, I will insinuate myself into the
    court and presence of the duke; and if he have not the grace to
    distinguish of worth, his ignorance upon him!

    +Lio.+ What, in a muse, sir?

    +Pet.+ Cannot a gentleman ruminate over his good parts, but you
    must be troubling of him?

    +Lio.+ Wise men and fools are alike ambitious: this travelling
    motion[300] has been abroad in quest of strange fashions, where
    his spongy brain has sucked the dregs of all the folly he could
    possibly meet with, and is indeed more ass than he went forth.
    Had I an interest in his disgrace, I'd rail at him, and perhaps
    beat him for it; but he is as strange to me as to himself,
    therefore let him continue in his beloved simplicity.      [_Aside._

    +Pet.+ Next, when he shall be instructed of my worth and
    eminent sufficiencies, he cannot dignify me with less
    employment than the dignity of an embassador. How bravely
    shall I behave myself in that service! and what an ornament
    unto my country may I arrive to be, and to my kindred! But I
    will play the gentleman, and neglect them; that's the first
    thing I'll study.

    +Lio.+ Shall I be bold to interrupt you, sir?

    +Pet.+ Presently I'll be at leisure to talk with you: 'tis no
    small point in state policy still to pretend only to be thought
    a man of action, and rather than want a colour, be busied with
    a man's own self.

    +Lio.+ Who does this ass speak to? surely to himself: and
    'tis impossible he should ever be wise that has always such a
    foolish auditory.                                          [_Aside._

    +Pet.+ Then, with what emulous courtship will they strive
    to entertain me in foreign parts; and what a spectacle of
    admiration shall I be made amongst those who have formerly
    known me! How dost thou like my carriage?

    +Lio.+ Most exquisite, believe me.

    +Pet.+ But is it adorned with that even mixture of fluency and
    grace as are required both in a statist and a courtier?[301]

    +Lio.+ So far as the divine prospect of my understanding guides
    me, 'tis without parallel most excellent; but I am no professed
    critic in the mystery.

    +Pet.+ Well, thou hast Linceus' eyes for observation,
    or could'st ne'er have made such a cunning discovery of
    my practice. But will the ladies, think you, have that
    apprehension to discern and approve of me?

    +Lio.+ Without question; they cannot be so dull or
    stony-hearted as not to be infinitely taken with your worth.
    Why, in a while, you shall have them so enamoured that they'll
    watch every opportunity to purchase your acquaintance; then
    again revive it with often banqueting and visits; nay, and
    perhaps invite others, by their foolish example, to do the
    like; and some, that despair of so great happiness, will
    inquire out your haunts, and walk there two or three hours
    together, to get but a sight of you.

    +Pet.+ O infinite! I am transported with the thought on't! It
    draws near noon, and I appointed certain gallants to meet me at
    the five-crown ordinary: after, we are to wait upon the like
    beauties you talked of to the public theatre. I feel of late a
    strong and witty genius growing upon me, and I begin, I know
    not how, to be in love with this foolish sin of poetry.

    +Lio.+ Are you, sir? there's great hopes of you.

    +Pet.+ And the reason is, because they say 'tis both the cause
    and effect of a good wit, to which I can sufficiently pretend:
    for Nature has not played the stepdame with me.

    +Lio.+ In good time, sir.

    +Pet.+ And now you talk of time, what time of day is it by your
    watch?

    +Lio.+ I have none, sir.

    +Pet.+ How, ne'er a watch? O, monstrous! how do you consume
    your hours? Ne'er a watch! 'tis the greatest solecism in
    society that e'er I heard of: ne'er a watch!

    +Lio.+ How deeply you conceive of it!

    +Pet.+ You have not a gentleman, that's a true gentleman,
    without one; 'tis the main appendix to a plush lining:
    besides, it helps much to discourse; for while others confer
    notes together, we confer our watches, and spend good part of
    the day with talking of it.

    +Lio.+ Well, sir, because I'll be no longer destitute of such a
    necessary implement, I have a suit to you.

    +Pet.+ A suit to me? Let it alone till I am a great man, and
    then [_Aside._] I shall answer you with the greater promise and
    less performance.

    +Lio.+ I hope, sir, you have that confidence I will ask nothing
    to your prejudice, but what shall some way recompense the deed.

    +Pet.+ What is't? Be brief: I am in that point a courtier.

    +Lio.+ Usurp, then, on the proffer'd means;
    Show yourself forward in an action
    May speak you noble, and make me your friend.

    +Pet.+ A friend! what's that? I know no such thing.

    +Lio.+ A faithful, not a ceremonious friend;
    But one that will stick by you on occasions,
    And vindicate your credit, were it sunk
    Below all scorn, and interpose his life
    Betwixt you and all dangers: such a friend
    That, when he sees you carried by your passions
    Headlong into destruction, will so follow you
    That he will guide you from't, and with good counsel
    Redeem you from ill courses; and, not flattering
    Your idle humour to a vain expense,
    Cares not to see you perish, so he may
    Sustain himself awhile, and raise a fortune,
    Though mean, out of your ruins, and then laugh at you.

    +Pet.+ Why, be there any such friends as these?

    +Lio.+ A world:
    They walk like spirits, not to be discern'd;
    Subtle and soft like air; have oily balm
    Swimming o'er their words and actions;
    But below it a flood of gall.

    +Pet.+ Well, to the purpose: speak to the purpose.

    +Lio.+ If I stand link'd unto you,
    The Gordian knot was less dissoluble,
    A rock less firm, or centre movable.

    +Pet.+ Speak your demand.

    +Lio.+ Do it, and do it freely, then; lend me a hundred ducats.

    +Pet.+ How is that? lend you a hundred ducats! Not a ---- I'll
    never have a friend while I breathe first: no, I'll stand upon
    my guard; I give all the world leave to whet their wits against
    me, work like moles to undermine me, yet I'll spurn all their
    deceits like a hillock. I tell thee I'll not buy the small
    repentance of a friend or whore at the rate of a livre.

    +Lio.+ What's this? I dare not
    Trust my own ears, silence choke up my anger.
    A friend and whore! are they two parallels,
    Or to be nam'd together? May he never
    Have better friend that knows no better how
    To value them. Well, I was ever jealous[302]
    Of his baseness, and now my fears are ended.
    Pox o' these travels! they do but corrupt
    A good nature, and his was bad enough before.

                           _Enter +Angelia+._

    +Pet.+ What pretty sparkle of humanity have we here? Whose
    attendant are you, my little knave?

    +Ang.+ I wait, sir, on Master Lionel.

    +Lio.+ 'Tis well you are come. What says the gentleman?

    +Ang.+ I delivered your letter to him. He is very sorry he can
    furnish you no better; he has sent you twenty crowns, he says,
    towards the large debt he owes you.

    +Pet.+ A fine child! and delivers his tale with good method.
    Where, in the name of Ganymede, had'st thou this epitome of a
    servitor?

    +Lio.+ You'd little think of what consequence and pregnancy
    this imp is: you may hereafter have both cause to know and love
    him. What gentlemen are these?

                    _Enter +Gasparo+ and +Lorenzo+._

    +Pet.+ One is my father.

    +Lor.+ I hear your son, sir, is return'd from travel,
    Grown up a fine and stately gentleman,
    Outstrips his compeers in each liberal science.

    +Gas.+ I thank my stars he has improv'd his time
    To the best use, can render an account
    Of all his journey; how he has arriv'd,
    Through strange discoveries and compendious ways,
    To a most perfect knowledge of himself;
    Can give a model of each prince's court,
    And is become their pheer.[303] He has a mind
    Equally pois'd, and virtue without sadness;
    Hunts not for fame through an ill path of life;
    But is indeed, for all parts, so accomplish'd
    As I could wish or frame him.

    +Lor.+ These are joys,
    In their relation to you, so transcendant,
    As than yourself I know no man more happy.
    May I not see your son?

    +Gas.+ See where he stands,
    Accompanied with young Lionel, the nephew
    To Veterano the great antiquary.

    +Lor.+[304] I'll be bold, by your favour, to endear
    Myself in his acquaintance. Noble Petrucio,
    Darling of Venus, minion of the Graces,
    Let me adopt me heir unto your love:
    That is, yours by descent, and which your father,
    A grave wise man, and a magnifico,
    Has not disdain'd.

    +Pet.+ I am much bound to you for it.

    +Lor.+ Is that all?

    +Pet.+ See the abundant ignorance of this age! he cites my
    father for a precedent. Alas! he is a good old man, and no
    more; there he stands, he has not been abroad, nor known the
    world; therefore, I hope, will not be so foolishly peremptory
    to compare with me for judgment, that have travelled, seen
    fashions, and been a man of intelligence.

    +Lor.+ Signior, your ear; pray, let's counsel you.

    +Pet.+ Counsel me! the like trespass again; sure, the old man
    doats! Who counselled me abroad, when I had none but mine
    own natural wisdom for my protection? Yet I dare say I met
    with more perils, more variety of allurements, more Circes,
    more Calypsos, and the like, than e'er were feigned[305] upon
    Ulysses.

    +Lor.+ It show'd great wisdom that you could avoid them.
    Give o'er, and tempt your destiny no further;
    'Tis time now to retire unto yourself:
    Settle your mind upon some worthy beauty;
    A wife will tame all wild affections.
    I have a daughter who, for youth and beauty,
    Might be desir'd, were she ignobly born;
    And for her dowry, that shall no way part you.
    If you accept her, here, before your friends,
    I will betroth her to you.

    +Pet.+ I thank you, sir, you'd have me marry your daughter; is
    it so?

    +Lor.+ With your good liking, not otherwise.

    +Pet.+ You nourish too great an ambition. What do you see in
    me to make such a motion? No, be wise, and keep her; were I
    married to her, I should not like her above a month at most.

    +Lor.+ How! not above a month?

    +Pet.+ I'll tell you, sir, I have made an experience that way
    on my nature: when I have hired a creature for my pleasure,
    as 'tis the fashion in many places, for the like time that I
    told you of, I have been so tired with her before 'twas out,
    as no horse like me; I could not spur my affection to go a jot
    further.

    +Gas.+ Well said, boy! thou art e'en mine own son; when I was
    young, 'twas just my humour.

    +Lio.+ You give yourself a plausible commends.

    +Pet.+ I can make a shift to love: but, having enjoyed,
    fruition kills my appetite: no, I must have several objects of
    beauty to keep my thoughts always in action, or I am nobody.

    +Gas.+ Still mine own flesh and blood?

    +Pet.+ Therefore I have chose honour for my mistress, upon
    whose wings I will mount up to the heavens; where I will fix
    myself a constellation, for all this under-world of mortals to
    wonder at me.

    +Gas.+ Nay, he is a mad wag, I assure you, and knows how to put
    a price upon his desert.

    +Pet.+ I can no longer stay to dilate on these vanities;
    therefore, gallants, I leave you.                           [_Exit._

    +Lor.+ What, is he gone? Is your son gone?

    +Gas.+ So it seems. Well, gallants, where shall I see you anon?

    +Lor.+ You shall not part with us.

    +Gas.+ You shall pardon me; I must wait upon my son.        [_Exit._

    +Lor.+ Do you hear, signior? A pretty preferment!

    +Lio.+ O sir, the lustre of good clothes or breeding,
    Bestow'd upon a son, will make a rustic
    Or a mechanic father to commit
    Idolatry, and adore his own issue.

    +Ang.+ They are so well match'd, 'twere pity to part them.

    +Lor.+ Well said, little one,
    I think thou art wiser than both of them.
    But this same scorn I do not so well relish;
    A whoreson humorous fantastic novice,
    To contemn my daughter! He is not worthy
    To bear up her train.

    +Lio.+ Or kiss under it.
    Will you revenge this injury upon him?

    +Lor.+ Revenge! Of all the passions of my blood,
    'Tis the most sweet. I should grow fat to think on't,
    Could you but promise.

    +Lio.+ Will you have patience?
    Be rul'd by me, and I will compass it
    To your full wish. We'll set a bait afore him,
    That he shall seize as sharply as Jove's eagle
    Did snatch up Ganymede.

    +Lor.+ Do but cast the plot,
    I'll prosecute it with as much disgrace
    As hatred can suggest.

    +Lio.+ Do you see this page, then?

    +Lor.+ Ay, what of him?

    +Lio.+ That face of his shall do it.

    +Lor.+ What shall it do? Methinks he has a pretty innocent
    countenance.

    +Lio.+ O, but beware of a smooth look at all times.
    Observe what I say: he is a syren above,
    But below a very serpent. No female scorpion
    Did ever carry such a sting, believe it.

    +Lor.+ What should I do with him?

    +Lio.+ Take him to your house,
    There keep him privately, till I make all perfect.
    If ever alchemist did more rejoice
    In his projection, never credit me.

    +Lor.+ You shall prevail upon my faith beyond
    My understanding: and, my dapper squire,
    If you be such a precious wag, I'll cherish you.
    Come, walk along with me. Farewell, sir.

    +Lio.+ Adieu.                     [_Exeunt +Lorenzo+ and +Angelia+._
    Now I must travel on a new exploit
    To an old antiquary; he is my uncle,
    And I his heir. Would I could raise a fortune
    Out of his ruins! He is grown obsolete,
    And 'tis time he were out of date. They say he sits
    All day in contemplation of a statue
    With ne'er a nose, and doats on the decays
    With greater love than the self-lov'd Narcissus
    Did on his beauty. How shall I approach him?
    Could I appear but like a Sibyl's son,
    Or with a face rugged as father Nilus
    Is pictured on the hangings, there were hope
    He might look on me. How to win his love
    I know not. If I wist he were not precise,
    I'd lay to purchase some stale interludes,
    And give him them; books that have not attain'd
    To the Platonic year, but wait their course
    And happy hour, to be reviv'd again:
    Then would I induce him to believe they were
    Some of Terence's hundred and fifty comedies,
    That were lost in the Adriatic sea,
    When he return'd from banishment. Some such
    Gullery as this might be enforced upon him.
    I'll first talk with his man, and then consider.            [_Exit._

              _Enter +Lorenzo+, +Gasparo+, +Mocinigo+, and
                              +Angelia+._

    +Lor.+ How happ'd you did return again so soon, sir?

    +Gas.+ I'll tell you, sir. As I follow'd my son
    From the Rialto, near unto the bridge,
    We were encounter'd by a sort[306] of gallants,
    Sons of clarissimos and procurators,
    That knew him in his travels: whereupon
    He did insinuate with his eyes unto me,
    I should depart and leave them.

    +Lor.+ Seems he was asham'd of your company?

    +Gas.+ Like will to like, sir.

    +Lor.+ What grave and youthful gentleman's that with you?

    +Gas.+ Do you not know him?

    +Lor.+ No.

    +Gas.+ Not Signior Mocinigo?

    +Lor.+ You jest, I am sure.

    +Gas.+ Ay, and there hangs a jest:
    For, going to a courtesan this morning
    In his own proper colour, his grey beard,
    He had the ill-luck to be refus'd; on which
    He went and dy'd it, and came back again;
    And was again with the same scorn rejected,
    Telling him that she had newly deni'd his
    father.

    +Lor.+ Was that her answer?

    +Gas.+ It has so troubled him,
    That he intends to marry. What think you, sir,
    Of his resolution?

    +Lor.+ By'r Lady, it shows
    Great haughtiness of courage; a man of his years,
    That dares to venture on a wife.

    +Moc.+ A man of my years! I feel
    My limbs as able as the best of them;
    And in all places else, except my hair,
    As green as a bay-tree: and for the whiteness
    Upon my head, although it now lie hid,
    What does it signify, but like a tree that blossoms,
    Before the fruit come forth? And, I hope, a tree
    That blossoms is neither dry nor wither'd.

    +Lor.+ But pray, what piece of beauty's that you mean
    To make the object of your love?

    +Moc.+ Ay, there
    You pose me; for I have a curious eye,
    And am as choice in that point to be pleased
    As the most youthful. Here, one's beauty takes me;
    And there, her parentage and good behaviour;
    Another's wealth or wit; but I'd have one
    Where all these graces meet, as in a centre.

    +Gas.+ You are too ambitious. You'll hardly find
    Woman or beast that trots sound of all four:
    There will be some defect.

    +Moc.+ Yet this I resolve on,
    To have a maid tender of age and fair.
    Old fish and young flesh, that's still my diet.[307]

    +Lor.+ What think you of a widow?

    +Moc.+ By no means:
    They are too politic a generation;
    Prov'd so by similes. Many voyages
    Make an experienc'd seaman; many offices
    A crafty knave; so many marriages
    A subtle, cunning widow. No, I'll have one
    That I may mould, like wax, unto my humour.

    +Lor.+ This doating ass is worth at least a million;
    And, though he cannot propagate his stock,
    Will be sure to multiply. I'll offer him my daughter.
    By computation of age he cannot
    Live past ten years; by that time she'll get strength
    To break this rotten hedge of matrimony
    And after have a fair green field to walk in,
    And wanton, where she please. [_Aside._] Signior, a word:
    And by this guess my love. I have a daughter
    Of beauty fresh, of her demeanour gentle,
    And of a sober wisdom: you know my estate.
    If you can fancy her, seek no further.

    +Moc.+ Thank you, signior: pray, of what age
    Is your daughter?

    +Lor.+ But sixteen at the most.

    +Moc.+ But sixteen! Is she no more? She is too young, then.

    +Gas.+ You wish'd for a young one, did you not?

    +Moc.+ Not that I would have her in years.

    +Gas.+ I warrant you!

    +Moc.+ Well, mark what I say: when I come to her,
    She'll ne'er be able to endure me.

    +Lor.+ I'll trust her.

    +Gas.+ I think your choice, sir, cannot be amended,
    She is so virtuous and so amiable.

    +Moc.+ Is she so fair and amiable? I'll have her.
    She may grow up to what she wants; and then
    I shall enjoy such pleasure and delight,
    Such infinite content in her embraces,
    I may contend with love for happiness!
    Yet one thing troubles me.

    +Gas.+ What's that?

    +Moc.+ I shall live so well on earth,
    I ne'er shall think of any other joys.

    +Gas.+ I wish all joy to you; but 'tis in th' power
    Of fate to work a miracle upon you.
    You may obtain the grace, with other men,
    To repent your bargain before you have well seal'd it.

    +Lor.+ Or she may prove his purgatory, and send him
    To heaven the sooner.

    +Gas.+ Suchlike effects as these
    Are not unheard of in nature.

    +Moc.+ For all these scruples,
    I am resolv'd. Bring me, that I may see her;
    Young handsome ladies are like prizes at a horse-race, where
    Every well-breath'd gentleman may put in for his share.   [_Exeunt._

                     _Enter +Duke+ and +Leonardo+._

    +Leo.+ But are you resolved of this course, sir?

    +Duke.+ Yes; we'll be once mad in our days, and do an exploit
    for posterity to talk of. Will you join with me?

    +Leo.+ I am at your grace's disposing.

    +Duke.+ No grace, nor no respect, I beseech you, more than
    ordinary friendship allows of: 'tis the only bar to hinder our
    designs.

    +Leo.+ Then, sir, what fashion you are pleased to appoint me, I
    will be glad to put on.

    +Duke.+ 'Tis well. For my part, I am determined to lay by all
    ensigns of my royalty for awhile, and walk abroad under a
    mean coverture. Variety does well; and 'tis as great delight
    sometimes to shroud one's head under a coarse roof as a rich
    canopy of gold.

    +Leo.+ But what's your intent in this?

    +Duke.+ I have a longing desire to see the fashions of the
    vulgar, which, should I affect in mine own person, I might
    divert them from their humours. The face of greatness would
    affright them, as Cato did the Floralia[308] from the theatre.

    +Leo.+ Indeed familiarity begets boldness.

    +Duke.+ 'Tis true, indulgency and flattery take away the
    benefit of experience from princes, which ennobles the fortunes
    of private men.

    +Leo.+ But you are a duke, sir; and this descent from your
    honour will undervalue you.

    +Duke.+ Not a whit. I am so toiled out with grand affairs
    and despatching of embassages, that I am ready to sink under
    the burden. Why may not an Atlas of state, such as myself,
    that bears up the weight of a commonwealth, now and then, for
    recreation's sake, be glad to ease his shoulders? Has not
    Jupiter thrown away his rays and his thunder to walk among
    mortals? Does not Apollo suffer himself to be deprived of his
    quiver, that he may waken up his muse sometimes, and sing to
    his harp.

    +Leo.+ Nay, sir, to come to a more familiar example: I have
    heard of a nobleman that has been drunk with a tinker, and of a
    magnifico that has played at blow-point.[309]

    +Duke.+ Very good; then take our degrees alike, and the act's
    as pardonable.

    +Leo.+ In a humour, sir, a man may do much. But how will you
    prevent their discovery of you?

    +Duke.+ Very well; the alteration of our clothes will abolish
    suspicion.

    +Leo.+ And how for our faces?

    +Duke.+ They shall pass without any seal of disguise. Who ne'er
    were thought on, will ne'er be mistrusted.

    +Leo.+ Come what will, greatness can justify any action
    whatsoever, and make it thought wisdom; but if we do walk
    undiscerned, 'twill be the better. It tickles me to think what
    a mass of delight we shall possess in being, as 'twere, the
    invisible spectators of their strange behaviours. I heard, sir,
    of an antiquary who, if he be as good at wine as at history, he
    is sure an excellent companion: and of one Petrucio, who plays
    the eagle in the clouds: and indeed divers others, who verify
    the proverb, _So many men, so many humours._

    +Duke.+ All these we'll visit in order: but how we shall comply
    with them, 'tis as occasion shall be offered; we will not now
    be so serious to consider.

    +Leo.+ Well, sir, I must trust to your wit to manage it. Lead
    on; I attend you.                                         [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[299] Mr Samuel Gale told Dr Ducarel that this comedy was acted
two nights in 1718, immediately after the revival of the Society
of Antiquaries, and that therein had been introduced a ticket of a
turnpike (then new), which was called a _Tessera_.--_Nott._

[300] _Motion_ is a _puppet_. In Ben Jonson's "Every Man out of
his Humour," act iv. sc. 5, Captain Pod, the celebrated owner of a
puppet-show, and his _motion_, are mentioned.

Again, in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Rule a Wife and have a Wife," act
ii.--

    "If he be that _motion_ that you tell me of,
    And make no more noise, I shall entertain him."

In "The Queen of Corinth," by the same, act i. sc. 3--

        "Good friends, for half an hour remove your _motion_;"

and in Dekker's "Villanies Discovered by Lanthorne and Candle-light,"
1620, ch. iv.: "This labour being taken, the master of the _motion_
hearkens where such a nobleman, &c. The _motion_ is presented before
him."

[301] A _statist_ is a _statesman_. So in Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's
Revels," act ii. sc. 3: "Next is your _statist's_ face, a serious,
solemn, and supercilious face, full of formal and square gravity."

And in "The Magnetick Lady," by the same, act i. sc. 7--

                                  "He
    Will screw you out a secret from a _statist_."

[302] [Suspicious.]

[303] [Old copy, _fear_. _Feer_ or _pheer_ is a companion or friend.]

[304] This speech seems more properly to belong to Lorenzo, to whom
Gasparo has just pointed out his son standing with Lionel.--_Collier._
[It is given to Lorenzo in a copy of the original edition before
me.--_H._]

[305] [Query, should we read _foined_, thrust, as the speaker rather
speaks of the adventures of Ulysses as a reality than a myth.]

[306] A company.

[307] This is taken from Chaucer--

    "But one thing warn I you, my frendis dere,
    I woll no old wife have in no manere.
    She shall not passin sixtene yere certeine,
    _Old fish, and yong flesh woll I have full faine_."

--"Merchant's Tale," l. 930. Which Mr Pope hath modernised in the
following manner--

    "One caution yet is needful to be told,
    To guide our choice; This wife must not be old:
    There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said,
    _Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed_."

--"January and May," l. 99.

    "For sondry scholis maketh sotill clarkis,
    Woman of many scholis half a clark is:
    But certainly a yong thing may men gye,
    Right as men may warm wax with hondis plie."

--"Merchant's Tale," l. 943.

    "No crafty widow shall approach my bed;
    Those are too wise for batchelors to wed.
    As subtle clerks by many schools are made,
    Twice-married dames are mistresses o' th' trade;
    But young and tender virgins, rul'd with ease,
    We form like wax, and mould them as we please."

--"January and May," l. 106.

[308] The Floralia or feast of Flora, Goddess of Flowers, were
celebrated with public sports on the 5th of the Kalends of May.
The chief part of the "solemnity was managed by a company of lewd
strumpets, who ran up and down naked, sometimes dancing, sometimes
fighting, or acting the mimic. However it came to pass, the wisest and
gravest Romans were not for discontinuing this custom, though the most
indecent imaginable: for Portius Cato, when he was present at these
games, and saw the people ashamed to let the women strip while he was
there, immediately went out of the theatre to let the ceremony have its
course."--Kennet's "Roman Antiquities," p. 297.

[309] So in "The Return from Parnassus," act iii. sc. 1: "My mistress
upon good days puts on a piece of a parsonage; and we pages _play at
blow-point_ for a piece of a parsonage."

And in Donne ("Poems," 1719, p. 119)--

                "Shortly, boys shall not _play_
    At span-counter, or _blow-point_, but shall pay
    Toll to some courtier."



ACT II., SCENE I.


                   _Enter +Aurelio+ and +Musicians+._

    +Aur.+ This is the window. Now, my noble Orpheus,
    As thou affect'st the name of rarity,
    Strike with the soul of music, that the sound
    May bear my love on his bedewed wing,
    To charm her ear: as when a sacrifice
    With his perfumed steam flies up to heaven
    Into Jove's nostrils, and there throws a mist
    On his enraged brow. O, how my fancy
    Labours with the success!                             [_Song above._

                          _Enter +Lucretia+._

    +Luc.+ Cease your fool's note there; I am not in tune
    To dance after your fiddle. Who are you?
    What saucy groom, that dares so near intrude,
    And with offensive noise grate on my ears?

    +Aur.+ What more than earthly light breaks through that window?
    Brighter than all the glittering train of nymphs
    That wait on Cynthia, when she takes her progress
    In pursuit of the swift enchased deer
    Over the Cretan or Athenian hills;
    Or when, attended with those lesser stars,
    She treads the azure circle of the heavens.

    +Luc.+ Heyday, this is excellent! What voice is that?
    O, is it you? I cry you mercy, sir:
    I thought as much; these are your tricks still with me:
    You have been sotting on't all night with wine,
    And here you come to finish out your revels.
    I shall be, one day, able to live private,
    I shall, and not be made the epilogue
    Of all your drunken meetings. For shame, away!
    The rosy morning blushes at thy baseness.
    Julia, go throw the music a reward,
    And set them hence.

    +Aur.+ Divine Lucretia,
    Do not receive with scorn my proffer'd service:
    O, turn again, though from your arched brow,
    Stung with disdain, and bent down to your eyen,
    You shoot me through with darts of cruelty.
    Ah, foolish man, to court the flame that burns him!

    +Luc.+ What would this fellow have?

    +Aur.+ Shine still, fair mistress;
    And though in silence, yet still look upon me.
    Your eye discourses[310] with more rhetoric
    Than all the gilded tongues of orators.

    +Luc.+ Out of my pity, not my love, I'll answer.
    You come to woo me, and speak fair; 'tis well.
    You think to win me too: you are deceiv'd.
    For when I hate a person, all his actions,
    Though ne'er so good, prove but his prejudice:
    For flatteries are like sweet pills--though sweet,
    Yet if they work not straight, invert to poison.

    +Aur.+ Why do you hate me, lady? Was there ever
    Woman so cruel to hate him that lov'd her?
    O, do not so degenerate from nature,
    Which form'd you of a temper soft as silk;
    And to the sweet composure of your body
    Took not a drop of gall or corrupt humour!
    But all your blood was clear and purified.
    Then, as your limbs are fair, so be your mind:
    Cast not a scandal on her curious hand,
    To say she made that crooked or uneven;
    For virtue is the best, which is deriv'd
    From a sweet feature. Women crown their youth
    With the chaste ornaments of love and truth.

    +Luc.+ This is a language you are studied in,
    And you have spoke it to a thousand.

    +Aur.+ Never, never to any; for my soul is cut so
    To the proportion of what you are,
    That all the other beauty in the world
    That is not found within your face, seems vile.
    O, that I were a veil upon that face,[311]
    To hide it from the world! methinks I could
    Envy the very sun for gazing on you!

    +Luc.+ I wonder that a fellow of no worth
    Should talk thus liberally: be so impudent,
    After so many slightings and abuses
    Extorted from me beyond modesty,
    To press upon me still. Have not I told you
    My mind in words, plain to be understood,
    How much I hate you? Can I not enjoy
    The freedom of my chamber, but you must
    Stand in my prospect? If you please, I will
    Resign up all, and leave you possession.
    What can I suffer or expect more grievous
    From the enforcement of an enemy?

    +Aur.+ Do not insult upon my sufferings.
    I had well hop'd I should receive some comfort
    From the sweet influence of your words or looks;
    But now must fly, and vanish like a cloud,
    Chas'd with the wind into the colder regions,
    Where sad despair sits ever languishing;
    There will I calculate my injuries,
    Summ'd up with my deserts: then shall I find
    How you are wanting to all good and pity,
    And that you do but juggle with our sense;
    That you appear gentle and smooth as water
    When no wind breathes on it, but indeed
    Are far more hard than rocks of adamant:
    That you are more inconstant than your mistress,
    Fortune, that guides you; that your promises
    Are all deceitful; and that wanton Love,
    Whom former ages, flattering their vice,
    And to procure more freedom for their sin,
    Have term'd a god, laughs at your perjuries.

    +Luc.+ You will do this? Why, do so. Ease your mind,
    So I be free from you. There's no such torment
    As to be troubled with an insolent lover
    That will receive no answer: bonds and fetters,
    Perpetual imprisonment, are not like it:
    'Tis worse than to be seiz'd on with a fever,
    A continual surfeit. For heaven's sake leave me,
    And let me hear no more of you.

    +Aur.+ Is this the best reward for all my hopes,
    The dear expenses of [my] youth and service,
    Spent in the execution of your follies?
    When not a day or hour but witness'd with me
    With what great study and affected care,
    More than of fame or honour, I invented
    New ways to fit your humour; what observance,
    As if you were the arbitress of courtship,
    I sought to please you with: laid out for fashions,
    And bought them for you; feasted you with banquets;
    Read you asleep i' th' afternoon with pamphlets;
    Sent you elixirs and preservatives,
    Paintings and powders, that would have restor'd
    Old Niobe to youth. The beauty you pretend to,
    Is all my gift. Besides, I was so simple
    To wear your foolish colours,[312] cry your wit up,
    And judgment, when you had none, and swore to it;
    Drank to your health whole nights in hippocras[313]
    Upon my knees with more religion
    Then e'er I said my prayers: which Heaven forgive me!

    +Luc.+ Are these such miracles? 'Twas but your duty,
    The tributary homage all men owe
    Unto our sex. Should we enjoin you travel,
    Or send you on an errand into France
    Only to fetch a basket of musk-melons,
    It were a favour for you. Put the case
    That I were Hero, and you were Leander:
    If I should bid you swim the Hellespont,
    Only to know my mind, methinks you might
    Be proud of the employment. Were you a Puritan,
    Did I command you wait me to a play;
    Or to the church, though you had no religion,
    You might not question it.

    +Aur.+ Pretty, very pretty!

    +Luc.+ And then, because I am familiar,
    And deign out of my nobleness and bounty
    To grace your weak endeavours with the title
    Of courtesy, to wave my fan at you,
    Or let you kiss my hand, must we straight marry?
    I may esteem you in the rank of servants,
    To cast off when I please, ne'er for a husband.

    +Aur.+ If ever devil damn'd in a woman's tongue,
    'Tis in thine. I am glad yet you tell me this;
    I might have else proceeded, and gone on
    In the lewd[314] way of loving you, and so
    Have wander'd farther from myself: but now
    I'll study to be wiser, and henceforth
    Hate the whole gang of you; denounce a war,
    Ne'er to be reconcil'd, and rejoice in it;
    And count myself bless'd for't; and wish all men
    May do the like to shun you. For my part,
    If, when my brains are troubled with late drinking
    (I shall have else the grace, sure, to forget you),
    Then but my labouring fancy dream of you,
    I'll start, affrighted at the vision.

    +Luc.+ 'Las! how pitifully it takes it to heart!
    It would be angry too, if it knew how.

    +Aur.+ Come near me none of you: if I hear
    The sound of your approach, I'll stop my ears;
    Nay, I'll be angry, if I shall imagine
    That any of you think of me: and, for thy sake,
    If I but see the picture of a woman,
    I'll hide my face and break it. So farewell.     [_Exit +Lucretia+._

             _Enter +Lorenzo+, +Mocinigo+, and +Angelia+._

    +Lor.+ What are you, friend, and what's your business?

    +Aur.+ Whate'er it be, now 'tis despatch'd.

    +Lor.+ This is rudeness.

    +Aur.+ The fitter for the place and persons then.

    +Lor.+ How's that?

    +Aur.+ You are a nest of savages: the house
    Is more inhospitable than the quicksands:
    Your daughter sits on that enchanted bay
    Like a siren[315] to entice passengers,
    Who, viewing her through a false perspective,
    Neglect the better traffic of their life;
    But yet, the more they labour to come near her,
    The further she flies back; until at last,
    When she has brought them to some rock or shelf,
    She proudly looks down on the wreck of lovers.

    +Lor.+ Why, who has injur'd you?

    +Aur.+                            No matter who:
    I'll first talk with a sphinx, ere [I'll] converse with you.

    +Lor.+ A word. Expound your wrongs more to the full,
    If you expect a remedy.

    +Aur.+ I'll rather
    Seek out diseases, choose my death and pine,
    Than stay to be cur'd by you.                               [_Exit._

                    _Enter +Æmilia+ and +Lucretia+._

    +Lor.+ If you be so obstinate,
    Take your course. Why, wife Æmilia,
    Daughter Lucretia, what's the matter here
    With this same fellow? Do you owe him money?

    +Luc.+ Owe him money, sir! Does he look like one
    That should lend money? He is a gentleman,
    And they seldom credit anybody.

    +Lor.+ Well, wife,
    Where was your matron's wisdom, that should keep
    A vigilant care upon your house and daughter,
    And not have suffer'd her to be surpris'd
    With every loose aspèct and gazing eye
    That suck in hot and lustful motions?
    You were best turn bawd, and prostitute her beauty.

    +Æmi.+ You were best turn an old ass,
    And meddle with your bonds and brokage.

    +Lor.+ What was his business?

    +Luc.+ To tell you true, sir, he is one of those,
    Whom love and fortune have conspir'd to fool,
    And make the subject of a woman's will.
    His idle brain, being void of better reason,
    Is fill'd with toys and humours; and, for want
    Of other exercise, he takes great pains
    For the expressing of his folly: sometimes
    With starts and sighs, hung head, and folded arms,
    Sonnets and pitiful tunes; forgetting
    All due respect unto himself and friends
    With doating on a mistress: she again
    As little pitying him, whose every frown
    Strikes him as dead as fate, and makes him walk
    The living monument of his own sorrow.

    +Lor.+ I apprehend he came a-wooing to thee.
    'Tis so, and thou didst scorn him, girl: 'twas well done.
    I'll ease thee of that care: see, I have brought
    A husband to thy hand. Look on him well;
    A worthy man, and a clarissimo.

    +Luc.+ A husband, said you? Now Venus be propitious!
    He looks more like the remedy of love,
    A julip to cool it. She that could take fire
    At such a dull flame as his eyes, I should
    Believe her more than touchwood!                           [_Aside._

    +Moc.+ A ravishing creature!
    If her condition answer but her feature,
    I am fitted. Her form answers my affection;
    It arrides[316] me exceedingly. I'll speak to her.         [_Aside._
    Fair mistress, what your father has propos'd
    In the fair way of contract, I stand ready
    To ratify; and let me not seem less
    In your esteem, because I am so easy
    In my consent. Women love out of fancy,
    Men from advice.

    +Luc.+ You do not mean in earnest?
    Now Cupid deliver me!

    +Moc.+ How, not in earnest!
    As I am strong and mighty in desires,
    You wrong me to question it.

    +Luc.+ Good sir, consider
    The infinite distance that is between us
    In age and manners.

    +Moc.+ No distance at all:
    My age is youthful, and your youth is aged.

    +Luc.+ But you are wise, and will you sell your freedom
    Unto a female tyranny, in despair
    E'er to be quit? You run a strange adventure,
    Without perceiving what a certain hazard
    A creature of my inclination
    Is apt to draw you to.

    +Moc.+ I cannot think it.

    +Luc.+ 'Tis strange you'll not believe me, unless I lay
    My imperfection open. I have a nature
    Ambitious beyond thought, quite giv'n over
    To entertainments and expense: no bravery
    That's fashionable can escape me; and then,
    Unless you are of a most settled temper,
    Quite without passion, I shall make you
    Horn-mad with jealousy.

    +Moc.+ Come, come, I know
    Thou'rt virtuous, and speakest this but to try me.
    You will not be so adverse to your fortune
    And all obedience, to contradict
    What your father has set down.

    +Luc.+ These are my faults
    I cannot help, if you'll be so good
    As to dispense with them.

    +Moc.+ With all my heart. I forgive thee before thou offend'st.

    +Luc.+ Then I am mighty stubborn and self-will'd,
    And shall sometimes e'en long to abuse you:
    And for my tongue, 'tis like a stone thrown down,
    Of an impetuous motion, not to be still'd.

    +Moc.+ All these cannot dismay me; for, considering
    How they are passions proper to your sex,
    In a degree they are virtues.

    +Luc.+ O my fate!
    He will not be terrified. Then, not to feed you
    With further hopes, or pump for more excuses,
    Take it in brief, though I am loth to speak,
    But you compel me to it--I cannot love you.

    +Lor.+ How do you speed, sir? Is she tractable?
    Do you approve of her replies?

    +Moc.+ I know not;
    Guess you: she said she cannot love me; and 'tis
    The least thing I should have mistrusted; I durst
    Have sworn she would ne'er have made scruple on't.

    +Lor.+ Not love you! Come, she must and shall.
    Do you hear, housewife?
    No more of this, as you affect my friendship.
    What, shall I bring here a right worshipful prætor
    Unto my house, in hope you'll be rul'd,
    And you prove recreant to my commands?
    But, my vex'd soul, thou hast done a deed were able,
    In the mere questioning of what I bid,
    Were not I a pious and indulgent father,
    To thrust thee, as a stranger, from my blood.

    +Moc.+ Be not too rash, sir: women are not won
    With force, but fair entreaty. Have I been vers'd
    Thus long i' th' school of love; know all their arts,
    Their practices, their ways, and subtleties,
    In all my encounters still return'd a victor,
    And have not left a stratagem at last
    To work on her affection, let me suffer.

    +Lor.+ Nay, and you have that confidence, I'll leave you.

    +Moc.+ Lady, a word in private with you.                 [_Whisper._

    +Æmi.+ Pray, sweetheart,
    What pretty youth is that?

    +Lor.+ Who, this same chicken?
    He is the son of a great nobleman,
    And my especial friend. His father's gone
    Into the country to survey his lands,
    And let new leases, and left him in charge
    With me till his return.

    +Æmi.+ Now, as I live,
    'Tis a well-favour'd lad, and his years promise
    He should have an ability to do,
    And wit to conceal. When I take him single,
    I'll try his disposition.                                  [_Aside._

    +Moc.+ This, for your sake,
    I'll undertake and execute.

    +Luc.+ For my sake!
    You shall not draw me to the fellowship
    Of such a sin.

    +Moc.+ I know 'tis pleasing to thee,
    And therefore am resolv'd.

    +Luc.+ I may prevent you.

    +Lor.+ What, are you resolv'd?

    +Moc.+ We are e'en at a point, sir.

    +Lor.+ What's more to be done, let's in and consider.     [_Exeunt._

                    _Enter +Antiquary+ and +Petro+._

    +Ant.+ Well, sirrah! but that I have brought you up, I would
    cashier you for these reproofs.

    +Pet.+ Good sir, consider, 'tis no benefit to me: he is your
    nephew that I speak for, and 'tis charity to relieve him.

    +Ant.+ He is a young knave, and that's crime enough; and he
    were old in anything, though 'twere in iniquity, there were
    some reverence to be had of him.

    +Pet.+ Why, sir, though he be a young knave, as you term him,
    yet he is your kinsman, and in distress too.

    +Ant.+ Why, sir, and you know again, that 'tis an old custom
    (which thing I will no way transgress) for a rich man not to
    look upon any as his kinsman in distress.

    +Pet.+ 'Tis an ill custom, sir, and 'twere good 'twere repealed.

    +Ant.+ I have something else to look after. Have you disposed
    of those relics, as I bad you?

    +Pet.+ Yes, sir.

    +Ant.+ Well, thou dost not know the estimation of what thou
    hast in keeping. The whole Indies, seeing they are but newly
    discovered, are not to be valued with them: the very dust that
    cleaves to one of those monuments is more worth than the ore of
    twenty mines!

    +Pet.+ Yet, by your favour, sir, of what use can they be to you?

    +Ant.+ What use! Did not the Signiory build a state-chamber for
    antiquities? and 'tis the best thing that e'er they did: they
    are the registers, the chronicles, of the age they were made
    in, and speak the truth of history better than a hundred of
    your printed commentaries.

    +Pet.+ Yet few are of your belief.

    +Ant.+ There's a box of coins within, most of them brass, yet
    each of them a jewel, miraculously preserved in spite of time
    or envy; and are of that rarity and excellence that saints may
    go a pilgrimage to them, and not be ashamed.

    +Pet.+ Yet, I say still, what good can they do to you, more
    than to look on?

    +Ant.+ What good, thou brute! And thou wert not worth a penny,
    the very showing of them were able to maintain thee. Let me see
    now, and you were put to it, how you could advance your voice
    in their commendation. Begin.

    +Pet.+ All you gentlemen that are affected with such
    rarities,[317] the world cannot produce the like, snatched
    from the jaws of time, and wonderfully collected by a studious
    antiquary, come near and admire.

    +Ant.+ Thou say'st right: the limbs of Hippolitus were never so
    dispersed.

    +Pet.+ First, those twelve pictures that you see there, are the
    portraitures of the Sibyls, drawn five hundred years since by
    Titianus of Padua, an excellent painter and statuary.

    +Ant.+ Very well.

    +Pet.+ Then here is Venus all naked, and Cupid by her, on a
    dolphin: both these were drawn by Apelles of Greece.

    +Ant.+ Proceed.

    +Pet.+ Then here is Hercules and Antæus; and that Pallas at
    length in alabaster, with her helmet and feathers; and that's
    Jupiter, with an eagle at his back.

    +Ant.+ Exceeding well!

    +Pet.+ Then there's the great silver box that Nero kept his
    beard in.

    +Ant.+ Good again.

    +Pet.+ And after decking it with precious stones, did
    consecrate it to the Capitol.

    +Ant.+ That's right.

    +Pet.+ And there hangs the net that held Mars and his mistress,
    while the whole bench of bawdy deities stood spectators of
    their sport.

    +Ant.+ Admirable good!

    +Pet.+ Then here is Marius to the middle,[318] and there
    Cleopatra with a veil over her face; and next to her, Marcus
    Antonius, the Triumvir; then he with half a nose is Corvinus,
    and he with ne'er a one is Galba.

    +Ant.+ Very sufficient!

    +Pet.+ Then here is Vitellius, and there Titus and Vespasian:
    these three were made by Jacobus Sansovinus the Florentine.

    +Ant.+ 'Tis enough.

    +Pet.+ Last of all, this is the urn that did contain the ashes
    of the emperors.

    +Ant.+ And each of these worth a king's ransom----

                  _Enter +Duke+ and +Leonardo+._[319]

    +Duke.+ Save you, sir!

    +Ant.+ You are welcome, gentlemen.

    +Duke.+ I come, sir, a suitor to you. I hear you are possessed
    of many various and excellent antiquities; and though I am a
    stranger, I would entreat your gentleness a favour.

    +Ant.+ What's that, sir?

    +Duke.+ Only that you would vouchsafe me to be a spectator of
    their curiosity and worth, which courtesy shall engage me yours
    for ever.

    +Ant.+ For their worth I will not promise: 'tis as you please
    to esteem of them.

    +Leo.+ No doubt, sir, we shall ascribe what dignity belongs to
    them and to you their preserver.

    +Ant.+ You speak nobly; and thus much let me tell you, to your
    edifying: the foolish doating on these present novelties is the
    cause why so many rare inventions have already perished; and
    (which is pity) antiquity has not left so much as a foot-step
    behind her, more than of her vices.

    +Leo.+ 'Tis the more pity, sir.

    +Ant.+ Then, what raises such vanities amongst us, and sets
    fantastical fancies awork? What's the reason that so many
    fresh tricks and new inventions of fashions and diseases come
    daily over sea, and land upon a man that never durst adventure
    to taste salt water, but only the neglect of those useful
    instructions which antiquity has set down.

    +Duke.+ You speak oracles, sir.

    +Ant.+ Look farther, and tell me what you find better or more
    honourable than age. Is not wisdom entailed upon it? Take the
    preheminence of it in everything--in an old friend, in old
    wine, in an old pedigree.

    +Leo.+ All this is certain.

    +Ant.+ I confess to you, gentlemen, I must reverence and prefer
    the precedent times before these, which consumed their wits in
    experiments: and 'twas a virtuous emulation amongst them, that
    nothing which should profit posterity should perish.

    +Leo.+ It argued a good fatherly providence.

    +Ant.+ It did so. There was Lysippus, that spent his whole
    life in the lineaments of one picture, which I will show you
    anon: then was there Eudoxus the philosopher,[320] who grew
    old in the top of a mountain, to contemplate astronomy; whose
    manuscript I have also by me.

    +Duke.+ Have you so, sir?

    +Ant.+ I have that, and many more; yet see the preposterous
    desires of men in these days, that account better of a mass of
    gold than whatever Apelles or Phidias have invented!

    +Duke.+ That is their ignorance.

    +Ant.+ Well, gentlemen, because I perceive you are ingenious, I
    would entreat you to walk in, where I will demonstrate all, and
    proceed in my admonition.                                 [_Exeunt._

                    _Enter +Aurelio+ and +Lionel+._

    +Lio.+ 'Tis well, sir: I am glad you are so soon got free from
    your bondage.

    +Aur.+ Yes, I thank my stars, I am now my own man again; I have
    slept out my drunken fit of love, and am recovered. You, that
    are my friends, rejoice at my liberty.

    +Lio.+ Why, was it painful to you?

    +Aur.+ More tedious than a siege. I wonder what black leaf in
    the book of fate has decreed that misery upon man--to be in
    love; it transforms him to a worse monster than e'er Calypso's
    cup did: [or] a country gentleman among courtiers, or their
    wives among the ladies. A clown among citizens, nay, an ass
    among apes, is not half so ridiculous as that makes us. O that
    I could but come by it, how would I tear it, that never such a
    witched[321] passion should arise in any human breast again.

    +Lio.+ You are too violent in your hate: you should never so
    fall out with a friend as to admit no hope of reconcilement.

    +Aur.+ I'll first be at peace with a serpent. Mark me, if thou
    hast care of thy time, thy health, thy fame, or thy wits, avoid
    it.

    +Lio.+ I must confess, I have been a little vain that way, yet
    never so transported, but when I saw a handsomer in place, I
    could leave the former and cleave to the latter. I was ever
    constant to beauty.

    +Aur.+ Hold thee there still, and if there be a necessity at
    any time that thou must be mad, let it be a short fury, and
    away: let not this paltry love hang too long upon the file; be
    not deluded with delays; for if these she-creatures have once
    the predominance, there shall be no way to torture thee but
    they'll find it out, and inflict it without mercy: they'll work
    on thy disposition, and if thou hast any good-nature, they'll
    be sure to abuse thee extremely.

    +Lio.+ Speak you this in earnest?

    +Aur.+ I know not what you call earnest, but before I'll endure
    that life again, I'll bind myself to a carrier, look out any
    employment whatever, spend my hours in seeing motions and
    puppet-plays, rook at bowling-alleys, mould tales, and vent
    them at ordinaries, carry begging epistles, walk upon projects,
    transcribe fiddlers' ditties.

    +Lio.+ O monstrous!

    +Aur.+ But since I have tasted the sweetness of my freedom,
    thou dost not know what quickness and agility is infused into
    me. I feel not that weight was wont to clog me, wherever I
    went; I am all fire and spirit, as if I had been stripped of my
    mortality! I hear not my thoughts whisper to me, as they were
    wont--Such a man is your rival; There's an affront, call him
    to an account; Redeem your mistress's favour, Present her with
    such a gift, Wait her at such a place--none of these vanities.

    +Lio.+ You are happy, sir.

                _Enter +Duke+, +Petro+, and +Leonardo+._

    +Pet.+ Come, gentles, follow me, I'll bring you to them: look
    you where they are!

    +Duke.+ Signior Lionel, I have traced much ground to inquire
    for you.

    +Lio.+ I rest engaged to you for your last night's love, sir.

    +Duke.+ And I for your good company. Did you ever see such a
    blind ruinous tippling-house as we made shift to find out?

    +Leo.+ Ay, and the people were as wretched in it: what a mist
    of tobacco flew amongst them!

    +Lio.+ And what a deluge of rheum!

    +Pet.+ If the house be so old as you speak of, 'twere good you
    brought my master into it, and then threw't atop of him; he
    would never desire to be better buried.

    +Duke.+ Well said, Petro.

    +Lio.+ Sir, if it be no trouble to you, I would entreat you
    know my worthy friend here.

    +Duke.+ You shall make me happy in any worthy acquaintance.

    +Pet.+ Well, Signior Lionel, you are beholden to these
    gentlemen for their good words unto your uncle for you: they
    spoke in your behalf as earnestly as e'er did lawyer for his
    client.

    +Lio.+ And what was the issue?

    +Pet.+ He is hide-bound: he will part with nothing. There is
    an old rivelled purse hangs at his side, has not been loosed
    these twenty years, and, I think, will so continue.

    +Lio.+ Why, will his charity stretch to nothing, Petro?

    +Pet.+ Yes, he has sent you something.

    +Lio.+ What is't?

    +Pet.+ A piece of antiquity, sir; 'tis English coin; and if you
    will needs know, 'tis an old Harry groat.[322]

    +Lio.+ Thank him heartily.

    +Pet.+ And 'tis the first, he says, that e'er was made of them;
    and, in his esteem, is worth three double ducats newly stamped.

    +Lio.+ His folly may put what price he please upon it, but to
    me 'tis no more than the value, Petro.

    +Pet.+ He says, moreover, that it may stand you in some use and
    pleasure hereafter, when you grow ancient; for it is worn so
    thin with often handling, it may serve you for a spectacle.

    +Lio.+ Very well.

    +Duke.+ 'Twere a good deed to conspire against him; he has a
    humour easy to be wrought on, and if you'll undertake him,
    we'll assist you in the performance.

    +Lio.+ With all my heart, gentlemen, and I thank you.

    +Duke.+ Let us defer it no longer then, but instantly about it.

    +Lio.+ A match! Lead on; good wit and fortune guide us.
                                                              [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[310] So in Ben Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour," act iii. sc. 3:
"You shall see sweet silent rhetorique and _dumb eloquence speaking in
her eye_; but when she speaks herself, such an anatomy of wit, so fine
wiz'd and arteriz'd, that 'tis the goodliest model of pleasure that
ever was to behold."

Again, in Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 2--

    "She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?
    _Her eye discourses_, I will answer it."

And Pope, in his translation of the "Iliad"--

    "Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs,
    Silence that spoke, _and eloquence of eyes_."

The lines in the text, as well as those quoted in the note, were all
written subsequent to the publication of "The Complaint of Rosamond,"
by Samuel Daniel, whence the following stanza is extracted--

    "Ah beauty, syren, faire enchaunting good,
      Sweet _silent rhetorique of perswading eyes_,
    _Dombe eloquence_, whose power doth move the blood,
      More than the words or wisedome of the wise;
      Still harmonie, whose diapason lies
    Within a brow, the key which passions move,
      To ravish sense, and play a world in love."

[311] Borrowed from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 2--

    "O that I were a glove upon that hand,
    That I might touch that cheek;"

which, Mr Steevens observes, hath been ridiculed by Shirley in "The
School of Compliment"--

               "O that I were a flea upon that lip," &c.

[312] So in "Love's Labour's Lost," [Dyce 2d edit. ii. 187]--

           "And _wear_ his _colours_ like a tumbler's hoop."

See a note on this passage [in Dyce's Glossary].

[313] "A compound wine mixed with several kinds of spice."--Blount's
"Glossographia." Kneeling to drink healths was formerly the common
practice of drinkers. So in Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's Revels," act ii.
sc. 2: "He is a great proficient in all the illiberal sciences; as
cheating, drinking, swaggering, whoring, and such like; _never kneels
but to drink healths_, nor prays but for a pipe of pudding tobacco."

[314] [Foolish.]

[315] [Old copy, _A siren like._]

[316] _i.e._, Pleases me: a Latin phrase. So Cic. "Ad Att." 13, 21.
"Inhibere illud tuum quod valde _arriserat_, vehementer displicet."

[317] [Old copy, _rarities, such_.]

[318]

    "Et Curios jam dimidios, nasumque minorem
    Corvini, et Galbam auriculis nasoque carentem?"

--Juvenal, Sat. VIII. edit. Ald. 1535.--_Steevens._

[319] Of course they are disguised, as appears from a preceding scene,
although it is not mentioned here.--_Collier._

[320] Of Cnidus. He flourished before the coming of Christ, about 388
years. Petronius Arbiter, in his _Satyricon_, writes: _Eum quidem in
cacumine exellissimi montis consenuisse, ut astrorum cœlique motus
deprehenderet._

[321] [So the edits., and perhaps rightly, notwithstanding the fact
that the word does not occur in the glossaries. At first sight, it
would appear to be misprinted for _wicked_.]

[322] The groats coined in the reign of Henry VIII. are distinguished
by different names; as, the _old Harry groat_, the gun hole groat, the
first and second gun-stone groat, &c. The _old Harry groat_ is that
which has the head of the king, with a long face and long hair. See
Hewit's "Treatise on Moins, Coins, &c.," 1775, p. 69.



ACT III., SCENE I.


                       _Enter +Bravo+ and +Boy+._

    +Bravo.+ Boy, how sits my rapier?

    +Boy.+ Close, sir, like a friend that means[323] to stick to
    you.

    +Bravo.+ He that will purchase honour and the name of Bravo
    must, by consequence, be a brave fellow--his title requires it.

    +Boy.+ But pray, sir, were you never put to the worst in your
    days?

    +Bravo.+ Who, I worsted? No, boy; I do manage my rapier with as
    much readiness and facility as an unicorn does his antler.

    +Boy.+ Sure, you must needs be very strong then.

    +Bravo.+ Not so neither; 'tis courage in me. I do it by a
    sleight, an activity, and by that I can control any man's point
    whatsoever.

    +Boy.+ Is it possible?

    +Bravo.+ I tell thee, boy, I do as much surpass Hercules at
    my rapier as he did me in club-fighting.[324] [I'll have you]
    draw[325] a register of those men that have been forced by this
    weak instrument to lay down their lives. I think it has cut
    more lives than Atropos.

    +Boy.+ But pray, sir, were they all your own exploits?

    +Bravo.+ Indeed, boy, thou may'st question it; for, and they
    were to perform again, they would hardly be done. What will
    this age come to? Where be those stirring humours that were
    wont to trouble the world? Peace, I think, will o'er-spread
    them all like a gangrene, and men will die with a lethargy;
    there's no malice extant, no jealousies, no employment to set
    wickedness awork! 'tis never a dead time with me but when
    there's nobody to kill.

    +Boy.+ That's a miserable extremity indeed, sir.

    +Bravo.+ Leave me, boy, to my meditations.             [_Exit +Boy+_

                          _Enter +Mocinigo+._

    Well, go thy ways, old Nick Machiavel, there will never be
    the peer of thee for wholesome policy and good counsel. Thou
    took'st pains to chalk men out the dark paths and hidden plots
    of murther and deceit, and no man has the grace to follow thee;
    the age is unthankful, thy principles are quite forsaken and
    worn out of memory.

    +Moc.+ There's a fellow walks melancholy, and that's commonly a
    passion apt to entertain any mischief; discontent and honesty
    seldom harbour together. How scurvily he looks, like one of the
    devil's factors! I'll tempt him. By your leave, sir.

    +Bravo.+ Ha!

    +Moc.+ No hurt, good sir; be not so furious, I beseech you.

    +Bravo.+ What are you?

    +Moc.+ I am bold to disturb you, and would fain communicate a
    business, if you had the patience to hear me.

    +Bravo.+ Speak, what is't?

    +Moc.+ You seem a man upon whom fortune, perhaps, has not cast
    so favourable an aspect as you deserve.

    +Bravo.+ Can you win her to look better?

    +Moc.+ Though not her, yet, perhaps, a servant of hers, that
    shall be as gracious to you and as profitable.

    +Bravo.+ What's she?

    +Moc.+ It may be you want money: there is a way to purchase it,
    if you have the heart.

    +Bravo.+ The heart! Hast thou the heart to speak, nay to
    conceive, what I dare not undertake?

    +Moc.+ A fit instrument for my purpose! How luckily has fortune
    brought me to him! [_Aside._] Do you hear, sir, 'tis but the
    slight killing of a man, or so--no more.

    +Bravo.+ Is that all?

    +Moc.+ Is that nothing?

    +Bravo.+ Some queasy stomach might turn, perhaps, at such a
    motion; but I am more resolved, better hardened. What is he?
    For I have my several rates, salaries for blood: for a lord, so
    much; for a knight, so much; a gentleman, so much; a peasant,
    so much; a stranger, so much, and a native, so much.

    +Moc.+ Nay, he is a gentleman, and a citizen of Venice.

    +Bravo.+ Let him be what he will, and we can agree: it has
    been a foolish ambition heretofore to save them, and men were
    rewarded for it with garlands;[326] but I had rather destroy
    one or two of them: they multiply too fast.

    +Moc.+ Do you know one Signior Aurelio, then? He is the man; he
    wooed my mistress, and sought to win her from me.

    +Bravo.+ A warrantable cause! show me the man, and 'tis enough.

    +Moc.+ And what must I give you?

    +Bravo.+ At a word, thirty livres: I'll not bate you a
    betso.[327]

    +Moc.+ I'll give you twenty.

    +Bravo.+ You bid like a chapman. Well, 'tis a hard time; in
    hope of your custom hereafter, I'll take your money.

    +Moc.+ There 'tis. Now for the means; how can you compass it?
    Were you not best poison him, think you?

    +Bravo.+ With a bullet or stiletto. Poison him! I scorn to do
    things so poorly; no, I'll use valour in my villany, or I'll do
    nothing.

    +Moc.+ You speak honourably: and, now I think on't, what if you
    beat him well-favouredly, and spare his life?

    +Bravo.+ Beat him! stay there; I'll kill him for this sum, but
    I'll not beat him for thrice the value; so he might do as much
    for me: no, I'll leave him impotent for all thought of revenge.

                          _Enter +Lucretia+._

    +Moc.+ Well, sir, use your pleasure. Look you, here's the
    gentlewoman for whose sake it is done. Lady, you are come most
    opportunely to be a witness of my love and zeal to you; he is
    the man that will do the feat.

    +Luc.+ What feat?

    +Moc.+ That you and I consulted of; kill the rascal Aurelio,
    take him out of the way: what should he live any longer for?
    I'll have no man breathe that you disgust.

    +Luc.+ Then ought you to go and hang yourself.

    +Moc.+ Who, I hang myself! for what? my good service and
    respect to your quiet? If he have any mind to haunt your
    chamber hereafter, he shall do it as a ghost, without any
    substantial shape, I assure you.

    +Luc.+ I think the fool is in earnest: I must use policy,
    and not play away a man's life so. [_Aside._] Nay, prythee,
    sweetheart, be not angry, 'twas but to try thee: this kiss and
    my love.                                              [_Kisses him._

    +Moc.+ Why, here's some amends yet: now 'tis as it should be.

    +Luc.+ I am as deep and eager in this purpose
    As you are, therefore grant me leave a little
    To talk with him: I have some private counsel
    To give him for the better execution.

    +Moc.+ May I not hear?

    +Luc.+ No, as you love me, go.

    +Moc.+ Her humour must be law: we that are suitors
    Must deal with women as with towns besieg'd,
    Offer them fair conditions till you get them,
    And then we'll tyrannise. Yet there's a doubt
    Is not resolv'd on.

    +Luc.+ Good sir, begone.

    +Moc.+ I vanish. Were I best trust this fellow with my mistress?
    Temptations may arise: 'tis all one, I am
    A right Italian, and the world shall see
    That my revenge is above jealousy.                          [_Exit._

    +Bravo.+ Now, lady, your pleasure?

    +Luc.+ I would not allow myself any conference with you, did
    my reason persuade me that you were as bad as you seem to be.
    Pray, what are you?

    +Bravo.+ I am, sweet creature, a kind of lawless
    justicer,[328] or usurping martialist of authority, that will
    kill any man with my safety.

    +Luc.+ And you purpose the death of this gentleman?

    +Bravo.+ I will do anything for hire.

    +Luc.+ Have you no conscience?

    +Bravo.+ Conscience! I know not what it is.
    Why should any man live, and I want money?

    +Luc.+ Have you no regard then of innocence?

    +Bravo.+ 'Tis crime enough he has a life.

    +Luc.+ How long have you been vers'd in this trade?

    +Bravo.+ 'Tis my vocation.

    +Luc.+ Leave it; 'tis damnable;
    And thou the worst and basest of all villains:
    It had been better for the womb that bare thee,
    If it had travail'd with a pestilence.
    What seed of tigers could beget thee to
    Such bold and rash attempts for a small lucre,
    Which will be straight as ill-spent as 'twas got,
    To destroy that whose essence is divine;
    Souls, in themselves more pure than are the heavens,
    Or thy ill-boding stars; more worth than all
    The treasure lock'd up in the heart of earth;
    And yet do this unmov'd or unprovok'd.

    +Bravo.+ I have no other means nor way of living.

    +Luc.+ 'Twere better perish than be so supported;
    There are a thousand courses to subsist by.

    +Bravo.+ Ay, but a free and daring spirit scorns
    To stoop to servile ways, but will choose rather
    To purchase his revenue from his sword.

    +Luc.+ I see you are grown obdurate in your crimes,
    Founded to vice, lost to all piety;
    Without the apprehension of what wrong
    You do your country in depriving her
    Of those she now enjoys as useful members,
    And killing their posterity who, perhaps,
    Might with their art or industry advance her.

    +Bravo.+ What courteous itch, I wonder, has possess'd
    Your virtuous ladyship to give me advice?
    Best keep your wits until you get a husband,
    Who may perhaps require your learned counsel.

    +Luc.+ 'Tis true, such as do act thy villanies,
    Hate to be told or think of them; but hear me.
    Hast thou no sense nor no remorse of soul?
    No thought of any Deity who, though
    It spare thee for awhile, will send at last
    A quick return of vengeance on thy head,
    And dart thee down like Phaeton?

    +Bravo.+ Sweet virgin,
    Faces[329] about to some other discourse:
    I cannot relish this.

    +Luc.+ So I believe; but yet
    Compose your thoughts for speedy penitence,
    Your life for an amendment, or I vow
    To lay your actions open to the senate.

    +Bravo.+ Did not your sweetheart tempt me to this deed,
    And will you now betray me?

    +Luc.+ He my sweetheart!
    I hate you both alike: that very word
    Is enough to divorce thee from my pity
    Past hope of reconcilement; for what mercy
    Is to be had of two such prodigies?
    Will you recant yet? speak, will you be honest?

    +Bravo.+ I think you'll force me to become your patient.

    +Luc.+ It is the way to heal thee of a sore,
    Whose cure is supernatural. What art,
    What mirror is sufficient to demonstrate
    The foulness of thy guilt, whose leprous mind
    Is but one stain seas cannot cleanse? Why, murder,
    'Tis of all vices the most contrary
    To every virtue and humanity;
    For they intend the pleasure and delight,
    But this the dissolution, of nature.

    +Bravo.+ She does begin to move me.                        [_Aside._

    +Luc.+ Think of thy sin,
    It is the heir-apparent unto hell.
    And has so many and so ugly shapes,
    His father Pluto and the furies hate
    To look on their own birth: yet thou dar'st act
    What they fear to suggest, and sell thy soul
    To quick perdition.

    +Bravo.+ This has wak'd me more
    Into a quicker insight of my evils,
    That have impal'd me round with horrid shapes,
    More various than the sev'ral forms of dreams,
    That wait on Morpheus in his sleepy den.

    +Luc.+ Then, 'tis a fearful sin, and always labours
    With the new birth of damn'd inventions
    And horrid practices: for 'tis so fearful,
    It dares not walk alone, and where it bides
    There is no rest nor no security,
    But a perpetual tempest of despair.

    +Bravo.+ All this I feel by sad experience.
    Where have I been, where have I liv'd a stranger,
    Exil'd from all good thoughts? Never till now
    Did any beam of grace or good shine on me.

    +Luc.+ Besides, 'tis so abhorr'd of all that's good
    That, when this monster lifts his cursed head
    Above the earth, and wraps it in the clouds,
    The sun flies back, as loth to stain his rays
    With such a foul pollution; and night,
    In emulation of so black a deed,
    Puts on her darkest robe to cover it.

    +Bravo.+ O, do not grate too much upon my suff'rings!
    You have won upon my conscience, and I feel
    A sting within me tells my troubled soul,
    That I have trod too long those bloody paths,
    That lead unto destruction.

    +Luc.+ Then be sorry,
    And with repentance purge away thy sin.

    +Bravo.+ Will all my days and hours consum'd in prayers,
    My eyes dissolv'd to tears, wash off such crimes?

    +Luc.+ If they be serious and continued.

    +Bravo.+ You are a virgin, and your vows are chaste;
    Do you assist me.

    +Luc.+ So you'll do the like
    For me in what I shall propose.

    +Bravo.+ I will,
    And joy to be employ'd: there is no thought,
    Which can proceed from you, but which is virtuous;
    And 'tis a comfort and a kind of goodness
    To mix with you in any action.

    +Luc.+ Nay more, in recompense of your fair proffer,
    Because you say you are destitute of means,
    I'll see that want supply'd.

    +Bravo.+ Divinest lady,
    Command my service.

    +Luc.+ Walk then in with me,
    And then I will acquaint you with the project.            [_Exeunt._

          _Enter +Duke+, +Lionel+, and +Leonardo+, +Petrucio+
                              following._

    +Duke.+ I see him coming: let's fall into admiration of his
    good parts, that he may over-hear his own praise.

    +Lio.+ I have, methinks, a longing desire to meet with Signior
    Petrucio.

    +Pet.+ I hear myself named amongst them. 'Tis no point of
    civility to listen what opinion the world holds of me, I shall
    conceive it by their discourse: a man behind his back shall be
    sure to have nothing but truth spoke of him.               [_Aside._

    +Leo.+ Pray, sir, when saw you that thrice noble and
    accomplished gentleman Petrucio?

    +Pet.+ Thrice noble and accomplish'd! there's a new style
    thrust upon me.                                            [_Aside._

    +Duke.+ It pleased the indulgency of my fate to bless me
    with his company this morning, where he himself was no less
    favourable to grace me with the perusal of a madrigal or an
    essay of beauty, which he had then newly compos'd.

    +Lio.+ Well, gallants, either my understanding misinforms me,
    or he is one of the most rare and noble-qualified pieces of
    gentility, that ever did enrich our climate.

    +Leo.+ Believe it, sir, 'twere a kind of profanation to make
    doubt of the contrary.

    +Pet.+ How happy am I in such acquaintance! A man shall have
    his due, when your meaner society has neither judgment to
    discern worth, nor credit to commend it.                   [_Aside._

    +Duke.+ 'Twas my happiness, th' other day, to be in the
    presence with certain ladies, where I heard him the most
    extolled and approved: one of them was not ashamed to pronounce
    it openly, that she would never desire more of heaven, than to
    enjoy such a man for her servant.

    +Pet.+ It shall be my next employment to inquire out for that
    lady.                                                      [_Aside._

    +Lio.+ 'Tis a miracle to me how, in so small a competency
    of time, he should arrive to such an absolute plenitude of
    perfection.

    +Leo.+ No wonder at all; a man that has travelled, and been
    careful of his time.

    +Lio.+ But, by your favour, sir, 'tis not every man's happiness
    to make so good use on't.

    +Duke.+ I'll resolve you something: there is as great a mystery
    in the acquisition of knowledge, as of wealth. Have you not a
    citizen will grow rich in a moment, and why not he ingenious?
    Besides, who knows but he might have digged for it, and so
    found out some concealed treasure of understanding.

    +Pet.+ Now, as I am truly noble, 'tis a wrongful imputation
    upon me.                                                   [_Aside._

    +Leo.+ Well, if he had but bounty annexed to his other
    sufficiencies, he were unparalleled.

    +Duke.+ Nay, there's no man in the earth more liberal: take it
    upon my word, he has not that thing in the world so dear or
    precious in his esteem, which he will not most willingly part
    with upon the least summons of his friend.

    +Pet.+ Now must I give away some two or three hundred pounds'
    worth of toys, to maintain this assertion.                 [_Aside._

    +Lio.+ You spoke of verses e'en now; if you have the copy, pray
    vouchsafe us a sight of them.

    +Duke.+ I cannot suddenly resolve you: yes, here they are.

    +Lio.+ What's this?

                         A MADRIGAL OF BEAUTY.

    _If I should praise her virtue and her beauty,
                  as 'tis my duty;
    And tell how every grace doth her become:
                  'tis ten to one,
    But I should fail in the expression._

    +Leo.+ Ay marry, sir, this sounds something like excellent.

    +Lio.+

                      _Then, by your leave,
        Although I cannot write what I conceive;
                      'tis my desire,
        That what I fail to speak, you would admire._

    +Leo.+ Why, this has some taste in't: how should he arrive to
    this admirable invention?

    +Duke.+ Are you so preposterous in your opinion, to think that
    wit and elegancy in writing are only confined to stagers and
    book-worms? 'Twere a solecism to imagine that a young bravery,
    who lives in the perpetual sphere of humanity, where every
    waiting-woman speaks perfect Arcadia,[330] and the ladies lips
    distil with the very quintessence of conceit, should be so
    barren of apprehension, as not to participate of their virtues.

    +Leo.+ Now I consider, they are great helps to a man.

    +Duke.+ But when he has travelled, and delibated the
    French[331] and the Spanish; can lie a-bed, and expound
    _Astræa_,[332] and digest him into compliments; and when he is
    up, accost his mistress with what he had read in the morning;
    now, if such a one should rack up his imagination, and give
    wings to his muse, 'tis credible, he should more catch your
    delicate court-ear, than all you head-scratchers, thumb-biters,
    lamp-wasters of them all.

    +Leo.+ Well, I say the iniquity of fortune appears in nothing
    more, than not advancing that man to some extraordinary honours.

    +Lio.+ But I never thought he had any genius that way.

    +Duke.+ What, because he has been backward to produce his good
    qualities? Believe it, poetry will out; it can no more be hid
    than fire or love.

    +Pet.+ I'll break them off, they have e'en spoken enough in
    my behalf for nothing, o' conscience. [_Aside._] Save you,
    Cavalieros!

    +Duke.+ My much honoured Petrucio, you are welcome; we were
    now entered into a discourse of your worth. Whither do your
    occasions enforce you so fast?

    +Pet.+ Gentlemen, to tell you true, I am going upon some
    raptures.

    +Leo.+ Upon raptures, say you.

    +Pet.+ Yes, my employment is tripartite: I have here an anagram
    to a lady I made of her name this morning, with a poesy to
    another, that must be inserted into a ring; and here's a paper
    carries a secret word too, that must be given, and worn by a
    knight and tilter; and all my own imaginations, as I hope to be
    blessed.

    +Lio.+ Is't possible? how, have you lately drunk of the
    horsepond,[333] or stepped on the forked Parnassus, that you
    start out so sudden a poet?

    +Pet.+ Tut! I leave your Helicons and your pale Pirenes,[334]
    to such as will look after them. For my own part, I follow the
    instigation of my brain, and scorn other helps.

    +Lio.+ Do you so?

    +Pet.+ I'll justify it: the multiplicity of learning does but
    distract a man. I am all for your modern humours, and when I
    list to express a passion, it flows from me with that spring of
    amorous conceits, that a true lover may hang his head over, and
    read in it the very phys'nomy of his affection.

    +Duke.+ Why, this is a rare mirror!                        [_Aside._

    +Leo.+ 'Tis so indeed, and beyond all the art of optics.
                                                               [_Aside._

    +Pet.+ And when my head labours with the pangs of delivery, by
    chance up comes a countess's waiting-woman, at whose sight, as
    at the remembrance of a mistress, my pen falls out of my hand;
    and then do I read to her half-a-dozen lines, whereat we both
    sit together, and melt into tears.

    +Leo.+ Pitiful-hearted creatures!                          [_Aside._

    +Pet.+ I am now about a device that this gentleman has promis'd
    shall be presented before his highness.

    +Duke.+ Yes, upon my word, sir, and yourself with it.

    +Pet.+ Shall the duke take notice of me too? O heavens! how you
    transport me with the thought on't!

    +Duke.+ I'll bring you to him, believe me, and you know not
    what grace he may do you.

    +Pet.+ 'Tis a happiness beyond mortals! I cannot tell, it may
    be my good fortune to advance you all.

    +Lio.+ We shall be glad to have dependence on you.

    +Pet.+ Gentles, I would intreat you a courtesy.

    +Duke.+ What's that, signior?

    +Pet.+ That you would be all pleas'd to grace my lodging
    to-morrow at a banquet: there will be ladies and gallants; and
    among the rest, I'll send to invite your uncle the Antiquary;
    and we'll be very merry, I assure you.

    +Leo.+ Well, sir, your bounty commands us not to fail you.

    +Pet.+ Bounty! there's a memorandum for me. [_Writes in his
    note-book._] In the meantime, pray accept these few favours at
    my hands,[335] as assurances that you will not fail me; till
    when, I take my leave.                                      [_Exit._

    +Lio.+ Farewell, sir. Go thy ways; thou hast as dull a piece of
    scalp as ere covered the brain of any traveller.           [_Aside._

    +Duke.+ For love's sake, Lionel, let's haste to thy uncle,
    before the coxcomb prevent us.

    +Lio.+ Why, sir, I stay for you.

    +Leo.+ Has Petro prepar'd him for your entrance, and is your
    disguise fit?

    +Lio.+ I have all in readiness.

    +Duke.+ On then, and when you are warm in your discourse, we'll
    come with our device to affright him: 'twill be an excellent
    scene of affliction.

    +Leo.+ Be sure you mark your cue, sir, and do not fail to
    approach.

    +Duke.+ Trust to my care, I warrant you.                  [_Exeunt._

                    _Enter +Aurelio+ and +Servant+._

    +Aur.+ A gentlewoman without speak with me, say you?

    +Ser.+ Yes, sir, and will by no means be put back.

    +Aur.+ I am no lawyer, nor no secretary: what business can she
    have here, I wonder?

    +Ser.+ She is very importunate to enter.

    +Aur.+ I was once in the humour never to admit any of them
    to come near me again, but since she is so eager, let her
    approach. I'll try my strength, what proof 'tis against her
    enchantments: if ever Ulysses were more provident, or better
    arm'd to sail by the Sirens, I'll perish; if she have the art
    to impose upon me, let her beg my wit for an anatomy, and
    dissect it!

                          _Enter +Lucretia+._

    Now, Lady Humour, what new emotion in the blood has turn'd the
    tide of your fancy to come hither?

    +Luc.+ These words are but unkind salutes to a gentlewoman.

    +Aur.+ They are too good for you. With what face dare you
    approach hither, knowing how infinitely you have abused me? You
    want matter to exercise your wits on; the world's too wise for
    you; and, ere you ensnare me again, you'll have good luck.

    +Luc.+ Pray, sir, do not reiterate those things which might
    better be forgotten. I confess I have done ill, because I am a
    woman and young, and 'will be nobleness in you not to remember
    it.

    +Aur.+ I'll sooner plough up [the] shore and sow it, and live
    in expectation of a crop, before I'll think the least good
    from any of your sex, while I breathe again.

    +Luc.+ I hope, sir, that time and experience will rectify your
    judgment to a better opinion of us.

    +Aur.+ I'll trust my ship to a storm, my substance to a broken
    citizen, ere I'll credit any of you.

    +Luc.+ Good sir, be intreated: I come a penitent lover, with
    a vow'd recantation to all former practices and malicious
    endeavours, that I have wrought against you.

    +Aur.+ How can I think better of you, when I consider your
    nature, your pride, your treachery, your covetousness, your
    lust; and how you commit perjury easier than speak?

    +Luc.+ Sure, 'tis no desert in us, but your own misguided
    thoughts that move in you this passion.

    +Aur.+ Indeed, time was I thought you pretty foolish things
    to play withal, and was so blinded as to imagine that your
    hairs were golden threads,[336] that your eyes darted forth
    beams, that laughter sat smiling on your lips, and the coral
    itself looked pale to them: that you moved like a goddess, and
    diffused your pleasures wide as the air: then could I prevent
    the rising sun[337] to wait on you, observed every nod you
    cast forth, had the patience to hear your discourse, and
    admired you, when you talked of your visits, of the court, of
    councils, of nobility, and of your ancestors.

    +Luc.+ And were not these pleasing to you?

    +Aur.+ Nothing but a heap of tortures: but since I have learned
    the Delphic Oracle, to _know myself_, and ponder what a deal of
    mischief you work, I am content to live private and solitary,
    without any pensive thought what you do, or what shall become
    of you.

    +Luc.+ Sir, if you calculate all occasions, I have not merited
    this neglect from you.

    +Aur.+ Yes, and more. Do you not remember what tasks you
    were wont to put me to, and expenses? when I bestowed on you
    gowns and petticoats, and you in exchange gave me bracelets
    and shoe-ties? how you fooled me sometimes, and set me to pin
    plaits in your ruff, two hours together, and made a waiting
    frippery of me? how you racked my brain to compose verses for
    you--a thing I could never abide? Nay, in my conscience, and I
    had not took courage, you had brought me to spin, and beat me
    with your slippers.

    +Luc.+ Well, sir, I perceive you are resolved to hear no
    reason; but, before my sorrowful departure, know she that you
    slight is the preserver of your life; therefore I dare be bold
    to call you ingrate, and in that I have spoke all that can be
    ill in man.[338]

    +Aur.+ Pray, stay; come back a little.

    +Luc.+ Not till you are better-tempered. What I have revealed
    is true; and though you prove unthankful, good deeds reward
    themselves: the conscience of the fact shall pay my virtue. So
    I leave you.                                                [_Exit._

    +Aur.+ That I should owe my life to her! which way, I wonder?
    Something depends on this, I must win out: well, I will not
    forswear it, but the toy may take me in the head, and I may see
    her.                                                        [_Exit._

                    _Enter +Antiquary+ and +Petro+._

    +Ant.+ Has he such rare things, say you?

    +Pet.+ Yes, sir, I believe you have not seen the like of them:
    they are a couple of old manuscripts, found in a wall,[339] and
    stored up with the foundation; it may be they are the writings
    of some prophetess.

    +Ant.+ What moves you to think so, Petro?

    +Pet.+ Because, sir, the characters are so imperfect;
    for time has eaten out the letters, and the dust makes a
    parenthesis[340] betwixt every syllable.

    +Ant.+ A shrewd, convincing argument! this fellow has a notable
    reach with him. Go, bid him enter. A hundred to one some fool
    has them in possession that knows not their value: it may be a
    man may purchase them for little or nothing----

           _Enter +Lionel+, like a scholar, with two books._

    Come near, friend, let me see what you have there. Umph, 'tis,
    as I said, they are of the old Roman binding. What's the price
    of these?

    +Lio.+ I would be loth, sir, to sell them under rate, only to
    merit laughter for my rashness; therefore I thought good to
    bestow them on you, and refer myself to your wisdom and free
    nature for my satisfaction.

    +Ant.+ You say well; then am I bound again in conscience to
    deal justly with you: will five hundred crowns content you?

    +Lio.+ I'll demand no more, sir.

    +Ant.+ Petro, see them delivered. Now I need not fear to tell
    you what they are: this is a book _de Republica_, 'tis Marcus
    Tullius Cicero's own hand writing; I have some other books of
    his penning give me assurance of it.[341]

    +Pet.+ And what's the other, sir?

    +Ant.+ This other is a book of mathematics, that was long lost
    in darkness, and afterwards restored by Ptolemy.

    +Lio.+ I wonder, sir, unless you were Time's secretary, how you
    should arrive to this intelligence.

    +Ant.+ I know it by more than inspiration. You had them out of
    a wall, you say.

    +Lio.+ Yes, sir.

    +Ant.+ Well, then, however you came by them, they were first
    brought to Venice by Cardinal Grimani,[342] a patriarch, and
    were digged out of the ruins of Aquileia, after it was sacked
    by Attila king of the Huns.

    +Lio.+ This to me is wonderful.

    +Ant.+ Petro, I mean to retire, and give myself wholly to
    contemplation of these studies; and because nothing shall
    hinder me, I mean to lease out my lands and live confined:
    inquire me out a chapman that will take them of me.

    +Lio.+ If you please to let them, sir, I will help you to a
    tenant.

    +Ant.+ Will you, sir? with all my heart, and I'll afford him
    the better bargain for your sake.

    +Pet.+ He may pay the rent with counters, and make him believe
    they are antiquities.

    +Ant.+ What's the yearly rent of them, Petro?

    +Pet.+ They have been racked, sir, to three thousand crowns;
    but the old rent was never above fifteen hundred.

    +Ant.+ Go to, you have said enough; I'll have no more than the
    old rent. Name your man, and the indentures shall be drawn.

    +Lio.+ Before I propose that, sir, I thought good to acquaint
    you with a specialty I found among other writings which, having
    a seal to it and a name subscribed, does most properly belong
    to you.

    +Ant.+ Let me see it. What's here? Signior Giovanni Veterano di
    Monte Nigro! He was my great grandfather, and this is an old
    debt of his that remains yet uncancelled. You could never have
    pleased me better to my cost: this ought, in conscience, to be
    discharged, and I'll see it satisfied the first thing I do.
    Come along.

    +Pet.+ Will you afford your nephew no exhibition out of your
    estate, sir?

    +Ant.+ Not a sol; not a gazet.[343] I have articles to propose
    before the senate shall disinherit him.

    +Lio.+ Have you, sir? Not justly, I hope. Pray, what are they?

    +Ant.+ One of them is, he sent me letters beyond sea, dated
    _Stilo Novo._[344]

    +Lio.+ That was a great oversight.

    +Ant.+ Then you remember, Petro, he took up commodities,
    new-fashioned stuffs, when he was under age, too, that he might
    cosen his creditors.

    +Pet.+ Yes, sir.

    +Ant.+ And afterwards found out a new way to pay them, too.

    +Lio.+ He served them but in their kind, sir: perhaps they
    meant to have cheated him.

    +Ant.+ 'Tis all one; I'll have no such practices. But the worst
    of all: one time, when I found him drunk, and chid him for his
    vice, he had no way to excuse himself, but to say, he would
    become a new man.

    +Lio.+ That was heinously spoken, indeed!

    +Ant.+ These are sufficient aggravations to any one that shall
    understand my humour.

                     _Enter +Duke+ and +Leonardo+._

    +Duke.+ Save you, sir!

    +Ant.+ These gentlemen shall be witnesses to the bonds. You are
    very welcome!

    +Duke.+ I hardly believe it, when you hear our message.

    +Ant.+ Why, I beseech you?

    +Duke.+ I am sorry to be made the unkind instrument to wrong
    you; but since 'tis a task imposed from so great a command, I
    hope you will the easier be induced to dispense with me.

    +Ant.+ Come nearer to your aim: I understand you not.

    +Duke.+ Then thus, sir: the duke has been informed of your
    rarities; and holding them an unfit treasure for a private man
    to possess, he hath sent his mandamus to take them from you.
    See, here's his hand for the delivery.

    +Ant.+ O, O!

    +Leo.+ What ails you, sir?

    +Ant.+ I am struck with a sudden sickness: some good man help
    to keep my soul in, that is rushing from me, and will by no
    means be entreated to continue!

    +Lio.+ Pray, sir, be comforted.

    +Ant.+ Comfort! no, I despise it: he has given me daggers to my
    heart!

    +Leo.+ Show yourself a man, sir, and contemn the worst of
    fortune.

    +Ant.+ Good sir, could not you have invented a less studied way
    of torture to take away my life?

    +Duke.+ I hope 'twill not work so deeply with you.

    +Ant.+ Nay, and 'twould stop there, 'twere well; but 'tis a
    punishment will follow me after death, and afflict me worse
    than a fury.

    +Leo.+ I much pity the gentleman's case.

    +Ant.+ Think what 'tis to lose a son when you have brought him
    up, or, after a seven years' voyage, to see your ship sink in
    the harbour!

    +Duke.+ 'Twere a woeful spectacle, indeed!

    +Ant.+ They are but tickling to this: I have been all my life
    a-gathering what I must now lose in a moment. The sacking of a
    city is nothing to be compared with it.

    +Leo.+ And that's lamentable.

    +Ant.+ 'Twill but only give you a light to conceive of my
    misery.

    +Lio.+ Pray, sir, be not importunate to take them this time;
    but try rather, if by any means you can revoke the decree.

    +Duke.+ 'Twill be somewhat dangerous; but, for your sake, I'll
    try.

    +Ant.+ Shall I hope any comfort? Then, upon my credit,
    gentlemen, I'll appoint you all mine heirs, so soon as I am
    dead.

    +Duke.+ You speak nobly.

    +Ant.+ Nay, and because you shall not long gape after it, I'll
    die within a month, and set you down all joint executors.

    +Lio.+ But when you are freed from the terror of his
    imposition, will you not recant?

    +Ant.+ Nay, and you doubt me, walk along, and I'll confirm't
    upon you instantly.                                       [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[323] [Old copy, _meant_.]

[324] Thus Armado, in "Love's Labour's Lost," edit. 1778, vol. ii. p.
394: "I do excel Samson in my rapier as much as he did me in carrying
gates."--_Steevens._

[325] [Edits., _Have you ... drawn_; but the speaker evidently does not
intend to ask the boy whether _he_ has drawn the register.]

[326] The Romans bestowed an oaken wreath on him who had preserved the
life of a citizen. The mother of Coriolanus, in Shakespeare, boasts
that he "returned, his brows bound with oak."--_Steevens._

[327] A coin of the least value of any current in Venice; it was
worth no more than half a sol, that is, near a farthing. See Coriat's
"Crudities," 1611, p. 286.

[328] This expression puts one in mind of Bacon's description of
Revenge, when he says that it is "wild justice." A _Bravo_ is a
revenger of injuries, and may therefore very fitly be called a _lawless
justicer_.--_Collier._

[329] See note to "The Parson's Wedding," _post_.

[330] The romance by Sir Philip Sydney.

[331] _i.e._, Had a taste of, _Delibo_, Lat. So Claudian. _B. Get._
351, "Contentus _delibasse_ cibos."--_Steevens._

[332] [A French romance by Honorè d'Urfè, which had been translated
into English in 1620. It was formerly very popular. Another translation
was made in 1657-8, 3 vols. folio.]

[333] [Hippocrene.] So Persius: "Fonte labra prolui
_Caballino_."--_Steevens._

[334] So Persius: "Pallidamque Pyrenen."--_Steevens._

[335] [He probably distributes among them some of his MSS. verses.]

[336] "That your _hairs_ were golden threads," is the true reading; but
Mr Reed allowed it to stand, "that your _hearts_ were golden threads,"
which is nonsense, or very near it. Shakespeare has the same expression
in his "Rape of Lucrece"--

"Her _hair, like golden threads_, play'd with her breath."

--_Collier._

[337] _i.e._, Go before. So in the 119th Psalm: "Mine eyes _prevent_
the night watches."--_Steevens._

Again, in the office of consecrating Cramp Rings: "We beseech thee, O
Lord, that the Spirit which proceeds from thee may _prevent_ and follow
in our desires," &c.--_Reed._

One of the Collects of the Church Service begins, "_Prevent_ us, O
Lord, in all our doings."--_Collier._

[338] Alluding to the ancient aphorism, _Ingratus si dixeris, omnia
dixeris._

[339] [Possibly the author had in his recollection Wimbeldon's "Godlie
Sermon," preached at Paul's Cross in 1388, and "found out hyd in a
wall;" printed in 1584.]

[340] This is borrowed from the character of an Antiquary, in [Earle's]
"Micro-Cosmographie, or a Piece of the World Discovered," 12º, 1628:
"Printed books he contemnes as a novelty of this latter age; but a
manuscript he pores on everlastingly, especially if the cover be all
moth-eaten, and _the dust make a parenthesis between every syllable_."

[341] [The antiquary was fortunate in the possession of what is still
unknown in a complete state. Fragments, recovered from a palimpsest,
have been printed by Cardinal Mai.]

[342] [Old copy, _Girmanus_.]

[343] A _gazet_, says Coriat (p. 286), "is almost a penny; whereof ten
doe make a liver, that is, nine pence." Newspapers being originally
sold for that piece of money, acquired their present name of
_Gazettes_.--See Junius "Etymol." voce Gazette.

[344] The manner of dating letters from abroad, before the alteration
of the calendar, according to the reformation of it by Pope Gregory
XIII. In "The Woman's Prize; or, the Tamer Tam'd," by Beaumont and
Fletcher [Dyce's edit. vii. 194], Maria says to Petruchio, who had
threatened to travel, in order to be rid of her--

    "I do commit your reformation;
    And so I leave you to your _stilo novo_."

--[Act. iv. sc. 5.]



ACT IV., SCENE I.


               _Enter +Æmilia+ and +Angelia+, disguised._

    +Æmi.+ Why, gentle boy, think what a happy bliss
    Thou shalt enjoy, before thou know'st what 'tis!

    +Ang.+ 'Twill be a dear experiment, to waste
    My prime and flower of youth, and suffer all
    Those liquid sweats to be extracted from me
    By the hot influence of consuming lust,
    Only to find how well you can express
    What skilful arts are hid in wickedness!

    +Æmi.+ Thou dream'st, fond boy: those sweets of youth and beauty
    Were lent, to be employ'd upon their like;
    And when they both do meet, and are extinguish'd,
    From their mix'd heat a rich perfume shall rise,
    And burn, to love a grateful sacrifice.

    +Ang.+ But I'll not be so prodigal to lavish
    Such gifts away, that be irrevocable
    And yet the first that leave us.

    +Æmi.+ 'Twill be ne'er exacted,
    How soon you have bestow'd them, but how well.
    What good or profit can a hidden treasure[345]
    Do more than feed the miser's greedy eye,
    When, if 'twere well bestow'd, it might enrich
    The owner and the user of it? Such
    Is youth and nature's bounty, that receive
    A gain from the expense; but, were there none
    But a mere damage, yet the pleasure of it
    And the delight would recompense the loss.

    +Ang.+ Whate'er the pleasure be or the delight,
    I am too young, not plum'd for such a flight.

    +Æmi.+ Too young? a poor excuse! alas, your will
    Is weaker than your power. No one can be
    Too young to learn good acts; and, for my part,
    I am not taken with a boisterous sinew,
    A brawny limb or back of Hercules,
    But with a soft delicious beauty; such
    As people, looking on his doubtful sex,
    Might think him male or female.

    +Ang.+ I cannot blame
    These just Italians, to lock up their wives,
    That are so free and dissolute: they labour
    Not with their country's heat more than their own.
    Will you be satisfied? I am too young.

    +Æmi.+ Too young! I like you the better. There is a price
    Due to the early cherry: the first apples
    Deserve more grace: the budding rose is set by;
    But, stale and fully-blown, is left for vulgars
    To rub their sweaty fingers on. Too young!
    As well you may affirm the tender tree
    Too young to graft upon; or you may say,
    The rising sun's too young to court the day.

    +Ang.+ But there are bonds Hymen has laid upon you,
    Keep us asunder.

    +Æmi.+ Those are only toys,
    Shadows, mere apparitions of doubt
    To affright children. Do but yield unto me,
    My arms shall be thy sphere to wander in,
    Circled about with spells to charm these fears;
    And when thou sleep'st, Cupid shall crown thy slumbers[346]
    With thousand shapes of lustful dalliance:
    Then will I bathe thee in ambrosia,
    And from my lips distil such nectar on thee,
    Shall make thy flesh immortal.

                           _Enter +Lorenzo+._

    +Lor.+ How now, wife, is this your exercise?
    Wife, did I say? Stain of my blood and issue,
    The great antipathy unto my nature,
    Courting your paramour! Death to my honour!
    What have I seen and heard? Curse of my fate!
    Would I had first been deaf, or thou struck dumb,
    Before this Gorgon, this damn'd vision,
    Had numb'd my faculties.

    +Æmi.+ What have you seen
    Or heard more than a dialogue I read
    This morning in a book?

    +Lor.+ Would thou and that book
    Were both burnt for heretics! You genial powers,
    Why did you send this serpent to my bosom,
    To pierce me through with greater cruelty
    Than Cleopatra felt from stings of adders?
    Hence from my sight, thou venom to my eyes!
    Would I could look thee dead, or with a frown
    Dissect thee into atoms, and then hurl them
    About the world to cast infection,
    And blister all they light on!

    +Æmi.+ You are mad,
    And rave without a cause.

    +Lor.+ O heavens! she means
    To justify her sin! Can'st thou redeem
    Thy lost fame and my wrongs?

    +Æmi.+ No, sir, I'll leave you;
    You are too passionate.

    +Ang.+ Pray, sir, be satisfied; we meant no hurt.

    +Lor.+ What charm held back my hand, I did not let
    Her foul blood out, then throw't into the air,
    Whence it might mount up to the higher region,
    And there convert into some fearful meteor,
    To threaten all her kindred? Stay, sweet child,
    For thou art virtuous: yet go, however;
    Thou putt'st me in remembrance of some ill.
    Diana blush'd Actæon to a stag:                       [_Exit +Ang.+_
    What shall lust do? Chastity made horns!
    I shall be grafted with a horrid pair;
    And between every branch a written scroll
    Shall speak my shame, that foot-boys shall discern it,
    And sailors read it, as they pass along!
    If I bear this, I have no soul nor spleen.
    I must invent some mischief. Smallest cares
    Are talkative, whilst great ones silent are.[347]           [_Exit._

                           _Enter +Æmilia+._

    +Æmi.+ What have I done, that with a clue of lust
    Have wrought myself in such a labyrinth,
    Whence I shall ne'er get free? There is no wrong
    Like to the breach of wedlock: those injuries
    Are writ in marble, time shall ne'er rase out.
    The hearts of such, if they be once divided,
    Will ne'er grow one again: sooner you may
    Call the spent day, or bid the stream return,
    That long since slid beside you. I am lost;
    Quite forfeited to shame, which till I felt,
    I ne'er foresaw; so was the less prepared.
    But yet, they say, a woman's wit is sudden,
    And quick at an excuse. I was too foolish.
    Had he confounded heaven and earth with oaths,
    I might have sworn him down, or wept so truly,
    That he should sooner question his own eyes,
    Than my false tears: this had been worth the acting:
    Or else I might have stood to the defence on't,
    Been angry, and took a courage from my crimes;
    But I was tame and ignorant!

                           _Enter +Lionel+._

    +Lio.+ Save you, lady!

    +Æmi.+ O signior Lionel, you have undone me.

    +Lio.+ Who, I! Which way?

    +Æmi.+ The boy you brought my husband.

    +Lio.+ Ay, what of him?

    +Æmi.+ He is a witch, a thief,
    That has stol'n all my honours. His smooth visage
    Seem'd like a sea becalm'd or a safe harbour,
    Where love might ride securely, but was found
    A dangerous quick-sand, wherein are perish'd
    My hopes and fortunes, by no art or engine
    To be weigh'd up again.

    +Lio.+ Instruct me how?

    +Æmi.+ Teach me the way then, that I may relate
    My own ill story with as great a boldness
    As I did first conceive, and after act it.
    What wicked error led my wand'ring thoughts
    To gaze on his false beauty, that has prov'd
    The fatal minute of my mind's first ruin?
    Shall I be brief?

    +Lio.+ What else?

    +Æmi.+ How can I speak,
    Or plead with hope, that have so bad a cause!

    +Lio.+ You torture me too much: the fear of evil
    Is worse than the event.

    +Æmi.+ Then, though my heart
    Abhor the memory, I'll tell it out.--
    The boy I mentioned (whatever power
    Did lay on me so sad a punishment)
    I did behold him with a lustful eye,
    And, which is the perfection of sin,
    Did woo him to my will.

    +Lio.+ Well, what of that?
    You are not the first offender in that kind.

    +Æmi.+ My suit no sooner ended, but came in
    My jealous husband.

    +Lio.+ That was something indeed!

    +Æmi.+ Who overheard us all.

    +Lio.+ A shrewd mischance!

    +Æmi.+ Judge with what countenance he did behold me,
    Or I view him, that had so great a guilt
    Hang on my brow. My looks and hot desire
    Both fell together; whilst he, big with anger,
    And swol'n high with revenge, hastes from my presence,
    Only to study how to inflict some torture,
    Which I stay to expect: and here you see
    The suffering object of his cruelty.

    +Lio.+ Methinks it were an easy thing for one
    That were ingenious, to retort all
    On his own head, and make him ask forgiveness.

    +Æmi.+ That would be a scene indeed!

    +Lio.+ I have been fortunate
    In such turns in my days.

    +Æmi.+ Could you do this,
    I'd swear you had more wit than Mercury,
    Or his son Autolycus[348] that was able
    To change black into white.

    +Lio.+ Do not despair:
    I have a genius was ne'er false to me;
    If he should fail me now in these extremes,
    I would not only wonder, but renounce him:
    He tells me, something may be done. Be rul'd,
    And if I plot not so, to make all hit,
    Then you shall take the mortgage of my wit.

    +Æmi.+ However, sir, you speak comfortably.               [_Exeunt._

      _Enter_ +Aurelio+ _above_; +Duke+ _and_ +Leonardo+ [_pass_]
                           _over the stage_.

    +Aur.+ Good morrow, gentlemen. What, you are for the feast, I
    perceive.

    +Duke.+ Master Aurelio, good morrow to you. Whose chamber's
    that, I pray?

    +Aur.+ My own, sir, now; I thank ill fortune and a good wife.

    +Duke.+ What! are you married, and your friends not
    pre-acquainted? This will be construed amongst them.

    +Aur.+ A stolen wedding, sir! I was glad to apprehend any
    occasion, when I found her inclining. We'll celebrate the
    solemnities hereafter, when there shall be nothing wanting to
    make our Hymen happy and flourishing.

    +Leo.+ In good time, sir. Who is your spouse, I pray?

    +Aur.+ Marry, sir, a creature for whose sake I have endured
    many a heat and cold, before I could vanquish her. She has
    proved one of Hercules' labours to me; but time, that prefers
    all things, made my long toil and affection both successful:
    and, in brief, 'tis mistress Lucretia, as very a haggard as
    ever was brought to fist.

    +Duke.+ Indeed! I have often heard you much complain of her
    coyness and disdain; what auspicious charm has now reconciled
    you together?

    +Aur.+ There is, sir, a critical minute in every man's wooing,
    when his mistress may be won; which if he carelessly neglect
    to prosecute, he may wait long enough before he gain the like
    opportunity.

    +Leo.+ It seems, sir, you have lighted upon't. We wish you much
    joy in your fair choice.

    +Aur.+ Thank you, gentlemen; and I to either of you no worse
    fortune. But that my wife is not yet risen, I would intreat you
    take the pains come up and visit her.

    +Duke.+ No, sir, that would be uncivil; we'll wait some fitter
    occasion to gratulate your rites. Good-morrow to you.     [_Exeunt._

    +Aur.+ Your servant! Nay, lie you still, and dare not so much
    as proffer to mutter; for if you do, I vanish. Now, if you will
    revolt, you may. I have laid a stain upon your honour, which
    you shall wash off as well as you can.

                          _Enter +Lucretia+._

    +Luc.+ Was this done like a gentleman, or indeed like a true
    lover, to bring my name in question, and make me no less than
    your whore? Was I ever married to you? Speak.

    +Aur.+ No; but you may, when you please.

    +Luc.+ Why were you then so impudent to proclaim such a
    falsehood, and say I was your wife, and that you had lain with
    me, when 'twas no such matter?

    +Aur.+ Because I meant to make you so, and no man else should
    do it.

    +Luc.+ 'Slight, this is a device to over-reach a woman with! He
    has madded me, and I would give a hundred crowns I could scold
    out my anger.                                              [_Aside._

    +Aur.+ Come, there's no injury done to you but what lies in my
    power to make whole again.

    +Luc.+ Your power to make whole! I'll have no man command me so
    far. What can any lawful jury judge of my honesty, upon such
    proofs as these, when they shall see a gentleman making himself
    ready[349] so early, and saluting them out of the chamber,
    whither (like a false man) thou hast stolen in by the bribery
    of my servant? Is this no scandal?

    +Aur.+ 'Twas done on purpose, and I am glad my inventions
    thrive so; therefore do not stand talking, but resolve.

    +Luc.+ What should I resolve?

    +Aur.+ To marry me for the safeguard of your credit, and that
    suddenly; for I have made a vow that, unless you will do it
    without delay, I'll not have you at all.

    +Luc.+ Some politician counsel me! There's no such torment to a
    woman, though she affect a thing ever so earnestly, yet to be
    forced to it.

    +Aur.+ What, are you agreed?

    +Luc.+ Well, you are a tyrant, lead on: what must be, must
    be; but if there were any other way in the earth to save my
    reputation, I'd never have thee.

    +Aur.+ Then I must do you a courtesy against your will.   [_Exeunt._

                    _Enter +Petrucio+ and +Cook+._

    +Pet.+ Come, honest cook, let me see how thy imagination has
    wrought, as well as thy fingers, and what curiosity thou hast
    shown in the preparation of this banquet; for gluttoning
    delights to be ingenious.

    +Cook.+ I have provided you a feast, sir, of twelve dishes,
    whereof each of them is an emblem of one of the twelve signs in
    the Zodiac.

    +Pet.+ Well said! Who will now deny that cookery is a mystery?

    +Cook.+ Look you, sir, there is the list of them.

    +Pet.+ Aries, Taurus, Gemini; good: for Aries, a dish of
    lamb-stones and sweet-breads; for Taurus, a sirloin of beef;
    for Gemini, a brace of pheasants; for Cancer, a buttered crab;
    for Libra, a balance--in one scale a custard, in the other a
    tart--that's a dish for an alderman; for Virgo, a green salad;
    for Scorpio, a grand one; for Sagittarius, a pasty of venison;
    for Aquarius, a goose; for Pisces, two mullets. Is that all?

    +Cook.+ Read on, sir.

    +Pet.+ And in the middle of the table, to have an artificial
    hen, made of puff-paste, with her wings displayed, sitting upon
    eggs composed of the same materials; where in each of them
    shall be enclosed a fat nightingale, well seasoned with pepper
    and amber-grease.[350] So then will I add one invention more
    of my own; for I will have all these descend from the top of my
    roof in a throne, as you see Cupid or Mercury in a play.

    +Cook.+ That will be rare indeed, sir!                      [_Exit._

                     _Enter +Duke+ and +Leonardo+._

    +Pet.+ See, the guests are come; go, and make all ready.
    Gentles, you are welcome.

    +Duke.+ Is the Antiquary arrived, or no? can you tell, sir?

    +Pet.+ Not yet, but I expect him each minute--

                         _Enter +Antiquary+._

    See, your word has charmed him hither already!

    +Duke.+ Signior, you are happily encountered, and the rather,
    because I have good news to tell you: the Duke has been so
    gracious as to release his demand for your antiquities.

    +Ant.+ Has he? You have filled me all over with spirit, with
    which I will mix sixteen glasses of wine to his health, the
    first thing I do. Would I knew his highness, or had a just
    occasion to present my loyalty at his feet!

    +Duke.+ For that, take no thought; it shall be my care to bring
    you and Signior Petrucio here both before him. I have already
    acquainted him with both your worths, and for aught I can
    gather by his speech, he intends to do you some extraordinary
    honours: it may be, he will make one a senator, because of
    his age: and on the other, bestow his daughter or niece in
    marriage. There's some such thing hatching, I assure you.

    +Pet.+ Very likely, I imagined as much: that last shall be my
    lot; I knew some such destiny would befall me. [_Aside._] Shall
    we be jovial upon this news, and thrust all sadness out of
    doors?

    +Leo.+ For our parts, Vitellius was never so voluptuous: all
    our discourse shall run wit to the last.

    +Duke.+ Our mirth shall be the quintessence of pleasure,
    And our delight flow with that harmony,
    Th' ambitious spheres shall to the centre shrink,
    To hear our music; such ravishing accents,
    As are from poets in their fury hurl'd,
    When their outrageous raptures fill the world.

    +Pet.+ There spoke my genius!                              [_Aside._

    +Ant.+ Now you talk of music, have you e'er a one that can play
    us an old lesson, or sing us an old song?

    +Pet.+ An old lesson! yes, he shall play _The Beginning of the
    World_;[351] and for a song, he shall sing one that was made to
    the moving of the orbs, when they were first set in tune.

    +Ant.+ Such a one would I hear.

    +Pet.+ Walk in then, and it shall not be long, before I satisfy
    your desires.                                             [_Exeunt._

             _Enter +Petro+ and +Julia+, with two bottles._

    +Julia.+ Come, master Petro, welcome heartily; while they are
    drinking within, we'll be as merry as the maids: I stole these
    bottles from under the cupboard, on purpose against your coming.

    +Pet.+ Courteous mistress Julia, how shall I deserve this
    favour from you?

    +Julia.+ There is a way, master Petro, if you could find it;
    but the tenderness of your youth keeps you in ignorance: 'tis a
    great fault, I must tell you.

    +Pet.+ I shall strive to amend it, if you please to instruct
    me, lady.

    +Julia.+ Alas, do not you know what maids love all this while?
    You must come oftener amongst us; want of company keeps the
    spring of your blood backward.

    +Pet.+ It does so; but you shall see, when we are private, I
    shall begin to practise with you better.

                           _Enter +Baccha+._

    +Bac.+ Master Petro, this was kindly done of you.

    +Pet.+ What's my master a-doing, can you tell?

    +Bac.+ Why, they are as jovial as twenty beggars, drink their
    whole cups, six glasses at a health: your master's almost
    tipped already.

    +Pet.+ So much the better, his business is the sooner
    dispatched.

    +Julia.+ Well let us not stand idle, but verify the proverb,
    _Like master, like man_; and it shall go hard, Master Petro,
    but we will put you in the same cue.

    +Pet.+ Let me have fair play, put nothing in my cup, and do
    your worst.

    +Bac.+ Unless the cup have that virtue to retain the print of
    a kiss or the glance of an eye, to enamour you: nothing else, I
    assure you.

    +Pet.+ For that I shall be more thirsty of than of the liquor.

    +Julia.+ Then let's make no more words, but about it presently.
    Come, Master Petro, will you walk in?

    +Pet.+ I attend you.

    +Bac.+ It shall go hard, but I'll drink him asleep, and then
    work some knavery upon him.                               [_Exeunt._

        _Enter +Duke+, +Leonardo+, and the +Antiquary+ drunk._

    +Ant.+ I'll drink with all Xerxes' army now; a whole river at a
    draught.

    +Duke.+ By'r lady, sir, that requires a large swallow.

    +Ant.+ 'Tis all one to our noble duke's health: I can drink no
    less, not a drop less; and you his servants will pledge me, I
    am sure.

    +Leo.+ Yes, sir, if you could show us a way, when we had done,
    how to build water-mills in our bellies.

    +Ant.+ Do you what you will; for my part, I will begin it again
    and again, till Bacchus himself shall stand amazed at me.

    +Leo.+ But should this quantity of drink come up, 'twere enough
    to breed a deluge, and drown a whole country.

    +Ant.+ No matter, they can ne'er die better than to be drowned
    in the duke's health.

    +Duke.+ Well, sir, I'll acquaint him how much he is beholden to
    you.

    +Ant.+ Will you believe me, gentlemen, upon my credit?

    +Leo.+ Yes, sir, anything.

    +Ant.+ Do you see these breeches then?

    +Leo.+ Ay, what of them?

    +Ant.+ These were Pompey's breeches, I assure you.

    +Duke.+ Is't possible?

    +Ant.+ He had his denomination from them: he was called Pompey
    the Great, from wearing these great breeches.

    +Leo.+ I never heard so much before.

    +Ant.+ And this was Julius Cæsar's hat, when he was killed
    in the Capitol; and I am as great as either of them at this
    present.

    +Leo.+ Like enough so.

    +Ant.+ And in my conceit I am as honourable.

    +Duke.+ If you are not, you deserve to be.

    +Ant.+ Where's Signor Petrucio?

                   _Enter +Petrucio+ and +Gasparo+._

    +Pet.+ Nay, good father, do not trouble me now; 'tis enough
    now, that I have promised you to go to the duke with me; in the
    meantime, let me work out matters; do not clog me in the way
    of my preferment. When I am a nobleman, I will do by you, as
    Jupiter did by the other deities; that is, I will let down my
    chair of honour, and pull you up after me.[352]

    +Gas.+ Well, you shall rule me, son.                        [_Exit._

    +Duke.+ Signor, where have you been?

    +Pet.+ I have been forcing my brain to the composition of a
    few verses, in the behalf of your entertainment, and I never
    knew them flow so dully from me before: an exorcist would have
    conjured you up half-a-dozen spirits in the space.

    +Leo.+ Indeed, I heard you make a fearful noise, as if you had
    been in travail with some strange monster.

    +Pet.+ But I have brought them out at last, I thank Minerva,
    and without the help of a midwife.

    +Ant.+ Reach me a chair: I'll sit down, and read them for you.

    +Leo.+ You read them!

    +Ant.+ Yes, but I'll put on my optics first. Look you, these
    were Hannibal's spectacles.

    +Duke.+ Why, did Hannibal wear spectacles?

    +Ant.+ Yes; after he grew dim with dust in following the camp,
    he wore spectacles. Reach me the paper.

    +Leo.+ No; an author must recite his own works.

    +Ant.+ Then I'll sit and sleep.

    +Leo.+ Read on, signior.

    +Pet.+ They were made to show how welcome you are to me.

    +Duke.+ Read them out.

    +Pet.+

    _As welcome as the gentry's to the town,
    After a long and hard vacation:
    As welcome as a toss'd ship's to a harbour,
    Health to the sick, or a cast suit to a barber:
    Or as a good new play is to the times,
    When they have long surfeited with base rhymes:
    As welcome as the spring is to the year,
    So are my friends to me, when I have good cheer._

                         [_While he reads the +Antiquary+ falls asleep._

    +Duke.+ Ay, marry, sir, we are doubly beholden to you. What, is
    Signior Veterano fallen asleep, and at the recitation of such
    verses? A most inhuman disgrace, and not to be digested!

    +Pet.+ Has he wronged me so discourteously? I'll be revenged,
    by Phœbus.

    +Leo.+ But which way can you parallel so foul an injury?

    +Pet.+ I'll go in, and make some verses against him.

    +Duke.+ That you shall not; 'tis not requital sufficient: I
    have a better trick than so. Come, bear him in, and you shall
    see what I will invent for you. This was a wrong and a half.
                                                              [_Exeunt._

                     _Enter +Æmilia+ and +Lionel+._

    +Æmi.+ Now, Master Lionel, as you have been fortunate in the
    forecasting of this business, so pray be studious in the
    executing, that we may both come off with honour.

    +Lio.+ Observe but my directions, and say nothing.

    +Æmi.+ The whole adventure of my credit depends upon your care
    and evidence.

    +Lio.+ Let no former passage discourage you; be but as
    peremptory, as [your][353] cause is good.

    +Æmi.+ Nay, if I but once apprehend a just occasion to usurp
    over him, let me alone to talk and look scurvily. Step aside, I
    hear him coming.

                          _Enter +Lorenzo+._

    +Lor.+ My wife? some angel guard me! The looks of Medusa were
    not so ominous. I'll haste from the infection of her sight, as
    from the appearance of a basilisk.

    +Æmi.+ Nay, sir, you may tarry; and if virtue has not quite
    forsook you, or that your ears be not altogether obdurate
    to good counsel, consider what I say, and be ashamed of the
    injuries you have wrought against me.

    +Lor.+ What unheard-of evasion has the subtlety of woman's
    nature suggested to her thoughts, to come off now?

    +Æmi.+ Well, sir, however you carry it, 'tis I have reason
    to complain; but the mildness of my disposition and enjoined
    obedience will not permit me, though indeed your wantonness and
    ill-carriage have sufficiently provoked me.

    +Lor.+ Provoked you! I provoked you? As if any fault in a
    husband should warrant the like in his wife! No: 'twas thy lust
    and mightiness of desire, that is so strong within thee. Had'st
    thou no company, no masculine object to look upon, yet thy own
    fancy were able to create a creature, with whom thou might'st
    commit, though not an actual, yet a mental wickedness.

    +Æmi.+ What recompense can you make me for those slanderous
    conceits, when they shall be proved false to you?

    +Lor.+ Hear me, thou base woman! thou that art the abstract of
    all ever yet was bad; with whom mischief is so incorporate,
    that you are both one piece together; and but that you go still
    hand in hand, the devil were not sufficient to encounter with;
    for thou art indeed able to instruct him! Do not imagine with
    this frontless impudence to stand daring of me: I can be angry,
    and as quick in the execution of it, I can.

    +Æmi.+ Be as angry as you please; truth and honesty will be
    confident, in despite of you: those are virtues that will look
    justice itself in the face.

    +Lor.+ Ay, but where are they? Not a-near you; thou would'st
    blast them to behold thee: scarce, I think, in the world,
    especially such worlds as you women are.

    +Æmi.+ Hum! to see, what an easy matter it is to let a
    jealous, peevish husband go on, and rebuke him at pleasure!

    +Lor.+ So lewd and stubborn!--mads me. Speak briefly, what
    objection can you allege against me or for yourself.

    +Æmi.+ None, alas, against you! You are virtuous; but you think
    you can act the Jupiter, to blind me with your escapes and
    concealed trulls: yet I am not so simple, but I can play the
    Juno, and find out your exploits.

    +Lor.+ What exploits? What concealed trulls?

    +Æmi.+ Why, the supposed boy you seem to be jealous of, 'tis
    your own leman,[354] your own dear morsel: I have searched out
    the mystery. Husbands must do ill, and wives must bear the
    reproach! A fine inversion!

    +Lor.+ I am more in a maze, more involv'd in a labyrinth, than
    before.

    +Æmi.+ You were best plead innocence too, 'tis your safest
    refuge: but I did not think a man of your age and beard had
    been so lascivious to keep a disguised callet[355] under my
    nose; a base cockatrice[356] in page's apparel to wait upon
    you, and rob me of my due benevolence! There's no law nor
    equity to warrant this.

    +Lor.+ Why, do I any such thing?

    +Æmi.+ Pray, what else is the boy, but your own hermaphrodite?
    a female siren in a male outside! Alas! had I intended what you
    suspect and accuse me for, I had been more wary, more private
    in the carriage, I assure you.

    +Lor.+ Why, is that boy otherwise than he appears to be?

                           _Enter +Lionel+._

    +Æmi.+ 'Tis a thing will be quickly search'd out. Your secret
    bawdry and the murder of my good name will not long lie hid, I
    warrant you.

    +Lio.+ Now is my cue to second her.                        [_Aside._

    +Lor.+ Signior Lionel, most welcome. I would entreat your
    advice here to the clearing of a doubt.

    +Lio.+ What's that, sir?

    +Lor.+ 'Tis concerning the boy you placed with me.

    +Lio.+ Ay, what of him?

    +Lor.+ Whether it were an enchantment or no, or an illusion
    of the sight, or if I could persuade myself it was a dream,
    'twere better; but my imagination so persuaded me, that I heard
    my wife and him interchanging amorous discourse together. To
    what an extremity of passion the frailty of man's nature might
    induce me to!

    +Lio.+ Very good.

    +Lor.+ Not very good, neither; but, after the expense of so
    much anger and distraction, my wife comes upon me again, and
    affirms that he is no boy, but a disguised mistress of my own,
    and upon this swells against me, as if she had lain all night
    in the leaven.

    +Æmi.+ Have not I reason?

    +Lor.+ Pray, sir, will you inform us of the verity of his sex.

    +Lio.+ Then take it upon my word, 'tis a woman.

    +Æmi.+ Now, sir, what have you to answer?

    +Lor.+ I am not yet thoroughly satisfied; but if it be a woman,
    I must confess my error.

    +Æmi.+ What satisfaction's that, after so great a wrong, and
    the taking away of my good name? You forget my deserts, and how
    I brought you a dowry of ten talents: besides, I find no such
    superfluity of courage in you to do this, neither.

    +Lor.+ Well, were he a boy or no, 'tis more than I can affirm;
    yet this I'll swear, I entertained him for no mistress, and, I
    hope, you for no servant; therefore, good wife, be pacified.

    +Æmi.+ No, sir, I'll call my kindred and my friends together,
    then present a joint complaint of you to the senate, and if
    they right me not, I'll protest there's no justice in their
    court or government.

    +Lor.+ If she have this plea against me, I must make my peace;
    she'll undo me else. [_Aside._] Sweet wife, I'll ask thee
    forgiveness upon my knees, if thou wilt have me: I rejoice more
    that thou art clear, than I was angry for the supposed offence.
    Be but patient, and the liberty thou enjoyedst before shall be
    thought thraldom hereafter. Sweet sir, will you mediate?

    +Lio.+ Come, sweet lady, upon my request you shall be made
    friends; 'twas but a mistake; conceive it so, and he shall
    study to redeem it.

    +Æmi.+ Well, sir, upon this gentleman's intreaty, you have your
    pardon. You know the propensity of my disposition, and that
    makes you so bold with me.

    +Lor.+ Pray, Master Lionel, will you acquaint my wife with the
    purpose of this concealment; for I am utterly ignorant, and she
    has not the patience to hear me.

    +Lio.+ It requires more privacy than so, neither is it yet ripe
    for projection; but because the community of counsel is the
    only pledge of friendship, walk in, and I'll acquaint you.

    +Lor.+ Honest, sweet wife, I thank thee with all my heart.
                                                              [_Exeunt._

          _Enter +Duke+, +Leonardo+, and +Petrucio+, bringing
                 in the +Antiquary+, in a fool's coat._

    +Duke.+ So, set him down softly; then let us slip aside, and
    overhear him.

    +Ant.+ Where am I? What metamorphosis am I crept into? A
    fool's coat! what's the emblem of this, trow? Who has thus
    transformed me, I wonder? I was awake, am I not asleep still?
    Why, Petro, you rogue: sure, I have drank of Circe's cup, and
    that has turn'd me to this shape of a fool: and I had drank a
    little longer, I had been changed into an ass. Why, Petro, I
    say, I will not rest calling, till thou comest----

                  _Enter +Petro+ in woman's clothes._

    Heyday, what more transmigrations of forms! I think Pythagoras
    has been amongst us. How came you thus accoutred, sirrah?

    +Pet.+ Why, sir, the wenches made me drunk, and dressed me, as
    you see.

    +Ant.+ A merry world the while! My boy and I make one
    hermaphrodite, and now, next Midsummer-ale,[357] I may serve
    for a fool, and he for a Maid-Marian.

                     _Enter +Duke+ and +Leonardo+._

    +Duke.+ Who is this? Signor Veterano?

    +Ant.+ The same, sir: I was not so when you left me. Do you
    know who has thus abused me?

    +Duke.+ Not I, sir.

    +Ant.+ You promised to do me a courtesy.

    +Duke.+ Anything lies in my power.

    +Ant.+ Then, pray, will you bring me immediately to the duke?

    +Duke.+ Not as you are, I hope.

    +Ant.+ Yes, as I am: he shall see how I am wronged amongst
    them. I know he loves me, and will right me. Pray, sir, forbear
    persuasion to the contrary, and lead on.                  [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[345] See Milton's "Comus," l. 739, &c.

[346] So in "King Henry IV., Part I."--

"And on thine eye-lids _crown_ the god of sleep."

--_Steevens._ [The whole passage seems to be imitated from one in
"Venus and Adonis."]

[347] So Seneca--

"Curæ leves loquuntur: ingentes stupent."

--_Pegge._

[348] Famous for all the arts of fraud and thievery--

"Non fuit Autolyci tam piccata manus."

--_Martial._

See Mr Steevens's note on "The Winter's Tale," act iv. sc. 2.

[349] [Dressing himself.]

[350] Ambergrease was formerly an ingredient used in heightening
sauces. So in Milton's "Paradise Regained," book ii. l. 344--

    "In pastry built, or from the spit, or boil'd,
    _Gris amber_ steam'd."--_Steevens._

On this passage Dr Newton observes, that "ambergris, or grey amber, is
esteemed the best, and used in perfumes and cordials." A curious lady
communicated the following remarks upon this passage to Mr Peck, which
we will here transcribe: "_Grey amber_ is the amber our author here
speaks of, and melts like butter. It was formerly a main ingredient
in every concert for a banquet--viz., to fume the meat with, and
that whether boiled, roasted, or baked; laid often on the top of a
baked pudding; which last I have eat of at an old courtier's table.
And I remember, in our old chronicle there is much complaint of the
nobilities being made sick, at Cardinal Wolsey's banquets, with rich
scented cates and dishes most costly dressed with _ambergris_. I also
recollect I once saw a little book writ by a gentlewoman of Queen
Elizabeth's Court, where ambergris is mentioned as the _haut-gout_ of
that age." So far this curious lady; and Beaumont and Fletcher, in the
"Custom of the Country," act iii. sc. 2--

                            "Be sure
    The wines be lusty, high, and full of spirit,
    And _amber'd_ all."

It appears also to have been esteemed a restorative, being mentioned,
with other things used for that purpose, in Marston's "Fawne," act ii.
sc. 1. See also Surflet's Translation of Laurentius's "Discourse of Old
Age, &c.," 1599, p. 194.

[351] [Or Sellenger's _Round_. See Chappell's "Popular Music," pp. 69,
70.]

[352] See Homer's "Iliad," viii:--

             Σειρὴν χρυσείην ἐξ οὐρανόθεν κρεμασάντες, &c.

--_Steevens._

[353] [Mr. Collier's addition.]

[354] _Leman_ is the old word for a _lover_ of either sex; and in
a note to "The Merry Wives of Windsor," act iv. sc. 2, Mr Steevens
derives it from _lief_, which is Dutch for beloved. In this opinion he
only follows Junius, while others consider it to have its origin in
_l'aimant_.

    "Judge Apius, prickt forth with filthy desire,
    Thy person as _Lemmon_ doth greatly require."

--_Apius and Virginia_, 1575, sign. D 3.

In "The Contention between Liberalitie and Prodigalitie," 1602, it is
made the subject of a pun:

    "He shall have a _Lemmon_ to moysten his mouth:
    A _Lymon_, I meane, no _Lemman_, I trow;
    Take hede, my faire maides, you take me not so."

--Sign. C 4.--_Collier._

[355] [Drab.]

[356] This was one of the names by which women of ill-fame were usually
distinguished.

So in Ben Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour" "His chief exercises
are taking the whiff, squiring a _cockatrice_, and making privy
searches for imparters."

In "Cynthia's Revels," act ii. sc. 4: "--Marry, to _his cockatrice, or
punquetto_, half a dozen taffata gowns, or sattin kirtles, in a pair or
two of months; why, they are nothing."

And in his "Poetaster," act iii. sc. 4: "--I would fain come with my
_cockatrice_, one day, and see a play, if I knew when there were a good
bawdy one."

Again in Massinger's "City Madam," act ii. sc. 1:

    "----My fidlers playing all night
    The shaking of the sheets, which I have danced
    Again and again with _my cockatrice_."

And in Dekker's "Belman of London," sign. B.: "Shee feedes uppon gold
as the estredge doth upon iron, and drinks silver faster downe her
crane-like throat, than an _English cockatrice_ doth Hiphocras."

See also an extract from the "Gull's Horn Book," 1609, in Shakespeare,
p. 83, edit. 1778.

[357] Rustic meetings of festivity, at particular seasons, were
formerly called _ales_; as Church-ale, Whitsun-ale, Bride-ale,
Midsummer-ale, &c. Carew, in his "Survey of Cornwall," edition 1769, p.
68, gives the following account of the Church-ale; with which, it is
most likely, the others agreed:--"For the church-ale, two young men of
the parish are yerely chosen by their last foregoers, to be wardens;
who, dividing the task, make collection among the parishioners, of
whatsoever provision it pleaseth them voluntarily to bestow. This they
imploy in brewing, baking, and other acates, against Whitsontide; upon
which holydayes the neighbours meet at the church-house, and there
merily feede on their owne victuals, contributing some petty portion
to the stock; which by many smalls, groweth to a meetly greatnes; for
there is entertayned a kinde of emulation betweene these wardens, who
by his graciousnes in gathering, and good husbandry in expending, can
best advance the churches profit. Besides, the neighbour parishes at
those times lovingly visit one another, and this way frankely spend
their money together. The afternoones are consumed in such exercises
as olde and yong folke (having leysure) doe accustomably weare out the
time withall."----In the subsequent pages, Carew enters into a defence
of these meetings, which in his time had become productive of riot and
disorder, and were among the subjects of complaint by the more rigid
puritans. For an account of _Maid Marian_, see Mr Tollet's Dissertation
at the end of the "First Part of Henry IV." [But see both subjects
copiously illustrated in "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," i. 156,
_et seq._]



ACT V., SCENE I.


                _Enter +Lorenzo+, +Mocinigo+, +Æmilia+,
                            and +Lucretia+._

    +Lor.+ Now, Signor Mocinigo, what haste requires your presence?

    +Moc.+ Marry, sir, this. You brought me once into a paradise of
    pleasure and expectation of much comfort; my request therefore
    is, that you would no longer defer what then you so liberally
    promised.

    +Lor.+ How do you mean?

    +Moc.+ Why, sir, in joining that beauteous lady, your daughter,
    and myself in the firm bonds of matrimony; for I am somewhat
    impatient of delay in this kind, and indeed the height of my
    blood requires it.

    +Luc.+ Are you so hot? I shall give you a card to cool you[358]
    presently.                                                 [_Aside._

    +Lor.+ 'Tis an honest and a virtuous demand, and on all sides
    an action of great consequence; and, for my part, there's not a
    thing in the world I could wish sooner accomplished.

    +Moc.+ Thank you, sir.

    +Lor.+ There's another branch of policy, besides the coupling
    of you together, which springs from the fruitfulness of my
    brain, that I as much labour to bring to perfection as the
    other.

    +Moc.+ What's that, sir?

    +Lor.+ A device upon the same occasion, but with a different
    respect; 'tis to be imposed upon Petrucio. I hate to differ so
    much from the nature of an Italian, as not to be revengeful;
    and the occasion at this time was, he scorned the love of her,
    that you now so studiously affect; but I'll fit him in his
    kind.

    +Moc.+ Did he so? He deserves to have both his eyes struck
    as blind as Cupid's, his master, that should have taught him
    better manners. But how will you do it?

    +Lor.+ There's one Lionel, an ingenious witty gentleman.

    +Æmi.+ Ay, that he is, as ever breathed, husband, upon my
    knowledge.

    +Lor.+ Well, he is so, and we two have cast to requite it upon
    him. The plot, as he informs me, is already in agitation, and
    afterwards, sans delay, I'll bestow her upon you.

    +Luc.+ But you may be deceived.                            [_Aside._

    +Moc.+ Still you engage me more and more your debtor.

    +Lor.+ If I can bring both these to success, as they are
    happily intended, I may sit down, and, with the poet, cry,
    _Jamque opus exegi._

    +Moc.+ Would I could say so too; I wish as much, but 'tis you
    must confirm it, fair mistress: one bare word of your consent,
    and 'tis done. The sweetness of your looks encourage me, that
    you will join pity with your beauty; there shall be nothing
    wanting in me to demerit it; and then, I hope, although I am
    base,

    Base in respect of you divine and pure,
    Dutiful service may your love procure.

    +Lor.+ How now, Signor! What, love and poetry, have they two
    found you out? Nay, then you must conquer. Consider this,
    daughter; show thy obedience to Phœbus and god Cupid: make an
    humble professor of thyself; 'twill be the more acceptable, and
    advance thy deserts.

    +Æmi.+ Do, chicken, speak the word, and make him happy in a
    minute.

    +Lor.+ Well said, wife; solicit in his behalf; 'tis well done;
    I am loth to importune her too much, for fear of a repulse.

    +Æmi.+ Marry, come up, sir; you are still usurping in my
    company. Is this according to the articles proposed between
    us, that I should bear rule and you obey with silence? I had
    thought to have endeavoured for persuasion, but because you
    exhort me to it, I'll desist from what I intended: I'll do
    nothing but of my own accord, I.

    +Lor.+ Mum! wife, I have done. This we, that are married, must
    be subject to.

    +Moc.+ You give an ill example, Mistress Æmilia; you give an
    ill example----

    +Æmi.+ What old fellow is this that talks so? Do you know him,
    daughter?

    +Moc.+ Have you so soon forgot me, lady?

    +Æmi.+ Where has he had his breeding, I wonder? He is the
    offspring of some peasant, sure! Can he show any pedigree?

    +Lor.+ Let her alone, there's no dealing with her. Come,
    daughter, let me hear your answer to this gentleman.

    +Luc.+ Truly, sir, I have endeavoured all means possible, and
    in a manner enforced myself to love him----

    +Lor.+ Well said, girl.

    +Luc.+ But could never effect it.

    +Lor.+ How!

    +Luc.+ I have examined whatever might commend a gentleman, both
    for his exterior and inward abilities; yet, amongst all that
    may speak him worthy, I could never discern one good part or
    quality to invite affection.

    +Lor.+ This is it I feared. Now should I break out into rage;
    but my wife and a foolish nature withhold my passion.

    +Moc.+ I am undone, unspirited, my hopes vain, and my labours
    nullities!

    +Lor.+ Where be your large vaunts now, Signor? What strange
    tricks and devices you had to win a woman!

    +Moc.+ Such assurance I conceived of myself; but when they
    affect wilful stubbornness, lock up their ears, and will
    hearken to no manner of persuasion, what shall a man do?

    +Lor.+ You hear what taxes are laid upon you, daughter: these
    are stains to your other virtues.

    +Luc.+ Pray, sir, hear my defence. What sympathy can there be
    between our two ages or agreement in our conditions? But you'll
    object, he has means. 'Tis confess'd; but what assurance has he
    to keep it? Will it continue longer than the law permits him
    possession, which will come like a torrent, and sweep away all?
    He has made a forfeiture of his whole estate.

    +Lor.+ What, are you become a statist's daughter[359] or a
    prophetess? Whence have you this intelligence?

    +Moc.+ I hope she will not betray me.                      [_Aside._

    +Luc.+ If murder can exact it, 'tis absolutely lost.

    +Lor.+ How, murder!

    +Luc.+ Yes, he conspired the other day with a bravo, a
    cut-throat, to take away the life of a noble innocent
    gentleman, which is since discovered by miracle: the same that
    came with music to my window.

    +Moc.+ All's out; I'm ruined in her confession! That man that
    trusts woman with a privacy, and hopes for silence, he may as
    well expect it at the fall of a bridge![360] A secret with
    them is like a viper; 'twill make way, though it eat through
    the bowels of them.                                        [_Aside._

    +Lor.+ Take heed how you traduce a person of his rank and
    eminency: a scar in a mean man becomes a wound in a greater.

    +Luc.+ There he is, question him; and if he deny it, get him
    examined.

    +Lor.+ Why, signor, is this true?

    +Æmi.+ His silence betrays him: 'tis so.

    +Moc.+ 'Tis so, that all women thirst man's overthrow; that's
    a principle as demonstrative as truth: 'tis the only end they
    were made for; and when they have once insinuated themselves
    into our counsels, and gained the power of our life, the fire
    is more merciful; it burns within them till it get forth.

    +Lor.+ I commend her for the discovery: 'twas not fit her weak
    thoughts should be clogged with so foul a matter. It had been
    to her like forced meat to a surfeited stomach, that would have
    bred nothing but crudities in her conscience.

    +Moc.+ O my cursed fate! shame and punishment attend me! they
    are the fruits of lust. Sir, all that I did was for her ease
    and liberty.                                               [_Aside._

    +Luc.+ Nay, sir, he was so impudent to be an accessory. Who
    knows but he might as privately have plotted to have sent me
    after him; for how should I have been secure of my life when he
    made no scruple to kill another upon so small an inducement?

    +Æmi.+ Thou sayest right, daughter; thou shalt utterly
    disclaim him. The cast of his eye shows he was ever a knave.

    +Moc.+ How the scabs descant upon me!

    +Lor.+ What was the motive to this foul attempt?

    +Luc.+ Why, sir, because he was an affectionate lover of mine,
    and for no other reason in the earth.

    +Æmi.+ O mandrake, was that all? He thought, belike, he should
    not have enough. Thou covetous engrosser of venery. Why, one
    wife is able to content two husbands.

    +Moc.+ Sir, I am at your mercy: bid them not insult upon me. I
    beseech you, let me go as I came.

    +Lor.+ Stay there; I know not how I shall be censured for your
    escape. I may be thought a party in the business.

    +Luc.+ Besides, I hear since that the mercenary varlet that did
    it, though he be otherwise most desperate and hardened in such
    exploits, yet out of the apprehension of so unjust an act, and
    moved in conscience for so foul a guilt, is grown distracted,
    raves out of measure, confesses the deed, accuses himself and
    the procurer, curses both, and will by no means be quieted.

    +Lor.+ Where is that fellow?

    +Luc.+ Sir, if you please to accompany me, I will bring you to
    him, where your own eye and ear shall witness the certainty;
    and then, I hope, you will repent that ever you sought to tie
    me to such a monster as this, who preferred the heat of his
    desires before all laws of nature or humanity.

    +Lor.+ Yes, that I will, and gratulate the subtlety of thy wit,
    and goodness of fate, that protected thee from him.

    +Æmi.+ Away with him, husband: and be sure to beg his lands
    betimes, before your court-vultures scent his carcase.

    +Lor.+ Well said, wife; I should never have thought on this
    now, and thou had'st not put me in mind of it: women, I see,
    have the only masculine policy, and are the best solicitors
    and politicians of a state. But I'll first go and see him my
    daughter tells me of, that, when I am truly informed of all,
    I may the better proceed in my accusation against them. Come
    along, sir.

    +Moc.+ Well, if you are so violent, I'm as resolute: 'tis but a
    hanging matter, and do your worst.                        [_Exeunt._

                       _Enter +Bravo+ and +Boy+._

    +Bravo.+ What news, boy?

    +Boy.+ Sir, Mistress Lucretia commends her to you, and desires,
    as ever her persuasions wrought upon you, or as you affect her
    good, and would add credit and belief to what she has reported,
    that you would now strain your utmost to the expression of what
    she and you consulted of.

    +Bravo.+ I apprehend her: where is she?

    +Boy.+ Hard by, sir: her father, and the old fornicator
    Mocinigo, and I think her mother, are all coming to be
    spectators of your strange behaviour.                       [_Exit._

    +Bravo.+ Go, wait them in, let me alone to personate an
    ecstasy;[361] I am near mad already, and I do not fool myself
    quite into't, I care not. I'll withdraw, till they come.
                                                                [_Exit._

          _Enter +Lorenzo+, +Mocinigo+, +Æmilia+, +Lucretia+,
                              and +Boy+._

    +Lor.+ Is this the place?

    +Luc.+ Yes, sir. Where's your master, boy? how does he?

    +Boy.+ O sweet mistress, quite distempered; his brains turn
    round like the needle of a dial, six men's strength is not able
    to hold him; he was bound with I know not how many cords this
    morning, and broke them all. See, where he enters!

                            _Enter +Bravo+._

    +Bravo.+ Why, if I kill'd him, what is that to thee?
    Was I not hir'd unto it? 'twas not I,
    But the base gold that slew Sir Polydore:[362]
    Then damn the money,

    +Lor.+ He begins to preach.

    +Æmi.+ Will he do us no mischief, think you?

    +Boy.+ O no, he's the best for that in his fits that e'er you
    knew: he hurts nobody.

    +Moc.+ But I am vilely afraid of him.

    +Boy.+ If you are a vile person, or have done any great
    wickedness, you were best look to yourself; for those he knows
    by instinct, and assaults them with as much violence as may be.

    +Moc.+ Then am I perished. Good sir, I had rather answer the
    law than be terrified with his looks.

    +Lor.+ Nay, you shall tarry, and take part with us, by your
    favour.

    +Æmi.+ How his eyes sparkle!

    +Bravo.+ Look, where the ghost appears, his wounds fresh-bleeding!
    He frowns, and threatens me; [O,] could the substance
    Do nothing, and will shadows revenge?

    +Lor.+ 'Tis strange,
    This was a fearful murder.

    +Bravo.+ Do not stare so,
    I can look big too; all I did unto thee
    'Twas by another's instigation:
    There be some that are as deep in as myself;
    Go and fright them too.

    +Moc.+ Beshrew him for his counsel!                        [_Aside._

    +Lor.+ What a just judgment's here! 'Tis an old saying,
    Murder will out; and 'fore it shall lie hid,
    The authors will accuse themselves.

    +Bravo.+ Now he vanishes;
    Dost thou steal from me, fearful spirit? See
    The print of his footsteps!

    +Moc.+ That ever my lust should be the parent to so foul a sin!

                                                               [_Aside._

    +Bravo.+ He told me that his horrid tragedy
    Was acted over every night in hell,
    Where sad Erinnys, with her venom'd face,
    Sits[363] a spectatrix, black with the curls of snakes,
    That lift their speckled heads above their shoulders,
    And, thrusting forth their stings, hiss at their entrance;
    And that serves for an applause.

    +Moc.+ How can you have the heart to look upon him? pray let me go,
    I feel a looseness in my belly.

    +Lor.+ Nay, you shall hear all out first.

    +Moc.+ I confess it,
    What would you have more of me?

    +Bravo.+ Then fierce Enyo holds a torch, Megæra
    Another; I'll down and play my part amongst them,
    For I can do't to th' life.

    +Lor.+ Rather to the death.

    +Bravo.+ I'll trace th' infernal theatre, and view
    Those squalid actors, and the tragic pomp
    Of hell and night.

    +Moc.+ How ghastly his words sound! pray, keep him off from me.

    +Lor.+ The guilt of conscience makes you fearful, Signor!

    +Bravo.+ When I come there, I'll chain up Cerberus,
    Nay, I'll muzzle him; I'll pull down Æacus
    And Minos by the beard; then with my foot
    I'll tumble Rhadamanthus from his chair,
    And for the Furies I'll not suffer them;
    I'll be myself a Fury.

    +Moc.+ To vex me, I warrant you.

    +Bravo.+ Next will I post unto the Destinies,
    Shiver their wheel and distaff 'gainst the wall,
    And spoil their housewif'ry; I'll take their spindle,
    Where hang the threads of human life like beams
    Drawn from the sun, and mix them altogether--
    Kings with beggars.

    +Moc.+ Good sir, he comes towards me!

    +Bravo.+ That I could see that old fox Mocinigo,
    The villain that did tempt me to this deed!

    +Moc.+ He names me too; pray, sir, stand between us:
    Ladies, do you speak to him; I have not the faith.

    +Æmi.+ What would you do with him, if you had him?

    +Bravo.+ I'd serve him worse than Hercules did Lychas,[364]
    When he presented him the poison'd shirt,
    Which when he had put on, and felt the smart,
    He snatch'd him by the heels into the air,
    Swung him some once or twice about his head,
    Then shot him like a stone out of an engine,
    Three furlongs length into the Euboic sea.

    +Lor.+ What a huge progress is that for an old
    lover to be carried!

    +Bravo.+ What's he that seeks to hide himself?
    Come forth,
    Thou mortal, thou art a traitor or a murderer!
    O, is it you?

    +Moc.+ What will become of me? Pray, help me!
    I shall be torn in pieces else.

    +Bravo.+ You and I must walk together: come into the middle;
    yet further.

           _Enter +Aurelio+ as an Officer, and two Servants._

    +Aur.+ Where be these fellows here that murder men? Serjeants,
    apprehend them, and convey them straight before the duke.

    +Bravo.+ Who are you?

    +Aur.+ We are the duke's officers.

    +Bravo.+ The duke's officers must be obey'd, take heed of
    displeasing them: how majestically they look!

    +Lor.+ You see, wife, the charm of authority: and a man be
    ne'er so wild, it tames him presently.

    +Æmi.+ Ay, husband, I know what will tame a man besides
    authority.

    +Aur.+ Come, gentles, since you are all together, I must
    entreat your company along with us, to witness what you know in
    this behalf.

    +Lor.+ Sir, you have prevented us; for we intended to have
    brought him ourselves before his highness.

    +Aur.+ Then I hope your resolution will make it the easier to
    you. What, sir, will you go willingly?

    +Bravo.+ Without all contradiction; lead on.               [_Exeunt,
    flourish._

           _Enter +Lionel+ as the +Duke+; +Duke+, +Petrucio+,
                   +Gasparo+, +Angelia+ as a woman._

    +Duke.+ Come, Signor,
    This is the morning must shine bright upon you,
    Wherein preferment, that has slept obscure,
    And all this while linger'd behind your wishes,
    Shall overtake you in her greatest glories:
    Ambition shall be weak, to think the honours
    Shall crown your worth.

    +Pet.+ Father, you hear all this?

    +Gas.+ I do with joy, son, and am ravish'd at it;
    Therefore I have resign'd m' estate unto thee,
    (Only reserving some few crowns to live on)
    Because I'd have thee to maintain thy port.

    +Pet.+ You did as you ought.

    +Gas.+ 'Tis enough for me,
    To be the parent of so bless'd an issue.

    +Pet.+ Nay, if you are so apprehensive, I am
    satisfied.

    +Lio.+ Is this the gentleman you so commended?

    +Duke.+ It is the same, my liege, whose royal virtues,
    Fitting a prince's court, are the large field
    For fame to triumph in.

    +Lio.+ So you inform'd me: his face and carriage do import no less.

    +Duke.+ Report abroad speaks him as liberally;
    And in my thoughts Fortune deserves but ill,
    That she detain'd thus long her favours from him.

    +Lio.+ That will I make amends for.

    +Gas.+ Happy hour,
    And happy me to see it! Now I perceive
    He has more wit than myself.

    +Pet.+ What must I do?

    +Duke.+ What must you do? go straight and kneel before him,
    And thank his highness for his love.

    +Pet.+ I can't speak,
    I am so overcome with sudden gladness;
    Yet I'll endeavour it. [_He kneels._] Most mighty sovereign,
    Thus low I bow in humble reverence,
    To kiss the basis of your regal throne.

    +Lio.+ Rise up.

    +Pet.+ Your grace's servant.

    +Lio.+ We admit you
    Our nearest favourite in place and council.

    +Duke.+ Go to, you are made for ever.                      [_Aside._

    +Pet.+ I'll find some office
    To gratulate thy pains.

    +Lio.+ What was the cause,
    That you presented him no sooner to us?
    We might have bred him up in our affairs,
    And he have learnt the fashions of our court,
    Which might have render'd him more active.

    +Duke.+ Doubt not,
    His ingenuity will soon instruct him.

    +Lio.+ Then, to confirm him deeper in our friendship,
    We here assign our sister for his wife.
    What! is he bashful?

    +Pet.+ Speaks your grace in earnest?

    +Lio.+ What else? I'll have it so.

    +Duke.+ Why do you not step and take her?

    +Pet.+ Is't not a kind of treason?

    +Duke.+ Not if he bid you.

    +Pet.+ Divinest lady, are you so content?

    +Ang.+ What my brother commands, I must obey.

    +Lio.+ Join hands together; be wise; and use
    Your dignities with a due reverence.
    Tiberius Cæsar joy'd not in the birth
    Of great Sejanus' fortunes with that zeal,
    As I shall to have rais'd you--though I hope
    A different fate attends you.

    +Duke.+ Go to the church,
    Perform your rites there, and return again,
    As fast as you can.

    +Gas.+ I could e'en expire with contemplation of his happiness.

    +Lio.+ What old man's that?

    +Pet.+ This is my father, sir.

    +Lio.+ Your own father?

    +Gas.+ So please your grace.

    +Lio.+ Give him a pair
    Of velvet breeches from our grandsire's wardrobe.

    +Gas.+ Thrice noble duke. Come, son, let's to the church.

                         [_Exeunt +Petrucio+, +Gasparo+, and +Angelia+._

                    _Enter +Antiquary+ and +Petro+._

    +Lio.+ How now! what new-come pageant have we here?

    +Duke.+ This is the famous antiquary I told your grace of, a
    man worthy your grace; the Janus of our age, and treasurer
    of times passed: a man worthy your bounteous favour and kind
    notice; that will as soon forget himself in the remembrance of
    your highness, as any subject you have.

    +Lio.+ How comes he so accoutred?

    +Duke.+ No miracle at all, sir; for, as you have many fools in
    the habit of a wise man, so have you sometimes a wise man in
    the habit of a fool.

    +Ant.+ Sir, I have been so grossly abused, as no story,
    record, or chronicle can parallel the like, and I come here
    for redress: I hear your highness loves me, and indeed you are
    partly interested in the cause, for I, having took somewhat
    a large potion for your grace's health, fell asleep, when in
    the interim they apparelled me as you see, made a fool or an
    asinigo[365] of me; and for my boy here, they cogged him out
    of his proper shape into the habit of an Amazon, to wait upon
    me.

    +Lio.+ But who did this?

    +Ant.+ Nay, sir, that I cannot tell; but I desire it may be
    found out.

    +Duke.+ Well, signor, if you knew all, you have no cause to be
    angry.

    +Ant.+ How so?

    +Duke.+ Why, that same coat you wear did formerly belong unto
    Pantolabus the Roman jester, and buffoon to Augustus Cæsar.

    +Ant.+ And I thought so, I'd ne'er put it off, while I breath'd.

    +Lio.+ Stand by; we'll inquire further anon.

           _Enter +Aurelio+, +Lorenzo+, +Mocinigo+, +Bravo+,
                    +Æmilia+, +Lucretia+, Officers._

    Now who are you?

    +Aur.+ Your highness's officers.
    We have brought two murderers here to be censured,
    Who by their own confession are found guilty,
    And need no further trial.

    +Lio.+ Which be the parties?

    +Aur.+ These, and please you.

    +Lio.+ Well, what do you answer?
    What can you plead to stop the course of justice?

    +Moc.+ For my part, though I had no conscience to act it,
    I have not the heart to deny it; and therefore expect
    Your sentence; for mercy, I hope none nor favour.

    +Lio.+ What says th' accuser?

    +Luc.+ Please your princely wisdom,
    He slew a man was destin'd for my husband;
    Yet, since another's death cannot recall him,
    Were the law satisfied, and he adjudg'd
    To have his goods confiscate, for my own part,
    I could rest well content.

    +Moc.+ With all my heart;
    I yield possession to whomsoe'er
    She shall choose for a husband. Reach a paper
    Or blank: I'll seal to it.

    +Luc.+ See, there's a writing!

    +Moc.+ And there's my hand to it:
    I care not what the conditions be.

    +Lio.+ 'Tis well: whom will you choose in place of the other?

    +Luc.+ Then, sir, to keep his memory alive,
    I'll seek no further than this officer.

    +Lor.+ How? choose a common serjeant for her husband!

    +Æmi.+ A base commendadore! I'll ne'er endure it.

    +Aur.+ No, lady, a gentleman I assure you, and
    Suppos'd the slain Aurelio.                    [_Discovers himself._

    +Moc.+ A plot, a plot upon me! I'll revoke it all.

    +Lio.+ Nay, that you cannot, now you have confirm'd it.

    +Moc.+ Am I then cheated? I'll go home and die,
    To avoid shame, not live in infamy.

    +Lio.+ What says the villain bravo for himself?

    +Bravo.+ The bravo, sir, is honest, and his father.

    +Aur.+ My father! bless me, how comes this about?

    +Bravo.+ That virtuous maid, whom I must always honour,
    Acquainted me with that old lecher's drift:
    I, to prevent the ruin of my son,
    Conceal'd from all, proffer'd my service to him
    In this disguise.

    +Lio.+ 'Twas a wise and pious deed.

             _Enter +Petrucio+, +Angelia+, and +Gasparo+._

    +Pet.+ Room for the duke's kindred.

    +Lio.+ What, you are married, I perceive.

    +Pet.+ I am, royal brother.

    +Lio.+ Then, for your better learning in our service,
    Take these instructions. Never hereafter
    Contemn a man that has more wit than yourself,
    Or foolishly conceive no lady's merit
    Or beauty worthy your affection.

    +Pet.+ How's this?

    +Lio.+ Truth, my most honour'd brother, you are gull'd;
    So is my reverend uncle the Antiquary;
    So are you all. For he that you conceiv'd
    The duke, is your friend and Lionel;
    Look you else.

    +Pet.+ 'Tis so.

    +Gas.+ 'Tis too apparent true.

    +Lio.+ What, all drunk! Speak, uncle.

    +Ant.+ Thou art my nephew,
    And thou hast wit; 'tis fit thou should'st have land too.
    Tell me no more, how thou hast cheated me,
    I do perceive it, and forgive thee for 't;
    Thou shalt have all I have, and I'll be wiser.

    +Lio.+ I thank you, sir. Brother Petrucio,
    This to your comfort; that is my sister,
    Whom formerly you did abuse in love,
    And you may be glad your lot is no worse.

    +Pet.+ I am contented; I'll give a good wit
    Leave to abuse me at any time.

    +Lor.+ When he cannot help it.

    +Gas.+ This 'tis
    To be so politic and ambitious, son.

    +Pet.+ Nay, father, do not you aggravate it too.

    +Lor.+ Well, signor,
    You must pardon me, if I bid joy to you;
    My daughter was not good enough for you.

    +Pet.+ You are tyrannous.

                          _Enter +Leonardo+._

    +Leo.+ Save you, gallants.

    +Lio.+ You are very welcome.

    +Leo.+ I come in quest of our noble duke,
    Who from his court has stol'n out privately,
    And 'tis reported he is here.

    +Lio.+ No indeed, sir,
    He is not here. 'Slight, we shall be question'd
    For counterfeiting his person.

    +Duke.+ Be not dismay'd,
    I am the duke.

    +Leo.+ My lord!

    +Duke.+ The very same, sir.
    That for my recreation have descended,
    And no impeach, I hope, to royalty
    To sit spectator of your mirth. And thus much
    You shall gain by my presence: what is pass'd,
    I'll see it ratified as firm, as if
    Myself and senate had concluded it.
    And when a prince allows his subjects sport,
    He that pines at it, let him perish for 't.

FOOTNOTES:

[358] _A cooling card_ is frequently mentioned in our ancient
authors; but the precise sense in which it is used is difficult to
be ascertained. In some places it seems to signify _admonition_ or
_advice_; in others, _censure_ or _reproof_. In Lyly's "Euphues," p.
39, "Euphues, to the intent he might bridle the overlashing affections
of Philautus, conveied into his studie a certeine pamphlet, which he
tearmed _A cooling card_ for Philautus; yet generally to bee applyed to
all lovers."

So in the "First Part of Henry VI.," act v. sc. 4--

"There all is marr'd; there lies _a cooling card_."

And in the "Wounds of Civil War," 1594--

"I'll have a present _cooling card_ for you."

[359] See Note to this play, p. 421.

[360] _i.e._, at the _fall_ of water through a bridge. The idea seems
to be taken from the noisy situation of the houses formerly standing on
London Bridge.--_Steevens._

[361] So in "Hamlet," act iii. sc. 4--

    "This is the very coinage of your brain;
    This bodiless creation _ecstasy_
    Is very cunning in."

Mr Steevens observes that in this place, and many others, _ecstasy_
means a temporary alienation of mind, a fit.

[362] Alluding to the fate of Polydorus, a son of King Priam. See
Virgil's "Æneid," book iii. l. 49--

    "Hunc _Polydorum auri_ quondam cum pondere magno
    Infelix Priamus furtim mandarat alendum
    Threicio regi----
    . . . . _Polydorum_ obtruncat, et _auro_
    Vi petitur."

[363] In the first edit. this line is thus--

"Black with the curls of snakes, sits a spectatrix."

It may be doubted whether Mr Reed had sufficient warrant for altering
the old reading: at all events _spectatrix_, the word of the time,
might have stood; perhaps, in the two next lines _their_ should be
changed to _her_.--_Collier._

[364] So in Shakespeare's "Antony and Cleopatra"--

"Let me lodge _Lichas_ on the horn o' th' moon."

--_Steevens._

Again, Ovid's "Metam.," lib. 9. l. 215--

              "Tremit ille pavetque
    Pallidus; et timide verba excusantia dicit
    Dicentem, genibusque manus adhibere parantem
    Corripit Alcides; et terque quaterque rotatum
    Mittit in Euboicas tormento fortius undas,
    Ille per aerias pendens indurnit auras."

Of which the following is Gay's translation--

    "The youth all pale with shiv'ring fear was stung,
    And vain excuses falter'd on his tongue:
    Alcides snatch'd him, as with suppliant face
    He strove to clasp his knees, and beg for grace;
    He toss'd him o'er his head with airy course,
    And hurl'd with more than with an engine's force:
    Far o'er the Eubœan main aloof he flies,
    And hardens by degrees amid the skies."

[365] A cant term for a foolish fellow or idiot. See Mr Steevens's note
on "Troilus and Cressida," act ii. sc. 1.

                           END OF VOL. XIII.



    TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES


    Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
    errors.

    Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

    Enclosed italics markup in _underscores_.

    Enclosed unitalicized small capital markup in +plus signs+.





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