6/26/2007

Harvard Classics

Harvard Classics, Volume XLVII

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The Shoemaker’s Holiday by Thomas Dekker

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The Alchemist by Ben Jonson

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Philaster by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

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The Duchess of Malf, by John Webster

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A New Way to Pay Old Debts by Philip Massinger

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Harvard Classics, Volume 47

English Plays

The Shoemaker’s Holiday by Thomas Dekker

Introductory Note

THOMAS DEKKER’S career is an extreme instance of the hazardous life led by the professional author in the time of Shakespeare. Born in London about 1570, Dekker first appears certainly as a dramatist about 1598, when we find him working on plays in collaboration with other dramatists in the pay of the manager, Henslowe. He wrote, in partnership or alone, many dramas; and when the market for these was dull he turned to the writing of entertainments, occasional verses, and prose pamphlets on a great variety of subjects. But all his activity seems to have failed to supply a decent livelihood, for he was often in prison for debt, at one time for a period of three years; and most of the biographical details about him which have come down to us are connected with borrowing money or getting into jail or out of it. He disappears from view in the thirties of the seventeenth century.

“The Shoemaker’s Holiday,” first acted in 1599, is a good example of Dekker’s work in the drama. The story is taken from Thomas Deloney’s “Gentle Craft,” and gives an opportunity for a picture of life among the trades-people of London at a period when the frequency in the drama of Italian Dukes and Cardinals is liable to make us forget that, in spite of vice and frivolity in high places, the world was still kept going by decent work-people who attended to their business. The play is full of an atmosphere of pleasant mirth, varied with characteristic touches of pathos; and it contains in the figure of Simon Eyre a creation of marked individuality and hilarious humor. It is striking that the most high-spirited picture of London life in the time of Elizabeth should come from the pen of the author who seems to have been more hardly treated by fortune than any of his contemporaries.

Dramatis Personae

THE KING.

THE EARL OF CORNWALL.

SIR HUGH LACY, Earl of Lincoln.

ROWLAND LACY, otherwise HANS, & ASKEW: His Nephews.

SIR ROGER OATELEY, Lord Mayor of London.

Master HAMMON, Master WARNER & Master SCOTT: Citizens of London.

SIMON EYRE, the Shoemaker.

ROGER, commonly called Hodge, FIRK & RALPH: Eyre’s Journeymen

LOVELL, a Courtier.

DODGER, Servant to the EARL OF LINCOLN.

A DUTCH SKIPPER.

A BOY.

ROSE, Daughter of SIR ROGER.

SYBIL, her Maid.

MARGERY, Wife of SIMON EYRE.

JANE, Wife of RALPH.

Courtiers, Attendants, Officers, Soldiers, Hunters, Shoemakers, Apprentices, Servants.

SCENE— London and Old Ford

Act I

Scene I

Enter the LORD MAYOR and the EARL OF LINCOLN 1

Lincoln . MY lord mayor, you have sundry times

Feasted myself and many courtiers more;

Seldom or never can we be so kind

To make requital of your courtesy.

But leaving this, I hear my cousin Lacy

Is much affected to 2 your daughter Rose.

L. MAYOR. True, my good lord, and she loves him so well

That I mislike her boldness in the chase.

LINCOLN. Why, my lord mayor, think you it then a shame,

To join a Lacy with an Oateley’s name—

L. MAYOR. Too mean is my poor girl for his high birth;

Poor citizens must not with courtiers wed,

Who will in silks and gay apparel spend

More in one year than I am worth, by far:

Therefore your honour need not doubt 3 my girl.

LINCOLN. Take heed, my lord, advise you what you do!

A verier unthrift lives not in the world,

Than is my cousin; for I’ll tell you what:

’Tis now almost a year since he requested

To travel countries for experience.

I furnished him with coins, bills of exchange,

Letters of credit, men to wait on him,

Solicited my friends in Italy

Well to respect him. But to see the end:

Scant had he journey’d through half Germany,

But all his coin was spent, his men cast off,

His bills embezzl’d, 4 and my jolly coz, 5

Asham’d to show his bankrupt presence here,

Became a shoemaker in Wittenberg,

A goodly science for a gentleman

Of such descent! Now judge the rest by this:

Suppose your daughter have a thousand pound,

He did consume me more in one half year;

And make him heir to all the wealth you have

One twelvemonth’s rioting will waste it all.

Then seek, my lord, some honest citizen

To wed your daughter to.

L. MAYOR. I thank your lordship.

[Aside.] Well, fox, I understand your subtilty.—

As for your nephew, let your lordship’s eye

But watch his actions, and you need not fear,

For I have sent my daughter far enough.

And yet your cousin Rowland might do well,

Now he hath learn’d an occupation;

And yet I scorn to call him son-in-law.

LINCOLN. Ay, but I have a better trade for him.

I thank his grace, he hath appointed him

Chief colonel of all those companies

Must’red in London and the shires about,

To serve his highness in those wars of France.

See where he comes!—

Enter LOVELL, LACY, and ASKEW

Lovell, what news with you—

LOVELL. My Lord of Lincoln, ’tis his highness’ will,

That presently 6 your cousin ship for France

With all his powers; he would not for a million,

But they should land at Dieppe within four days.

LINCOLN. Go certify his grace, it shall be done. Exit LOVELL.

Now, cousin Lacy, in what forwardness

Are all your companies—

LACY. All well prepared.

The men of Hertfordshire lie at Mile-end,

Suffolk and Essex train in Tothill-fields,

The Londoners and those of Middlesex,

All gallantly prepar’d in Finsbury,

With frolic spirits long for their parting hour.

L. MAYOR. They have their imprest, 7 coats, and furniture; 8

And, if it please your cousin Lacy come

To the Guildhall, he shall receive his pay;

And twenty pounds besides my brethren

Will freely give him, to approve our loves

We bear unto my lord, your uncle here.

LACY. I thank your honour.

LINCOLN. Thanks, my good lord mayor.

L. MAYOR. At the Guildhall we will expect your coming. Exit.

LINCOLN. To approve your loves to me— No subtilty!

Nephew, that twenty pound he doth bestow

For joy to rid you from his daughter Rose.

But, cousins both, now here are none but friends,

I would not have you cast an amorous eye

Upon so mean a project as the love

Of a gay, wanton, painted citizen.

I know, this churl even in the height of scorn

Doth hate the mixture of his blood with thine.

I pray thee, do thou so! Remember, coz,

What honourable fortunes wait on thee.

Increase the king’s love, which so brightly shines,

And gilds thy hopes. I have no heir but thee,—

And yet not thee, if with a wayward spirit

Thou start from the true bias 9 of my love.

LACY. My lord, I will for honour, not desire

Of land or livings, or to be your heir,

So guide my actions in pursuit of France,

As shall add glory to the Lacys’ name.

LINCOLN. Coz, for those words here’s thirty Portuguese, 10

And, nephew Askew, there’s a few for you.

Fair Honour, in her loftiest eminence,

Stays in France for you, till you fetch her thence.

Then, nephews, clap swift wings on your designs.

Begone, begone, make haste to the Guildhall;

There presently I’ll meet you. Do not stay:

Where honour beckons, shame attends delay. Exit.

ASKEW. How gladly would your uncle have you gone!

LACY. True, coz, but I’ll o’erreach his policies.

I have some serious business for three days,

Which nothing but my presence can dispatch.

You, therefore, cousin, with the companies,

Shall haste to Dover; there I’ll meet with you:

Or, if I stay past my prefixed time,

Away for France; we’ll meet in Normandy.

The twenty pounds my lord mayor gives to me

You shall receive, and these ten Portuguese,

Part of mine uncle’s thirty. Gentle coz,

Have care to our great charge; I know, your wisdom

Hath tried itself in higher consequence.

ASKEW. Coz, all myself am yours: yet have this care,

To lodge in London with all secrecy;

Our uncle Lincoln hath, besides his own,

Many a jealous eye, that in your face

Stares only to watch means for your disgrace.

LACY. Stay, cousin, who be these—

Enter SIMON EYRE, MARGERY his wife, HODGE, FIRK, JANE, and RALPH with a piece 11

EYRE. Leave whining, leave whining! Away with this whimpering, this puling, these blubbering tears, and these wet eyes! I’ll get thy husband discharg’d, I warrant thee, sweet Jane; go to!

HODGE. Master, here be the captains.

EYRE. Peace, Hodge; hush, ye knave, hush!

FIRK. Here be the cavaliers and the colonels, master.

EYRE. Peace, Firk; peace, my fine Firk! Stand by with your pishery-pashery, 12 away! I am a man of the best presence; I’ll speak to them, an 13 they were Popes.—Gentlemen, captains, colonels, commanders! Brave men, brave leaders, may it please you to give me audience. I am Simon Eyre, the mad shoemaker of Tower Street; this wench with the mealy mouth that will never tire, is my wife, I can tell you; here’s Hodge, my man and my foreman; here’s Firk, my fine firking 14 journeyman, and this is blubbered Jane. All we come to be suitors for this honest Ralph. Keep him at home, and as I am a true shoemaker and a gentleman of the gentle craft, buy spurs yourselves, and I’ll find ye boots these seven years.

MARG. Seven years, husband—

EYRE. Peace, midriff, 15 peace! I know what I do. Peace!

FIRK. Truly, master cormorant, 16 you shall do God good service to let Ralph and his wife stay together. She’s a young new-married woman; if you take her husband away from her a-night, you undo her; she may beg in the day-time; for he’s as good a workman at a prick and an awl, as any is in our trade.

JANE. O let him stay, else I shall be undone.

FIRK. Ay, truly, she shall be laid at one side like a pair of old shoes else, and be occupied for no use.

LACY. Truly, my friends, it lies not in my power:

The Londoners are press’d, 17 paid, and set forth

By the lord mayor; I cannot change a man.

HODGE. Why, then you were as good be a corporal as a colonel, if you cannot discharge one good fellow; and I tell you true, I think you do more than you can answer, to press a man within a year and a day of his marriage.

EYRE. Well said, melancholy Hodge; gramercy, my fine foreman.

MARG. Truly, gentlemen, it were ill done for such as you, to stand so stiffly against a poor young wife, considering her case, she is new-married, but let that pass. I pray, deal not roughly with her; her husband is a young man, and but newly ent’red, but let that pass.

EYRE. Away with our pishery-pashery, your pols and your edipols! 18 Peace, midriff; silence, Cicely Bumtrinket! Let your head speak.

FIRK. Yea, and the horns too, master.

EYRE. Too soon, my fine Firk, too soon! Peace, scoundrels! See you this man— Captains, you will not release him— Well, let him go; he’s a proper shot; let him vanish! Peace, Jane, dry up thy tears, they’ll make his powder dankish. 19 Take him, brave men; Hector of Troy was an hackney to him, Hercules and Termagant 20 scoundrels. Prince Arthur’s Round-table-by the Lord of Ludgate—ne’er fed such a tall, such a dapper swordsman; by the life

of Pharaoh, a brave, resolute swordsman! Peace, Jane! I say no more, mad

knaves.

FIRK. See, see, Hodge, how my master raves in commendation of Ralph!

HODGE. Ralph, th’art a gull, 21 by this hand, an thou goest not.

ASKEW. I am glad, good Master Eyre, it is my hap

To meet so resolute a soldier.

Trust me, for your report and love to him,

A common slight regard shall not respect him.

LACY. Is thy name Ralph—

RALPH. Yes, sir.

LACY. Give me thy hand;

Thou shalt not want, as I am a gentleman.

Woman, be patient; God, no doubt, will send

Thy husband safe again; but he must go,

His country’s quarrel says it shall be so.

HODGE. Th’art a gull, by my stirrup, if thou dost not go. I will not have thee strike thy gimlet into these weak vessels; prick thine enemies, Ralph.

Enter DODGER

DODGER. My lord, your uncle on the Tower-hill

Stays with the lord mayor and the aldermen,

And doth request you with all speed you may,

To hasten thither.

ASKEW. Cousin, let’s go.

LACY. Dodger, run you before, tell them we come.—

This Dodger is mine uncle’s parasite, Exit DODGER.

The arrant’st varlet that e’er breath’d on earth;

He sets more discord in a noble house

By one day’s broaching of his pickthank tales, 22

Than can be salv’d 23 again in twenty years,

And he, I fear, shall go with us to France,

To pry into our actions.

ASKEW. Therefore, coz,

It shall behove you to be circumspect.

LACY. Fear not, good cousin.—Ralph, hie to your colours. [Exit LACY and ASKEW.]

RALPH. I must, because there’s no remedy;

But, gentle master and my loving dame,

As you have always been a friend to me,

So in mine absence think upon my wife.

JANE. Alas, my Ralph.

MARG. She cannot speak for weeping.

EYRE. Peace, you crack’d groats, 24 you mustard tokens, 25 disquiet not the brave soldier. Go thy ways, Ralph!

JANE. Ay, ay, you bid him go; what shall I do

When he is gone—

FIRK. Why, be doing with me or my fellow Hodge; be not idle.

EYRE. Let me see thy hand, Jane. This fine hand, this white hand, these pretty fingers must spin, must card, must work; work, you bombast-cotton-candle-quean; work for your living, with a pox to you.—Hold thee, Ralph, here’s five sixpences for thee; fight for the honour of the gentle craft, for the gentlemen shoemakers, the courageous cordwainers, the flower of St. Martin’s, the mad knaves of Bedlam, Fleet Street, Tower Street and Whitechapel; crack me the crowns of the French knaves; a pox on them, crack them; fight, by the Lord of Ludgate; fight, my fine boy!

FIRK. Here, Ralph, here’s three twopences: two carry into France, the third shall wash our souls at parting, for sorrow is dry. For my sake, firk the Basa mon cues.

HODGE. Ralph, I am heavy at parting; but here’s a shilling for thee. God send 26 thee to cram thy slops 27 with French crowns, and thy enemies’ bellies with bullets.

RALPH. I thank you, master, and I thank you all.

Now, gentle wife, my loving lovely Jane,

Rich men, at parting, give their wives rich gifts,

Jewels and rings, to grace their lily hands.

Thou know’st our trade makes rings for women’s heels:

Here take this pair of shoes, cut out by Hodge,

Stitch’d by my fellow Firk, seam’d by myself,

Made up and pink’d 28 with letters for thy name.

Wear them, my dear Jane, for thy husband’s sake,

And every morning, when thou pull’st them on,

Remember me, and pray for my return.

Make much of them; for I have made them so

That I can know them from a thousand mo. Drum sounds. Enter the LORD MAYOR, the EARL OF LINCOLN, LACY, ASKEW, DODGER, and Soldiers. They pass over the stage; RALPH falls in amongst them; FIRK and the rest cry “Farewell,” etc., and so exeunt.

Note 1. A street in London

Note 2. In love with.

Note 3. Fear.

Note 4. Wasted.

Note 5. Cousin; used of any relative not of one’s immediate family.

Note 6. At once.

Note 7. Regimental badge.

Note 8. Equipment.

Note 9. Inclination.

Note 10. A gold coin, worth about three pounds twelve shillings.

Note 11. Piece of leather.

Note 12. Twiddle-twaddle.

Note 13. If.

Note 14. Frisky, tricky.

Note 15. Used as a term of contempt.

Note 16. Quibbling on colonel.

Note 17. Impressed into service.

Note 18. Solemn declarations.

Note 19. Damp.

Note 20. An imaginary Saracen god.

Note 21. Fool.

Note 22. Tales told to curry favor.

Note 23. Healed.

Note 24. Fourpenny-pieces.

Note 25. Yellow spots on the body denoting the infection of the plague.

Note 26. Grant.

Note 27. Breeches (=pockets).

Note 28. Perforated.

Act II

Scene I

Enter ROSE, alone, making a garland 1

ROSE. Here sit thou down upon this flow’ry bank,

And make a garland for thy Lacy’s head.

These pinks, these roses, and these violets,

These blushing gilliflowers, these marigolds,

The fair embroidery of his coronet,

Carry not half such beauty in their cheeks,

As the sweet countenance of my Lacy doth.

O my most unkind father! O my stars,

Why lower’d you so at my nativity,

To make me love, yet live robb’d of my love—

Here as a thief am I imprisoned

For my dear Lacy’s sake within those walls,

Which by my father’s cost were builded up

For better purposes. Here must I languish

For him that doth as much lament, I know,

Mine absence, as for him I pine in woe.

Enter SYBIL

SYBIL. Good morrow, young mistress. I am sure you make that garland for me; against 2 I shall be Lady of the Harvest.

ROSE. Sybil, what news at London—

SYBIL. None but good; my lord mayor, your father, and master Philpot, your uncle, and Master Scot, your cousin, and Mistress Frigbottom by Doctors’ Commons, do all, by my troth, send you most hearty commendations.

ROSE. Did Lacy send kind greetings to his love—

SYBIL. O yes, out of cry, by my troth. I scant knew him; here ’a wore a scarf; and here a scarf, here a bunch of feathers, and here precious stones and jewels, and a pair of garters,—O, monstrous! like one of our yellow silk curtains at home here in Old Ford House here, in Master Belly-mount’s chamber. I stood at our door in Cornhill, look’d at him, he at me indeed, spake to him, but he not to me, not a word; marry go-up, thought I, with a wanion! 3 He passed by me as proud—Marry foh! are you grown humorous, 4 thought I; and so shut the door, and in I came.

ROSE. O Sybil, how dost thou my Lacy wrong!

My Rowland is as gentle as a lamb.

No dove was ever half so mild as he.

SYBIL. Mild— yea, as a bushel of stamped crabs. 5 He looked upon me as sour as verjuice. 6 Go thy ways, thought I: thou may’st be much in my gaskins, 7 but nothing in my nether-stocks. 8 This is your fault, mistress, to love him that loves not you; he thinks scorn to do as he’s done to; but if I were as you, I’d cry, ‘Go by, Jeronimo, go by!’ 9

I’d set mine old debts against my new driblets,

And the hare’s foot against the goose giblets,

For if ever I sigh, when sleep I should take,

Pray God I may lose my maidenhead when I wake.

ROSE. Will my love leave me then, and go to France—

SYBIL. I know not that, but I am sure I see him stalk before the soldiers. By my troth, he is a proper man; but he is proper that proper doth. Let him go snick-up, 10 young mistress.

ROSE. Get thee to London, and learn perfectly

Whether my Lacy go to France, or no.

Do this, and I will give thee for thy pains

My cambric apron and my Romish gloves,

My purple stockings and a stomacher.

Say, wilt thou do this, Sybil, for my sake—

SYBIL. Will I, quoth’a— At whose suit— By my troth, yes, I’ll go. A cambric apron, gloves, a pair of purple stockings, and a stomacher! I’ll sweat in purple, mistress, for you; I’ll take anything that comes a’ God’s name. O rich! a cambric apron! Faith, then have at ‘up tails all.’ I’ll go jiggy-joggy to London, and be here in a trice, young mistress. Exit.

ROSE. Do so, good Sybil. Meantime wretched I

Will sit and sigh for his lost company. Exit.

Note 1. A garden at Old Ford.

Note 2. In preparation.

Note 3. With a vengeance.

Note 4. Capricious.

Note 5. Crushed crab apples.

Note 6. Juice of green fruits.

Note 7. Wide trousers.

Note 8. Stockings. The meaning seems to be that though we may be acquainted we are not intimate friends.

Note 9. A phrase from Kyd’s Spanish Tragedy.

Note 10. Go and be hanged!

Act II

Scene II

Enter LACY, disguised as a Dutch Shoemaker 1

LACY. How many shapes have gods and kings devis’d,

Thereby to compass their desired loves!

It is no shame for Rowland Lacy, then,

To clothe his cunning with the gentle craft,

That, thus disguis’d, I may unknown possess

The only happy presence of my Rose.

For her have I forsook my charge in France,

Incurr’d the king’s displeasure, and stirr’d up

Rough hatred in mine uncle Lincoln’s breast.

O love, how powerful art thou, that canst change

High birth to baseness, and a noble mind

To the mean semblance of a shoemaker!

But thus it must be. For her cruel father,

Hating the single union of our souls,

Has secretly convey’d my Rose from London,

To bar me of her presence; but I trust,

Fortune and this disguise will further me

Once more to view her beauty, gain her sight.

Here in Tower Street with Eyre the shoemaker

Mean I a while to work; I know the trade,

I learnt it when I was in Wittenberg.

Then cheer thy hoping spirits, be not dismay’d,

Thou canst not want: do Fortune what she can,

The gentle craft if living for a man. Exit.

Note 1. A street in London,

Act II

Scene III

Enter EYRE, making himself ready 1 2

EYRE. Where be these boys, these girls, these drabs, these scoundrels— They wallow in the fat brewiss 3 of my bounty, and lick up the crumbs of my table, yet will not rise to see my walks cleansed. Come out, you powder-beef 4 queans! What, Nan! what, Madge Mumble-crust. Come out, you fat midriff-swag-belly-whores, and sweep me these kennels 5 that the noisome stench offend not the noses of my neighbours. What, Firk, I say; what, Hodge! Open my shop-windows! What, Firk, I say!

Enter FIRK

FIRK. O master, is’t you that speak bandog 6 and Bedlam 7 this morning— I was in a dream, and mused what madman was got into the street so early. Have you drunk this morning that your throat is so clear—

EYRE. Ah, well said, Firk; well said, Firk. To work, my fine knave, to work! Wash thy face, and thou’t be more blest.

FIRK. Let them wash my face that will eat it. Good master, send for a souse-wife, 8 if you’ll have my face cleaner.

Enter HODGE

EYRE. Away, sloven! avaunt, scoundrel!—Good-morrow, Hodge; good-morrow, my fine foreman.

HODGE. O master, good-morrow; y’are an early stirrer. Here’s a fair morning.—Good-morrow, Firk, I could have slept this hour. Here’s a brave day towards. 9

EYRE. Oh, haste to work, my fine foreman, haste to work.

FIRK. Master, I am dry as dust to hear my fellow Roger talk of fair weather; let us pray for good leather, and let clowns and ploughboys and those that work in the fields pray for brave days. We work in a dry shop; what care I if it rain—

Enter MARGERY

EYRE. How now, Dame Margery, can you see to rise— Trip and go, call up the drabs, your maids.

MARG. See to rise— I hope ’tis time enough, ’tis early enough for any woman to be seen abroad. I marvel how many wives in Tower Street are up so soon. Gods me, ’tis not noon,—here’s a yawling! 10

EYRE. Peace, Margery, peace! Where’s Cicely Bumtrinket, your maid— She has a privy fault, she farts in her sleep. Call the quean up; if my men want shoe-thread, I’ll swinge her in a stirrup.

FIRK. Yet, that’s but a dry beating; here’s still a sign of drought.

Enter LACY disguised, singing

LACY.

Der was een bore van Gelderland

Frolick sie byen;

He was als dronck he cold nyet stand,

Upsolce sie byen.

Tap eens de canneken,

Drincke, schone mannekin. 11

FIRK. Master, for my life, yonder’s a brother of the gentle craft; if he bear not Saint Hugh’s bones, 12 I’ll forfeit my bones; he’s some uplandish workman: hire him, good master, that I may learn some gibble-gabble; ’twill; make us work the faster.

EYRE. Peace, Firk! A hard world! Let him pass, let him vanish; we have journeymen enow. Peace, my fine Firk!

MARG. Nay, nay, y’are best follow your man’s counsel; you shall see what will come on’t. We have not me enow, but we must entertain every butter-box; 13 but let that pass.

HODGE. Dame, ’fore God, if my master follow your counsel, he’ll consume little beef. He shall be glad of men an he can catch them.

FIRK. Ay, that he shall.

HODGE. ’Fore God, a proper man, and I warrant, a fine workman. Master, farewell; dame, adieu; if such a man as he cannot find work, Hodge is not for you. Offers to go.

EYRE. Stay, my fine Hodge.

FIRK. Faith, an your foreman go, dame, you must take a journey to seek a new journeyman; if Roger remove, Firk follows. If Saint Hugh’s bones shall not be set a-work, I may prick mine awl in the walls, and go play. Fare ye well, master; good-bye, dame.

EYRE. Tarry, my fine Hodge, my brisk foreman! Stay, Firk! Peace, pudding-broth! By the Lord of Ludgate, I love my men as my life. Peace, you gallimaufry! 14 Hodge, if he want work, I’ll hire him. One of you to him; stay,—he comes to us.

LACY. Goeden dach, meester, ende u vro oak. 15

FIRK. Nails, 16 if I should speak after him without drinking, I should choke. And you, friend Oake, are you of the gentle craft—

LACY. Yaw, yaw, ik bin den skomawker. 17

FIRK. Den skomaker, quoth ’a! And hark you, skomaker, have you all your tools, a good rubbing-pin, a good stopper, a good dresser, your four sorts of awls, and your two balls of wax, your paring knife, your hand- and thumb-leathers, and good St. Hugh’s bones to smooth up your work—

LACY. Yaw, yaw; be niet vorveard. Ik hab all de dingen voour mack skooes groot and cleane. 18

FIRK. Ha, ha! Good master, hire him; he’ll make me laugh so that I shall work more in mirth than I can in earnest.

EYRE. Hear ye, friend, have ye any skill in the mystery of cordwainers—

LACY. Ik weet niet wat yow seg; ich verstaw you niet. 19

FIRK. Why, thus, man: [Imitating by gesture a shoemaker at work.] Ich verste u niet, quoth ’a.

LACY. Yaw, yaw, yaw; ick can dat wel doen. 20

FIRK. Yaw, yaw! He speaks yawing like a jackdaw that gapes to be fed with cheese-curds. Oh, he’ll give a villanous pull at a can of double-beer; but Hodge and I have the vantage, we must drink first, because we are the eldest journeymen.

EYRE. What is thy name—

LACY. Hans—Hans Meulter.

EYRE. Give me thy hand; th’art welcome.—Hodge, entertain him; Firk, bid him welcome; come, Hans. Run, wife, bid your maids, your trullibubs, 21 make ready my fine men’s breakfasts. To him, Hodge!

HODGE. Hans, th’art welcome; use thyself friendly, for we are good fellows; if not, thou shalt be fought with, wert thou bigger than a giant.

FIRK. Yea, and drunk with, wert thou Gargantua. My master keeps no cowards, I tell thee.—Ho, boy, bring him an heel-block, here’s a new journeyman.

Enter Boy

LACY. O, ich wersto you; ich moet een halve dossen cans betaelen; here, boy, nempt dis skilling, tap eens freelicke. 22Exit Boy.

EYRE. Quick, snipper-snapper, away! Firk, scour thy throat; thou shalt wash it with Castilian liquor.

Enter Boy

Come, my last of the fives, give me a can. Have to thee, Hans; here, Hodge; here, Firk; drink, you mad Greeks, and work like true Trojans, and pray for Simon Eyre, the shoemaker.—Here, Hans, and th’art welcome.

FIRK. Lo, dame, you would have lost a good fellow that will teach us to laugh. This beer came hopping in well.

MARG. Simon, it is almost seven.

EYRE. Is’t so, Dame Clapper-dudgeon— 23 Is’t seven a clock, and my men’s breakfast not ready— Trip and go, you soused conger, 24 away! Come, you mad hyperboreans; follow me, Hodge; follow me, Hans; come after, my fine Firk; to work, to work a while, and then to breakfast! [Exit.

FIRK. Soft! Yaw, yaw, good Hans, though my master have no more wit but to call you afore me, I am not so foolish to go behind you, I being the elder journeyman. [Exeunt.

Note 1. Before Eyre’s house.

Note 2. Dressing himself.

Note 3. Beef broth.

Note 4. Salted beef.

Note 5. Gutters.

Note 6. Watch-dog.

Note 7. Madman.

Note 8. A woman who washed and pickled pigs’ faces.

Note 9. Coming.

Note 10. Bawling.

Note 11. The language is, of course, meant for Dutch. ‘There was a boor from Gelderland’

Note 12. The bones of St. Hugh, the patron saint of shoemakers, were supposed to have been made into shoemaker’s tools.

Note 13. Dutchman.

Note 14. A dish of different hashed meats. Many of Eyre’s words have no particular appropriateness.

Note 15. Good day, master, and your wife too.

Note 16. An oath.

Note 17. Yes, yes, I am a shoemaker.

Note 18. Yes, yes; be not afraid. I have everything to make boots big and little.

Note 19. I don’t know what you say; I don’t understand you

Note 20. Yes, yes, yes; I can do that well.

Note 21. Slatterns.

Note 22. O, I understand you; I must pay for half-a-dozen cans; here,

Note 23. Slang for beggar.

Note 24. Conger-eel.

Act II

Scene IV

Holloaing within. Enter Master WARNER and Master HAMMON, attired as Hunters 1

HAM. Cousin, beat every brake, the game’s not far,

This way with winged feet he fled from death,

Whilst the pursuing hounds, scenting his steps,

Find out his highway to destruction.

Besides, the miller’s boy told me even now,

He saw him take soil, 2 and he holloaed him

Affirming him to have been so embost 3

That long he could not hold.

WARN. If it be so,

’Tis best we trace these meadows by Old Ford.

A noise of Hunters within. Enter a Boy

HAM. How now, boy— Where’s the deer— speak, saw’st thou him—

BOY. O yea; I saw him leap through a hedge, and then over a ditch, then at my lord mayor’s pale, over he skipp’d me, and in he went me, and ‘holla’ the hunters cried, and ‘there, boy; there, boy!’ But there he is, a’ mine honesty.

HAM. Boy, Godamercy. Cousin, let’s away; I hope we shall find better sport to-day. Exeunt.

Note 1. A field near Old Ford

Note 2. Cover.

Note 3. Exhausted.

Act II

Scene V

[Hunting within.] Enter ROSE and SYBIL 1

ROSE. Why, Sybil, wilt thou prove a forester—

SYBIL. Upon some, no. Forester— Go by; no, faith, mistress. The deer came running into the barn through the orchard and over the pale; I wot well, I looked as pale as a new cheese to see him. But whip, says Goodman Pin-close, up with his flail, and our Nick with a prong, and down he fell, and they upon him, and I upon them. By my troth, we had such sport; and in the end we ended him; his throat we cut, flayed him, unhorn’d him, and my lord mayor shall eat of him anon, when he comes. Horns sound within.

ROSE.

Hark, hark, the hunters come; y’are best take heed,

They’ll have a saying to you for this deed.

Enter Master HAMMON, Master WARNER, Huntsmen, and Boy

HAM. God save you, fair ladies.

SYBIL. Ladies! O gross! 2

WARN. Came not a buck this way—

ROSE. No, but two does.

HAM. And which way went they— Faith, we’ll hunt at those.

SYBIL. At those— Upon some, no. When, can you tell—

WARN. Upon some, ay.

SYBIL. Good Lord!

WARN. Wounds! 3 Then farewell!

HAM. Boy, which way went he—

BOY. This way, sir, he ran.

HAM. This way he ran indeed, fair Mistress Rose;

Our game was lately in your orchard seen.

WARN. Can you advise, which way he took his flight—

SYBIL. Follow your nose; his horns will guide you right.

WARN. Th’art a mad wench.

SYBIL. O, rich!

ROSE. Trust me, not I.

It is not like that the wild forest-deer

Would come so near to places of resort;

You are deceiv’d, he fled some other way.

WARN. Which way, my sugar-candy, can you shew—

SYBIL. Come up, good honeysops, upon some, no.

ROSE. Why do you stay, and not pursue your game—

SYBIL. I’ll hold my life, their hunting-nags be lame.

HAM. A deer more dear is found within this place.

ROSE. But not the deer, sir, which you had in chase.

HAM. I chas’d the deer, but this dear chaseth me.

ROSE. The strangest hunting that ever I see.

But where’s your park— She offers to go away.

HAM. ’Tis here: O stay!

ROSE. Impale me, and then I will not stray.

WARN. They wrangle, wench; we are more kind than they.

SYBIL. What kind of hart is that dear heart, you seek—

WARN. A hart, dear heart.

SYBIL. Who ever saw the like—

ROSE. To lose your heart, is’t possible you can—

HAM. My heart is lost.

ROSE. Alack, good gentleman!

HAM. This poor lost hart would I wish you might find.

ROSE. You, by such luck, might prove your hart a hind.

HAM. Why, Luck had horns, so have I heard some say.

ROSE. Now, God, an’t be his will, send Luck into your way.

Enter the LORD MAYOR and Servants

L. MAYOR. What, Master Hammon— Welcome to Old Ford!

SYBIL. Gods pittikins, 4 Hands off, sir! Here’s my lord.

L. MAYOR. I hear you had ill luck, and lost your game.

HAM. ’Tis true, my lord.

L. MAYOR. I am sorry for the same.

What gentleman is this—

HAM. My brother-in-law.

L. MAYOR. Y’are welcome both; sith Fortune offers you

Into my hands, you shall not part from hence,

Until you have refresh’d your wearied limbs.

Go, Sybil, cover the board! You shall be guest

To no good cheer, but even a hunter’s feast.

HAM. I thank your lordship.—Cousin, on my life,

For our lost venison I shall find a wife. Exeunt [all but MAYOR].

L. MAYOR. In, gentlemen; I’ll not be absent long.—

This Hammon is a proper gentleman,

A citizen by birth, fairly allied;

How fit an husband were he for my girl!

Well, I will in, and do the best I can,

To match my daughter to this gentleman. Exit.

Note 1. The garden at Old Ford.

Note 2. Stupid.

Note 3. An oath.

Note 4. By God’s pity.

Act III

Scene I

Enter LACY [as HANS], Skipper, HODGE, and FIRK 1

SKIP. Ick sal yow wat seggen, Hans; dis skip, dat comen from Candy, is al vol, by Got’s sacrament, van sugar, civet, almonds, cambrick, end alle dingen, towsand towsand ding. Nempt it, Hans, nempt it vor v meester. Daer be de bils van laden. Your meester Simon Eyre sal hae good copen. Wat seggen yow, Hans— 2

FIRK. Wat seggen de reggen de copen, slopen-laugh, Hodge, laugh! Hans. Mine liever broder Firk, bringt Meester Eyre tot det signe un Swannekin; daer sal yow finde dis skipper end me. Wat seggen yow, broder Firk— Doot it, Hodge. 3

Come, skipper. Exeunt.

FIRK. Bring him, quoth you— Here’s no knavery, to bring my master to buy a ship worth the lading of two or three hundred thousand pounds. Alas, that’s nothing; a trifle, a bauble, Hodge.

HODGE. The truth is, Firk, that the merchant owner of the ship dares not shew his head, and therefore this skipper that deals for him, for the love he bears to Hans, offers my master Eyre a bargain in the commodities. He shall have a reasonable day of payment; he may sell the wares by that time, and be an huge gainer himself.

FIRK. Yea, but can my fellow Hans lend my master twenty porpentines as an earnest penny—

HODGE. Portuguese, 4 thou wouldst say; here they be, Firk; hark, they jingle in my pocket like St. Mary Overy’s bells.

Enter EYRE and MARGERY

FIRK. Mum, here comes my dame and my master. She’ll scold, on my life, for loitering this Monday: but all’s one, let them all say what they can, Monday’s our holiday.

MARG.

You sing, Sir Sauce, but I beshrew your heart,

I fear, for this your singing we shall smart.

FIRK. Smart for me, dame; why, dame, why—

HODGE. Master, I hope you’ll not suffer my dame to take down your journeymen.

FIRK. If she take me down, I’ll take her up; yea, and take her down too, a button-hole lower.

EYRE. Peace, Firk; not I, Hodge; by the life of Pharaoh, by the Lord of Ludgate, by this beard, every hair whereof I value at a king’s ransom, she shall not meddle with you.—Peace, you bombast-cotton-candle-quean; away, queen of clubs; quarrel not with me and my men, with me and my fine Firk; I’ll firk you, if you do.

MARG. Yea, yea, man, you may use me as you please; but let that pass.

EYRE. Let it pass, let it vanish away; peace! Am I not Simon Eyre— Are not these my brave men, brave shoemakers, all gentlemen of the gentle craft— Prince am I none, yet am I nobly born, as being the sole son of a shoemaker. Away, rubbish! vanish, melt; melt like kitchen-stuff.

MARG. Yea, yea, ’tis well; I must be call’d rubbish, kitchen-stuff, for a sort 5 of knaves.

FIRK. Nay, dame, you shall not weep and wail in woe for me. Master, I’ll stay no longer; here’s an inventory of my shop-tools. Adieu, master; Hodge, farewell.

HODGE. Nay, stay, Firk; thou shalt not go alone.

MARG. I pray, let them go; there be more maids than Mawkin, more men than Hodge, and more fools than Firk.

FIRK. Fools— Nails! if I tarry now, I would my guts might be turn’d to shoe-thread.

HODGE. And if I stay, I pray God I may be turn’d to a Turk, and set in Finsbury 6 for boys to shoot at.—Come, Firk.

EYRE. Stay, my fine knaves, you arms of my trade, you pillars of my profession. What, shall a tittle-tattle’s words make you forsake Simon Eyre——Avaunt, kitchen-stuff! Rip, you brown-bread Tannikin; out of my sight! Move me not! Have not I ta’en you from selling tripes in East-cheap, and set you in my shop, and made you hail-fellow with Simon Eyre, the shoemaker— And now do you deal thus with my journeymen— Look, you powder-beef-quean, on the face of Hodge, here’s a face for a lord.

FIRK. And here’s a face for any lady in Christendom.

EYRE. Rip, you chitterling, avaunt! Boy, bid the tapster of the Boar’s Head fill me a dozen cans of beer for my journeymen.

FIRK. A dozen cans— O, brave! Hodge, now I’ll stay.

EYRE. [In a low voice to the Boy.] An the knave fills any more than two, he pays for them. [Exit Boy. Aloud.]—A dozen cans of beer for my journeymen. [Re-enter Boy.] Here, you mad Mesopotamians, wash your livers with this liquor. Where be the odd ten— No more, Madge, no more.—Well said. Drink and to work!—What work dost thou, Hodge— What work—

HODGE. I am a making a pair of shoes for my lord mayor’s daughter, Mistress Rose.

FIRK. And I a pair of shoes for Sybil, my lord’s maid. I deal with her.

EYRE. Sybil— Fie, defile not thy fine workmanly fingers with the feet of kitchen-stuff and basting-ladles. Ladies of the court, fine ladies my lads, commit their feet to our apparelling; put gross work to Hans. Yark and seam, yark 7 and seam!

FIRK. For yarking and seaming let me alone, an I come to’t.

HODGE. Well, master, all this is from the bias. 8 Do you remember the ship my fellow Hans told you of— The skipper and he are both drinking at the Swan. Here be the Portuguese to give earnest. If you go through with it, you cannot choose but be a lord at least.

FIRK. Nay, dame, if my master prove not a lord, and you a lady, hang me.

MARG. Yea, like enough, if you may loiter and tipple thus.

FIRK. Tipple, dame— No, we have been bargaining with Skellum Skanderbag: 9 can you Dutch spreaken for a ship of silk Cyprus, laden with sugar-candy.

Enter Boy with a velvet coat and an Alderman’s gown. EYRE puts them on

EYRE. Peace, Firk; silence, Tittle-tattle! Hodge, I’ll go through with it. Here’s a seal-ring, and I have sent for a guarded gown 10 and a damask cassock. See where it comes; look here, Maggy; help me, Firk; apparel me, Hodge; silk and satin, you mad Philistines, silk and satin.

FIRK. Ha, ha, my master will be as proud as a dog in a doublet, all in beaten 11 damask and velvet.

EYRE. Softly, Firk, for rearing 12 of the nap, and wearing threadbare my garments. How dost thou like me, Firk— How do I look, my fine Hodge—

HODGE. Why, now you look like yourself, master. I warrant you, there’s few in the city but will give you the wall, 13 and come upon you with 14 the right worshipful.

FIRK. Nails, my master looks like a threadbare cloak new turned and dressed. Lord, Lord, to see what good raiment doth! Dame, dame, are you not enamoured—

EYRE. How say’st thou, Maggy, am I not brisk— Am I not fine—

MARG. Fine— By my troth, sweetheart, very fine! By my troth, I never liked thee so well in my life, sweetheart; but let that pass. I warrant, there be many women in the city have not such handsome husbands, but only for their apparel; but let that pass too.

Re-enter HANS and SKIPPER

HANS. Godden day, mester. Dis be de skipper dat heb de skip van marchandice; de commodity ben good; nempt it, master, nempt it. 15

EYRE. Godamercy, Hans; welcome, skipper. Where lies this ship of merchandise—

SKIP. De skip ben in revere; dor be van Sugar, cyvet, almonds, cambrick, and a towsand, towsand tings, gotz sacrament; nempt it, mester: ye sal heb good copen. 16

FIRK. To him, master! O sweet master! O sweet wares! Prunes, almonds, sugar-candy, carrot-roots, turnips, O brave fatting meat! Let not a man buy a nutmeg but yourself.

EYRE. Peace, Firk! Come, skipper, I’ll go aboard with you.—Hans, have you made him drink—

SKIP. Yaw, yaw, ic heb veale gedrunck. 17

EYRE. Come, Hans, follow me. Skipper, thou shalt have my countenance in the city. Exeunt.

FIRK. Yaw heb veale gedrunck, quoth a. They may well be called butter-boxes, when they drink fat veal and thick beer too. But come, dame, I hope you’ll chide us no more.

MARG. No, faith, Firk; no, perdy, 18 Hodge. I do feel honour creep upon me, and which is more, a certain rising in my flesh; but let that pass.

FIRK. Rising in your flesh do you feel, say you— Ay, you may be with child, but why should not my master feel a rising in his flesh, having a gown and a gold ring on— But you are such a shrew, you’ll soon pull him down.

MARG. Ha, ha! prithee, peace! Thou mak’st my worship laugh; but let that pass. Come, I’ll go in; Hodge, prithee, go before me; Firk, follow me.

FIRK. Firk doth follow: Hodge, pass out in state. Exeunt.

Note 1. A room in Eyre’s house.

Note 2. I’ll tell you what, Hans; this ship that is come from Candia, is quite full, by God’s sacrament, of sugar, civet, almonds, cambric, and all things; a thousand, thousand things. Take it, Hans, take it for your master. There are the bills of lading. Your master, Simon Eyre, shall have a good bargain. What say you, Hans—

Note 3. My dear brother Firk, bring Master Eyre to the sign of the Swan; there shall you find this skipper and me. What say you, brother Firk— Do it, Hodge.

Note 4. A coin worth about three pounds twelve shillings.

Note 5. Set.

Note 6. Finsbury was a famous practising ground for archery.

Note 7. Prepare.

Note 8. Beside the point.

Note 9. German: Schelm, a scoundrel. Skanderbag, or Scander Beg (i. e. Lord Alexander), a Turkish name for John Kastriota, the Albanian hero, who freed his country from the yoke of the Turks (1443-1467).—Warnke and Proescholdt.

Note 10. A robe ornamented with guards or facings.

Note 11. Stamped.

Note 12. Ruffling.

Note 13. Yield precedence.

Note 14. Address you as.

Note 15. Good day, master. This is the skipper that has the ship of merchandise; the commodity is good; take it, master, take it.

Note 16. The ship lies in the river; there are sugar, civet, almonds, cambric, and a thousand thousand things. By God’s sacrament, take it, master; you shall have a good bargain.

Note 17. Yes, yes, I have drunk well.

Note 18. Fr. Par Dieu.

Act III

Scene II

Enter the EARL OF LINCOLN and DODGER 1

LINCOLN. How now, good Dodger, what’s the news in France—

DODGER. My lord, upon the eighteenth day of May

The French and English were prepar’d to fight;

Each side with eager fury gave the sign

Of a most hot encounter. Five long hours

Both armies fought together; at the length

The lot of victory fell on our side.

Twelve thousand of the Frenchmen that day died,

Four thousand English, and no man of name

But Captain Hyam and young Ardington,

Two gallant gentlemen, I knew them well.

LINCOLN. But Dodger, prithee, tell me, in this fight

How did my cousin Lacy bear himself—

DODGER. My lord, your cousin Lacy was not there.

LINCOLN. Not there—

DODGER. No, my good lord.

LINCOLN. Sure, thou mistakest.

I saw him shipp’d, and a thousand eyes beside

Were witnesses of the farewells which he gave,

When I, with weeping eyes, bid him adieu.

Dodger, take heed.

DODGER. My lord, I am advis’d 2

That what I spake is true: to prove it so,

His cousin Askew, that supplied his place,

Sent me for him from France, that secretly

He might convey himself thither.

LINCOLN. Is’t even so—

Dares he so carelessly venture his life

Upon the indignation of a king—

Has he despis’d my love, and spurn’d those favours

Which I with prodigal hand pour’d on his head—

He shall repent his rashness with his soul;

Since of my love he makes no estimate,

I’ll make him wish he had not known my hate.

Thou hast no other news—

DODGER. None else, my lord.

LINCOLN. None worse I know thou hast.—Procure the king

To crown his giddy brows with ample honours,

Send him chief colonel, and all my hope

Thus to be dash’d! But ’tis in vain to grieve,

One evil cannot a worse relieve.

Upon my life, I have found out his plot;

That old dog, Love, that fawn’d upon him so,

Love to that puling girl, his fair-cheek’d Rose,

The lord mayor’s daughter, hath distracted him,

And in the fire of that love’s lunacy

Hath he burnt up himself, consum’d his credit,

Lost the king’s love, yea, and I fear, his life,

Only to get a wanton to his wife,

Dodger, it is so.

DODGER. I fear so, my good lord.

LINCOLN. It is so—nay, sure it cannot be!

I am at my wits’ end. Dodger!

DODGER. Yea, my lord.

LINCOLN. Thou art acquainted with my nephew’s haunts.

Spend this gold for thy pains; go seek him out;

Watch at my lord mayor’s—there if he live,

Dodger, thou shalt be sure to meet with him.

Prithee, be diligent.—Lacy, thy name

Liv’d once in honour, now ’tis dead in shame.—

Be circumspect. Exit.

DODGER. I warrant you, my lord. Exit.

Note 1. London: a room in Lincoln’s house.

Note 2. Certainly informed.

Act III

Scene III

Enter the LORD MAYOR and Master SCOTT 1

L. MAYOR. Good Master Scott, I have been bold with you,

To be a witness to a wedding-knot

Betwixt young Master Hammon and my daughter.

O, stand aside; see where the lovers come.

Enter Master HAMMON and ROSE

ROSE. Can it be possible you love me so—

No, no, within those eyeballs I espy

Apparent likelihoods of flattery.

Pray now, let go my hand.

HAM. Sweet Mistress Rose,

Misconstrue not my words, nor misconceive

Of my affection, whose devoted soul

Swears that I love thee dearer than my heart.

ROSE. As dear as your own heart— I judge it right,

Men love their hearts best when th’are out of sight.

HAM. I love you, by this hand.

ROSE. Yet hands off now!

If flesh be frail, how weak and frail’s your vow!

HAM. Then by my life I swear.

ROSE. Then do not brawl;

One quarrel loseth wife and life and all.

Is not your meaning thus—

HAM. In faith, you jest.

ROSE. Love loves to sport; therefore leave love, y’are best.

L. MAYOR. What— square 2 they, Master Scott—

SCOTT. Sir, never doubt,

Lovers are quickly in, and quickly out.

HAM. Sweet Rose, be not so strange in fancying me.

Nay, never turn aside, shun not my sight:

I am not grown so fond, to fond 3 my love

On any that shall quit it with disdain;

If you will love me, so—if not, farewell.

L. MAYOR. Why, how now, lovers, are you both agreed—

HAM. Yes, faith, my lord.

L. MAYOR. ’Tis well, give me your hand.

Give me yours, daughter.—How now, both pull back!

What means this, girl—

ROSE. I mean to live a maid.

HAM. But not to die one; pause, ere that be said. Aside.

L. MAYOR. Will you still cross me, still be obstinate—

HAM. Nay, chide her not, my lord, for doing well;

If she can live an happy virgin’s life,

’Tis far more blessed than to be a wife.

ROSE. Say, sir, I cannot: I have made a vow,

Whoever be my husband, ’tis not you.

L. MAYOR. Your tongue is quick; but Master Hammon, know,

I bade you welcome to another end.

HAM.

What, would you have me pule and pine and pray,

With ‘lovely lady,’ ‘mistress of my heart,’

‘Pardon your servant,’ and the rhymer play,

Railing on Cupid and his tyrant’s-dart;

Or shall I undertake some martial spoil,

Wearing your glove at tourney and at tilt,

And tell how many gallants I unhors’d—

Sweet, will this pleasure you—

ROSE. Yea, when wilt begin—

What, love rhymes, man— Fie on that deadly sin!

L. MAYOR. If you will have her, I’ll make her agree.

HAM. Enforced love is worse than hate to me.

[Aside.] There is a wench keeps shop in the Old Change,

To her will I; it is not wealth I seek,

I have enough; and will prefer her love

Before the world.—[Aloud.] My good lord mayor, adieu.

Old love for me, I have no luck with new. Exit.

L. MAYOR. Now, mammet, 4 you have well behav’d yourself,

But you shall curse your coyness if I live.—

Who’s within there— See you convey your mistress

Straight to th’ Old Ford! I’ll keep you straight enough.

Fore God, I would have sworn the pulling girl

Would willingly accepted Hammon’s love;

But banish him, my thoughts!—Go, minion, in! Exit ROSE.

Now tell me, Master Scott, would you have thought

That Master Simon Eyre, the shoemaker,

Had been of wealth to buy such merchandise—

SCOTT. ’Twas well, my lord, your honour and myself

Grew partners with him; for your bills of lading

Shew that Eyre’s gains in one commodity

Rise at the least to full three thousand pound

Besides like gain in other merchandise.

L. MAYOR. Well, he shall spend some of his thousands now,

For I have sent for him to the Guildhall

Enter EYRE

See, where he comes.—Good morrow, Master Eyre.

EYRE. Poor Simon Eyre, my lord, your shoemaker.

L. MAYOR. Well, well, it likes 5 yourself to term you so.

Enter DODGER

Now, Master Dodger, what’s the news with you—

DODGER. I’d gladly speak in private to your honour.

L. MAYOR. You shall, you shall.—Master Eyre and Master Scott,

I have some business with this gentleman;

I pray, let me entreat you to walk before

To the Guildhall; I’ll follow presently.

Master Eyre, I hope ere noon to call you sheriff.

EYRE. I would not care, my lord, if you might call me King of

Spain.—Come, Master Scott. [Exeunt EYRE and SCOTT.]

L. MAYOR. Now, Master Dodger, what’s the news you bring—

DODGER. The Earl of Lincoln by me greets your lordship,

And earnestly requests you, if you can,

Inform him where his nephew Lacy keeps.

L. MAYOR. Is not his nephew Lacy now in France—

DODGER. No, I assure your lordship, but disguis’d

Lurks here in London.

L. MAYOR. London— Is’t even so—

It may be; but upon my faith and soul,

I know not where he lives, or whether he lives:

So tell my Lord of Lincoln.—Lurks in London—

Well, Master Dodger, you perhaps my start him;

Be but the means to rid him into France,

I’ll give you a dozen angels 6 for your pains;

So much I love his honour, hate his nephew.

And, prithee, so inform thy lord from me.

DODGER. I take my leave. Exit DODGER.

L. MAYOR. Farewell, good Master Dodger.

Lacy in London— I dare pawn my life,

My daughter knows thereof, and for that cause

Deni’d young Master Hammon in his love.

Well, I am glad I sent her to Old Ford.

Gods Lord, ’tis late; to Guildhall I must hie;

I know my brethren stay 7 my company. Exit.

Note 1. London: a room in the Lord Mayor’s house.

Note 2. Quarrel.

Note 3. Found, set; a pun upon fond.

Note 4. Puppet, doll.

Note 5. Pleases.

Note 6. Coins worth about 10s. each.

Note 7. Wait for.

Act III

Scene IV

Enter FIRK, MARGERY, [LACY as ] HANS, and ROGER 1

MARG. Thou goest too fast for me, Roger. O, Firk!

FIRK. Ay, forsooth.

MARG. I pray thee, run—do you hear——run to Guildhall, and learn if my husband, Master Eyre, will take that worshipful vocation of Master Sheriff upon him. Hie thee, good Firk.

FIRK. Take it— Well, I go; an he should not take it, Firk swears to forswear him. Yes, forsooth, I go to Guildhall.

MARG. Nay, when— Thou art too compendious and tedious.

FIRK. O rare, your excellence is full of eloquence; how like a new cart-wheel my dame speaks, and she looks like an old musty ale-bottle 2 going to scalding.

MARG. Nay, when— Thou wilt make me melancholy.

FIRK. God forbid your worship should fall into that humour;—I run. Exit.

MARG. Let me see now, Roger and Hans.

HODGE. Ay, forsooth, dame-mistress I should say, but the old term so sticks to the roof of my mouth, I can hardly lick it off.

MARG. Even what thou wilt, good Roger; dame is a fair name for any honest Christian; but let that pass. How dost thou, Hans—

HANS. Mee tanck you, vro. 3

MARG. Well, Hans and Roger, you see, God hath blest your master, and, perdy, if ever he comes to be Master Sheriff of London—as we are all mortal—you shall see, I will have some odd thing or other in a corner for you: I will not be your back-friend; 4 but let that pass. Hans, pray thee, tie my shoe.

HANS. Yaw, ic sal, vro. 5

MARG. Roger, thou know’st the length of my foot; as it is none of the biggest, so I thank God, it is handsome enough; prithee, let me have a pair of shoes made, cork, good Roger, wooden heel too.

HODGE. You shall.

MARG. Art thou acquainted with never a farthingale-maker, nor a French hood-maker— I must enlarge my bum, ha, ha! How shall I look in a hood, I wonder! Perdy, oddly, I think.

HODGE. [Aside.] As a cat out of a pillory.—Very well, I warrant you, mistress.

MARG. Indeed, all flesh is grass; and, Roger, canst thou tell where I may buy a good hair—

HODGE. Yes, forsooth, at the poulterer’s in Gracious Street.

MARG. Thou art an ungracious wag; perdy, I mean a false hair for my periwig.

HODGE. Why, mistress, the next time I cut my beard, you shall have the shavings of it; but they are all true hairs.

MARG. It is very hot, I must get me a fan or else a mask.

HODGE. [Aside.] So you had need, to hide your wicked face.

MARG. Fie, upon it, how costly this world’s calling is; perdy, but that it is one of the wonderful works of God, I would not deal with it.—Is not Firk come yet— Hans, be not so sad, let it pass and vanish, as my husband’s worship says.

HANS. Ick bin vrolicke, lot see yow soo. 6

HODGE. Mistress, will you drink 7 a pipe of tobacco—

MARG. Oh, fie upon it, Roger, perdy! These filthy tobacco-pipes are the most idle slavering baubles that ever I felt. Out upon it! God bless us, men look not like men that use them.

Enter RALPH, lame

HODGE. What, fellow Ralph— Mistress, look here, Jane’s husband! Why, how now, lame— Hans, make much of him, he’s a brother of our trade, a good workman, and a tall soldier.

HANS. You be welcome, broder.

MARG. Perdy, I knew him not. How dost thou, good Ralph— I am glad to see thee well.

RALPH. I would to God you saw me, dame, as well

As when I went from London into France.

MARG. Trust me, I am sorry, Ralph, to see thee impotent. Lord, how the wars have made him sunburnt! The left leg is not well; ’twas a fair gift of God the infirmity took not hold a little higher, considering thou camest from France; but let that pass.

RALPH. I am glad to see you well, and I rejoice

To hear that God hath blest my master so

Since my departure.

MARG. Yea, truly, Ralph, I thank my Maker; but let that pass.

HODGE. And, sirrah Ralph, what news, what news in France—

RALPH. Tell me, good Roger, first, what news in England— How does my

Jane— When didst thou see my wife—

Where lives my poor heart— She’ll be poor indeed,

Now I want limbs to get whereon to feed.

HODGE. Limbs— Hast thou not hands, man— Thou shalt never see a shoemaker want bread, though he have but three fingers on a hand.

RALPH. Yet all this while I hear not of my Jane.

MARG. O Ralph, your wife,—perdy, we know not what’s become of her. She was here a while, and because she was married, grew more stately than became her; I checked her, and so forth; away she flung, never returned, nor said bye nor bah; and, Ralph, you know, ‘ka me, ka thee.’ 8 And so, as I tell ye——Roger, is not Firk come yet—

HODGE. No, forsooth.

MARG. And so, indeed, we heard not of her, but I hear she lives in London; but let that pass. If she had wanted, she might have opened her case to me or my husband, or to any of my men; I am sure, there’s not any of them, perdy, but would have done her good to his power. Hans, look if Firk be come.

HANS. Yaw, ik sal, vro. 9 Exit HANS.

MARG. And so, as I said—but, Ralph, why dost thou weep— Thou knowest that naked we came out of our mother’s womb, and naked we must return; and, therefore, thank God for all things.

HODGE. No, faith, Jane is a stranger here; but, Ralph, pull up a good heart, I know thou hast one. Thy wife, man, is in London; one told me, he saw her a while ago very brave 10 and neat; we’ll ferret her out, an London hold her.

MARG. Alas, poor soul, he’s overcome with sorrow; he does but as I do, weep for the loss of any good thing. But, Ralph, get thee in, call for some meat and drink, thou shalt find me worshipful towards thee.

RALPH. I thank you, dame; since I want limbs and lands, I’ll trust to

God, my good friends, and my hands. Exit.

Enter HANS and FIRK running

FIRK. Run, good Hans! O Hodge, O mistress! Hodge, heave up thine ears; mistress, smug up 11 your looks; on with your best apparel; my master is chosen, my master is called, nay, condemned by the cry of the country to be sheriff of the city for this famous year now to come. And time now being, a great many men in black gowns were asked for their voices and their hands, and my master had all their fists about his ears presently, and they cried ‘Ay, ay, ay, ay,’—and so I came away—

Wherefore without all other grieve

I do salute you, Mistress Shrieve, 12

HANS. Yaw, my mester is de groot man, de shrieve.

HODGE. Did not I tell, you mistress— Now I may boldly say: Good-morrow to your worship.

MARG. Good-morrow, good Roger. I thank you, my good people all.—Firk, hold up thy hand: here’s a three-penny piece for thy tidings.

FIRK. ’Tis but three-half-pence, I think. Yes, ’tis three-pence, I smell the rose. 13

HODGE. But, mistress, be rul’d by me, and do not speak so pulingly.

FIRK. ’Tis her worship speaks so, and not she. No, faith, mistress, speak me in the old key: ‘To it, Firk,’ ‘there, good Firk,’ ‘ply your business, Hodge,’ ‘Hodge, with a full mouth,’ ‘I’ll fill your bellies with good cheer, till they cry twang.’

Enter EYRE wearing a gold chain

HANS. See, myn liever broder, heer compt my meester. 14

MARG. Welcome home, Master Shrieve; I pray God continue you in health and wealth.

EYRE. See here, my Maggy, a chain, a gold chain for Simon Eyre. I shall make thee a lady; here’s a French hood for thee; on with it, on with it, on with it! dress thy brows with this flap of a shoulder of mutton, 15 to make thee look lovely. Where be my fine men— Roger, I’ll make over my shop and tools to thee; Firk, thou shalt be the foreman; Hans, thou shalt have an hundred for twenty. 16 Be as mad knaves as your master Sim Eyre hath been, and you shall live to be Sheriffs of London.—How dost thou like me, Margery— Prince am I none, yet am I princely born. Firk, Hodge, and Hans!

ALL THREE. Ay forsooth, what says your worship, Master Sheriff—

EYRE. Worship and honour, you Babylonian knaves, for the gentle craft. But I forgot myself, I am bidden by my lord mayor to dinner to Old Ford; he’s gone before, I must after. Come, Madge, on with your trinkets! Now, my true Trojans, my fine Firk, my dapper Hodge, my honest Hans, some device, some odd crotchets, some morris, or such like, for the honour of the gentlemen shoemakers. Meet me at Old Ford, you know my mind. Come, Madge, away. Shut up the shop, knaves, and make holiday. Exeunt.

FIRK. O rare! O brave! Come, Hodge; follow me, Hans; We’ll be with them for a morris-dance. Exeunt.

Note 1. London: a room in Eyre’s house.

Note 2. Ale-kegs, make of wood.

Note 3. I thank you, mistress!

Note 4. Faithless friend.

Note 5. Yes, I shall, mistress!

Note 6. I am merry; let’s see you so too!

Note 7. Smoke.

Note 8. Scratch me, and I’ll scratch thee.

Note 9. Yes, I shall, dame!

Note 10. Fine.

Note 11. Brighten up.

Note 12. Sheriff.

Note 13. “The three-farthing silver pieces of Queen Elizabeth had the profile of the sovereign with a rose at the back of her head.”—Dyce.

Note 14. See, my dear brothers, here comes my master.

Note 15. The flap of a hood trimmed with fur or sheep’s wool.—Rhys.

Note 16. I. e., for the twenty Portuguese previously lent.

Act III

Scene V

Enter the LORD MAYOR, [ROSE,] EYRE, MARGERY in a French hood, SYBIL, and other Servants 1

L. MAYOR. Trust me, you are as welcome to Old Ford

As I myself.

MARG. Truly, I thank your lordship.

L. MAYOR. Would our bad cheer were worth the thanks you give.

EYRE. Good cheer, my lord mayor, fine cheer! A fine house, fine walls, all fine and neat.

L. MAYOR. Now, by my troth, I’ll tell thee, Master Eyre,

It does me good, and all my brethren,

That such a madcap fellow as thyself

Is ent’red into our society.

MARG. Ay, but my lord, he must learn now to put on gravity.

EYRE. Peace, Maggy, a fig for gravity! When I go to Guildhall in my scarlet gown, I’ll look as demurely as a saint, and speak as gravely as a justice of peace; but now I am here at Old Ford, at my good lord mayor’s house, let it go by, vanish, Maggy, I’ll be merry; away with flip-flap, these fooleries, these gulleries. What, honey— Prince am I none, yet am I princely born. What says my lord mayor—

L. MAYOR. Ha, ha, ha! I had rather than a thousand pounds, I had an heart but half so light as yours.

EYRE. Why, what should I do, my lord— A pound of care pays not a dram of debt. Hum, let’s be merry, whiles we are young; old age, sack and sugar will steal upon us, ere we be aware.

THE FIRST THREE-MEN’S SONG

O the month of May, the merry month of May,

So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!

O, and then did I unto my true love say:

“Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer’s queen!

“Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale,

The sweetest singer in all the forest’s choir,

Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love’s tale;

Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier.

“But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo;

See where she sitteth: come away, my joy;

Come away, I prithee: I do not like the cuckoo

Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy.”

O the month of May, the merry month of May,

So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!

And then did I unto my true love say:

“Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer’s queen!”

L. MAYOR. It’s well done; Mistress Eyre, pray, give good counsel

To my daughter.

MARG. I hope, Mistress Rose will have the grace to take nothing that’s bad.

L. MAYOR. Pray God she do; for i’ faith, Mistress Eyre,

I would bestow upon that peevish girl

A thousand marks more than I mean to give her

Upon condition she’d be rul’d by me.

The ape still crosseth me. There came of late

A proper gentleman of fair revenues,

Whom gladly I would call son-in-law:

But my fine cockney would have none of him.

You’ll prove a coxcomb for it, ere you die:

A courtier, or no man must please your eye.

EYRE. Be rul’d sweet Rose: th’art ripe for a man. Marry not with a boy that has no more hair on his face than thou hast on thy cheeks. A courtier, wash, go by, stand not upon pishery-pashery: those silken fellows are but painted images, outsides, outsides, Rose; their inner linings are torn. No, my fine mouse, marry me with a gentleman grocer like my lord mayor, your father; a grocer is a sweet trade: plums, plums. Had I a son or daughter should marry out of the generation and blood of the shoemakers, he should pack; what, the gentle trade is a living for a man through Europe, through the world. A noise within of a tabor and a pipe.

L. MAYOR. What noise is this—

EYRE. O my lord mayor, a crew of good fellows that for love to your honour are come hither with a morris-dance. Come in, my Mesopotamians, cheerily.

Enter HODGE, HANS, RALPH, FIRK, and other Shoemakers, in a morris; after a little dancing the LORD MAYOR speaks.

L. MAYOR. Master Eyre, are all these shoemakers—

EYRE. All cordwainers, my good lord mayor.

ROSE. [Aside.] How like my Lacy looks yond shoemaker!

HANS. [Aside.] O that I durst but speak unto my love!

L. MAYOR. Sybil, go fetch some wine to make these drink. You are all welcome.

ALL. We thank you lordship. ROSE takes a cup of wine and goes to Hans.

ROSE. For his sake whose fair shape thou represent’st,

Good friend, I drink to thee.

HANS. Ic bedancke, good frister. 2

MARG. I see, Mistress Rose, you do not want judgment; you have drunk to the properest man I keep.

FIRK. Here be some have done their parts to be as proper as he.

L. MAYOR. Well, urgent business calls me back to London.

Good fellows, first go in and taste our cheer;

And to make merry as you homeward go,

Spend these two angels in beer at Stratford-Bow.

EYRE. To these two, my mad lads, Sim Eyre adds another; then cheerily, Firk; tickle it, Hans, and all for the honour of shoemakers. All go dancing out.

L. MAYOR. Come, Master Eyre, let’s have your company. Exeunt.

ROSE. Sybil, what shall I do—

SYBIL. Why, what’s the matter—

Rose, That Hans the shoemaker is my love Lacy,

Disguis’d in that attire to find me out.

How should I find the means to speak with him—

SYBIL. What, mistress, never fear; I dare venture my maidenhead to nothing, and that’s great odds, that Hans the Dutchman, when we come to London, shall not only see and speak with you, but in spite of all your father’s policies steal you away and marry you. Will not this please you—

ROSE. Do this, and ever be assured of my love.

SYBIL. Away, then, and follow your father to London, lest your absence cause him to suspect something:

To-morrow, if my counsel be obey’d,

I’ll bind you prentice to the gentle trade.

[Exeunt.]

Act IV

Scene I

JANE in a Seamster’s shop, working; enter Master HAMMON, muffled; he stands aloof 1

HAM. Yonder’s the shop, and there my fair love sits.

She’s fair and lovely, but she is not mine.

O, would she were! Thrice have I courted her,

Thrice hath my hand been moist’ned with her hand,

Whilst my poor famish’d eyes do feed on that

Which made them famish. I am unfortunate:

I still love one, yet nobody loves me.

I muse in other men what women see

That I so want! Fine Mistress Rose was coy,

And this too curious! Oh, no, she is chaste,

And for she thinks me wanton, she denies

To cheer my cold heart with her sunny eyes.

How prettily she works, oh pretty hand!

Oh happy work! It doth me good to stand

Unseen to see her. Thus I oft have stood

In frosty evenings, a light burning by her,

Enduring biting cold, only to eye her.

One only look hath seem’d as rich to me

As a king’s crown; such is love’s lunacy.

Muffled I’ll pass along, and by that try

Whether she know me.

JANE. Sir, what is’t you buy—

What is’t you lack, sir, calico, or lawn,

Fine cambric shirts, or bands, what will you buy—

HAM. [Aside.] That which thou wilt not sell. Faith, yet I’ll try:

How do you sell this handkerchief—

JANE. Good cheap.

HAM. And how these ruffs—

JANE. Cheap too.

HAM. And how this band—

JANE. Cheap too.

HAM. All cheap; how sell you then this hand—

JANE. My hands are not to be sold.

HAM. To be given then!

Nay, faith, I come to buy.

JANE. But none knows when.

HAM. Good sweet, leave work a little while; let’s play.

JANE. I cannot live by keeping holiday.

HAM. I’ll pay you for the time which shall be lost.

JANE. With me you shall not be at so much cost

HAM. Look, how you wound this cloth, so you wound me.

JANE. It may be so.

HAM. ’Tis so.

JANE. What remedy—

HAM. Nay, faith, you are too coy.

JANE. Let go my hand.

HAM. I will do any task at your command,

I would let go this beauty, were I not

In mind to disobey you by a power

That controls kings: I love you!

JANE. So, now part.

HAM. With hands I may, but never with my heart.

In faith, I love you.

JANE. I believe you do.

HAM. Shall a true love in me breed hate in you—

JANE. I hate you not.

HAM. Then you must love—

JANE. I do.

What are you better now— I love not you.

HAM. All this, I hope, is but a woman’s fray,

That means, “Come to me,” when she cries, “Away!”

In earnest, mistress, I do not jest,

A true chaste love hath ent’red in my breast.

I love you dearly, as I love my life,

I love you as a husband loves a wife;

That, and no other love, my love requires,

Thy wealth, I know, is little; my desires

Thirst not for gold. Sweet, beauteous Jane, what’s mine

Shall, if thou make myself thine, all be thine.

Say, judge, what is thy sentence, life or death—

Mercy or cruelty lies in thy breath.

JANE. Good sir, I do believe you love me well;

For ’tis a silly conquest, silly pride

For one like you—I mean a gentleman—

To boast that by his love-tricks he hath brought

Such and such women to his amorous lure;

I think you do not so, yet many do,

And make it even a very trade to woo.

I could be coy, as many women be,

Feed you with sunshine smiles and wanton looks,

But I detest witchcraft; say that I

Do constantly believe, you constant have—

HAM. Why dost thou not believe me—

JANE. I believe you;

But yet, good sir, because I will not grieve you

With hopes to taste fruit which will never fall,

In simple truth this is the sum of all:

My husband lives, at least, I hope he lives.

Press’d was he to these bitter wars in France;

Bitter they are to me by wanting him.

I have but one heart, and that heart’s his due.

How can I then bestow the same on you—

Whilst he lives, his I live, be it ne’er so poor,

And rather be his wife than a king’s whore.

HAM. Chaste and dear woman, I will not abuse thee,

Although it cost my life, if thou refuse me.

Thy husband, press’d for France, what was his name—

JANE. Ralph Damport.

HAM. Damport——Here’s a letter sent

From France to me, from a dear friend of mine,

A gentleman of place; here he doth write

Their names that have been slain in every fight.

JANE. I hope death’s scroll contains not my love’s name.

HAM. Cannot you read—

JANE. I can.

HAM. Peruse the same.

To my remembrance such a name I read

Amongst the rest. See here.

JANE. Ay me, he’s dead!

He’s dead! If this be true, my dear heart’s slain!

HAM. Have patience, dear love.

JANE. Hence, hence!

HAM. Nay, sweet Jane,

Make not poor sorrow proud with these rich tears.

I mourn thy husband’s death, because thou mourn’st.

JANE. That bill is forg’d; ’tis sign’d by forgery.

HAM. I’ll bring thee letters sent besides to many,

Carrying the like report: Jane ’tis too true.

Come, weep not: mourning, though it rise from love,

Helps not the mourned, yet hurts them that mourn.

JANE. For God’s sake, leave me.

HAM. Whither dost thou turn—

Forget the dead, love them that are alive;

His love is faded, try how mine will thrive.

JANE. ’Tis now no time for me to think on love.

HAM. ’Tis now best time for you to think on love,

Because your love lives not.

JANE. Though he be dead,

My love to him shall not be buried;

For God’s sake, leave me to myself alone.

HAM. ’T would kill my soul, to leave thee drown’d in moan.

Answer me to my suit, and I am gone;

Say to me yea or no.

JANE. No.

HAM. Then farewell!

One farewell will not serve, I come again;

Come dry these wet cheeks; tell me, faith, sweet Jane,

Yea or no, once more.

JANE. Once more I say: no;

Once more be gone, I pray; else will I go.

HAM. Nay, then I will grow rude, by this white hand,

Until you change that cold “no”; here I’ll stand

Till by your hard heart—

JANE. Nay, for God’s love, peace!

My sorrows by your presence more increase.

Not that you thus are present, but all grief

Desires to be alone; therefore in brief

Thus much I say, and saying bid adieu:

If ever I wed man, it shall be you.

HAM. O blessed voice! Dear Jane, I’ll urge no more,

Thy breath hath made me rich.

JANE. Death makes me poor. Exeunt.

Note 1. A street in London.

Act IV

Scene II

HODGE, at his shop-board, RALPH, FIRK, HANS, and a Boy at work 1

ALL. Hey, down a down, down derry.

HODGE. Well said, my hearts; ply your work to-day, we loit’red yesterday; to it pell-mell, that we may live to be lord mayors, or aldermen at least.

FIRK. Hey, down a down, derry.

HODGE. Well said, i’ faith! How say’st thou, Hans, doth not Firk tickle it—

HANS. Yaw, mester.

FIRK. Not so neither, my organ-pipe squeaks this morning for want of liquoring. Hey, down a down, derry!

HANS. Forward, Firk, tow best un jolly yongster. Hort, I, mester, ic bid yo, cut me un pair vampres vor Mester Jeffre’s boots. 2

HODGE. Thou shalt, Hans.

FIRK. Master!

HODGE. How now, boy—

FIRK. Pray, now you are in the cutting vein, cut me out a pair of counterfeits, 3 or else my work will not pass current; hey, down a down!

HODGE. Tell me, sirs, are my cousin Mrs. Priscilla’s shoes done—

FIRK. Your cousin— No, master; one of your aunts, hand her; let them alone.

RALPH. I am in hand with them; she gave charge that none but I should do them for her.

FIRK. Thou do for her— Then ’twill be a lame doing, and that she loves not. Ralph, thou might’st have sent her to me, in faith, I would have yearked and firked your Priscilla. Hey, down a down, derry. This gear will not hold.

HODGE. How say’st thou, Firk, were we not merry at Old Ford—

FIRK. How, merry! Why, our buttocks went jiggy-joggy like a quagmire. Well, Sir Roger Oatmeal, if I thought all meal of that nature, I would eat nothing but bagpuddings.

RALPH. Of all good fortunes my fellow Hans had the best.

FIRK. ’Tis true, because Mistress Rose drank to him.

HODGE. Well, well, work apace. They say, seven of the aldermen be dead, or very sick.

FIRK. I care not, I’ll be none.

RALPH. No, nor I; but then my Master Eyre will come quickly to be lord

mayor.

Enter SYBIL

FIRK. Whoop, yonder comes Sybil.

HODGE. Sybil, welcome, i’faith; and how dost thou, mad wench—

FIRK. Sybil, welcome to London.

SYBIL. Godamercy, sweet Firk; good lord, Hodge, what a delicious shop you have got! You tickle it, i’faith.

RALPH. Godamercy, Sybil, for our good cheer at Old Ford.

SYBIL. That you shall have, Ralph.

FIRK. Nay, by the mass, we had tickling cheer, Sybil; and how the plague dost thou and Mistress Rose and my lord mayor— I put the women in first.

SYBIL. Well, Godamercy; but God’s me, I forget myself, where’s Hans the Fleming—

FIRK. Hark, butter-box, now you must yelp our some spreken.

HANS. Wat begaie you— Vat vod you, Frister— 4

SYBIL. Marry, you must come to my young mistress, to pull on her shoes you made last.

HANS. Vare ben your egle fro, vare ben your mistris— 5

SYBIL. Marry, here at our London house in Cornhill.

FIRK. Will nobody serve her turn but Hans—

SYBIL. No, sir. Come, Hans, I stand upon needles.

HODGE. Why then Sybil, take heed of pricking.

SYBIL. For that let me alone. I have a trick in my budget. Come, Hans.

HANS. Yaw, yaw, ic sall meete yo gane. 6 Exit HANS and SYBIL.

HODGE. Go, Hans, make haste again. Come, who lacks work—

FIRK. I, master, for I lack my breakfast; ’tis munching-time, and past.

HODGE. Is’t so— Why, then leave work, Ralph. To breakfast! Boy, look to the tools. Come, Ralph; come, Firk. Exeunt.

Note 1. London: a street before Hodge’s shop.

Note 2. “Forward, Firk thou art a jolly youngster. Hark, ay, master, I pray you cut me a pair of vamps for Master Jeffrey’s boots.” Vamps are the upper leathers of a shoe.

Note 3. Counterfeits sometimes means vamps.

Note 4. What do you want, what would you, girl—

Note 5. Where is your noble lady, where is your mistress—

Note 6. Yes, yes, I shall go with you.

Act IV

Scene III

Enter a Serving-man 1

SERV. Let me see now, the sign of the Last in Tower Street. Mass, yonder’s the house. What, haw! Who’s within—

Enter RALPH

RALPH. Who calls there— What want you, sir—

SERV. Marry, I would have a pair of shoes made for a gentlewoman against to-morrow morning. What, can you do them—

RALPH. Yes, sir, you shall have them. But what length’s her foot—

SERV. Why, you must make them in all parts like this shoe; but, at any hand, fail not to do them, for the gentlewoman is to be married very early in the morning.

RALPH. How— by this shoe must it be made— By this— Are you sure, sir, by this—

SERV. How, by this— Am I sure, by this— Art thou in thy wits— I tell thee, I must have a pair of shoes, dost thou mark me— A pair of shoes, two shoes, made by this very shoe, this same shoe, against to-morrow morning by four a clock. Dost understand me— Canst thou do’t—

RALPH. Yes, sir, yes—I—I—I can do’t. By this shoe, you say— I should know this shoe. Yes, sir, yes, by this shoe, I can do’t. Four a clock, well. Whither shall I bring them—

SERV. To the sign of the Golden Ball in Watling Street; enquire for one Master Hammon, a gentleman, my master.

RALPH. Yea, sir; by this shoe, you say—

SERV. I say, Master Hammon at the Golden Ball; he’s the bridegroom, and those shoes are for his bride.

RALPH. They shall be done by this shoe. Well, well, Master Hammon at the Golden Shoe—I would say, the Golden Ball; very well, very well. But I pray you, sir, where must Master Hammon be married—

SERV. At Saint Faith’s Church, under Paul’s. But what’s that to thee— Prithee, dispatch those shoes, and so farewell. Exit.

RALPH. By this shoe, said he. How am I amaz’d

At this strange accident! Upon my life,

This was the very shoe I gave my wife,

When I was press’d for France; since when, alas!

I never could hear of her. It is the same,

And Hammon’s bride no other but my Jane.

Enter FIRK

FIRK. ’Snails 2 Ralph, thou hast lost thy part of three pots, a countryman of mine gave me to breakfast.

RALPH. I care not; I have found a better thing.

FIRK. A thing— Away! Is it a man’s thing, or a woman’s thing—

RALPH. Firk, dost thou know this shoe—

FIRK. No, by my troth; neither doth that know me! I have no acquaintance with it, ’tis a mere stranger to me.

RALPH. Why, then I do; this shoe, I durst be sworn,

Once covered the instep of my Jane.

This is her size, her breadth, thus trod my love;

These true-love knots I pricked. I hold my life,

By this old shoe I shall find out my wife.

FIRK. Ha, ha! Old shoe, that wert new! How a murrain came this ague-fit of foolishness upon thee—

RALPH. Thus, Firk: even now here came a serving-man;

By this shoe would he have a new pair made

Against to-morrow morning for his mistress,

That’s to be married to a gentleman.

And why may not this be my sweet Jane—

FIRK. And why may’st not thou be my sweet ass— Ha, ha!

RALPH. Well, laugh and spare not! But the truth is this:

Against to-morrow morning I’ll provide

A lusty crew of honest shoemakers,

To watch the going of the bride to church.

If she prove Jane, I’ll take her in despite

From Hammon and the devil, were he by.

If it be not my Jane, what remedy—

Hereof I am sure, I shall live till I die,

Although I never with a woman lie. Exit.

FIRK. Thou lie with a woman to build nothing but Cripple-gates! Well, God sends fools fortune, and it may be, he may light upon his matrimony by such a device; for wedding and hanging goes by destiny. Exit.

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. A corruption of “God’s nails.”

Act IV

Scene IV

Enter HANS and ROSE, arm in arm 1

HANS. How happy am I by embracing thee!

Oh, I did fear such cross mishaps did reign,

That I should never see my Rose again.

ROSE. Sweet Lacy, since fair opportunity

Offers herself to further our escape,

Let not too over-fond esteem of me

Hinder that happy hour. Invent the means,

And Rose will follow thee through all the world.

HANS. Oh, how I surfeit with excess of joy,

Made happy by thy rich perfection!

But since thou pay’st sweet interest to my hopes,

Redoubling love on love, let me once more

Like to a bold-fac’d debtor crave of thee,

This night to steal abroad, and at Eyre’s house,

Who now by death of certain aldermen

Is mayor of London, and my master once,

Meet thou thy Lacy, where in spite of change,

Your father’s anger, and mine uncle’s hate,

Our happy nuptials will we consummate.

Enter SYBIL

SYBIL. Oh God, what will you do, mistress— Shift for yourself, your father is at hand! He’s coming, he’s coming! Master Lacy, hide yourself in my mistress! For God’s sake, shift for yourselves!

HANS. Your father come, sweet Rose—what shall I do—

Where shall I hide me— How shall I escape—

ROSE. A man, and want wit in extremity—

Come, come, be Hans still, play the shoemaker,

Pull on my shoe.

Enter the LORD MAYOR

HANS. Mass, and that’s well rememb’red.

SYBIL. Here comes your father.

HANS. Forware, metresse, ’tis un good skow, it sal vel dute, or ye sal neit betallen. 2

ROSE. Oh God, it pincheth me; what will you do—

HANS. [Aside.] Your father’s presence pincheth, not the shoe.

L. MAYOR. Well done; fit my daughter well, and she shall please thee well.

HANS. Yaw, yaw, ick weit dat well; forware, ’tis un good skoo, ’tis

gimait van neits leither; se euer, mine here. 3

Enter a Prentice

L. MAYOR. I do believe it.—What’s the news with you—

PRENTICE. Please you, the Earl of Lincoln at the gate

Is newly lighted, and would speak with you.

L. MAYOR. The Earl of Lincoln come to speak with me—

Well, well, I know his errand. Daughter Rose,

Send hence your shoemaker, dispatch, have done!

Syb, make things handsome! Sir boy, follow me. Exit.

HANS. Mine uncle come! Oh, what may this portend—

Sweet Rose, this of our love threatens an end.

ROSE. Be not dismay’d at this; whate’er befall,

Rose is thine own. To witness I speak truth,

Where thou appoint’st the place, I’ll meet with thee.

I will not fix a day to follow thee,

But presently 4 steal hence. Do not reply:

Love which gave strength to bear my father’s hate,

Shall now add wings to further our escape. Exeunt.

Note 1. London: a room in the Lord Mayor’s house.

Note 2. Indeed, mistress, ’tis a good shoe, it shall fit well, or you shall not pay.

Note 3. Yes, yes, I know that well; indeed, ’tis a good shoe, ’tis made of neat’s leather, see here, good sir!

Note 4. Immediately.

Act IV

Scene V

Enter the LORD MAYOR and the EARL OF LINCOLN 1

L. MAYOR. Believe me, on my credit, I speak truth:

Since first your nephew Lacy went to France,

I have not seen him. It seem’d strange to me,

When Dodger told me that he stay’d behind,

Neglecting the high charge the king imposed.

LINCOLN. Trust me, Sir Roger Oateley, I did think

Your counsel had given head to this attempt,

Drawn to it by the love he bears your child.

Here I did hope to find him in your house;

But now I see mine error, and confess,

My judgment wrong’d you by conceiving so.

L. MAYOR. Lodge in my house, say you— Trust me, my lord,

I love your nephew Lacy too too dearly,

So much to wrong his honour; and he hath done so,

That first gave him advice to stay from France.

To witness I speak truth, I let you know,

How careful I have been to keep my daughter

Free from all conference or speech of him;

Not that I scorn your nephew, but in love

I bear your honour, lest your noble blood

Should by my mean worth be dishonoured.

LINCOLN. [Aside.] How far the churl’s tongue wanders from his heart!

Well, well, Sir Roger Oateley, I believe you,

With more than many thanks for the kind love

So much you seem to bear me. But, my lord,

Let me request your help to seek my nephew,

Whom if I find, I’ll straight embark for France.

So shall your Rose be free, my thoughts at rest,

And much care die which now lies in my breast.

Enter SYBIL

SYBIL. Oh Lord! Help, for God’s sake! My mistress; oh, my young mistress!

L. MAYOR. Where is thy mistress— What’s become of her—

SYBIL. She’s gone, she’s fled!

L. MAYOR. Gone! Whither is she fled—

SYBIL. I know not, forsooth; she’s fled out of doors with Hans the shoemaker; I saw them scud, scud, scud, apace, apace!

L. MAYOR. Which way— What, John! Where be my men— Which way—

SYBIL. I know not, an it please your worship.

L. MAYOR. Fled with a shoemaker— Can this be true—

SYBIL. Oh Lord, sir, as true as God’s in Heaven.

LINCOLN. Her love turn’d shoemaker— I am glad of this.

L. MAYOR. A Fleming butter-box, a shoemaker!

Will she forget her birth, requite my care

With such ingratitude— Scorn’d she young Hammon

To love a honniken, 2 a needy knave—

Well, let her fly, I’ll not fly after her,

Let her starve, if she will; she’s none of mine.

LINCOLN. Be not so cruel, sir.

Enter FIRK with shoes

SYBIL. I am glad, she’s scap’d.

L. MAYOR. I’ll not account of her as of my child.

Was there no better object for her eyes

But a foul drunken lubber, swill-belly,

A shoemaker— That’s brave!

FIRK. Yea, forsooth; ’tis a very brave shoe, and as fit as a pudding.

L. MAYOR. How now, what knave is this— From whence comest thou—

FIRK. No knave, sir. I am Firk the shoemaker, lusty Roger’s chief lusty journeyman, and I have come hither to take up the pretty leg of sweet Mistress Rose, and thus hoping your worship is in as good health, as I was at the making hereof, I bid you farewell, yours, Firk.

L. MAYOR. Stay, stay, Sir Knave!

LINCOLN. Come hither, shoemaker!

FIRK. ’Tis happy the knave is put before the shoemaker, or else I would not have vouchsafed to come back to you. I am moved, for I stir.

L. MAYOR. My lord, this villain calls us knaves by craft.

FIRK. Then ’tis by the gentle craft, and to call one knave gently, is no harm. Sit your worship merry! Syb, your young mistress—I’ll so bob 3 them, now my Master Eyre is lord mayor of London.

L. MAYOR. Tell me, sirrah, whose man are you—

FIRK. I am glad to see your worship so merry. I have no maw to this gear, no stomach as yet to a red petticoat. Pointing to SYBIL.

LINCOLN. He means not, sir, to woo you to his maid,

But only doth demand whose man you are.

FIRK. I sing now to the tune of Rogero. Roger, my fellow, is now my master.

LINCOLN. Sirrah, know’st thou one Hans, a shoemaker—

FIRK. Hans, shoemaker— Oh yes, stay, yes, I have him. I tell you what, I speak it in secret: Mistress Rose and he are by this time—no, not so, but shortly are to come over one another with “Can you dance the shaking of the sheets—” It is that Hans—[Aside.] I’ll so gull 4 these diggers! 5

L. MAYOR. Know’st thou, then, where he is—

FIRK. Yes, forsooth; yea, marry!

LINCOLN. Canst thou, in sadness 6—

FIRK. No, forsooth; no, marry!

L. MAYOR. Tell me, good honest fellow, where he is,

And thou shalt see what I’ll bestow on thee.

FIRK. Honest fellow— No, sir; not so, sir; my profession is the gentle craft; I care not for seeing, I love feeling; let me feel it here; aurium tenus, ten pieces of gold; genuum tenus, ten pieces of silver; and then Firk is your man—[aside] in a new pair of stretchers. 7

L. MAYOR. Here is an angel, part of thy reward,

Which I will give thee; tell me where he is.

FIRK. No point. Shall I betray my brother— No! Shall I prove Judas to Hans— No! Shall I cry treason to my corporation— No, I shall be firked and yerked then. But give me your angel; your angel shall tell you.

LINCOLN. Do so, good fellow; ’tis no hurt to thee.

FIRK. Send simpering Syb away.

L. MAYOR. Huswife, get you in. Exit SYBIL.

FIRK. Pitchers have ears, and maids have wide mouths; but for Hans Prauns, upon my word, to-morrow morning he and young Mistress Rose go to this gear, they shall be married together, by this rush, or else turn Firk to a firkin of butter, to tan leather withal.

L. MAYOR. But art thou sure of this—

FIRK. Am I sure that Paul’s steeple is a handful higher than London Stone, 8 or that the Pissing-Conduit 9 leaks nothing but pure Mother Bunch— 10 Am I sure I am lusty Firk— God’s nails, do you think I am so base to gull you—

LINCOLN. Where are they married— Dost thou know the church—

FIRK. I never go to church, but I know the name of it; it is a swearing church-stay a while, ’tis—ay, by the mass, no, no,—’tis—ay, by my troth, no, nor that; ’tis—ay, by my faith, that, that, ’tis, ay, by my Faith’s Church under Paul’s Cross. There they shall be knit like a pair of stockings in matrimony; there they’ll be inconie. 11

LINCOLN. Upon my life, my nephew Lacy walks

In the disguise of this Dutch shoemaker.

FIRK. Yes, forsooth.

LINCOLN. Doth he not, honest fellow—

FIRK. No, forsooth; I think Hans is nobody but Hans, no spirit.

L. MAYOR. My mind misgives me now, ’tis so, indeed.

LINCOLN. My cousin speaks the language, knows the trade.

L. MAYOR. Let me request your company, my lord;

Your honourable presence may, no doubt,

Refrain their headstrong rashness, when myself

Going alone perchance may be o’erborne.

Shall I request this favour—

LINCOLN. This, or what else.

FIRK. Then you must rise betimes, for they mean to fall to their hey—pass and repass, 12 pindy-pandy, which hand will you have, very early.

L. MAYOR. My care shall every way equal their haste.

This night accept your lodging in my house,

The earlier shall we stir, and at Saint Faith’s

Prevent this giddy hare-brain’d nuptial.

This traffic of hot love shall yield cold gains:

They ban 13 our loves, and we’ll forbid their banns. Exit.

LINCOLN. At Saint Faith’s Church thou say’st—

FIRK. Yes, by their troth.

LINCOLN. Be secret, on thy life. Exit.

FIRK. Yes, when I kiss your wife! Ha, ha, here’s no craft in the gentle craft. I came hither of purpose with shoes to Sir Roger’s worship, whilst Rose, his daughter, be cony-catched by Hans. Soft now; these two gulls will be at Saint Faith’s Church to-morrow morning, to take Master Bridegroom and Mistress Bride napping, and they, in the mean time, shall chop up the matter at the Savoy. But the best sport is, Sir Roger Oateley will find my fellow lame Ralph’s wife going to marry a gentleman, and then he’ll stop her instead of his daughter. Oh brave! there will be fine tickling sport. Soft now, what have I to do— Oh, I know; now a mess of shoemakers meet at the Woolsack in Ivy Lane, to cozen 14 my gentleman of lame Ralph’s wife, that’s true.

Alack, alack!

Girls, hold out tack!

For now smocks for this jumbling

Shall go to wrack.

Exit.

Note 1. Another room in the same house.

Note 2. Simpleton (—).

Note 3. Fool.

Note 4. Fool.

Note 5. I. e., diggers for information.

Note 6. Seriously.

Note 7. Stretchers of the truth, lies.

Note 8. A stone which marked the center from which the old Roman roads radiated.

Note 9. A small conduit near the Royal Exchange.

Note 10. Mother Bunch was a well-known ale-wife.

Note 11. A pretty sight.

Note 12. Conjuring terms.

Note 13. Curse.

Note 14. Cheat.

Act V

Scene I

Enter EYRE, MARGERY, HANS, and ROSE 1

EYRE. This is the morning, then; stay, my bully, my honest Hans, is it not—

HANS. This is the morning that must make us two happy or miserable; therefore, if you—

EYRE. Away with these ifs and ands, Hans, and these et caeteras! By mine honour, Rowland Lacy, none but the king shall wrong thee. Come, fear nothing, am not I Sim Eyre— Is not Sim Eyre lord mayor of London— Fear nothing, Rose: let them all say what they can; dainty, come thou to me-laughest thou—

MARG. Good my lord, stand her friend in what thing you may.

EYRE. Why, my sweet Lady Madgy, think you Simon Eyre can forget his fine Dutch journeyman— No, vah! Fie, I scorn it, it shall never be cast in my teeth, that I was unthankful. Lady Madgy, thou had’st never covered thy Saracen’s head with this French flap, nor loaden thy bum with this farthingale, (‘tis trash, trumpery, vanity); Simon Eyre had never walked in a red petticoat, nor wore a chain of gold, but for my fine journeyman’s Portuguese.—And shall I leave him— No! Prince am I none, yet bear a princely mind.

HANS. My lord, ’tis time for us to part from hence.

EYRE. Lady Madgy, Lady Madgy, take two or three of my piecrust-eaters, my buff-jerkin varlets, that do walk in black gowns at Simon Eyre’s heels; take them, good Lady Madgy; trip and go, my brown queen of periwigs, with my delicate Rose and my jolly Rowland to the Savoy; see them link’d, countenance the marriage; and when it is done, cling, cling together, you Hamborow turtle-doves. I’ll bear you out, come to Simon Eyre; come, dwell with me, Hans, thou shalt eat minced-pies and marchpane. 2 Rose, away, cricket; trip and go, my Lady Madgy, to the Savoy; Hans, wed, and to bed; kiss, and away! Go, vanish!

MARG. Farewell, my lord.

ROSE. Make haste, sweet love.

MARG. She’d fain the deed were done.

HANS. Come, my sweet Rose; faster than deer we’ll run. Exeunt HANS, ROSE, and MARGERY.

EYRE. Go, vanish, vanish! Avaunt, I say! By the Lord of Ludgate, it’s a made life to be a lord mayor; it’s a stirring life, a fine life, a velvet life, a careful life. Well, Simon Eyre, yet set a good face on it, in the honour of Saint Hugh. Soft, the king this day comes to dine with me, to see my new buildings; his majesty is welcome, he shall have good cheer, delicate cheer, princely cheer. This day, my fellow prentices of London come to dine with me too, they shall have fine cheer, gentlemanlike cheer. I promised the mad Cappadocians, when we all served at the Conduit together, that if ever I came to be mayor of London, I would feast them all, and I’ll do’t, I’ll do’t, by the life of Pharaoh; by this beard, Sim Eyre will be no flincher. Besides, I have procur’d that upon every Shrove-Tuesday, at the sound of the pancake bell, my fine dapper Assyrian lads shall clap up their shop windows, and away. This is the day, and this day they shall do’t, they shall do’t.

Boys, that day are you free, let masters care,

And prentices shall pray for Simon Eyre.

Exit.

Note 1. A room in Eyre’s house.

Note 2. A sweetmeat made of sugar and almonds.

Act V

Scene II

Enter HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, and five or six Shoemakers, all with cudgels or such weapons 1

HODGE. Come, Ralph; stand to it, Firk. My masters, as we are the brave bloods of the shoemakers, heirs apparent to Saint Hugh, and perpetual benefactors to all good fellows, thou shalt have no wrong; were Hammon a king of spades, he should not delve in thy close without thy sufferance. But tell me, Ralph, art thou sure ’tis thy wife—

RALPH. Am I sure this is Firk— This morning, when I stroked 2 on her shoes, I looked upon her, and she upon me, and sighed, asked me if ever I knew one Ralph. Yes, said I. For his sake, said she—tears standing in her eyes—and for thou art somewhat like him, spend this piece of gold. I took it; my lame leg and my travel beyond sea made me unknown. All is one for that: I know she’s mine.

FIRK. Did she give thee this gold— O glorious glittering gold! She’s thine own, ’tis thy wife, and she loves thee; for I’ll stand to’t, there’s no woman will give gold to any man, but she thinks better of him than she thinks of them she gives silver to. And for Hammon, neither Hammon nor hangman shall wrong thee in London. Is not our old master Eyre, lord mayor— Speak, my hearts.

ALL. Yes, and Hammon shall know it to his cost.

Enter HAMMON, his Serving-man, JANE and Others

HODGE. Peace, my bullies; yonder they come.

RALPH. Stand to’t, my hearts. Firk, let me speak first.

HODGE. No, Ralph, let me.—Hammon, whither away so early—

HAM. Unmannerly, rude slave, what’s that to thee—

FIRK. To him, sir— Yes, sir, and to me, and others. Good-morrow, Jane, how dost thou— Good Lord, how the world is changed with you! God be thanked!

HAM. Villains, hands off! How dare you touch my love—

ALL. Villains— Down with them! Cry clubs for prentices! 3

HODGE. Hold, my hearts! Touch her, Hammon— Yea, and more than that: we’ll carry her away with us. My masters and gentlemen, never draw your bird-spits; shoemakers are steel to the back, men every inch of them, all spirit. Those of Hammon’s side. Well, and what of all this—

HODGE. I’ll show you.—Jane, dost thou know this man— ’Tis Ralph, I can tell thee; nay, ’tis he in faith, though he be lam’d by the wars. Yet look not strange, but run to him, fold him about the neck and kiss him.

JANE. Lives then my husband— Oh God, let me go, Let me embrace my Ralph.

HAM. What means my Jane—

JANE. Nay, what meant you, to tell me, he was slain—

HAM. Pardon me, dear love, for being misled.

[To RALPH.] ’Twas rumour’d here in London, thou wert dead.

FIRK. Thou seest he lives. Lass, go, pack home with him. Now, Master Hammon, where’s your mistress, your wife—

SERV. ’Swounds, master, fight for her! Will you thus lose her—

ALL. Down with that creature! Clubs! Down with him!

HODGE. Hold, hold!

HAM. Hold, fool! Sirs, he shall do no wrong.

Will my Jane leave me thus, and break her faith—

FIRK. Yea, sir! She must, sir! She shall, sir! What then— Mend it!

HODGE. Hark, fellow Ralph, follow my counsel: set the wench in the midst, and let her choose her man, and let her be his woman.

JANE. Whom should I choose— Whom should my thoughts affect

But him whom Heaven hath made to be my love—

Thou art my husband, and these humble weeds

Make thee more beautiful than all his wealth.

Therefore, I will but put off his attire,

Returning it into the owner’s hand,

And after ever be thy constant wife.

HODGE. Not a rag, Jane! The law’s on our side; he that sows in another man’s ground, forfeits his harvest. Get thee home, Ralph; follow him, Jane; he shall not have so much as a busk-point 4 from thee.

FIRK. Stand to that, Ralph; the appurtenances are thine own. Hammon, look not at her!

SERV. O, swounds, no!

FIRK. Blue coat, be quiet, we’ll give you a new livery else; we’ll make Shrove Tuesday Saint George’s Day for you. Look not, Hammon, leer not! I’ll firk you! For thy head now, one glance, one sheep’s eye, anything, at her! Touch not a rag, lest I and my brethren beat you to clouts.

SERV. Come, Master Hammon, there’s no striving here.

HAM. Good fellows, hear me speak; and, honest Ralph,

Whom I have injured most by loving Jane,

Mark what I offer thee: here in fair gold

Is twenty pound, I’ll give it for thy Jane;

If this content thee not, thou shalt have more.

HODGE. Sell not thy wife, Ralph; make her not a whore.

HAM. Say, wilt thou freely cease thy claim in her And let her be my wife—

ALL. No, do not, Ralph.

RALPH. Sirrah, Hammon, Hammon, dost thou think a shoemaker is so base to be a bawd to his own wife for commodity— Take thy gold, choke with it! Were I not lame, I would make thee eat thy words.

FIRK. A shoemaker sell his flesh and blood— Oh indignity!

HODGE. Sirrah, take up your pelf, and be packing.

HAM. I will not touch one penny, but in lieu

Of that great wrong I offered thy Jane,

To Jane and thee I give that twenty pound.

Since I have fail’d of her, during my life,

I vow, no woman else shall be my wife.

Farewell, good fellows of the gentle trade:

Your morning mirth my mourning day hat made. Exit.

FIRK. [To the Serving-man.] Touch the gold, creature, if you dare! Y’are best be trudging. Here, Jane, take thou it, Now let’s home, my hearts.

HODGE. Stay! Who comes here— Jane, on again with thy mask!

Enter the EARL OF LINCOLN, the LORD MAYOR and Servants

LINCOLN. Yonder’s the lying varlet mocked us so.

L. MAYOR. Come hither, sirrah!

FIRK. I, sir— I am sirrah— You mean me, do you not—

LINCOLN. Where is my nephew married—

FIRK. Is he married— God give him joy, I am glad of it. They have a fair day, and the sign is in a good planet, Mars in Venus.

L. MAYOR. Villain, thou toldst me that my daughter Rose

This morning should be married at Saint Faith’s;

We have watch’d there these three hours at the least,

Yet see we no such thing.

FIRK. Truly, I am sorry for’t; a bride’s a pretty thing.

HODGE. Come to the purpose. Yonder’s the bride and bridegroom you look for, I hope. Though you be lords, you are not to bar by your authority men from women, are you—

L. MAYOR. See, see, my daughter’s masked.

LINCOLN. True, and my nephew,

To hide his guilt, counterfeits him lame.

FIRK. Yea, truly; God help the poor couple, they are lame and blind.

L. MAYOR. I’ll ease her blindness.

LINCOLN. I’ll his lameness cure.

FIRK. Lie down, sirs, and laugh! My fellow Ralph is taken for Rowland Lacy, and Jane for Mistress Damask Rose. This is all my knavery.

L. MAYOR. What, have I found you, minion—

LINCOLN. O base wretch

Nay, hide thy face, the horror of thy guilt

Can hardly be washed off. Where are thy powers—

What battles have you made— O yes, I see,

Thou fought’st with Shame, and Shame hath conquer’d thee.

This lameness will not serve.

L. MAYOR. Unmask yourself.

LINCOLN. Lead home your daughter.

L. MAYOR. Take your nephew hence.

RALPH. Hence! Swounds, what mean you— Are you mad— I hope you cannot enforce my wife from me. Where’s Hammon—

L. MAYOR. Your wife—

LINCOLN. What, Hammon—

RALPH. Yea, my wife; and, therefore, the proudest of you that lays hands on her first, I’ll lay my crutch ’cross his pate.

FIRK. To him, lame Ralph! Here’s brave sport!

RALPH. Rose call you her— Why, her name is Jane. Look here else; do you know her now— [Unmasking JANE.]

LINCOLN. Is this your daughter—

L. MAYOR. No, nor this your nephew.

My Lord of Lincoln, we are both abus’d

By this base, crafty varlet.

FIRK. Yea, forsooth, no varlet; forsooth, no base; forsooth, I am but mean; no crafty neither, but of the gentle craft.

L. MAYOR. Where is my daughter Rose— Where is my child—

LINCOLN. Where is my nephew Lacy married—

FIRK. Why, here is good lac’d mutton, 5 as I promis’d you.

LINCOLN. Villain, I’ll have thee punish’d for this wrong.

FIRK. Punish the journeyman villain, but not the journeyman shoemaker.

Enter DODGER

DODGER. My lord, I come to bring unwelcome news.

Your nephew Lacy and your daughter Rose

Early this morning wedded at the Savoy,

None being present but the lady mayoress.

Besides, I learnt among the officers,

The lord mayor vows to stand in their defence

’Gainst any that shall seek to cross the match.

LINCOLN. Dares Eyre the shoemaker uphold the deed—

FIRK. Yes, sir, shoemakers dare stand in a woman’s quarrel, I warrant you, as deep as another, and deeper too.

DODGER. Besides, his grace to-day dines with the mayor;

Who on his knees humbly intends to fall

And beg a pardon for your nephew’s fault.

LINCOLN. But I’ll prevent him! Come, Sir Roger Oateley;

The king will do us justice in this cause.

Howe’er their hands have made them man and wife,

I will disjoin the match, or lose my life. Exeunt.

FIRK. Adieu, Monsieur Dodger! Farewell, fools! Ha, ha! Oh, if they had stay’d, I would have so lamb’d 6 them with flouts!… But let that pass, as my lady mayoress says.

HODGE. This matter is answer’d. Come, Ralph; home with thy wife. Come, my fine shoemakers, let’s to our master’s, the new lord mayor, and there swagger this Shrove-Tuesday. I’ll promise you wine enough, for Madge keeps the cellar.

ALL. O rare! Madge is a good wench.

FIRK. And I’ll promise you meat enough, for simp’ring Susan keeps the larder. I’ll lead you to victuals, my brave soldiers; follow your captain. O brave! Hark, hark! Bell rings.

ALL. The pancake-bell 7 rings, the pancake-bell! Trilill, my hearts!

FIRK. Oh brave! Oh sweet bell! O delicate pancakes! Open the doors, my hearts, and shut up the windows! Keep in the house, let out the pancakes! Oh rare, my hearts! Let’s march together for the honour of Saint Hugh to the great new hall 8 in Gracious Street-corner, which our master, the new lord mayor, hath built.

RALPH. O the crew of good fellows that will dine at my lord mayor’s cost to-day!

HODGE. By the Lord, may lord mayor is a most brave man. How shall prentices be bound to pray for him and the honour of the gentlemen shoemakers! Let’s feed and be fat with my lord’s bounty.

FIRK. O musical bell, still! O Hodge, O my brethren! There’s cheer for the heavens: venison-pasties walk up and down piping hot, like sergeants; beef and brewess 9 comes marching in dry-vats, 10 fritters and pancakes comes trowling in in wheel-barrows; hens and oranges hopping in porters’—baskets, collops and eggs in scuttles, 11 and tarts and custards comes quavering in in malt-shovels.

Enter more Prentices

ALL. Whoop, look here, look here!

HODGE. How now, mad lads, whither away so fast—

1ST PRENTICE. Whither— Why, to the great new hall, know you not why— The lord mayor hath bidden all the prentices in London to breakfast this morning.

ALL. Oh brave shoemakers, oh brave lord of incomprehensible good-fellowship! Whoo! Hark you! The pancake-bell rings. Cast up caps.

FIRK. Nay, more, may hearts! Every Shrove-Tuesday is our year of jubilee; and when the pancake-bell rings, we are as free as my lord mayor; we may shut up our shops, and make holiday. I’ll have it called Saint Hugh’s Holiday.

ALL. Agreed, agreed! Saint Hugh’s Holiday.

HODGE. And this shall continue for ever.

ALL. Oh brave! Come, come, my hearts! Away, away!

FIRK. O eternal credit to us of the gentle craft! March fair, my hearts! Oh rare! Exeunt.

Note 1. A street near St. Faith’s Church.

Note 2. Fitted.

Note 3. “Clubs” was the rallying cry of the London apprentices.

Note 4. A lace with a tag, which fastened the busk, or piece of wood or whale-bone, used to keep the stays in position.

Note 5. A slang term for a woman.

Note 6. Whipped.

Note 7. A bell rung on the morning of Shrove Tuesday.

Note 8. Leadenhall.

Note 9. Beef broth.

Note 10. Barrels.

Note 11. Hods.

Act V

Scene III

Enter the KING and his Train across the stage 1

KING. Is our lord mayor of London such a gallant—

NOBLEMAN. One of the merriest madcaps in your land.

Your grace will think, when you behold the man

He’s rather a wild ruffian than a mayor.

Yet thus much I’ll ensure your majesty.

In all his actions that concern his state,

He is as serious, provident, and wise,

As full of gravity amongst the grave,

As any mayor hath been these many years.

KING. I am with child, 2 till I behold this huff-cap 3

But all my doubt is, when we come in presence,

His madness will be dashed clean out of countenance.

NOBLEMAN. It may be so, my liege.

KING. Which to prevent,

Let some one give him notice, ’tis our pleasure

That he put on his wonted merriment.

Set forward!

ALL. On afore! Exeunt.

Note 1. A street in London.

Note 2. In suspense.

Note 3. Swaggerer.

Act V

Scene IV

Enter EYRE, HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, and other Shoemakers, all with napkins on their shoulders 1

EYRE. Come, my fine Hodge, my jolly gentlemen shoemakers; soft, where be these cannibals, these varlets, may officers— Let them all walk and wait upon my brethren; for my meaning is, that none but shoemakers, none but the livery of my company shall in their satin hoods wait upon the trencher of my sovereign.

FIRK. O my lord, it will be rare!

EYRE. No more, Firk; come lively! Let your fellow-prentices want no cheer; let wine be plentiful as beer, and beer a water. Hang these penny-pinching fathers, that cram wealth in innocent lamb-skins. Rip, knaves avaunt! Look to my guests!

HODGE. My lord, we are at our wits’ end for room; those hundred tables will not feast the fourth part of them.

EYRE. Then cover me those hundred tables again, and again, till all my jolly prentices be feasted. Avoid, Hodge! Run, Ralph! Frisk about, my nimble Firk! Carouse me fathom-healths to the honour of the shoemakers. Do they drink lively, Hodge— Do they tickle it, Firk—

FIRK. Tickle it! Some of them have taken their liquor standing so long that they can stand no longer; but for meat, they would eat it, an they had it.

EYRE. Want they meat— Where’s this swag-belly, this greasy kitchenstuff cook— Call the varlet to me! Want meat— Firk, Hodge, lame Ralph, run, my tall men, beleaguer the shambles, beggar all Eastcheap, serve me whole oxen in chargers, and let sheep whine upon the tables like pigs for want of good fellows to eat them. Want meat— Vanish, Firk! Avaunt, Hodge!

HODGE. Your lordship mistakes my man Firk; he means, their bellies want meat, not the boards; for they have drunk so much, they can eat nothing.

THE SECOND THREE MEN’S SONG

Cold’s the wind, and wet’s the rain,

Saint Hugh be our good speed:

Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,

Nor helps good hearts in need.

Trowl 2 the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl,

And here, kind mate, to thee:

Let’s sing a dirge for Saint Hugh’s soul,

And down it merrily.

Down a down heydown a down,

(Close with the tenor boy)

Hey derry derry, down a down!

Ho, well done; to me let come!

Ring, compass, gentle joy.

Trowl the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,

And here, kind mate, to thee: etc. [Repeat as often as there be men to drink; and at last when all have drunk, this verse:

Cold’s the wind, and wet’s the rain,

Saint Hugh be our good speed:

Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,

Nor helps good hearts in need.

Enter HANS, ROSE, and MARGERY

MARG. Where is my lord—

EYRE. How now, Lady Madgy—

MARG. The king’s most excellent majesty is new come; he sends me for thy honour; one of his most worshipful peers bade me tell thou must be merry, and so forth; but let that pass.

EYRE. Is my sovereign come— Vanish, my tall shoemakers, my nimble brethren; look to my guests, the prentices. Yet stay a little! How now, Hans— How looks my little Rose—

HANS. Let me request you to remember me.

I know, your honour easily may obtain

Free pardon of the king for me and Rose,

And reconcile me to my uncle’s grace.

EYRE. Have done, my good Hans, my honest journeyman; look cheerily! I’ll fall upon both my knees, till they be as hard as horn, but I’ll get thy pardon.

MARG. Good my lord, have a care what you speak to his grace.

EYRE. Away, you Islington whitepot! 3 hence, you barley-pudding, full of maggots! you broiled carbonado! 4 avaunt, avaunt, avoid, Mephistophiles! Shall Sim Eyre learn to speak of you, Lady Madgy— Vanish, Mother Miniver-cap; vanish go, trip and go; meddle with your partlets 5 and your pishery-pashery, your flewes 6 and your whirligigs; go, rub, 7 out of mine alley! Sim Eyre knows how to speak to a Pope, to Sultan Soliman, to Tamburlaine, an he were here, and shall I melt, shall I droop before my sovereign— No, come, my Lady Madgy! Follow me, Hans! About your business, my frolic freebooters! Firk, frisk about, and about, and about, for the honour of mad Simon Eyre, lord mayor of London.

FIRK. Hey, for the honour of the shoemakers. Exeunt.

Note 1. A great hall.

Note 2. Pass.

Note 3. “A dish, made of milk, eggs and sugar, baked in a pot.”—Webster.

Note 4. A steak cut crossways.

Note 5. Ruffs for the neck.

Note 6. Flaps; as resembling the hanging chaps of a hound.

Note 7. Obstruction, a term in bowling.

Act V

Scene V

A long flourish, or two. Enter the KING, Nobles, EYRE, MARGERY, LACY, ROSE. LACY and ROSE kneel 1

KING. Well, Lacy, though the fact was very foul

Of your revolting from our kingly love

And your own duty, yet we pardon you.

Rise both, and, Mistress Lacy, thank my lord mayor

For your young bridegroom here.

EYRE. So, my dear liege, Sim Eyre and my brethren, the gentlemen shoemakers, shall set your sweet majesty’s image cheek by jowl by Saint Hugh for this honour you have done poor Simon Eyre. I beseech your grace, pardon my rude behaviour; I am a handicraftsman, yet my heart is without craft; I would be sorry at my soul, that my boldness should offend my king.

KING. Nay, I pray thee, good lord mayor, be even as merry

As if thou wert among thy shoemakers;

It does me good to see thee in this humour.

EYRE. Say’st thou me so, my sweet Dioclesian— Then, humph! Prince am I none, yet am I princely born. By the Lord of Ludgate, my liege, I’ll be as merry as a pie. 2

KING. Tell me, in faith, mad Eyre, how old thou art.

EYRE. My liege, a very boy, a stripling, a younker; you see not a white hair on my head, not a gray in this beard. Every hair, I assure thy majesty, that sticks in this beard, Sim Eyre values at the King of Babylon’s ransom, Tamar Cham’s beard was a rubbing brush to’t: yet I’ll shave it off, and stuff tennis-balls with it, to please my bully king.

KING. But all this while I do not know your age.

EYRE. My liege, I am six and fifty year old, yet I can cry humph! with a sound heart for the honour of Saint Hugh. Mark this old wench, my king: I danc’d the shaking of the sheets with her six and thirty years ago, and yet I hope to get two or three young lord mayors, ere I die. I am lusty still, Sim Eyre still. Care and cold lodging brings white hairs. My sweet Majesty, let care vanish, cast it upon thy nobles, it will make thee look always young like Apollo, and cry humph! Prince am I none, yet am I princely born.

KING. Ha, ha!

Say, Cornwall, didst thou ever see his like—

Cornwall. Not I, my lord.

Enter the EARL OF LINCOLN and the LORD MAYOR

KING. Lincoln, what news with you—

LINCOLN. My gracious lord, have care unto yourself,

For there are traitors here.

ALL. Traitors— Where— Who—

EYRE. Traitors in my house— God forbid! Where be my officers—

I’ll spend my soul, ere my king feel harm.

KING. Where is the traitor, Lincoln—

LINCOLN. Here he stands.

KING. Cornwall, lay hold on Lacy!—Lincoln, speak,

What canst thou lay unto thy nephew’s charge—

LINCOLN. This, my dear liege: your Grace, to do me honour,

Heap’d on the head of this degenerate boy

Desertless favours; you made choice of him,

To be commander over powers in France.

But he——

KING. Good Lincoln, prithee, pause a while!

Even in thine eyes I read what thou wouldst speak.

I know how Lacy did neglect our love,

Ran himself deeply, in the highest degree,

Into vile treason——

LINCOLN. Is he not a traitor—

KING. Lincoln, he was; now have we pard’ned him.

’Twas not a base want of true valour’s fire,

That held him out of France, but love’s desire.

LINCOLN. I will not bear his shame upon my back.

KING. Nor shalt thou, Lincoln; I forgive you both.

LINCOLN. Then, good my liege, forbid the boy to wed

One whose mean birth will much disgrace his bed.

KING. Are they not married—

LINCOLN. No, my liege.

BOTH. We are.

KING. Shall I divorce them then— O be it far,

That any hand on earth should dare untie

The sacred knot, knit by God’s majesty;

I would not for my crown disjoin their hands

That are conjoin’d in holy nuptial bands.

How say’st thou, Lacy, wouldst thou lose thy Rose—

LACY. Not for all India’s wealth, my sovereign.

KING. But Rose, I am sure, her Lacy would forego—

ROSE. If Rose were asked that question, she’d say no.

KING. You hear them, Lincoln—

LINCOLN. Yea, my liege, I do.

KING. Yet canst thou find i’th’ heart to part these two—

Who seeks, besides you, to divorce these lovers—

L. MAYOR. I do, my gracious lord, I am her father.

KING. Sir Roger Oateley, our last mayor, I think—

Nobleman. The same, my liege.

KING. Would you offend Love’s laws—

Well, you shall have your wills, you sue to me,

To prohibit the match. Soft, let me see—

You both are married, Lacy, art thou not—

LACY. I am, dread sovereign.

KING. Then, upon thy life,

I charge thee, not to call this woman wife.

L. MAYOR. I thank your grace.

ROSE. O my most gracious lord! Kneels.

KING. Nay, Rose, never woo me; I tell you true,

Although as yet I am a bachelor,

Yet I believe, I shall not marry you.

ROSE. Can you divide the body from the soul,

Yet make the body live—

KING. Yea, so profound—

I cannot, Rose, but you I must divide.

This fair maid, bridegroom, cannot be your bride.

Are you pleas’d, Lincoln— Oateley, are you pleas’d—

Both. Yes, my lord.

KING. Then must my heart be eas’d;

For, credit me, my conscience lives in pain,

Till these whom I divorc’d, be join’d again.

Lacy, give me thy hand; Rose, lend me thine!

Be what you would be! Kiss now! So, that’s fine.

At night, lovers, to bed!—Now, let me see,

Which of you all mislikes this harmony.

L. MAYOR. Will you then take from me my child perforce—

KING. Why, tell me, Oateley: shines not Lacy’s name

As bright in the world’s eye as the gay beams

Of any citizen—

LINCOLN. Yea, but, my gracious lord,

I do mislike the match far more than he;

Her blood is too base.

KING. Lincoln, no more.

Dost thou not know that love respects no blood,

Cares not for difference of birth or state—

The maid is young, well born, fair, virtuous,

A worthy bride for any gentleman.

Besides, your nephew for her sake did stoop

To bare necessity, and, as I hear,

Forgetting honours and all courtly pleasures,

To gain her love, became a shoemaker.

As for the honour which he lost in France,

Thus I redeem it: Lacy, kneel thee down!—

Arise, Sir Rowland Lacy! Tell me now,

Tell me in earnest, Oateley, canst thou chide,

Seeing thy Rose a lady and a bride—

L. MAYOR. I am content with what your grace hath done.

LINCOLN. And I, my liege, since there’s no remedy.

KING. Come on, then, all shake hands: I’ll have you friends;

Where there is much love, all discord ends.

What says my mad lord mayor to all this love—

EYRE. O my liege, this honour you have done to my fine journey-man here, Rowland Lacy, and all these favours which you have shown to me this day in my poor house, will make Simon Eyre live longer by one dozen of warm summers more than he should.

KING. Nay, my mad lord mayor, that shall be thy name;

If any grace of mine can length thy life,

One honour more I’ll do thee: that new building, 3

Which at thy cost in Cornhill is erected,

Shall take a name from us; we’ll have it call’d

The Leadenhall, because in digging it

You found the lead that covereth the same.

EYRE. I thank your majesty.

MARG. Gold bless your grace!

KING. Lincoln, a word with you!

Enter HODGE, FIRK, RALPH, and more Shoemakers

EYRE. How now, my mad knaves— Peace, speak, softly, yonder is the king.

KING. With the old troop which there we keep in pay,

We will incorporate a new supply.

Before one summer more pass o’er my head,

France shall repent, England was injured.

What are all those—

LACY. All shoemakers, my liege,

Sometime my fellows; in their companies

I liv’d as merry as an emperor.

KING. My mad lord mayor, are all these shoemakers—

EYRE. All shoemakers, my liege; all gentleman of the gentle craft, true Trojans, courageous cordwainers; they all kneel to the shrine of holy Saint Hugh.

ALL THE SHOEMAKERS. God save your majesty!

KING. Mad Simon, would they anything with us—

EYRE. Mum, mad knaves! Not a word! I’ll do’t; I warrant you. They are all beggars, my liege; all for themselves, and I for them all on both my knees do entreat, that for the honour of poor Simon Eyre and the good of his brethren, these mad knaves, your grace would vouchsafe some privilege to my new Leadenhall, that it may be lawful for us to buy and sell leather there two days a week.

KING. Mad Sim, I grant your suit, you shall have patent

To hold two market-days in Leadenhall,

Mondays and Fridays, those shall be the times.

Will this content you—

ALL. Jesus bless your grace!

EYRE. In the name of these my poor brethren shoemakers, I most humbly thank your grace. But before I rise, seeing you are in the giving vein and we in the begging, grant Sim Eyre one boon more.

KING. What is it, my lord mayor—

EYRE. Vouchsafe to taste of a poor banquet that stands sweetly waiting for your sweet presence.

KING. I shall undo thee, Eyre, only with feasts;

Already have I been too troublesome;

Say, have I not—

EYRE. O my dear king, Sim Eyre was taken unawares upon a day of shroving, 4 which I promised long ago to the prentices of London.

For, an’t please your highness, in time past,

I bare the water-tankard, 5 and my coat

Sits not a whit the worse upon my back;

And then, upon a morning, some mad boys,

It was Shrove Tuesday, even as ’tis now, gave me my breakfast, and I swore then by the stopple of my tankard, if ever I came to be lord mayor of London, I would feast all the prentices. This day, my liege, I did it, and the slaves had an hundred tables five times covered; they are gone home and vanished;

Yet add more honour to the gentle trade,

Taste of Eyre’s banquet, Simon’s happy made.

KING. Eyre, I will taste of thy banquet, and will say,

I have not met more pleasure on a day.

Friends of the gentle craft, thanks to you all,

Thanks, my kind lady mayoress, for our cheer.—

Come, lords, a while let’s revel it at home!

When all our sports and banquetings are done,

Wars must right wrongs which Frenchmen have begun. Exeunt.

Note 1. An open yard before the hall.

Note 2. Magpie.

Note 3. “A. D. 1419. This year Sir Symon Eyre built Leadenhall, at his proper expense, as it now appears, and gave the same to the City to be employed as a public granary for laying up corn against a time of scarcity.”—Maitland, ii., p. 187, quoted by Rhys.

Note 4. Merry-making.

Note 5. As an apprentice.

The Alchemist by Ben Jonson

Introductory Note

BEN JONSON was born of poor parents at Westminster in 1573. Through the influence of Camden, the antiquary, he got a good education at Westminster School; but he does not seem to have gone to a University, though later both Oxford and Cambridge gave him degrees. In his youth he practised for a time his stepfather’s trade of bricklaying, and he served as a soldier in Flanders.

It was probably about 1595 that he began to write for the stage, and within a few years he was recognized as a distinguished playwright. His comedy of “Every Man in His Humour” was not only a great immediate success, but founded a school of satirical drama in England. “Sejanus” and “Catiline” were less popular, but are impressive pictures of Roman life, less interesting but more accurate than the Roman plays of Shakespeare.

For the court of James I, Jonson wrote a large number of masques, which procured him substantial rewards in the form of pensions.

But it was between 1605 and 1614 that Jonson’s greatest work was done. “Volpone,” “Epicne,” “The Alchemist,” and “Bartholomew Fair” belong to this period, and are all masterpieces.

After the accession of Charles I, Jonson fell into adversity. His plays were less successful and he had enemies at court; but he continued to hold his position of leadership among his fellow authors.

Jonson died in 1637, and was celebrated in a volume of elegies to which all the chief poets of the day contributed.

“The Alchemist” is perhaps the most perfect technically of Jonson’s plays, and is an admirable satire on the quacks and humbugs of the day. It contains, at the same time so much universal human nature, and is so excellent in art, that it holds a place among the first of those Elizabethan works that have held the interest of posterity.

Argument

THE SICKNESS hot, 1 a master quit, for fear,

His house in town, and left one servant there;

Ease him corrupted, and gave means to know

A Cheater and his punk; 2 who now brought low,

Leaving their narrow practice, were become

Coz’ners 3 at large; and only wanting some

House to set up, with him they here contract,

Each for a share, and all begin to act.

Much company they draw, and much abuse, 4

In casting figures, 5 telling fortunes, news,

Selling of flies, 6 flat bawdry, with the stone, 7

Till it, and they, and all in fume 8 are gone.

Note 1. The plague raging.

Note 2. Mistress.

Note 3. Swindlers.

Note 4. Deceive.

Note 5. Calculating the future.

Note 6. Familiar spirits.

Note 7. Philosopher’s stone.

Note 8. Smoke.

Prologue

FORTUNE, that favours fools, these two short hours

We wish away, both for your sakes and ours,

Judging spectators; and desire, in place,

To th’ author justice, to ourselves but grace.

Our scene is London, ’cause we would make known,

No country’s mirth is better than our own:

No clime breeds better matter for your whore,

Bawd, squire, impostor, many persons more,

Whose manners, now call’d humours, feed the stage;

And which have still been subject for the rage

Or spleen of comic writers. Though this pen

Did never aim to grieve, but better men;

Howe’er the age he lives in doth endure

The vices that she breeds, above their cure.

But when the wholesome remedies are sweet,

And in their working gain and profit meet,

He hopes to find no spirit so much diseas’d,

But will with such fair correctives be pleas’d:

For here he doth not fear who can apply.

If there be any that will sit so nigh

Unto the stream, to look what it doth run

They shall find things, they’d think or wish were done:

They are so natural follies, but so shown,

Act I

Scene I

[Enter] FACE [in a captain’s uniform, with his sword drawn, and] SUBTLE [with a vial, quarrelling, and followed by] DOL COMMON 1

FACE. BELIEVE ’t, I will.

SUB. Thy worst.

DOL. Have you your wits— why, gentlemen! for love——

FACE. Sirrah, I’ll strip you——

SUB. What to do—

FACE. Rogue, rogue!—out of all your sleights. 2

DOL. Nay, look ye, sovereign, general, are you madmen—

SUB. O, let the wild sheep loose. I’ll gum your silks

With good strong water, an you come.

DOL. Will you have

The neighbours hear you— Will you betray all—

Hark! I hear somebody.

FACE. Sirrah——

SUB. I shall mar

All that the tailor has made if you approach.

FACE. You most notorious whelp, you insolent slave,

Dare you do this—

SUB. Yes, faith; yes, faith.

FACE. Why, who

Am I, my mongrel, who am I—

SUB. I’ll tell you.,

Since you know not yourself.

FACE. Speak lower, rogue.

SUB. Yes, you were once (time’s not long past) the good,

Honest, plain, livery-three-pound-thrum, 3 that kept

Your master’s worship’s house here in the Friars, 4

For the vacations——

FACE. Will you be so loud—

SUB. Since, by my means, translated suburb-captain.

FACE. By your means, doctor dog!

SUB. Within man’s memory,

All this I speak of.

FACE. Why, I pray you, have I

Been countenanc’d by you, or you by me—

Do but collect, sir, where I met you first.

SUB. I do not hear well.

FACE. Not of this, I think it.

But I shall put you in mind, sir;—at Pie-corner,

Taking your meal of steam in, from cooks’ stalls,

Where, like the father of hunger, you did walk

Piteously costive, with your pinch’d-horn-nose,

And your complexion of the Roman wash, 5

Stuck full of black and melancholic worms,

Like powder-corns 6 shot at the artillery-yard.

SUB. I wish you could advance your voice a little.

FACE. When you went pinn’d up in the several rags;

You had rak’d and pick’d from dunghills, before day;

Your feet in mouldy slippers, for your kibes; 7

A felt of rug, 8 and a thin threaden cloak,

That scarce would cover your no-buttocks——

SUB. So, sir!

FACE. When all your alchemy, and your algebra,

Your minerals, vegetals, and animals,

Your conjuring, coz’ning; and your dozen of trades,

Could not relieve your corpse with so much linen

Would make you tinder, but to see a fire;

I ga’ you count’nance, credit for your coals,

Your stills, your glasses, your materials;

Built you a furnace, drew you customers,

Advanc’d all your black arts; lent you, beside,

A house to practise in——

SUB. Your master’s house!

FACE. Where you have studied the more thriving skill

Of bawdry since.

SUB. Yes, in your master’s house.

You and the rats here kept possession.

Make it not strange. 9 I know you were one could keep

The buttery-hatch still lock’d, and save the chippings,

Sell the dole beer to aqua-vitae men, 10

The which, together with your Christmas vails 11

At post-and-pair, 12 your letting out of counters, 13

Made you a pretty stock, some twenty marks,

And gave you credit to converse with cobwebs,

Here, since your mistress’ death hath broke up house.

FACE. You might talk softlier, rascal.

SUB. No, you scarab,

I’ll thunder you in pieces: I will teach you

How to beware to tempt a Fury again

That carries tempest in his hand and voice.

FACE. The place has made you valiant.

SUB. No, your clothes.

Thou vermin, have I ta’en thee out of dung,

So poor, so wretched, when no living thing

Would keep thee company, but a spider or worse—

Rais’d thee from brooms, and dust, and wat’ring-pots,

Sublim’d thee, and exalted thee, and fix’d thee

In the third region, 14 call’d our state of grace—

Wrought thee to spirit, to quintessence, with pains

Would twice have won me the philosopher’s work—

Put thee in words and fashion, made thee fit

For more than ordinary fellowships—

Giv’n thee thy oaths, thy quarelling dimensions,

Thy rules to cheat, at horse-race, cock-pit, cards,

Dice, or whatever gallant tincture 15 else—

Made thee a second in mine own great art—

And have I this for thanks! Do you rebel—

Do you fly out i’ the projection— 16

Would you be gone now—

DOL. Gentlemen, what mean you—

Will you mar all—

SUB. Slave, thou hadst had no name——

DOL. Will you undo yourselves with civil war—

SUB. Never been known, past equi clibanum,

The heat of horse-dung, under ground, in cellars,

Or an ale-house darker than deaf John’s; been lost

To all mankind, but laundresses and tapsters,

Had not I been.

DOL. Do you know who hears you, sovereign—

FACE. Sirrah——

DOL. Nay, general, I thought you were civil.

FACE. I shall turn desperate, if you grow thus loud.

SUB. And hang thyself, I care not.

FACE. Hang thee, collier,

And all thy pots and pans, in picture, I will,

Since thou hast mov’d me——

DOL. [Aside] O, this’ll o’erthrow all.

FACE. Write thee up bawd in Paul’s, have all thy tricks

Of coz’ning with a hollow coal, dust, scrapings,

Searching for things lost, with a sieve and shears,

Erecting figures in your rows of houses, 17

And taking in of shadows with a glass,

Told in red letters; and a face cut for thee,

Worse than Gamaliel Ratsey’s. 18

DOL. Are you sound—

Ha’ you your senses, masters—

FACE. I will have

A book, but barely reckoning thy impostures,

Shall prove a true philosopher’s stone to printers.

SUB. Away, you trencher-rascal!

FACE. Out, you dog-leech!

The vomit of all prisons——

DOL. Will you be

Your own destructions, gentlemen—

FACE. Still spew’d out

For lying too heavy on the basket. 19

SUB. Cheater!

FACE. Bawd!

SUB. Cow-herd!

FACE. Conjurer!

SUB. Cutpurse!

FACE. Witch!

DOL. O me!

We are ruin’d, lost! Ha’ you no more regard

To your reputations— Where’s your judgment— ’Slight,

Have yet some care of me, o’ your republic——

FACE. Away, this brach! 20 I’ll bring thee, rogue, within

The statute of sorcery, tricesimo tertio

Of Harry the Eighth: 21 ay, and perhaps thy neck

Within a noose, for laund’ring gold and barbing it. 22

DOL. You’ll bring your head within a cockscomb, 23 will you— She catcheth out FACE his sword, and breaks SUBTLE’S glass.

And you, sir, with your menstrue! 24—Gather it up.

’Sdeath, you abominable pair of stinkards,

Leave off your barking, and grow one again,

Or, by the light that shines, I’ll cut your throats.

I’ll not be made a prey unto the marshal

For ne’er a snarling dog-bolt of you both.

Ha’ you together cozen’d all this while,

And all the world, and shall it now be said,

You’ve made most courteous shift to cozen yourselves—

[To FACE.] You will accuse him! You will “bring him in

Within the statute!” Who shall take your word—

A whoreson, upstart, apocryphal captain,

Whom not a Puritan in Blackfriars will trust

So much as for a feather: and you, too, [to SUBTLE.]

Will give the cause, forsooth! You will insult,

And claim a primacy in the divisions!

You must be chief! As if you only had

The powder to project 25 with, and the work

Were not begun out of equality!

The venture tripartite! All things in common!

Without priority! ’Sdeath! you perpetual curs,

Fall to your couples again, and cozen kindly,

And heartily, and lovingly, as you should,

And lose not the beginning of a term,

Or, by this hand, I shall grow factious too,

And take my part, and quit you.

FACE. ’Tis his fault;

He ever murmurs, and objects his pains,

And says, the weight of all lies upon him.

SUB. Why, so it does.

DOL. How does it— Do not we

Sustain our parts—

SUB. Yes, but they are not equal.

DOL. Why, if your part exceed today, I hope

Ours may to-morrow match it.

SUB. Ay, they may.

DOL. May, murmuring mastiff! Ay, and do. Death on me!

Help me to throttle him. [Seizes SUB. by the throat.]

SUB. Dorothy! Mistress Dorothy!

’Ods precious, I’ll do anything. What do you mean—

DOL. Because o’ your fermentation and cibation— 26

SUB. Not I, by heaven——

DOL. Your Sol and Luna——help me. [To FACE.]

SUB. Would I were hang’d then! I’ll conform myself.

DOL. Will you, sir— Do so then, and quickly: swear.

SUB. What should I swear—

DOL. To leave your faction, sir,

And labour kindly in the common work.

SUB. Let me not breathe if I meant aught beside.

I only us’d those speeches as a spur

To him.

DOL. I hope we need no spurs, sir. Do we—

FACE. ’Slid, prove today who shall shark best.

SUB. Agreed.

DOL. Yes, and work close and friendly.

SUB. ’Slight, the knot

Shall grow the stronger for this breach, with me. [They shake hands.]

DOL. Why, so, my good baboons! Shall we go make

A sort of sober, scurvy, precise neighbours,

That scarce have smil’d twice sin’ the king came in, 27

A feast of laughter at our follies— Rascals,

Would run themselves from breath, to see me ride,

Or you t’have but a hole to thrust your heads in, 28

For which you should pay ear-rent— 29 No, agree.

And may Don Provost ride a feasting long,

In his old velvet jerkin and stain’d scarfs,

My noble sovereign, and worthy general,

Ere we contribute a new crewel 30 garter

To his most worsted 31 worship.

SUB. Royal Dol!

Spoken like Claridiana, 32 and thyself.

FACE. For which at supper, thou shalt sit in triumph,

And not be styl’d Dol Common, but Dol Proper,

Dol Singular: the longest cut at night,

Shall draw thee for his Dol Particular. [Bell rings without.]

SUB. Who’s that— One rings. To the window, Dol: [Exit DOL.]—pray heav’n,

The master do not trouble us this quarter.

FACE. O, fear not him. While there dies one a week

O’ the plague, he’s safe from thinking toward London.

Beside, he’s busy at his hop-yards now;

I had a letter from him. If he do,

He’ll send such word, for airing o’ the house,

As you shall have sufficient time to quit it:

Though we break up a fortnight, ’tis no matter.

Re-enter DOL.

SUB. Who is it, Dol—

DOL. A fine young quodling. 33

FACE. O,

My lawyer’s clerk, I lighted on last night,

In Holborn, at the Dagger. He would have

(I told you of him) a familiar,

To rifle with at horses, and win cups.

DOL. O, let him in.

SUB. Stay. Who shall do’t—

FACE. Get you

Your robes on; I will meet him, as going out.

DOL. And what shall I do—

FACE. Not be seen; away! [Exit DOL.]

Seem you very reserv’d.

SUB. Enough. [Exit.]

FACE. [aloud and retiring.] God be wi’ you, sir,

I pray you let him know that I was here:

His name is Dapper. I would gladly have staid, but——

Note 1. A room in Lovewit’s house.

Note 2. Drop your tricks.

Note 3. Poorly paid servant.

Note 4. The precinct of Blackfriars.

Note 5. I. e., sallow.

Note 6. Grains of powder.

Note 7. Chilblains.

Note 8. A hat of coarse material.

Note 9. Don’t pretend to forget.

Note 10. Sell the beer intended for the poor to liquor-dealers.

Note 11. Tips.

Note 12. A game of cards.

Note 13. I. e., to the card-players.

Note 14. Technical jargon of alchemy.

Note 15. Accomplishment.

Note 16. At the moment when success is near.

Note 17. Astrological tricks.

Note 18. A notorious highwayman.

Note 19. Eating more than his share of rations.

Note 20. Bitch.

Note 21. Henry VIII, the first act against witchcraft in England.

Note 22. “Sweating” and clipping the coinage.

Note 23. Halter.

Note 24. A liquid which dissolves solids.

Note 25. Transmute metals.

Note 26. Alchemical terms.

Note 27. Seven years before.

Note 28. In the pillory.

Note 29. Have your ears cut off.

Note 30. Familiar puns.

Note 31. Familiar puns.

Note 32. The heroine of the “Mirror of Knighthood.”

Note 33. Green apple, a youth.

Act I

Scene II

FACE, alone 1

DAP. [Within.] Captain, I am here.

FACE. Who’s that——He’s come, I think, doctor.

[Enter DAPPER.]

Good faith, sir, I was going away.

DAP. In truth

I am very sorry, captain.

FACE. But I thought

Sure I should meet you.

DAP. Ay, I am very glad.

I had a scurvy writ or two to make,

And I had lent my watch last night to one

That dines today at the sheriff’s, and so was robb’d

Of my pass-time. 2

[ Re-enter SUBTLE in his velvet cap and gown ]

Is this the cunning-man—

FACE. This is his worship.

DAP. Is he a doctor—

FACE. Yes.

DAP. And ha’ you broke 3 with him, captain—

FACE. Ay.

DAP. And how—

FACE. Faith, he does make the matter, sir, so dainty, 4

I know not what to say.

DAP. Not so, good captain.

FACE. Would I were fairly rid on’t, believe me.

DAP. Nay, now you grieve me, sir. Why should you wish so—

I dare assure you, I’ll not be ungrateful.

FACE. I cannot think you will, sir. But the law

Is such a thing——and then he says, Read’s 5 matter

Falling so lately.

DAP. Read! he was an ass,

And dealt, sir, with a fool.

FACE. It was a clerk, sir.

DAP. A clerk!

FACE. Nay, hear me, sir. You know the law

Better, I think——

DAP. I should, sir, and the danger:

You know, I show’d the statute to you.

FACE. You did so.

DAP. And will I tell then! By this hand of flesh,

Would it might never write good courthand more,

If discover. 6 What do you think of me,

That I am a chiaus— 7

FACE. What’s that—

DAP. The Turk was, here—

As one would say, do you think I am a Turk—

FACE. I’ll tell the doctor so.

DAP. Do, good sweet captain.

FACE. Come, noble doctor, pray thee let’s prevail;

This is the gentleman, and he is no chiaus.

SUB. Captain, I have return’d you all my answer.

I would do much, sir, for your love—— But this

I neither may, nor can.

FACE. Tut, do not say so.

You deal now with a noble fellow, doctor,

One that will thank you richly; and he is no chiaus:

Let that, sir, move you.

SUB. Pray you, forbear——

FACE. He has

Four angels here.

SUB. You do me wrong, good sir.

FACE. Doctor, wherein— To tempt you with these spirits—

SUB. To tempt my art and love, sir, to my peril.

’Fore heav’n, I scarce can think you are my friend,

That so would draw me to apparent danger.

FACE. I draw you! A horse draw you, and a halter,

You, and your flies 8 together——

DAP. Nay, good captain.

FACE. That know no difference of men.

SUB. Good words, sir.

FACE. Good deeds, sir, doctor dogs’-meat. ’Slight, I bring you

No cheating Clim o’ the Cloughs 9 or Claribels, 10

That look as big as five-and-fifty, and flush; 11

And spit out secrets like hot custard——

DAP. Captain!

FACE. Nor any melancholic underscribe,

Shall tell the vicar; but a special gentle,

That is the heir to forty marks a year,

Consorts with the small poets of the time,

Is the sole hope of his old grandmother;

That knows the law, and writes you six fair hands,

Is a fine clerk, and has his ciph’ring perfect.

Will take his oath o’ the Greek Xenophon, 12

If need be, in his pocket; and can court

His mistress out of Ovid.

DAP. Nay, dear captain——

FACE. Did you not tell me so—

DAP. Yes; but I’d ha’ you

Use master doctor with some more respect.

FACE. Hang him, proud stag, with his broad velvet head!—

But for your sake, I’d choke ere I would change

An article of breath with such a puck-fist 13

Come, let’s be gone. [Going.]

SUB. Pray you le’ me speak with you.

DAP. His worship calls you, captain.

FACE. I am sorry

I e’er embark’d myself in such a business.

DAP. Nay, good sir; he did call you.

FACE. Will he take then—

SUB. First, hear me——

FACE. Not a syllable, ’less you take.

SUB. Pray ye, sir——

FACE. Upon no terms but an assumpsit. 14

SUB. Your humour must be law. He takes the money.

FACE. Why now, sir, talk.

Now I dare hear you with mine honour. Speak.

So may this gentleman too.

SUB. Why, sir—— [Offering to whisper FACE.]

FACE. No whispering.

SUB. ’Fore heav’n, you do not apprehend the loss

You do yourself in this.

FACE. Wherein— for what—

SUB. Marry, to be so importunate for one

That, when he has it, will undo you all:

He’ll win up all the money i’ the town.

FACE. How—

SUB. Yes, and blow up gamester after gamester,

As they do crackers in a puppet-play.

If I do give him a familiar,

Give you him all you play for; never set 15 him:

For he will have it.

FACE. You’re mistaken, doctor.

Why, he does ask one but for cups and horses,

A rifling 16 fly; none o’ your great familiars.

DAP. Yes, captain, I would have it for all games.

SUB. I told you so.

FACE. [taking DAP. aside.] ’Slight, that is a new business!

I understood you, a tame bird, to fly

Twice in a term, or so, on Friday nights,

When you had left the office; for a nag

Of forty or fifty shillings.

DAP. Ay, ’tis true, sir;

But I do think, now, I shall leave the law,

And therefore——

FACE. Why, this changes quite the case.

Do you think that I dare move him—

DAP. If you please, sir;

All’s one to him, to see.

FACE. What! for that money—

I cannot with my conscience; nor should you

Make the request, methinks.

DAP. No, sir, I mean

To add consideration.

FACE. Why then, sir,

I’ll try. [Goes to SUBTLE.] Say that it were for all games, doctor—

SUB. I say then, not a mouth shall eat for him

At any ordinary, 17 but on the score, 18

That is a gaming mouth, conceive me.

FACE. Indeed!

SUB. He’ll draw you all the treasure of the realm,

If it be set him.

FACE. Speak you this from art—

SUB. Ay, sir, and reason too, the ground of art.

He is of the only best complexion,

The queen of Fairy loves.

FACE. What! is he—

SUB. Peace.

He’ll overhear you. Sir, should she but see him——

FACE. What—

SUB. Do not you tell him.

FACE. Will he win at cards too—

SUB. The spirits of dead Holland, living Isaac, 19

You’d swear, were in him; such a vigorous lack

As cannot be resisted. ’Slight, he’ll put

Six of your gallants to a cloak, 20 indeed.

FACE. A strange success, that some man shall be born to!

SUB. He hears you, man——

DAP. Sir, I’ll not be ingrateful.

FACE. Faith, I have confidence in his good nature:

You hear, he says he will not be ingrateful.

SUB. Why, as you please; my venture follows yours.

FACE. Troth, do it, doctor; think him trusty, and make him.

He may make us both happy in an hour;

Win some five thousand pound, and send us two on’t.

DAP. Believe it, and I will, sir.

FACE. And you shall, sir.

You have heard all—

DAP. No, what was’t— Nothing, I, sir. FACE takes him aside.

FACE. Nothing!

DAP. A little, sir.

FACE. Well, a rare star

Reign’d at you birth.

DAP. At mine, sir! No.

FACE. The doctor

Swears that you are——

SUB. Nay, captain, you’ll tell all now.

FACE. Allied to the queen of Fairy.

DAP. Who! That I am—

Believe it, no such matter——

FACE. Yes, and that

You were born with a caul on your head.

DAP. Who says so—

FACE. Come,

You know it well enough, though you dissemble it.

DAP. I’ fac, 21 I do not; you are mistaken.

FACE. How!

Swear by your fac, 22 and in a thing so known

Unto the doctor— How shall we, sir, trust you

I’ the other matter; can we ever think,

When you have won five or six thousand pound,

You’ll send us shares in’t by this rate—

DAP. By Jove, sir,

I’ll win ten thousand pound, and send you half.

I’ fac’s no oath.

SUB. No, no, he did but jest.

FACE. Go to. Go thank the doctor: he’s your friend,

To take it so.

DAP. I thank his worship.

FACE. So!

Another angel.

DAP. Must I—

FACE. Must you! ’slight,

What else is thanks— Will you be trivial——Doctor, [DAPPER gives him the money.]

When must he come for his familiar—

DAP. Shall I not ha’ it with me—

SUB. O, good sir!

There must a world of ceremonies pass;

You must be bath’d and fumigated first:

Besides, the queen of Fairy does not rise

Till it be noon.

FACE. Not if she danc’d to-night.

SUB. And she must bless it.

FACE. Did you never see

Her royal grace yet—

DAP. Whom—

FACE. Your aunt of Fairy—

SUB. Not since she kist him in the cradle, captain;

I can resolve you that.

FACE. Well, see her grace,

Whate’er it cost you, for a thing that I know.

It will be somewhat hard to compass; but

However, see her. You are made, believe it,

If you can see her. Her grace is a lone woman,

And very rich; and if she take a fancy,

She will do strange things. See her, at any hand.

’Slid, she may hap to leave you all she has:

It is the doctor’s fear.

DAP. How will’t be done, then—

FACE. Let me alone, take you no thought. Do you

But say to me, “Captain, I’ll see her grace.”

DAP. “Captain, I’ll see her grace.”

FACE. Enough. One knocks without.

SUB. Who’s there—

Anon.— [Aside to FACE.] Conduct him forth by the back way.

—Sir, against one o’clock prepare yourself;

Till when you must be fasting; only take

Three drops of vinegar in at your nose,

Two at your mouth, and one at either ear;

Then bathe your fingers’ ends and wash your eyes,

To sharpen your five senses, and cry hum

Thrice, and then buz as often; and then come. [Exit.]

FACE. Can you remember this—

DAP. I warrant you.

FACE. Well then, away. It is but your bestowing

Some twenty nobles ’mong her grace’s servants,

And put on a clean shirt. You do not know

What grace her grace may do you in clean linen. [Exeunt FACE and DAPPER.]

Note 1. The Same. The scene-divisions are Jonson’s.

Note 2. Watch.

Note 3. Opened the matter.

Note 4. Has such scruples.

Note 5. A magician recently convicted.

Note 6. Reveal.

Note 7. A Turkish interpreter, like the one who had recently cheated some merchants.

Note 8. Familiar spirits.

Note 9. An outlaw hero.

Note 10. Probably a hero of romance. The name occurs in Spenser.

Note 11. Five-and-fifty was the highest number to stand on at the old

Note 12. The Quarto reads Testament.

Note 13. Niggard.

Note 14. That he has undertaken the affair.

Note 15. Stake against.

Note 16. To be used in raffles.

Note 17. Table d’hote restaurant.

Note 18. The gamblers (who frequented ordinaries) will be so impoverished through his winnings that they will have to eat on credit.

Note 19. Supposed to refer to two alchemists, but the dates do not agree.

Note 20. Strip to the cloak.

Note 21. Faith.

Note 22. Faith.

Act I

Scene III

SUB. 1 [Within.] Come in! Good wives, I pray you forbear me now;

Troth, I can do you no good till afternoon—

[ Enter SUBTLE, followed by DRUGGER]

SUB. What is your name, say you— Abel Drugger—

DRUG. Yes, sir.

SUB. A seller of tobacco—

DRUG. Yes, sir.

SUB. Umph!

Free of the grocers— 2

DRUG. Ay, an’t please you.

SUB. Well——

Your business, Abel—

DRUG. This, an’t please your worship;

I am a young beginner, and am building

Of a new shop, an’t like your worship, just

At corner of a street:—Here is the plot 3 on’t——

And I would know by art, sir, of your worship,

Which way I should make my door, by necromancy,

And where my shelves; and which should be for boxes,

And which for pots. I would be glad to thrive, sir:

And I was wish’d 4 to your worship by a gentleman,

One Captain Face, that says you know men’s planets,

And their good angels, and their bad.

SUB. I do,

If I do see ’em——

[Enter FACE]

FACE. What! my honest Abel—

Though art well met here.

DRUG. Troth, sir, I was speaking,

Just as your worship came here, of your worship:

I pray you speak for me to master doctor.

FACE. He shall do anything. Doctor, do you hear—

This is my friend, Abel, an honest fellow;

He lets me have good tobacco, and he does not

Sophisticate it with sack-lees or oil,

Nor washes it in muscadel and grains,

Nor buries it in gravel, under ground,

Wrapped up in greasy leather, or piss’d clouts:

But keeps it in fine lily pots, that, open’d,

Smell like conserve of roses, or French beans.

He has his maple block, 5 his silver tongs,

Winchester pipes, and fire of juniper: 6

A neat, spruce, honest fellow, and no goldsmith. 7

SUB. He’s a fortunate fellow, that I am sure on.

FACE. Already, sir, ha’ you found it— Lo thee, Abel!

SUB. And in right way toward riches——

FACE. Sir!

SUB. This summer.

He will be of the clothing of his company, 8

And next spring call’d to the scarlet; 9 spend what he can.

FACE. What, and so little beard—

SUB. Sir, you must think,

He may have a receipt to make hair come:

But he’ll be wise, preserve his youth, and fine for’t;

His fortune looks for him another way.

FACE. ’Slid, doctor, how canst thou know this so soon—

I am amus’d 10 at that.

SUB. By a rule, captain,

In metoposcopy, 11 which I do work by;

A certain star i’ the forehead, which you see not.

Your chestnut or your olive-colour’d face

Does never fail: and your long ear doth promise.

I knew’t, by certain spots, too, in his teeth,

And on the nail of his mercurial finger.

FACE. Which finger’s that—

SUB. His little finger. Look.

You were born upon a Wednesday—

DRUG. Yes, indeed, sir.

SUB. The thumb, in chiromancy, we give Venus;

The forefinger to Jove; the midst to Saturn;

The ring to Sol; the least to Mercury,

Who was the lord, sir, of his horoscope,

His house of life being Libra; which foreshow’d

He should be a merchant, and should trade with balance.

FACE. Why, this is strange! Is it not, honest Nab—

SUB. There is a ship now coming from Ormus,

That shall yield him such a commodity

Of drugs——This is the west, and this the south— [Pointing to the plan.]

DRUG. Yes, sir.

SUB. And those are your two sides—

DRUG. Ay, sir.

SUB. Make me your door then, south; your broad side, west:

And on the east side of your shop, aloft,

Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat;

Upon the north part, Rael, Velel, Thiel.

They are the names of those Mercurial spirits

That do fright flies from boxes.

DRUG. Yes, sir.

SUB. And

Beneath your threshold, bury me a loadstone

To draw in gallants that wear spurs: the rest,

They’ll seem 12 to follow.

FACE. That’s a secret, Nab!

SUB. And, on your stall, a puppet, with a vice

And a court-fucus, 13 to call city-dames:

You shall deal much with minerals.

DRUG. Sir, I have.

At home, already——

SUB. Ay, I know you have arsenic,

Vitriol, sal-tartar, argaile, 14 alkali,

Cinoper: 15 I know all.—This fellow, captain,

Will come, in time, to be a great distiller,

And give a say 16—I will not say directly,

But very fair—at the philosopher’s stone.

FACE. Why, how now, Abel! is this true—

DRUG. [Aside to FACE] Good captain,

What must I give—

FACE. Nay, I’ll not counsel thee.

Thou hear’st what wealth (he says, spend what thou canst),

Thou’rt like to come to.

DRUG. I would gi’ him a crown.

FACE. A crown! and toward such a fortune— Heart,

Thou shalt rather gi’ him thy shop. No gold about thee—

DRUG. Yes, I have a portague, 17 I ha’ kept this half-year.

FACE. Out on thee, Nab! ’Slight, there was such an offer—

Shalt keep’t no longer, I’ll give’t him for thee. Doctor,

Nab prays your worship to drink this, and swears

He will appear more grateful, as your skill

Does raise him in the world.

DRUG. I would entreat

Another favour of his worship.

FACE. What is’t, Nab—

DRUG. But to look over, sir, my almanac,

And cross out my ill-days, 18 that I may neither

Bargain, nor trust upon them.

FACE. That he shall, Nab:

Leave it, it shall be done, ’gainst afternoon.

SUB. And a direction for his shelves.

FACE. Now, Nab,

Art thou well pleas’d, Nab—

DRUG. ’Thank, sir, both your worships.

FACE. Away. [Exit DRUGGER.]

Why, now, you smoaky persecutor of nature!

Now do you see, that something’s to be done,

Beside your beech-coal, and your cor’sive 19 waters,

Your crosslets, 20 crucibles, and cucurbites— 21

You must have stuff, brought home to you, to work on:

And yet you think, I am at no expense

In searching out these veins, then following them,

Then trying ’em out. ’Fore God, my intelligence

Costs me more money than my share oft comes to,

In these rare works.

SUB. You’re pleasant, sir.—How now!

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. I. e., a member of the Grocers’ Company.

Note 3. Plan.

Note 4. Recommended.

Note 5. On which tobacco was shredded.

Note 6. The coals of which were used to light pipes.

Note 7. Usurer.

Note 8. Wear the livery.

Note 9. Be sheriff.

Note 10. Amazed.

Note 11. A branch of physiognomy.

Note 12. Be seen.

Note 13. Paint for the face.

Note 14. Tartar deposited by wine.

Note 15. Cinnabar, mercuric sulphid.

Note 16. Assay.

Note 17. A gold coin worth about three pounds twelve shillings.

Note 18. Unlucky days.

Note 19. Corrosive.

Note 20. Crucibles.

Note 21. Glass retort, shaped like a gourd.

Act I

Scene IV

FACE. SUBTLE. [Enter] DOL 1

SUB. What says my dainty Dolkin—

DOL. Yonder fish-wife

Will not away. And there’s your giantess,

The bawd of Lambeth.

SUB. Heart, I cannot speak with ’em.

DOL. Not afore night, I have told ’em in a voice,

Thorough the trunk, like one of your familiars.

But I have spied Sir Epicure Mammon——

SUB. Where—

DOL. Coming along, at far end of the lane,

Slow of his feet, but earnest of his tongue

To one that’s with him.

SUB. Face, go you and shift.

Dol, you must presently make ready too. [Exit FACE]

DOL. Why, what’s the matter—

SUB. O, I did look for him

With the sun’s rising: marvel he could sleep.

This is the day I am to perfect for him

The magisterium, our great work, the stone;

And yield it, made, into his hands: of which

He has, this month, talk’d as he were possess’d.

And now he’s dealing pieces on’t away.

Methinks I see him ent’ring ordinaries,

Dispensing for the pox, and plaguy houses,

Reaching his dose, walking Moorfields for lepers,

And off’ring citizens’ wives pomander 2—bracelets,

As his preservative, made of the elixir;

Searching the spittle, to make old bawds young;

And the highways, for beggars, to make rich.

I see no end of his labours. He will make

Nature asham’d of her long sleep: when art,

Who’s but a step-dame, shall do more than she,

In her best love to mankind, ever could.

If his dream last, he’ll turn the age to gold. [Exeunt.]

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. A ball of perfume carried against infection.

Act II

Scene I

[ Enter ] Sir EPICURE MAMMON and SURLY 1

MAM. Come on, sir. Now you set your foot on shore

In Novo Orbe; 2 here’s the rich Peru:

And there within, sir, are the golden mines,

Great Solomon’s Ophir! He was sailing to’t

Three years, but we have reach’d it in ten months.

This is the day wherein, to all my friends,

I will pronounce the happy word, Be rich;

THIS DAY YOU SHALL BE SPECTATISSIMI. 3

You shall no more deal with the hollow die,

Or the frail card. No more be at charge of keeping

The livery-punk 4 for the young heir, that must

Seal, at all hours, in his shirt: no more,

If he deny, ha’ him beaten to’t, as he is

That brings him the commodity. No more

Shall thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger

Of velvet entrails 5 for a rude-spun cloak,

To be display’d at Madam Augusta’s, make

The sons of Sword and Hazard fall before

The golden calf, and on their knees, whole nights,

Commit idolatry with wine and trumpets:

Or go a feasting after drum and ensign.

No more of this. You shall start up young viceroys.

And unto thee I speak it first, BE RICH.

Where is my Subtle, there— Within, ho!

[FACE, within.] Sir,

He’ll come to you by and by.

MAM. That is his fire-drake, 6

His Lungs, his Zephyrus, he that puffs his coals,

Till he firk 7 nature up, in her own centre.

You are not faithful, 8 sir. This night I’ll change

All that is metal in my house to gold:

And, early in the morning, will I send

To all the plumbers and the pewterers,

And by their tin and lead up; and to Lothbury

For all the copper.

SUR. What, and turn that, too—

MAM. Yes, and I’ll purchase Devonshire and Cornwall,

And make them perfect Indies! You admire now—

SUR. No, faith.

MAM. But when you see th’ effects of the Great Med’cine,

Of which one part projected on a hundred

Of Mercury, or Venus, or the moon,

Shall turn it to as many of the sun; 9

Nay, to a thousand, so ad infinitum:

You will believe me.

SUR. Yes, when I see’t, I will.

But if my eyes do cozen me so, and I

Giving them no occasion, sure I’ll have

Them out next day.

MAM. Ha! Why—

Do you think I fable with you— I assure you,

He that has once the flower of the sun,

The perfect ruby, which we call elixir,

Not only can do that, but by its virtue,

Can confer honour, love, respect, long life;

Give safety, valour, yea, and victory,

To whom he will. In eight and twenty days,

I’ll make an old man of fourscore, a child.

SUR. No doubt; he’s that already.

MAM. Nay, I mean,

Restore his years, renew him, like an eagle,

To the fifth age; make him get sons and daughters,

Young giants; as our philosophers have done,

The ancient partriarchs, afore the flood,

But taking, once a week, on a knife’s point,

The quantity of a grain of mustard of it;

Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.

SUR. The decay’d vestals of Pickt-hatch 10 would thank you,

That keep the fire alive there.

MAM. ’Tis the secret

Of nature naturiz’d ’gainst all infections,

Cures all diseases coming of all causes;

A month’s grief in a day, a year’s in twelve;

And, of what age soever, in a month:

Past all the doses of your drugging doctors.

I’ll undertake, withal, to fright the plague

Out o’ the kingdom in three months.

SUR. And I’ll

Be bound, the players shall sing your praises then,

Without their poets. 11

MAM. Sir, I’ll do’t. Meantime,

I’ll give away so much unto my man,

Shall serve th’ whole city with preservative

Weekly; each house his dose, and at the rate——

SUR. As he that built the Water-work does with water—

MAM. You are incredulous.

SUR. Faith, I have a humour,

I would not willingly be gull’d. 12 Your stone

Cannot transmute me.

MAM. Pertinax Surly,

Will you believe antiquity— Records—

I’ll show you a book where Moses, and his sister,

And Solomon have written of the art;

Ay, and a treatise penn’d by Adam——

SUR. How!

MAM. Of the philosopher’s stone, and in High Dutch.

SUR. Did Adam write, sir, in High Dutch—

MAM. He did;

Which proves it was the primitive tongue.

SUR. What paper—

MAM. On cedar board.

SUR. O that, indeed, they say,

Will last ’gainst worms.

MAM. ’Tis like your Irish wood,

’Gainst cobwebs. I have a piece of Jason’s fleece too,

Which was no other than a book of alchemy,

Writ in large sheepskin, a good fat ram-vellum.

Such was Pythagoras’ thigh, Pandora’s tub,

And all that fable of Medea’s charms,

The manner of our work; the bulls, our furnace,

Still breathing fire; our argent-vive, 13 the dragon:

The dragon’s teeth, mercury sublimate,

That keeps the whiteness, hardness, and the biting;

And they are gather’d into Jason’s helm,

The alembic, and then sow’d in Mars his field,

And thence sublim’d so often, till they’re fix’d.

Both this, th’ Hesperian garden, Cadmus’ story,

Jove’s shower, the boon of Midas, Argus’ eyes,

Boccace his Demogorgon, 14 thousands more,

All abstract riddles of our stone.—How now!

Note 1. An outer room in Lovewit’s house.

Note 2. The New World.

Note 3. Most gazed at.

Note 4. Female accomplice in swindling heirs out of property.

Note 5. Lining.

Note 6. Dragon.

Note 7. Stir, rouse.

Note 8. Believing.

Note 9. Turn mercury, copper, or silver into gold.

Note 10. A disreputable locality.

Note 11. The theatres were closed when the plague was prevalent.

Note 12. Fooled.

Note 13. Quick-silver.

Note 14. According to Boccaccio, the ancestor of all the gods.

Act II

Scene II

MAMMON, SURLY. [ Enter ] FACE, [ as a Servant ] 1

MAM. Do we succeed— Is our day come— And holds it—

FACE. The evening will set red upon you, sir;

You have colour for it, crimson: the red ferment

Has done his office; three hours hence prepare you

To see projection.

MAM. Pertinax, my Surly.

Again I say to thee, aloud, BE RICH.

This day thou shalt have ingots; and to-morrow

Give lords th’ affront.—Is it, my Zephyrus, right—

Blushes the bolt’s-head— 2

FACE. Like a wench with child, sir,

That were but now discover’d to her master.

MAM. Excellent witty Lungs!—My only care is

Where to get stuff enough now, to project on; 3

This town will not half serve me.

FACE. No, sir! buy

The covering off o’ churches.

MAM. That’s true.

FACE. Yes.

Let ’em stand bare, as do their auditory; 4

Or cap ’em new with shingles.

MAM. No, good thatch:

Thatch will lie light upo’ the rafters, Lungs.—

Lungs, I will manumit thee from the furnace;

I will restore thee thy complexion, Puff,

Lost in the embers; and repair this brain,

Hurt with the fume o’ the metals.

FACE. I have blown, sir,

Hard, for your worship; thrown by many a coal,

When ’twas not beech; weigh’d those I put in, just,

To keep your heat still even. These blear’d eyes

Have wak’d to read your several colours, sir,

Of the pale citron, the green lion, the crow,

The peacock’s tail, the plumed swan.

MAM. And lastly,

Thou hast descried the flower, the sanguis agni—

FACE. Yes, sir.

MAM. Where’s master—

FACE. At’s prayers, sir, he;

Good man, he’s doing his devotions

For the success.

MAM. Lungs, I will set a period

To all thy labours; thou shalt be the master

Of my seraglio.

FACE. Good, sir.

MAM. But do you hear—

I’ll geld you, Lungs.

FACE. Yes, sir.

MAM. For I do mean

To have a list of wives and concubines

Equal with Solomon, who had the stone

Alike with me; and I will make me a back

With the elixir that shall be as tough

As Hercules, to encounter fifty a night.—

Thou’rt sure thou saw’st it blood—

FACE. Both blood and spirit, sir.

MAM. I will have all my beds blown up, not stuft;

Down is too hard: and then, mine oval room

Fill’d with such pictures as Tiberius took

From Elephantis, and dull Aretine

But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses

Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse

And multiply the figures, as I walk

Naked between my succubae. My mists

I’ll have of perfume, vapour’d ’bout the room,

To lose our selves in; and my baths, like pits

To fall into; from whence we will come forth

And roll us dry in gossamer and roses.—

Is it arrived at ruby———Where I spy

A wealthy citizen, or [a] rich lawyer,

Have a sublim’d pure wife, unto that fellow

I’ll send a thousand pound to be my cuckold.

FACE. And I shall carry it—

MAM. No. I’ll ha’ no bawds

But fathers and mothers: they will do it best,

Best of all others. And my flatterers

Shall be the pure and gravest of divines,

That I can get for money. My mere fools,

Eloquent burgesses, and then my poets

The same that writ so subtly of the fart,

Whom I will entertain still for that subject.

The few that would give out themselves to be

Court and town-stallions, and, each-where, bely

Ladies who are known most innocent, for them,

Those will I beg, to make me eunuchs of:

And they shall fan me with ten estrich tails

A-piece, made in a plume to gather wind.

We will be brave, Puff, now we ha’ the med’cine.

My meat shall all come in, in Indian shells,

Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded

With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies.

The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels’ heels,

Boil’d i’ the spirit of sol, and dissolv’d pearl

(Apicius’ diet, ’gainst the epilepsy):

And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber,

Headed with diamond and carbuncle.

My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calver’d salmons, 5

Knots, 6 godwits, lampreys: I myself will have

The beards of barbel 7 serv’d, instead of salads;

Oiled mushrooms; and the swelling unctuous paps

Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off,

Drest with an exquisite and poignant sauce;

For which, I’ll say unto my cook, There’s gold,

Go forth, and be a knight.

FACE. Sir, I’ll go look

A little, how it heightens. [Exit.]

MAM. Do.—My shirts

I’ll have of taffeta-sarsnet, 8 soft and light

As cobwebs; and for all my other raiment,

It shall be such as might provoke the Persian,

Were he to teach the world riot anew.

My gloves of fishes and birds’ skins, perfum’d

With gums of paradise, and Eastern air——

SUR. And do you think to have the stone with this—

MAM. No, I do think t’ have all this with the stone.

SUR. Why, I have heard he must be homo frugi, 9

A pious, holy, and religious man,

One free from mortal sin, a very virgin.

MAM. That makes it, sir; he is so: but I buy it;

My venture brings it me. He, honest wretch,

A notable, superstitious, good soul,

Has worn his knees bare, and his slippers bald,

With prayer and fasting for it: and, sir, let him

Do it alone, for me, still. Here he comes.

Not a profane word afore him; ’tis poison.—

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. A kind of flask.

Note 3. Transmute.

Note 4. Congregation.

Note 5. Salmon elaborately prepared.

Note 6. Robin-snipes.

Note 7. A fish.

Note 8. Soft silk.

Note 9. A virtuous man.

Act II

Scene III

MAMMON, SURLY. [ Enter ] SUBTLE 1

MAM. Good morrow, father.

SUB. Gentle son, good morrow,

And to your friend there. What is he is with you—

MAM. An heretic, that I did bring along,

In hope, sir, to convert him.

SUB. Son, I doubt

You’re covetous, that thus you meet your time

I’ the just 2 point, prevent 3 your day at morning.

This argues something worthy of a fear

Of importune and carnal appetite.

Take heed you do not cause the blessing leave you,

With your ungovern’d haste. I should be sorry

To see my labours, now e’en at perfection,

Got by long watching and large patience,

Not prosper where my love and zeal hath plac’d them.

Which (heaven I call to witness, with your self,

To whom I have pour’d my thoughts) in all my ends,

Have look’d no way, but unto public good,

To pious uses, and dear charity

Now grown a prodigy with men. Wherein

If you, my son, should now prevaricate,

And to your own particular lusts employ

So great and catholic a bliss, be sure

A curse will follow, yea, and overtake

Your subtle and most secret ways.

MAM. I know, sir;

You shall not need to fear me; I but come

To ha’ you confute this gentleman.

SUR. Who is,

Indeed, sir, somewhat costive of belief

Toward your stone; would not be gull’d.

SUB. Well, son,

All that I can convince him in, is this,

The work is done, bright Sol is in his robe.

We have a med’cine of the triple soul,

The glorified spirit. Thanks be to heaven,

And make us worthy of it!—Ulen Spiegel! 4

FACE. [Within.] Anon, sir.

SUB. Look well to the register.

And let your heat still lessen by degrees,

To the aludels. 5

FACE. [Within.] Yes, sir.

SUB. Did you look

O’ the bolt’s head yet—

FACE. [Within.] Which— On D, sir—

SUB. Ay;

What’s the complexion—

FACE. [Within.] Whitish.

SUB. Infuse vinegar,

To draw his volatile substance and his tincture:

And let the water in glass E be filt’red,

And put into the gripe’s egg. 6 Lute 7 him well;

And leave him clos’d in balneo. 8

FACE. [Within.] I will, sir.

SUR. What a brave language here is! next to canting. 9

SUB. I have another work you never saw, son,

That three days since past the philosopher’s wheel,

In the lent heat of Athanor; 10 and’s become

Sulphur o’ Nature.

MAM. But ’tis for me—

SUB. What need you—

You have enough, in that is, perfect.

MAM. O, but——

SUB. Why, this is covetise!

MAM. No, I assure you,

I shall employ it all in pious uses,

Founding of colleges and grammar schools,

Marrying young virgins, building hospitals,

And now and then a church.

[ Re-enter FACE]

SUB. How now!

FACE. Sir, please you,

Shall I not change the filter—

SUB. Marry, yes;

And bring me the complexion of glass B. [Exit FACE.]

MAM. Ha’ you another—

SUB. Yes, son; were I assur’d

Your piety were firm, we would not want

The means to glorify it: but I hope the best.

I mean to tinct C in sand-heat to-morrow,

And give him imbibition. 11

MAM. Of white oil—

SUB. No, sir, of red. F is come over the helm too,

I thank my maker, in S. Mary’s bath,

And shows lac virginis. Blessed be heaven!

I sent you of his faeces there calcin’d:

Out of that calx, I ha’ won the salt of mercury.

MAM. By pouring on your rectified water—

SUB. Yes, and reverberating in Athanor.

[Re-enter FACE]

How now! what colour says it—

FACE. The ground black, sir.

MAM. That’s your crow’s head—

SUR. Your cock’s-comb’s, is it not—

SUB. No, ’tis not perfect. Would it were the crow!

That work wants something.

SUR. [Aside.] O, I look’d for this,

The hay’s 12 a pitching.

SUB. Are you sure you loos’d ’em

In their own menstrue— 13

FACE. Yes, sir, and then married ’em,

And put ’em in a bolt’s-head nipp’d to digestion,

According as you bade me, when I set

The liquor of Mars to circulation

In the same heat.

SUB. The process then was right.

FACE. Yes, by the token, sir, the retort brake,

And what was sav’d was put into the pellican,

And sign’d with Hermes’ seal.

SUB. I think ’twas so.

We should have a new amalgama.

SUR. [Aside.] O, this ferret

Is rank as any polecat.

SUB. But I care not;

Let him e’en die; we have enough beside,

In embrion. H has his white shirt on—

FACE. Yes, sir,

He’s ripe for inceration, he stands warm,

In his ash-fire. I would not you should let

Any die now, if I might counsel, sir,

For luck’s sake to the rest: it is not good.

MAM. He says right.

SUR. [Aside.] Ah, are you bolted—

FACE. Nay, I know’t, sir,

I have seen the ill fortune. What is some three ounces

Of fresh materials—

MAM. Is’t no more—

FACE. No more, sir.

Of gold, t’ amalgam with some six of mercury.

MAM. Away, here’s money. What will serve—

FACE. Ask him, sir.

MAM. How much—

SUB. Give him nine pound: you may gi’ him ten.

SUR. Yes, twenty, and be cozen’d, do.

MAM. There ’tis. [Gives FACE the money.]

SUB. This needs not; but that you will have it so,

To see conclusions of all: for two

Of our inferior works are at fixation,

A third is in ascension. Go your ways.

Ha’ you set the oil of luna in kemia—

FACE. Yes, sir.

SUB. And the philosopher’s vinegar—

FACE. Ay. [Exit.]

SUR. We shall have a salad!

MAM. When do you make projection—

SUB. Son, be not hasty, I exalt our med’cine,

By hanging him in balneo vaporoso,

And giving him solution; then congeal him;

And then dissolve him; then again congeal him;

For look, how oft I iterate the work,

So many times I add unto his virtue.

As if at first one ounce convert a hundred,

After his second loose, he’ll turn a thousand;

His third solution, ten; his fourth, a hundred;

After his fifth, a thousand thousand ounces

Of any imperfect metal, into pure

Silver or gold, in all examinations,

As good as any of the natural mine.

Get you your stuff here against afternoon,

Your brass, your pewter, and your andirons.

MAM. Not those of iron—

SUB. Yes, you may bring them too;

We’ll change all metals.

SUR. I believe you in that.

MAM. Then I may send my spits—

SUB. Yes, and your racks.

SUR. And dripping-pans, and pot-hangers, and hooks—

Shall he not—

SUB. If he please.

SUR.—To be an ass.

SUB. How, sir!

MAM. This gent’man you must bear withal:

I told you he had no faith.

SUR. And little hope, sir;

But much less charity, should I gull myself.

SUB. Why, what have you observ’d, sir, in our art,

Seems so impossible—

SUR. But your whole work, no more.

That you should hatch gold in a furnace, sir,

As they do eggs in Egypt!

SUB. Sir, do you

Believe that eggs are hatch’d so—

SUR. If I should—

SUB. Why, I think that the greater miracle.

No egg but differs from a chicken more

Than metals in themselves.

SUR. That cannot be.

The egg’s ordain’d by nature to that end,

And is a chicken in potentia.

SUB. The same we say of lead and other metals,

Which would be gold if they had time.

MAM. And that

Our art doth further.

SUB. Ay, for ’twere absurb

To think that nature in the earth bred gold

Perfect i’ the instant: something went before.

There must be remote matter.

SUR. Ay, what is that—

SUB. Marry, we say——

MAM. Ay, now it heats: stand, father,

Pound him to dust.

SUB. It is, of the one part,

A humid exhalation, which we call

Material liquida, or the unctuous water;

On th’ other part, a certain crass and viscous

Portion of earth; both which, concorporate,

Do make the elementary matter of gold;

Which is not yet propria materia,

But common to all metals and all stones;

For, where it is forsaken of that moisture,

And hath more dryness, it becomes a stone:

Where it retains more of the humid fatness,

It turns to sulphur, or to quicksilver,

Who are the parents of all other metals.

Nor can this remote matter suddenly

Progress so from extreme unto extreme,

As to grow gold, and leap o’er all the means.

Nature doth first beget th’ imperfect, then

Proceeds she to the perfect. Of that airy

And oily water, mercury is engend’red;

Sulphur o’ the fat and earthy part; the one,

Which is the last, supplying the place of male,

The other, of the female, in all metals.

Some do believe hermaphrodeity,

That both do act and suffer. But these two

Make the rest ductile, malleable, extensive.

And even in gold they are; for we do find

Seeds of them by our fire, and gold in them;

And can produce the species of each metal

More perfect thence, than nature doth in earth.

Beside, who doth not see in daily practice

Art can beget bees, hornets, beetles, wasps,

Out of the carcases and dung of creatures;

Yea, scorpions of an herb, being rightly plac’d—

And these are living creatures, far more perfect

And excellent that metals.

MAM. Well said, father!

Nay, if he take you in hand, sir, with an argument,

He’ll bray you in a mortar.

SUR. Pray you, sir, stay.

Rather than I’ll be bray’d, sir, I’ll believe

That Alchemy is a pretty kind of game,

Somewhat like tricks o’ the cards, to cheat a man

With charming.

SUB. Sir—

SUR. What else are all your terms,

Whereon no one o’ your writers ’grees with other—

Of your elixir, your lac virginis,

Your stone, your med’cine, and your chrysosperm,

Your sal, your sulphur, and your mercury,

Your oil of height, your tree of life, your blood,

Your marchesite, your tutie, your magnesia,

Your toad, your crow, your dragon, and your panther;

Your sun, your moon, your firmament, your adrop,

Your lato, azoch, zernich, chibrit, heautarit,

And then your red man, and your white woman,

With all your broths, your menstrues, and materials

Of piss and egg-shells, women’s terms, man’s blood,

Hair o’ the head, burnt clouts, chalk, merds, and clay,

Powder of bones, scalings of iron, glass,

And worlds of other strange ingredients,

Would burst a man to name—

SUB. And all these nam’d,

Intending but one thing; which art our writers

Us’d to obscure their art.

MAM. Sir, so I told him—

Because 14 the simple idiot should not learn it,

And make it vulgar.

SUB. Was not all the knowledge

Of the AEgyptians writ in mystic symbols—

Speak not the scriptures oft in parables—

Are not the choicest fables of the poets,

That where the fountains first springs of wisdom,

Wrapt in perplexed allegories—

MAM. I urg’d that,

And clear’d to him, that Sisyphus was damn’d

To roll the ceaseless stone, only because

He would have made ours common. DOL appears [at the door.]—Who is this—

SUB. ’Sprecious!—What do you mean— Go in, good lady,

Let me entreat you. [DOL retires.]—Where’s this varlet—

[ Re-enter FACE]

FACE. Sir.

SUB. You very knave! do you use me thus—

FACE. Wherein, sir—

SUB. Go in and see, you traitor. Go! [Exit FACE.]

MAM. Who is it, sir—

SUB. Nothing, sir; nothing.

MAM. What’s the matter, good sir—

I have not seen you thus distemp’red: who is’t—

SUB. All arts have still had, sir, their adversaries;

But ours the most ignorant.—

Re-enter FACE

What now—

FACE. ’Twas not my fault, sir; she would speak with you.

SUB. Would she, sir! Follow me. [Exit.]

MAM. [stopping him.] Stay, Lungs.

FACE. I dare not, sir.

MAM. How! pray thee, stay.

FACE. She’s mad, sir, and sent hither—

MAM. Stay, man; what is she—

FACE. A lord’s sister, sir.

He’ll be mad too.—

MAM. I warrant thee.—

Why sent hither—

FACE. Sir, to be cur’d.

SUB. [within.] Why, rascal!

FACE. Lo you!—Here, sir! Exit.

MAM. ’Fore God, a Bradamante, a brave piece.

SUR. Heart, this is a bawdy-house! I’ll be burnt else.

MAM. O, by this light, no: do not wrong him. He’s

Too scrupulous that way: it is his vice.

No, he’s a rare physician, do him right,

An excellent Paracelsian, and has done

Strange cures with mineral physic. He deals all

With spirits, he; he will not hear a word

Of Galen; or his tedious recipes.—

Re-enter FACE

How now, Lungs!

FACE. Softly, sir; speak softly. I meant

To have told your worship all. This must not hear.

MAM. No, he will not be gull’d; let him alone.

FACE. You’re very right, sir; she is a most rare scholar,

And is gone mad with studying Broughton’s 15 works.

If you but name a word touching the Hebrew,

She falls into her fit, and will discourse

So learnedly of genealogies,

As you would run mad too, to hear her, sir.

MAM. How might one do t’ have conference with her, Lungs—

FACE. O, divers have run mad upon the conference:

I do not know, sir. I am sent in haste

To fetch a vial.

SUR. Be not gull’d, Sir Mammon.

MAM. Wherein— Pray ye, be patient.

SUR. Yes, as you are,

And trust confederate knaves and bawds and whores.

MAM. You are too foul, believe it.—Come here, Ulen,

One word.

FACE. I dare not, in good faith. [Going.]

MAM. Stay, knave.

FACE. He is extreme angry that you saw her, sir.

MAM. Drink that. [Gives him money.] What is she when she’s out of her fit—

FACE. O, the most affablest creature, sir! so merry!

So pleasant! She’ll mount you up, like quicksilver,

Over the helm; and circulate like oil,

A very vegetal: discourse of state,

Of mathematics, bawdry, anything——

MAM. Is she no way accessible— no means,

No trick to give a man a taste of her——wit——

Or so—

[SUB. within.] Ulen!

FACE. I’ll come to you again, sir. [Exit.]

MAM. Surly, I did not think one of your breeding

Would traduce personages of worth.

SUR. Sir Epicure,

Your friend to use; yet still loth to be gull’d:

I do not like your philosophical bawds.

Their stone is lechery enough to pay for,

Without this bait.

MAM. Heart, you abuse yourself.

I know the lady, and her friends, and means,

The original of this disaster. Her brother

Has told me all.

SUR. And yet you ne’er saw her

Till now!

MAM. O yes, but I forgot. I have, believe it,

One o’ the treacherousest memories, I do think,

Of all mankind.

SUR. What call you her brother—

MAM. My lord——

He wi’ not have his name known, now I think on’t.

SUR. A very treacherous memory!

MAM. On my faith——

SUR. Tut, if you ha’ it not about you, pass it,

Till we meet next.

MAM. Nay, by this hand, ’tis true.

He’s one I honour, and my noble friend;

And I respect his house.

SUR. Heart! can it be

That a grave sir, a rich, that has no need,

A wise sir, too, at other times, should thus,

With his own oaths, and arguments, make hard means

To gull himself— An this be your elixir,

Your lapis mineralis, and your lunary,

Give me your honest trick yet at primero,

Or gleek; 16 and take your lutum sapientis,

Your menstruum simplex! I’ll have gold before you,

And with less danger of the quicksilver,

Or the hot sulphur.

[ Re-enter FACE]

FACE. Here’s one from Captain Face, sir, [To SURLY.]

Desires you meet him i’ the Temple-church,

Some half-hour hence, and upon earnest business.

Sir, (whispers MAMMON) if you please to quit us now; and come

Again within two hours, you shall have

My master busy examining o’ the works;

And I will steal you in unto the party,

That you may see her converse.—Sir, shall I say

You’ll meet the captain’s worship—

SUR. Sir, I will.— [Walks aside.]

But, by attorney, and to a second purpose.

Now, I am sure it is a bawdy-house;

I’ll swear it, were the marshal here to thank me:

The naming this commander doth confirm it.

Don Face! why, he’s the most authentic dealer

In these commodities, the superintendent

To all the quainter traffickers in town!

He is the visitor, and does appoint

Who lies with whom, and at what hour; what price;

Which gown, and in what smock; what fall; 17 what tire. 18

Him will I prove, by a third person, to find

The subtleties of this dark labyrinth:

Which if I do discover, dear Sir Mammon,

You’ll give your poor friend leave, though no philosopher,

To laugh: for you that are, ’tis thought, shall weep.

FACE. Sir, he does pray you’ll not forget.

SUR. I will not, sir.

Sir Epicure, I shall leave you. [Exit.]

MAM. I follow you straight.

FACE. But do so, good sir, to avoid suspicion.

This gent’man has a parlous head.

MAM. But wilt thou Ulen,

Be constant to thy promise—

FACE. As my life, sir.

MAM. And wilt thou insinuate what I am, and praise me,

And say I am a noble fellow—

FACE. O, what else, sir—

And that you’ll make her royal with stone,

An empress; and yourself King of Bantam.

MAM. Wilt thou do this—

FACE. Will I, sir!

MAM. Lungs, my Lungs!

I love thee.

FACE. Send your stuff, sir, that my master

May busy himself about projection.

MAM. Thou’st witch’d me, rogue: take, go. [Gives him money.]

FACE. Your jack, and all, sir.

MAM. Thou art a villain—I will send my jack,

And the weights too. Slave, I could bite thine ear.

Away, thou dost not care for me.

FACE. Not I, sir!

MAM. Come, I was born to make thee, my good weasel,

Set thee on a bench, and have thee twirl a chain

With the best lord’s vermin of ’em all.

FACE. Away, sir.

MAM. A count, nay, a count palatine——

FACE. Good sir, go.

MAM. Shall not advance thee better: no, nor faster. [Exit.]

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. Exact.

Note 3. Anticipate.

Note 4. The hero of a well-known German jest-book.

Note 5. A pear-shaped vessel, open at both ends.

Note 6. An egg-shaped vessel. Gripe is griffin.

Note 7. Seal with clay.

Note 8. A dish of warm water.

Note 9. Rogues’ slang.

Note 10. An alchemical furnace.

Note 11. Absorption.

Note 12. A net for catching rabbits.

Note 13. Dissolving fluids.

Note 14. In order that.

Note 15. A learned eccentric of the time.

Note 16. Games at cards.

Note 17. A collar, or a veil.

Note 18. A head-dress.

Act II

Scene IV

FACE. 1 [ Re-enter ] SUBTLE and DOL

SUB. Has he bit— has he bit—

FACE. And swallowed, too, my Subtle.

I have given him line, and now he plays, i’ faith.

SUB. And shall we twitch him—

FACE. Thorough both the gills.

A wench is a rare bait, with which a man

No sooner’s taken, but he straight firks mad. 2

SUB. Dol, my Lord What’ts’hum’s sister, you must now

Bear yourself statelich.

DOL. O, let me alone.

I’ll not forget my race, I warrant you.

I’ll keep my distance, laugh and talk aloud;

Have all the tricks of a proud scurvy lady,

And be as rude’s her woman.

FACE. Well said, sanguine! 3

SUB. But will he send his andirons—

FACE. His jack too,

And ’s iron shoeing-horn; I have spoke to him. Well,

I must not lose my wary gamester yonder.

SUB. O, Monsieur Caution, that will not be gull’d—

FACE. Ay,

If I can strike a fine hook into him, now!—

The Temple-church, there I have cast mine angle.

Well, pray for me. I’ll about it. Knocking without.

SUB. What, more gudgeons! 4

Dol, scout, scout! [DOL goes to the window.] Stay, Face, you must go to the door,

’Pray God it be my anabaptist—Who is’t, Dol—

DOL. I know him not: he looks like a gold-end-man. 5

SUB. ’Ods so! ’tis he, he said he would send—what call you him—

The sanctified elder, that should deal

For Mammon’s jack and andirons. Let him in.

Stay, help me off, first, with my gown. [Exit FACE with the gown.] Away,

Madam, to your withdrawing chamber. [Exit. DOL.] Now,

In a new tune, new gesture, but old language.—

This fellow is sent from one negotiates with me

About the stone too, for the holy brethren

Of Amsterdam, the exil’d saints, that hope

To raise their discipline 6 by it. I must use him

In some strange fashion now, to make him admire me.

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. Runs mad.

Note 3. Red cheeks.

Note 4. Easy dupes.

Note 5. A man who buys broken remnants of gold.

Note 6. Puritan form of church government.

Act II

Scene V

SUBTLE. [ Enter ] ANANIAS 1

Where is my drudge— [Aloud.]

[Enter] FACE

FACE. Sir!

SUB. Take away the recipient,

And rectify your menstrue from the phlegma.

Then pour it on the Sol, in the cucurbite,

And let them macerate together.

FACE. Yes, sir.

And save the ground—

SUB. No: terra damnata

Must not have entrance in the work.—Who are you—

ANA. A faithful brother, 2 if it please you.

SUB. What’s that—

A Lullianist— a Ripley— 3 Filius artis—

Can you sublime and dulcify— Calcine—

Know you the sapor pontic— Sapor stiptic—

Or what is homogene, or heterogene—

ANA. I understand no heathen language, truly.

SUB. Heathen! You Knipper-doling— 4 Is Ars sacra,

Or chrysopia, or spagyrica,

Or the pamphysic, or panarchic knowledge,

A heathen language—

ANA. Heathen Greek, I take it.

SUB. How! Heathen Greek—

ANA. All’s heathen but the Hebrew.

SUB. Sirrah my varlet, stand you forth and speak to him

Like a philosopher: answer i’ the language.

Name the vexations, and the martyrizations

Of metals in the work.

FACE. Sir, putrefaction,

Solution, ablution, sublimation,

Cohobation, calcination, ceration, and

Fixation.

SUB. This is heathen Greek, to you, now!—

And when comes vivification—

FACE. After mortification.

SUB. What’s cohobation—

FACE. ’Tis the pouring on

Your aqua regis, and then drawing him off,

To the trine circle of the seven spheres.

SUB. What’s the proper passion of metals—

FACE. Malleation.

SUB. What’s your ultimum supplicium auri—

FACE. Antimonium.

SUB. This is heathen Greek to you!—And what’s your mercury—

FACE. A very fugitive, he will be gone, sir.

SUB. How know you him—

FACE. By his viscosity,

His oleosity, and his suscitability.

SUB. How do you sublime him—

FACE. With the calce of egg-shells,

White marble, talc.

SUB. Your magisterium now,

What’s that—

FACE. Shifting, sir, your elements,

Dry into cold, cold into moist, moist into hot,

Hot into dry.

SUB. This is heathen Greek to you still!

Your lapis philosophicus—

FACE. ’Tis a stone,

And not a stone; a spirit, a soul, and a body:

Which if you do dissolve, it is dissolv’d;

If you coagulate, it is coagulated;

If you make it to fly, it flieth.

SUB. Enough. [Exit FACE.]

This is heathen Greek to you! What are you, sir—

ANA. Please you, a servant of the exil’d brethren,

That deal with widows’ and with orphans’ goods,

And make a just account unto the saints:

A deacon.

SUB. O, you are sent from Master Wholesome,

Your teacher—

ANA. From Tribulation Wholesome,

Our very zealous pastor.

SUB. Good! I have

Some orphans’ goods to come here.

ANA. Of what kind, sir—

SUB. Pewter and brass, andirons and kitchen-ware.

Metals, that we must use our med’cine on:

Wherein the brethren may have a penn’orth

For ready money.

ANA. Were the orphans’ parents

Sincere professors—

SUB. Why do you ask—

ANA. Because

We then are to deal justly, and give, in truth,

Their utmost value.

SUB. ’Slid, you’d cozen else,

An if their parents were not of the faithful!—

I will not trust you, now I think on it,

Till I ha’ talk’d with your pastor. Ha’ you brought money

To buy more coals—

ANA. No, surely.

SUB. No— How so—

ANA. The brethren bid me say unto you, sir,

Surely, they will not venture any more

Till they may see projection.

SUB. How!

ANA. You’ve had

For the instruments, as bricks, and lome, and glasses,

Already thirty pound; and for materials,

They say, some ninety more: and they have heard since,

That one, at Heidelberg, made it of an egg,

And a small paper of pin-dust.

SUB. What’s your name—

ANA. My name is Ananias.

SUB. Out, the varlet

That cozen’d the apostles! Hence, away!

Flee, mischief! had your holy consistory

No name to send me, of another sound,

Than wicked Ananias— Send your elders

Hither, to make atonement for you, quickly,

And give me satisfaction; or out goes

The fire; and down th’ alembecs, and the furnace,

Piger Henricus, or what not. Thou wretch!

Both sericon and bufo shall be lost,

Tell them. All hope of rooting out the bishops,

Or th’ anti-Christian hierarchy shall perish,

If they stay threescore minutes: the aqueity,

Terreity, and sulphureity

Shall run together again, and all be annull’d,

Thou wicked Ananias! [Exit ANANIAS.] This will fetch ’em,

And make ’em haste towards their gulling more.

A man must deal like a rough nurse, and fright

Those that are froward, to an appetite.

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. A Puritan. Subtle wilfully misunderstands.

Note 3. A follower of Raymond Lully (1235—1315) or George Ripley (d. c. 1490), well-known alchemical writers.

Note 4. An Anabaptist leader.

Act II

Scene VI

SUBTLE [ Enter ] FACE [ in his uniform, followed by ] DRUGGER 1

FACE. He’s busy with his spirits, but we’ll upon him.

SUB. How now! What mates, what Bayards 2 ha’ we here—

FACE. I told you he would be furious.—Sir, here’s Nab

Has brought you another piece of gold to look on;

—We must appease him. Give it me,—and prays you,

You would devise—what is it, Nab—

DRUG. A sign, sir.

FACE. Ay, a good lucky one, a thriving sign, doctor.

SUB. I was devising now.

FACE. [Aside to SUB.] ’Slight, do not say so,

He will repent he ga’ you any more—

What say you to his constellation, doctor,

The Balance—

SUB. No, that way is stale and common.

A townsman born in Taurus, gives the bull,

Or the bull’s head: in Aries, the ram,

A poor-device! No, I will have his name

Form’d in some mystic character; whose radii,

Striking the senses of the passers-by,

Shall, by a virtual 3 influence, breed affections,

That may result upon the party owns it:

As thus——

FACE. Nab!

SUB. He first shall have a bell, that’s Abel;

And by it standing one whose name is Dee, 4

In a rug 5 gown, there’s D, and Rug, that’s drug:

And right anenst him a dog snarling er;

There’s Drugger, Abel Drugger. That’s his sign.

And here’s now mystery and hieroglyphic!

FACE. Abel, thou art made.

DRUG. Sir, I do thank his worship.

FACE. Six o’ thy legs 6 more will not do it, Nab.

He has brought you a pipe of tobacco, doctor.

DRUG. Yes, sir;

I have another thing I would impart——

FACE. Out with it, Nab.

DRUG. Sir, there is lodg’d, hard by me,

A rich young widow——

FACE. Good! a bona roba— 7

DRUG. But nineteen at the most.

FACE. Very good, Abel.

DRUG. Marry, she’s not in fashion yet; she wears

A hood, but ’t stands a cop. 8

FACE. No matter, Abel.

DRUG. And I do now and then give her a fucus 9——

FACE. What! dost thou deal, Nab—

SUB. I did tell you, captain

DRUG. And physic too, sometime, sir; for which she trusts me

With all her mind. She’s come up here of purpose

To learn the fashion.

FACE. Good (his match too!)—On, Nab.

DRUG. And she does strangely long to know her fortune.

FACE. ’Ods lid, Nab, send her to the doctor, hither.

DRUG. Yes, I have spoke to her of his worship already;

But she’s afraid it will be blown abroad,

And hurt her marriage.

FACE. Hurt it! ’tis the way

To heal it, if ’twere hurt; to make it more

Follow’d and sought. Nab, thou shalt tell her this.

She’ll be more known, more talk’d of; and your widows

are ne’er of any price till they be famous;

Their honour is their multitude of suitors.

Send her, it may be thy good fortune. What!

Thou dost not know.

DRUG. No, sir, she’ll never marry

Under a knight: her brother has made a vow.

FACE. What! and dost thou despair, my little Nab,

Knowing what the doctor has set down for thee,

And seeing so many o’ the city dubb’d—

One glass o’ thy water, with a madam I know,

Will have it done, Nab. What’s her brother, a knight—

DRUG. No, sir, a gentleman newly warm in’s land, sir,

Scarce cold in his one and twenty, that does govern

His sister here; and is a man himself

Of some three thousand a year, and is come up

To learn to quarrel, and to live by his wits,

And will go down again, and die i’ the country.

FACE. How! to quarrel—

DRUG. Yes, sir, to carry quarrels,

As gallants do; to manage ’em by line.

FACE. ’Slid, Nab, the doctor is the only man

In Christendom for him. He has made a table,

With mathematical demonstrations,

Touching the art of quarrels: he will give him

An instrument to quarrel by. Go, bring ’em both,

Him and his sister. And, for thee, with her

The doctor happ’ly may persuade. Go to:

’Shalt give his worship a new damask suit

Upon the premises.

SUB. O, good captain!

FACE. He shall;

He is the honestest fellow, doctor. Stay not,

No offers; bring the damask, and the parties.

DRUG. I’ll try my power, sir.

FACE. And thy will too, Nab.

SUB. ’Tis good tobacco, this! What is’t an ounce—

FACE. He’ll send you a pound, doctor.

SUB. O no.

FACE. He will do’t.

It is the goodest soul!—Abel, about it.

Thou shalt know more anon. Away, be gone. [Exit ABEL.]

A miserable rogue, and lives with cheese,

And has the worms. That was the cause, indeed,

Why he came now: he dealt with me in private,

To get a med’cine for ’em.

SUB. And shall, sir. This works.

FACE. A wife, a wife for one on us, my dear Subtle!

We’ll e’en draw lots, and he that fails, shall have

The more in goods.

SUB. Faith, best let’s see her first, and then determine.

FACE. Content: but Dol must ha’ no breath on’t.

SUB. Mum.

Away you, to your Surly yonder, catch him.

FACE. Pray God I ha’ not staid too long.

SUB. I fear it. [Exeunt.]

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. Blind horses.

Note 3. Due to the virtue or power of the device.

Note 4. A reference to Dr. Dee, the famous magician and astrologer, who died in 1608.

Note 5. Of coarse frieze.

Note 6. Bows.

Note 7. Handsome girl.

Note 8. Peaked (—) or straight on the top of her head, instead of tilted (—).

Note 9. Paint for the face.

Act III

Scene I

Enter TRIBULATION WHOLESOME and ANANIAS 1

TRI. These chastisements are common to the saints,

And such rebukes we of the separation

Must bear with willing shoulders, as the trials

Sent forth to tempt our frailties.

ANA. In pure zeal,

I do not like the man; he is a then,

And speaks the language of Canaan, truly.

TRI. I think him a profane person indeed.

ANA. He bears

The visible mark of the beast in his forehead.

And for his stone, it is a work of darkness,

And with philosophy blinds the eyes of man.

TRI. Good brother, we must bend unto all means,

That may give furtherance to the holy cause.

ANA. Which his cannot: the sanctified cause

Should have a sanctified course.

TRI. Not always necessary:

The children of perdition are oft times

Made instruments even of the greatest works.

Beside, we should give somewhat to man’s nature,

The place he lives in, still about the fire,

And fume of metals, that intoxicate

The brain of man, and make him prone to passion.

Where have you greater atheists than your cooks—

Or more profane, or choleric, than your glass-men—

More anti-Christian than your bell-founders—

What makes the devil so devilish, I would ask you,

Sathan, our common enemy, but his being

Perpetually about the fire, and boiling

Brimstone and arsenic— We must give, I say,

Unto the motives, and the stirrers up

Of humours in the blood. It may be so,

When as the work is done, the stone is made,

This heat of his may turn into a zeal,

And stand up for the beauteous discipline

Against the menstruous cloth and rag of Rome.

We must await his calling, and the coming

Of the good spirit. You did fault, t’ upbraid him

With the brethren’s blessing of Heidelberg, weighing

What need we have to hasten on the work,

For the restoring of the silenc’d saints, 2

Which ne’er will be but by the philosopher’s stone.

And so a learned elder, one of Scotland,

Assur’d me; aurum potabile being

The only med’cine for the civil magistrate,

T’ incline him to a feeling of the cause;

And must be daily us’d in the disease.

ANA. I have not edified more, truly, by man;

Not since the beautiful light first shone on me:

And I am sad my zeal hath so offended.

TRI. Let us call on him then.

ANA. The motion’s good,

And of the spirit; I will knock first. [Knocks.] Peace be within! [The door is opened, and they enter.]

Note 1. The lane before Lovewit’s house.

Note 2. Non-conformist ministers not allowed to preach.

Act III

Scene II

Enter SUBTLE, followed by TRIBULATION and ANANIAS 1

SUB. O, are you come— ’Twas time. Your threescore minutes

Were at last thread, you see; and down had gone

Furnus acediae, turris circulatorius:

Lembec, bolt’s-head, retort, and pelican

Had all been cinders. Wicked Ananias!

Art thou return’d— Nay, then it goes down yet.

TRI. Sir, be appeased; he is come to humble

Himself in spirit, and to ask you patience,

If too much zeal hath carried him aside

From the due path.

SUB. Why, this doth qualify!

TRI. The brethren had no purpose, verily,

To give you the least grievance; but are ready

To lend their willing hands to any project

The spirit and you direct.

SUB. This qualifies more!

TRI. And for the orphans’ goods, let them be valu’d,

Or what is needful else to the holy work,

It shall be numb’red; here, by me, the saints

Throw down their purse before you.

SUB. This qualifies most!

Why, thus it should be, now you understand.

Have I discours’d so unto you of our stone,

And of the good that it shall bring your cause—

Show’d you (beside the main of hiring forces

Abroad, drawing the Hollanders, your friends,

From the Indies, to serve you, with all their fleet)

That even the med’cinal use shall make you a faction,

And party in the realm— As, put the case,

That some great man in state, he have the gout,

Why, you but send three drops of your elixir,

You help him straight: there you have made a friend.

Another has the palsy or the dropsy,

He takes of your incombustible stuff,

He’s young again: there you have made a friend.

A lady that is past the feat of body,

Though not of mind, and hath her face decay’d

Beyond all cure of paintings, you restore,

With the oil of talc: there you have made a friend;

And all her friends. A lord that is a leper,

A knight that has the bone-ache, or a squire

That hath both these, you make ’em smooth and sound,

With a bare fricace 2 of your med’cine: still

You increase your friends.

TRI. Ay, ’tis very pregnant.

SUB. And then the turning of this lawyer’s pewter

To plate at Christmas——

ANA. Christ-tide, I pray you.

SUB. Yet, Ananias!

ANA. I have done.

SUB. Or changing

His parcel 3 gilt to massy gold. You cannot

But raise you friends. Withal, to be of power

To pay an army in the field, to buy

The King of France out of his realms, or Spain

Out of his Indies. What can you not do

Against lords spiritual or temporal,

That shall oppone 4 you—

TRI. Verily, ’tis true.

We may be temporal lords ourselves, I take it.

SUB. You may be anything, and leave off to make

Long-winded exercises; or suck up

Your ha! and hum! in a tune. I not deny,

But such as are not graced in a state,

May, for their ends, be adverse in religion,

And get a tune to call the flock together:

For, to say sooth, a tune does much with women

And other phlegmatic people; it is your bell.

ANA. Bells are profane; a tune may be religious.

SUB. No warning with you— Then farewell my patience.

’Slight, it shall down; I will not be thus tortur’d.

TRI. I pray you, sir.

SUB. All shall perish. I have spoke it.

TRI. Let me find grace, sir, in your eyes; the man

He stands corrected: neither did his zeal,

But as your self, allow a tune somewhere.

Which now, being tow’rd 5 the stone, we shall not need.

SUB. No, nor your holy vizard, 6 to win widows

To give you legacies; or make zealous wives

To rob their husbands for the common cause:

Nor take the start of bonds broke but one day,

And say they were forfeited by providence.

Nor shall you need o’er night to eat huge meals,

To celebrate your next day’s fast the better;

The whilst the brethren and the sisters humbled,

Abate the stiffness of the flesh. Nor cast

Before your hungry hearers scrupulous bones; 7

As whether a Christian may hawk or hunt,

Or whether matrons of the holy assembly

May lay their hair out, or wear doublets,

Or have that idol, starch, about their linen.

ANA. It is indeed an idol.

TRI. Mind him not, sir.

I do command thee, spirit (of zeal, but trouble),

To peace within him! Pray you, sir, go on.

SUB. Nor shall you need to libel ’gainst the prelates,

And shorten so your ears 8 against the hearing

Of the next wire-drawn grace. Nor of necessity

Rail against plays, to please the alderman

Whose daily custard you devour; nor lie

With zealous rage till you are hoarse. Not one

Of these so singular arts. Nor call yourselves

By names of Tribulation, Persecution,

Restraint, Long-patience, and such like, affected

By the whole family or wood 9 of you,

Only for glory, and to catch the ear

Of the disciple.

TRI. Truly, sir, they are

Ways that the godly brethren have invented,

For propagation of the glorious cause,

As very notable means, and whereby also

Themselves grow soon, and profitably famous.

SUB. O, but the stone, all’s idle to’t! Nothing!

The art of angels, nature’s miracle,

The divine secret that doth fly in clouds

From east to west: and whose tradition

Is not from men, but spirits.

ANA. I hate traditions;

I do not trust them——

TRI. Peace!

ANA. They are popish all.

I will not peace: I will not——

TRI. Ananias!

ANA. Please the profane, to grieve the godly; I may not.

SUB. Well, Ananias, thou shalt overcome.

TRI. It is an ignorant zeal that haunts him, sir:

But truly else a very faithful brother,

A botcher, 10 and a man by revelation

That hath a competent knowledge of the truth.

SUB. Has he a competent sum there i’ the bag

To buy the goods within— I am made guardian,

And must, for charity and conscience’ sake,

Now see the most be made for my poor orphan;

Though I desire the brethren, too, good gainers:

There they are within. When you have view’d and bought ’em,

And ta’en the inventory of what they are,

They are ready for projection; there’s no more

To do: cast on the med’cine, so much silver

As there is tin there, so much gold as brass,

I’ll gi’ it you in by weight.

TRI. But how long time,

Sir, must the saints expect yet—

SUB. Let me see,

How’s the moon now— Eight, nine, ten days hence,

He will be silver potate; then three days

Before he citronise. 11 Some fifteen days,

The magisterium 12 will be perfected.

ANA. About the second day of the third week,

In the ninth month—

SUB. Yes, my good Ananias.

TRI. What will the orphans’ goods arise to, think you—

SUB. Some hundred marks, as much as fill’d three cars,

Unladed now: you’ll make six millions of ’em—

But I must ha’ more coals laid in.

TRI. How—

SUB. Another load,

And then we ha’ finish’d. We must now increase

Our fire to ignis ardens; 13 we are past

Fimus equinus, balnei, cineris, 14

And all those lenter 15 heats. If the holy purse

Should with this draught fall low, and that the saints

Do need a present sum, I have a trick

To melt the pewter, you shall buy now instantly,

And with a tincture make you as good Dutch dollars

As any are in Holland.

TRI. Can you so—

SUB. Ay, and shall bide the third examination.

ANA. It will be joyful tidings to the brethren.

SUB. But you must carry it secret.

TRI. Ay; but stay,

This act of coining, is it lawful—

ANA. Lawful!

We know no magistrate: or, if we did,

This is foreign coin.

SUB. It is no coining, sir.

It is but casting.

TRI. Ha! you distinguish well:

Casting of money may be lawful.

ANA. ’Tis, sir.

TRI. Truly, I take it so.

SUB. There is no scruple,

Sir, to be made of it; believe Ananias:

This case of conscience he is studied in.

TRI. I’ll make a question of it to the brethren.

ANA. The brethren shall approve it lawful, doubt not.

Where shall it be done—

SUB. For that we’ll talk anon. Knock without.

There’s some to speak with me. Go in, I pray you,

And view the parcels. That’s the inventory.

I’ll come to you straight. [Exeunt TRIB. and ANA.] Who is it——Face! appear.

Note 1. A room in Lovewit’s house.

Note 2. Rubbing.

Note 3. Partly.

Note 4. Oppose.

Note 5. Near possession of.

Note 6. Set expression of face.

Note 7. The dry bones of discussion on such scruples.

Note 8. Have your ears cut off in the pillory.

Note 9. Assembly.

Note 10. Tailor. But the term was used generally of Puritans.

Note 11. Become the color of citron—a stage in the process of producing the stone.

Note 12. Full accomplishment.

Note 13. Fiery heat.

Note 14. Heat from horse-dung, warm bath, ashes.

Note 15. Milder.

Act III

Scene III

SUBTLE. [ Enter ] FACE [ in his uniform ] 1

How now! good prize—

FACE. Good pox! Yond’ costive cheater

Never came on.

SUB. How then—

FACE. I ha’ walk’d the round

Till now, and no such thing.

SUB. And ha’ you quit him—

FACE. Quit him! An hell would quit him too, he were happy.

’Slight! would you have me stalk like a mill-jade,

All day, for one that will not yield us grains—

I know him of old.

SUB. O, but to ha’ gull’d him,

Had been a mastery.

FACE. Let him go, black boy!

And turn thee, that some fresh news may possess thee.

A noble count, a don of Spain (my dear

Delicious compeer, and my party 2 -bawd),

Who is come hither private for his conscience

And brought munition with him, six great slops, 3

Bigger than three Dutch hoys, 4 beside round trunks, 5

Furnish’d with pistolets, 6 and pieces of eight, 7

Will straight be here, my rogue, to have thy bath,

(That is the colour, 8) and to make his battery

Upon our Dol, our castle, our cinqueport,

Our Dover pier, our what thou wilt. Where is she—

She must prepare perfumes, delicate linen,

The bath in chief, a banquet, and her wit,

Where is the doxy—

SUB. I’ll send her to thee:

And but despatch my brace of little John Leydens, 9

And come again myself.

FACE. Are they within then—

SUB. Numbering the sum.

FACE. How much—

SUB. A hundred marks, boy. [Exit.]

FACE. Why, this is a lucky day. Ten pounds of Mammon!

Three o’ my clerk! A portague o’ my grocer!

This o’ the brethren! Beside reversions

And states to come, i’ the widow, and my count!

My share today will not be bought for forty—

[ Enter DOL]

DOL. What—

FACE. Pounds, dainty Dorothy! Art thou so near—

DOL. Yes; say, lord general, how fares our camp—

FACE. As with the few that had entrench’d themselves

Safe, by their discipline, against a world, Dol,

And laugh’d within those trenches, and grew fat

With thinking on the booties, Dol, brought in

Daily by their small parties. This dear hour,

A doughty don is taken with my Dol;

And thou mayst make his ransom what thou wilt

My Dousabel; 10 he shall be brought here fetter’d

With thy fair looks, before he sees thee; and thrown

In a down-bed, as dark as any dungeon;

Where thou shalt keep him waking with thy drum;

Thy drum, my Dol, thy drum; till he be tame

As the poor blackbirds were i’ the great frost,

Or bees are with a bason; and so hive him

I’ the swan-skin coverlid and cambric sheets,

Till he work honey and wax, my little God’s-gift. 11

DOL. What is he, general—

FACE. An adalantado, 12

A grandee, girl. Was not my Dapper here yet—

DOL. No

FACE. Nor my Drugger—

DOL. Neither.

FACE. A pox on ’em,

They are so long a furnishing! such stinkards

Would not be seen upon these festival days.—

[ Re-enter SUBTLE]

How now! ha’ you done—

SUB. Done. They are gone: the sum

Is here in bank, my Face. I would we knew

Another chapman who would buy ’em outright.

FACE. ’Slid, Nab shall do’t against he ha’ the widow,

To furnish household.

SUB. Excellent, well thought on:

Pray God he come.

FACE. I pray he keep away

Till our new business be o’erpast.

SUB. But, Face,

How camst thou by this secret don—

FACE. A spirit

Brought me th’ intelligence in a paper here,

As I was conjuring yonder in my circle

For Surly; I ha’ my flies 13 abroad. Your bath

Is famous, Subtle, by my means. Sweet Dol,

Tickle him with thy mother tongue. His great

Verdugoship 14 has not a jot of language;

So much the easier to be cozen’d, my Dolly.

He will come here in a hir’d coach, obscure,

And our own coachman, whom I have sent as guide,

No creature else. One knocks. Who’s that— [Exit DOL.]

SUB. It is not he—

FACE. O no, not yet this hour.

Re-enter DOL

SUB. Who is’t—

DOL. Dapper,

Your clerk.

FACE. God’s will then, Queen of Fairy,

On with your tire; [Exit DOL.] and, doctor, with your robes.

Let’s despatch him for God’s sake.

SUB. ’Twill be long.

FACE. I warrant you, take but the cues I give you,

It shall be brief enough. [Goes to the window.] ’Slight, here are more!

Abel, and I think the angry boy, the heir,

That fain would quarrel.

SUB. And the widow—

FACE. No,

Not that I see. Away! [Exit SUB.]

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. Partner.

Note 3. Large breeches.

Note 4. Ships.

Note 5. Trunk hose.

Note 6. A Spanish gold coin worth about 16sh. 8d.

Note 7. A coin worth about 4sh. 6d.

Note 8. Pretext.

Note 9. Puritans, from the name of the Anabaptist leader.

Note 10. I. e., douce et belle; sweetheart.

Note 11. Referring to the literal meaning of Dorothea.

Note 12. A Spanish governor.

Note 13. Familiars.

Note 14. Verdugo is a Spanish name, but the precise allusion is uncertain.

Act III

Scene IV

FACE. [ Enter ] DAPPER 1

FACE. O, sir, you are welcome.

The doctor is within a moving for you;

I have had the most ado to win him to it!—

He swears you’ll be the darling o’ the dice:

He never heard her highness dote till now. 2

Your aunt has giv’n you the most gracious words

That can be thought on.

DAP. Shall I see her grace—

FACE. See her, and kiss her too.—

[Enter ABEL, followed by KASTRIL]

What, honest Nab!

Hast brought the damask—

NAB. No, sir; here’s tobacco.

FACE. ’Tis well done, Nab; thou’lt bring the damask too—

DRUG. Yes. Here’s the gentleman, captain, Master Kastril,

I have brought to see the doctor.

FACE. Where’s the widow—

DRUG. Sir, as he likes, his sister, he says, shall come.

FACE. O, is it so— Good time. Is your name Kastril, sir—

KAS. Ay, and the best of the Kastrils, I’d be sorry else,

By fifteen hundred a year. 3 Where is this doctor—

My mad tobacco-boy here tells me of one

That can do things. Has he any skill—

FACE. Wherein, sir—

KAS. To carry a business, manage a quarrel fairly,

Upon fit terms.

FACE. It seems, sir, you’re but young

About the town, that can make that a question.

KAS. Sir, not so young but I have heard some speech

Of the angry boys, 4 and seen ’em take tobacco;

And in his shop; and I can take it too.

And I would fain be one of ’em, and go down

And practice i’ the country.

FACE. Sir, for the duello,

The doctor, I assure you, shall inform you,

To the least shadow of a hair; and show you

An instrument he has of his own making,

Wherewith, no sooner shall you make report

Of any quarrel, but he will take the height on’t

Most instantly, and tell in what degree

Of safety it lies, in or mortality.

And how it may be borne, whether in a right line,

Or a half circle; or may else be cast

Into an angle blunt, if not acute:

And this he will demonstrate. And then, rules

To give and take the lie by.

KAS. How! to take it—

FACE. Yes, in oblique he’ll show you, or in circle; 5

But never in diameter. 6 The whole town

Study his theorems, and dispute them ordinarily

At the eating academies.

KAS. But does he teach

Living by the wits too—

FACE. Anything whatever.

You cannot think that subtlety but he reads it.

He made me a captain. I was a stark pimp,

Just o’ your standing, ’fore I met with him;

It’s not two months since. I’ll tell you his method:

First, he will enter you at some ordinary.

KAS. No, I’ll not come there: you shall pardon me.

FACE. For why, sir—

KAS. There’s gaming there, and tricks.

FACE. Why, would you be

A gallant, and not game—

KAS. Ay, ’twill spend a man.

FACE. Spend you! It will repair you when you are spent.

How do they live by their wits there, that have vented

Six times your fortunes—

KAS. What, three thousand a year!

FACE. Ay, forty thousand.

KAS. Are there such—

FACE. Ay, sir,

And gallants yet. Here’s a young gentleman

Is born to nothing,—[Points to DAPPER.] forty marks a year

Which I count nothing:—he is to be initiated,

And have a fly o’ the doctor. He will win you

By unresistible luck, within this fortnight,

Enough to buy a barony. They will set him

Upmost, at the groom porter’s, 7 all the Christmas:

And for the whole year through at every place

Where there is play, present him with the chair,

The best attendance, the best drink, sometimes

Two glasses of Canary, and pay nothing;

The purest linen and the sharpest knife,

The partridge next his trencher: and somewhere

The dainty bed, in private, with the dainty.

You shall ha’ your ordinaries bid for him,

As playhouses for a poet; and the master

Pray him aloud to name what dish he affects,

Which must be butter’d shrimps: and those that drink

To no mouth else, will drink to his, as being

The goodly president mouth of all the board.

KAS. Do you not gull one—

FACE. ’Ods my life! Do you think it—

You shall have a cast commander, (can but get

In credit with a glover, or a spurrier,

For some two pair of either’s ware aforehand,)

Will, by most swift posts, dealing [but] with him,

Arrive at competent means to keep himself,

His punk, and naked boy, in excellent fashion,

And be admir’d for’t.

KAS. Will the doctor teach this—

FACE. He will do more, sir: when your land is gone,

(As men of spirit hate to keep earth long),

In a vacation, 8 when small money is stirring,

And ordinaries suspended till the term,

He’ll show a perspective, 9 where on one side

You shall behold the faces and the persons

Of all sufficient young heirs in town,

Whose bonds are current for commodity; 10

On th’ other side, the merchants’ forms, and others,

That without help of any second broker,

Who would expect a share, will trust such parcels:

In the third square, the very street and sign

Where the commodity dwells, and does but wait

To be deliver’d, be it pepper, soap,

Hops, or tobacco, oatmeal, woad, or cheeses.

All which you may so handle, to enjoy

To your own use, and never stand oblig’d.

KAS. I’ faith! is he such a fellow—

FACE. Why, Nab here knows him.

And then for making matches for rich widows,

Young gentlewomen, heirs, the fortunat’st man!

He’s sent to, far and near, all over England,

To have his counsel, and to know their fortunes.

KAS. God’s will, my suster shall see him.

FACE. I’ll tell you, sir,

What he did tell me of Nab. It’s a strange thing—

(By the way, you must eat no cheese, Nab, it breeds melancholy,

And that same melancholy breeds worms) but pass it:—

He told me, honest Nab here was ne’er at tavern

But once in’s life.

DRUG. Truth, and no more I was not.

FACE. And then he was so sick——

DRUG. Could he tell you that too—

FACE. How should I know it—

DRUG. In troth, we had been a shooting,

And had a piece of fat ram-mutton to supper,

That lay so heavy o’ my stomach——

FACE. And he has no head

To bear any wine; for what with the noise o’ the fiddlers,

And care of his shop, for he dares keep no servants——

DRUG. My head did so ache——

FACE. And he was fain to be brought home,

The doctor told me: and then a good old woman——

DRUG. Yes, faith, she dwells in Seacol-lane,—did cure me,

With sodden ale, and pellitory 11 o’ the wall;

Cost me but twopence. I had another sickness

Was worse than that.

FACE. Ay, that was with the grief

Thou took’st for being cess’d 12 at eighteenpence,

For the waterwork.

DRUG. In truth, and it was like

T’ have cost me almost my life.

FACE. Thy hair went off—

DRUG. Yes, sir; ’twas done for spite.

FACE. Nay, so says the doctor.

KAS. Pray thee, tobacco-boy, go fetch my suster;

I’ll see this learned boy before I go;

And so shall she.

FACE. Sir, he is busy now:

But if you have a sister to fetch hither,

Perhaps your own pains may command her sooner;

And he by that time will be free.

KAS. I go. [Exit.]

FACE. Drugger, she’s thine: the damask!—[Exit ABEL.] Subtle and I

Must wrastle for her. [Aside.] Come on, Master Dapper,

You see how I turn clients here away,

To give your cause dispatch; ha’ you perform’d

The ceremonies were enjoin’d you—

DAP. Yes, o’ the vinegar,

And the clean shirt.

FACE. ’Tis well: that shirt may do you

More worship than you think. Your aunt’s a-fire,

But that she will not show it, t’ have a sight of you.

Ha’ you provided for her grace’s servants—

DAP. Yes, here are six score Edward shillings.

FACE. Good!

DAP. And an old Harry’s sovereign.

FACE. Very good!

DAP. And three James shillings, and an Elizabeth groat,

Just twenty nobles. 13

FACE. O, you are too just.

I would you had had the other noble in Maries.

DAP. I have some Philip and Maries.

FACE. Ay, those same

Are best of all: where are they— Hark, the doctor.

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. Folio adds (he says).

Note 3. I. e., he is £1,500 a year richer than any other of the Kastrils.

Note 4. Roysterers, young bloods.

Note 5. The lie circumstantial.

Note 6. The lie direct.

Note 7. An officer of the royal household, having charge of the cards, dice, etc. He had the privilege of keeping open table at Christmas.

Note 8. Of the law-courts.

Note 9. A magic glass.

Note 10. The reference is to the “commodity” fraud, in which a borrower was obliged to take part of a loan in merchandise, which the lender frequently bought back by agents for much less than it represented in the loan.

Note 11. A herb.

Note 12. Assessed, taxed.

Note 13. A noble was worth 6sh. 8d.

Act III

Scene V

FACE, DAPPER. Enter SUBTLE, disguised like a priest of Fairy [ with a strip of cloth ] 1

SUB. [in a feigned voice.] Is yet her grace’s cousin come—

FACE. He is come.

SUB. And is he fasting—

FACE. Yes.

SUB. And hath cried hum—

FACE. Thrice, you must answer.

DAP. Thrice.

SUB. And as oft buz—

FACE. If you have, say.

DAP. I have.

SUB. Then, to her cuz,

Hoping that he hath vinegar’d his senses,

As he was bid, the Fairy queen dispenses,

By me, this robe, the petticoat of fortune;

Which that he straight put on, she doth importune.

And though to fortune near be her petticoat,

Yet nearer is her smock, the queen doth note:

And therefore, even of that a piece she hath sent,

Which, being a child, to wrap him in was rent;

And prays him for a scarf he now will wear it,

With as much love as then her grace did tear it,

About his eyes, They blind him with the rag, to show he is fortunate.

And, trusting unto her to make his state,

He’ll throw away all worldly pelf about him;

Which that he will perform, she doth not doubt him.

FACE. She need not doubt him, sir. Alas, he has nothing

But what he will part withal as willingly,

Upon her grace’s word—throw away your purse—

As she would ask it:—handkerchiefs and all—

She cannot bid that thing but he’ll obey.—

If you have a ring about you cast it off,

Or a silver seal at your wrist; her grace will send He throws away, as they bid him.

Her fairies here to search you, therefore deal

Directly 2 with her highness: if they find

That you conceal a mite, you are undone.

DAP. Truly, there’s all.

FACE. All what—

DAP. My money; truly.

FACE. Keep nothing that is transitory about you.

[Aside to SUBTLE.] Bid Dol play music.—Look, the elves are come. [DOL. plays on the cittern within.

To pinch you, if you tell not truth. Advise you. [They pinch him.]

DAP. O! I have a paper with a spur-ryal 3 in’t.

FACE. Ti, ti.

They knew’t, they say.

SUB. Ti, ti, ti, ti. He has more yet.

FACE. Ti, ti-ti-ti. I’ the other pocket—

SUB. Titi, titi, titi, titi, titi.

They must pinch him or he will never confess, they say. [They pinch him again.

DAP. O, O!

FACE. Nay, pray you, hold: he is her grace’s nephew,

Ti, ti, ti— What care you— good faith, you shall care.—

Deal plainly, sir, and shame the fairies. Show

You are innocent.

DAP. By this good light, I ha’ nothing.

SUB. Ti, ti, ti, ti, to, ta. He does equivocate she says:

Ti, ti do ti, ti ti do, ti da; and swears by the light when he is blinded.

DAP. By this good dark, I ha’ nothing but a half-crown

Of gold about my wrist, that my love gave me;

And a leaden heart I wore sin’ she forsook me.

FACE. I thought ’twas something. And would you incur

Your aunt’s displeasure for these trifles— Come,

I had rather you had thrown away twenty half-crowns. [Takes it off.]

You may wear your leaden heart still.—

[ Enter DOL. hastily ]

How now!

SUB. What news, Dol—

DOL. Yonder’s your knight, Sir Mammon.

FACE. ’Ods lid, we never thought of him till now!

Where is he—

DOL. Here hard by. He’s at the door.

SUB. And you are not ready now! Dol, get his suit. [Exit DOL.]

He must not be sent back.

FACE. O, by no means.

What shall we do with this same puffin 4 here,

Now he’s on the spit—

SUB. Why, lay him back awhile,

With some device.

[Re-enter DOL with FACE’S clothes]

—Ti, ti, ti, ti, ti, ti, Would her grace speak with me—

I come.—Help, Dol! Knocking without.

FACE. [speaks through the keyhole.]—Who’s there— Sir Epicure,

My master’s i’the way. Please you to walk

Three or four turns, but till his back be turn’d,

And I am for you.—Quickly, Dol!

SUB. Her grace

Commends her kindly to you, Master Dapper.

DAP. I long to see her grace.

SUB. She now is set

At dinner in her bed, and she has sent you

From her own private trencher, a dead mouse,

And a piece of gingerbread, to be merry withal,

And stay your stomach, lest you faint with fasting:

Yet if you could hold out till she saw you, she says,

It would be better for you.

FACE. Sir, he shall

Hold out, an ’twere this two hours, for her highness;

I can assure you that. We will not lose

All we ha’ done.——

SUB. He must not see, nor speak

To anybody, till then.

FACE. For that we’ll put, sir,

A stay in’s mouth.

SUB. Of what—

FACE. Of gingerbread.

Make you it fit. He that hath pleas’d her grace

Thus far, shall not now crinkle 5 for a little.——

Gape, sir, and let him fit you. [They thrust a gag of gingerbread into his mouth.]

SUB. Where shall we now

Bestow him—

DOL. I’ the privy.

SUB. Come along, sir,

I must now show you Fortune’s privy lodgings.

FACE. Are they perfum’d, and his bath ready—

SUB. All:

Only the fumigation’s somewhat strong.

FACE. [speaking through the keyhole.] Sir Epicure, I am yours, sir, by and by. [Exeunt with DAPPER.]

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. Uprightly.

Note 3. A gold coin worth 15sh.

Note 4. A sort of gull.

Note 5. Turn aside from his purpose.

Act IV

Scene I

Enter FACE and MAMMON 1

FACE. O, sir, you’re come i’ the only finest time.——

MAM. Where’s master—

FACE. Now preparing for projection, sir.

Your stuff will be all chang’d shortly.

MAM. Into gold—

FACE. To gold and silver, sir.

MAM. Silver I care not for.

FACE. Yes, sir, a little to give beggars.

MAM. Where’s the lady—

FACE. At hand here. I ha’ told her such brave things o’ you,

Touching your bounty and your noble spirit——

MAM. Hast thou—

FACE. As she is almost in her fit to see you.

But, good sir, no divinity i’ your conference,

For fear of putting her in rage.——

MAM. I warrant thee.

FACE. Six men [sir] will not hold her down. And then,

If the old man should hear or see you—

MAM. Fear not.

FACE. The very house, sir, would run mad. You know it,

How scrupulous he is, and violent,

’Gainst the least act of sin. Physic or mathematics,

Poetry, state, 2 or bawdry, as I told you,

She will endure, and never startle; but

No word of controversy.

MAM. I am school’d, good Ulen.

FACE. And you must praise her house, remember that,

And her nobility.

MAM. Let me alone:

No herald, no, nor antiquary, Lungs,

Shall do it better. Go.

FACE. [Aside.] Why, this is yet

A kind of modern happiness, 3 to have

Dol Common for a great lady. [Exit.]

MAM. Now, Epicure,

Heighten thyself, talk to her all in gold;

Rain her as many showers as Jove did drops

Unto his Danäe; show the god a miser,

Compar’d with Mammon. What! the stone will do’t.

She shall feel gold, taste gold, hear gold, sleep gold;

Nay, we will concumbere gold: I will be puissant,

And mighty in my talk to her.—

[ Re-enter FACE with DOL richly dressed ]

Here she comes.

FACE. To him, Dol, suckle him. This is the noble knight

I told you ladyship——

MAM. Madam, with your pardon,

I kiss your vesture.

DOL. Sir, I were uncivil

If I would suffer that; my lip to you, sir.

MAM. I hope my lord your brother be in health, lady.

DOL. My lord my brother is, though I no lady, sir.

FACE. [Aside.] Well said, my Guinea bird.

MAM. Right noble madam——

FACE. [Aside.] O, we shall have most fierce idolatry.

MAM. ’Tis your prerogative.

DOL. Rather your courtesy.

MAM. Were there nought else ’t enlarge your virtues to me,

These answers speak your breeding and your blood.

DOL. Blood we boast none, sir; a poor baron’s daughter.

MAM. Poor! and gat you— Profane not. Had your father

Slept all the happy remnant of his life

After that act, lien but there still, and panted,

He’d done enough to make himself, his issue,

And his posterity noble.

DOL. Sir, although

We may be said to want the gilt and trappings,

The dress of honour, yet we strive to keep

The seeds and the materials.

MAM. I do see

The old ingredient, virtue, was not lost,

Nor the drug money us’d to make your compound.

There is a strange nobility i’ your eye,

This lip, that chin! Methinks you do resemble

One o’ the Austriac princes.

FACE. [Aside.] Very like!

Her father was an Irish costermonger.

MAM. The house of Valois just had such a nose,

And such a forehead yet the Medici

Of Florence boast.

DOL. Troth, and I have been lik’ned

To all these princes.

FACE. [Aside.] I’ll be sworn, I heard it.

MAM. I know not how! it is not any one,

But e’en the very choice of all their features.

FACE. [Aside.] I’ll in, and laugh. [Exit.]

MAM. A certain touch, or air,

That sparkles a divinity beyond

An earthly beauty!

DOL. O, you play the courtier.

MAM. Good lady, gi’ me leave——

DOL. In faith, I may not,

To mock me, sir.

MAM. To burn i’ this sweet flame;

The phoenix never knew a nobler death.

DOL. Nay, now you court the courtier, and destroy

What you would build. This art, sir, i’ your words,

Calls your whole faith in question.

MAM. By my soul——

DOL. Nay, oaths are made o’ the same air, sir.

MAM. Nature

Never bestow’d upon mortality

A more unblam’d, a more harmonious feature;

She play’d the step-dame in all faces else:

Sweet madam, le’ me be particular——

DOL. Particular, sir! I pray you know your distance.

MAM. In no ill sense, sweet lady; but to ask

How your fair graces pass the hours— I see

You’re lodg’d here, in the house of a rare man,

An excellent artist; but what’s that to you—

DOL. Yes, sir; I study here the mathematics,

And distillation.

MAM. O, I cry your pardon.

He’s a divine instructor! can extract

The souls of all things by his art; call all

The virtues, and the miracles of the sun,

Into a temperature furnace; teach dull nature

What her own forces are. A man, the emp’ror

Has courted above Kelly; 4 sent his medals

And chains, t’ invite him.

DOL. Ay, and for his physic, sir—

MAM. Above the art of AEsculapius,

That drew the envy of the thunderer!

I know all this, and more.

DOL. Troth, I am taken, sir,

Whole with these studies, that contemplate nature.

MAM. It is a noble humour; but this form

Was not intended to so dark a use.

Had you been crooked, foul, of some coarse mould,

A cloister had done well; but such a feature

That might stand up the glory of a kingdom,

To live recluse! is a mere solcism,

Though in a nunnery. It must not be.

I muse, my lord your brother will permit it:

You should spend half my land first, were I he.

Does not this diamond better on my finger

Than i’ the quarry—

DOL. Yes.

MAM. Why, you are like it.

You were created, lady, for the light.

Here, you shall wear it; take it, the first pledge

Of what I speak, to bind you to believe me.

DOL. In chains of adamant—

MAM. Yes, the strongest bands.

And take a secret too.—Here, by your side,

Doth stand this hour the happiest man in Europe.

DOL. You are contended, sir—

MAM. Nay, in true being,

The envy of princes and the fear of states.

DOL. Say you so, Sir Epicure—

MAM. Yes, and thou shalt prove it,

Daughter of honour. I have cast mine eye

Upon thy form, and I will rear this beauty

Above all styles.

DOL. You mean no treason, sir—

MAM. No, I will take away that jealousy.

I am the lord of the philosopher’s stone,

And thou the lady.

DOL. How, sir! ha’ you that—

MAM. I am the master of the mastery. 5

This day the good old wretch here o’ the house

Has made it for us: now he’s at projection.

Think therefore thy first wish now, let me hear it;

And it shall rain into thy lap, no shower,

But floods of gold, whole cataracts, a deluge,

To get a nation on thee.

DOL. You are pleas’d, sir,

To work on the ambition of our sex.

MAM. I’m pleas’d the glory of her sex should know,

This nook here of the Friars is no climate

For her to live obscurely in, to learn

Physic and surgery, for the constable’s wife

Of some odd hundred in Essex; but come forth,

And taste the air of palaces; eat, drink

The toils of empirics, and their boasted practice;

Tincture of pearl, and coral, gold, and amber;

Be seen at feasts and triumphs; have it ask’d,

What miracle she is; set all the eyes

Of court a-fire, like a burning glass,

And work them into cinders, when the jewels

Of twenty states adorn thee, and the light

Strikes out the stars! that, when thy name is mention’d,

Queens may look pale; and we but showing our love,

Nero’s Poppaea may be lost in story!

Thus will we have it.

DOL. I could well consent, sir.

But in a monarchy, how will this be—

The prince will soon take notice, and both seize

You and your stone, it being a wealth unfit

For any private subject.

MAM. If he knew it.

DOL. Yourself do boast it, sir.

MAM. To thee, my life.

DOL. O, but beware, sir! You may come to end

The remnant of your days in a loath’d prison,

By speaking of it.

MAM. ’Tis no idle fear.

We’ll therefore go with all, my girl, and live

In a free state, where we will eat our mullets,

Sous’d in high-country wines, sup pheasants’ eggs,

And have our cockles boil’d in silver shells;

Our shrimps to swim again, as when they liv’d,

In a rare butter made of dolphins’ milk,

Whose cream does look like opals; and with these

Delicate meats set ourselves high for pleasure,

And take us down again, and then renew

Our youth and strength with drinking the elixir,

And so enjoy a perpetuity

Of life and list! And thou shalt ha’ thy wardrobe

Richer than nature’s, still to change thyself,

And vary oftener, for thy pride, than she,

Or art, her wise and almost-equal servant.

[ Re-enter FACE]

FACE. Sir, you are too loud. I hear you every word

Into the laboratory. Some fitter place;

The garden, or great chamber above. How like you her—

MAM. Excellent! Lungs. There’s for thee. [Gives him money.]

FACE. But do you hear—

Good sir, beware, no mention of the rabbins.

MAM. We think not on ’em.

[Exeunt MAM. and DOL.]

FACE. O, it is well, sir.—Subtle!

Note 1. A room in Lovewit’s house.

Note 2. Politics.

Note 3. Up-to-date appropriateness.

Note 4. The partner of Dee, the astrologer.

Note 5. The art of transmutation.

Act IV

Scene II

FACE. [Enter] SUBTLE 1

Dost thou not laugh—

SUB. Yes; are they gone—

FACE. All’s clear.

SUB. The widow is come.

FACE. And your quarrelling disciple—

SUB. Ay.

FACE. I must to my captainship again then.

SUB. Stay, bring ’em in first.

FACE. So I meant. What is she—

A bonnibel—

SUB. I know not.

FACE. We’ll draw lots:

You’ll stand to that—

SUB. What else—

FACE. O, for a suit,

To fall now like a curtain, flap!

SUB. To th’ door, man.

FACE. You’ll ha’ the first kiss, ’cause I am not ready. [Exit.]

SUB. Yes, and perhaps hit you through both the nostrils. 2

FACE. [Within.] Who would you speak with—

KAS. [within.] Where’s the captain—

FACE. [within.] Gone, sir,

About some business.

KAS. [within.] Gone!

FACE. [within.] He’ll return straight.

But, master doctor, his lieutenant, is here.

[Enter KASTRIL, followed by Dame PLIANT]

SUB. Come near, my worshipful boy, my terrae fili.

That is, my boy of land; make thy approaches:

Welcome; I know thy lusts, and thy desires,

And I will serve and satisfy ’em. Begin,

Charge me from thence, or thence, or in this line;

Here is my centre: ground thy quarrel.

KAS. You lie.

SUB. How, child of wrath and anger! the loud lie—

For what, my sudden boy—

KAS. Nay, that look you to,

I am aforehand.

SUB. O, this is no true grammar,

And as ill logic! You must render causes, child,

Your first and second intentions, know your canons

And your divisions, moods, degrees, and differences,

Your predicaments, substance, and accident,

Series extern and intern, with their causes,

Efficient, material, formal, final,

And ha’ your elements perfect—

KAS. What is this—

The angry 3 tongue he talks in—

SUB. That false precept,

Of being aforehand, has deceiv’d a number,

And made ’em enter quarrels oftentimes

Before they were aware; and afterward,

Against their wills.

KAS. How must I do then, sir—

SUB. I cry this lady mercy; she should first

Have been saluted. (Kisses her.) I do call you lady,

Because you are to be one ere’t be long,

My soft and buxom widow.

KAS. Is she, i’ faith—

SUB. Yes, or my art is an egregious liar.

KAS. How know you—

SUB. By inspection on her forehead,

And subtlety of her lip, which must be tasted

Often to make a judgment. Kisses her again. ’Slight, she melts

Like a myrobolane. 4 Here is yet a line,

In rivo frontis, 5 tells me he is no knight.

DAME P. What is he then, sir—

SUB. Let me see your hand.

O, your linea fortunae makes it plain;

And stella here in monte Veneris.

But, most of all, junctura annularis. 6

He is a soldier, or a man of art, lady,

But shall have some great honour shortly.

DAME P. Brother,

He’s a rare man, believe me!

[ Re-enter FACE, in his uniform ]

KAS. Hold your peace.

Here comes the t’ other rare man.—’Save you, captain.

FACE. Good Master Kastril! Is this your sister—

KAS. Ay, sir.

Please you to kiss her, and be proud to know her.

FACE. I shall be proud to know you, lady. [Kisses her.]

DAME P. Brother,

He calls me lady too.

KAS. Ay, peace: I heard it. [Takes her aside.]

FACE. The count is come.

SUB. Where is he—

FACE. At the door.

SUB. Why, you must entertain him.

FACE. What will you do

With these the while—

SUB. Why, have ’em up, and show ’em

Some fustian book, or the dark glass.

FACE. ’Fore God,

She is a delicate dabchick! I must have her. [Exit.]

SUB. [Aside.] Must you! Ay, if your fortune will, you must.—

Come, sir, the captain will come to us presently:

I’ll ha’ you to my chamber of demonstrations,

Where I’ll show you both the grammar and logic,

And rhetoric of quarrelling; my whole method

Drawn out in tables; and my instrument,

That hath the several scales upon’t, shall make you

Able to quarrel at a straw’s-breadth by moonlight.

And, lady, I’ll have you look in a glass,

Some half an hour, but to clear your eyesight,

Against you see 7 your fortune; which is greater

Than I may judge upon the sudden, trust me. [Exeunt.]

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. “Put your nose out of joint.”

Note 3. Swaggering.

Note 4. A kind of dried plum, esteemed as a sweetmeat.

Note 5. Frontal vein.

Note 6. These are the cant phrases of palmistry.

Note 7. In preparation for seeing.

Act IV

Scene III

[ Enter ] FACE 1

FACE. Where are you, doctor—

SUB. [within] I’ll come to you presently.

FACE. I will ha’ this same widow, now I ha’ seen her,

On any composition.

[Enter SUBTLE]

SUB. What do you say—

FACE. Ha’ you dispos’d of them—

SUB. I ha’ sent ’em up.

FACE. Subtle, in troth, I needs must have this widow.

SUB. Is that the matter—

FACE. Nay, but hear me.

SUB. Go to.

If you rebel once, Dol shall know it all:

Therefore be quiet, and obey your chance.

FACE. Nay, thou art so violent now. Do but conceive,

Thou art old, and canst not serve——

SUB. Who cannot— I—

’Slight, I will serve her with thee, for a——

FACE. Nay,

But understand: I’ll gi’ you composition. 2

SUB. I will not treat with thee. What! sell my fortune—

’Tis better than my birthright. Do not murmur:

Win her, and carry her. If you grumble, Dol

Knows it directly.

FACE. Well, sir, I am silent.

Will you go help to fetch in Don in state— [Exit.]

SUB. I follow you, sir. We must keep Face in awe,

Or he will overlook us like a tyrant.

[Re-enter FACE, introducing] Surly disguised as a Spaniard

Brain of a tailor! who comes here— Don John!

SUR. Senores, beso las manos a vuestras mercedes. 3

SUB. Stab me; I shall never hold, man.

He looks in that deep ruff like a head in a platter,

Serv’d in by a short cloak upon two trestles.

FACE. Or what do you say to a collar of brawn, 4 cut down

Beneath the souse, 5 and wriggled with a knife—

SUB. ’Slud, he does look too fat to be a Spaniard.

FACE. Perhaps some Fleming or some Hollander got him

In d’Alva’s time; Count Egmont’s bastard.

SUB. Don,

Your scurvy, yellow, Madrid face is welcome.

SUR. Gratia.

SUB. He speaks out of a fortification.

Pray God he ha’ no squibs in those deep sets. 6

SUR. Por dios, senores, muy linda casa! 7

SUB. What says he—

FACE. Praises the house, I think;

I know no more but’s action.

SUB. Yes, the casa,

My precious Diego, 8 will prove fair enough

To cozen you in. Do you mark— You shall

Be cozened, Diego.

FACE. Cozened, do you see,

My worthy Donzel, 9 conzened.

SUR. Entiendo. 10

SUB. Do you intend it— So do we, dear Don.

Have you brought pistolets, 11 or portagues,

My solemn Don— [to FACE.] Dost thou feel any—

FACE. feels his pockets. Full.

SUB. You shall be emptied, Don, pumped and drawn

Dry, as they say.

FACE. Milked, in troth, sweet Don.

SUB. See all the monsters; the great lion of all, Don.

SUR. Con licencia, se puede ver a esta senora— 12

SUB. What talks he now—

FACE. Of the senora.

SUB. O, Don,

This is the lioness, which you shall see

Also, my Don.

FACE. ’Slid, Subtle, how shall we do—

SUB. For what—

FACE. Why, Dol’s employ’d, you know.

SUB. That’s true.

’Fore heaven I know not: he must stay, that’s all.

FACE. Stay! that he must not by no means.

SUB. No! why—

FACE. Unless you’ll mar all. ’Slight, he’ll suspect it;

And then he will not pay, not half so well.

This is a travell’d punk-master, and does know

All the delays; a notable hot rascal,

And looks already rampant.

SUB. ’Sdeath, and Mammon

Must not be troubled.

FACE. Mammon! in no case.

SUB. What shall we do then—

FACE. Think: you must be sudden. 13

SUR. Entiendo que la senora es tan hermosa, que codicio tan a verla, como la bien aventuranza de mi vida. 14

FACE. Mi vida! ’Slid, Subtle, he puts me in mind o’ the widow.

What dost thou say to draw her to’t, ha!

And tell her ’tis her fortune— All our venture

Now lies upon’t. It is but one man more,

Which on’s chance to have her: and beside,

There is no maidenhead to be fear’d or lost.

What dost thou think on’t, Subtle—

SUB. Who, I— why——

FACE. The credit of our house too is engag’d. 15

SUB. You mate me an offer for my share erewhile.

What wilt thou gi’ me, i’ faith—

FACE. O, by that light

I’ll not buy now. You know your doom 16 to me.

E’en take your lot, obey your chance, sir; win her,

And wear her—out for me.

SUB. ’Slight, I’ll not work her then.

FACE. It is the common cause; therefore bethink you.

Dol else must know it, as you said.

SUB. I care not.

SUR. Senores, porque se tarda tanto— 17

SUB. Faith, I am not fit, I am old.

FACE. That’s now no reason, sir.

SUR. Puede ser de hacer burla de mi amor— 18

FACE. You hear the Don too— by this air I call,

And loose the hinges. Dol!

SUB. A plague of hell——

FACE. Will you then do—

SUB. You’re a terrible rogue!

I’ll think of this. Will you, sir, call the widow—

FACE. Yes, and I’ll take her too with all her faults,

Now I do think on’t better.

SUB. With all my heart, sir;

Am I discharg’d o’ the lot—

FACE. As you please.

SUB. Hands. [They shake hands.]

FACE. Remember now, that upon any change,

You never claim her.

SUB. Much good joy and health to you, sir,

Marry a whore! Fate, let me wed a witch first.

SUR. Por estas honradas barbas 19——

SUB. He swears by his beard.

Dispatch, and call the brother too. [Exit FACE.]

SUR. Tengo duda, senores, que no me hagan alguna traycion. 20

SUB. How, issue on— yes, praesto, senor. Please you

Enthratha the chambratha, worthy don:

Where if you please the fates, in your bathada,

You shall be soak’d, and strok’d and tubb’d and rubb’d,

And scrubb’d, and fubb’d, 21 dear don, before you go.

You shall in faith, my scurvy baboon don,

He curried, claw’d, and flaw’d, 22 and taw’d, 23 indeed.

I will the heartlier go about it now,

And make the widow a punk so much the sooner,

To be reveng’d on this impetuous Face:

The quickly doing of it is the grace. [Exeunt SUB. and SURLY.]

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. Recompense.

Note 3. Spanish. “Gentlemen, I kiss your hands.”

Note 4. Neck of a boar, or boar’s flesh rolled.

Note 5. Ear.

Note 6. The deep plaits of his ruff.

Note 7. “Gad, sirs, a very pretty house.”

Note 8. Spaniard. Strictly, Spanish for James.

Note 9. Diminutive of Don.

Note 10. “I understand.”

Note 11. Spanish gold coin, worth about 16sh. 8d.

Note 12. “If you please, may I see the lady—”

Note 13. Quick about it.

Note 14. “I understand that the lady is so handsome that I am as eager to see her as the good fortune of my life.”

Note 15. Involved.

Note 16. Agreement.

Note 17. “Sirs, why so long delay—”

Note 18. “Can it be to make sport of my love—”

Note 19. “By this honored beard—”

Note 20. “I fear, sirs, that you are playing me some trick.”

Note 21. Cheated.

Note 22. Cracked.

Note 23. Soaked, like a hide being tanned.

Act IV

Scene IV

[ Enter ] FACE, KASTRIL, and Dame PLIANT 1

FACE. Come, lady: I knew the doctor would not leave

Till he had found the very nick of her fortune.

KAS. To be a countess, say you—

[Face.] 2 A Spanish countess, sir.

DAME P. Why, is that better than an English countess—

FACE. Better! ’Slight, make you that a question, lady—

KAS. Nay, she is a fool, captain, you must pardon her.

FACE. Ask from your courtier to your inns-of-court-man,

To your mere milliner; they will tell you all,

Your Spanish jennet is the best horse; your Spanish

Stoop is the best garb; 3 your Spanish beard

Is the best cut; your Spanish ruffs are the best

Wear; your Spanish pavin the best dance;

Your Spanish titillation in a glove

The best perfume: and for your Spanish pike,

And Spanish blade, let your poor captain speak.—

Here comes the doctor.

[Enter SUBTLE with a paper]

SUB. My most honour’d lady,

For so I am now to style you, having found

By this my scheme, 4 you are to undergo

An honourable fortune very shortly,

What will you say now, if some——

FACE. I ha’ told her all, sir,

And her right worshipful brother here, that she shall be

A countess; do not delay ’em, sir; a Spanish countess.

SUB. Still, my scarce-worshipful captain, you can keep

No secret! Well, since he has told you, madam,

Do you forgive him, and I do.

KAS. She shall do that, sir;

I’ll look to it, ’tis my charge.

SUB. Well then: nought rests

But that she fit her love now to her fortune.

DAME P. Truly I shall never brook a Spaniard.

SUB. No—

DAME P. Never sin’ eighty-eight 5 could I abide ’em,

And that was some three years afore I was born, in truth.

SUB. Come, you must love him, or be miserable;

Choose which you will.

FACE. By this good rush, persuade her,

She will cry 6 strawberries else within this twelve month.

SUB. Nay, shads and mackerel, which is worse.

FACE. Indeed, sir!

KAS. God’s lid, you shall love him, or I’ll kick you.

DAME P. Why,

I’ll do as you will ha’ me, brother.

KAS. Do,

Or by this hand I’ll maul you.

FACE. Nay, good sir,

Be not so fierce.

SUB. No, my enraged child;

She will be rul’d. What, when she comes to taste

The pleasures of a countess! to be courted——

FACE. And kiss’d, and ruffled!

SUB. Ay, behind the hangings.

FACE. And then come forth in pomp!

SUB. And know her state!

FACE. Of keeping all th’ idolaters of the chamber

Barer to her, than at their prayers!

SUB. Is served

Upon the knee!

FACE. And has her pages, ushers,

Footmen, and coaches——

SUB. Her six mares——

FACE. Nay, eight!

SUB. To hurry her through London, to th’ Exchange, 7

Bethlem, 8 the China-houses 9——

FACE. Yes, and have

The citizens gape at her, and praise her tires, 10

And my lord’s goose-turd 11 bands, that rides with her!

KAS. Most brave! By this hand, you are not my suster

If you refuse.

DAME P. I will not refuse, brother.

[ Enter SURLY]

SUR. Que es esto, senores, que non se venga—

Esta tardanza me mata! 12

FACE. It is the count come:

The doctor knew he would be here, by his art.

SUB. En gallanta madama, Don! gallantissima!

SUR. Por todos los dioses, la mas acabada hermosura, que he visto en ma vida! 13

FACE. Is’t not a gallant language that they speak—

KAS. An admirable language! Is’t not French—

FACE. No, Spanish, sir.

KAS. It goes like law French,

And that, they say, is the court-liest language.

FACE. List, sir.

SUR. El sol ha perdido su lumbre, con el resplandor que trae esta dama! Valgame dios! 14

FACE. H’ admires your sister.

KAS. Must not she make curt’sy.

SUB. ’Ods will, she must go to him, man, and kiss him!

It is the Spanish fashion, for the women

To make first court.

FACE. ’Tis true he tells you, sir:

His art knows all.

SUR. Porque no se acude— 15

KAS. He speaks to her, I think.

FACE. That he does, sir.

SUR. Por el amor de dios, que es esto que se tarda— 16

KAS. Nay, see: she will not understand him! Gull,

Noddy.

DAME P. What say you, brother—

KAS. Ass, my suster,

Go kuss him, as the cunning man would have you;

I’ll thrust a pin in your buttocks else.

FACE. O no, sir.

SUR. Senora mia, mi persona muy indigna esta allegar a tanta hermosura. 17

FACE. Does he not use her bravely—

KAS. Bravely, i’ faith!

FACE. Nay, he will use her better.

KAS. Do you think so—

SUR. Senora, si sera servida, entremos. 18 [Exit with Dame PLIANT.]

KAS. Where does he carry her—

FACE. Into the garden, sir;

Take you no thought: I must interpret for her.

SUB. Give Dol the word. [Aside to FACE who goes out.]

—Come, my fierce child, advance,

We’ll to our quarrelling lesson again.

KAS. Agreed.

I love a Spanish boy with all my heart.

SUB. Nay, and by this means, sir, you shall be brother

To a great count.

KAS. Ay, I knew that at first,

This match will advance the house of the Kastrils.

SUB. ’Pray God your sister prove but pliant!

KAS. Why,

Her name is so, by her other husband.

SUB. How!

KAS. The Widow Pliant. Knew you not that—

SUB. No, faith, sir;

Yet, by erection of her figure, 19 I guess’d it.

Come, let’s go practise.

KAS. Yes, but do you think, doctor,

I e’er shall quarrel well—

SUB. I warrant you. [Exeunt.]

Note 1. Another room in the same.

Note 2. Folio gives this line also to Kastril.

Note 3. Bodily carriage.

Note 4. Horoscope.

Note 5. I. e., since 1588, the year of the “Invincible Armada.”

Note 6. Sell on the street.

Note 7. There were shops in the Royal Exchange.

Note 8. The madhouse was often visited for entertainment.

Note 9. Shops with merchandise from China.

Note 10. Head-dresses.

Note 11. In greenish-yellow liveries.

Note 12. “Why doesn’t she come, sirs— This delay is killing me.”

Note 13. “By all the gods, the most perfect beauty I have seen in my life!”

Note 14. “The sun has lost his light with the splendor this lady brings, so help me God.”

Note 15. “Why don’t you draw near—”

Note 16. “For the love of God, why this delay—”

Note 17. “Madam, my person is unworthy to approach such beauty.”

Note 18. “Madam, at your service, let us go in.”

Note 19. By her horoscope, with a pun on her bearing.

Act IV

Scene V

Enter DOL [ in her fit of raving, followed by ] MAMMON 1

DOL. For after Alexander’s death 2——

MAM. Good lady——

DOL. That Perdiccas and Antigonus were slain,

The two that stood, Seleuc’ and Ptolomy——

MAM. Madam——

DOL. Make up the two legs, and the fourth beast,

That was Gog-north and Egypt-south: which after

Was call’d Gog-iron-leg and South-iron-leg——

MAM. Lady——

DOL. And then Gog-horned. So was Egypt, too:

Then Egypt-clay-leg, and Gog-clay-leg——

MAM. Sweet madam——

DOL. And last Gog-dust, and Egypt-dust, which fall

In the last link of the fourth chain. And these

Be stars in story, which none see, or look at——

MAM. What shall I do—

DOL. For, as he says, except

We call the rabbins, and the heathen Greeks——

MAM. Dear lady——

DOL. To come from Salem, and from Athens,

And teach the people of Great Britain——

[Enter FACE hastily, in his servant’s dress]

FACE. What’s the matter, sir—

DOL. To speak the tongue of Eber and Javan——

MAM. O,

She’s in her fit.

DOL. We shall know nothing——

FACE. Death, sir,

We are undone!

DOL. Where then a learned linguist

Shall see the ancient us’d communion

Of vowels and consonants——

FACE. My master will hear!

DOL. A wisdom, which Pythagoras held most high——

MAM. Sweet honourable lady!

DOL. To comprise

All sounds of voices, in few marks of letters.

FACE. Nay, you must never hope to lay her now. They all speak together.

DOL. And so we may arrive by Talmud skill, 3

And profane Greek, to raise the building up

Of Helen’s house against the Ismaelite,

King of Thogarma, and his habergions

Brimstony, blue, and fiery; and the force

Of king Abaddon, and the beast of Cittim;

Which rabbi David Kimchi, Onkelos,

And Aben Ezra do interpret Rome.

FACE. How did you put her into’t—

MAM. Alas, I talked

Of a fifth monarchy I would erect

With the philosopher’s stone, by chance, and she

Falls on the other four straight.

FACE. Out of Broughton!

I told you so. ’Slid, stop her mouth.

MAM. Is’t best—

FACE. She’ll never leave else. If the old man hear her,

We are but faeces, ashes.

SUB. [Within.] What’s to do there—

FACE. O, we are lost! Now she hears him, she is quiet.

[ Enter SUBTLE;] they run different ways

MAM. Where shall I hide me!

SUB. How! what sight is here—

Close 4 deeds of darkness, and that shun the light!

Bring him again. Who is she— What, my son!

O, I have liv’d too long.

MAM. Nay, good, dear father,

There was no unchaste purpose.

SUB. Not— and flee me

When I come in—

MAM. That was my error.

SUB. Error—

Guilt, guilt, my son; give it the right name. No marvel

If I found check in our great work within,

When such affairs as these were managing!

MAM. Why, have you so—

SUB. It has stood still this half hour:

And all the rest of our less works gone back.

Where is the instrument of wickedness,

My lewd false drudge—

MAM. Nay, good sir, blame not him;

Believe me, ’twas against his will or knowledge:

I saw her by chance.

SUB. Will you commit more sin,

To excuse a varlet—

MAM. By my hope, ’tis true, sir.

SUB. Nay, then I wonder less, if you, for whom

The blessing was prepar’d, would so tempt heaven,

And lose your fortunes.

MAM. Why, sir—

SUB. This will retard

The work a month at least.

MAM. Why, if it do,

What remedy— But think it not, good father:

Our purposes were honest. 5

SUB. As they were,

So the reward will prove. A great crack and noise within.

—How now! ay me!

God and all saints be good to us.——

[ Re-enter FACE]

What’s that—

FACE. O, sir, we are defeated! all the works

Are flown in fumo, 6 every glass is burst;

Furnace and all rent down, as if a bolt

Of thunder had been driven through the house.

Retorts, receivers, pelicans, 7 bolt-heads, 8

All struck in shivers! SUBTLE falls down as in a swoon.)

Help, good sir! alas,

Coldness and death invades him. Nay, Sir Mammon,

Do the fair offices of a man! You stand,

As you were readier to depart than he. One knocks.

Who’s there— My lord her brother is come.

MAM. Ha, Lungs!

FACE. His coach is at the door. Avoid his sight,

For he’s as furious as his sister’s mad.

MAM. Alas!

FACE. My brain is quite undone with the fume, sir,

I ne’er must hope to be mine own man again.

MAM. Is all lost, Lungs— Will nothing be preserv’d

Of all our cost—

FACE. Faith, very little, sir;

A peck of coals or so, which is cold comfort, sir.

MAM. O, my voluptuous mind! I am justly punish’d.

FACE. And so am I, sir.

MAM. Cast from all my hopes——

FACE. Nay, certainties, sir.

MAM. By mine own base affections.

SUB. seeming to come to himself. O, the curst fruits of vice and lust!

MAM. Good father,

It was my sin. Forgive it.

SUB. Hangs my roof

Over us still, and will not fall, O justice,

Upon us, for this wicked man!

FACE. Nay, look, sir,

You grieve him now with staying in his sight.

Good sir, the nobleman will come too, and take you,

And that may breed a tragedy.

MAM. I’ll go.

FACE. Ay, and repent at home, sir. It may be,

For some good penance you may ha’ it yet;

A hundred pound to the box at Bethlem 9——

MAM. Yes.

FACE. For the restoring such as—ha’ their wits.

MAM. I’ll do’t.

FACE. I’ll send one to you to receive it.

MAM. Do.

Is no projection left—

FACE. All flown, or stinks, sir.

MAM. Will nought be sav’d that’s good for med’cine, think’st thou—

FACE. I cannot tell, sir. There will be perhaps

Something about the scraping of the shards,

Will cure the itch, though not your itch of mind, sir. [Aside.]

It shall be saved for you, and sent home. Good sir,

This way for fear the lord should meet you. [Exit MAMMON.]

SUB. [raising his head.] Face!

FACE. Ay.

SUB. Is he gone—

FACE. Yes, and as heavily

As all the gold he hop’d for were in’s blood.

Let us be light though.

SUB. [leaping up.] Ay, as balls, and bound

And hit our heads against the roof for joy:

There’s so much of our care now cast away.

FACE. Now to our don.

SUB. Yes, your young widow by this time

Is made a countess, Face; she’s been in travail

Of a young heir for you.

FACE. Good, sir.

SUB. Off with your case, 10

And greet her kindly, as a bridegroom should,

After these common hazards.

FACE. Very well, sir.

Will you go fetch Don Diego off the while—

SUB. And fetch him over too, if you’ll be pleas’d, sir.

Would Dol were in her place, to pick his pockets now!

FACE. Why, you can do’t as well, if you would set to’t.

I pray you prove your virtue. 11

SUB. For your sake sir. [Exeunt.]

Note 1. Another room in the same.

Note 2. Doll’s ravings are taken almost at random from the headings of columns, preface, etc., of the “Concent of Scripture,” by Hugh Broughton.

Note 3. In the early editions this speech is printed in parallel columns with the dialogue immediately following, to indicate simultaneous utterance.

Note 4. Secret.

Note 5. Chaste.

Note 6. Into smoke.

Note 7. An alembic of a particular shape.

Note 8. A globular flask.

Note 9. The lunatic asylum.

Note 10. His costume as Lungs.

Note 11. Capacity.

Act IV

Scene VI

[ Enter ] SURLY and Dame PLIANT 1

SUR. Lady, you see into what hands you are fall’n;

’Mongst what a nest of villains! an how near

Your honour was t’have catch’d a certain clap,

Through your credulity, had I but been

So punctually forward, as place, time,

And other circumstances would ha’ made a man;

For you’re a handsome woman: would you were wise too!

I am a gentleman come here disguis’d,

Only to find the knaveries of this citadel;

And where I might have wrong’d your honour, and have not,

I claim some interest in your love. You are,

They say, a widow, rich; and I’m a bachelor,

Worth nought: your fortunes may make me a man,

As mine ha’ preserv’d you a woman. Think upon it,

And whether I have deserv’d you or no.

DAME P. I will, sir.

SUR. And for these household-rogues, let me alone

To treat with them.

[Enter SUBTLE.]

SUB. How doth my noble Diego,

And my dear madam countess— Hath the count

Been courteous, lady— liberal and open—

Donzel, 2 methinks you look melancholic,

I do not like the dulness of your eye;

It hath a heavy cast, ’tis upsee Dutch, 3

And says you are lumpish.

Be lighter, and I will make your pockets so. He falls to picking of them.

SUR. [Throws open his cloak.] Will you, don bawd and pickpurse— [Strikes him down.] How now! Reel you—

Stand up, sir, you shall find, since I am so heavy,

I’ll give you equal weight.

SUB. Help! murder!

SUR. No, Sir,

There’s no such thing intended. A good cart 4

And a clean whip shall ease you of that fear.

I am the Spanish don that should be cozened,

Do you see— Cozened— Where’s your Captain Face,

That parcel 5-broker, and whole-bawd, all rascal—

Referring to the punishment inflicted on bawds.

[ Enter FACE in his uniform. ]

FACE. How, Surly!

SUR. O, make your approach, good captain.

I have found from whence your copper rings and spoons

Come now, wherewith you cheat abroad in taverns.

’Twas here you learn’d t’anoint your boot with brimstone,

Then rub men’s gold on’t for a kind of touch,

And say ’twas naught, when you had changed the colour,

That you might ha’t for nothing. And this doctor,

Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeer, he

Will close you so much gold, in a bolt’s-head,

And, on a turn, convey i’ the stead another

With sublim’d mercury, that shall burst in the heat,

And fly out all in fumo! Then weeps Mammon;

Then swoons his worship [FACE slips out.] Or, he is the Faustus,

That casteth figures 6 and can conjure, cures

Plagues, piles, and pox, by the ephemerides, 7

And holds intelligence with all the bawds

And midwives of three shires: while you send in—

Captain!—what! is he gone——damsels with child,

Wives that are barren, or the waiting-maid

With the green sickness. [Seizes SUBTLE as he is retiring.]

—Nay, sir, you must tarry,

Though he be scap’d; and answer by the ears, sir.

Note 1. Another room in the same.

Note 2. Diminutive of Don.

Note 3. As if you had been drinking heavy Dutch beer.

Note 4. Carriage.

Note 5. Part.

Note 6. Horoscopes.

Note 7. Astrological almanacs.

Act IV

Scene VII

[ Re-enter ] FACE with KASTRIL [ to ] SURLY and SUBTLE 1

FACE. Why, now’s the time, if ever you will quarrel

Well, as they say, and be a true-born child:

The doctor and your sister both are abdus’d. 2

KAS. Where is he— Which is he— He is a slave,

Whate’er he is, and the son of a whore.—Are you

The man, sir, I would know—

SUR. I should be loth, sir,

To confess so much.

KAS. Then you lie i’ your throat.

SUR. How!

FACE. [To KASTRIL.] A very arrant rogue, sir, and a cheater,

Employ’d here by another conjurer

That does not love the doctor, and would cross him

If he knew how.

SUR. Sir, you are abus’d

KAS. You lie:

And ’tis no matter.

FACE. Well said, sir! He is

The impudent’st rascal——

SUR. You are indeed. Will you hear me, sir—

FACE. By no means: bid him be gone.

KAS. Begone, sir, quickly.

SUR. This is strange!—Lady, do you inform your brother.

FACE. There is not such a foist 3 in all the town.

The doctor had him presently; and finds yet

The Spanish count will come here.—Bear up, Subtle. [Aside.

SUB. Yes, sir, he must appear within this hour.

FACE. And yet this rogue would come in a disguise,

By the temptation of another spirit,

To trouble our art, though he could not hurt it!

KAS. Ay,

I know—Away, [to his sister.] you talk like a foolish mauther. 4

SUR. Sir, all is truth she says.

FACE. Do not believe him, sir.

He is the lying’st swabber! Come your ways, sir.

SUR. You are valiant out of company!

KAS. Yes, how then, sir—

[ Enter DRUGGER with a piece of damask ]

FACE. Nay, here’s an honest fellow too that knows him,

And all his tricks. Make good what I say, Abel,

This cheater would ha’cozen’d thee o’ the widow.—[Aside to DRUG.]

He owes this honest Drugger here seven pound,

He has had on him in twopenny’s orths of tobacco.

DRUG. Yes, sir. And he has damn’d himself three terms to pay me.

FACE. And what does he owe for lotium— 5

DRUG. Thirty shillings, sir;

And for six syringes.

SUR. Hydra of villainy!

FACE. Nay, sir, you must quarrel him out o’ the house.

KAS. I will:

—Sir, if you get not out o’ doors, you lie;

And you are a pimp.

SUR. Why, this is madness, sir,

Not valour in you; I must laugh at this.

KAS. It is my humour; you are a pimp and a trig. 6

And an Amadis de Gaul, or a Don Quixote.

DRUG. Or a knight o’ the curious coxcomb, do you see—

[Enter ANANIAS.]

ANA. Peace to the household!

KAS. I’ll keep peace for no man.

ANA. Casting of dollars is concluded lawful.

KAS. Is he the constable—

SUB. Peace, Ananias.

FACE. No. Sir.

KAS. Then you are an otter, and a shad, a whit,

A very tim. 7

SUR. You’ll hear me, sir—

KAS. I will not.

ANA. What is the motive—

SUB. Zeal in the young gentleman,

Against his Spanish slops.

ANA. They are profane,

Lewd, superstitious, and idolatrous breeches.

SUR. New rascals!

KAS. Will you be gone, sir—

ANA. Avoid, Sathan!

Thou art not of the light! That ruff of pride

About thy neck, betrays thee; and is the same

With that which the unclean birds, in seventy-seven, 8

Were seen to prank it with on divers coasts:

Thou look’st like antichrist, in that lewd hat.

SUR. I must give away.

KAS. Be gone, sir.

SUR. But I’ll take

A course with you——

ANA. Depart, proud Spanish fiend!

SUR. Captain and doctor.

ANA. Child of perdition!

KAS. Hence, sir!—[Exit SURLY.]

Did I not quarrel bravely—

FACE. Yes, indeed, sir.

KAS. Nay, an I give my mind to’t, I shall do’t.

FACE. O, you must follow, sir, and threaten him tame:

He’ll turn again else.

KAS. I’ll re-turn him then. [Exit.]

FACE. Drugger, this rogue prevented us, for thee:

We had determin’d that thou should’st ha’ come

In a Spanish suit, and ha’ carried her so; and he,

A brokerly slave, goes, puts it on himself.

Hast brought the damask—

DRUG. Yes, sir.

FACE. Thou must borrow

A Spanish suit. Hast thou no credit with the players—

DRUG. Yes, sir; did you never see me play the Fool—

FACE. I know not, Nab:—thou shalt, if I can help it.—[Aside.]

Hieronimo’s 9 old cloak, ruff, and hat will serve;

I’ll tell thee more when thou bring’st ’em. [Exit DRUGGER.] SUBTLE hath whisper’d with ANAN. this while

ANA. Sir, I know.

The Spaniard hates the brethren, and hath spies

Upon their actions: and that this was one

I make no scruple.—But the holy synod

Have been in prayer and meditation for it;

And ’tis reveal’d no less to them than me,

That casting of money is most lawful.

SUB. True.

But here I cannot do it: if the house

Should chance to be suspected, all would out,

And we be lock’d up in the Tower for ever,

To make gold there for th’ state, never come out;

And then are you defeated.

ANA. I will tell

This to the elders and the weaker brethren,

That the whole company of the separation

May join in humble prayer again.

SUB. And fasting.

ANA. Yea, for some fitter place. The peace of mind

Rest with these walls! [Exit.]

SUB. Thanks, courteous Ananias.

FACE. What did he come for—

SUB. About casting dollars,

Presently out of hand. And so I told him,

A Spanish minister came here to spy,

Against the faithful——

FACE. I conceive. Come, Subtle,

Thou art so down upon the least disaster!

How wouldst thou ha’ done, if I had not help’d thee out—

SUB. I thank thee, Face, for the angry boy, i’ faith.

FACE. Who would ha’ look’d 10 it should ha’ been that rascal Surly—

He had dy’d his beard and all. Well, sir.

Here’s damask come to make you a suit.

SUB. Where’s Drugger—

FACE. He is gone to borrow me a Spanish habit;

I’ll be the count now.

SUB. But where’s the widow—

FACE. Within, with my lord’s sister; Madam Dol

Is entertaining her.

SUB. By your favour, Face,

Now she is honest, I will stand again.

FACE. You will not offer it—

SUB. Why—

FACE. Stand to your word,

Or—here comes Dol, She knows——

SUB. You’re tyrannous still.

[ Enter DOL hastily ]

FACE.—Strict for my right.—How now, Dol! Hast told her,

The Spanish count will come—

DOL. Yes; but another is come,

You little looked for!

FACE. Who’s that—

DOL. Your master;

The master of the house.

SUB. How, Dol!

FACE. She lies,

This is some trick. Come, leave your quiblins, 11 Dorothy.

DOL. Look out and see. [FACE goes to the window.]

SUB. Art thou in earnest—

DOL. ’Slight,

Forty o’ the neighbours are about him, talking.

FACE. ’Tis he, by this good day.

DOL. ’Twill prove ill day

For some on us.

FACE. We are undone, and taken.

DOL. Lost, I’m afraid.

SUB. You said he would not come,

While there died one a week within the liberties. 12

FACE. No: ’twas within the walls.

SUB. Was’t so! cry you mercy.

I thought the liberties. What shall we do now, Face—

FACE. Be silent: not a word, if he call or knock.

I’ll into mine old shape again and meet him,

Of Jeremy, the butler, I’ the meantime,

Do you two pack up all the goods and purchase 13

That we can carry i’ the two trunks. I’ll keep him

Off for today, if I cannot longer: and then

At night, I’ll ship you both away to Ratcliff,

Where we will meet to-morrow, and there we’ll share.

Let Mammon’s brass and pewter keep the cellar;

We’ll have another time for that. But, Dol,

Prithee go heat a little water quickly;

Subtle must shave me. All my captain’s beard

Must off, to make me appear smooth Jeremy.

You’ll do it—

SUB. Yes, I’ll shave you as well as I can.

FACE. And not cut my throat, but trim me—

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. Cheated.

Note 3. Rascal.

Note 4. Girl.

Note 5. A lotion.

Note 6. Dandy.

Note 7. Kastril’s terms of abuse are not meant to be appropriate.

Note 8. The allusion here has not been explained.

Note 9. In Kyd’s Spanish Tragedy.

Note 10. Expected.

Note 11. Quibbles.

Note 12. The district outside the walls subject to the city authorities.

Note 13. Stolen goods, booty.

Act V

Scene I

[ Enter ] LOVEWIT, [ with several of the ] Neighbours 1

LOVE. Has there been such resort, say you—

1 NEI. Daily, sir.

2 NEI. And nightly, too.

3 NEI. Ay, some as brave as lords.

4 NEI. Ladies and gentlewomen.

5 NEI. Citizens’ wives.

1 NEI. And knights.

6 NEI. In coaches.

2 NEI. Yes, and oyster-women.

1 NEI. Beside other gallants.

3 NEI. Sailors’ wives.

4 NEI. Tobacco men.

5 NEI. Another Pimlico! 2

LOVE. What should my knave advance,

To draw this company— He hung out no banners

Of a strange calf with five legs to be seen,

Or a huge lobster with six claws—

6 NEI. No, sir.

3 NEI. We had gone in then, sir.

LOVE. He has no gift

Of teaching i’ the nose 3 that e’er I knew of.

You saw no bills set up that promis’d cure

Of agues, or the tooth-ache—

2 NEI. No such thing, sir!

LOVE. Nor heard a drum struck for baboons or puppets—

5 NEI. Neither, sir.

LOVE. What device should he bring forth now—

I love a teeming wit as I love my nourishment:

’Pray God he have not kept such open house,

That he had sold my hangings, and my bedding!

I left him nothing else… If he have eat ’em,

A plague o’ the moth, say I! Sure he has got

Some bawdy pictures to call all this ging; 4

The Friar and the Nun; or the new motion 5

Of the knight’s courser and the parson’s mare;

Or’t may be, he has the fleas that run at tilt

Upon a table, or some dog to dance.

When saw you him—

1 NEI. Who, sir, Jeremy—

2 NEI. Jeremy butler—

We saw him not this month.

LOVE. How!

4 NEI. Not these five weeks, sir.

6 NEI. These six weeks at the least.

LOVE. You amaze me, neighbours!

5 NEI. Sure, if your worship know not where he is,

He’s slipt away.

6 NEI. Pray God he be not made away.

LOVE. Ha! it’s no time to question, then. Knocks at the door.

6 NEI. About

Some three weeks since I heard a doleful cry,

As I sat up a mending my wife’s stockings.

LOVE. ’Tis strange that none will answer! Did’st thou hear

A cry, sayst thou—

6 NEI. Yes, sir, like unto a man

That had been strangled an hour, and could not speak.

2 NEI. I heard it too, just this day three weeks, at two o’clock

Next morning.

LOVE. These be miracles, or you make ’em so!

A man an hour strangled, and could not speak,

And both you heard him cry—

3 NEI. Yes, downward, sir.

Love, Thou art a wise fellow. Give me thy hand, I pray thee.

What trade art thou on—

3 NEI. A smith, an’t please your worship.

LOVE. A smith! Then lend me thy help to get this door open.

3 NEI. That I will presently, sir, but fetch my tools—[Exit.]

1 NEI. Sir, best to knock again afore you break it.

Note 1. Before Lovewit’s door.

Note 2. A summer resort, where the citizens had cakes and ale.

Note 3. Like a Puritan preacher.

Note 4. Gang.

Note 5. Puppet show.

Act V

Scene II

LOVEWIT, Neighbours 1

LOVE. [Knocks again.] I will.

[Enter FACE in his butler’s livery]

FACE. What mean you, sir—

1, 2, 4 NEI. O, here’s Jeremy!

FACE. Good sir, come from the door.

LOVE. Why, what’s the matter—

FACE. Yet farther, you are too near yet.

LOVE. In the name of wonder,

What means the fellow!

FACE. The house, sir, has been visited.

LOVE. What, with the plague— Stand thou then farther.

FACE. No, sir,

I had it not.

LOVE. Who had it then— I left

None else but thee i’ the house.

FACE. Yes, sir, my fellow,

The cat that kept the buttery, had it on her

A week before I spied it; but I got her

Convey’d away i’ the night: and so I shut

The house up for a month——

LOVE. How!

FACE. Purposing then, sir,

To have burnt rose-vinegar, treacle, and tar,

And have made it sweet, that you should ne’er ha’ known it;

Because I knew the news would but afflict you, sir.

LOVE. Breathe less, and farther off! Why this is stranger:

The neighbours tell me all here that the doors

Have still been open——

FACE. How, sir!

LOVE. Gallants, men and women,

And of all sorts, tag-rag, been seen to flock here

In threaves, 2 these ten weeks, as to a second Hogsden,

In days of Pimlico and Eye-bright. 3

FACE. Sir,

Their wisdoms will not say so.

LOVE. To-day they speak

Of coaches and gallants; one in a French hood

Went in, they tell me; and another was seen

In a velvet gown at the window: divers more

Pass in and out.

FACE. They did pass through the doors then,

Or walls, I assure their eye-sights, and their spectacles;

For here, sir, are the keys, and here have been,

In this my pocket, now above twenty days!

And for before, I kept the fort alone there.

But that ’tis yet not deep i’ the afternoon,

I should believe my neighbours had seen double

Through the black pot, 4 and made these apparitions!

For, on my faith to your worship, for these three weeks

And upwards, the door has not been open’d.

LOVE. Strange!

1 NEI. Good faith, I think I saw a coach.

2 NEI. And I too,

I’d ha’ been sworn.

LOVE. Do you but think it now—

And but one coach—

4 NEI. We cannot tell, sir: Jeremy

Is a very honest fellow.

FACE. Did you see me at all—

1 NEI. No; that we are sure on.

2 NEI. I’ll be sworn o’ that.

LOVE. Fine rogues to have your testimonies built on!

[ Re-enter third Neighbour, with his tools ]

3 NEI. Is Jeremy come!

1 NEI. O yes; you may leave your tools;

We were deceiv’d, he says.

2 NEI. He has had the keys;

And the door has been shut these three weeks.

3 NEI. Like enough.

LOVE. Peace, and get hence, you changelings.

[Enter SURLY and MAMMON]

FACE. [Aside.] Surly come!

And Mammon made acquainted! They’ll tell all.

How shall I beat them off— What shall I do—

Nothing’s more wretched than a guilty conscience.

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. Literally, two dozen sheaves; droves.

Note 3. A suburban tavern, eclipsed as a resort by Pimlico.

Note 4. With drinking.

Act V

Scene III

SURLY, MAMMON, LOVEWIT, FACE, Neighbours 1

SUR. No, sir, he was a great physician. This,

It was no bawdy-house, but a mere chancel!

You knew the lord and his sister.

MAM. Nay, good Surly.——

SUR. The happy word, BE RICH——

MAM. Play not the tyrant.——

SUR. Should be today pronounc’d to all your friends.

And where be your andirons now— And your brass pots,

That should have been golden flagons, and great wedges—

MAM. Let me but breathe. What, they have shut their doors,

Methinks! He and SURLY knock.

SUR. Ay, now ’tis holiday with them.

MAM. Rogues,

Cozenens, impostors, bawds!

FACE. What mean you, sir—

MAM. To enter if we can.

FACE. Another man’s house!

Here is the owner, sir; turn you to him,

And speak your business.

MAM. Are you, sir, the owner—

LOVE. Yes, sir.

MAM. And are those knaves within your cheaters!

LOVE. What knaves, what cheaters—

MAM. Subtle and his Lungs

FACE. The gentleman is distracted, sir! No lungs

Nor lights ha’ been seen here these weeks, sir,.

Within these doors, upon my word.

SUR. Your word,

Groom arrogant!

FACE. Yes, sir, I am the housekeeper,

And know the keys have not been out o’ my hands.

SUR. This is a new Face.

FACE. You do mistake the house, sir:

What sign was’t at—

SUR. You rascal! This is one

Of the confederacy. Come, let’s get officers,

And force the door.

LOVE. Pray you stay, gentlemen.

SUR. No, sir, we’ll come with warrant.

MAM. Ay, and then

We shall ha’ your doors open. [Exeunt MAM. and SUR.]

LOVE. What means this—

FACE. I cannot tell, sir.

1 NEI. These are two o’ the gallants

That we do think we saw.

FACE. Two o’ the fools!

Your talk as idly as they. Good faith, sir,

I think the moon has craz’d ’em all.—[Aside.] O me,

[ Enter KASTRIL]

The angry boy come too! He’ll make a noise,

And ne’er away till he have betray’d us all.

KAS. (knocking.) What rogues, bawds, slaves, you’ll open the door, anon!

Punk, cockatrice, my suster! By this light

I’ll fetch the marshal to you.

FACE. Who would you speak with, sir—

KAS. The bawdy doctor, and thee cozening captain,

And puss my suster.

LOVE. This is something, sure.

FACE. Upon my trust, the doors were never open, sir.

KAS. I have heard all their tricks told me twice over,

By the fat knight and the lean gentleman.

LOVE. Here comes another.

[Enter ANANIAS and TRIBULATION]

FACE. Ananias too!

And his pastor!

TRI. (beating at the door.) The doors are shut against us.

ANA. Come forth, you seed of sulphur, sons of fire!

Your stench it is broke forth; abomination

Is in the house.

KAS. Ay, my suster’s there.

ANA. The place,

It is become a cage of unclean birds.

KAS. Yes, I will fetch the scavenger, and the constable.

TRI. You shall do well.

ANA. We’ll join to weed them out.

KAS. You will not come then, punk devise, 2 my suster!

ANA. Call her not sister; she’s a harlot verily.

KAS. I’ll raise the street.

LOVE. Good gentlemen, a word.

ANA. Satan avoid, and hinder not our zeal! [Exeunt ANA., TRIB., and KAST.]

LOVE. The world’s turned Bethlem.

FACE. These are all broke loose,

Out of St. Katherine’s, where they use to keep

The better sort of mad-folks.

1 NEI. All these persons

We saw go in and out here.

2 NEI. Yes, indeed, sir.

3 NEI. These were the parties.

FACE. Peace, you drunkards! Sir,

I wonder at it. Please you to give me leave

To touch the door; I’ll try an the lock be chang’d.

LOVE. It mazes me!

FACE. [Goes to the door.] Good faith, sir, I believe

There’s no such thing: ’tis all deceptio visus, 3—

[Aside.] Would I could get him away.

DAP. [Within.] Master captain! Master doctor!

LOVE. Who’s that—

FACE. [Aside.] Our clerk within, that I forgot!—I know not, sir.

DAP. [Within.] For God’s sake, when will her grace be at leisure—

FACE. Ha!

Illusions, some spirit o’ the air—[Aside.] His gag is melted,

And now he sets out the throat.

DAP. [Within.] I am almost stifled——

FACE. [Aside.] Would you were together.

LOVE. ’Tis in the house.

Ha! list.

FACE. Believe it, sir, i’ the air.

LOVE. Peace, you.

DAP. [Within.] Mine aunt’s grace does not use me well.

SUB. [Within.] You fool,

Peace, you’ll mar all.

FACE. [Speaks through the keyhole, while LOVEWIT advances to the door unobserved.] Or you will else, you rogue.

LOVE. O, is it so— Then you converse with spirits!—

Come, sir. No more of your tricks, good Jeremy.

The truth, the shortest way.

FACE. Dismiss this rabble, sir.—

[Aside.] What shall I do— I am catch’d.

LOVE. Good neighbours,

I thank you all. You may depart. [Exeunt Neighbours.]—Come, sir,

You know that I am an indulgent master;

And therefore conceal nothing. What’s your medicine,

To draw so many several sorts of wild fowl—

FACE. Sir, you were wont to affect mirth and wit—

But here’s no place to talk on’t i’ the street.

Give me but leave to make the best of my fortune,

And only pardon me thi’ abuse of your house:

It’s all I beg. I’ll help you to a widow,

In recompense, that you shall give me thanks for,

Will make you seven years younger, and a rich one.

’Tis but your putting on a Spanish cloak:

I have her within. You need not fear the house;

It was not visited.

LOVE. But by me, who came

Sooner than you expected.

FACE. It is true, sir.

’Pray you forgive me.

LOVE. Well: let’s see your widow. [Exeunt.]

Note 1. The same.

Note 2. Perfect harlot.

Note 3. Perfect harlot.

Act V

Scene IV

[ Enter ] SUBTLE, [ leading in ] DAPPER, [ with his eyes bound as before ] 1

SUB. How! you have eaten your gag—

DAP. Yes, faith, it crumbled

Away in my mouth.

SUB. You ha’ spoil’d all then.

DAP. No!

I hope my aunt of Fairy will forgive me.

SUB. Your aunt’s a gracious lady; but in troth

You were to blame.

DAP. The fume did overcome me,

And I did do’t to stay my stomach. ’Pray you

So satisfy her grace.

[Enter FACE in his uniform]

Here comes the captain.

FACE. How now! Is his mouth down—

SUB. Ay, he has spoken!

FACE. A pox, I heard him, and you too. He’s undone then.—

[Aside to SUBTLE.] I have been fain to say, the house is haunted

With spirits, to keep churl back.

SUB. And hast thou done it—

FACE. Sure, for this night.

SUB. Why, then triumph and sing

Of Face so famous, the precious king

Of present wits.

FACE. Did you not hear the coil

About the door—

SUB. Yes, and I dwindled 2 with it.

FACE. Show him his aunt, and let him be dispatch’d:

I’ll send her to you. [Exit FACE.]

SUB. Well, sir, your aunt her grace

Will give you audience presently, on my suit,

And the captain’s word that you did not eat your gag

In any contempt of her highness. [Unbinds his eyes.]

DAP. Not I, in troth, sir.

[ Enter ] DOL like the Queen of Fairy

SUB. Here she is come. Down o’ your knees and wriggle:

She has a stately presence. [DAPPER kneels and shuffles towards her.] Good! Yet nearer,

And bid, God save you!

DAP. Madam!

SUB. And your aunt.

DAP. And my most gracious aunt, God save your grace.

DOL. Nephew, we thought to have been angry with you;

But that sweet face of yours hath turn’d the tide,

And made it flow with joy, that ebb’d of love.

Arise, and touch our velvet gown.

SUB. The skirts,

And kiss ’em. So!

DOL. Let me now stroke that head.

Much, nephew, shalt thou win, much shalt thou spend;

Much shalt thou give away, much shalt thou lend.

SUB. [Aside.] Ay, much! indeed.—Why do you not thank her grace—

DAP. I cannot speak of joy.

SUB. See, the kind wretch!

Your grace’s kinsman right.

DOL. Give me the bird.

Here is your fly in a purse, about your neck, cousin;

Wear it, and feed it about this day sev’n-night,

On your right wrist——

SUB› Open a vein with a pin,

And let it suck but once a week; till then,

You must not look on’t.

DOL. No: and, kinsman,

Bear yourself worthy of the blood you come on.

SUB. Her grace would ha’ you eat no more Woolsack 3 pies,

Nor Dagger 4 frumety. 5

DOL. Nor break his fast

In Heaven 6 and Hell. 7

SUB. She’s with you everywhere!

Nor play with costermongers, at mumchance, 8 traytrip, 9

God-make-you-rich 10 (when as your aunt has done it); but keep

The gallant’st company, and the best games——

DAP. Yes, sir.

SUB. Gleek 11 and primero; 12 and what you get, be true to us.

DAP. By this hand, I will.

SUB. You may bring ’s a thousand pound

Before to-morrow night, if but three thousand

Be stirring, an you will.

DAP. I swear I will then.

SUB. Your fly will learn you all games.

FACE. [Within.] Ha’ you done there—

SUB. Your grace will command him no more duties—

DOL. No:

But come, and see me often. I may chance

To leave him three or four hundred chests of treasure,

And some twelve thousand acres of fairy land,

If he game well and comely with good gamesters.

SUB. There’s a kind aunt: kiss her departing part.—

But you must sell your forty mark a year now.

DAP. Ay, sir, I mean.

SUB. Or, give ’t away; pox on’t!

DAP. I’ll give ’t mine aunt. I’ll go and fetch the writings. [Exit.]

SUB. ’Tis well; away.

[ Re-enter FACE]

FACE. Where’s Subtle—

SUB. Here: what news—

FACE. Drugger is at the door, go take his suit,

And bid him fetch a parson presently.

Say he shall marry the widow. Thou shalt spend

A hundred pound by the service! [Exit SUBTLE.] Now, Queen Dol,

Have you pack’d up all—

DOL. Yes.

FACE. And how do you like

The Lady Pliant—

DOL. A good dull innocent.

[Re-enter SUBTLE]

SUB. Here’s your Hieronimo’s cloak and hat.

FACE. Give me ’em.

SUB. And the ruff too—

FACE. Yes; I’ll come to you presently. [Exit.]

SUB. Now he is gone about his project, Dol,

I told you of, for the widow.

DOL. ’Tis direct

Against our articles.

SUB. Well, we will fit him, wench.

Hast thou gull’d her of her jewels or her bracelets—

DOL. No; but I will do ’t.

SUB. Soon at night, my Dolly,

When we are shipp’d, and all our goods aboard,

Eastward for Ratcliff, we will turn our course

To Brainford, westward, if thou sayst the word,

And take our leaves of this o’erweening rascal,

This peremptory Face.

DOL. Content; I’m weary of him.

SUB. Thou’st cause, when the slave will run a wiving, Dol,

Against the instrument that was drawn between us.

DOL. I’ll pluck his bird as bare as I can.

SUB. Yes, tell her

She must by any means address some present

To the cunning man, make him amends for wronging

His art with her suspicion; send a ring,

Or chain of pearl; she will be tortur’d else

Extremely in her sleep, say, and have strange things

Come to her. Wilt thou—

DOL. Yes.

SUB. My fine flitter-mouse, 13

My bird o’ the night! We’ll tickle it at the Pigeons, 14

When we have all, and may unlock the trunks,

And say, this’s mine, and thine; and thine, and mine. They kiss.

Re-enter FACE

FACE. What now! a billing—

SUB. Yes, a little exalted

In the good passage of our stock-affairs.

FACE. Drugger has brought his parson; take him in, Subtle,

And send Nab back again to wash his face.

SUB. I will: and shave himself— [Exit.]

FACE. If you can get him.

DOL. You are hot upon it, Face, whate’er it is!

FACE. A trick that Dol shall spend ten pound a month by.

[Re-enter SUBTLE]

Is he gone—

SUB. The chaplain waits you in the hall, sir.

FACE. I’ll go bestow him. [Exit.]

DOL. He’ll now marry her instantly.

SUB. He cannot yet, he is not ready. Dear Dol,

Cozen her of all thou canst. To deceive him

Is no deceit, but justice, that would break

Such an inextricable tie as ours was.

DOL. Let me alone to fit him.

[Re-enter FACE]

FACE. Come, my venturers,

You ha’ pack’d up all— Where be the trunks— Bring forth.

SUB. Here.

FACE. Let us see ’em. Where’s the money—

SUB. Here,

In this.

FACE. Mammon’s ten pound; eight score before:

The brethren’s money this. Drugger’s and Dapper’s.

What paper’s that—

DOL. The jewel of the waiting maid’s,

That stole it from her lady, to know certain——

FACE. If she should have precedence of her mistress.

DOL. Yes.

FACE. What box is that—

SUB. The fish-wives’ rings, I think,

And th’ ale-wives’ single money. 15 Is’t not, Dol—

DOL. Yes; and the whistle that the sailor’s wife

Brought you to know an her husband were with Ward. 16

FACE. We’ll wet it to-morrow; and our silver beakers

And tavern cups. Where be the French petticoats

And girdles and hangers—

SUB. Here, i’ the trunk,

And the bolts of lawn.

FACE. Is Drugger’s damask there,

And the tobacco—

SUB. Yes.

FACE. Give me the keys.

DOL. Why you the keys—

SUB. No matter, Dol; because

We shall not open them before he comes.

FACE. ’Tis true, you shall not open them, indeed;

Nor have ’em forth, do you see— Not forth, Dol.

DOL. No!

FACE. No, my smock-rampant. The right is, my master

Knows all, has pardon’d me, and he will keep ’em.

Doctor, ’tis true—you look—for all your figures:

I sent for him, indeed. Wherefore, good partners,

Both he and she be satisfied; for here

Determines 17 the indenture tripartite

’Twixt Subtle, Dol, and Face. All I can do

Is to help you over the wall, o’ the back-side,

Or lend you a sheet to save your velvet gown, Dol.

Here will be officers presently, bethink you

Of some course suddenly to escape the dock;

For thither you will come else. (Some knock.) Hark you, thunder.

SUB. You are a precious fiend!

OFFI. [without.] Open the door.

FACE. Dol, I am sorry for thee i’ faith; but hear’st thou—

It shall go hard but I will place thee somewhere:

Thou shalt ha’ my letter to Mistress Amo—

DOL. Hang you!

FACE. Or Madam Caesarean.

DOL. Pox upon you, rogue,

Would I had but time to beat thee!

FACE. Subtle,

Let’s know where you set up next; I will send you

A customer now and then, for old acquaintance.

What new course have you—

SUB. Rogue, I’ll hang myself;

That I may walk a greater devil than thou,

And haunt thee i’ the flock-bed and the buttery. [Exeunt.]

Note 1. A room in the same.

Note 2. Shrank with fear.

Note 3. Names of taverns.

Note 4. Names of taverns.

Note 5. Wheat boiled in milk.

Note 6. Names of taverns.

Note 7. Names of taverns.

Note 8. “For the love of God, why this delay—”

Note 9. “For the love of God, why this delay—”

Note 10. “For the love of God, why this delay—”

Note 11. “For the love of God, why this delay—”

Note 12. “For the love of God, why this delay—”

Note 13. Bat.

Note 14. An inn at Brentford.

Note 15. Small change.

Note 16. A famous pirate.

Note 17. Ends.

Act V

Scene V

[ Enter ] LOVEWIT [ in the Spanish dress, with the Parson. Loud knocking at the door ] 1

LOVE. What do you mean, my masters—

MAM. [without.] Open your door,

Cheaters, bawds, conjurers.

OFFI. [without.] Or we will break it open.

LOVE. What warrant have you—

OFFI. [without.] Warrant enough, sir, doubt not,

If you’ll not open it.

LOVE. Is there an officer there—

OFFI. [without.] Yes, two or three for failing. 2

LOVE. Have but patience,

And I will open it straight.

[Enter FACE, as butler]

FACE. Sir, ha’ you done—

Is it a marriage— Perfect—

LOVE. Yes, my brain.

FACE. Off with your ruff and cloak then; be yourself, sir.

SUR. [without.] Down with the door.

KAS. [without.] ’Slight, ding 3 it open.

LOVE. [opening the door.] Hold,

Hold, gentlemen, what means this violence—

[MAMMON, SURLY, KASTRIL, ANANIAS, TRIBULATION, and Officers rush in.]

MAM. Where is this collier—

SUR. And my Captain Face—

MAM. These day owls.

SUR. That are birding 4 in men’s purses.

MAM. Madam Suppository.

KAS. Doxy, my suster.

ANA. Locusts

Of the foul pit.

TRI. Profane as Bel and the Dragon.

ANA. Worse than the grasshoppers, or the lice of Egypt.

LOVE. Good gentlemen, hear me. Are you officers,

And cannot stay this violence—

1 OFFI. Keep the peace.

LOVE. Gentlemen, what is the matter— Whom do you seek—

MAM. The chemical cozener.

SUR. And the captain pander.

KAS. The nun my suster.

MAM. Madam Rabbi.

ANA. Scorpions,

And caterpillars.

LOVE. Fewer at once, I pray you.

1 OFFI. One after another, gentlemen, I charge you,

By virtue of my staff.

ANA. They are the vessels

Of pride, lust, and the cart.

LOVE. Good zeal, lie still

A little while.

TRI. Peace, Deacon Ananias.

LOVE. The house is mine here, and the doors are open;

If there be any such persons as you seek for,

Use your authority, search on o’ God’s name.

I am but newly come to town, and finding

This tumult ’bout my door, to tell you true,

It somewhat maz’d me; till my man here, fearing

My more displeasure, told me he had done

Somewhat an insolent part, let out my house

(Belike presuming on my known aversion

From any air o’ the town while there was sickness),

To a doctor and a captain: who, what they are

Or where they be, he knows not.

MAM. Are they gone—

LOVE. You may go in and search, sir. [MAMMON, ANA., and TRIB. go in.]

Here, I find

The empty walls worse than I left ’em, smok’d,

A few crack’d pots, and glasses, and a furnace;

The ceiling fill’d with poesies of the candle,

And “Madam with a dildo” 5 writ o’ the walls.

Only one gentlewoman I met here

That is within, that said she was a widow——

KAS. Ay, that’s my suster; I’ll go thump her. Where is she— [Goes in.]

LOVE. And should ha’ married a Spanish count, but he,

When he came to’t, neglected her so grossly,

That I, a widower, am gone through with her.

SUR. How! have I lost her then—

LOVE. Were you the don, sir—

Good faith, now she does blame you extremely, and says

You swore, and told her you had taken the pains

To dye your beard, and umber o’er your face,

Borrowed a suit, and ruff, all for her love:

And then did nothing. What an oversight

And want of putting forward, sir, was this!

Well fare an old harquebusier 6 yet,

Could prime his powder, and give fire, and hit,

All in a twinkling!

Re-enter MAMMON

MAM. The whole nest are fled!

LOVE. What sort of birds were they—

MAM. A kind of choughs, 7

Or thievish daws, sir, that have pick’d my purse

Of eight score and ten pounds within these five weeks,

Beside my first materials; and my goods,

That lie i’ the cellar, which I am glad they ha’ left,

I may have home yet.

LOVE. Think you so, sir—

MAM. Ay.

LOVE. By order of law, sir, but not otherwise.

MAM. Not mine own stuff!

LOVE. Sir, I can take no knowledge

That they are yours, but by public means.

If you can bring certificate that you were gull’d of ’em,

Or any formal writ out of a court,

That you did cozen yourself, I will not hold them.

MAM. I’ll rather lose ’em.

LOVE. That you shall not, sir,

By me, in troth; upon these terms, they are yours.

What, should they ha’ been, sir, turn’d into gold, all—

MAM. No.

I cannot tell.—It may be they should.—What then—

LOVE. What a great loss in hope have you sustain’d!

MAM. Not I, the commonwealth has.

FACE. Ay, he would ha’ built

The city new; and made a ditch about it

Of silver, should have run with cream from Hogsden;

That every Sunday in Moorfields the younkers,

And tits 8 and tom-boys should have fed on, gratis.

MAM. I will go mount a turnip-cart, and preach

The end of the world within these two months. Surly,

What! in a dream—

SUR. Must I needs cheat myself,

With that same foolish vice of honesty!

Come, let us go and hearken out the rogues:

That Face I’ll mark for mine, if e’er I meet him.

FACE. If I can hear of him, sir, I’ll bring you word

Unto your lodging; for in troth, they were strangers

To me; I thought ’em honest as myself, sir. [Exeunt MAM. and SUR.]

[ Re-enter ANANIAS and TRIBULATION]

TRI. ’Tis well, the saints shall not lose all yet. Go

And get some carts——

LOVE. For what, my zealous friends—

ANA. To bear away the portion of the righteous

Out of this den of thieves.

LOVE. What is that portion—

ANA. The goods sometimes the orphans’, that the brethren

Bought with their silver pence.

LOVE. What, those i’ the cellar,

The knight Sir Mammon claims—

ANA. I do defy

The wicked Mammon, so do all the brethren,

Thou profane man! I ask thee with what conscience

Thou canst advance that idol against us,

That have the seal— 9 Were not the shillings numb’red

That made the pounds; were not the pounds told out

Upon the second day of the fourth week,

In the eighth month, upon the table dormant,

The year of the last patience of the saints,

Six hundred and ten—

LOVE. Mine earnest vehement botcher,

And deacon also, I cannot dispute with you:

But if you get you not away the sooner,

I shall confute you with a cudgel.

ANA. Sir!

TRI. Be patient, Ananias.

ANA. I am strong,

And will stand up, well girt, against an host

That threaten Gad in exile.

LOVE. I shall send you

To Amsterdam, to your cellar.

ANA. I will pray there,

Against thy house. May dogs defile thy walls,

And wasps and hornets breed beneath thy roof,

This seat of falsehood, and this cave of coz’nage! [Exeunt ANA. and TRIB.]

Enter DRUGGER

LOVE. Another too—

DRUG. Not I, sir, I am no brother.

LOVE. (beats him.) Away, you Harry Nicholas! 10 do you talk— [Exit DRUG.

FACE. No, this was Abel Drugger. Good sir, go, To the Parson.

And satisfy him; tell him all is done:

He staid too long a washing of his face.

The doctor, he shall hear of him at Westchester;

And of the captain, tell him, at Yarmouth, or

Some good port-town else, lying for a wind. [Exit Parson.]

If you can get off the angry child now, sir——

[Enter KASTRIL, dragging in his sister]

KAS. Come on, you ewe, you have match’d most sweetly, have you not—

Did not I say, I would never ha’ you tupp’d

But by a dubb’d boy, 11 to make you a lady-tom—

’Slight, you are a mammet! 12 O, I could touse you now.

Death, mun 13 you marry with a pox!

LOVE. You lie, boy;

As sound as you; and I’m aforehand with you.

KAS. Anon!

LOVE. Come, will you quarrel— I will feize 14 you, sirrah;

Why do you not buckle to your tools—

KAS. Od’s light,

This is a fine old boy as e’er I saw!

LOVE. What, do you change your copy now— Proceed;

Here stands my dove: stoop 15 at her if you dare.

KAS. ’Slight, I must love him! I cannot choose, i’ faith,

An I should be hang’d for’t! Suster, I protest,

I honour thee for this match.

LOVE. O, do you so, sir—

KAS. Yes, an thou canst take tobacco and drink, old boy,

I’ll give her five hundred pound more to her marriage,

Than her own state.

LOVE. Fill a pipe full, Jeremy.

FACE. Yes; but go in and take it, sir.

LOVE. We will.

I will be rul’d by thee in anything, Jeremy.

KAS. ’Slight, thou art not hide-bound, thou art a jovy 16 boy!

Come, let us in, I pray thee, and take our whiffs.

LOVE. Whiff in with your sister, brother boy. [Exeunt KAS. and DAME P.] That master

That had receiv’d such happiness by a servant,

In such a widow, and with so much wealth,

Were very ungrateful, if he would not be

A little indulgent to that servant’s wit,

And help his fortune, though with some small strain

Of his own candour. 17 [advancing.] Therefore, gentlemen,

And kind spectators, if I have outstript

An old man’s gravity, or strict canon, think

What a young wife and a good brain may do;

Stretch age’s truth sometimes, and crack it too.

Speak for thyself, knave.

FACE. So I will, sir. [advancing to the front of the stage.] Gentlemen,

My part a little fell in this last scene,

Yet ’twas decorum. 18 And though I am clean

Got off from Subtle, Surly, Mammon, Dol,

Hot Ananias, Dapper, Drugger, all

With whom I traded; yet I put myself

On you, that are my country: 19 and this pelf,

Which I have got, if you do quit me, rests

To feast you often, and invite new guests. [Exeunt.]

Note 1. An outer room in the same.

Note 2. For fear of failing.

Note 3. Break.

Note 4. Stealing.

Note 5. Probably a fragment of a song.

Note 6. Musketeer.

Note 7. Crow.

Note 8. Wenches.

Note 9. That are sealed as God’s people.

Note 10. The founder of the fanatical sect called “The Family of Love.”

Note 11. Knight.

Note 12. Puppet.

Note 13. Must.

Note 14. Beat.

Note 15. A term of falconry: used in punning allusion to the name Kastril, which means hawk.

Note 16. Jovial.

Note 17. Fair reputation.

Note 18. Dramatic propriety.

Note 19. Jury.

Philaster by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

Philaster: or, Love Lies a Bleeding

Introductory Note

THE MEN who laid the foundations of the Elizabethan drama were generally of obscure origin; and though some of them had been educated at the universities, they were all poor. Beaumont and Fletcher are the first recruits to the profession of play-writing who came of distinguished families and habitually moved in wealthy circles; and this social environment was early suggested as an explanation of their power of representing naturally the conversation of high-born ladies and gentlemen.

Francis Beaumont, son of Sir Francis Beaumont, was born about 1585, and died in 1616. He was educated at Oxford and studied law at the Inner Temple; and though his career as a writer was short he won a high reputation as a poet and was buried in Westminster Abbey.

John Fletcher, son of the Bishop of London, was born in 1579, and died in 1625. He was a graduate of Cambridge, and appears to have been much more a professional man of letters than Beaumont. He wrote many plays by himself, and, after Beaumont ceased to write, worked in collaboration with several other men, including Shakespeare.

“Philaster” is an excellent typical example of their plays, which are thus admirably characterized by Thorndike:

“Their plots, largely invented, are ingenious and complicated. They deal with royal or noble persons, with heroic actions, and are placed in foreign localities. The conquests, usurpations, and passions that ruin kingdoms are their themes, there are no battles or pageants, and the action is usually confined to the rooms of the palace or its immediate neighborhood. Usually contrasting a story of gross sensual passion with one of idyllic love, they introduce a great variety of incidents, and aim at constant but varied excitement… The plays depend for interest not on their observation or revelation of human nature, or the development of character, but on the variety of situations, the clever construction that holds the interest through one suspense to another up to the unravelling at the very end, and on the naturalness, felicity, and vigor of the poetry.”

* * * * *

The Scene being in Cicilie.

* * * * *

Persons Represented in the Play.

The King.

Philaster, Heir to the Crown.

Pharamond, Prince of Spain.

Dion, a Lord.

Cleremont} Noble Gentlemen his Thrasiline} Associates.

Arethusa, the King's Daughter.

Galatea, a wise modest Lady attending the Princess.

Megra, a lascivious Lady.

An old wanton Lady, or Croan.

Another Lady attending the Princess.

Eufrasia, Daughter of Dion, but disguised like a Page, and called Bellario.

An old Captain.

Five Citizens.

A Countrey fellow.

Two Woodmen.

The Kings Guard and Train.

* * * * *

Actus primus. Scena prima.

Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline.

Cler. Here's not Lords nor Ladies.

Dion. Credit me Gentlemen, I wonder at it. They receiv'd strict charge from the King to attend here: Besides it was boldly published, that no Officer should forbid any Gentlemen that desire to attend and hear.

Cle. Can you guess the cause—

Di. Sir, it is plain about the Spanish Prince, that's come to marry our Kingdoms Heir, and be our Soveraign.

Thra. Many (that will seem to know much) say, she looks not on him like a Maid in Love.

Di. O Sir, the multitude (that seldom know any thing but their own opinions) speak that they would have; but the Prince, before his own approach, receiv'd so many confident messages from the State, that I think she's resolv'd to be rul'd.

Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these Kingdoms of Cicilie and Calabria.

Di. Sir, it is (without controversie) so meant. But 'twill be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these Kingdoms, with safetie, the right Heir to one of them living, and living so vertuously, especially the people admiring the bravery of his mind, and lamenting his injuries.

Cle. Who, Philaster—

Di. Yes, whose Father we all know, was by our late King of Calabria, unrighteously deposed from his fruitful Cicilie. My self drew some blood in those Wars, which I would give my hand to be washed from.

Cle. Sir, my ignorance in State-policy, will not let me know why Philaster being Heir to one of these Kingdoms, the King should suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty.

Di. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant than to enquire after State news. But the King (of late) made a hazard of both the Kingdoms, of Cicilie and his own, with offering but to imprison Philaster. At which the City was in arms, not to be charm'd down by any State-order or Proclamation, till they saw Philaster ride through the streets pleas'd, and without a guard; at which they threw their Hats, and their arms from them; some to make bonefires, some to drink, all for his deliverance. Which (wise men say) is the cause, the King labours to bring in the power of a Foreign Nation to aw his own with.

[Enter Galatea, Megra, and a Lady.

Thra. See, the Ladies, what's the first—

Di. A wise and modest Gentlwoman that attends the Princess.

Cle. The second—

Di. She is one that may stand still discreetly enough, and ill favour'dly Dance her Measure; simper when she is Courted by her Friend, and slight her Husband.

Cle. The last—

Di. Marry I think she is one whom the State keeps for the Agents of our confederate Princes: she'll cog and lie with a whole army before the League shall break: her name is common through the Kingdom, and the Trophies of her dishonour, advanced beyond Hercules-pillars. She loves to try the several constitutions of mens bodies; and indeed has destroyed the worth of her own body, by making experiment upon it, for the good of the Common-wealth.

Cle. She's a profitable member.

La. Peace, if you love me: you shall see these Gentlemen stand their ground, and not Court us.

Gal. What if they should—

Meg. What if they should—

La. Nay, let her alone; what if they should— why, if they should, I say, they were never abroad: what Foreigner would do so— it writes them directly untravel'd.

Gal. Why, what if they be—

Meg. What if they be—

La. Good Madam let her go on; what if they be— Why if they be I will justifie, they cannot maintain discourse with a judicious Lady, nor make a Leg, nor say Excuse me.

Gal. Ha, ha, ha.

La. Do you laugh Madam—

Di. Your desires upon you Ladies.

La. Then you must sit beside us.

Di. I shall sit near you then Lady.

La. Near me perhaps: But there's a Lady indures no stranger; and to me you appear a very strange fellow.

Meg. Me thinks he's not so strange, he would quickly be acquainted.

Thra. Peace, the King.

[Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, and Train.

King. To give a stronger testimony of love Than sickly promises (which commonly In Princes find both birth and burial In one breath) we have drawn you worthy Sir, To make your fair indearments to [our] daughter, And worthy services known to our subjects, Now lov'd and wondered at. Next, our intent, To plant you deeply, our immediate Heir, Both to our Blood and Kingdoms. For this Lady, (The best part of your life, as you confirm me, And I believe) though her few years and sex Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes, Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge Only of what her self is to her self, Make her feel moderate health: and when she sleeps, In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams. Think not (dear Sir) these undivided parts, That must mould up a Virgin, are put on To shew her so, as borrowed ornaments, To speak her perfect love to you, or add An Artificial shadow to her nature: No Sir; I boldly dare proclaim her, yet No Woman. But woo her still, and think her modesty A sweeter mistress than the offer'd Language Of any Dame, were she a Queen whose eye Speaks common loves and comforts to her servants. Last, noble son, (for so I now must call you) What I have done thus publick, is not only To add a comfort in particular To you or me, but all; and to confirm The Nobles, and the Gentry of these Kingdoms, By oath to your succession, which shall be Within this month at most.

Thra. This will be hardly done.

Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done.

Di. When 'tis at best, 'twill be but half done, Whilst so brave a Gentleman's wrong'd and flung off.

Thra. I fear.

Cle. Who does not—

Di. I fear not for my self, and yet I fear too: Well, we shall see, we shall see: no more.

Pha. Kissing your white hand (Mistress) I take leave, To thank your Royal Father: and thus far, To be my own free Trumpet. Understand Great King, and these your subjects, mine that must be, (For so deserving you have spoke me Sir, And so deserving I dare speak my self) To what a person, of what eminence, Ripe expectation of what faculties, Manners and vertues you would wed your Kingdoms— You in me have your wishes. Oh this Country, By more than all my hopes I hold it Happy, in their dear memories that have been Kings great and good, happy in yours, that is, And from you (as a Chronicle to keep Your Noble name from eating age) do I Opine myself most happy. Gentlemen, Believe me in a word, a Princes word, There shall be nothing to make up a Kingdom Mighty, and flourishing, defenced, fear'd, Equall to be commanded and obey'd, But through the travels of my life I'le find it, And tye it to this Country. And I vow My reign shall be so easie to the subject, That every man shall be his Prince himself, And his own law (yet I his Prince and law.) And dearest Lady, to your dearest self (Dear, in the choice of him, whose name and lustre Must make you more and mightier) let me say, You are the blessed'st living; for sweet Princess, You shall enjoy a man of men, to be Your servant; you shall make him yours, for whom Great Queens must die.

Thra. Miraculous.

Cle. This speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing but A large inventory of his own commendations.

[Enter Philaster.

Di. I wonder what's his price— For certainly he'll tell himself he has so prais'd his shape: But here comes one more worthy those large speeches, than the large speaker of them— let me be swallowed quick, if I can find, in all the Anatomy of yon mans vertues, one sinew sound enough to promise for him, he shall be Constable. By this Sun, he'll ne're make King unless it be for trifles, in my poor judgment.

Phi. Right Noble Sir, as low as my obedience, And with a heart as Loyal as my knee, I beg your favour.

King. Rise, you have it Sir.

Di. Mark but the King how pale he looks with fear. Oh! this same whorson Conscience, how it jades us!

King. Speak your intents Sir.

Phi. Shall I speak 'um freely— Be still my royal Soveraign.

King. As a subject We give you freedom.

Di. Now it heats.

Phi. Then thus I turn My language to you Prince, you foreign man. Ne're stare nor put on wonder, for you must Indure me, and you shall. This earth you tread upon (A dowry as you hope with this fair Princess, Whose memory I bow to) was not left By my dead Father (Oh, I had a Father) To your inheritance, and I up and living, Having my self about me and my sword, The souls of all my name, and memories, These arms and some few friends, besides the gods, To part so calmly with it, and sit still, And say I might have been! I tell thee Pharamond, When thou art King, look I be dead and rotten, And my name ashes; For, hear me Pharamond, This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth, My Fathers friends made fertile with their faiths, Before that day of shame, shall gape and swallow Thee and thy Nation, like a hungry grave, Into her hidden bowels: Prince, it shall; By Nemesis it shall.

Pha. He's mad beyond cure, mad.

Di. Here's a fellow has some fire in's veins: The outlandish Prince looks like a Tooth-drawer.

Phi. Sir, Prince of Poppingjayes, I'le make it well appear To you I am not mad.

King. You displease us. You are too bold.

Phi. No Sir, I am too tame, Too much a Turtle, a thing born without passion, A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud sails over, And makes nothing.

King. I do not fancy this, Call our Physicians: sure he is somewhat tainted.

Thra. I do not think 'twill prove so.

Di. H'as given him a general purge already, for all the right he has, and now he means to let him blood: Be constant Gentlemen; by these hilts I'le run his hazard, although I run my name out of the Kingdom.

Cle. Peace, we are one soul.

Pha. What you have seen in me, to stir offence, I cannot find, unless it be this Lady Offer'd into mine arms, with the succession, Which I must keep though it hath pleas'd your fury To mutiny within you; without disputing Your Genealogies, or taking knowledge Whose branch you are. The King will leave it me; And I dare make it mine; you have your answer.

Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him, That made the world his; and couldst see no sun Shine upon any but thine: were Pharamond As truly valiant, as I feel him cold, And ring'd among the choicest of his friends, Such as would blush to talk such serious follies, Or back such bellied commendations, And from this present, spight of all these bugs, You should hear further from me.

King. Sir, you wrong the Prince: I gave you not this freedom to brave our best friends, You deserve our frown: go to, be better temper'd.

Phi. It must be Sir, when I am nobler us'd.

Gal. Ladyes, This would have been a pattern of succession, Had he ne're met this mischief. By my life, He is the worthiest the true name of man This day within my knowledge.

Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your knowledge, But the other is the man set in mine eye; Oh! 'tis a Prince of wax.

Gal. A Dog it is.

King. Philaster, tell me, The injuries you aim at in your riddles.

Phi. If you had my eyes Sir, and sufferance, My griefs upon you and my broken fortunes, My want's great, and now nought but hopes and fears, My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laught at. Dare you be still my King and right me not—

King. Give me your wrongs in private.

[They whisper.

Phi. Take them, and ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas.

Di. He dares not stand the shock.

Di. I cannot blame, him, there's danger in't. Every man in this age, has not a soul of Crystal for all men to read their actions through: mens hearts and faces are so far asunder, that they hold no intelligence. Do but view yon stranger well, and you shall see a Feaver through all his bravery, and feel him shake like a true Tenant; if he give not back his Crown again, upon the report of an Elder Gun, I have no augury.

King. Go to: Be more your self, as you respect our favour: You'I stir us else: Sir, I must have you know That y'are and shall be at our pleasure, what fashion we Will put upon you: smooth your brow, or by the gods.

Phi. I am dead Sir, y'are my fate: it was not I Said I was not wrong'd: I carry all about me, My weak stars led me to all my weak fortunes. Who dares in all this presence speak (that is But man of flesh and may be mortal) tell me I do not most intirely love this Prince, And honour his full vertues!

King. Sure he's possest.

Phi. Yes, with my Fathers spirit; It's here O King! A dangerous spirit; now he tells me King, I was a Kings heir, bids me be a King, And whispers to me, these be all my Subjects. 'Tis strange, he will not let me sleep, but dives Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes That kneel, and do me service, cry me King: But I'le suppress him, he's a factious spirit, And will undo me: noble Sir, [your] hand, I am your servant.

King. Away, I do not like this: I'le make you tamer, or I'le dispossess you Both of life and spirit: For this time I pardon your wild speech, without so much As your imprisonment.

[Ex. King, Pha. and Are.

Di. I thank you Sir, you dare not for the people.

Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave fellow—

Meg. A pretty talking fellow, hot at hand; but eye yon stranger, is not he a fine compleat Gentleman— O these strangers, I do affect them strangely: they do the rarest home things, and please the fullest! as I live, could love all the Nation over and over for his sake.

Gal. Pride comfort your poor head-piece Lady: 'tis a weak one, and had need of a Night-cap.

Di. See how his fancy labours, has he not spoke Home, and bravely— what a dangerous train Did he give fire to! How he shook the King, Made his soul melt within him, and his blood Run into whay! it stood upon his brow, Like a cold winter dew.

Phi. Gentlemen, You have no suit to me— I am no minion: You stand (methinks) like men that would be Courtiers, If you could well be fiatter'd at a price, Not to undo your Children: y'are all honest: Go get you home again, and make your Country A vertuous Court, to which your great ones may, In their Diseased age, retire, and live recluse.

Cle. How do you worthy Sir—

Phi. Well, very well; And so well, that if the King please, I find I may live many years.

Di. The King must please, Whilst we know what you are, and who you are, Your wrongs and [injuries]: shrink not, worthy Sir, But add your Father to you: in whose name, We'll waken all the gods, and conjure up The rods of vengeance, the abused people, Who like to raging torrents shall swell high, And so begirt the dens of these Male-dragons, That through the strongest safety, they shall beg For mercy at your swords point.

Phi. Friends, no more, Our years may he corrupted: 'Tis an age We dare not trust our wills to: do you love me—

Thra. Do we love Heaven and honour—

Phi. My Lord Dion, you had A vertuous Gentlewoman call'd you Father; Is she yet alive—

Di. Most honour'd Sir, she is: And for the penance but of an idle dream, Has undertook a tedious Pilgrimage.

[Enter a Lady.

Phi. Is it to me, or any of these Gentlemen you come—

La. To you, brave Lord; the Princess would intreat Your present company.

Phi. The Princess send for me! y'are mistaken.

La. If you be call'd Philaster, 'tis to you.

Phi. Kiss her hand, and say I will attend her.

Di. Do you know what you do—

Phi. Yes, go to see a woman.

Cle. But do you weigh the danger you are in—

Phi. Danger in a sweet face— By Jupiter I must not fear a woman.

Thra. But are you sure it was the Princess sent— It may be some foul train to catch your life.

Phi. I do not think it Gentlemen: she's noble, Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red And white friends in her face may steal my soul out: There's all the danger in't: but be what may, Her single name hath arm'd me.

[Ex. Phil.

Di. Go on: And be as truly happy as thou art fearless: Come Gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted, Lest the King prove false.

[Ex. Gentlemen.

Enter Arethusa and a Lady.

Are. Comes he not—

La. Madam—

Are. Will Philaster come—

La. Dear Madam, you were wont To credit me at first.

Are. But didst thou tell me so— I am forgetful, and my womans strength Is so o'recharg'd with danger like to grow About my Marriage that these under-things Dare not abide in such a troubled sea: How look't he, when he told thee he would come—

La. Why, well.

Are. And not a little fearful—

La. Fear Madam— sure he knows not what it is.

Are. You are all of his Faction; the whole Court Is bold in praise of him, whilst I May live neglected: and do noble things, As fools in strife throw gold into the Sea, Drown'd in the doing: but I know he fears.

La. Fear— Madam (me thought) his looks hid more Of love than fear.

Are. Of love— To whom— to you— Did you deliver those plain words I sent, With such a winning gesture, and quick look That you have caught him—

La. Madam, I mean to you.

Are. Of love to me— Alas! thy ignorance Lets thee not see the crosses of our births: Nature, that loves not to be questioned Why she did this, or that, but has her ends, And knows she does well; never gave the world Two things so opposite, so contrary, As he and I am: If a bowl of blood Drawn from this arm of mine, would poyson thee, A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me—

La. Madam, I think I hear him.

Are. Bring him in: You gods that would not have your dooms withstood, Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is, To make the passion of a feeble maid The way unto your justice, I obey.

[Enter Phil.

La. Here is my Lord Philaster.

Are. Oh! 'tis well: Withdraw your self.

Phi. Madam, your messenger Made me believe, you wisht to speak with me.

Are. 'Tis true Philaster, but the words are such, I have to say, and do so ill beseem The mouth of woman, that I wish them said, And yet am loth to speak them. Have you known That I have ought detracted from your worth— Have I in person wrong'd you— or have set My baser instruments to throw disgrace Upon your vertues—

Phi. Never Madam you.

Are. Why then should you in such a publick place, Injure a Princess and a scandal lay Upon my fortunes, fam'd to be so great: Calling a great part of my dowry in question.

Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall speak, will be Foolish: but for your fair and vertuous self, I could afford my self to have no right To any thing you wish'd.

Are. Philaster, know I must enjoy these Kingdoms.

Phi. Madam, both—

Are. Both or I die: by Fate I die Philaster, If I not calmly may enjoy them both.

Phi. I would do much to save that Noble life: Yet would be loth to have posterity Find in our stories, that Philaster gave His right unto a Scepter, and a Crown, To save a Ladies longing.

Are. Nay then hear: I must, and will have them, and more.

Phi. What more—

Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared, To trouble this poor piece of earth withall.

Phi. Madam, what more—

Are. Turn then away thy face.

Phi. No.

Are. Do.

Phi. I cannot endure it: turn away my face— I never yet saw enemy that lookt So dreadful, but that I thought my self As great a Basilisk as he; or spake So horribly, but that I thought my tongue Bore Thunder underneath, as much as his: Nor beast that I could turn from: shall I then Begin to fear sweet sounds— a Ladies voice, Whom I do love— Say you would have my life, Why, I will give it you; for it is of me A thing so loath'd, and unto you that ask Of so poor use, that I shall make no price If you intreat, I will unmov'dly hear.

Are. Yet for my sake a little bend thy looks.

Phi. I do.

Are. Then know I must have them and thee.

Phi. And me—

Are. Thy love: without which, all the Land Discovered yet, will serve me for no use, But to be buried in.

Phi. Is't possible—

Are. With it, it were too little to bestow On thee: Now, though thy breath doth strike me dead (Which know it may) I have unript my breast.

Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts, To lay a train for this contemned life, Which you may have for asking: to suspect Were base, where I deserve no ill: love you! By all my hopes I do, above my life: But how this passion should proceed from you So violently, would amaze a man, that would be jealous.

Are. Another soul into my body shot, Could not have fill'd me with more strength and spirit, Than this thy breath: but spend not hasty time, In seeking how I came thus: 'tis the gods, The gods, that make me so; and sure our love Will be the nobler, and the better blest, In that the secret justice of the gods Is mingled with it. Let us leave and kiss, Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us, And we should part without it. Phi. 'Twill be ill I should abide here long.

Are. 'Tis true, and worse You should come often: How shall we devise To hold intelligence— That our true lovers, On any new occasion may agree, what path is best to tread—

Phi. I have a boy sent by the gods, I hope to this intent, Not yet seen in the Court; hunting the Buck, I found him sitting by a Fountain side, Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst, And paid the Nymph again as much in tears; A Garland lay him by, made by himself, Of many several flowers, bred in the bay, Stuck in that mystick order, that the rareness Delighted me: but ever when he turned His tender eyes upon 'um, he would weep, As if he meant to make 'um grow again. Seeing such pretty helpless innocence Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story; He told me that his Parents gentle dyed, Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, Which gave him roots; and of the Crystal springs, Which did not stop their courses: and the Sun, Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light, Then took he up his Garland and did shew, What every flower as Country people hold, Did signifie: and how all ordered thus, Exprest his grief: and to my thoughts did read The prettiest lecture of his Country Art That could be wisht: so that, me thought, I could Have studied it. I gladly entertain'd him, Who was glad to follow; and have got The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy, That ever Master kept: Him will I send To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.

[Enter Lady.

Are. 'Tis well, no more.

La. Madam, the Prince is come to do his service.

Are. What will you do Philaster with your self—

Phi. Why, that which all the gods have appointed out for me.

Are. Dear, hide thy self. Bring in the Prince.

Phi. Hide me from Pharamond! When Thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove, Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not; And shall a stranger Prince have leave to brag Unto a forreign Nation, that he made Philaster hide himself—

Are. He cannot know it.

Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to the world, It is a simple sin to hide my self, Which will for ever on my conscience lie.

Are. Then good Philaster, give him scope and way In what he saies: for he is apt to speak What you are loth to hear: for my sake do.

Phi. I will.

[Enter Pharamond.

Pha. My Princely Mistress, as true lovers ought, I come to kiss these fair hands; and to shew In outward Ceremonies, the dear love Writ in my heart.

Phi. If I shall have an answer no directlier, I am gone.

Pha. To what would he have an answer—

Are. To his claim unto the Kingdom.

Pha. Sirrah, I forbear you before the King.

Phi. Good Sir, do so still, I would not talk with you.

Pha. But now the time is fitter, do but offer To make mention of right to any Kingdom, Though it be scarce habitable.

Phi. Good Sir, let me go.

Pha. And by my sword.

Phi. Peace Pharamond: if thou-

Are. Leave us Philaster.

Phi. I have done.

Pha. You are gone, by heaven I'le fetch you back.

Phi. You shall not need.

Pha. What now—

Phi. Know Pharamond, I loath to brawl with such a blast as thou, Who art nought but a valiant voice: But if Thou shalt provoke me further, men shall say Thou wert, and not lament it. Pha. Do you slight My greatness so, and in the Chamber of the Princess!

Phi. It is a place to which I must confess I owe a reverence: but wer't the Church, I, at the Altar, there's no place so safe, Where thou dar'st injure me, but I dare kill thee: And for your greatness; know Sir, I can grasp You, and your greatness thus, thus into nothing: Give not a word, not a word back: Farewell.

[Exit Phi.

Pha. 'Tis an odd fellow Madam, we must stop His mouth with some Office, when we are married.

Are. You were best make him your Controuler.

Pha. I think he would discharge it well. But Madam, I hope our hearts are knit; and yet so slow The Ceremonies of State are, that 'twill be long Before our hands be so: If then you please, Being agreed in heart, let us not wait For dreaming for me, but take a little stoln Delights, and so prevent our joyes to come.

Are. If you dare speak such thoughts, I must withdraw in honour.

[Exit Are.

Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold out till the wedding; I must seek elsewhere.

[Exit Pha.

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter Philaster and Bellario.

Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable boy, Full of regard unto thy tender youth, For thine own modesty; and for my sake, Apter to give, than thou wilt be to ask, I, or deserve.

Bell. Sir, you did take me up when I was nothing; And only yet am something, by being yours; You trusted me unknown; and that which you are apt To conster a simple innocence in me, Perhaps, might have been craft; the cunning of a boy Hardened in lies and theft; yet ventur'd you, To part my miseries and me: for which, I never can expect to serve a Lady That bears more honour in her breast than you.

Phi. But boy, it will prefer thee; thou art young, And bearest a childish overflowing love To them that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair yet: But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions, Thou wilt remember best those careful friends That plac'd thee in the noblest way of life; She is a Princess I prefer thee to.

Bell. In that small time that I have seen the world, I never knew a man hasty to part With a servant he thought trusty; I remember My Father would prefer the boys he kept To greater men than he, but did it not, Till they were grown too sawcy for himself.

Phi. Why gentle boy, I find no fault at all in thy behaviour.

Bell. Sir, if I have made A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth; I shall be willing, if not apt to learn; Age and experience will adorn my mind With larger knowledge: And if I have done A wilful fault, think me not past all hope For once; what Master holds so strict a hand Over his boy, that he will part with him Without one warning— Let me be corrected To break my stubbornness if it be so, Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.

Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, That (trust me) I could weep to part with thee. Alas! I do not turn thee off; thou knowest It is my business that doth call thee hence, And when thou art with her thou dwel'st with me: Think so, and 'tis so; and when time is full, That thou hast well discharged this heavy trust, Laid on so weak a one, I will again With joy receive thee; as I live, I will; Nay weep not, gentle boy; 'Tis more than time Thou didst attend the Princess.

Bell. I am gone; But since I am to part with you my Lord, And none knows whether I shall live to do More service for you; take this little prayer; Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs. May sick men, if they have your wish, be well; And Heavens hate those you curse, though I be one.

[Exit.

Phi. The love of boyes unto their Lords is strange, I have read wonders of it; yet this boy For my sake, (if a man may judge by looks, And speech) would out-do story. I may see A day to pay him for his loyalty.

[Exit Phi.

Enter Pharamond.

Pha. Why should these Ladies stay so long— They must come this way; I know the Queen imployes 'em not, for the Reverend Mother sent me word they would all be for the Garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were in a fair taking; I was never so long without sport in my life, and in my conscience 'tis not my fault: Oh, for our Country Ladies! Here's one boulted, I'le hound at her.

Enter Galatea.

Gal. Your Grace!

Pha. Shall I not be a trouble—

Gal. Not to me Sir.

Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick; by this sweet hand.

Gal. You'l be forsworn Sir, 'tis but an old glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you: but good Prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag; these two I bar, and then I think, I shall have sence enough to answer all the weighty Apothegmes your Royal blood shall manage.

Pha. Dear Lady, can you love—

Gal. Dear, Prince, how dear! I ne're cost you a Coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a Banquet; here's no Scarlet Sir, to blush the sin out it was given for: This wyer mine own hair covers: and this face has been so far from being dear to any, that it ne're cost penny painting: And for the rest of my poor Wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand behind it, to make the jealous Mercers wife curse our good doings.

Pha. You mistake me Lady.

Gal. Lord, I do so; would you or I could help it.

Pha. Do Ladies of this Country use to give no more respect to men of my full being—

Gal. Full being! I understand you not, unless your Grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, Prince) is in a morning a Cup of neat White-wine brew'd with Carduus, then fast till supper, about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a Sparrow-hawk, you can shoot in a Tiller; but of all, your Grace must flie Phlebotomie, fresh Pork, Conger, and clarified Whay; They are all dullers of the vital spirits.

Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while.

Gal. 'Tis very true Sir, I talk of you.

Pha. This is a crafty wench, I like her wit well, 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite, she's a Danae, and must be courted in a showr of gold. Madam, look here, all these and more, than-

Gal. What have you there, my Lord— Gold— Now, as I live tis fair gold; you would have silver for it to play with the Pages; you could not have taken me in a worse time; But if you have present use my Lord, I'le send my man with silver and keep your gold for you.

Pha. Lady, Lady.

Gal. She's coming Sir behind, will take white mony. Yet for all this I'le match ye.

[Exit Gal. behind the hangings.

Pha. If there be two such more in this Kingdom, and near the Court, we may even hang up our Harps: ten such Camphire constitutions as this, would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill fac't Husband to get his own Children, and what a mischief that will breed, let all consider.

[Enter Megra.

Here's another; if she be of the same last, the Devil shall pluck her on. Many fair mornings, Lady.

Meg. As many mornings bring as many dayes, Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your Grace.

Pha. She gives good words yet; Sure this wench is free. If your more serious business do not call you, Let me hold quarter with you, we'll take an hour Out quickly.

Meg. What would your Grace talk of—

Pha. Of some such pretty subject as your self. I'le go no further than your eye, or lip, There's theme enough for one man for an age.

Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even, Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, red enough, Or my glass wrongs me.

Pha. O they are two twin'd Cherries died in blushes, Which those fair suns above, with their bright beams Reflect upon, and ripen: sweetest beauty, Bow down those branches, that the longing taste, Of the faint looker on, may meet those blessings, And taste and live.

Meg. O delicate sweet Prince; She that hath snow enough about her heart, To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off, May be a Nun without probation. Sir, you have in such neat poetry, gathered a kiss, That if I had but five lines of that number, Such pretty begging blanks, I should commend Your fore-head, or your cheeks, and kiss you too.

Pha. Do it in prose; you cannot miss it Madam.

Meg. I shall, I shall.

Pha. By my life you shall not. I'le prompt you first: Can you do it now—

Meg. Methinks 'tis easie, now I ha' don't before; But yet I should stick at it.

Pha. Stick till to morrow. I'le ne'r part you sweetest. But we lose time, Can you love me—

Meg. Love you my Lord— How would you have me love you—

Pha. I'le teach you in a short sentence, cause I will not load your memory, that is all; love me, and lie with me.

Meg. Was it lie with you that you said— 'Tis impossible.

Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour; if I do not teach you to do it as easily in one night, as you'l go to bed, I'le lose my Royal blood for't.

Meg. Why Prince, you have a Lady of your own, that yet wants teaching.

Pha. I'le sooner teach a Mare the old measures, than teach her any thing belonging to the function; she's afraid to lie with her self, if she have but any masculine imaginations about her; I know when we are married, I must ravish her.

Meg. By my honour, that's a foul fault indeed, but time and your good help will wear it out Sir.

Pha. And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest Lady, I had rather be Sir Tim the Schoolmaster, and leap a Dairy-maid.

Meg. Has your Grace seen the Court-star Galatea—

Pha. Out upon her; she's as cold of her favour as an apoplex: she sail'd by but now.

Meg. And how do you hold her wit Sir—

Pha. I hold her wit— The strength of all the Guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it, she would blow 'em out of the Kingdom, they talk of Jupiter, he's but a squib cracker to her: Look well about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. But speak sweet Lady, shall I be freely welcome—

Meg. Whither—

Pha. To your bed; if you mistrust my faith, you do me the unnoblest wrong.

Meg. I dare not Prince, I dare not.

Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 'em, and what you dare imagine you can want, I'le furnish you withal: give two hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come, I know you are bashful, speak in my ear, will you be mine— keep this, and with it me: soon I will visit you.

Meg. My Lord, my Chamber's most unsafe, but when 'tis night I'le find some means to slip into your lodging: till when-

Pha. Till when, this, and my heart go with thee.

[Ex. several ways.

Enter Galatea from behind the hangings.

Gal. Oh thou pernicious Petticoat Prince, are these your vertues— Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your sport up, I am no woman; and Lady Towsabel I'le fit you for't.

[Exit Gal.

Enter Arethusa and a Lady.

Are. Where's the boy—

La. Within Madam.

Are. Gave you him gold to buy him cloaths—

La. I did.

Are. And has he don't—

La. Yes Madam.

Are. 'Tis a pretty sad talking lad, is it not— Askt you his name—

La. No Madam.

[Enter Galatea.

Are. O you are welcome, what good news—

Gal. As good as any one can tell your Grace, That saies she hath done that you would have wish'd.

Are. Hast thou discovered—

Gal. I have strained a point of modesty for you.

Are. I prethee how—

Gal. In listning after bawdery; I see, let a Lady live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time, to harken after bawdery; your Prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on't.

Are. With whom—

Gal. Why, with the Lady I suspect: I can tell the time and place.

Are. O when, and where—

Gal. To night, his Lodging.

Are. Run thy self into the presence, mingle there again With other Ladies, leave the rest to me: If destiny (to whom we dare not say, Why thou didst this) have not decreed it so In lasting leaves (whose smallest Characters Were never altered:) yet, this match shall break. Where's the boy—

La. Here Madam.

[Enter Bellario.

Are. Sir, you are sad to change your service, is't not so—

Bell. Madam, I have not chang'd; I wait on you, To do him service.

Are. Thou disclaim'st in me; Tell me thy name.

Bell. Bellario.

Are. Thou canst sing, and play—

Bell. If grief will give me leave, Madam, I can.

Are. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years know— Hadst thou a curst master, when thou went'st to School— Thou art not capable of other grief; Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be, When no [b]reath troubles them: believe me boy, Care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow eyes, And builds himself caves to abide in them. Come Sir, tell me truly, does your Lord love me—

Bell. Love Madam— I know not what it is.

Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st love— Thou art deceiv'd boy; does he speak of me As if he wish'd me well—

Bell. If it be love, To forget all respect of his own friends, In thinking of your face; if it be love To sit cross arm'd and sigh away the day, Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud And hastily, as men i'the streets do fire: If it be love to weep himself away, When he but hears of any Lady dead, Or kill'd, because it might have been your chance; If when he goes to rest (which will not be) 'Twixt every prayer he saies, to name you once As others drop a bead, be to be in love; Then Madam, I dare swear he loves you.

Are. O y'are a cunning boy, and taught to lie, For your Lords credit; but thou knowest, a lie, That bears this sound, is welcomer to me, Than any truth that saies he loves me not. Lead the way Boy: Do you attend me too; 'Tis thy Lords business hasts me thus; Away.

[Exeunt.

Enter Dion, Cleremont, Thrasilin, Megra and Galatea.

Di. Come Ladies, shall we talk a round— As men Do walk a mile, women should take an hour After supper: 'Tis their exercise.

Gal. Tis late.

Meg. 'Tis all My eyes will do to lead me to my bed.

Gal. I fear they are so heavy, you'l scarce find The way to your lodging with 'em to night.

[Enter Pharamond.

Thra. The Prince.

Pha. Not a bed Ladies— y'are good sitters up; What think you of a pleasant dream to last Till morning—

Meg. I should choose, my Lord, a pleasing wake before it.

[Enter Arethusa and Bellario.

Are. 'Tis well my Lord y'are courting of Ladies. Is't not late Gentlemen—

Cle. Yes Madam.

Are. Wait you there. [Exit Arethusa.

Meg. She's jealous, as I live; look you my Lord, The Princess has a Hilas, an Adonis.

Pha. His form is Angel-like.

Meg. Why this is he, must, when you are wed, Sit by your pillow, like young Apollo, with His hand and voice, binding your thoughts in sleep; The Princess does provide him for you, and for her self.

Pha. I find no musick in these boys.

Meg. Nor I. They can do little, and that small they do, They have not wit to hide.

Di. Serves he the Princess—

Thra. Yes.

Di. 'Tis a sweet boy, how brave she keeps him!

Pha. Ladies all good rest; I mean to kill a Buck To morrow morning, ere y'ave done your dreams.

Meg. All happiness attend your Grace, Gentlemen good rest, Come shall we to bed—

Gal. Yes, all good night.

[Ex. Gal. and Meg.

Di. May your dreams be true to you; What shall we do Gallants— 'Tis late, the King Is up still, see, he comes, a Guard along With him.

[Enter King, Arethusa and Guard.

King. Look your intelligence be true.

Are. Upon my life it is: and I do hope, Your Highness will not tye me to a man, That in the heat of wooing throws me off, And takes another.

Di. What should this mean—

King. If it be true, That Lady had been better have embrac'd Cureless Diseases; get you to your rest,

[Ex. Are. and Bel.

You shall be righted: Gentlemen draw near, We shall imploy you: Is young Pharamond Come to his lodging—

Di. I saw him enter there.

King. Haste some of you, and cunningly discover, If Megra be in her lodging.

Cle. Sir, She parted hence but now with other Ladies.

King. If she be there, we shall not need to make A vain discovery of our suspicion. You gods I see, that who unrighteously Holds wealth or state from others, shall be curst, In that, which meaner men are blest withall: Ages to come shall know no male of him Left to inherit, and his name shall be Blotted from earth; If he have any child, It shall be crossly matched: the gods themselves Shall sow wild strife betwixt her Lord and her, Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin I have committed, let it not fall Upon this understanding child of mine, She has not broke your Laws; but how can I, Look to be heard of gods, that must be just, Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong—

[Enter Dion.

Di. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is within, but they I think are bawds; I told 'em I must speak with her: they laught, and said their Lady lay speechless. I said, my business was important; they said their Lady was about it: I grew hot, and cryed my business was a matter that concern'd life and death; they answered, so was sleeping, at which their Lady was; I urg'd again, she had scarce time to be so since last I saw her; they smil'd again, and seem'd to instruct me, that sleeping was nothing but lying down and winking: Answers more direct I could not get: in short Sir, I think she is not there.

King. 'Tis then no time to dally: you o'th' Guard, Wait at the back door of the Princes lodging, And see that none pass thence upon your lives. Knock Gentlemen: knock loud: louder yet: What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing— I'le break your meditations: knock again: Not yet— I do not think he sleeps, having this Larum by him; once more, Pharamond, Prince.

[Pharamond above.

Pha. What sawcy groom knocks at this dead of night— Where be our waiters— By my vexed soul, He meets his death, that meets me, for this boldness.

K. Prince, you wrong your thoughts, we are your friends, Come down.

Pha. The King—

King. The same Sir, come down, We have cause of present Counsel with you.

Pha. If your Grace please to use me, I'le attend you To your Chamber. [Pha. below.

King. No, 'tis too late Prince, I'le make bold with yours.

Pha. I have some private reasons to my self, Makes me unmannerly, and say you cannot; Nay, press not forward Gentlemen, he must come Through my life, that comes here.

King. Sir be resolv'd, I must and will come. Enter.

Pha. I will not be dishonour'd; He that enters, enters upon his death; Sir, 'tis a sign you make no stranger of me, To bring these Renegados to my Chamber, At these unseason'd hours.

King. Why do you Chafe your self so— you are not wrong'd, nor shall be; Onely I'le search your lodging, for some cause To our self known: Enter I say.

Pha. I say no. [Meg. Above.

Meg. Let 'em enter Prince, Let 'em enter, I am up, and ready; I know their business, 'Tis the poor breaking of a Ladies honour, They hunt so hotly after; let 'em enjoy it. You have your business Gentlemen, I lay here. O my Lord the King, this is not noble in you To make publick the weakness of a Woman.

King. Come down.

Meg. I dare my Lord; your whootings and your clamors, Your private whispers, and your broad fleerings, Can no more vex my soul, than this base carriage; But I have vengeance yet in store for some, Shall in the most contempt you can have of me, Be joy and nourishment.

King. Will you come down—

Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst: but I shall wrong you, If my skill fail me not.

King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness, You have wrong'd a worthy Lady; but no more, Conduct him to my lodging, and to bed.

Cle. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed in deed.

Di. 'Tis strange a man cannot ride a Stagg Or two, to breath himself, without a warrant: If this geer hold, that lodgings be search'd thus, Pray heaven we may lie with our own wives in safety, That they be not by some trick of State mistaken.

[Enter with Megra.

King. Now Lady of honour, where's your honour now— No man can fit your palat, but the Prince. Thou most ill shrowded rottenness; thou piece Made by a Painter and a Pothecary; Thou troubled sea of lust; thou wilderness, Inhabited by wild thoughts; thou swoln cloud Of Infection; them ripe Mine of all Diseases; Thou all Sin, all Hell, and last, all Devils, tell me, Had you none to pull on with your courtesies, But he that must be mine, and wrong my Daughter— By all the gods, all these, and all the Pages, And all the Court shall hoot thee through the Court, Fling rotten Oranges, make ribald Rimes, And sear thy name with Candles upon walls: Do you laugh Lady Venus—

Meg. Faith Sir, you must pardon me; I cannot chuse but laugh to see you merry. If you do this, O King; nay, if you dare do it; By all these gods you swore by, and as many More of my own; I will have fellows, and such Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth; The Princess, your dear Daughter, shall stand by me On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing: Urge me no more, I know her, and her haunts, Her layes, leaps, and outlayes, and will discover all; Nay will dishonour her. I know the boy She keeps, a handsome boy; about eighteen: Know what she does with him, where, and when. Come Sir, you put me to a womans madness, The glory of a fury; and if I do not Do it to the height—

King. What boy is this she raves at—

Meg. Alas! good minded Prince, you know not these things— I am loth to reveal 'em. Keep this fault As you would keep your health from the hot air Of the corrupted people, or by heaven, I will not fall alone: what I have known, Shall be as publick as a print: all tongues Shall speak it as they do the language they Are born in, as free and commonly; I'le set it Like a prodigious star for all to gaze at, And so high and glowing, that other Kingdoms far and Forreign Shall read it there, nay travel with it, till they find No tongue to make it more, nor no more people; And then behold the fall of your fair Princess.

King. Has she a boy—

Cle. So please your Grace I have seen a boy wait On her, a fair boy.

King. Go get you to your quarter: For this time I'le study to forget you.

Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I'le study To forget you.

[Ex. King, Meg. and Guard.

Cle. Why here's a Male spirit for Hercules, if ever there be nine worthies of women, this wench shall ride astride, and be their Captain.

Di. Sure she hath a garrison of Devils in her tongue, she uttereth such balls of wild-fire. She has so netled the King, that all the Doctors in the Country will scarce cure him. That boy was a strange found out antidote to cure her infection: that boy, that Princess boy: that brave, chast, vertuous Ladies boy: and a fair boy, a well spoken boy: All these considered, can make nothing else-but there I leave you Gentlemen.

Thra. Nay we'l go wander with you.

[Exeunt.

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Cle. Di. and Thra.

Cle. Nay doubtless 'tis true.

Di. I, and 'tis the gods That rais'd this Punishment to scourge the King With his own issue: Is it not a shame For us, that should write noble in the land; For us, that should be freemen, to behold A man, that is the bravery of his age, Philaster, prest down from his Royal right, By this regardless King; and only look, And see the Scepter ready to be cast Into the hands of that lascivious Lady, That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be Married to yon strange Prince, who, but that people Please to let him be a Prince, is born a slave, In that which should be his most noble part, His mind— Thra. That man that would not stir with you, To aid Philaster, let the gods forget, That such a Creature walks upon the earth.

Cle. Philaster is too backward in't himself; The Gentry do await it, and the people Against their nature are all bent for him, And like a field of standing Corn, that's mov'd With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.

Di. The only cause that draws Philaster back From this attempt, is the fair Princess love, Which he admires and we can now confute.

Thra. Perhaps he'l not believe it.

Di. Why Gentlemen, 'tis without question so.

Cle. I 'tis past speech, she lives dishonestly. But how shall we, if he be curious, work Upon his faith—

Thra. We all are satisfied within our selves.

Di. Since it is true, and tends to his own good, I'le make this new report to be my knowledge, I'le say I know it, nay, I'le swear I saw it.

Cle. It will be best.

Thra. 'Twill move him.

[Enter Philaster.

Di. Here he comes. Good morrow to your honour, We have spent some time in seeking you.

Phi. My worthy friends, You that can keep your memories to know Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown On men disgrac'd for vertue: A good day Attend you all. What service may I do worthy your acceptation—

Di. My good Lord, We come to urge that vertue which we know Lives in your breast, forth, rise, and make a head, The Nobles, and the people are all dull'd With this usurping King: and not a man That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing As vertue, but will second your attempts.

Phi. How honourable is this love in you To me that have deserv'd none— Know my friends (You that were born to shame your poor Philaster, With too much courtesie) I could afford To melt my self in thanks; but my designs Are not yet ripe, suffice it, that ere long I shall imploy your loves: but yet the time is short of what I would.

Di. The time is fuller Sir, than you expect; That which hereafter will not perhaps be reach'd By violence, may now be caught; As for the King, You know the people have long hated him; But now the Princess, whom they lov'd.

Phi. Why, what of her—

Di. Is loath'd as much as he.

Phi. By what strange means—

Di. She's known a Whore.

Phi. Thou lyest.

Di. My Lord-

Phi. Thou lyest,

[Offers to draw and is held.

And thou shalt feel it; I had thought thy mind Had been of honour; thus to rob a Lady Of her good name, is an infectious sin, Not to be pardon'd; be it false as hell, 'Twill never be redeem'd, if it be sown Amongst the people, fruitful to increase All evil they shall hear. Let me alone, That I may cut off falshood, whilst it springs. Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man That utters this, and I will scale them all, And from the utmost top fall on his neck, Like Thunder from a Cloud.

Di. This is most strange; Sure he does love her.

Phi. I do love fair truth: She is my Mistress, and who injures her, Draws vengeance from me Sirs, let go my arms.

Thra. Nay, good my Lord be patient.

Cle. Sir, remember this is your honour'd friend, That comes to do his service, and will shew you Why he utter'd this.

Phi. I ask you pardon Sir, My zeal to truth made me unmannerly: Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you, Behind your back untruly, I had been As much distemper'd, and enrag'd as now.

Di. But this my Lord is truth.

Phi. O say not so, good Sir forbear to say so, 'Tis the truth that all womenkind is false; Urge it no more, it is impossible; Why should you think the Princess light—

Di. Why, she was taken at it.

Phi. 'Tis false, O Heaven 'tis false: it cannot be, Can it— Speak Gentlemen, for love of truth speak; Is't possible— can women all be damn'd—

Di. Why no, my Lord.

Phi. Why then it cannot be.

Di. And she was taken with her boy.

Phi. What boy—

Di. A Page, a boy that serves her.

Phi. Oh good gods, a little boy—

Di. I, know you him my Lord—

Phi. Hell and sin know him— Sir, you are deceiv'd; I'le reason it a little coldly with you; If she were lustful, would she take a boy, That knows not yet desire— she would have one Should meet her thoughts and knows the sin he acts, Which is the great delight of wickedness; You are abus'd, and so is she, and I.

Di. How you my Lord—

Phi. Why all the world's abus'd In an unjust report. Di. Oh noble Sir your vertues Cannot look into the subtil thoughts of woman. In short my Lord, I took them: I my self.

Phi. Now all the Devils thou didst flie from my rage, Would thou hadst ta'ne devils ingendring plagues: When thou didst take them, hide thee from my eyes, Would thou hadst taken Thunder on thy breast, When thou didst take them, or been strucken dumb For ever: that this foul deed might have slept in silence.

Thra. Have you known him so ill temper'd—

Cle. Never before.

Phi. The winds that are let loose, From the four several corners of the earth, And spread themselves all over sea and land, Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword To run me through—

Di. Why, my Lord, are you so mov'd at this—

Phi. When any falls from vertue I am distract, I have an interest in't.

Di. But good my Lord recal your self, And think what's best to be done.

Phi. I thank you. I will do it; Please you to leave me, I'le consider of it: Tomorrow I will find your lodging forth, And give you answer The readiest way.

Di. All the gods direct you.

Thra. He was extream impatient.

Cle. It was his vertue and his noble mind.

[Exeunt Di. Cle. and Thra.

Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took them, I'le follow him. O that I had a sea Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel; More circumstances will but fan this fire; It more afflicts me now, to know by whom This deed is done, than simply that 'tis done: And he that tells me this is honourable, As far from lies, as she is far from truth. O that like beasts, we could not grieve our selves, With that we see not; Bulls and Rams will fight, To keep their Females standing in their sight; But take 'em from them, and you take at once Their spleens away; and they will fall again Unto their Pastures, growing fresh and fat, And taste the waters of the springs as sweet, As 'twas before, finding no start in sleep. But miserable man; See, see you gods,

[Enter Bellario.

He walks still; and the face you let him wear When he was innocent, is still the same, Not blasted; is this justice— Do you mean To intrap mortality, that you allow Treason so smooth a brow— I cannot now Think he is guilty.

Bell. Health to you my Lord; The Princess doth commend her love, her life, And this unto you.

Phi. Oh Bellario, Now I perceive she loves me, she does shew it In loving thee my boy, she has made thee brave.

Bell. My Lord she has attired me past my wish, Past my desert, more fit for her attendant, Though far unfit for me, who do attend.

Phi. Thou art grown courtly boy. O let all women That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here, Here, by this paper she does write to me, As if her heart were Mines of Adamant To all the world besides, but unto me, A maiden snow that melted with my looks. Tell me my boy how doth the Princess use thee— For I shall guess her love to me by that.

Bell. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were Something allied to her; or had preserv'd Her life three times by my fidelity. As mothers fond do use their only sons; As I'de use one, that's left unto my trust, For whom my life should pay, if he met harm, So she does use me.

Phi. Why, this is wondrous well: But what kind language does she feed thee with—

Bell. Why, she does tell me, she will trust my youth With all her loving secrets; and does call me Her pretty servant, bids me weep no more For leaving you: shee'l see my services Regarded; and such words of that soft strain, That I am nearer weeping when she ends Than ere she spake.

Phi. This is much better still.

Bell. Are you ill my Lord—

Phi. Ill— No Bellario.

Bell. Me thinks your words Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, Nor is there in your looks that quietness, That I was wont to see.

Phi. Thou art deceiv'd boy: And she stroakes thy head—

Bell. Yes.

Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks—

Bell. She does my Lord.

Phi. And she does kiss thee boy— ha!

Bell. How my Lord—

Phi. She kisses thee—

Bell. Not so my Lord.

Phi. Come, come, I know she does.

Bell. No by my life.

Phi. Why then she does not love me; come, she does, I had her do it; I charg'd her by all charms Of love between us, by the hope of peace We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights Naked, as to her bed: I took her oath Thou should'st enjoy her: Tell me gentle boy, Is she not paralleless— Is not her breath Sweet as Arabian winds, when fruits are ripe— Are not her breasts two liquid Ivory balls— Is she not all a lasting Mine of joy—

Bell. I, now I see why my disturbed thoughts Were so perplext. When first I went to her, My heart held augury; you are abus'd, Some villain has abus'd you; I do see Whereto you tend; fall Rocks upon his head, That put this to you; 'tis some subtil train, To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.

Phi. Thou think'st I will be angry with thee; Come Thou shalt know all my drift, I hate her more, Than I love happiness, and plac'd thee there, To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds; Hast thou discover'd— Is she fain to lust, As I would wish her— Speak some comfort to me.

Bell. My Lord, you did mistake the boy you sent: Had she the lust of Sparrows, or of Goats; Had she a sin that way, hid from the world, Beyond the name of lust, I would not aid Her base desires; but what I came to know As servant to her, I would not reveal, to make my life last ages.

Phi. Oh my heart; this is a salve worse than the main disease. Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart To know it; I will see thy thoughts as plain, As I do know thy face.

Bell. Why, so you do. She is (for ought I know) by all the gods, As chaste as Ice; but were she foul as Hell And I did know it, thus; the breath of Kings, The points of Swords, Tortures nor Bulls of Brass, Should draw it from me.

Phi. Then 'tis no time to dally with thee; I will take thy life, for I do hate thee; I could curse thee now.

Bell. If you do hate you could not curse me worse; The gods have not a punishment in store Greater for me, than is your hate.

Phi. Fie, fie, so young and so dissembling; Tell me when and where thou di[d]st enjoy her, Or let plagues fall on me, if I destroy thee not.

Bell. Heaven knows I never did: and when I lie To save my life, may I live long and loath'd. Hew me asunder, and whilst I can think I'le love those pieces you have cut away, Better than those that grow: and kiss these limbs, Because you made 'em so.

Phi. Fearest thou not death— Can boys contemn that—

Bell. Oh, what boy is he Can be content to live to be a man That sees the best of men thus passionate, thus without reason—

Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know what 'tis to die.

Bell. Yes, I do know my Lord; 'Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep, A quiet resting from all jealousie; A thing we all pursue; I know besides, It is but giving over of a game that must be lost.

Phi. But there are pains, false boy, For perjur'd souls; think but on these, and then Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.

Bell. May they fall all upon me whilst I live, If I be perjur'd, or have ever thought Of that you charge me with; if I be false, Send me to suffer in those punishments you speak of; kill me.

Phi. Oh, what should I do— Why, who can but believe him— He does swear So earnestly, that if it were not true, The gods would not endure him. Rise Bellario, Thy protestations are so deep; and thou Dost look so truly, when thou utterest them, That though I [know] 'em false, as were my hopes, I cannot urge thee further; but thou wert To blame to injure me, for I must love Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon Thy tender youth; A love from me to thee Is firm, what ere thou dost: It troubles me That I have call'd the blood out of thy cheeks, That did so well become thee: but good boy Let me not see thee more; something is done, That will distract me, that will make me mad, If I behold thee: if thou tender'st me, Let me not see thee.

Bell. I will fly as far As there is morning, ere I give distaste To that most honour'd mind. But through these tears Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see A world of Treason practis'd upon you, And her and me. Farewel for evermore; If you shall hear, that sorrow struck me dead, And after find me Loyal, let there be A tear shed from you in my memorie, And I shall rest at peace.

[Exit Bel.

Phi. Blessing be with thee, What ever thou deserv'st. Oh, where shall I Go bath thy body— Nature too unkind, That made no medicine for a troubled mind!

[Exit. Phi.

Enter Arethuse.

Are. I marvel my boy comes not back again; But that I know my love will question him Over and over; how I slept, wak'd, talk'd; How I remembred him when his dear name Was last spoke, and how, when I sigh'd, wept, sung, And ten thousand such; I should be angry at his stay.

[Enter King.

King. What are your meditations— who attends you—

Are. None but my single self, I need no Guard, I do no wrong, nor fear none.

King. Tell me: have you not a boy—

Are. Yes Sir.

King. What kind of boy—

Are. A Page, a waiting boy.

King. A handsome boy—

Are. I think he be not ugly: Well qualified, and dutiful, I know him, I took him not for beauty.

King. He speaks, and sings and plays—

Are. Yes Sir.

King. About Eighteen—

Are. I never ask'd his age.

King. Is he full of service—

Are. By your pardon why do you ask—

King. Put him away.

Are. Sir—

King. Put him away, h'as done you that good service, Shames me to speak of.

Are. Good Sir let me understand you.

King. If you fear me, shew it in duty; put away that boy.

Are. Let me have reason for it Sir, and then Your will is my command.

King. Do not you blush to ask it— Cast him off, Or I shall do the same to you. Y'are one Shame with me, and so near unto my self, That by my life, I dare not tell my self, What you, my self have done.

Are. What have I done my Lord—

King. 'Tis a new language, that all love to learn, The common people speak it well already, They need no Grammer; understand me well, There be foul whispers stirring; cast him off! And suddenly do it: Farewel.

[Exit King.

Are. Where may a Maiden live securely free, Keeping her Honour safe— Not with the living, They feed upon opinions, errours, dreams, And make 'em truths: they draw a nourishment Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces, And when they see a vertue fortified Strongly above the battery of their tongues; Oh, how they cast to sink it; and defeated (Soul sick with Poyson) strike the Monuments Where noble names lie sleeping: till they sweat, And the cold Marble melt.

Enter Philaster.

Phi. Peace to your fairest thoughts, dearest Mistress.

Are. Oh, my dearest servant I have a War within me.

Phi. He must be more than man, that makes these Crystals Run into Rivers; sweetest fair, the cause; And as I am your slave, tied to your goodness, Your creature made again from what I was, And newly spirited, I'le right your honours.

Are. Oh, my best love; that boy!

Phi. What boy—

Are. The pretty boy you gave me.

Phi. What of him—

Are. Must be no more mine.

Phi. Why—

Are. They are jealous of him.

Phi. Jealous, who—

Are. The King.

Phi. Oh, my fortune, Then 'tis no idle jealousie. Let him go.

Are. Oh cruel, are you hard hearted too— Who shall now tell you, how much I lov'd you; Who shall swear it to you, and weep the tears I send— Who shall now bring you Letters, Rings, Bracelets, Lose his health in service— wake tedious nights In stories of your praise— Who shall sing Your crying Elegies— And strike a sad soul Into senseless Pictures, and make them mourn— Who shall take up his Lute, and touch it, till He crown a silent sleep upon my eye-lid, Making me dream and cry, Oh my dear, dear Philaster.

Phi. Oh my heart! Would he had broken thee, that made thee know This Lady was not Loyal. Mistress, forget The boy, I'le get thee a far better.

Are. Oh never, never such a boy again, as my Bellario.

Phi. 'Tis but your fond affection.

Are. With thee my boy, farewel for ever, All secrecy in servants: farewel faith, And all desire to do well for it self: Let all that shall succeed thee, for thy wrongs, Sell and betray chast love.

Phi. And all this passion for a boy—

Are. He was your boy, and you put him to me, And the loss of such must have a mourning for.

Phi. O thou forgetful woman!

Are. How, my Lord—

Phi. False Arethusa! Hast thou a Medicine to restore my wits, When I have lost 'em— If not, leave to talk, and do thus.

Are. Do what Sir— would you sleep—

Phi. For ever Arethusa. Oh you gods, Give me a worthy patience; Have I stood Naked, alone the shock of many fortunes— Have I seen mischiefs numberless, and mighty Grow li[k]e a sea upon me— Have I taken Danger as stern as death into my bosom, And laught upon it, made it but a mirth, And flung it by— Do I live now like him, Under this Tyrant King, that languishing Hears his sad Bell, and sees his Mourners— Do I Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length Under a womans falshood— Oh that boy, That cursed boy— None but a villain boy, to ease your lust—

Are. Nay, then I am betray'd, I feel the plot cast for my overthrow; Oh I am wretched.

Phi. Now you may take that little right I have To this poor Kingdom; give it to your Joy, For I have no joy in it. Some far place, Where never womankind durst set her foot, For bursting with her poisons, must I seek, And live to curse you; There dig a Cave, and preach to birds and beasts, What woman is, and help to save them from you. How heaven is in your eyes, but in your hearts, More hell than hell has; how your tongues like Scorpions, Both heal and poyson; how your thoughts are woven With thousand changes in one subtle webb, And worn so by you. How that foolish man, That reads the story of a womans face, And dies believing it, is lost for ever. How all the good you have, is but a shadow, I'th' morning with you, and at night behind you, Past and forgotten. How your vows are frosts, Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone. How you are, being taken all together, A meer confusion, and so dead a Chaos, That love cannot distinguish. These sad Texts Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you. So farewel all my wo, all my delight.

[Exit Phi.

Are. Be merciful ye gods and strike me dead; What way have I deserv'd this— make my breast Transparent as pure Crystal, that the world Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought My heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her eyes, To find out constancy— Save me, how black,

[Enter Bell.

And guilty (me thinks) that boy looks now— Oh thou dissembler, that before thou spak'st Wert in thy cradle false— sent to make lies, And betray Innocents; thy Lord and thou, May glory in the ashes of a Maid Fool'd by her passion; but the conquest is Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away, Let my command force thee to that, which shame Would do without it. If thou understoodst The loathed Office thou hast undergone, Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills, Lest men should dig and find thee.

Bell. Oh what God Angry with men, hath sent this strange disease Into the noblest minds— Madam this grief You add unto me is no more than drops To seas, for which they are not seen to swell; My Lord had struck his anger through my heart, And let out all the hope of future joyes, You need not bid me fly, I came to part, To take my latest leave, Farewel for ever; I durst not run away in honesty, From such a Lady, like a boy that stole, Or made some grievous fault; the power of gods Assist you in your sufferings; hasty time Reveal the truth to your abused Lord, And mine: That he may know your worth: whilst I Go seek out some forgotten place to die.

[Exit Bell.

Are. Peace guide thee, th'ast overthrown me once, Yet if I had another Troy to lose, Thou or another villain with thy looks, Might talk me out of it, and send me naked, My hair dishevel'd through the fiery streets.

[Enter a Lady

La. Madam, the King would hunt, and calls for you With earnestness.

Are. I am in tune to hunt! Diana if thou canst rage with a maid, As with a man, let me discover thee Bathing, and turn me to a fearful Hind, That I may die pursu'd by cruel Hounds, And have my story written in my wounds.

[Exeunt.

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, Galatea, Megra, Dion, Cleremont, Thrasilin, and Attendants.

K. What, are the Hounds before, and all the woodmen— Our horses ready, and our bows bent—

Di. All Sir.

King. Y'are cloudy Sir, come we have forgotten Your venial trespass, let not that sit heavy Upon your spirit; none dare utter it.

Di. He looks like an old surfeited Stallion after his leaping, dull as a Dormouse: see how he sinks; the wench has shot him between wind and water, and I hope sprung a leak.

Thra. He needs no teaching, he strikes sure enough; his greatest fault is, he Hunts too much in the Purlues, would he would leave off Poaching.

Di. And for his horn, has left it at the Lodge where he lay late; Oh, he's a precious Lime-hound; turn him loose upon the pursuit of a Lady, and if he lose her, hang him up i'th' slip. When my Fox-bitch Beauty grows proud, I'le borrow him.

King. Is your Boy turn'd away—

Are. You did command Sir, and I obey you.

King. 'Tis well done: Hark ye further.

Cle. Is't possible this fellow should repent— Me thinks that were not noble in him: and yet he looks like a mortified member, as if he had a sick mans Salve in's mouth. If a worse man had done this fault now, some Physical Justice or other, would presently (without the help of an Almanack) have opened the obstructions of his Liver, and let him bloud with a Dog-whip.

Di. See, see, how modestly your Lady looks, as if she came from Churching with her Neighbour; why, what a Devil can a man see in her face, but that she's honest—

Pha. Troth no great matter to speak of, a foolish twinkling with the eye, that spoils her Coat; but he must be a cunning Herald that finds it.

Di. See how they Muster one another! O there's a Rank Regiment where the Devil carries the Colours, and his Dam Drum major, now the world and the flesh come behind with the Carriage.

Cle. Sure this Lady has a good turn done her against her will: before she was common talk, now none dare say, Cantharides can stir her, her face looks like a Warrant, willing and commanding all Tongues, as they will answer it, to be tied up and bolted when this Lady means to let her self loose. As I live she has got her a goodly protection, and a gracious; and may use her body discreetly, for her healths sake, once a week, excepting Lent and Dog-days: Oh if they were to be got for mony, what a great sum would come out of the City for these Licences—

King. To horse, to horse, we lose the morning, Gentlemen.

[Exeunt.

Enter two Woodmen.

1 Wood.What, have you lodged the Deer—

2 Wood. Yes, they are ready for the Bow.

1 Wood. Who shoots—

2 Wood. The Princess.

1 Wood. No she'l Hunt.

2 Wood. She'l take a Stand I say.

1 Wood. Who else—

2 Wood. Why the young stranger Prince.

1 Wood. He shall Shoot in a Stone-bow for me. I never lov'd his beyond-sea-ship, since he forsook the Say, for paying Ten shillings: he was there at the fall of a Deer, and would needs (out of his mightiness) give Ten groats for the Dowcers; marry the Steward would have had the Velvet-head into the bargain, to Turf his Hat withal: I think he should love Venery, he is an old Sir Tristram; for if you be remembred, he forsook the Stagg once, to strike a Rascal Milking in a Medow, and her he kill'd in the eye. Who shoots else—

2 Wood. The Lady Galatea.

1 Wood. That's a good wench, and she would not chide us for tumbling of her women in the Brakes. She's liberal, and by my Bow they say she's honest, and whether that be a fault, I have nothing to do. There's all—

2 Wood. No, one more, Megra.

1 Wood. That's a firker I'faith boy; there's a wench will Ride her Haunces as hard after a Kennel of Hounds, as a Hunting-saddle; and when she comes home, get 'em clapt, and all is well again. I have known her lose her self three times in one Afternoon (if the Woods had been answerable) and it has been work enough for one man to find her, and he has sweat for it. She Rides well, and she payes well. Hark, let's go.

[Exeunt.

Enter Philaster.

Phi. Oh, that I had been nourished in these woods With Milk of Goats, and Acorns, and not known The right of Crowns, nor the dissembling Trains Of Womens looks; but dig'd my self a Cave, Where I, my Fire, my Cattel, and my Bed Might have been shut together in one shed; And then had taken me some Mountain Girl, Beaten with Winds, chast as the hardened Rocks Whereon she dwells; that might have strewed my Bed With leaves, and Reeds, and with the Skins of beasts Our Neighbours; and have born at her big breasts My large course issue. This had been a life free from vexation.

[Enter Bellario.

Bell. Oh wicked men! An innocent man may walk safe among beasts, Nothing assaults me here. See, my griev'd Lord Sits as his soul were searching out a way, To leave his body. Pardon me that must Break thy last commandment; For I must speak; You that are griev'd can pity; hear my Lord.

Phi. Is there a Creature yet so miserable, That I can pity—

Bell. Oh my Noble Lord, View my strange fortune, and bestow on me, According to your bounty (if my service Can merit nothing) so much as may serve To keep that little piece I hold of life From cold and hunger.

Phi. Is it thou— be gone: Go sell those misbeseeming Cloaths thou wear'st, And feed thy self with them.

Bell. Alas! my Lord, I can get nothing for them: The silly Country people think 'tis Treason To touch such gay things.

Phi. Now by my life this is Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight, Th'art fain again to thy dissembling trade: How should'st thou think to cozen me again— Remains there yet a plague untri'd for me— Even so thou wept'st and spok'st when first I took thee up; curse on the time. If thy Commanding tears can work on any other, Use thy art, I'le not betray it. Which way Wilt thou take, that I may shun thee; For thine eyes are poyson to mine; and I Am loth to grow in rage. This way, or that way—

Bell. Any will serve. But I will chuse to have That path in chase that leads unto my grave.

[Exeunt Phil. and Bell. severally.

Enter Dion and the Woodmen.

Di. This is the strangest sudden change! You Woodman.

1 Wood. My Lord Dion.

Di. Saw you a Lady come this way on a Sable-horse stubbed with stars of white—

2 Wood. Was she not young and tall—

Di. Yes; Rode she to the wood, or to the plain—

2 Wood. Faith my Lord we saw none.

[Exeunt Wood.

Enter Cleremont.

Di. Pox of your questions then. What, is she found—

Cle. Nor will be I think.

Di. Let him seek his Daughter himself; she cannot stray about a little necessary natural business, but the whole Court must be in Arms; when she has done, we shall have peace.

Cle. There's already a thousand fatherless tales amongst us; some say her Horse run away with her; some a Wolf pursued her; others, it was a plot to kill her; and that Armed men were seen in the Wood: but questionless, she rode away willingly. Enter King, and Thrasiline.

King. Where is she—

Cle. Sir, I cannot tell.

King. How is that— Answer me so again.

Cle. Sir, shall I lie—

King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that; I say again, where is she— Mutter not; Sir, speak you where is she—

Di. Sir, I do not know.

King. Speak that again so boldly, and by Heaven It is thy last. You fellows answer me, Where is she— Mark me all, I am your King. I wish to see my Daughter, shew her me; I do command you all, as you are subjects, To shew her me, what am I not your King— If I, then am I not to be obeyed—

Di. Yes, if you command things possible and honest.

King. Things possible and honest! Hear me, thou, Thou Traytor, that darest confine thy King to things Possible and honest; shew her me, Or let me perish, if I cover not all Cicily with bloud.

Di. Indeed I cannot, unless you tell me where she is.

King. You have betray'd me, y'have, let me lose The Jewel of my life, go; bring her me, And set her before me; 'tis the King Will have it so, whose breath can still the winds, Uncloud the Sun, charm down the swelling Sea, And stop the Flouds of Heaven; speak, can it not—

Di. No.

King. No, cannot the breath of Kings do this—

Di. No; nor smell sweet it self, if once the Lungs Be but corrupted.

King. Is it so— Take heed.

Di. Sir, take you heed; how you dare the powers That must be just.

King. Alas! what are we Kings— Why do you gods place us above the rest; To be serv'd, flatter'd, and ador'd till we Believe we hold within our hands your Thunder, And when we come to try the power we have, There's not a leaf shakes at our threatnings. I have sin'd 'tis true, and here stand to be punish'd; Yet would not thus be punish'd; let me chuse My way, and lay it on.

Di. He Articles with the gods; would some body would draw bonds, for the performance of Covenants betwixt them.

Enter Pha. Galatea, and Megra.

King. What, is she found—

Pha. No, we have ta'ne her Horse. He gallopt empty by: there's some Treason; You Galatea rode with her into the wood; why left you her—

Gal. She did command me.

King. Command! you should not.

Gal. 'Twould ill become my Fortunes and my Birth To disobey the Daughter of my King.

King. Y'are all cunning to obey us for our hurt, But I will have her.

Pha. If I have her not, By this hand there shall be no more Cicily.

Di. What will he carry it to Spain in's pocket—

Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the King, A Cook and a Taylor.

Di. Yet you may do well to spare your Ladies Bed-fellow, and her you may keep for a Spawner.

King. I see the injuries I have done must be reveng'd.

Di. Sir, this is not the way to find her out.

King. Run all, disperse your selves: the man that finds her, Or (if she be kill'd) the Traytor; I'le [make] him great.

Di. I know some would give five thousand pounds to find her.

Pha. Come let us seek.

King. Each man a several way, here I my self.

Di. Come Gentlemen we here.

Cle. Lady you must go search too.

Meg. I had rather be search'd my self.

[Exeunt omnes.

Enter Arethusa.

Are. Where am I now— Feet find me out a way, Without the counsel of my troubled head, I'le follow you boldly about these woods, O're mountains, thorow brambles, pits, and flouds: Heaven I hope will ease me. I am sick.

Enter Bellario.

Bell. Yonder's my Lady; Heaven knows I want nothing; Because I do not wish to live, yet I Will try her Charity. Oh hear, you that have plenty, From that flowing store, drop some on dry ground; see, The lively red is gone to guard her heart; I fear she faints. Madam look up, she breaths not; Open once more those rosie twins, and send Unto my Lord, your latest farewell; Oh, she stirs: How is it Madam— Speak comfort.

Are. 'Tis not gently done, To put me in a miserable life, And hold me there; I pray thee let me go, I shall do best without thee; I am well.

Enter Philaster.

Phil. I am to blame to be so much in rage, I'le tell her coolely, when and where I heard This killing truth. I will be temperate In speaking, and as just in hearing. Oh monstrous! Tempt me not ye gods, good gods Tempt not a frail man, what's he, that has a heart But he must ease it here—

Bell. My Lord, help the Princess.

Are. I am well, forbear.

Phi. Let me love lightning, let me be embrac'd And kist by Scorpions, or adore the eyes Of Basilisks, rather than trust to tongues, And shrink these veins up; stick me here a stone Lasting to ages in the memory Of this damn'd act. Hear me you wicked ones, You have put the hills on fire into this breast, Not to be quench'd with tears, for which may guilt Sit on your bosoms; at your meals, and beds, Despair await you: what, before my face— Poyson of Aspes between your lips; Diseases Be your best issues; Nature make a Curse And throw it on you.

Are. Dear Philaster, leave To be enrag'd, and hear me.

Phi. I have done; Forgive my passion, not the calm'd sea, When AEolus locks up his windy brood, Is less disturb'd than I, I'le make you know it. Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword, And search how temperate a heart I have; Then you and this your boy, may live and raign In lust without control; Wilt thou Bellario— I prethee kill me; thou art poor, and maist Nourish ambitious thoughts, when I am dead: This way were freer; Am I raging now— If I were mad I should desire to live; Sirs, feel my pulse; whether have you known A man in a more equal tune to die—

Bel. Alas my Lord, your pulse keeps madmans time, So does your tongue.

Phi. You will not kill me then—

Are. Kill you—

Bell. Not for a world.

Phi. I blame not thee, Bellario; thou hast done but that, which gods Would have transform'd themselves to do; be gone, Leave me without reply; this is the last Of all our meeting. Kill me with this sword; Be wise, or worse will follow: we are two Earth cannot bear at once. Resolve to do, or suffer.

Are. If my fortunes be so good to let me fall Upon thy hand, I shall have peace in death. Yet tell me this, will there be no slanders, No jealousies in the other world, no ill there—

Phi. No.

Are. Shew me then the way.

Phi. Then guide My feeble hand, you that have power to do it, For I must perform a piece of justice. If your youth Have any way offended Heaven, let prayers Short and effectual reconcile you to it.

Are. I am prepared.

Enter a Country-fellow.

Coun. I'le see the King if he be in the Forest, I have hunted him these two hours; if I should come home and not see him my Sisters would laugh at me; I can see nothing but people better horst than my self, that outride me; I can hear nothing but shouting. These Kings had need of good brains, this whooping is able to put a mean man out of his wits. There's a Courtier with his sword drawn, by this hand upon a woman, I think.

Phi. Are you at peace—

Are. With Heavens and Earth.

Phi. May they divide thy soul and body—

Coun. Hold dastard, strike a Woman! th'art a craven I warrant thee, thou wouldst be loth to play half a dozen of venies at wasters with a good fellow for a broken head.

Phi. Leave us good friend.

Are. What ill bred man art thou, to intrude thy self Upon our private sports, our recreations—

Coun. God 'uds, I understand you not, but I know the Rogue has hurt you.

Phi. Pursue thy own affairs: it will be ill To multiply bloud upon my head; which thou wilt force me to.

Coun. I know not your Rhetorick, but I can lay it on if you touch the woman.

[They fight.

Phi. Slave, take what thou deservest.

Are. Heavens guard my Lord.

Coun. Oh do you breath—

Phi. I hear the tread of people: I am hurt. The gods take part against me, could this Boor Have held me thus else— I must shift for life, Though I do loath it. I would find a course, To lose it, rather by my will than force.

[Exit Phil.

Coun. I cannot follow the Rogue. I pray thee wench come and kiss me now.

Enter Phara. Dion, Cle. Thra. and Woodmen.

Pha. What art thou—

Coun. Almost kil'd I am for a foolish woman; a knave has hurt her.

Pha. The Princess Gentlemen! Where's the wound Madam— Is it dangerous—

Are. He has not hurt me.

Coun. I'faith she lies, has hurt her in the breast, look else.

Pha. O sacred spring of innocent blood!

Di. 'Tis above wonder! who should dare this—

Are. I felt it not.

Pha. Speak villain, who has hurt the Princess—

Coun. Is it the Princess—

Di. I.

Coun. Then I have seen something yet.

Pha. But who has hurt her—

Coun. I told you a Rogue I ne're saw him before, I.

Pha. Madam who did it—

Are. Some dishonest wretch, Alas I know him not, And do forgive him.

Coun. He's hurt too, he cannot go far, I made my Fathers old Fox flie about his ears.

Pha. How will you have me kill him—

Are. Not at all, 'tis some distracted fellow.

Pha. By this hand, I'le leave ne'er a piece of him bigger than a Nut, and bring him all in my Hat.

Are. Nay, good Sir; If you do take him, bring him quick to me, And I will study for a punishment, Great as his fault.

Pha. I will.

Are. But swear.

Pha. By all my love I will: Woodmen conduct the Princess to the King, and bear that wounded fellow to dressing: Come Gentlemen, we'l follow the chase close.

[Ex. Are. Pha. Di. Cle. Thra. and 1 Woodman.

Coun. I pray you friend let me see the King.

2 Wood.That you shall, and receive thanks.

[Exeunt.

Coun. If I get clear with this, I'le go see no more gay sights.

Enter Bellario.

Bell. A heaviness near death sits on my brow, And I must sleep: Bear me thou gentle bank, For ever if thou wilt: you sweet ones all, Let me unworthy press you: I could wish I rather were a Coarse strewed o're with you, Than quick above you. Dulness shuts mine eyes, And I am giddy; Oh that I could take So sound a sleep, that I might never wake.

Enter Philaster.

Phi. I have done ill, my conscience calls me false, To strike at her, that would not strike at me: When I did fight, me thought I heard her pray The gods to guard me. She may be abus'd, And I a loathed villain: if she be, She will conceal who hurt her; He has wounds, And cannot follow, neither knows he me. Who's this; Bellario sleeping— If thou beest Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep

[Cry within.

Should be so sound, and mine, whom thou hast wrong'd, So broken: Hark I am pursued: you gods I'le take this offer'd means of my escape: They have no mark to know me, but my wounds, If she be true; if false, let mischief light On all the world at once. Sword, print my wounds Upon this sleeping boy: I ha' none I think Are mortal, nor would I lay greater on thee.

[Wounds him.

Bell. Oh death I hope is come, blest be that hand, It meant me well; again, for pities sake.

Phi. I have caught my self,

[Phi. falls.

The loss of bloud hath stayed my flight. Here, here, Is he that stroke thee: take thy full revenge, Use me, as I did mean thee, worse than death: I'le teach thee to revenge this luckless hand Wounded the Princess, tell my followers Thou didst receive these hurts in staying me, And I will second thee: Get a reward.

Bell. Fly, fly my Lord and save your self.

Phi. How's this— Wouldst thou I should be safe—

Bell. Else it were vain For me to live. These little wounds I have, Ha' not bled much, reach me that noble hand, I'le help to cover you.

Phi. Art thou true to me—

Bell. Or let me perish loath'd. Come my good Lord, Creep in amongst those bushes: who does know But that the gods may save your (much lov'd) breath—

Phi. Then I shall die for grief, if not for this, That I have wounded thee: what wilt thou do—

Bell. Shift for my self well: peace, I hear 'em come.

Within. Follow, follow, follow; that way they went.

Bell. With my own wounds I'le bloudy my own sword. I need not counterfeit to fall; Heaven knows, That I can stand no longer.

Enter Pha. Dion, Cle. and Thra.

Pha. To this place we have tract him by his bloud.

Cle. Yonder, my Lord, creeps one away.

Di. Stay Sir, what are you—

Bell. A wretched creature wounded in these Woods By Beasts; relieve me, if your names be men, Or I shall perish.

Di. This is he my Lord, Upon my soul that hurt her; 'tis the boy, That wicked boy that serv'd her.

Pha. O thou damn'd in thy creation! What cause could'st thou shape to hurt the Princess—

Bell. Then I am betrayed.

Di. Betrayed! no, apprehended.

Bell. I confess; Urge it no more, that big with evil thoughts I set upon her, and did take my aim Her death. For charity let fall at once The punishment you mean, and do not load This weary flesh with tortures.

Pha. I will know who hir'd thee to this deed—

Bell. Mine own revenge.

Pha. Revenge, for what—

Bell. It pleas'd her to receive Me as her Page, and when my fortunes ebb'd, That men strid o're them carelesly, she did showr Her welcome graces on me, and did swell My fortunes, till they overflow'd their banks, Threatning the men that crost 'em; when as swift As storms arise at sea, she turn'd her eyes To burning Suns upon me, and did dry The streams she had bestowed, leaving me worse And more contemn'd than other little brooks, Because I had been great: In short, I knew I could not live, and therefore did desire To die reveng'd.

Pha. If tortures can be found, Long as thy natural life, resolve to feel The utmost rigour.

[Philaster creeps out of a bush.

Cle. Help to lead him hence.

Phi. Turn back you ravishers of Innocence, Know ye the price of that you bear away so rudely—

Pha. Who's that—

Di. 'Tis the Lord Philaster.

Phi. 'Tis not the treasure of all Kings in one, The wealth of Tagus, nor the Rocks of Pearl, That pave the Court of Neptune, can weigh down That vertue. It was I that hurt the Princess. Place me, some god, upon a Piramis, Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice Loud as your Thunder to me, that from thence, I may discourse to all the under-world, The worth that dwells in him.

Pha. How's this—

Bell. My Lord, some man Weary of life, that would be glad to die.

Phi. Leave these untimely courtesies Bellario.

Bell. Alas he's mad, come will you lead me on—

Phi. By all the Oaths that men ought most to keep: And Gods do punish most, when men do break, He toucht her not. Take heed Bellario, How thou dost drown the vertues thou hast shown With perjury. By all that's good 'twas I: You know she stood betwixt me and my right.

Pha. Thy own tongue be thy judge.

Cle. It was Philaster.

Di. Is't not a brave boy— Well Sirs, I fear we were all deceived.

Phi. Have I no friend here—

Di. Yes.

Phi. Then shew it; Some good body lend a hand to draw us nearer. Would you have tears shed for you when you die— Then lay me gentle on his neck that there I may weep flouds, and breath out my spirit: 'Tis not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold Lockt in the heart of earth, can buy away This arm-full from me, this had been a ransom To have redeem'd the great Augustus Caesar, Had he been taken: you hard-hearted men, More stony than these Mountains, can you see Such clear pure bloud drop, and not cut your flesh To stop his life— To bind whose better wounds, Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears, Bath 'em. Forgive me, thou that art the wealth of poor Philaster.

[Enter King, Arethusa and a Guard.

King. Is the villain ta'ne—

Pha. Sir, here be two confess the deed; but say it was Philaster.

Phi. Question it no more, it was.

King. The fellow that did fight with him will tell us.

Are. Ay me, I know he will.

King. Did not you know him—

Are. Sir, if it was he, he was disguised.

Phi. I was so. Oh my stars! that I should live still.

King. Thou ambitious fool; Thou that hast laid a train for thy own life; Now I do mean to do, I'le leave to talk, bear him to prison.

Are. Sir, they did plot together to take hence This harmless life; should it pass unreveng'd, I should to earth go weeping: grant me then (By all the love a Father bears his Child) Their custodies, and that I may appoint Their tortures and their death.

Di. Death— soft, our Law will not reach that, for this fault.

King. 'Tis granted, take 'em to you, with a Guard. Come Princely Pharamond, this business past, We may with more security go on to your intended match.

Cle. I pray that this action lose not Philaster the hearts of the people.

Di. Fear it not, their overwise heads will think it but a trick.

[Exeunt Omnes.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline.

Thra. Has the King sent for him to death—

Di. Yes, but the King must know, 'tis not in his power to war with Heaven.

Cle. We linger time; the King sent for Philaster and the Headsman an hour ago.

Thra. Are all his wounds well—

Di. All they were but scratches; but the loss of bloud made him faint.

Cle. We dally Gentlemen.

Thra. Away.

Di. We'l scuffle hard before he perish.

[Exeunt.

Enter Philaster, Arethusa, and Bellario.

Are. Nay dear Philaster grieve not, we are well.

Bell. Nay good my Lord forbear, we are wondrous well.

Phi. Oh Arethusa! O Bellario! leave to be kind: I shall be shot from Heaven, as now from Earth, If you continue so; I am a man, False to a pair of the most trusty ones That ever earth bore, can it bear us all— Forgive and leave me, but the King hath sent To call me to my death, Oh shew it me, And then forget me: And for thee my boy, I shall deliver words will mollifie The hearts of beasts, to spare thy innocence.

Bell. Alas my Lord, my life is not a thing Worthy your noble thoughts; 'tis not a life, 'Tis but a piece of child-hood thrown away: Should I out-live, I shall then out-live Vertue and honour. And when that day comes, If ever I should close these eyes but once, May I live spotted for my perjury, And waste my limbs to nothing.

Are. And I (the woful'st maid as ever was, Forc'd with my hands to bring my Lord to death) Do by the honour of a Virgin swear, To tell no hours beyond it.

Phi. Make me not hated so.

Are. Come from this prison, all joyful to our deaths.

Phi. People will tear me when they find you true To such a wretch as I; I shall die loath'd. Injoy your Kingdoms peaceably, whil'st I For ever sleep forgotten with my faults, Every just servant, every maid in love Will have a piece of me if you be true.

Are. My dear Lord say not so.

Bell. A piece of you— He was not born of women that can cut it and look on.

Phi. Take me in tears betwixt you, For my heart will break with shame and sorrow.

Are. Why 'tis well.

Bell. Lament no more.

Phi. What would you have done If you had wrong'd me basely, and had found My life no price, compar'd to yours— For love Sirs, Deal with me truly.

Bell. 'Twas mistaken, Sir.

Phi. Why if it were—

Bell. Then Sir we would have ask'd you pardon.

Phi. And have hope to enjoy it—

Are. Injoy it— I.

Phi. Would you indeed— be plain.

Bell. We would my Lord.

Phi. Forgive me then.

Are. So, so.

Bell. 'Tis as it should be now.

Phi. Lead to my death.

[Exeunt.

Enter King, Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline.

King. Gentlemen, who saw the Prince—

Cle. So please you Sir, he's gone to see the City, And the new Platform, with some Gentlemen Attending on him.

King. Is the Princess ready To bring her prisoner out—

Thra. She waits your Grace.

King. Tell her we stay.

Di. King, you may be deceiv'd yet: The head you aim at cost more setting on Than to be lost so slightly: If it must off Like a wild overflow, that soops before him A golden Stack, and with it shakes down Bridges, Cracks the strong hearts of Pines, whose Cable roots Held out a thousand Storms, a thousand Thunders, And so made mightier, takes whole Villages Upon his back, and in that heat of pride, Charges strong Towns, Towers, Castles, Palaces, And layes them desolate: so shall thy head, Thy noble head, bury the lives of thousands That must bleed with thee like a sacrifice, In thy red ruines.

Enter Phil. Are. and Bell, in a Robe and Garland.

King. How now, what Mask is this—

Bell. Right Royal Sir, I should Sing you an Epithalamium of these lovers, But having lost my best ayres with my fortunes, And wanting a celestial Harp to strike This blessed union on; thus in glad story I give you all. These two fair Cedar-branches, The noblest of the Mountain, where they grew Straightest and tallest, under whose still shades The worthier beasts have made their layers, and slept Free from the Syrian Star, and the fell Thunder-stroke, Free from the Clouds, when they were big with humour, And delivered in thousand spouts, their issues to the earth: O there was none but silent quiet there! Till never pleas'd fortune shot up shrubs, Base under brambles to divorce these branches; And for a while they did so, and did raign Over the Mountain, and choakt up his beauty With Brakes, rude Thornes and Thistles, till thy Sun Scorcht them even to the roots, and dried them there: And now a gentle gale hath blown again That made these branches meet, and twine together, Never to be divided: The god that sings His holy numbers over marriage beds, Hath knit their noble hearts, and here they stand Your Children mighty King, and I have done.

King. How, how—

Are. Sir, if you love it in plain truth, For there is no Masking in't; This Gentleman The prisoner that you gave me is become My keeper, and through all the bitter throws Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him, Thus nobly hath he strangled, and at length Arriv'd here my dear Husband.

King. Your dear Husband! call in The Captain of the Cittadel; There you shall keep Your Wedding. I'le provide a Mask shall make Your Hymen turn his Saffron into a sullen Coat, And sing sad Requiems to your departing souls: Bloud shall put out your Torches, and instead Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks, An Ax shall hang like a prodigious Meteor Ready to crop your loves sweets. Hear you gods: From this time do I shake all title off, Of Father to this woman, this base woman, And what there is of vengeance, in a Lion Cast amongst Dogs, or rob'd of his dear young, The same inforc't more terrible, more mighty, Expect from me.

Are. Sir, By that little life I have left to swear by, There's nothing that can stir me from my self. What I have done, I have done without repentance, For death can be no Bug-bear unto me, So long as Pharamond is not my headsman.

Di. Sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy maid When ere thou dyest; for this time I'le excuse thee, Or be thy Prologue.

Phi. Sir, let me speak next, And let my dying words be better with you Than my dull living actions; if you aime At the dear life of this sweet Innocent, Y'are a Tyrant and a savage Monster; Your memory shall be as foul behind you As you are living, all your better deeds Shall be in water writ, but this in Marble: No Chronicle shall speak you, though your own, But for the shame of men. No Monument (Though high and big as Pelion) shall be able To cover this base murther; make it rich With Brass, with purest Gold, and shining Jasper, Like the Pyramids, lay on Epitaphs, Such as make great men gods; my little marble (That only cloaths my ashes, not my faults) Shall far out shine it: And for after issues Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms, That they will give you more, for your mad rage To cut off, unless it be some Snake, or something Like your self, that in his birth shall strangle you. Remember, my Father King; there was a fault, But I forgive it: let that sin perswade you To love this Lady. If you have a soul, Think, save her, and be saved, for my self, I have so long expected this glad hour, So languisht under you, and daily withered, That heaven knows it is my joy to dye, I find a recreation in't.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Where's the King—

King. Here.

Mess. Get you to your strength, And rescue the Prince Pharamond from danger, He's taken prisoner by the Citizens, Fearing the Lord Philaster.

Di. Oh brave followers; Mutiny, my fine dear Country-men, mutiny, Now my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons In honour of your Mistresses.

[Enter another Messenger.

Mess. Arm, arm, arm.

King. A thousand devils take 'em.

Di. A thousand blessings on 'em.

Mess. Arm O King, the City is in mutiny, Led by an old Gray Ruffin, who comes on In rescue of the Lord Philaster.

[Exit with Are. Phi. Bell.

King. Away to the Cittadel, I'le see them safe, And then cope with these Burgers: Let the Guard And all the Gentlemen give strong attendance.

[Ex. King.

[Manent Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline.

Cle. The City up! this was above our wishes.

Di. I and the Marriage too; by my life, This noble Lady has deceiv'd us all, a plague upon my self; a thousand plagues, for having such unworthy thoughts of her dear honour: O I could beat my self, or do you beat me and I'le beat you, for we had all one thought.

Cle. No, no, 'twill but lose time.

Di. You say true, are your swords sharp— Well my dear Country-men, what ye lack, if you continue and fall not back upon the first broken shin, I'le have you chronicled, and chronicled, and cut and chronicled and all to be prais'd, and sung in Sonnets, and bath'd in new brave Ballads, that all tongues shall troule you in Saecula Saeculorum my kind Can-carriers.

Thra. What if a toy take 'em i'th' heels now, and they run all away, and cry the Devil take the hindmost—

Di. Then the same Devil take the foremost too, and sowce him for his breakfast; if they all prove Cowards, my curses fly amongst them and be speeding. May they have Murreins raign to keep the Gentlemen at home unbound in easie freeze: May the Moths branch their Velvets, and their Silks only be worn before sore eyes. May their false lights undo 'em, and discover presses, holes, stains, and oldness in their Stuffs, and make them shop-rid: May they keep Whores and Horses, and break; and live mued up with necks of Beef and Turnips: May they have many children, and none like the Father: May they know no language but that gibberish they prattle to their Parcels, unless it be the goarish Latine they write in their bonds, and may they write that false, and lose their debts.

Enter the King.

King. Now the vengeance of all the gods confound them; how they swarm together! what a hum they raise; Devils choak your wilde throats; If a man had need to use their valours, he must pay a Brokage for it, and then bring 'em on, they will fight like sheep. 'Tis Philaster, none but Philaster must allay this heat: They will not hear me speak, but fling dirt at me, and call me Tyrant. Oh run dear friend, and bring the Lord Philaster: speak him fair, call him Prince, do him all the courtesie you can, commend me to him. Oh my wits, my wits!

[Exit Cle.

Di. Oh my brave Countrymen! as I live, I will not buy a pin out of your walls for this; Nay, you shall cozen me, and I'le thank you; and send you Brawn and Bacon, and soil you every long vacation a brace of foremen, that at Michaelmas shall come up fat and kicking.

King. What they will do with this poor Prince, the gods know, and I fear.

Di. Why Sir: they'l flea him, and make Church Buckets on's skin to squench rebellion, then clap a rivet in's sconce, and hang him up for a sign.

Enter Cleremont with Philaster.

King. O worthy Sir forgive me, do not make Your miseries and my faults meet together, To bring a greater danger. Be your self, Still sound amongst Diseases, I have wrong'd you, And though I find it last, and beaten to it, Let first your goodness know it. Calm the people, And be what you were born to: take your love, And with her my repentance, and my wishes, And all my prayers, by the gods my heart speaks this: And if the least fall from me not perform'd, May I be struck with Thunder.

Phi. Mighty Sir, I will not do your greatness so much wrong, As not to make your word truth; free the Princess, And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock Of this mad Sea breach, which I'le either turn Or perish with it.

King. Let your own word free them.

Phi. Then thus I take my leave kissing your hand, And hanging on your Royal word: be Kingly, And be not moved Sir, I shall bring your peace, Or never bring my self back.

King. All the gods go with thee.

[Exeunt Omnes.

Enter an old Captain and Citizens with Pharamond.

Cap. Come my brave Mirmidons let's fall on, let our caps Swarm my boys, and you nimble tongues forget your mothers Gibberish, of what do you lack, and set your mouths Up Children, till your Pallats fall frighted half a Fathom, past the cure of Bay-salt and gross Pepper. And then cry Philaster, brave Philaster, Let Philaster be deeper in request, my ding-dongs, My pairs of dear Indentures, King of Clubs, Than your cold water Chamblets or your paintings Spitted with Copper; let not your hasty Silks, Or your branch'd Cloth of Bodkin, or your Tishues, Dearly belov'd of spiced Cake and Custard, Your Robin-hoods scarlets and Johns, tie your affections In darkness to your shops; no, dainty Duckers, Up with your three pil'd spirits, your wrought valours. And let your un-cut Coller make the King feel The measure of your mightiness Philaster. Cry my Rose nobles, cry.

All. Philaster, Philaster.

Cap. How do you like this my Lord Prince, these are mad boys, I tell you, these are things that will not strike their top-sayles to a Foist. And let a man of war, an Argosie hull and cry Cockles.

Pha. Why you rude slave, do you know what you do—

Cap. My Pretty Prince of Puppets, we do know, And give your greatness warning, that you talk No more such Bugs-words, or that soldred Crown Shall be scratch'd with a Musket: Dear Prince Pippen, Down with your noble bloud; or as I live, I'le have you codled: let him lose my spirits, Make us a round Ring with your Bills my Hectors, And let us see what this trim man dares do. Now Sir, have at you; here I [lie], And with this swashing blow, do you swear Prince; I could hulk your Grace, and hang you up cross-leg'd, Like a Hare at a Poulters, and do this with this wiper.

Pha. You will not see me murder'd wicked Villains—

1 Cit. Yes indeed will we Sir, we have not seen one fo[r] a great while.

Capt. He would have weapons would he— give him a Broad-side my brave boyes with your pikes, branch me his skin in Flowers like a Satin, and between every Flower a mortal cut, your Royalty shall ravel, jag him Gentlemen, I'le have him cut to the kell, then down the seames, oh for a whip To make him Galoone-Laces, I'le have a Coach-whip.

Pha. O spare me Gentlemen.

Cap. Hold, hold, the man begins to fear and know himself, He shall for this time only be seal'd up With a Feather through his nose, that he may only see Heaven, and think whither he's going, Nay beyond-Sea Sir, we will proclaim you, you would be King Thou tender Heir apparent to a Church-Ale, Thou sleight Prince of single Sarcenet; Thou Royal Ring-tail, fit to fly at nothing But poor mens Poultry, and have every Boy Beat thee from that too with his Bread and Butter.

Pha. Gods keep me from these Hell-hounds.

2 Cit. Shall's geld him Captain—

Cap. No, you shall spare his dowcets my dear Donsels, As you respect the Ladies let them flourish; The curses of a longing woman kill as speedy as a Plague, Boys.

1 Cit. I'le have a Leg that's certain.

2 Cit. I'le have an Arm.

3 Cit. I'le have his Nose, and at mine own charge build a Colledge, and clap't upon the Gate.

4 Cit. I'le have his little Gut to string a Kit with, For certainly a Royal Gut will sound like silver.

Pha. Would they were in thy belly, and I past my pain once.

5 Cit. Good Captain let me have his Liver to feed Ferrets.

Cap. Who will have parcels else— speak.

Pha. Good gods consider me, I shall be tortur'd.

1 Cit. Captain, I'le give you the trimming of your hand-sword, and let me have his Skin to make false Scabbards.

2. He had no horns Sir had he—

Cap. No Sir, he's a Pollard, what would'st thou do with horns—

Cit. O if he had, I would have made rare Hafts and Whistles of 'em, but his Shin-bones if they be sound shall serve me.

[Enter Philaster.

All. Long live Philaster, the brave Prince Philaster.

Phi. I thank you Gentlemen, but why are these Rude weapons brought abroad, to teach your hands Uncivil Trades— Cap. My Royal Rosiclear, We are thy Mirmidons, thy Guard, thy Rorers, And when thy noble body is in durance, Thus do we clap our musty Murrions on, And trace the streets in terrour: Is it peace Thou Mars of men— Is the King sociable, And bids thee live— Art thou above thy foemen, And free as Phoebus— Speak, if not, this stand Of Royal blood shall be abroach, atilt, and run Even to the lees of honour.

Phi. Hold and be satisfied, I am my self Free as my thoughts are, by the gods I am.

Cap. Art thou the dainty darling of the King— Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules— Do the Lords bow, and the regarded scarlets, Kiss their Gumd-gols, and cry, we are your servants— Is the Court Navigable, and the presence struck With Flags of friendship— if not, we are thy Castle And this man sleeps.

Phi. I am what I desire to be, your friend, I am what I was born to be, your Prince.

Pha. Sir, there is some humanity in you, You have a noble soul, forget my name, And know my misery, set me safe aboard From these wild Canibals, and as I live, I'le quit this Land for ever: there is nothing, Perpetual prisonment, cold, hunger, sickness Of all sorts, all dangers, and all together The worst company of the worst men, madness, age, To be as many Creatures as a woman, And do as all they do, nay to despair; But I would rather make it a new Nature, And live with all those than endure one hour Amongst these wild Dogs.

Phi. I do pity you: Friends discharge your fears, Deliver me the Prince, I'le warrant you I shall be old enough to find my safety.

3 Cit. Good Sir take heed he does not hurt you, He's a fierce man I can tell you Sir.

Cap. Prince, by your leave I'le have a Sursingle, And Male you like a Hawke.

[He stirs.

Phi. Away, away, there is no danger in him: Alas he had rather sleep to shake his fit off. Look you friends, how gently he leads, upon my word He's tame enough, he need[s] no further watching. Good my friends go to your houses and by me have your pardons, and my love, And know there shall be nothing in my power You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes. To give you more thanks were to flatter you, Continue still your love, and for an earnest Drink this. All. Long maist thou live brave Prince, brave Prince, brave Prince.

[Exeunt Phi. and Pha.

Cap. Thou art the King of Courtesie: Fall off again my sweet youths, come and every man Trace to his house again, and hang his pewter up, then to The Tavern and bring your wives in Muffes: we will have Musick and the red grape shall make us dance, and rise Boys.

[Exeunt.

Enter King, Are. Gal. Meg. Cle. Dion, Thra. Bellario, and Attendants.

King. Is it appeas'd—

Di. Sir, all is quiet as this dead of night, As peaceable as sleep, my Lord Philaster Brings on the Prince himself.

King. Kind Gentlemen! I will not break the least word I have given In promise to him, I have heap'd a world Of grief upon his head, which yet I hope To wash away.

Enter Philaster and Pharamond.

Cle. My Lord is come.

King. My Son! Blest be the time that I have leave to call Such vertue mine; now thou art in mine arms, Me thinks I have a salve unto my breast For all the stings that dwell there, streams of grief That I have wrought thee, and as much of joy That I repent it, issue from mine eyes: Let them appease thee, take thy right; take her, She is thy right too, and forget to urge My vexed soul with that I did before.

Phi. Sir, [it is] blotted from my memory, Past and forgotten: For you Prince of Spain, Whom I have thus redeem'd, you have full leave To make an honourable voyage home. And if you would go furnish'd to your Realm With fair provision, I do see a Lady Me thinks would gladly bear you company: How like you this piece—

Meg. Sir, he likes it well, For he hath tried it, and found it worth His princely liking; we were ta'ne a bed, I know your meaning, I am not the first That Nature taught to seek a fellow forth: Can shame remain perpetually in me, And not in others— or have Princes salves To cure ill names that meaner people want—

Phi. What mean you—

Meg. You must get another ship To clear the Princess and the boy together.

Di. How now!

Meg. Others took me, and I took her and him At that all women may be ta'ne sometimes: Ship us all four my Lord, we can endure Weather and wind alike.

King. Clear thou thy self, or know not me for Father.

Are. This earth, How false it is— what means is left for me To clear my self— It lies in your belief, My Lords believe me, and let all things else Struggle together to dishonour me.

Bell. O stop your ears great King, that I may speak As freedom would, then I will call this Lady As base as be her actions, hear me Sir, Believe [y]our hated bloud when it rebels Against your reason sooner than this Lady.

Meg. By this good light he bears it hansomely.

Phi. This Lady— I will sooner trust the wind With Feathers, or the troubled Sea with Pearl, Than her with any thing; believe her not! Why think you, if I did believe her words; I would outlive 'em: honour cannot take Revenge on you, then what were to be known But death—

King. Forget her Sir, since all is knit Between us: but I must request of you One favour, and will sadly be denied.

Phi. Command what ere it be.

King. Swear to be true to what you promise.

Phi. By the powers above, Let it not be the death of her or him, And it is granted.

King. Bear away the boy To Torture, I will have her clear'd or buried.

Phi. O let me call my words back, worthy Sir, Ask something else, bury my life and right In one poor grave, but do not take away my life and fame at once. King. Away with him, it stands irrevocable.

Phi. Turn all your eyes on me, here stands a man The falsest and the basest of this world: Set swords against this breast some honest man, For I have liv'd till I am pitied, My former deeds are hateful, but this last Is pitifull, for I unwillingly Have given the dear preserver of my life

[Offers to kill himself.]

Unto his Torture: is it in the power Of flesh and blood, to carry this and live—

Are. Dear Sir be patient yet, or stay that hand.

King. Sirs, strip that boy.

Di. Come Sir, your tender flesh will try your constancie.

Bell. O kill me gentlemen.

Di. No, help Sirs.

Bell. Will you Torture me—

King. Hast there, why stay you—

Bell. Then I shall not break my vow, You know just gods, though I discover all.

King. How's that— Will he confess—

Di. Sir, so he says.

King. Speak then.

Bell. Great King if you command This Lord to talk with me alone, my tongue Urg'd by my heart, shall utter all the thoughts My youth hath known, and stranger things than these You hear not often.

King. Walk aside with him.

Di. Why speak'st thou not—

Bell. Know you this face my Lord—

Di. No.

Bell. Have you not seen it, nor the like—

Di. Yes, I have seen the like, but readily I know not where.

Bell. I have been often told In Court, of one Euphrasia, a Lady And Daughter to you; betwixt whom and me (They that would flatter my bad face would swear) There was such strange resemblance, that we two Could not be known asunder, drest alike.

Di. By Heaven and so there is.

Bell. For her fair sake, Who now doth spend the spring time of her life In holy Pilgrimage, move to the King, That I may scape this Torture.

Di. But thou speak'st As like Euphrasia as thou dost look, How came it to thy knowledge that she lives in Pilgrimage—

Bell. I know it not my Lord, But I have heard it, and do scarce believe it.

Di. Oh my shame, is't possible— Draw near, That I may gaze upon thee, art thou she— Or else her Murderer— where wert thou born—

Bell. In Siracusa.

Di. What's thy name—

Bell. Euphrasia.

Di. O 'tis just, 'tis she now, I do know thee, Oh that thou hadst died And I had never seen thee nor my shame, How shall I own thee— shall this tongue of mine E're call thee Daughter more—

Bell. Would I had died indeed, I wish it too, And so I must have done by vow, e're published What I have told, but that there was no means To hide it longer, yet I joy in this, The Princess is all clear.

King. What have you done—

Di. All is discovered.

Phi. Why then hold you me—

Di. All is discovered, pray you let me go. [He offers to stab himself.]

King. Stay him.

Are. What is discovered—

Di. Why my shame, it is a woman, let her speak the rest.

Phi. How! that again.

Di. It is a woman.

Phi. Blest be you powers that favour innocence.

King. Lay hold upon that Lady. Phi. It is a woman Sir, hark Gentlemen! It is a woman. Arethusa take My soul into thy breast, that would be gone With joy: it is a woman, thou art fair,

And vertuous still to ages, in despight of malice.

King. Speak you, where lies his shame—

Bell. I am his Daughter.

Phi. The Gods are just.

Di. I dare accuse none, but before you two The vertue of our age, I bend my knee For mercy.

Phi. Take it freely; for I know, Though what thou didst were undiscreetly done, 'Twas meant well.

Are. And for me, I have a power to pardon sins as oft As any man has power to wrong me.

Cle. Noble and worthy.

Phi. But Bellario, (For I must call thee still so) tell me why Thou didst conceal thy Sex, it was a fault, A fault Bellario, though thy other deeds Of truth outweigh'd it: All these Jealousies Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered, What now we know.

Bell. My Father would oft speak Your worth and vertue, and as I did grow More and more apprehensive, I did thirst To see the man so rais'd, but yet all this Was but a Maiden longing to be lost As soon as found, till sitting in my window, Printing my thoughts in Lawne, I saw a God I thought (but it was you) enter our Gates, My bloud flew out, and back again as fast As I had puft it forth, and suck't it in Like breath, then was I call'd away in hast To entertain you. Never was a man Heav'd from a Sheep-coat to a Scepter rais'd So high in thoughts as I, you left a kiss Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep From you for ever, I did hear you talk Far above singing; after you were gone, I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd What stir'd it so, Alas I found it love, Yet far from lust, for could I have but liv'd In presence of you, I had had my end, For this I did delude my noble Father With a feign'd Pilgrimage, and drest my self In habit of a boy, and, for I knew My birth no match for you, I was past hope Of having you. And understanding well That when I made discovery of my Sex, I could not stay with you, I made a vow By all the most religious things a Maid Could call together, never to be known, Whilst there was hope to hide me from mens eyes, For other than I seem'd; that I might ever Abide with you, then sate I by the Fount Where first you took me up.

King. Search out a match Within our Kingdom where and when thou wilt, And I will pay thy Dowry, and thy self Wilt well deserve him.

Bell. Never Sir will I Marry, it is a thing within my vow, But if I may have leave to serve the Princess, To see the vertues of her Lord and her, I shall have hope to live.

Are. I Philaster, Cannot be jealous, though you had a Lady Drest like a Page to serve you, nor will I Suspect her living here: come live with me, Live free, as I do, she that loves my Lord, Curst be the wife that hates her.

Phi. I grieve such vertues should be laid in earth Without an Heir; hear me my Royal Father, Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much, To think to take revenge of that base woman, Her malice cannot hurt us: set her free As she was born, saving from shame and sin.

King. Set her at liberty, but leave the Court, This is no place for such: you Pharamond Shall have free passage, and a conduct home Worthy so great a Prince, when you come there, Remember 'twas your faults that lost you her, And not my purpos'd will.

Pha. I do confess, Renowned Sir.

King. Last joyn your hands in one, enjoy Philaster This Kingdom which is yours, and after me What ever I call mine, my blessing on you, All happy hours be at your Marriage joyes, That you may grow your selves over all Lands, And live to see your plenteous branches spring Where ever there is Sun. Let Princes learn By this to rule the passions of their blood, For what Heaven wills, can never be withstood.

[Exeunt Omnes.

PHILASTER.

(A) Phylaster. | Or, | Love lyes a Bleeding. | Acted at the Globe by his Majesties Servants. | Written by Francis Baymont and John Fletcher. Gent. | Printed at London for Thomas Walkley, and are to be sold at his | shop at the Eagle and Child, in Brittaines Bursse. 1620.

This edition contains, on the title-page, a wood-cut representing 'The Princes' (The Princess) and 'A Cuntrie Gentellman' seated on the ground, and 'Phielaster' leaving them. See the scene in Act IV (ante, p. 125).

(B) Philaster. | Or, | Love lies a Bleeding. | As it hath beene diverse times Acted, | at the Globe, and Blacke-Friers, by | his Majesties Servants. | Written by Francis Beaumont, and John Fletcher. Gent. | The second Impression, corrected, and | amended. | London, | Printed for Thomas Walkley, and are to | be solde at his shoppe, at the signe of the | Eagle and Childe, in Brittaines Bursse. | 1622.

(C) Philaster, | or | Love lies a Bleeding. | Acted at the Globe, and Blackfriers. By his Majesties Servants. | The Authors being Francis Beaumont, and John Fletcher. | Gentlemen. | The third Impression. | London, | Printed by A.M. for Richard Hawkins, and are to | be sold at his Shop in Chancery-lane, adjoyning | to Sarjeants Inne gate. 1628.

(D) Philaster, | or | Love lies a Bleeding. | Acted at the Globe, and Blackfriers. By his Majesties Servants. | The Authors being Francis Beaumont, and John Fletcher. Gentlemen. | The fourth Impression. | London, | Printed by W.J. for Richard Hawkins, and are to | be sold at his Shop in Chancery-lane, adjoyning | to Sarjeants Inne gate. 1634.

(E) Philaster | or | Love lies a Bleeding. | Acted at the Globe, and Blackfriers. By his Majesties Servants. | The Authors being Francis Beaumont, and John Fletcher. Gent. | The fourth Impression. | London, | Printed by E. Griffin for William Leak, and are to | be sold at his shop in Chancerie Lane neere | the Rowles. 1639.

(F) Philaster: | or, | Love lies a bleeding. | Acted at the Globe, and Blackfriers, By his Majesties Servants. | The Authors being Francis Beaumont, and John Fletcher, Gent. | The fifth Impression. | London: | Printed for William Leake, and are to be sold at his shop at the | Sign of the Crown in Fleetstreet, between the two | Temple Gates. 1652.

This edition contains on the title-page a small device of fleurs-de-lis.

(G) Philaster | or, | Love lies a bleeding. | Acted at the Globe, and Black-friers, By his Majesties Servants. | The Authors being Francis Beaumont, and John Fletcher, Gent. | The fifth Impression. | London: | Printed for William Leake, and are to be sold at his shop at the | signe of the Crown in Fleet street, between the two | Temple Gates. 1652.

On the back of the title-page (which contains the device of a crown) is a list of books printed or sold by William Leake. (H) Philaster | or, | Love lies a Bleeding: | Acted at the Globe, and Blackfriers, By his Majesties servants. | The Authors being Francis Beaumont, and John Fletcher, Gent. | The sixth Impression. | London, | Printed for William Leake, and are to be sold at his shop at the | signe of the Crown in Fleet street, between the two | Temple Gates.

This edition, conjecturally dated 1660 in the British Museum Catalogue, contains, on the back of the title-page and at the foot of the list of persons represented, lists of books printed or sold by William Leake at the Crown in Fleet Street.

A The first few pages and the last few pages of the play as printed in A vary so completely from the other texts that it has been necessary to print them separately. See post, pp. 401-3, 413-17.

B contains the following Address to the Reader:

'To the Reader.

'Courteous Reader. Philaster, and Anthusa his love, have laine so long a bleeding, by reason of some dangerous and gaping wounds, which they received in the first Impression, that it is wondered how they could goe abroad so long, or travaile so farre as they have done. Although they were hurt neither by me, nor the Printer; yet I knowing and finding by experience, how many well-wishers they have abroad, have adventured to bind up their wounds, & to enable them to visite upon better tearmes, such friends of theirs, as were pleased to take knowledge of them, so mained [— maimed] and deformed, as they at the first were; and if they were then gracious in your sight, assuredly they will now finde double favour, being reformed, and set forth suteable, to their birth, and breeding.

By your serviceable Friend,

Thomas Walkley.'

C prefixes to the play the following Address repeated with variations of spelling in the five later quartos:

'The Stationer, To the Understanding Gentrie.

'This play so affectionatly taken, and approoved by the Seeing Auditors, or Hearing Spectators, (of which sort, I take, or conceive you to bee the greatest part) hath received (as appeares by the copious vent of two [D and E three; F, G and H four] Editions,) no lesse acceptance with improovement of you likewise the Readers, albeit the first Impression swarm'd with Errors, prooving it selfe like pure Gold, which the more it hath beene tried and refined, the better is esteemed; the best Poems of this kind, in the first presentation, resemble [D-H resembling] that all tempting Minerall newly digged up, the Actors being onely the labouring Miners, but you the skilfull Triers and Refiners: Now considering [D-H consider] how currant this hath passed, under the infallible stampe of your judicious censure, and applause, and (like a gainefull Office in this Age) eagerly sought for, not onely by those that have heard & seene it, [F-H omit heard and] but by others that have meerely heard thereof: here you behold me acting the Merchant-adventurers part, yet as well for their satisfaction, as mine owne benefit, and if my hopes (which I hope, shall never lye like this LOVE A BLEEDING,) doe fairely arrive at their intended Haven, I shall then be ready to lade a new Bottome, and [D-H omit and] set foorth againe, to game the good-will both of you and them. To whom respectively I convey this hearty greeting: ADIEU.'

P. 75 1. 3. A and B omit] or, Love lies a Bleeding. II. 4 et seq. A]

THE ACTORS NAMES.

King of Cecely Arathusa, the Princesse. Phylaster. Pharamont, a Spanish Prince, Leon, a Lord. Gleremon} Two Noble Gentlemen Trasilm} Bellario a Page, Leon's daughter. Callatea, a Lady of Honor. Megra, another Lady. A Waiting Gentlewoman. Two Woodmen. A Countrey Gallant.

An Old Captaine.

And Souldiers. A Messenger.

B omits the list of Persons Represented in the Play and also The Scene, etc.1. 5. C-H] The persons presented are these, viz. In A the play, down to I. 26 of p. 78, begins as follows]

Actus I. Scoen. I.

Enter at severall doores Lord Lyon, Trasiline, followes him, Clerimon meetes them.

TRASILINE. Well ore tane my Lord.

LYON. Noble friend welcome, and see who encounters us, honourable good Clerimon.

CLE. My good Lord Lyon, most happily met worthy Trasiline, Come gallants, what's the newes, the season affoords us variety, the novilsts of our time runnes on heapes, to glut their itching eares with airie sounds, trotting to'th burse; and in the Temple walke with greater zeale to heare a novall lye, than a pyous Anthum tho chanted by Cherubins.

TRANS. True Sir: and holds set counsels, to vent their braine sicke opinions with presagements what all states shall designe.

CLE. Thats as their intelligence serves.

LYON. And that shall serve as long as invention lastes, there dreames they relate, as spoke from Oracles, or if the gods should hold a synod, and make them their secritaries, they will divine and prophecie too: but come and speake your thoughts of the intended marriage with the Spanish Prince. He is come you see, and bravely entertainde.

TRAS. Hee is so, but not married yet.

CLE. But like to be, and shall have in dowry with the Princesse this Kingdome of Cycele.

LEON. Soft and faire, there is more will forbid the baines, then say amen to the marriage: though the King usurped the Kingdome during the non-age of the Prince Phylaster, hee must not thinke to bereave him of it quite; hee is now come to yeares to claime the Crowne.

TRA. And lose his head i' the asking.

LEON. A diadem worn by a headlesse King wold be wonderous, Phylaster is too weake in power.

CLE. He hath many friends.

LEON. And few helpers.

TRA. The people love him.

LEON. I grant it, that the King knowes too well, And makes this Contract to make his faction strong: Whats a giddy-headed multitude, That's not Disciplinde nor trainde up in Armes, To be trusted unto— No, he that will Bandy for a Monarchic, must provide Brave marshall troopes with resolution armde, To stand the shock of bloudy doubtfull warre, Not danted though disastrous Fate doth frowne, And spit all spightfull fury in their face: Defying horror in her ugliest forme, And growes more valiant, the more danger threats; Or let leane famine her affliction send, Whose pining plagues a second hel doth bring, Thei'le hold their courage in her height of spleene, Till valour win plenty to supply them, What thinke ye, would yer feast-hunting Citizens Indure this—

TRA. No sir, a faire march a mile out of town that their wives may bring them their dinners, is the hottest service that they are trained up to.

CLE. I could wish their experience answered their loves, Then should the much too much wrongd Phylaster, Possesse his right in spight of Don and the divell.

TRA. My heart is with your wishes.

LEON. And so is mine, And so should all that loves their true borne Prince, Then let us joyne our Forces with our mindes, In whats our power to right this wronged Lord, And watch advantage as best may fit the time To stir the murmuring people up, Who is already possest with his wrongs, And easily would in rebellion rise, Which full well the King doth both know and feare, But first our service wee'le proffer to the Prince, And set our projects as he accepts of us; But husht, the King is comming.

sound musicke within.

Enter the King, Pharamont, the Princesse, the Lady Gallatea, the Lady Megra, a Gentlewoman, loith Lords attending, the King takes his seate.

KING. Faire Prince, Since heavens great guider furthers our intents, And brought you with safety here to arrive Within our Kingdome and Court of Cycele, We bid you most welcome, Princely Pharamont, And that our Kingly bounty shall confirme, Even whilst the Heavens hold so propitious aspect Wee'le crowne your wisht desires (with our owne)

Lend me your hand sweet Prince, hereby enjoy A full fruition of your best contents, The interest I hold I doe possesse you with, Onely a fathers care, and prayers retaine, That heaven may heape on blessings, take her Prince, A sweeter Mistrisse then the offered Language of any dame, were she a Queene whose eye speakes common Loves, and comfort to her servants: Last Noble son, for so I [now must call you, what I have done thus publik, is not to add a comfort [in particular to you or mee, but all, and to confirme the Nobles and the Gentrie of our Kingdom'e by oath to your succession: which [shall be within this moneth at most.

l. 28. B-E] nor Lords, nor Ladyes. l. 33. B and C] desired. l. 34. Folio] ghess.

p. 76, l. 1. B and C] Faith sir. l. 8. F] for me.

p. 77, l. 1. B and C] Faith, I thinke. l. 29. B] quickly to bee. l. 33. D-H] To give a stranger. l. 35. In B-H bracket ends with this line. l. 37. F, G, H and the Folio misprint] your daughter. l. 38. C, D and E] your subjects.

p. 78, l. 9. E-H] I making. l. 13. B] To talke of her. l. 22. B omits] a. l. 29. A] when it is. l. 30. A-E] is wrong'd.

p. 79, l. 4. A] And in me. l. 5. A, B and C] By more then all the gods, I hold it happy. D and E] By more then all my hopes I hold it happy (A-E repeat happy at beginning of next line). l. 9. A] rotting age. l. 10. A-H] Open. l. 15. A] finde it out. l. 16. A, B and C] And tye it to this Countrey. By all the gods. l. 17. A] as easie to the subjects. l. 27. A] Miracles. l. 30. A prints this stage-direction after the word 'shape' in l. 32. l. 31. A] he'le sell him, he has so be praised his shape. B-G] sell himself. l. 33. A] large praises. ll. 34 and 35. A] Let mee bee swallowed quicke, if I can finde all the Anatomy of yon mans vertues unseene to sound enough. l. 37. A, B and C] of trifles. l. 39. A omits] And.

p. 80, l. 1. A] for favour. l. 3. A, B and C] how pale he lookes, he feares. l. 4. A] And this same whoresone conscience, ah how it jades us. l. 5. B] intent. l. 6. A] speak on. l. 11. F and G] turn'd. l. 15. A] sweet Princesse. l. 25. A, B and C add after] ashes, as I. l. 26. F] goes. l. 30. A] his hidden bowels. l. 31. A, B and C] By the just gods it shall. l. 35. A] I Prince of popines, I will make it well appeare. l. 40. A] Turcle.

p. 81, l. 2. A] make. ll. 3 and 4. A] I doe not fancy this choller, Sure hee's somewhat tainted. l. 8. A] be constant gentle heavens, I'le run. B and C] Be constant Gentlemen, by heaven I'le run. l. 10. A-D] we are all one. l. 17. A] leave it to me. l. 19. D, E and G] were. l. 21. A-F] any thing but thine. G] any thine. l. 25. A and B] belied. l. 26. A] and from his presence. Spit all those bragges. B-E] presence. B omits] all. ll. 29 and 30. A omits] to brave our best friends. You deserve our frown. l. 31. A] noblier. l. 32. A gives this speech to Leon, i.e., Dion. l. 34. A] never. l. 35. A] This is. l. 37. A omits] your. l. 38. A] but i'm sure tothers the man set in my eye. A-G] my eye.

p. 82, l. 4. A] griefe. l. 5. A] My wants. A, B and C] now nothing hopes and feares. l. 7. A and B omit] not. l. 8. A] Phy: whispers the King. l. 9. A omits this line. ll. 12 and 13. A] has a soule of Christall,* to read their actions, though mens faces. l. 14. A omits] Do. A] but view the stranger well. F] your stranger. l. 15. A] throw all. A] braveries. l. 16. A] a true truant. l. 17. A] I am no augery. l. 21. A] you are. l. 22. A] smooth your selfe. l. 24. A, B and C omit] not. l. 25. A-E] my weake starres lead me too; [A:] all my weake fortunes. l. 26. A] dare. A omits parenthesis. B] presence (speake, that is. l. 30. A omits] Sure. l. 31. A] Yes, with my fathers spirit is heare O King. l. 32. A] and now. l. 34. A-E] these are. l. 39. The Folio misprints] hour hand.

p. 83, l. 2. A] of your life. l. 4. A omits] your. A omits] Ex. King, Pha. and Are. B-H omit] and. l. 6. A gives this speech to 'Tra.', i.e., Thrasiline. l. 8. A-G] is he not. l. 10. A-G] I could. A] their nation. l. 12. A gives this speech to 'Lad.', i.e., Lady. A, B and C] Gods comfort. A omits] Lady. l. 13. A] has. A, B and C with variations of spelling add] Exet Ladies. l. 27. A] recluses. l. 28. A] How doe your worth sir. l. 30. A omits] I find. l. 32. A] Sir, the King must please. l. 33. A] who you are, and what you are. F] what we are and who you are. l. 34. The Folio misprints] juriuries. A] your wrongs and vertues. l. 35. A] but call your father to you. l. 38. A omits] to.

p. 84, l. 2. A] Friend. l. 3. A-D] our eares. l. 5. F] Do you love. l. 6. A] Lyon. l. 10. A] a penance. l. 12. For this line A after l. 8 reads] Enter a Gentlewoman. l. 13. A] I'st to me, or to any of these Gentlemen you come. l. 14. Here and at l. 17 for 'La.' A reads] Gent-Woo. l. 16. A] you are. l. 17. A omits] to. l. 18. A, B and C] her faire hand. l. 19. A adds] Exit Gent-Woo. l. 21. F] But do weigh. l. 28. A] and white fiend frends in her cheekes. l. 30. In D-H the stage-direction 'Ex. Phil.' is printed at the end of l. 29. l. 32. B-G] th' art. l. 35. A] Enter Princesse and her Gentlewoman. ll. 36 and 37. For 'Are.' A reads throughout the scene 'Prin.' and for 'La.' reads 'Woo.'

p. 85, l. 2. A] at the first. l. 5. A-H] dangers. l. 7. A] dares. l. 12. A, B and C] You all are. l. 17. A omits] Fear. A] mee thoughts. l. 21. A] with such a woing jesture and puicke looks. l. 22. A omits] him. l. 27. A] his ends. l. 29. A] To things so opposite, so bound to put. l. 31. A omits] of mine. l. 32. A omits] Of. l. 35. A] that will not have your dens withstood. l. 37. A, B and C] passions. l. 38. A] into. l. 40. A and B] Oh it is well.

p. 86, l. 5. A] dos so ill become. l. 14. A] Injury. l. 15. A] found to be so great. l. 24. A] Both, or I do. A, B and C] by heaven. l. 25. A] if I not calmely die injoy them both. l. 28. H] give. l. 40. A and B] I can indure it.

p. 87, l. 1. A] saw yet. l. 2. A-H] dreadfully. l. 3. A] speake. l. 4. A-D] horrible. l. 7. A] a womans tongue. l. 10. A] you that beg. l. 11. F and G] unprice. l. 17. F] The love. l. 22. A omits] doth. B-E] doe. l. 26. A] might have. l. 35. A omits] The gods. l. 36. A] the worthier, and the better blest. l. 39. A] unwelcom'd.

p. 88, l. 5. A-G] true loves. l. 9. B-H] fountaines. l. 11. A] as much againe. l. 13. A] bred in the vayle. l. 16. A] eye. l. 17. A] make them. l. 23. A] the course. l. 24. A] it yeelded him his life. l. 30. A] me thoughts. l. 32. A] whom was glad. l. 33. F and G] The truliest. F] gentle. l. 36. A] Enter woman. In A and B this stage-direction occurs after l. 37. l. 38. A for 'La.' reads] Woo. l. 39. A] Phylaster doe.

p. 89, l.4. A, B and C] the voyce of God. l.5. A] yet I doe not hide my selfe. l.13. Folio has a full-stop at end of line. l.14. A omits] for my sake do. l.16. A] Enter Pharamont and a woman. ll. 19 and 20. A] the deare love within my heart. l.21. A] if I shall have an answer or no, derectly I am gone. l.23. A] To what— what would he have answer. B-E omit] an. l.25. A-D] forbare. l.29. A] though it lie. l.31. A, B and C] And by the gods. l.32. A] if then. l.35. A omits this line, though the words 'Pha. You' are printed as turn-over words at the foot of the page.

p. 90, l.I. A] nothing. l.5. A] so much. ll. 7 and 8. A] but wert the Church at the high Altar. l.9. A] injurie. l.10. A. omits] Sir. l.12. A and B omit] Phi. l.16. A omits] But. l.17. A, B and C] but yet. l. 19. A] before our hearts bee so, then if you please. l.21. A-E] dreaming forme. l.23. A] your thoughts. l.28. A] and his boy, called Bellario. l.31. A] thy owne. l.33. A reads 'Boy' for 'Bell.' here and throughout the play. l.34. A] And I am onely yet some thing. l.35. A-H] were apt. l.37. A] crafty.

p. 91, l.6. A] bear'st. l.7. A] claps. A omits] yet. l.8. A] but when judgement comes no rule those passions. l.17. A omits] grown. l.30. A] dos plead. l.32. A] knowst. l.33. A] dos call. l.34. B] dwellest.

p. 92, l.5. A] your loves, your sighes. l.7. B-H] heaven. A] Exit boy. l.8. C] Lord. l. II. A] I must see. l.12. A omits] Phi. l.18. A] before in my life. l.20. A] I'le hound at her. Madame. F] Heer's on boulted, I'le bound at her. l.21. In A the words 'Enter Gallatea' occur after the word 'fault' in l.19. l.25. A] y'are. l.26. A omits] but. 1. 28. A] those two I onely barre. l.32. A] Couch. l.33. A] a play and a banquet. ll.34 and 35. A] to make you blush, this is my owne hayre, and this face. l.36. A-D and F] a peny painting. l.37. A and H] wardrop. G] wardrope. l.38. A] the jealous silke-mans wife curse our doing.

p. 93, l.l.A] You much mistake me Lady. l.2. Folio misprints Pha. For Gal. After this line A adds] Pha. Y'are very dangerous bitter, like a potion. Gal. No sir, I do not mean to purge you, though I meane to purge a little time on you. l.8. A and B] Cardus. A] about five. l. II. A] and Conger. A] they are dullers. l.12. A] the vitall anymales. l.13. A] all this time. 11. 16 and 17. A] Shee's daintie, and must be courted with a shewer of gold. l.19. A] What ha you. l.20. A] you'd have silver fort. l.21. A] a worse time sir. l.23. A] gold safe for you. A adds] She slips behind the Orras. II. 25 and 26. In place of these two lines A] Gal. Shes comming sir behind, Will ye take white money yet for all this. Exit. l.-27. A] If there be but two such in this Kingdome more. B-H] If there be but two such more in this Kingdome. l.28. A] ene. l.31. A] would breed. l.39. A] doe not call you Lady. p. 94, l.I.A-G] talke an houre. l.5. A] your lip. l.6. A] time enough. l.8. A-D] and red enough. l.10. A) twend Cherries dyde in blush. l. II. A] deepe beames. I.14. A] sweete looker on. A] these blessings. l.15. A. adds as a stage-direction] They kisse. l.18. A omits] off. l.19. A] it may be a number without Probatum. l.20. A] by such neate Poetrie. l.26. A] but you. l.28. A] now you ha don't before me. l.29. A] And yet. l.31-A] never. l.34. A] ye. l.36. A-H and Folio] this is all.

p. 95, l. 5. A] my masculine imagination. l. 7. B] mine honor. l. 9. A] my other. l. 10. A] Sir Timen a schoolemaister. l. 11. A] keepe. B and C add] Madam. l. 14. Folio] apoplex— l. 15. A omits 'And' and 'Sir.' l. 17. A] tied toot. l. 19. A omits] Look well about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. l. 21. A and B] whether. l. 24. A omits the second 'I dare not.' l. 27. A] give worship to you thoughts. l. 28. A] y'are. l. 29. A] I shall visit you. l. 30. A] most uncertaine. l. 34. A] Exit ambo. B] Exeunt. l. 35. A] the Orras. l. 38. A] Dowsabell. A] for it. l. 39. A omits] Gal.

p. 96, l. 1. A] Enter Princesse and her Gentlewoman. These characters are in A indicated by 'Prin.' and 'Wo.' throughout the scene. l. 3. A omits] Madam. l. 8. A-H and Folio] boy. A] i'st not. l. 11. In A this stage-direction occurs after l. 7. l. 14. A-G] has done. l. 19. A] they shall be. l. 23. A, B and C] suspected. l. 26. A] presents. l. 31. A-H] was never. l. 34. A] Enter Boy. He is called 'Boy' throughout the scene. l. 35. A] your sad. l. 38. A] Then trust in me.

p. 97, l. 6. A] a crosse schoole-maister. l. 8. A] water. l. 9. H and Folio misprint] dreath. F, G and H] trouble. l. 10. A omits] out. l. 11. A] it selfe. l. 12. A, B and C] doth. l. 13. A] Boy. I know not Madame, what it is. l. 18. A, B and C] respect to. l. 19. A, B and C] with thinking. l. 20. A, B and C] thinke away. l. 21. A] with mingling starts, and crying. l. 22. A omits] and hastily. A] in streetes. l. 24. A] any woman. l. 28. A] drop beades. ll. 30 and 31. A] taught to your Lords credit. l. 35. A] thus away. l. 36. A] Enter the three Gentlewomen, Megra, Gallatea, and another Lady. B-H omit] and. l. 37. A gives this speech to 'Tra.', i.e., Thrasiline. l. 38. A-G] talke an hour.

p. 98, l. 4. A] theyre. B] theile scarce find. l. 5. A and B] your owne lodging. l. 6. A] Enter Pharamont, the Princesse boy, and a woman. l. 9. A] pleasing. l. 11. A] I shall choose. l. 12. A omits this stage-direction. 1. 13. Here and throughout the scene 'Are.' is 'Prin.' in A. A omits] my Lord. A and B] these Ladyes. l. 15. A gives this speech to Galatea. l. 17. A omits] you. l. 18. A omits] has. A] Hilus. l. 20. A] Why this is that. l. 27. A] to hide it. l. 32. A] you have. G] y'are. l. 34. A omits] Come. l. 35. A omits] Ex. Gal. and Meg. B-H omit] and.

p. 99 l. 3. A as stage-direction after the word 'late' on p. 98, l. 37 reads] Enter the King, the Princesse, and a guard. l. 4. C omits] your. l. 11. A. omits] have. l. 12. A. omits] Ex. Are. and Bel. B-H omit] and. l. 19. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion, and adds] Exit Leon. l. 28. A] from the earth. l. 33. A] undeserving child. A omits] of mine. l. 34. A] if she has not broke your lawes, but how could I. l. 36. A] in wrong.

p. 100, l. 9. A] get from them. A omits] I think. A] shee's. l. 11. F] not time. l. 14. A omits] louder yet. l. 15. A] your pleasure… your hearing. l. 16. A] meditation. Folio] meditations— ll. 17 and 18. A] and lowder, not yet, I do not thinke he sleepes, having such larumes by him, once more, Pharamont. They knock. ll. 17 and 18. B] his Larum. l. 19. A] Enter Pharamont above. l. 23. A] Prince, Prince. l. 26. A] The same, sir. Come downe sir. l. 29. A omits] Pha. below. l. 31. A] I have certain private reasons to my selfe sir. ll. 31 and 32. A as a marginal direction] They prease to come in. l. 33. A omits] Gentlemen. l. 35. A] I must come, and will come enter. D-H and Folio print 'Enter' after a space at the end of preceding line. l. 36. A] dishonoured thus. l. 39. A] runagates. p. 101, l. 3. A omits] so. l. 4. A omits] I'le. l. 5. A omits] known. 1. 6. A] I so no. A omits] Meg. Above. l. 8. A omits] and ready. l. 9. A] tis a poore. l. 15. A] whoting. l. 18. A] still in store. l. 22. A-E and G] wring. l. 24. A] chide you dearly. l. 25. A omits] worthy. l. 26. A] his lodging. l. 28. A] Stage. l. 31. A, B and C] Pray God. Il. 31 and 32. A has marginal stage-direction] they come downe to the King. l. 33. A omits this stage-direction. l. 37. A] Apothecaries.

p. 102, l. 2. A] all sinne and hell. l. 5. A omits] and. l. 7. A] reball rymes. l. 9. B, C and D] ye. l. 13. A-G] those gods. l. 15. A] that shall make. l. 17. A] Upon wals. A] or any thing. l. 19. A] her fayre leaps And out-lying, and will discover all, and will dishonour her. l. 22. A omits} and. l.31. A] sinke alone. l.32. A] in print. ll. 33 and 34. A] they're. l. 37. A omits] nay.

p. 103, l. 1. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion. l. 3. A] quarters. ll. 5 and 6. A] Do so, and i'le forget your--. l. 6. A] and the Guard. B-H omit] and. l. 7. A omits] Why. A and B] fit for Hercules. l. 8. A] worthy. C] woman. A] aside. l. 10. A-H] has. l. 11. A-H] uttered. B and C] metled. l. 12. A] will not cure him. l. 13. A, B and C] infections. l. 14. A] chast, brave. l. 16. A] leave yee. l. 18. A] Exit three Gentlemen. l. 20. A] Enter three Gentlemen. B-H omit] and. 1.21. A] And doubtlesse. l.25. A] for all us. A omits] should. l.33. strange thing.

p. 104, l. 3. A omits this line. l. 5. A omits] bent. l. 6. A omits] that's. l. 8. A] draweth. l. 10. A] and we can now comfort. l. 11. A omits] it. l. 12. A gives this speech to Cleremont. l. 13. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion. l. 15. A] on his beleefe. l. 17. A] Lords to his owne good. l. 19. A omits] nay. l. 23. A gives this speech to Cleremont. ll. 27 and 28. A] frame on men disgrace for vertue. l. 30. A omits] good. l.33-A] dull. l.35-A omits] or. A] knowes. B] knowne. l. 38. A] deserved more.

p. 105, l. 2. A and B] to thankes. l. 3. A] sufficient. l. 5. A omits] Sir. l.6. A omits] will not. l.8. A] long have. l. 11. A gives this speech to 'Tra.', i.e., Thrasiline. l. 14. B by mistake gives this speech to Di. l. 16. A] He offers to draw his sword, and is held. l. 18. A] then to rob. l. 22. A] faithfull to increase. l. 24. A] cut out falsehood where it growes. l. 25. A] that man. l. 32. A] injuries. l. 38. A] your pardon. l. 39. A] makes.

p. 106, l. 1. A] backs. l. 5. A] tis then truth that women all are false. B and C] Tis then truth that woman-kind is false. D] thee truth. D-G] woman-kind. l. 6. A] tis. l. 9. A, B and C] by heaven. ll. 10 and 11. A omits] for love of truth speak; Is't possible— l. 10. B and C] for God's love speake. l. 12. A omits this line. l.13. A gives this line to 'Tra.', i.e., Thrasiline. l. 14. A gives this speech to Cleremont. l. 20. A] a little milder. l. 22. A] desires. l. 23. A] and know the sinne she acts. B and C] know. l. 26. A gives this speech to Cleremont. l. 30. A] women. l. 34. A and B] mine eyes. l. 35. A] daggers in thy breast. B] tane. l. 36. A] stuacke dumb. C] did. l. 37. A] this fault might. Il. 38 and 39. In A the speakers are transposed.

p. 107, l. 1. A omits] several. l. 2. A] and spreads them selfe. l. 3. A] Meetes not a fayre on. What, etc. l. 4. A] thorow. l. 5. A gives this speech to 'Tra.', i.e., Thrasiline. l.6. A-D] fall. A, B and C] distracted. l. 10. A] do't. l. 12. A] lodgings. A omits] forth. ll. 14 and 15. A] Omnes. All the gods direct you the readiest way. B, C and D] Di. All the gods direct you The readiest way. A adds] Exit three Gent. ll. 16-18. A omits these lines. l. 18. B-H omit] and. l. 19. A] aske um where he tooke her. l. 22. A] would but flame. l. 24. A] the deede. A] it is. l. 30. A] take them. l. 33. F] spring. l. 36. A prints after the words 'miserable man'] Enter boy. l. 39. A] not blush.

p. 108, l. 4. In A throughout the scene Bellario is indicated by 'Boy.' l. 6. A adds stage-direction] He gives him a letter. l. 10. A omits] my. 1. 12. A] But far unfit for me that doe attend. l. 13. A] my boy. l. 15. A] with this paper. l. 16. A] twines of Adamant. l. 19. A] How dos. l. 20. A omits this line. l. 26. A] meet. l. 28. A] Why, tis. l. 31. A] with al her maiden store. l. 33. A] service. l. 34. A] rewarded. l. 36. A] speakes. l. 38. A] not well. B-G] not ill.

p. l09, l. 1. A] fall out from your tongue, so unevenly. l. 2. A] quicknesse. l. 12. A, B and C] Never my Lord, by heaven. l. 13. A, B and C] That's strange, I know, etc. l. 16. A] I bid her do 't. l. 18. A] delight. l. 19. A] as to her Lord. l. 21. A] paradise. B] parrallesse. C and D] parallesse. l. 25. A] Yes, now I see why my discurled thoughts. 1. 27. A] augeries. l. 29. A] where you tend. l. 31. A] noble friend. 1. 35. A] with sparrowes eyes. l. 39. A] and of goates. l. 40. A] that weighed from.

p. 110, l. 2. A] come. l. 4. A] main deceit. l. 8. A-H] As I do now thy face. l. 14. A] wrack it. l. 17. A] hate me. l. 19. A omits} Greater. A] to me. l. 21. Folio] dist. l. 22. A] upon me. A adds stage-direction] He drawes his sword. l. 23. A, B and C] By heaven I never did. l. 27. A-G] kiss those limbs. l. 29. A-D] Fear'st. l. 32. A] could be. l. 34. A omits] but. B] doest. l. 39. A] giving ore againe, That must be lost.

p. 111 l. i. A, B and C] those. l. 2. A] and then thou wilt. l. 7. B by mistake omits] Phi. l. 12. B-E] doest. B] utterst. H] uttrest. 1. 13. Folio misprints] known. l. 17. A] Thy honest lookes. l. 18. B] doest. l. 19. A] thy blood. l. 23. A] tenderest. l. 27. A] honord frame. l. 28. A] haplesse. l.31. A] sorrowes. l. 33. Folio has full-stop at end of line. l. 34. A omits] Exit Bel. l. 36. A] what ere. A, B and C] deservest. F] deserv'd. l. 37. A and B] bathe. A-G] this body. 1. 38. A] mad'st no medicine to.

p. 112, l. 1. A] Enter Princesse. l. 2. For 'Are.' A prints throughout scene] Prin. A omits] again. l. 4. A] slept, make talke. l. 5. A] remember. 1. 6. A] was last spoken, And how spoke when I sight song. l. 9. A] What, in your. B-E and G] What, at your. F] What of your. l. 17. A] ugly Sir. l. 28. A and B] Put him away I say. l. 32. A omits] Sir. 1. 33. A] a command. l. 35. A] that shame to you, ye are one. l. 36. A omits] unto. l. 37. A] by the gods.

p. 113, l. i. B] I have. A omits] my Lord. l. 7. A] maid. l. 8. A, B and C] honour faire. l. 10. A] truth. l. 14. A] Oh how they mind to. 1. 15. A] foule sicke. A] stricke the mountaines. l. 16. A] be sleeping. 1. 25. E-H misprint] He right. A-G] honour. l. 35. A] Oh my misfortune. B, a space being left between the 'i' and the 'f'] My mi fortune. C] Oh my my fortune. l. 36. F] Let me go.

p. 114, l. 1. H] your letters. l. 2. A] make. l. 3. A] Who shall now sing. l. 5. A] and make them warme. l. 7. A, B and C] eye-lids. l. 8. A] Make me. D, E, G and H] Philast. l. 12. A] get you. l. 14. Folio misprints] Bell. l. 16. A] All service in servants. l. 17. A] and all desires to doe well, for thy sake. l. 21. A] unto. l. 29. A by mistake omits] Phi. A] O ye gods, ye gods. l. 30. A] a wealthy patience. l. 31. A] above the shocke. l. 32. A] mischiefe. l. 33. Folio misprints] live. 1. 34. A] as deepe as. l. 36. A] And flowing it by. l. 38. A] heare. 1. 39. A omits] must.

p. 115, l. 8. A] poyson. l. 10. A] and there dig. A] beasts and birds. 1. 11. A] women are. A omits} and help to save them from you. l. 16. A omits] so. A] men. l. 17. A] reade. l. 21. A] frost. l. 28. A] you gods. F omits] ye. l. 30. A omits} as pure Crystal. C] a pure Christall. 1. 32. A] shall women turne their eies. l. 33. A after 'constancy'] Enter boy. l. 34. A] And vile. B] And guiltily. l. 35. A] spokst. H] speak'st. 1. 37. A] And to betray innocence. l. 38. A] Maist.

p. 116, l. 3. A] undertooke. l. 5. A] Lest we should. l. 7. A] angry with me. l. 11. A] has. B-H] hath. l. 17. A] some greater fault. l. 18. A] suffering. l. 21. A] Exit Boy. l. 22. A] thou hast. 1. 23. A] But if I had another time to lose. l. 25. A] Might take. l. 30. A omits] a Lady. l. 35. A] Exit Princesse.

p. 117, ll. 2 and 3. A] Enter the King, Pharamont, Princesse, Megra, Gallatea, Leon, Cle., Tra. and two Wood-men. l. 7. A] you are. l. 8. A] trespasses. l. 9. A, B and C] here's none. A] dares. l. 12. A] lake. 1. 17. A] pernitious. A omits'] loose. l. 18. A, B and C] pursue. A] any Lady. l. 22. A-H] obeyed. l. 23. A and B] furder. l. 24. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion, and the following speech to 'Tra.' l. 31. A-G] yon Lady. l. 32. A and B] neighbours. l. 33. A] can you see. 1. 34. A gives this speech to Cleremont, B and C to 'Tra.' A, B and C] Faith no great. l. 37. A gives this speech to 'Tra.', and the following speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion. l. 38. A] regient. A] damn'd.

p. 118, l. 1. A] the flesh and the world. l. 3. A] done against. l. 4. A] dares. l. 8. A omits] her. l. 9. A-D] health. l. 10. A] except. l. 11. A and B] large summe. 11. 14 and 15. A] Exit King and Lords, Manet Wood-men. l. 16. A] the Deere below. l. 23. A] strange. l. 28. A] docets. B, C and D] Dowcets. A] his steward. A-E omit] had. l. 30. A] he and old Sir Tristram. A] ye. l. 31. A] a Stagge. l. 37. A, B and C] by the gods. A omits'] she's. A] a fault or no.

p. 119 l.2. A-G] haunches. l.5. B-G] have been. l. 8. A] harke else. A omits] Exeunt. l. 9. A] Enter Philaster solus. l. 10. A] the woods. l. 11. A] acrons. B-H] akrons. l. 13. A] of cruell love. ll. 17 and 18. A] chaste as the rocke whereon she dwelt. l. 20. A] borne out her. l. 22. A] Enter Boy. l. 24. A-H omit] man. l. 25. A] I see. 11. 27 and 28. A] that brake. I-33-A] fortunes. l. 38. A omits this and the five succeeding lines.

p. 120, l. l. B, C and D] wearest. l. 6. A, B and C] by the gods. 1. 8. A] thou art. l. 11. A, B and C] Even so thou wepst, and lookst, and spokst. A] when I first tooke thee. l. 12. A. omits] up. l. 17. A adds] Exit Phylaster. l. 20. A] Exit Boy. B-H omit and, l. 21. A] Enter Leon, Cle. and Wood-men. l. 22. A-G] chance. l. 23. A] Cle. My Lord Leon. C and D] My Lord Don. l. 25. A] starre-dyed with stars. B-G] studded with. l. 26. A] I Wood. l. 28. A omits]Exeunt Wood. 1. 29. A omits] Enter Cleremont. l. 30. B] you questions. C] yon. l. 36. B-G] ran. l. 37. A and B] twas.

p. 121, l. 3. A] Enter the King, Tra. and other Lords. l. 5. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion. l. 6. A and B] Howe's that. l. 7. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion. l. 18. A] why then. ll. 20 and 21. A] heare me then, thou traytor. l. 21. A] darst. B-H] dar'st. ll. 21 and 22. A] possible and honest, things. l. 24. A, B and C] Faith I cannot. A] you'le. l. 25. A] you have let me. l. 27. A-G] her here before me. l. 32. A] a King. l. 33. A gives this speech to Cleremont. A] no more smell. l. 35. A omits Is it so and reads Take you heed. l. 36. A omits] Sir.

p. 122, l. 1. A] still we. l. 3. A] power we thinke we have. l. 5. A] here I stand. l. 6. A] these be punisht. l. 9. A] covenant. l. 10. A omits] and. l. 14. A] into the Wood with her. l. 19. A] O y'are all. A and B] hurts. l. 22. A] by this sword. l. 26. A, B and C] Yes, you may. A] to leave. A-G] Lady bedfellow. ll. 26 and 27. A] bedfellow here for a spincer. l. 31. Folio] may. l. 32. A] I, some would. ll. 33 and 34. A gives these two speeches to the King and Pharamont respectively. l. 37 A gives this speech to Galatea. A] the search my selfe. l. 38. A] Enter the Princesse solus. l. 39. A] finde out the way.

p. 123, l. 3. A] or mountaines. A-C] through. l. 4. A adds stage-direction] She sits downe. l. 5. A] Enter Boy. l. 6. A] Yonder my Lady is. A] gods knowes. B and C] god knowes. l.9. A] grounds. l.12. A omits] more. A] twines. l. 13. F, G] [oh. H] he stirres. l. 14. A] i'st. 1. 18. A omits] I am well. l. 24. A-H] you gods. l. 25. A] Who's hee. l. 26. A] ease it with his tongue. l. 27. A, B and C] helpe, helpe. l. 29. A] lightnings. l. 31. A, B and C] trust the tongues. A, B and C with variations of spelling add] of hell-bred women [B woman]. Some good god looke downe. l. 33. A omits] ages in the. l. 35. A-G] put hills of fire. A] my breast.

p. 124, l. 2. D-G] makes. l.3. B] through. l.5. A]to inrage. l.8. D, E and G] looks up. l. 9. A omits] it. B] know't. l. 10. A omits] do but. l. 16. A] thy way. l. 18. A] you have. l. 19. A] in more. l. 20. A gives this speech to 'Prin.', i.e., Arethusa. A] madmens. l. 23. A gives this speech to 'Boy', and the following speech to 'Prin.' l. 24. A, B and C] the world. l. 25. Folio misprints] Pha. l. 28. A adds stage-direction] Exit Boy. B] Exit Bell. l. 29. A] meetings. l. 32. B-H] fortune. l. 33. A] peace with earth. l. 34. A and B] there will. l. 35. A-E] jealousie. A] no il here. l. 37. A] Shew me the way to joy.

p. 125, l. 2. A] to 't. l. 4. A] Countrey Gallant. l. 5. A] I will. 1. 6. A] this two houres. C, D and E] these two houre. l. 8. B] then then. E, G and H] out rid. l. 9. A] strong braines. l. 10. A] The whooping would put a man. l. 12. A adds] Phy. wounds her. l. 13. A-heaven. l. 14. A] Nay, they. l. 16. A] thoud'st. C-H] wouldest. A, B and C omit] of. l. 17. B and C] veines. A] with a man. l. 21. A] God judge me. B and C] God uds me. l. 25. A] Rethrack. l. 26. A prints 'They fight' at the end of the following line. l. 28. A] Gods guard. B and C] Heaven. l. 31. A] would this bore. l. 33. A] though I doe lose it. l. 34. A prints 'Exit Phy.' after the word 'Rogue' in the following line. l. 36. A omits] and.

p. 126, l. 3. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion. l. 6. A and B] By God she lies. A] i' the breast. l. 7. A] Oh secret spring. l.12. A] Omnes. l. l. 14. A] But who has done it. l. 16. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion. l. 19. A] I let. l. 20. A] about 's eares. l. 23. A] By this ayre. A-E] never. A omits] of him. l. 24. B and C] all to you in my hat. l. 28. A] sinne. l. 29. F] I will. I will. l. 31. A, B and C] Woodman. l. 32. A] unto the King. l. 34. A prints simply] Exit. l. 36. A gives this speech to Cleremont. l. 37. A, B and C] of this. A] I'le see. B-H] goe to see. l. 38. A] Enter the Boy. l. 39. A] O heavens! heavy death sits on my brow.

p. 127, l. 2. A] sweete on all. l. 5. A] my eyes. l. 6. A omits\ Oh. 1. 17. A prints stage-direction after the word 'broken' in l. 19. l. 21. A] but my blood. l. 24. A] upon his sleeping body, he has none. l. 25. A] He wounds him. l. 27. A] it wisht. A] for pittie. l. 28. A prints after the first 'here' in following line] Phy. falls downe. l. 36. A] Hide, hide. 1. 39. B-G] were it.

p. 128, l. 1. A omits] little. l. 2. A] has not. l. 4. A] Art thou then true to me. l. 5. A omits] good. l. 6. A] these. l. 7. A] your breeth in't, Shromd. l. n. A omits one 'follow.' l. 14. A omits] That. A adds] Boy falls downe. l.15. B-H omit] and. l. 16. A] I tract. l.17. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion, and the next to Cleremont. l. 22. A gives this speech to Thrasiline. l. 23. A] it is. l. 25. F] the creation. 1. 26. A and B] to strike. l. 31. A, B and C] did make. l. 34. A] tortour. l. 36. A] My. l. 37. A gives this speech to Cleremont.

p. 129, l. 1. A, B and C] carelesse. l. 4. A] them. l. 6. A] Sines. 1. 14. A] vigour. A prints the stage-direction at the end of the following line. 1. 16. A] innocents. l. 17. A] know you the price of what. l. 19. A] My Lord Phylaster. A omits] Tis. l. 23. H] as hurt. l. 24. A] on a Pyramades. l. 26. A] as you. l. 27. A] teach the under-world. l. 32. A] this untimely courtesie. l. 33. C-H] he is. A] you beare me hence. 1. 35. A] to punish. l. 38. A, B and C] by all the gods.

p. 130. A gives the first five speeches to Dion, Thrasiline, Bellario, Dion and Bellario respectively. l. 2. C] Is it. l. 3. A] Well, I feare me sir, we. B-H] fear me, we. A omits] all. l. 9. A] gentlie. B-G] gently. l. 10. A and B] breath forth my. l. 11. A] Not all the wealth of Pluto. l. 17. A] a cleere. l. 18. A, B and C] bitter. l. 19. A] haires. l. 20. A] bathe them. l. 21. A] Enter the King, Princesse, and a guard. l. 23. A gives this speech to Dion. A] but sute it was Phylaster. l. 24. A gives this speech to the King, and the following one to Pharamond. l. 25. A-D] will tell us that. l. 26. A] Ay me, I know him well. l. 28. A] Sir, if it were he. l. 32. beare them. l. 35. A omits] go. l. 36. A] loves. 1. 37. A omits] and. l. 38. A-G] deaths. l. 39. A] your law.

p. 131 I. 3. A] We shall. A] on with our intended match. A adds] Exit King and Pharamont. l. 4. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion, and the following one to Cleremont. l. 7. A omits] Omnes. B-H add] Finis Actus quarti. l. 10. This speech and the seven succeeding ones are given by A to 'Leon' (Dion), Cleremont, Thrasiline, 'Leon', Thrasiline, Cleremont, 'Leon' and Thrasiline respectively. l. 19. A omits] Exeunt. l. 20. A] shufle. A omits] Exeunt. l. 21. A] Enter Phylaster, Princesse, Boy, in prison. B-H omit] and. l. 22. A, B and C] Nay faith Philaster. l.23. B] forbeare, were wondrous well. l.24. A] and Bellario. l. 25. A] shut. A omits] as now from Earth. l. 27. A] the truest ones. l. 29. A] forgive me, and. p. 132, l. 2. A-G] Should I outlive you. A] I should out live. B-H] I should then outlive. l. 3. A] come. l. 4. A-H] shall close. l. 6. A] waste by time. B] waste by limbs. l. 7. A-G] that ever. A] ever liv'd. 1. 10. A] houre behind it. l. 15. A] Kingdome. l. 17. A] Every just maiden. l. 19. A] My deerest, say not so. l. 21. A] woman. l.26. A] Why— what. l. 28. A] life no whit compared. l. 32. B] your pardon. 1. 36. A gives this speech to 'Prin.', i.e., Arethusa. p. 133, l. 1. A] Enter the King, Leon, Cle., Tra. and a guard. B-H omit] and. l. 3. A gives this speech to 'Leon', i.e., Dion. l. 4. A] Plotforme. 1. 8. A gives this speech to Cleremont. l. 9. A adds] Exit Tra. 1. 12. A] to lose it. A-E] lightly. A after the word 'lightly' adds stage-direction] aside. l. 14. A] stocke. l. 17. A] weightier. l. 18. A] the heate. l. 20. A] and leaves them desolate. l. 24. A] Enter Phi., Princesse, Boy, with a garland of flowers on's head. B-H omit the first 'and.' l. 16. A] shal. l.27. A] Epethelamon. A omits] of these lovers. l. 18. F] But have lost. l. 30. A omits] on. l. 31. A] Caedor. l. 32. A] mountaines. 1.35. A] free from the firver of the Serian starre. B-G] Sirian. l.37-A, B and C] deliver. A] that issues.

p. 134, l. 1. A-D] pleased. l. 2. A] base, under branches, to devour. 1. 4. A] did choake. B-D] choake. l. 5. A] brakes, rud, thornes. A-G] the Sun. l. 6. A omits] even. A] roote. A] um there. l. 7. F omits] a. B and C] gentler. A] has. l. 9. A] never to be unarmde. l. 10. A, B and C] number. A omits] holy. A] ore. l. 11. A] has. F omits] noble. 1. 12. A] worthy king. l. 15. A, B and C] For now there. l. 17. A] bitter threats. l. 19. A-E] struggled. l. 22. A] where you. l. 28. A] Metour. l. 32. A] of venge-in. l. 33. A] chaft amongst. B-E] Chast. B-G] among. l. 35. A] looke from me. l. 37. A] that I have left. l. 38. F] There is. A omits] that. l. 40. A] For death to me can be life.

p. 135 l. 1. A] as long as. l. 4. A] ore by. l. 8. A omits] dear. 1. 9. A] you are. A after this line adds] That feedes upon the blood you gave a life to. l. 14. A] a shame. l. 15. F] Pelican. l. 17. A omits] with purest. l. 32. A, B and C] that by the gods it is a joy. l. 37. A omits] you.

p. 136, l. 1. A omits] Fearing. A] For the Lord Phylaster. l. 2. A] fellowes. l. 6. A omits this line. l. 7. A] 2 Mes. B and C] Arme, arme, arme, arme. l. 8. A] take these Citizens. l. 9. A] them. l. 12. A omits] Exit with Are., Phi., Bell. l. 16. A] Exit King, Manet Leon, Cle. and Tra. l. 18. A] by al the gods. l. 25. A] you lackes. B] ye lacks. 1. 26. A] Skin. A] see you. B] have ye. l. 28. A] brave new. l. 29. A] My kinde Countrimen. l. 33. A] sawce. l. 34. A] flush amongst um, and ill speeding. 11. 34 and 35. A] have injurious raine. A omits] unbound. 11. 35 and 36. A] in rafine freeze. A] moth. l. 38. A] preases.

p. 137, l. r. F] neck. l. 3. A] And know. l. 4. A] gotish. B and C] goatish. l. 10. A] wide. A] your valours. l. 11. A] we must. A] for't. A omits] 'em. l. 12. A] and you will. B-E] and they. l. 15. A] speake him well. l. 16. A] courtesies. l. 17. A omits] Exit Cle. l. 18. A] Citizens. l. 20. A omits] and soil you. ll. 21 and 22. A] Every long vocation; and foule shall come up fat And in brave liking. l. 21. B] ever long. l. 23. A] that poore. l. 24. A omits] and. l. 25. A omits] Sir. 1. 26. A-G] quench. l. 28. A] Enter Phylaster. l. 33. A] to 't. l. 34. A] Let me your goodnesse know. l. 36. A, B and C] All my wishes. l. 37. A] speakes all this.

p. 138, l. 4. A omits} poor. l. 7. A] free her. l. 9. A] noble word. 1. 10. A] you peace. l. 12. A] Now all the. A omits] Exeunt Omnes. 1. 13. A] Enter an olde Captaine, with a crew of Citizens leading Pharamont prisoner. l.15. B and C] your nimble. B-G] mother. l. 21. B and C] Kings. l. 22. E and G] you paintings. l. 25. B] beloved. B and C] Custards. l. 29. B-D] Collers.

p. 139, l. 1. B] solder'd. l. 6. B] me see. l. 7. For 'lie' G prints 'ie' with a space at the beginning where the 'I' should be. H and the Folio misprint] here I it. l. 8. B] washing. B] do you see sweete Prince. C] do you sweet Prince. D, E, G and H] sweat. F] swet. l. 12. B-H and Folio J foe. l. 26. B-G] Nay my beyond, etc. l. 28. B-H] scarcenet. 1. 33. B and C] i Cit. l. 36. B-H] kills.

p. 140, l. 4. D, E and G] God Captaine. l. 7. B and C] of your 2-hand sword. l. 9. B-E, G and H] 2 Ci. F] 2 Cit. l. n. B-E, G and H] 2 Ci. F] 2 Cit. B and C] had had. l. 12. C-G] skin bones. l. 35. B, C and D] stucke. E] stuck. l. 38. B-H] I do desire to be.

p. 141, l. 2. F] thy name. l. 7. B-H] of all dangers. B-H] altogether. 1. 12. B and C] all these. l. 20. B-G] And make. B and F] He strives. l. 23. H] your friends. l. 34. B and C] Go thy wayes, thou art.

p. 142, l. 2. B and C] attendance. l. 24. Folio misprints] is it. l. 33. B] and hath found. l. 35. F] knew.

p. 143,1. 4. B-G with variations in spelling] To bear. B] her boy. l. 7. B-G] sometime. l. 9. D] wine. l. 17. B] As base as are. C omits] be. 1. 18. Folio misprints] hour. B] heated. l. 36. B-H] that boy. l. 38. B and C] word. l. 39. F-H] life and rig.

p. 144, l. 6. B-G] were hateful. l. 11. B and C] oh stay. l. 12. F] Sir. l. 13. B] tire your constancy.

p. 145, l. 9. F omits] it. l. 22. B and C omit] l. l. 27. B-G] All's. 1. 29. B-D make this line the conclusion of Philaster's speech, and consequently apply the marginal stage-direction to him.

p. 146, l. 22. B-E] oft would.

p. 147, l. 1. B-G] but have. l. 17. F omits] thou wilt. l. 31. B-H] vertue. l. 35. F] set us free.

p. 148, l. 9. F] your self. l. 10. B-E] And like to see. l. 14. After

this line B-F, H add]

Finis.

From p. 138, l. 13, to end of Play, A reads]

Enter an olde Captaine, with a crew of Citizens, leading PHARAMONT prisoner.

CAP. Come my brave Mermedons, fal on, let your caps swarm, & your nimble tongues forget your gibrish, of what you lack, and set your mouthes ope' children, till your pallats fall frighted halfe a fathom past the cure of bay-salt & grosse pepper; and then crie Phylaster, brave Phylaster. Let Phylaster be deep in request, my ding-a-dings, my paire of deare Indentures: King of clubs, the your cut-water- chamlets, and your painting: let not your hasty silkes, deerly belovers of Custards & Cheescakes, or your branch cloth of bodkins, or your tyffenies, your robbin-hood scarlet and Johns, tie your affections in durance to your shops, my dainty duckers, up with your three pil'd spirit's, that rightvalourous, and let your accute colours make the King to feele the measure of your mightinesse; Phylaster, cry, myrose nobles, cry.

OMNES. Phylaster, Phylasier.

CAP. How doe you like this, my Lord prisoner— These are mad boyes I can tell you, These bee things that will not strike top-sayle to a Foyst, And let a Man of warre, an Argosea, Stoope to carry coales.

PHAR. Why, you damn'd slaves, doe you know who I am—

CAP. Yes, my pretie Prince of puppits, we do know, and give you gentle warning, you talke no more such bugs words, lest that sodden Crowne should be scracht with a musket; deare Prince pippin, I'le have you codled, let him loose my spirits, and make a ring with your bils my hearts: Now let mee see what this brave man dares doe: note sir, have at you with this washing blow, here I lie, doe you huffe sweete Prince— I could hock your grace, and hang you crosse leg'd, like a Hare at a Poulters stall; and do thus.

PHAR. Gentlemen, honest Gentlemen-

SOUL. A speakes treason Captaine, shal's knock him downe—

CAP. Hold, I say.

2 SOUL. Good Captaine let me have one mal at's mazard, I feele my stomacke strangely provoked to bee at his Spanish pot-nowle, shal's kill him—

OMNES. I, kill him, kill him.

CAP. Againe I say hold.

3 SOUL. O how ranke he lookes, sweete Captaine let's geld him, and send his dowsets for a dish to the Burdello.

4 SOUL. No, let's rather sell them to some woman Chymist, that extractions, shee might draw an excellent provocative oyle from useth them, that might be very usefull.

CAP. You see, my scurvy Don, how precious you are in esteem amongst us, had you not beene better kept at home, I thinke you had: must you needes come amongst us, to have your saffron hide taw'd as wee intend it: My Don, Phylaster must suffer death to satisfie your melancholly spleene, he must my Don, he must; but we your Physitians, hold it fit that you bleede for it: Come my robusticks, my brave regiment of rattle makers, let's cal a common cornuted counsell, and like grave Senators, beare up our brancht crests, in sitting upon the severall tortures we shall put him to, and with as little sense as may be, put your wils in execution.

SOME CRIES. Burne him, burne him.

OTHERS. Hang him, hang him.

[Enter PHYLASTER.

CAP. No, rather let's carbinade his cods-head, and cut him to collops: shall I begin—

PHI. Stay your furies my loving Countrimen.

OMNES. Phylaster is come, Phylaster, Phylaster.

CAP. My porcupines of spite, make roome I say, that I may salute my brave Prince: and is Prince Phylaster at liberty— PHI. I am, most loving countrimen.

CAP. Then give me thy Princely goll, which thus I kisse, to whom I crouch and bow; But see my royall sparke, this head-strong swarme that follow me humming like a master Bee, have I led forth their Hives, and being on wing, and in our heady flight, have seazed him shall suffer for thy wrongs.

OMNES. I, I, let's kill him, kill him.

PHI. But heare me, Countrimen.

CAP. Heare the Prince, I say, heare Phylaster.

OMNES. I, I, heare the Prince, heare the Prince.

PHI. My comming is to give you thanks, my deere Countrimen, whose powerfull sway hath curb'd the prossecuting fury of my foes.

OMNES. We will curb um, we will curb um.

PHI. I finde you will, But if my intrest in your loves be such, As the world takes notice of, Let me crave You would deliver Pharamont to my hand, And from me accept this

[Gives um his purse.

Testimonie of my love. Which is but a pittance of those ample thankes, Which shall redowne with showred courtesies.

CAP. Take him to thee brave Prince, and we thy bounty thankefully accept, and will drinke thy health, thy perpetuall health my Prince, whilst memory lasts amongst us, we are thy Mermidons, my Achillis: we are those will follow thee, and in thy service will scowre our rusty murins and bill-bow-blades, most noble Phylaster, we will: Come my rowtists let's retyer till occasion calls us to attend the noble Phylaster.

OMNES. Phylaster, Phylaster, Phylaster.

[Exit CAPTAINE, and Citizens.

PHAR. Worthy sir, I owe you a life, For but your selfe theres nought could have prevail'd.

PHI. Tis the least of service that I owe the King, Who was carefull to preserve ye. [Exit.

[Enter LEON, TRASILINE, and CLERIMON.

TRA. I ever thought the boy was honest.

LEON. Well, tis a brave boy-Gentlemen.

CLE. Yet you'ld not beleeve this.

LEON. A plague on my forwardnesse, what a villaine was I, to wrong um so; a mischiefe on my muddy braines, was I mad—

TRA. A little frantick in your rash attempt, but that was your love to Phylaster, sir.

LEON. A pox on such love, have you any hope my countinance will ere serve me to looke on them—

CLE. O very well Sir.

LEON. Very ill Sir, uds death, I could beate out my braines, or hang my selfe in revenge.

CLE. There would be little gotten by it, ene keepe you as ye are.

LEON. An excellent boy, Gentlemen beleeve it, harke the King is comming,

[Cornets sounds.

Enter the King, Princesse, GALLATEA, MEGRA, BELLARIO, a Gentlewoman, and other attendants.

K. No newes of his returne, Will not this rable multitude be appeas'd— I feare their outrage, lest it should extend With dangering of Pharamonts life.

Enter PHILASTER with PHARAMONT.

LEON. See Sir, Phylaster is return'd.

PHI. Royall Sir, Receive into your bosome your desired peace, Those discontented mutineares be appeasde, And this fortaigne Prince in safety.

K. How happie am I in thee Phylaster— Whose excellent vertues begets a world of love, I am indebted to thee for a Kingdome. I here surrender up all Soveraignetie, Raigne peacefully with thy espoused Bride,

[Delivers his Crowne to him.

Ashume my Son to take what is thy due.

PHA. How Sir, yer son, what am I then, your Daughter you gave to me.

KIN. But heaven hath made asignement unto him, And brought your contract to anullity: Sir, your entertainment hath beene most faire, Had not your hell-bred lust dride up the spring, From whence flow'd forth those favours that you found: I am glad to see you safe, let this suffice, Your selfe hath crost your selfe.

LEON. They are married sir.

PHAR. How married— I hope your highnesse will not use me so, I came not to be disgraced, and returne alone.

KING. I cannot helpe it sir.

LEON. To returne alone, you neede not sir, Here is one will beare you company. You know this Ladies proofe, if you Fail'd not in the say-taging.

ME. I hold your scoffes in vildest base contempt, Or is there said or done, ought I repent, But can retort even to your grinning teeths, Your worst of spights, tho Princesse lofty steps May not be tract, yet may they tread awry, That boy there-

BEL. If to me ye speake Lady, I must tell you, you have lost your selfe In your too much forwardnesse, and hath forgot Both modesty and truth, with what impudence You have throwne most damnable aspertions On that noble Princesse and my selfe: witnesse the world; Behold me sir. [Kneeles to LEON, and discovers her haire.

LEON. I should know this face; my daughter. BEL. The same sir.

PRIN. How, our sometime Page, Bellario, turn'd woman—

BEL. Madame, the cause induc't me to transforme my selfe, Proceeded from a respective modest Affection I bare to my my Lord, The Prince Phylaster, to do him service, As farre from any lacivious thought, As that Lady is farre from goodnesse, And if my true intents may be beleeved, And from your Highnesse Madame, pardon finde, You have the truth.

PRIN. I doe beleeve thee, Bellario I shall call thee still.

PHI. The faithfullest servant that ever gave attendance.

LEON. Now Lady lust, what say you to'th boy now; Doe you hang the head, do ye, shame would steale Into your face, if ye had grace to entertaine it, Do ye slinke away—

[Exit MEGRA hiding her face,

KING. Give present order she be banisht the Court, And straightly confinde till our further Pleasure is knowne.

PHAR. Heres such an age of transformation, that I doe not know how to trust my selfe, I'le get me gone to: Sir, the disparagement you have done, must be cald in question. I have power to right my selfe, and will.

[Exit PHARAMONT.

KING. We feare ye not Sir.

PHI. Let a strong convoy guard him through the Kingdome, With him, let's part with all our cares and feare, And Crowne with joy our happy loves successe.

KING. Which to make more full, Lady Gallatea, Let honour'd Clerimont acceptance finde In your chast thoughts.

PHI. Tis my sute too.

PRIN. Such royall spokes-men must not be deni'd.

GAL. Nor shall not, Madame.

KING. Then thus I joyne your hands.

GAL. Our hearts were knit before. [They kisse.

PHI. But tis you Lady, must make all compleat, And gives a full perod to content, Let your loves cordiall againe revive, The drooping spirits of noble Trasiline. What saies Lord Leon to it—

LEON. Marry my Lord I say, I know she once lov'd him. At least made shew she did, But since tis my Lord Phylasters desire, I'le make a surrender of all the right A father has in her; here take her sir, With all my heart, and heaven give you joy.

KING. Then let us in these nuptuall feastes to hold, Heaven hath decreed, and Fate stands uncontrold.

FINIS.

PHILASTER. VERSE AND PROSE VARIATIONS.

The variations are those of A except where otherwise stated. p. 78, l. 35. A prints this speech as prose.

p. 79, l. 39, and p. 80, l. 1. A reads as one line.

p. 80, 11. 6 and 7. One line. ll. 8 and 9. One line. l. 11. A gives this speech as prose. ll. 37-40, and p. 81, l. r. Four lines ending bold, Turcle, shaddow, over.

p. 81, ll. 12-17. Five lines ending armes, hath, disputing, are, me. 1. 19. Eight lines ending him, his, thine, cold, such, follies, presence, me. l. 28. This speech in two lines ending freedome, temperde. l. 32. This speech in four lines ending succession, is, within, knowledge.

p. 82, ll. 1 and 2. One line. l.9. C, D, E] two lines, them, Atlas. l. 18. This speech and the next as prose. l. 33. The rest of the speech in seven lines, ending whispers, will, there, service, factious, hand, servant. l. 39. B, C, D, E] two lines, hand, servant.

p. 83, ll. 1-4. Prose. l. 14. This speech and the next prose. ll. 29-31. Two lines ending please and yeares. l. 33. The rest of the speech in prose.

p. 84, ll. 2-4. Two lines ending Age and me. ll. 6-11. Four lines ending Gentlewoman, alive, idle, pilgrimage. ll. 22 and 23. Prose. l. 26. This speech and the next in prose.

p. 85, ll. 1 and 2. One line. ll. 3-32. Prose. ll. 34-38. Four lines ending with-, make, your, obay. l. 40 and p. 86, l. 1. One line.

p. 86, ll. 4-11. Seven lines ending say, woman, them, detracted, you, disgrace, vertues. ll. 14-16. Two lines ending fortunes, question. ll. 18-20. Two lines ending affoord, wisht. ll. 21 and 22. One line. ll. 27-32. Four lines ending stories, Crowne, longing, more.

p. 87, ll. 1-12. Ten lines ending dreadfully, he, tongue, his, begin, love, you, beg, price, heare. ll. 17-19. Two lines ending yet, in. ll. 21-23. Prose. ll. 26-30. Prose. ll. 34-40. Six lines ending so, better, gods, some, us, it. l. 30. B, C, D, E] two lines, man, jealous.

p. 88, ll. 1-6. Five lines ending long, often, intelligence, agree, tread. l. 6. B, C, D, E] two lines, agree, tread. l. 7. B, C, D, E] two lines, boy, intent. l. 7. This speech in prose.

p. 89, l. 2. B, C, D, E] two lines, selfe, Prince. l. 7. B, D, E] two lines, made, himselfe. l. 7. Two lines ending Phylaster and himselfe. ll. 10 and 11. Two lines ending ever, lie. ll. 18-20. Two lines ending ceremonies and heart. ll. 21 and 22. One line. ll. 27-29. Prose. l. 38. This speech in prose.

p. 90, ll. 4 and 5. Two lines ending much, Princesse. l. 6. This speech and the next in prose. l. 16. This speech beginning from 'Madam' and the next speech in prose. ll. 29-34. Six lines ending regard, modesty, aske, deserve, nothing, yours. l. 32. B, C, D, E] two lines, aske, deserve. l. 35. The rest of the speech in prose.

p. 91, ll. 6-11. Prose. ll. 13-17. Prose. l. 18 and B, C, D, E] two lines ending all, behaviour. ll. 19-29. Ten lines ending ignorance, learne, larger, fault, once, boy, warning, stubborneness, off, mend. ll. 32-40. Seven lines ending businesse, her, full, trust, joy, weepe, Princesse.

p. 92, ll. 1-12. Prose. ll. 14-20. Nine lines ending must, not, word, all, taking, life, fault, boulted, Madame.

p. 93, ll. 5-12. Nine lines ending grace, remedy, morning, Cardus, exercise, Tiller, Flebotomie, whay, anymales. ll. 15-18. Four lines ending well, appetite, gold, then. ll. 25 and 26. Two lines ending behind, this.

p. 94, ll. 5 and 6. Two lines ending enough, Age. ll. 7 and 8. Two lines ending smooth, enough. ll. 16-23. Prose. l. 24. Two lines ending prose, Madame. l. 27. Two lines ending first, now. ll. 30-32. Two lines ending sweetest, me. ll. 35 and 36. Three lines ending sentence, memory, me. ll. 38-40. Three lines ending endeavour, night, for't.

p. 95, ll. 1-20. Twenty-one lines ending owne, teaching, measures, function, selfe, her, her, indeed, sir, selfe, schoolemaister, maid, Gallatea, favour, now, wit, guard, toot, Jubiter, Lady, welcome. ll. 25-29. Six lines ending um, want, thoughts, bashfull, with, you.

p. 96, ll. 8 and 9. One line. ll. 26-32. Prose. ll. 36 and 37. Prose.

p. 97, ll. 17-29. Prose. ll. 30-35. Five lines ending credit, sound, satyes, too, away. ll. 37-39. Prose.

p. 98, ll. 1-5. Prose (probably). ll. 8-10. Prose. ll. 20-23. Four lines ending by, hand, Princesse, selfe. ll. 25 and 26. One line. ll. 33 and 34. Two lines ending grace, bed. l. 37 and p. 99, ll. 1 and 2. Three lines ending late, comes, him.

p. 99, ll. 5-16. Prose. ll. 19-36. Prose.

p. 100, ll. 11-18. Prose. ll. 20-22. Prose. ll. 26 and 27. Two lines ending sir, you. ll. 33 and 34. Two lines ending life, heere. ll. 36-39 and p. 101, l. 1. Prose.

p. 101, ll. 2-5. Three lines ending wrongd, lodging, say. ll. 8-23. Prose. ll. 28-32. Five lines ending two, hold, lye, not, mistaken. ll. 37-39 and p. 102, ll. 1-9. Ten lines ending lust, thoughts, diseases, me, courtesies, daughter, Court, orrenges, candles, Venus.

p. 102, ll. 10-25. Thirteen lines ending laugh, King, by, fellowes, mirth, me, more, leaps, her, eighteene, when, madness, height. ll. 32-39. Seven lines ending it, commonly, at, forraigne, tongue, people, Princesse.

p. 103, ll. 1 and 2. Two lines ending her, boy. ll. 10-17. Eight lines ending tongue, King, him, infections, brave, boy, else, Gentlemen. ll. 24-36. Eleven lines ending us, freemen, age, right, Scepter, Lady, boy, thing, Prince, part, mind. l. 37 and p. 104, ll. 1 and 2. Three lines ending Phylaster, Creature, earth.

p. 104, ll. 4-7. Three lines ending people, corne, way. ll. 25-29. Prose. l. 29. B, C, D] two lines, doe, acceptation. ll. 30-38. Seven lines ending know, head, king, word, attempts, me, friends.

p. 105, l. 4. B, C, D, E] two lines, time, would. ll. 1-9. Nine lines ending selfe, sufficient, loves, would, expect, violence, know, now, lov'd. ll. 16-28. Ten lines ending thought, Lady, pardon'd, redeemed, increase, I, hils, all, necke, denude. ll. 29 and 30. One line. ll. 31-37. Prose. l. 40 and p. 106, ll. 1 and 2. Prose.

p. 106, l. 4 (from 'Good Sir')-7. Prose. ll. 21-25. Prose. ll. 27 and 28. One line. ll. 29-31. Three lines ending looke, Lord, selfe. ll. 36 and 37. Three lines ending them, fault, silence. l. 37. B, C, D, E] two lines, slept, silence. l. 40 and p. 107, ll. 1 and 2. Two lines ending corners, land.

p. 107, ll. 12 and 13. One line. ll. 19-39 and p. 108, II. 1-3. Twenty lines ending her, breast, circumstances, now, simply, honourable, truth, selves, fight, sight, once, againe, fat, before, man, weare, blush, mortalitie, brow, guilty. l. 35. B] two lines, man, gods.

p. 108, ll. 7-9. Three lines ending me, boy, brave. ll. 13 and 14. Two lines ending boy, here. ll. 17-19. Three lines ending snow, boy, thee. ll. 22-27. Five lines ending life, fond, trust, pay, me. ll. 30-36. Prose. l. 40 and p. 109, ll. 1-3. Prose.

p. 109, ll. 4 and 5. One line. ll. 15 (from 'Come she dos')-37. Prose. l. 40 and p. 110, ll. 1-3. Four lines ending lust, desires, her, ages.

p. 110, l. 3. B, C, D, E] two lines, reveale, ages. l. 4. B, C, D, E] two lines, heart, disease. l. 4. Two lines ending heart, deceit. ll. 9 and 10. One line. ll. 15 and 16. Two lines ending life, now. l. 16. B, C, D] two lines, hate thee, now. ll. 20-22. Three lines ending where, me, not. ll. 23-26. Three lines ending life, asunder, away. ll. 29 and 30. One line. ll. 31-33. Three lines ending live, passionate, reason. l. 33. B, C, D, E] two lines, passionate, reason. ll. 35-39. Four lines ending borne, jealousie, againe, lost. l. 39. B, C, D, E] two lines, game, lost.

p. 111, ll. 1 and 2. Two lines ending melt, all. ll. 4-6. Three lines ending with, of, me. l. 6. B, C, D, E] two lines, punishments, me. ll. 7-24. Prose. ll. 26-34. Prose. ll. 35-37. Two lines ending deservest, unkind.

p. 112, ll. 3-7. Five lines ending over, him, spoken, such, stay. l. 7. B, C, D, E] two lines, angry, slay. ll. 17 and 18. Two lines ending well, him. l. 31. B, C, D, E] two lines, me, boy. ll. 32 and 33. One line. ll. 35-38. Four lines ending me, gods, selfe, done.

p. 113, ll. 4-6. Three lines ending foule, it, farewell. ll. 9-15. Six lines ending truth, defamings, fortified, tongues, foule, mountains. l. 20. Two lines ending servant, me. ll. 21-25. Prose.

p. 114, ll. 6-8. Four lines ending it, eye-lids, crie, Phylaster. l. 8. B, C, D, E] my deere | deare Philaster. ll. 9-12. Three lines ending thee, loyal, better. l. 13. B, C, D, E] two lines, againe, Bellario. ll. 16-18. Three lines ending all, that, wrongs. l. 27. Two lines ending not, thus. l. 27. B, C, D, E] two lines, talke, thus. ll. 30-40 and p. 115, l. 1. Ten lines ending naked, mischiefe, me, bosome, mirth, King, Mourners, length, cursed boy, lust.

p. 115, l. 1. B, C, D, E] two lines, boy, lust. l. 3 and B, C, D, E] two lines ending overthrow, wretched. ll. 4-23. Sixteen lines ending this, it, foote, seeke, Cave, are, hell, Scorpyons, woven, you, face, have, you, night, are, altogether. ll. 29-34. Five lines ending transparant, me, holds, constancie, now. ll. 38-40 and p. 116, l. 2. Four lines ending passion, wicked, that, understoodst,

p. 116, ll. 6-10. Three lines ending desease, me, swell. ll. 14-21. Eight lines ending leave, ever, Lady, fault, suffering, mine, seeke, die. ll. 28 and 29. Two lines ending hunt, earnestness. ll. 30-32. Two lines ending canst, thee.

p. 117, ll. 7-9. Three lines ending veniall, spirit, it. ll. 13-15. Three lines ending enough, purlewes, poaching. ll. 24-30. Nine lines ending repent, him, member, mouth, now, presently, Almanacks, liver, dog-whip. Il. 31-33. Four lines ending lookes, neighbours, face, honest.

p. 119, ll. 17-21. Five lines ending dwelt, reedes, borne, isstie, vexation. 1. 21. B, C, D, E] two lines, life, vexation. ll. 23-37. Ten lines ending beasts, as, body, speake, Lord, pittie, fortunes, bounty, keepe, hunger.

p. 120, ll. 6-17. Ten lines ending me, trade, againe, so, thee, worke, way, are, rage, way. ll. 32-37 and p. 121, ll. i and 2. Eight lines ending stray, businesse, armes, peace, us, her, seene, willingly.

p. 121, ll. 12-18. Prose. l. 23. C, D, E] two lines, not, blood. ll. 20-34. Prose. ll. 38 and 39 and p. 122, ll. i and 2. Three lines ending gods, adord, Thunder.

p. 122, ll. 6 and 7. Two lines ending way, on. ll. 12-14. Prose l. 14. B, C, D, E] two lines, wood, her. ll. 21 and 22. Prose. ll. 24 and 25. Two lines ending alive, Taylor. ll. 30 and 31. Prose. l. 39 and

p. 123, ll. 1-18. Prose.

p. 123, ll. 22-26. Two lines ending speaking, not, and Prose. l. 29 and p. 124, ll. 4-19. Eleven lines ending kist, Basaliskes, women, up, act, fire, teares, beds, face, issues, you.

p. 124, ll. 4-19. Thirteen lines ending me, done, Eolus, I, sword, you, controule, me, thoughts, now, pulse, more, die. ll. 25-35. Ten lines ending that, do, last, wise, resolve, suffer, hand, earth, other, here. l. 31. B, C, D, E] two lines, doe, suffer. ll. 38-40 and p. 125, ll. 1 and 2. Four lines ending power, Justice, heaven, to't.

p. 125, ll. 5-10. Seven lines ending Forrest, home, me, selfe, shouting, braines, wits. ll. 19 and 20. Prose. ll. 21 and 22. Two lines ending not, ye. ll. 23 and 24. Prose. l. 24. B, C, D, E] two lines, head, to. Il. 30-32. Prose. ll. 35 and 36. Two lines ending rogue, now.

p. 126, ll. 1 and 2. Two lines ending woman, her. ll. 25-28. Prose.

p. 127, ll. 5-7. Three lines ending giddy, sleepe, wake. ll. 13-25. Fourteen lines ending conceale, follow, sleeping, sleepe, wronged, broken, take, escape, blood, mischiefe, once, body, mortal, thee. ll. 26 and 27. Prose. l. 29. Line ends with first here. ll. 33 and 34. Two lines ending thou, me. ll. 37 and 38. One line. l. 39 and p. 128, ll. l-3. Three lines ending live, much, you.

p. 128, ll. 19 and 20. Two lines ending beasts, men. ll.22-24. Two lines ending her, her. ll. 25 and 26. Prose. ll. 29-34. Four lines ending thoughts, death, mectne, tortour. l. 38 and p. 129, ll. 1-11. Eleven lines ending Page, carelesse, me, over-fiowde, them, turnde, streames, contem'd, great, live, revenged.

p. 129, ll. 12-14. Two lines ending life, vigor. l. 17 and B, C, D] two lines ending away, rudely. ll. 24-28. Four lines ending then, you, teach, him. ll. 30 and 31. One line.

p. 130, ll. 6-20. Prose. l. 20. B, C, D, E] two lines, wealth, Philaster. 1. 23. B, C, D, E] two lines, two, Philaster. ll. 30-38. Prose. l. 32. B, C, D, E] two lines, talke, prison.

p. 131, l. 3 and B, C, D, E] two lines ending on, match. l. 6. Two lines ending heads, trick. ll. 24-33. Nine lines ending Bellario, heaven, paire, bore, me, death, boy, beasts, innocence. l. 34 and p. 132, ll. 1-6. Seven lines ending worthy, peece, you, honour, close, perjurie, nothing.

p. 132, ll. 15-17. Two lines ending sleepe, love. ll. 20 and 21. Prose. 1. 21. B, C, D, E] two lines, it, on. ll. 28 and 29. Two lines ending love, truely.

p. 133, H. 6 and 7. One line. ll. 10-23. Twelve lines ending at, lightly, him, bridges, rootes, thunders, back, Townes, desolate, lives, sacrifice, ruines. ll. 26-38 and p. 134, ll. 1-12. Prose.

p. 134, ll. 14-35. Prose. ll. 36 and 37. One line. l. 40 and p. 135, 1. i. Two lines ending Pharamont, heads-man.

p. 135, ll. 3 and 4. Prose. ll. 7-33. Twenty-three lines ending life, monster, to, living, writ, you, men, Pelion, brasse, Pyramides, gods, faults, issues, wisedomes, off, self, King, sinne, soule, long, you, die, in't.

p. 136, ll. 2 and 3. One line. ll. 24-29. Seven lines ending deere, not, Chronicled, prais'd, ballads, seculorum, Countrimen.

p. 137, ll. 8-22. Sixteen lines ending them, raise, neede, for't, sheepe, heate, me, Lord, Prince, him, wits, pin, me, bakon, fat, liking. ll. 29-39 and p. 138, ll. 1-6. Thirteen lines ending miseries, danger, you, to't, be, repentance, gods, me, thunder, wrong, boy, sea-breach, it.

p. 138, ll. 33-36. B-G] four lines ending boyes, top-sailes, Argosie, Cockels. F and G print last 2 ll. as one.

p. 139, l. 26. B, C, D, E] two lines ending you and King. l. 36. B, C, D, E] two lines ending kils, Boyes.

p. 143, l. 11. B, C, D, E] two lines ending earth, me. l. 40. B, C, D, E] two lines ending away, once.

p. 145, l. 8. B, C, D, E] two lines ending lives, Pilgrimage. l. 17. B, C, D, E] two lines ending she, dyed, l. 32. B, C, D, E] two lines ending shame, rest.

The Duchess of Malfi by John Webster

Introductory Note

Of John Webster's life almost nothing is known. The dates 1580-1625 given for his birth and death are conjectural inferences, about which the best that can be said is that no known facts contradict them.

The first notice of Webster so far discovered shows that he was collaborating in the production of plays for the theatrical manager, Henslowe, in 1602, and of such collaboration he seems to have done a considerable amount. Four plays exist which he wrote alone, "The White Devil," "The Duchess of Malfi," "The Devil's Law-Case," and "Appius and Virginia."

"The Duchess of Malfi" was published in 1623, but the date of writing may have been as early as 1611. It is based on a story in Painter's "Palace of Pleasure," translated from the Italian novelist, Bandello; and it is entirely possible that it has a foundation in fact. In any case, it portrays with a terrible vividness one side of the court life of the Italian Renaissance; and its picture of the fierce quest of pleasure, the recklessness of crime, and the worldliness of the great princes of the Church finds only too ready corroboration in the annals of the time.

Webster's tragedies come toward the close of the great series of tragedies of blood and revenge, in which "The Spanish Tragedy" and "Hamlet" are landmarks, but before decadence can fairly be said to have set in. He, indeed, loads his scene with horrors almost past the point which modern taste can bear; but the intensity of his dramatic situations, and his superb power of flashing in a single line a light into the recesses of the human heart at the crises of supreme emotion, redeems him from mere sensationalism, and places his best things in the first rank of dramatic writing.

The Duchess of Malfi

Dramatis Personae

FERDINAND [Duke of Calabria].

CARDINAL [his brother].

ANTONIO [BOLOGNA, Steward of the Household to the Duchess].

DELIO [his friend].

DANIEL DE BOSOLA [Gentleman of the Horse to the Duchess].

[CASTRUCCIO, an old Lord].

MARQUIS OF PESCARA.

[COUNT] MALATESTI. RODERIGO,›

SILVIO,› [Lords].

GRISOLAN,›

DOCTOR.

The Several Madmen.

DUCHESS [OF MALFI].

CARIOLA [her woman].

[JULIA, Castruccio's wife, and] the Cardinal's mistress.

[Old Lady].

Ladies,

Three Young Children,

Two Pilgrims,

Executioners,

Court Officers,

and Attendants.

Act I

Scene I‹1›

[Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO

DELIO. You are welcome to your country, dear Antonio; You have been long in France, and you return A very formal Frenchman in your habit: How do you like the French court—

ANTONIO. I admire it: In seeking to reduce both state and people To a fix'd order, their judicious king Begins at home; quits first his royal palace Of flattering sycophants, of dissolute And infamous persons,-which he sweetly terms His master's master-piece, the work of heaven; Considering duly that a prince's court Is like a common fountain, whence should flow Pure silver drops in general, but if 't chance Some curs'd example poison 't near the head, Death and diseases through the whole land spread. And what is 't makes this blessed government But a most provident council, who dare freely Inform him the corruption of the times— Though some o' the court hold it presumption To instruct princes what they ought to do, It is a noble duty to inform them What they ought to foresee.‹2›-Here comes Bosola, The only court-gall; yet I observe his railing Is not for simple love of piety: Indeed, he rails at those things which he wants; Would be as lecherous, covetous, or proud, Bloody, or envious, as any man, If he had means to be so.-Here's the cardinal.

[Enter CARDINAL and BOSOLA]

BOSOLA. I do haunt you still.

CARDINAL. So.

BOSOLA. I have done you better service than to be slighted thus. Miserable age, where only the reward of doing well is the doing of it!

CARDINAL. You enforce your merit too much.

BOSOLA. I fell into the galleys in your service: where, for two years together, I wore two towels instead of a shirt, with a knot on the shoulder, after the fashion of a Roman mantle. Slighted thus! I will thrive some way. Black-birds fatten best in hard weather; why not I in these dog-days—

CARDINAL. Would you could become honest!

BOSOLA. With all your divinity do but direct me the way to it. I have known many travel far for it, and yet return as arrant knaves as they went forth, because they carried themselves always along with them. [Exit CARDINAL.] Are you gone— Some fellows, they say, are possessed with the devil, but this great fellow were able to possess the greatest devil, and make him worse.

ANTONIO. He hath denied thee some suit—

BOSOLA. He and his brother are like plum-trees that grow crooked over standing-pools; they are rich and o'erladen with fruit, but none but crows, pies, and caterpillars feed on them. Could I be one of their flattering panders, I would hang on their ears like a horseleech, till I were full, and then drop off. I pray, leave me. Who would rely upon these miserable dependencies, in expectation to be advanc'd to-morrow— What creature ever fed worse than hoping Tantalus— Nor ever died any man more fearfully than he that hoped for a pardon. There are rewards for hawks and dogs when they have done us service; but for a soldier that hazards his limbs in a battle, nothing but a kind of geometry is his last supportation.

DELIO. Geometry—

BOSOLA. Ay, to hang in a fair pair of slings, take his latter swing in the world upon an honourable pair of crutches, from hospital to hospital. Fare ye well, sir: and yet do not you scorn us; for places in the court are but like beds in the hospital, where this man's head lies at that man's foot, and so lower and lower. [Exit.]

DELIO. I knew this fellow seven years in the galleys For a notorious murder; and 'twas thought The cardinal suborn'd it: he was releas'd By the French general, Gaston de Foix, When he recover'd Naples.

ANTONIO. 'Tis great pity He should be thus neglected: I have heard He 's very valiant. This foul melancholy Will poison all his goodness; for, I 'll tell you, If too immoderate sleep be truly said To be an inward rust unto the soul, If then doth follow want of action Breeds all black malcontents; and their close rearing, Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing.

Scene II‹3›

ANTONIO, DELIO, [Enter SILVIO, CASTRUCCIO, JULIA, RODERIGO and GRISOLAN]

DELIO. The presence 'gins to fill: you promis'd me To make me the partaker of the natures Of some of your great courtiers.

ANTONIO. The lord cardinal's And other strangers' that are now in court— I shall.-Here comes the great Calabrian duke.

[Enter FERDINAND and Attendants]

FERDINAND. Who took the ring oftenest—‹4›

SILVIO. Antonio Bologna, my lord.

FERDINAND. Our sister duchess' great-master of her household— Give him the jewel.-When shall we leave this sportive action, and fall to action indeed—

CASTRUCCIO. Methinks, my lord, you should not desire to go to war in person.

FERDINAND. Now for some gravity.-Why, my lord—

CASTRUCCIO. It is fitting a soldier arise to be a prince, but not necessary a prince descend to be a captain.

FERDINAND. No—

CASTRUCCIO. No, my lord; he were far better do it by a deputy.

FERDINAND. Why should he not as well sleep or eat by a deputy— This might take idle, offensive, and base office from him, whereas the other deprives him of honour.

CASTRUCCIO. Believe my experience, that realm is never long in quiet where the ruler is a soldier.

FERDINAND. Thou toldest me thy wife could not endure fighting.

CASTRUCCIO. True, my lord.

FERDINAND. And of a jest she broke of‹5› a captain she met full of wounds: I have forgot it.

CASTRUCCIO. She told him, my lord, he was a pitiful fellow, to lie, like the children of Ismael, all in tents.‹6›

FERDINAND. Why, there's a wit were able to undo all the chirurgeons‹7› o' the city; for although gallants should quarrel, and had drawn their weapons, and were ready to go to it, yet her persuasions would make them put up.

CASTRUCCIO. That she would, my lord.-How do you like my Spanish gennet—‹8›

RODERIGO. He is all fire.

FERDINAND. I am of Pliny's opinion, I think he was begot by the wind; he runs as if he were ballass'd‹9› with quicksilver.

SILVIO. True, my lord, he reels from the tilt often.

RODERIGO, GRISOLAN. Ha, ha, ha!

FERDINAND. Why do you laugh— Methinks you that are courtiers should be my touch-wood, take fire when I give fire; that is, laugh when I laugh, were the subject never so witty.

CASTRUCCIO. True, my lord: I myself have heard a very good jest, and have scorn'd to seem to have so silly a wit as to understand it.

FERDINAND. But I can laugh at your fool, my lord.

CASTRUCCIO. He cannot speak, you know, but he makes faces; my lady cannot abide him.

FERDINAND. No—

CASTRUCCIO. Nor endure to be in merry company; for she says too much laughing, and too much company, fills her too full of the wrinkle.

FERDINAND. I would, then, have a mathematical instrument made for her face, that she might not laugh out of compass.-I shall shortly visit you at Milan, Lord Silvio.

SILVIO. Your grace shall arrive most welcome.

FERDINAND. You are a good horseman, Antonio; you have excellent riders in France: what do you think of good horsemanship—

ANTONIO. Nobly, my lord: as out of the Grecian horse issued many famous princes, so out of brave horsemanship arise the first sparks of growing resolution, that raise the mind to noble action.

FERDINAND. You have bespoke it worthily.

SILVIO. Your brother, the lord cardinal, and sister duchess.

[Enter CARDINAL, with DUCHESS, and CARIOLA]

CARDINAL. Are the galleys come about—

GRISOLAN. They are, my lord.

FERDINAND. Here 's the Lord Silvio is come to take his leave.

DELIO. Now, sir, your promise: what 's that cardinal— I mean his temper— They say he 's a brave fellow, Will play his five thousand crowns at tennis, dance, Court ladies, and one that hath fought single combats.

ANTONIO. Some such flashes superficially hang on him for form; but observe his inward character: he is a melancholy churchman. The spring in his face is nothing but the engend'ring of toads; where he is jealous of any man, he lays worse plots for them than ever was impos'd on Hercules, for he strews in his way flatterers, panders, intelligencers, atheists, and a thousand such political monsters. He should have been Pope; but instead of coming to it by the primitive decency of the church, he did bestow bribes so largely and so impudently as if he would have carried it away without heaven's knowledge. Some good he hath done--

DELIO. You have given too much of him. What 's his brother—

ANTONIO. The duke there— A most perverse and turbulent nature. What appears in him mirth is merely outside; If he laught heartily, it is to laugh All honesty out of fashion.

DELIO. Twins—

ANTONIO. In quality. He speaks with others' tongues, and hears men's suits With others' ears; will seem to sleep o' the bench Only to entrap offenders in their answers; Dooms men to death by information; Rewards by hearsay.

DELIO. Then the law to him Is like a foul, black cobweb to a spider,- He makes it his dwelling and a prison To entangle those shall feed him.

ANTONIO. Most true: He never pays debts unless they be shrewd turns, And those he will confess that he doth owe. Last, for this brother there, the cardinal, They that do flatter him most say oracles Hang at his lips; and verily I believe them, For the devil speaks in them. But for their sister, the right noble duchess, You never fix'd your eye on three fair medals Cast in one figure, of so different temper. For her discourse, it is so full of rapture, You only will begin then to be sorry When she doth end her speech, and wish, in wonder, She held it less vain-glory to talk much, Than your penance to hear her. Whilst she speaks, She throws upon a man so sweet a look That it were able to raise one to a galliard.‹10› That lay in a dead palsy, and to dote On that sweet countenance; but in that look There speaketh so divine a continence As cuts off all lascivious and vain hope. Her days are practis'd in such noble virtue, That sure her nights, nay, more, her very sleeps, Are more in heaven than other ladies' shrifts. Let all sweet ladies break their flatt'ring glasses, And dress themselves in her.

DELIO. Fie, Antonio, You play the wire-drawer with her commendations.

ANTONIO. I 'll case the picture up: only thus much; All her particular worth grows to this sum,- She stains‹11› the time past, lights the time to come.

CARIOLA. You must attend my lady in the gallery, Some half and hour hence.

ANTONIO. I shall. [Exeunt ANTONIO and DELIO.]

FERDINAND. Sister, I have a suit to you.

DUCHESS. To me, sir—

FERDINAND. A gentleman here, Daniel de Bosola, One that was in the galleys--

DUCHESS. Yes, I know him.

FERDINAND. A worthy fellow he is: pray, let me entreat for The provisorship of your horse.

DUCHESS. Your knowledge of him Commends him and prefers him.

FERDINAND. Call him hither. [Exit Attendant.] We [are] now upon‹12› parting. Good Lord Silvio, Do us commend to all our noble friends At the leaguer.

SILVIO. Sir, I shall.

[DUCHESS.] You are for Milan—

SILVIO. I am.

DUCHESS. Bring the caroches.‹13›-We 'll bring you down To the haven. [Exeunt DUCHESS, SILVIO, CASTRUCCIO, RODERIGO, GRISOLAN, CARIOLA, JULIA, and Attendants.]

CARDINAL. Be sure you entertain that Bosola For your intelligence.‹14› I would not be seen in 't; And therefore many times I have slighted him When he did court our furtherance, as this morning.

FERDINAND. Antonio, the great-master of her household, Had been far fitter.

CARDINAL. You are deceiv'd in him. His nature is too honest for such business.- He comes: I 'll leave you. [Exit.]

[Re-enter BOSOLA]

BOSOLA. I was lur'd to you.

FERDINAND. My brother, here, the cardinal, could never Abide you.

BOSOLA. Never since he was in my debt.

FERDINAND. May be some oblique character in your face Made him suspect you.

BOSOLA. Doth he study physiognomy— There 's no more credit to be given to the face Than to a sick man's urine, which some call The physician's whore, because she cozens‹15› him. He did suspect me wrongfully.

FERDINAND. For that You must give great men leave to take their times. Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceiv'd. You see the oft shaking of the cedar-tree Fastens it more at root.

BOSOLA. Yet take heed; For to suspect a friend unworthily Instructs him the next way to suspect you, And prompts him to deceive you.

FERDINAND. There 's gold.

BOSOLA. So: What follows— [Aside.] Never rain'd such showers as these Without thunderbolts i' the tail of them.-Whose throat must I cut—

FERDINAND. Your inclination to shed blood rides post Before my occasion to use you. I give you that To live i' the court here, and observe the duchess; To note all the particulars of her haviour, What suitors do solicit her for marriage, And whom she best affects. She 's a young widow: I would not have her marry again.

BOSOLA. No, sir—

FERDINAND. Do not you ask the reason; but be satisfied. I say I would not.

BOSOLA. It seems you would create me One of your familiars.

FERDINAND. Familiar! What 's that—

BOSOLA. Why, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh,- An intelligencer.‹16›

FERDINAND. Such a kind of thriving thing I would wish thee; and ere long thou mayst arrive At a higher place by 't.

BOSOLA. Take your devils, Which hell calls angels! These curs'd gifts would make You a corrupter, me an impudent traitor; And should I take these, they'd take me [to] hell.

FERDINAND. Sir, I 'll take nothing from you that I have given. There is a place that I procur'd for you This morning, the provisorship o' the horse; Have you heard on 't—

BOSOLA. No.

FERDINAND. 'Tis yours: is 't not worth thanks—

BOSOLA. I would have you curse yourself now, that your bounty (Which makes men truly noble) e'er should make me A villain. O, that to avoid ingratitude For the good deed you have done me, I must do All the ill man can invent! Thus the devil Candies all sins o'er; and what heaven terms vile, That names he complimental.

FERDINAND. Be yourself; Keep your old garb of melancholy; 'twill express You envy those that stand above your reach, Yet strive not to come near 'em. This will gain Access to private lodgings, where yourself May, like a politic dormouse--

BOSOLA. As I have seen some Feed in a lord's dish, half asleep, not seeming To listen to any talk; and yet these rogues Have cut his throat in a dream. What 's my place— The provisorship o' the horse— Say, then, my corruption Grew out of horse-dung: I am your creature.

FERDINAND. Away! [Exit.]

BOSOLA. Let good men, for good deeds, covet good fame, Since place and riches oft are bribes of shame. Sometimes the devil doth preach. [Exit.]

[Scene III]‹17›

[Enter FERDINAND, DUCHESS, CARDINAL, and CARIOLA]

CARDINAL. We are to part from you; and your own discretion Must now be your director.

FERDINAND. You are a widow: You know already what man is; and therefore Let not youth, high promotion, eloquence--

CARDINAL. No, Nor anything without the addition, honour, Sway your high blood.

FERDINAND. Marry! they are most luxurious‹18› Will wed twice.

CARDINAL. O, fie!

FERDINAND. Their livers are more spotted Than Laban's sheep.‹19›

DUCHESS. Diamonds are of most value, They say, that have pass'd through most jewellers' hands.

FERDINAND. Whores by that rule are precious.

DUCHESS. Will you hear me— I 'll never marry.

CARDINAL. So most widows say; But commonly that motion lasts no longer Than the turning of an hour-glass: the funeral sermon And it end both together.

FERDINAND. Now hear me: You live in a rank pasture, here, i' the court; There is a kind of honey-dew that 's deadly; 'T will poison your fame; look to 't. Be not cunning; For they whose faces do belie their hearts Are witches ere they arrive at twenty years, Ay, and give the devil suck.

DUCHESS. This is terrible good counsel.

FERDINAND. Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread, Subtler than Vulcan's engine:‹20› yet, believe 't, Your darkest actions, nay, your privat'st thoughts, Will come to light.

CARDINAL. You may flatter yourself, And take your own choice; privately be married Under the eaves of night--

FERDINAND. Think 't the best voyage That e'er you made; like the irregular crab, Which, though 't goes backward, thinks that it goes right Because it goes its own way: but observe, Such weddings may more properly be said To be executed than celebrated.

CARDINAL. The marriage night Is the entrance into some prison.

FERDINAND. And those joys, Those lustful pleasures, are like heavy sleeps Which do fore-run man's mischief.

CARDINAL. Fare you well. Wisdom begins at the end: remember it. [Exit.]

DUCHESS. I think this speech between you both was studied, It came so roundly off.

FERDINAND. You are my sister; This was my father's poniard, do you see— I 'd be loth to see 't look rusty, 'cause 'twas his. I would have you give o'er these chargeable revels: A visor and a mask are whispering-rooms That were never built for goodness,-fare ye well- And women like variety of courtship. What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale Make a woman believe— Farewell, lusty widow. [Exit.]

DUCHESS. Shall this move me— If all my royal kindred Lay in my way unto this marriage, I 'd make them my low footsteps. And even now, Even in this hate, as men in some great battles, By apprehending danger, have achiev'd Almost impossible actions (I have heard soldiers say so), So I through frights and threatenings will assay This dangerous venture. Let old wives report I wink'd and chose a husband.-Cariola, To thy known secrecy I have given up More than my life,-my fame.

CARIOLA. Both shall be safe; For I 'll conceal this secret from the world As warily as those that trade in poison Keep poison from their children.

DUCHESS. Thy protestation Is ingenious and hearty; I believe it. Is Antonio come—

CARIOLA. He attends you.

DUCHESS. Good dear soul, Leave me; but place thyself behind the arras, Where thou mayst overhear us. Wish me good speed; For I am going into a wilderness, Where I shall find nor path nor friendly clue To be my guide. [Cariola goes behind the arras.] [Enter ANTONIO] I sent for you: sit down; Take pen and ink, and write: are you ready—

ANTONIO. Yes.

DUCHESS. What did I say—

ANTONIO. That I should write somewhat.

DUCHESS. O, I remember. After these triumphs and this large expense It 's fit, like thrifty husbands,‹21› we inquire What 's laid up for to-morrow.

ANTONIO. So please your beauteous excellence.

DUCHESS. Beauteous! Indeed, I thank you. I look young for your sake; You have ta'en my cares upon you.

ANTONIO. I 'll fetch your grace The particulars of your revenue and expense.

DUCHESS. O, you are An upright treasurer: but you mistook; For when I said I meant to make inquiry What 's laid up for to-morrow, I did mean What 's laid up yonder for me.

ANTONIO. Where—

DUCHESS. In heaven. I am making my will (as 'tis fit princes should, In perfect memory), and, I pray, sir, tell me, Were not one better make it smiling, thus, Than in deep groans and terrible ghastly looks, As if the gifts we parted with procur'd‹22› That violent distraction—

ANTONIO. O, much better.

DUCHESS. If I had a husband now, this care were quit: But I intend to make you overseer. What good deed shall we first remember— Say.

ANTONIO. Begin with that first good deed began i' the world After man's creation, the sacrament of marriage; I 'd have you first provide for a good husband; Give him all.

DUCHESS. All!

ANTONIO. Yes, your excellent self.

DUCHESS. In a winding-sheet—

ANTONIO. In a couple.

DUCHESS. Saint Winifred, that were a strange will!

ANTONIO. 'Twere stranger‹23› if there were no will in you To marry again.

DUCHESS. What do you think of marriage—

ANTONIO. I take 't, as those that deny purgatory, It locally contains or heaven or hell; There 's no third place in 't.

DUCHESS. How do you affect it—

ANTONIO. My banishment, feeding my melancholy, Would often reason thus.

DUCHESS. Pray, let 's hear it.

ANTONIO. Say a man never marry, nor have children, What takes that from him— Only the bare name Of being a father, or the weak delight To see the little wanton ride a-cock-horse Upon a painted stick, or hear him chatter Like a taught starling.

DUCHESS. Fie, fie, what 's all this— One of your eyes is blood-shot; use my ring to 't. They say 'tis very sovereign. 'Twas my wedding-ring, And I did vow never to part with it But to my second husband.

ANTONIO. You have parted with it now.

DUCHESS. Yes, to help your eye-sight.

ANTONIO. You have made me stark blind.

DUCHESS. How—

ANTONIO. There is a saucy and ambitious devil Is dancing in this circle.

DUCHESS. Remove him.

ANTONIO. How—

DUCHESS. There needs small conjuration, when your finger May do it: thus. Is it fit— [She puts the ring upon his finger]: he kneels.

ANTONIO. What said you—

DUCHESS. Sir, This goodly roof of yours is too low built; I cannot stand upright in 't nor discourse, Without I raise it higher. Raise yourself; Or, if you please, my hand to help you: so. [Raises him.]

ANTONIO. Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness, That is not kept in chains and close-pent rooms, But in fair lightsome lodgings, and is girt With the wild noise of prattling visitants, Which makes it lunatic beyond all cure. Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim‹24› Whereto your favours tend: but he 's a fool That, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i' the fire To warm them.

DUCHESS. So, now the ground 's broke, You may discover what a wealthy mine I make your lord of.

ANTONIO. O my unworthiness!

DUCHESS. You were ill to sell yourself: This dark'ning of your worth is not like that Which tradesmen use i' the city; their false lights Are to rid bad wares off: and I must tell you, If you will know where breathes a complete man (I speak it without flattery), turn your eyes, And progress through yourself.

ANTONIO. Were there nor heaven nor hell, I should be honest: I have long serv'd virtue, And ne'er ta'en wages of her.

DUCHESS. Now she pays it. The misery of us that are born great! We are forc'd to woo, because none dare woo us; And as a tyrant doubles with his words, And fearfully equivocates, so we Are forc'd to express our violent passions In riddles and in dreams, and leave the path Of simple virtue, which was never made To seem the thing it is not. Go, go brag You have left me heartless; mine is in your bosom: I hope 'twill multiply love there. You do tremble: Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh, To fear more than to love me. Sir, be confident: What is 't distracts you— This is flesh and blood, sir; 'Tis not the figure cut in alabaster Kneels at my husband's tomb. Awake, awake, man! I do here put off all vain ceremony, And only do appear to you a young widow That claims you for her husband, and, like a widow, I use but half a blush in 't.

ANTONIO. Truth speak for me; I will remain the constant sanctuary Of your good name.

DUCHESS. I thank you, gentle love: And 'cause you shall not come to me in debt, Being now my steward, here upon your lips I sign your Quietus est.‹25› This you should have begg'd now. I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus, As fearful to devour them too soon.

ANTONIO. But for your brothers—

DUCHESS. Do not think of them: All discord without this circumference Is only to be pitied, and not fear'd: Yet, should they know it, time will easily Scatter the tempest.

ANTONIO. These words should be mine, And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of it Would not have savour'd flattery.

DUCHESS. Kneel. [Cariola comes from behind the arras.]

ANTONIO. Ha!

DUCHESS. Be not amaz'd; this woman 's of my counsel: I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamber Per verba [de] presenti‹26› is absolute marriage. [She and ANTONIO kneel.] Bless, heaven, this sacred gordian‹27› which let violence Never untwine!

ANTONIO. And may our sweet affections, like the spheres, Be still in motion!

DUCHESS. Quickening, and make The like soft music!

ANTONIO. That we may imitate the loving palms, Best emblem of a peaceful marriage, That never bore fruit, divided!

DUCHESS. What can the church force more—

ANTONIO. That fortune may not know an accident, Either of joy or sorrow, to divide Our fixed wishes!

DUCHESS. How can the church build faster—‹28› We now are man and wife, and 'tis the church That must but echo this.-Maid, stand apart: I now am blind.

ANTONIO. What 's your conceit in this—

DUCHESS. I would have you lead your fortune by the hand Unto your marriage-bed: (You speak in me this, for we now are one:) We 'll only lie and talk together, and plot To appease my humorous‹29› kindred; and if you please, Like the old tale in ALEXANDER AND LODOWICK, Lay a naked sword between us, keep us chaste. O, let me shrowd my blushes in your bosom, Since 'tis the treasury of all my secrets! [Exeunt DUCHESS and ANTONIO.]

CARIOLA. Whether the spirit of greatness or of woman Reign most in her, I know not; but it shows A fearful madness. I owe her much of pity. [Exit.]

Act II

Scene I‹30›

[Enter] BOSOLA and CASTRUCCIO

BOSOLA. You say you would fain be taken for an eminent courtier—

CASTRUCCIO. 'Tis the very main‹31› of my ambition.

BOSOLA. Let me see: you have a reasonable good face for 't already, and your night-cap expresses your ears sufficient largely. I would have you learn to twirl the strings of your band with a good grace, and in a set speech, at th' end of every sentence, to hum three or four times, or blow your nose till it smart again, to recover your memory. When you come to be a president in criminal causes, if you smile upon a prisoner, hang him; but if you frown upon him and threaten him, let him be sure to scape the gallows.

CASTRUCCIO. I would be a very merry president.

BOSOLA. Do not sup o' nights; 'twill beget you an admirable wit.

CASTRUCCIO. Rather it would make me have a good stomach to quarrel; for they say, your roaring boys eat meat seldom, and that makes them so valiant. But how shall I know whether the people take me for an eminent fellow—

BOSOLA. I will teach a trick to know it: give out you lie a-dying, and if you hear the common people curse you, be sure you are taken for one of the prime night-caps.‹32› [Enter an Old Lady] You come from painting now.

OLD LADY. From what—

BOSOLA. Why, from your scurvy face-physic. To behold thee not painted inclines somewhat near a miracle. These in thy face here were deep ruts and foul sloughs the last progress.‹33› There was a lady in France that, having had the small-pox, flayed the skin off her face to make it more level; and whereas before she looked like a nutmeg-grater, after she resembled an abortive hedge-hog.

OLD LADY. Do you call this painting—

BOSOLA. No, no, but you call [it] careening‹34› of an old morphewed‹35› lady, to make her disembogue‹36› again: there 's rough-cast phrase to your plastic.‹37›

OLD LADY. It seems you are well acquainted with my closet.

BOSOLA. One would suspect it for a shop of witchcraft, to find in it the fat of serpents, spawn of snakes, Jews' spittle, and their young children's ordure; and all these for the face. I would sooner eat a dead pigeon taken from the soles of the feet of one sick of the plague, than kiss one of you fasting. Here are two of you, whose sin of your youth is the very patrimony of the physician; makes him renew his foot-cloth with the spring, and change his high-pric'd courtezan with the fall of the leaf. I do wonder you do not loathe yourselves. Observe my meditation now. What thing is in this outward form of man To be belov'd— We account it ominous, If nature do produce a colt, or lamb, A fawn, or goat, in any limb resembling A man, and fly from 't as a prodigy: Man stands amaz'd to see his deformity In any other creature but himself. But in our own flesh though we bear diseases Which have their true names only ta'en from beasts,- As the most ulcerous wolf and swinish measle,- Though we are eaten up of lice and worms, And though continually we bear about us A rotten and dead body, we delight To hide it in rich tissue: all our fear, Nay, all our terror, is, lest our physician Should put us in the ground to be made sweet.- Your wife 's gone to Rome: you two couple, and get you to the wells at Lucca to recover your aches. I have other work on foot. [Exeunt CASTRUCCIO and Old Lady] I observe our duchess Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes, The fins of her eye-lids look most teeming blue,‹38› She wanes i' the cheek, and waxes fat i' the flank, And, contrary to our Italian fashion, Wears a loose-bodied gown: there 's somewhat in 't. I have a trick may chance discover it, A pretty one; I have bought some apricocks, The first our spring yields.

[Enter ANTONIO and DELIO, talking together apart]

DELIO. And so long since married— You amaze me.

ANTONIO. Let me seal your lips for ever: For, did I think that anything but th' air Could carry these words from you, I should wish You had no breath at all.-Now, sir, in your contemplation— You are studying to become a great wise fellow.

BOSOLA. O, sir, the opinion of wisdom is a foul tetter‹39› that runs all over a man's body: if simplicity direct us to have no evil, it directs us to a happy being; for the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom: let me be simply honest.

ANTONIO. I do understand your inside.

BOSOLA. Do you so—

ANTONIO. Because you would not seem to appear to th' world Puff'd up with your preferment, you continue This out-of-fashion melancholy: leave it, leave it.

BOSOLA. Give me leave to be honest in any phrase, in any compliment whatsoever. Shall I confess myself to you— I look no higher than I can reach: they are the gods that must ride on winged horses. A lawyer's mule of a slow pace will both suit my disposition and business; for, mark me, when a man's mind rides faster than his horse can gallop, they quickly both tire.

ANTONIO. You would look up to heaven, but I think The devil, that rules i' th' air, stands in your light.

BOSOLA. O, sir, you are lord of the ascendant,‹40› chief man with the duchess: a duke was your cousin-german remov'd. Say you were lineally descended from King Pepin, or he himself, what of this— Search the heads of the greatest rivers in the world, you shall find them but bubbles of water. Some would think the souls of princes were brought forth by some more weighty cause than those of meaner persons: they are deceiv'd, there 's the same hand to them; the like passions sway them; the same reason that makes a vicar go to law for a tithe-pig, and undo his neighbours, makes them spoil a whole province, and batter down goodly cities with the cannon.

[Enter DUCHESS and Ladies]

DUCHESS. Your arm, Antonio: do I not grow fat— I am exceeding short-winded.-Bosola, I would have you, sir, provide for me a litter; Such a one as the Duchess of Florence rode in.

BOSOLA. The duchess us'd one when she was great with child.

DUCHESS. I think she did.-Come hither, mend my ruff: Here, when— thou art such a tedious lady; and Thy breath smells of lemon-pills: would thou hadst done! Shall I swoon under thy fingers— I am So troubled with the mother!‹41›

BOSOLA. [Aside.] I fear too much.

DUCHESS. I have heard you say that the French courtiers Wear their hats on 'fore that king.

ANTONIO. I have seen it.

DUCHESS. In the presence—

ANTONIO. Yes.

DUCHESS. Why should not we bring up that fashion— 'Tis ceremony more than duty that consists In the removing of a piece of felt. Be you the example to the rest o' th' court; Put on your hat first.

ANTONIO. You must pardon me: I have seen, in colder countries than in France, Nobles stand bare to th' prince; and the distinction Methought show'd reverently.

BOSOLA. I have a present for your grace.

DUCHESS. For me, sir—

BOSOLA. Apricocks, madam.

DUCHESS. O, sir, where are they— I have heard of none to-year‹42›

BOSOLA. [Aside.] Good; her colour rises.

DUCHESS. Indeed, I thank you: they are wondrous fair ones. What an unskilful fellow is our gardener! We shall have none this month.

BOSOLA. Will not your grace pare them—

DUCHESS. No: they taste of musk, methinks; indeed they do.

BOSOLA. I know not: yet I wish your grace had par'd 'em.

DUCHESS. Why—

BOSOLA. I forgot to tell you, the knave gardener, Only to raise his profit by them the sooner, Did ripen them in horse-dung.

DUCHESS. O, you jest.- You shall judge: pray, taste one.

ANTONIO. Indeed, madam, I do not love the fruit.

DUCHESS. Sir, you are loth To rob us of our dainties. 'Tis a delicate fruit; They say they are restorative.

BOSOLA. 'Tis a pretty art, This grafting.

DUCHESS. 'Tis so; a bettering of nature.

BOSOLA. To make a pippin grow upon a crab, A damson on a black-thorn.-[Aside.] How greedily she eats them! A whirlwind strike off these bawd farthingales! For, but for that and the loose-bodied gown, I should have discover'd apparently‹43› The young springal‹44› cutting a caper in her belly.

DUCHESS. I thank you, Bosola: they were right good ones, If they do not make me sick.

ANTONIO. How now, madam!

DUCHESS. This green fruit and my stomach are not friends: How they swell me!

BOSOLA. [Aside.] Nay, you are too much swell'd already.

DUCHESS. O, I am in an extreme cold sweat!

BOSOLA. I am very sorry. [Exit.]

DUCHESS. Lights to my chamber!-O good Antonio, I fear I am undone!

DELIO. Lights there, lights! Exeunt DUCHESS [and Ladies.]

ANTONIO. O my most trusty Delio, we are lost! I fear she 's fall'n in labour; and there 's left No time for her remove.

DELIO. Have you prepar'd Those ladies to attend her; and procur'd That politic safe conveyance for the midwife Your duchess plotted—

ANTONIO. I have.

DELIO. Make use, then, of this forc'd occasion. Give out that Bosola hath poison'd her With these apricocks; that will give some colour For her keeping close.

ANTONIO. Fie, fie, the physicians Will then flock to her.

DELIO. For that you may pretend She'll use some prepar'd antidote of her own, Lest the physicians should re-poison her.

ANTONIO. I am lost in amazement: I know not what to think on 't. Exeunt.

Scene II‹45›

[Enter] BOSOLA and Old Lady

BOSOLA. So, so, there 's no question but her techiness‹46› and most vulturous eating of the apricocks are apparent signs of breeding, now—

OLD LADY. I am in haste, sir.

BOSOLA. There was a young waiting-woman had a monstrous desire to see the glass-house--

OLD LADY. Nay, pray, let me go. I will hear no more of the glass-house. You are still‹47› abusing women!

BOSOLA. Who, I— No; only, by the way now and then, mention your frailties. The orange-tree bears ripe and green fruit and blossoms all together; and some of you give entertainment for pure love, but more for more precious reward. The lusty spring smells well; but drooping autumn tastes well. If we have the same golden showers that rained in the time of Jupiter the thunderer, you have the same Danaes still, to hold up their laps to receive them. Didst thou never study the mathematics—

OLD LADY. What 's that, sir—

BOSOLA. Why, to know the trick how to make a many lines meet in one centre. Go, go, give your foster-daughters good counsel: tell them, that the devil takes delight to hang at a woman's girdle, like a false rusty watch, that she cannot discern how the time passes. [Exit Old Lady.]

[Enter ANTONIO, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN]

ANTONIO. Shut up the court-gates.

RODERIGO. Why, sir— What 's the danger—

ANTONIO. Shut up the posterns presently, and call All the officers o' th' court.

GRISOLAN. I shall instantly. [Exit.]

ANTONIO. Who keeps the key o' th' park-gate—

RODERIGO. Forobosco.

ANTONIO. Let him bring 't presently.

[Re-enter GRISOLAN with Servants]

FIRST SERVANT. O, gentleman o' th' court, the foulest treason!

BOSOLA. [Aside.] If that these apricocks should be poison'd now, Without my knowledge—

FIRST SERVANT. There was taken even now a Switzer in the duchess' bed-chamber--

SECOND SERVANT. A Switzer!

FIRST SERVANT. With a pistol--

SECOND SERVANT. There was a cunning traitor!

FIRST SERVANT. And all the moulds of his buttons were leaden bullets.

SECOND SERVANT. O wicked cannibal!

FIRST SERVANT. 'Twas a French plot, upon my life.

SECOND SERVANT. To see what the devil can do!

ANTONIO. [Are] all the officers here—

SERVANTS. We are.

ANTONIO. Gentlemen, We have lost much plate, you know; and but this evening Jewels, to the value of four thousand ducats, Are missing in the duchess' cabinet. Are the gates shut—

SERVANT. Yes.

ANTONIO. 'Tis the duchess' pleasure Each officer be lock'd into his chamber Till the sun-rising; and to send the keys Of all their chests and of their outward doors Into her bed-chamber. She is very sick.

RODERIGO. At her pleasure.

ANTONIO. She entreats you take 't not ill: the innocent Shall be the more approv'd by it.

BOSOLA. Gentlemen o' the wood-yard, where 's your Switzer now—

FIRST SERVANT. By this hand, 'twas credibly reported by one o' the black guard.‹48› [Exeunt all except ANTONIO and DELIO.]

DELIO. How fares it with the duchess—

ANTONIO. She 's expos'd Unto the worst of torture, pain, and fear.

DELIO. Speak to her all happy comfort.

ANTONIO. How I do play the fool with mine own danger! You are this night, dear friend, to post to Rome: My life lies in your service.

DELIO. Do not doubt me.

ANTONIO. O, 'tis far from me: and yet fear presents me Somewhat that looks like danger.

DELIO. Believe it, 'Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more: How superstitiously we mind our evils! The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare, Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse, Or singing of a cricket, are of power To daunt whole man in us. Sir, fare you well: I wish you all the joys of a bless'd father; And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast,- Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best. [Exit.]

[Enter CARIOLA]

CARIOLA. Sir, you are the happy father of a son: Your wife commends him to you.

ANTONIO. Blessed comfort!- For heaven' sake, tend her well: I 'll presently‹49› Go set a figure for 's nativity.‹50› Exeunt.

Scene III‹51›

[Enter BOSOLA, with a dark lantern]

BOSOLA. Sure I did hear a woman shriek: list, ha! And the sound came, if I receiv'd it right,›From the duchess' lodgings. There 's some stratagem In the confining all our courtiers To their several wards: I must have part of it; My intelligence will freeze else. List, again! It may be 'twas the melancholy bird, Best friend of silence and of solitariness, The owl, that screamed so.-Ha! Antonio!

[Enter ANTONIO with a candle, his sword drawn]

ANTONIO. I heard some noise.-Who 's there— What art thou— Speak.

BOSOLA. Antonio, put not your face nor body To such a forc'd expression of fear; I am Bosola, your friend.

ANTONIO. Bosola!- [Aside.] This mole does undermine me.-Heard you not A noise even now—

BOSOLA. From whence—

ANTONIO. From the duchess' lodging.

BOSOLA. Not I: did you—

ANTONIO. I did, or else I dream'd.

BOSOLA. Let 's walk towards it.

ANTONIO. No: it may be 'twas But the rising of the wind.

BOSOLA. Very likely. Methinks 'tis very cold, and yet you sweat: You look wildly.

ANTONIO. I have been setting a figure‹52› For the duchess' jewels.

BOSOLA. Ah, and how falls your question— Do you find it radical—‹53›

ANTONIO. What 's that to you— 'Tis rather to be question'd what design, When all men were commanded to their lodgings, Makes you a night-walker.

BOSOLA. In sooth, I 'll tell you: Now all the court 's asleep, I thought the devil Had least to do here; I came to say my prayers; And if it do offend you I do so, You are a fine courtier.

ANTONIO. [Aside.] This fellow will undo me.- You gave the duchess apricocks to-day: Pray heaven they were not poison'd!

BOSOLA. Poison'd! a Spanish fig For the imputation!

ANTONIO. Traitors are ever confident Till they are discover'd. There were jewels stol'n too: In my conceit, none are to be suspected More than yourself.

BOSOLA. You are a false steward.

ANTONIO. Saucy slave, I 'll pull thee up by the roots.

BOSOLA. May be the ruin will crush you to pieces.

ANTONIO. You are an impudent snake indeed, sir: Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting— You libel‹54› well, sir—

BOSOLA. No, sir: copy it out, And I will set my hand to 't.

ANTONIO. [Aside.] My nose bleeds. One that were superstitious would count This ominous, when it merely comes by chance. Two letters, that are wrought here for my name,‹55› Are drown'd in blood! Mere accident.-For you, sir, I 'll take order I' the morn you shall be safe.-[Aside.] 'Tis that must colour Her lying-in.-Sir, this door you pass not: I do not hold it fit that you come near The duchess' lodgings, till you have quit yourself.- [Aside.] The great are like the base, nay, they are the same, When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame. Exit.

BOSOLA. Antonio hereabout did drop a paper:- Some of your help, false friend.‹56›-O, here it is. What 's here— a child's nativity calculated! [Reads.] 'The duchess was deliver'd of a son, 'tween the hours twelve and one in the night, Anno Dom. 1504,'-that 's this year-'decimo nono Decembris,'-that 's this night- 'taken according to the meridian of Malfi,'-that 's our duchess: happy discovery!-'The lord of the first house being combust in the ascendant, signifies short life; and Mars being in a human sign, joined to the tail of the Dragon, in the eighth house, doth threaten a violent death. Caetera non scrutantur.'‹57›

Why, now 'tis most apparent; this precise fellow Is the duchess' bawd:-I have it to my wish! This is a parcel of intelligency‹58› Our courtiers were cas'd up for: it needs must follow That I must be committed on pretence Of poisoning her; which I 'll endure, and laugh at. If one could find the father now! but that Time will discover. Old Castruccio I' th' morning posts to Rome: by him I 'll send A letter that shall make her brothers' galls O'erflow their livers. This was a thrifty‹59› way! Though lust do mask in ne'er so strange disguise, She 's oft found witty, but is never wise. [Exit.]

Scene IV‹60›

[Enter] CARDINAL and JULIA

CARDINAL. Sit: thou art my best of wishes. Prithee, tell me What trick didst thou invent to come to Rome Without thy husband—

JULIA. Why, my lord, I told him I came to visit an old anchorite‹61› Here for devotion.

CARDINAL. Thou art a witty false one,- I mean, to him.

JULIA. You have prevail'd with me Beyond my strongest thoughts; I would not now Find you inconstant.

CARDINAL. Do not put thyself To such a voluntary torture, which proceeds Out of your own guilt.

JULIA. How, my lord!

CARDINAL. You fear My constancy, because you have approv'd‹62› Those giddy and wild turnings in yourself.

JULIA. Did you e'er find them—

CARDINAL. Sooth, generally for women, A man might strive to make glass malleable, Ere he should make them fixed.

JULIA. So, my lord.

CARDINAL. We had need go borrow that fantastic glass Invented by Galileo the Florentine To view another spacious world i' th' moon, And look to find a constant woman there.

JULIA. This is very well, my lord.

CARDINAL. Why do you weep— Are tears your justification— The self-same tears Will fall into your husband's bosom, lady, With a loud protestation that you love him Above the world. Come, I 'll love you wisely, That 's jealously; since I am very certain You cannot make me cuckold.

JULIA. I 'll go home To my husband.

CARDINAL. You may thank me, lady, I have taken you off your melancholy perch, Bore you upon my fist, and show'd you game, And let you fly at it.-I pray thee, kiss me.- When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watch'd Like a tame elephant:-still you are to thank me:- Thou hadst only kisses from him and high feeding; But what delight was that— 'Twas just like one That hath a little fing'ring on the lute, Yet cannot tune it:-still you are to thank me.

JULIA. You told me of a piteous wound i' th' heart, And a sick liver, when you woo'd me first, And spake like one in physic.‹63›

CARDINAL. Who 's that—-- [Enter Servant] Rest firm, for my affection to thee, Lightning moves slow to 't.

SERVANT. Madam, a gentleman, That 's come post from Malfi, desires to see you.

CARDINAL. Let him enter: I 'll withdraw. Exit.

SERVANT. He says Your husband, old Castruccio, is come to Rome, Most pitifully tir'd with riding post. [Exit.]

[Enter DELIO]

JULIA. [Aside.] Signior Delio! 'tis one of my old suitors.

DELIO. I was bold to come and see you.

JULIA. Sir, you are welcome.

DELIO. Do you lie here—

JULIA. Sure, your own experience Will satisfy you no: our Roman prelates Do not keep lodging for ladies.

DELIO. Very well: I have brought you no commendations from your husband, For I know none by him.

JULIA. I hear he 's come to Rome.

DELIO. I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a knight, So weary of each other. If he had had a good back, He would have undertook to have borne his horse, His breech was so pitifully sore.

JULIA. Your laughter Is my pity.

DELIO. Lady, I know not whether You want money, but I have brought you some.

JULIA. From my husband—

DELIO. No, from mine own allowance.

JULIA. I must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it.

DELIO. Look on 't, 'tis gold; hath it not a fine colour—

JULIA. I have a bird more beautiful.

DELIO. Try the sound on 't.

JULIA. A lute-string far exceeds it. It hath no smell, like cassia or civet; Nor is it physical,‹64› though some fond doctors Persuade us seethe 't in cullises.‹65› I 'll tell you, This is a creature bred by--

[Re-enter Servant]

SERVANT. Your husband 's come, Hath deliver'd a letter to the Duke of Calabria That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits. [Exit.]

JULIA. Sir, you hear: Pray, let me know your business and your suit As briefly as can be.

DELIO. With good speed: I would wish you, At such time as you are non-resident With your husband, my mistress.

JULIA. Sir, I 'll go ask my husband if I shall, And straight return your answer. Exit.

DELIO. Very fine! Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus— I heard one say the duke was highly mov'd With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear Antonio is betray'd. How fearfully Shows his ambition now! Unfortunate fortune! They pass through whirl-pools, and deep woes do shun, Who the event weigh ere the action 's done. Exit.

Scene V‹66›

[Enter] CARDINAL and FERDINAND with a letter

FERDINAND. I have this night digg'd up a mandrake.‹67›

CARDINAL. Say you—

FERDINAND. And I am grown mad with 't.

CARDINAL. What 's the prodigy‹—›

FERDINAND. Read there,-a sister damn'd: she 's loose i' the hilts;‹68› Grown a notorious strumpet.

CARDINAL. Speak lower.

FERDINAND. Lower! Rogues do not whisper 't now, but seek to publish 't (As servants do the bounty of their lords) Aloud; and with a covetous searching eye, To mark who note them. O, confusion seize her! She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn, And more secure conveyances for lust Than towns of garrison for service.

CARDINAL. Is 't possible— Can this be certain—

FERDINAND. Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb To purge this choler! Here 's the cursed day To prompt my memory; and here 't shall stick Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge To wipe it out.

CARDINAL. Why do you make yourself So wild a tempest—

FERDINAND. Would I could be one, That I might toss her palace 'bout her ears, Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads, And lay her general territory as waste As she hath done her honours.

CARDINAL. Shall our blood, The royal blood of Arragon and Castile, Be thus attainted—

FERDINAND. Apply desperate physic: We must not now use balsamum, but fire, The smarting cupping-glass, for that 's the mean To purge infected blood, such blood as hers. There is a kind of pity in mine eye,- I 'll give it to my handkercher; and now 'tis here, I 'll bequeath this to her bastard.

CARDINAL. What to do—

FERDINAND. Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds, When I have hew'd her to pieces.

CARDINAL. Curs'd creature! Unequal nature, to place women's hearts So far upon the left side!‹69›

FERDINAND. Foolish men, That e'er will trust their honour in a bark Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman, Apt every minute to sink it!

CARDINAL. Thus ignorance, when it hath purchas'd honour, It cannot wield it.

FERDINAND. Methinks I see her laughing,- Excellent hyena! Talk to me somewhat quickly, Or my imagination will carry me To see her in the shameful act of sin.

CARDINAL. With whom—

FERDINAND. Happily with some strong-thigh'd bargeman, Or one o' th' wood-yard that can quoit the sledge‹70› Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire That carries coals up to her privy lodgings.

CARDINAL. You fly beyond your reason.

FERDINAND. Go to, mistress! 'Tis not your whore's milk that shall quench my wild-fire, But your whore's blood.

CARDINAL. How idly shows this rage, which carries you, As men convey'd by witches through the air, On violent whirlwinds! This intemperate noise Fitly resembles deaf men's shrill discourse, Who talk aloud, thinking all other men To have their imperfection.

FERDINAND. Have not you My palsy—

CARDINAL. Yes, [but] I can be angry Without this rupture. There is not in nature A thing that makes man so deform'd, so beastly, As doth intemperate anger. Chide yourself. You have divers men who never yet express'd Their strong desire of rest but by unrest, By vexing of themselves. Come, put yourself In tune.

FERDINAND. So I will only study to seem The thing I am not. I could kill her now, In you, or in myself; for I do think It is some sin in us heaven doth revenge By her.

CARDINAL. Are you stark mad—

FERDINAND. I would have their bodies Burnt in a coal-pit with the ventage stopp'd, That their curs'd smoke might not ascend to heaven; Or dip the sheets they lie in in pitch or sulphur, Wrap them in 't, and then light them like a match; Or else to-boil‹71› their bastard to a cullis, And give 't his lecherous father to renew The sin of his back.

CARDINAL. I 'll leave you.

FERDINAND. Nay, I have done. I am confident, had I been damn'd in hell, And should have heard of this, it would have put me Into a cold sweat. In, in; I 'll go sleep. Till I know who [loves] my sister, I 'll not stir: That known, I 'll find scorpions to string my whips, And fix her in a general eclipse. Exeunt.

Act III

Scene I‹72›

[Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO

ANTONIO. Our noble friend, my most beloved Delio! O, you have been a stranger long at court: Came you along with the Lord Ferdinand—

DELIO. I did, sir: and how fares your noble duchess—

ANTONIO. Right fortunately well: she 's an excellent Feeder of pedigrees; since you last saw her, She hath had two children more, a son and daughter.

DELIO. Methinks 'twas yesterday. Let me but wink, And not behold your face, which to mine eye Is somewhat leaner, verily I should dream It were within this half hour.

ANTONIO. You have not been in law, friend Delio, Nor in prison, nor a suitor at the court, Nor begg'd the reversion of some great man's place, Nor troubled with an old wife, which doth make Your time so insensibly hasten.

DELIO. Pray, sir, tell me, Hath not this news arriv'd yet to the ear Of the lord cardinal—

ANTONIO. I fear it hath: The Lord Ferdinand, that 's newly come to court, Doth bear himself right dangerously.

DELIO. Pray, why—

ANTONIO. He is so quiet that he seems to sleep The tempest out, as dormice do in winter. Those houses that are haunted are most still Till the devil be up.

DELIO. What say the common people—

ANTONIO. The common rabble do directly say She is a strumpet.

DELIO. And your graver heads Which would be politic, what censure they—

ANTONIO. They do observe I grow to infinite purchase,‹73› The left hand way; and all suppose the duchess Would amend it, if she could; for, say they, Great princes, though they grudge their officers Should have such large and unconfined means To get wealth under them, will not complain, Lest thereby they should make them odious Unto the people. For other obligation Of love or marriage between her and me They never dream of.

DELIO. The Lord Ferdinand Is going to bed.

[Enter DUCHESS, FERDINAND, and Attendants]

FERDINAND. I 'll instantly to bed, For I am weary.-I am to bespeak A husband for you.

DUCHESS. For me, sir! Pray, who is 't—

FERDINAND. The great Count Malatesti.

DUCHESS. Fie upon him! A count! He 's a mere stick of sugar-candy; You may look quite through him. When I choose A husband, I will marry for your honour.

FERDINAND. You shall do well in 't.-How is 't, worthy Antonio—

DUCHESS. But, sir, I am to have private conference with you About a scandalous report is spread Touching mine honour.

FERDINAND. Let me be ever deaf to 't: One of Pasquil's paper-bullets,‹74› court-calumny, A pestilent air, which princes' palaces Are seldom purg'd of. Yet, say that it were true, I pour it in your bosom, my fix'd love Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny Faults, were they apparent in you. Go, be safe In your own innocency.

DUCHESS. [Aside.] O bless'd comfort! This deadly air is purg'd. Exeunt [DUCHESS, ANTONIO, DELIO, and Attendants.]

FERDINAND. Her guilt treads on Hot-burning coulters.‹75› Enter BOSOLA Now, Bosola, How thrives our intelligence—‹76›

BOSOLA. Sir, uncertainly: 'Tis rumour'd she hath had three bastards, but By whom we may go read i' the stars.

FERDINAND. Why, some Hold opinion all things are written there.

BOSOLA. Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them. I do suspect there hath been some sorcery Us'd on the duchess.

FERDINAND. Sorcery! to what purpose—

BOSOLA. To make her dote on some desertless fellow She shames to acknowledge.

FERDINAND. Can your faith give way To think there 's power in potions or in charms, To make us love whether we will or no—

BOSOLA. Most certainly.

FERDINAND. Away! these are mere gulleries,‹77› horrid things, Invented by some cheating mountebanks To abuse us. Do you think that herbs or charms Can force the will— Some trials have been made In this foolish practice, but the ingredients Were lenitive‹78› poisons, such as are of force To make the patient mad; and straight the witch Swears by equivocation they are in love. The witch-craft lies in her rank blood. This night I will force confession from her. You told me You had got, within these two days, a false key Into her bed-chamber.

BOSOLA. I have.

FERDINAND. As I would wish.

BOSOLA. What do you intend to do—

FERDINAND. Can you guess—

BOSOLA. No.

FERDINAND. Do not ask, then: He that can compass me, and know my drifts, May say he hath put a girdle 'bout the world, And sounded all her quick-sands.

BOSOLA. I do not Think so.

FERDINAND. What do you think, then, pray—

BOSOLA. That you Are your own chronicle too much, and grossly Flatter yourself.

FERDINAND. Give me thy hand; I thank thee: I never gave pension but to flatterers, Till I entertained thee. Farewell. That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks, Who rails into his belief all his defects. Exeunt.

Scene II‹79›

[Enter] DUCHESS, ANTONIO, and CARIOLA

DUCHESS. Bring me the casket hither, and the glass.- You get no lodging here to-night, my lord.

ANTONIO. Indeed, I must persuade one.

DUCHESS. Very good: I hope in time 'twill grow into a custom, That noblemen shall come with cap and knee To purchase a night's lodging of their wives.

ANTONIO. I must lie here.

DUCHESS. Must! You are a lord of mis-rule.

ANTONIO. Indeed, my rule is only in the night.

DUCHESS. I 'll stop your mouth. [Kisses him.]

ANTONIO. Nay, that 's but one; Venus had two soft doves To draw her chariot; I must have another.- [She kisses him again.] When wilt thou marry, Cariola—

CARIOLA. Never, my lord.

ANTONIO. O, fie upon this single life! forgo it. We read how Daphne, for her peevish [flight,]‹80› Became a fruitless bay-tree; Syrinx turn'd To the pale empty reed; Anaxarete Was frozen into marble: whereas those Which married, or prov'd kind unto their friends, Were by a gracious influence transhap'd Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry, Became flowers, precious stones, or eminent stars.

CARIOLA. This is a vain poetry: but I pray you, tell me, If there were propos'd me, wisdom, riches, and beauty, In three several young men, which should I choose—

ANTONIO. 'Tis a hard question. This was Paris' case, And he was blind in 't, and there was a great cause; For how was 't possible he could judge right, Having three amorous goddesses in view, And they stark naked— 'Twas a motion Were able to benight the apprehension Of the severest counsellor of Europe. Now I look on both your faces so well form'd, It puts me in mind of a question I would ask.

CARIOLA. What is 't—

ANTONIO. I do wonder why hard-favour'd ladies, For the most part, keep worse-favour'd waiting-women To attend them, and cannot endure fair ones.

DUCHESS. O, that 's soon answer'd. Did you ever in your life know an ill painter Desire to have his dwelling next door to the shop Of an excellent picture-maker— 'Twould disgrace His face-making, and undo him. I prithee, When were we so merry—-My hair tangles.

ANTONIO. Pray thee, Cariola, let 's steal forth the room, And let her talk to herself: I have divers times Serv'd her the like, when she hath chaf'd extremely. I love to see her angry. Softly, Cariola. Exeunt [ANTONIO and CARIOLA.]

DUCHESS. Doth not the colour of my hair 'gin to change— When I wax gray, I shall have all the court Powder their hair with arras,‹81› to be like me. You have cause to love me; I ent'red you into my heart [Enter FERDINAND unseen] Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys. We shall one day have my brothers take you napping. Methinks his presence, being now in court, Should make you keep your own bed; but you 'll say Love mix'd with fear is sweetest. I 'll assure you, You shall get no more children till my brothers Consent to be your gossips. Have you lost your tongue— 'Tis welcome: For know, whether I am doom'd to live or die, I can do both like a prince.

FERDINAND. Die, then, quickly! Giving her a poniard. Virtue, where art thou hid— What hideous thing Is it that doth eclipse thee—

DUCHESS. Pray, sir, hear me.

FERDINAND. Or is it true thou art but a bare name, And no essential thing—

DUCHESS. Sir--

FERDINAND. Do not speak.

DUCHESS. No, sir: I will plant my soul in mine ears, to hear you.

FERDINAND. O most imperfect light of human reason, That mak'st [us] so unhappy to foresee What we can least prevent! Pursue thy wishes, And glory in them: there 's in shame no comfort But to be past all bounds and sense of shame.

DUCHESS. I pray, sir, hear me: I am married.

FERDINAND. So!

DUCHESS. Happily, not to your liking: but for that, Alas, your shears do come untimely now To clip the bird's wings that 's already flown! Will you see my husband—

FERDINAND. Yes, if I could change Eyes with a basilisk.

DUCHESS. Sure, you came hither By his confederacy.

FERDINAND. The howling of a wolf Is music to thee, screech-owl: prithee, peace.- Whate'er thou art that hast enjoy'd my sister, For I am sure thou hear'st me, for thine own sake Let me not know thee. I came hither prepar'd To work thy discovery; yet am now persuaded It would beget such violent effects As would damn us both. I would not for ten millions I had beheld thee: therefore use all means I never may have knowledge of thy name; Enjoy thy lust still, and a wretched life, On that condition.-And for thee, vile woman, If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old In thy embracements, I would have thee build Such a room for him as our anchorites To holier use inhabit. Let not the sun Shine on him till he 's dead; let dogs and monkeys Only converse with him, and such dumb things To whom nature denies use to sound his name; Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it; If thou do love him, cut out thine own tongue, Lest it bewray him.

DUCHESS. Why might not I marry— I have not gone about in this to create Any new world or custom.

FERDINAND. Thou art undone; And thou hast ta'en that massy sheet of lead That hid thy husband's bones, and folded it About my heart.

DUCHESS. Mine bleeds for 't.

FERDINAND. Thine! thy heart! What should I name 't unless a hollow bullet Fill'd with unquenchable wild-fire—

DUCHESS. You are in this Too strict; and were you not my princely brother, I would say, too wilful: my reputation Is safe.

FERDINAND. Dost thou know what reputation is— I 'll tell thee,-to small purpose, since the instruction Comes now too late. Upon a time Reputation, Love, and Death, Would travel o'er the world; and it was concluded That they should part, and take three several ways. Death told them, they should find him in great battles, Or cities plagu'd with plagues: Love gives them counsel To inquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds, Where dowries were not talk'd of, and sometimes 'Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left By their dead parents: 'Stay,' quoth Reputation, 'Do not forsake me; for it is my nature, If once I part from any man I meet, I am never found again.' And so for you: You have shook hands with Reputation, And made him invisible. So, fare you well: I will never see you more.

DUCHESS. Why should only I, Of all the other princes of the world, Be cas'd up, like a holy relic— I have youth And a little beauty.

FERDINAND. So you have some virgins That are witches. I will never see thee more. Exit.

Re-enter ANTONIO with a pistol, [and CARIOLA]

DUCHESS. You saw this apparition—

ANTONIO. Yes: we are Betray'd. How came he hither— I should turn This to thee, for that.

CARIOLA. Pray, sir, do; and when That you have cleft my heart, you shall read there Mine innocence.

DUCHESS. That gallery gave him entrance.

ANTONIO. I would this terrible thing would come again, That, standing on my guard, I might relate My warrantable love.- (She shows the poniard.) Ha! what means this—

DUCHESS. He left this with me.

ANTONIO. And it seems did wish You would use it on yourself.

DUCHESS. His action seem'd To intend so much.

ANTONIO. This hath a handle to 't, As well as a point: turn it towards him, and So fasten the keen edge in his rank gall. [Knocking within.] How now! who knocks— More earthquakes—

DUCHESS. I stand As if a mine beneath my feet were ready To be blown up.

CARIOLA. 'Tis Bosola.

DUCHESS. Away! O misery! methinks unjust actions Should wear these masks and curtains, and not we. You must instantly part hence: I have fashion'd it already. Exit ANTONIO.

Enter BOSOLA

BOSOLA. The duke your brother is ta'en up in a whirlwind; Hath took horse, and 's rid post to Rome.

DUCHESS. So late—

BOSOLA. He told me, as he mounted into the saddle, You were undone.

DUCHESS. Indeed, I am very near it.

BOSOLA. What 's the matter—

DUCHESS. Antonio, the master of our household, Hath dealt so falsely with me in 's accounts. My brother stood engag'd with me for money Ta'en up of certain Neapolitan Jews, And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit.

BOSOLA. Strange!-[Aside.] This is cunning.

DUCHESS. And hereupon My brother's bills at Naples are protested Against.-Call up our officers.

BOSOLA. I shall. Exit.

[Re-enter ANTONIO]

DUCHESS. The place that you must fly to is Ancona: Hire a house there; I 'll send after you My treasure and my jewels. Our weak safety Runs upon enginous wheels:‹82› short syllables Must stand for periods. I must now accuse you Of such a feigned crime as Tasso calls Magnanima menzogna, a noble lie, 'Cause it must shield our honours.-Hark! they are coming.

[Re-enter BOSOLA and Officers]

ANTONIO. Will your grace hear me—

DUCHESS. I have got well by you; you have yielded me A million of loss: I am like to inherit The people's curses for your stewardship. You had the trick in audit-time to be sick, Till I had sign'd your quietus;‹83› and that cur'd you Without help of a doctor.-Gentlemen, I would have this man be an example to you all; So shall you hold my favour; I pray, let him; For h'as done that, alas, you would not think of, And, because I intend to be rid of him, I mean not to publish.-Use your fortune elsewhere.

ANTONIO. I am strongly arm'd to brook my overthrow, As commonly men bear with a hard year. I will not blame the cause on 't; but do think The necessity of my malevolent star Procures this, not her humour. O, the inconstant And rotten ground of service! You may see, 'Tis even like him, that in a winter night, Takes a long slumber o'er a dying fire, A-loth to part from 't; yet parts thence as cold As when he first sat down.

DUCHESS. We do confiscate, Towards the satisfying of your accounts, All that you have.

ANTONIO. I am all yours; and 'tis very fit All mine should be so.

DUCHESS. So, sir, you have your pass.

ANTONIO. You may see, gentlemen, what 'tis to serve A prince with body and soul. Exit.

BOSOLA. Here 's an example for extortion: what moisture is drawn out of the sea, when foul weather comes, pours down, and runs into the sea again.

DUCHESS. I would know what are your opinions Of this Antonio.

SECOND OFFICER. He could not abide to see a pig's head gaping: I thought your grace would find him a Jew.

THIRD OFFICER. I would you had been his officer, for your own sake.

FOURTH OFFICER. You would have had more money.

FIRST OFFICER. He stopped his ears with black wool, and to those came to him for money said he was thick of hearing.

SECOND OFFICER. Some said he was an hermaphrodite, for he could not abide a woman.

FOURTH OFFICER. How scurvy proud he would look when the treasury was full! Well, let him go.

FIRST OFFICER. Yes, and the chippings of the buttery fly after him, to scour his gold chain.‹84›

DUCHESS. Leave us. Exeunt [Officers.] What do you think of these—

BOSOLA. That these are rogues that in 's prosperity, But to have waited on his fortune, could have wish'd His dirty stirrup riveted through their noses, And follow'd after 's mule, like a bear in a ring; Would have prostituted their daughters to his lust; Made their first-born intelligencers;‹85› thought none happy But such as were born under his blest planet, And wore his livery: and do these lice drop off now— Well, never look to have the like again: He hath left a sort‹86› of flattering rogues behind him; Their doom must follow. Princes pay flatterers In their own money: flatterers dissemble their vices, And they dissemble their lies; that 's justice. Alas, poor gentleman!

DUCHESS. Poor! he hath amply fill'd his coffers.

BOSOLA. Sure, he was too honest. Pluto,‹87› the god of riches, When he 's sent by Jupiter to any man, He goes limping, to signify that wealth That comes on God's name comes slowly; but when he's sent On the devil's errand, he rides post and comes in by scuttles.‹88› Let me show you what a most unvalu'd jewel You have in a wanton humour thrown away, To bless the man shall find him. He was an excellent Courtier and most faithful; a soldier that thought it As beastly to know his own value too little As devilish to acknowledge it too much. Both his virtue and form deserv'd a far better fortune: His discourse rather delighted to judge itself than show itself: His breast was fill'd with all perfection, And yet it seemed a private whisp'ring-room, It made so little noise of 't.

DUCHESS. But he was basely descended.

BOSOLA. Will you make yourself a mercenary herald, Rather to examine men's pedigrees than virtues— You shall want‹89› him: For know an honest statesman to a prince Is like a cedar planted by a spring; The spring bathes the tree's root, the grateful tree Rewards it with his shadow: you have not done so. I would sooner swim to the Bermoothes on Two politicians' rotten bladders, tied Together with an intelligencer's heart-string, Than depend on so changeable a prince's favour. Fare thee well, Antonio! Since the malice of the world Would needs down with thee, it cannot be said yet That any ill happen'd unto thee, considering thy fall Was accompanied with virtue.

DUCHESS. O, you render me excellent music!

BOSOLA. Say you—

DUCHESS. This good one that you speak of is my husband.

BOSOLA. Do I not dream— Can this ambitious age Have so much goodness in 't as to prefer A man merely for worth, without these shadows Of wealth and painted honours— Possible—

DUCHESS. I have had three children by him.

BOSOLA. Fortunate lady! For you have made your private nuptial bed The humble and fair seminary of peace, No question but: many an unbenefic'd scholar Shall pray for you for this deed, and rejoice That some preferment in the world can yet Arise from merit. The virgins of your land That have no dowries shall hope your example Will raise them to rich husbands. Should you want Soldiers, 'twould make the very Turks and Moors Turn Christians, and serve you for this act. Last, the neglected poets of your time, In honour of this trophy of a man, Rais'd by that curious engine, your white hand, Shall thank you, in your grave, for 't; and make that More reverend than all the cabinets Of living princes. For Antonio, His fame shall likewise flow from many a pen, When heralds shall want coats to sell to men.

DUCHESS. As I taste comfort in this friendly speech, So would I find concealment.

BOSOLA. O, the secret of my prince, Which I will wear on th' inside of my heart!

DUCHESS. You shall take charge of all my coin and jewels, And follow him; for he retires himself To Ancona.

BOSOLA. So.

DUCHESS. Whither, within few days, I mean to follow thee.

BOSOLA. Let me think: I would wish your grace to feign a pilgrimage To our Lady of Loretto, scarce seven leagues›From fair Ancona; so may you depart Your country with more honour, and your flight Will seem a princely progress, retaining Your usual train about you.

DUCHESS. Sir, your direction Shall lead me by the hand.

CARIOLA. In my opinion, She were better progress to the baths at Lucca, Or go visit the Spa In Germany; for, if you will believe me, I do not like this jesting with religion, This feigned pilgrimage.

DUCHESS. Thou art a superstitious fool: Prepare us instantly for our departure. Past sorrows, let us moderately lament them, For those to come, seek wisely to prevent them. [Exeunt DUCHESS and CARIOLA.]

BOSOLA. A politician is the devil's quilted anvil; He fashions all sins on him, and the blows Are never heard: he may work in a lady's chamber, As here for proof. What rests‹90› but I reveal All to my lord— O, this base quality‹91› Of intelligencer! Why, every quality i' the world Prefers but gain or commendation: Now, for this act I am certain to be rais'd, And men that paint weeds to the life are prais'd. [Exit.]

Scene III‹92›

[Enter] CARDINAL, FERDINAND, MALATESTI, PESCARA, DELIO, and SILVIO

CARDINAL. Must we turn soldier, then—

MALATESTI. The emperor, Hearing your worth that way, ere you attain'd This reverend garment, joins you in commission With the right fortunate soldier the Marquis of Pescara, And the famous Lannoy.

CARDINAL. He that had the honour Of taking the French king prisoner—

MALATESTI. The same. Here 's a plot drawn for a new fortification At Naples.

FERDINAND. This great Count Malatesti, I perceive, Hath got employment—

DELIO. No employment, my lord; A marginal note in the muster-book, that he is A voluntary lord.

FERDINAND. He 's no soldier.

DELIO. He has worn gun-powder in 's hollow tooth for the tooth-ache.

SILVIO. He comes to the leaguer with a full intent To eat fresh beef and garlic, means to stay Till the scent be gone, and straight return to court.

DELIO. He hath read all the late service As the City-Chronicle relates it; And keeps two pewterers going, only to express Battles in model.

SILVIO. Then he 'll fight by the book.

DELIO. By the almanac, I think, To choose good days and shun the critical; That 's his mistress' scarf.

SILVIO. Yes, he protests He would do much for that taffeta.

DELIO. I think he would run away from a battle, To save it from taking prisoner.

SILVIO. He is horribly afraid Gun-powder will spoil the perfume on 't.

DELIO. I saw a Dutchman break his pate once For calling him pot-gun; he made his head Have a bore in 't like a musket.

SILVIO. I would he had made a touch-hole to 't. He is indeed a guarded sumpter-cloth,‹93› Only for the remove of the court.

[Enter BOSOLA]

PESCARA. Bosola arriv'd! What should be the business— Some falling-out amongst the cardinals. These factions amongst great men, they are like Foxes, when their heads are divided, They carry fire in their tails, and all the country About them goes to wrack for 't.

SILVIO. What 's that Bosola—

DELIO. I knew him in Padua,-a fantastical scholar, like such who study to know how many knots was in Hercules' club, of what colour Achilles' beard was, or whether Hector were not troubled with the tooth-ache. He hath studied himself half blear-eyed to know the true symmetry of Caesar's nose by a shoeing-horn; and this he did to gain the name of a speculative man.

PESCARA. Mark Prince Ferdinand: A very salamander lives in 's eye, To mock the eager violence of fire.

SILVIO. That cardinal hath made more bad faces with his oppression than ever Michael Angelo made good ones. He lifts up 's nose, like a foul porpoise before a storm.

PESCARA. The Lord Ferdinand laughs.

DELIO. Like a deadly cannon That lightens ere it smokes.

PESCARA. These are your true pangs of death, The pangs of life, that struggle with great statesmen.

DELIO. In such a deformed silence witches whisper their charms.

CARDINAL. Doth she make religion her riding-hood To keep her from the sun and tempest—

FERDINAND. That, that damns her. Methinks her fault and beauty, Blended together, show like leprosy, The whiter, the fouler. I make it a question Whether her beggarly brats were ever christ'ned.

CARDINAL. I will instantly solicit the state of Ancona To have them banish'd.

FERDINAND. You are for Loretto: I shall not be at your ceremony; fare you well.- Write to the Duke of Malfi, my young nephew She had by her first husband, and acquaint him With 's mother's honesty.

BOSOLA. I will.

FERDINAND. Antonio! A slave that only smell'd of ink and counters, And never in 's life look'd like a gentleman, But in the audit-time.-Go, go presently, Draw me out an hundred and fifty of our horse, And meet me at the foot-bridge. Exeunt.

Scene IV

[Enter] Two Pilgrims to the Shrine of our Lady of Loretto

FIRST PILGRIM. I have not seen a goodlier shrine than this; Yet I have visited many.

SECOND PILGRIM. The Cardinal of Arragon Is this day to resign his cardinal's hat: His sister duchess likewise is arriv'd To pay her vow of pilgrimage. I expect A noble ceremony.

FIRST PILGRIM. No question.-They come.

[Here the ceremony of the Cardinal's instalment, in the habit of a soldier, perform'd in delivering up his cross, hat, robes, and ring, at the shrine, and investing him with sword, helmet, shield, and spurs; then ANTONIO, the DUCHESS and their children, having presented themselves at the shrine, are, by a form of banishment in dumb-show expressed towards them by the CARDINAL and the state of Ancona, banished: during all which ceremony, this ditty is sung, to very solemn music, by divers churchmen: and then exeunt [all except the] Two Pilgrims.

Arms and honours deck thy story, To thy fame's eternal glory! Adverse fortune ever fly thee; No disastrous fate come nigh thee!

I alone will sing thy praises, Whom to honour virtue raises, And thy study, that divine is, Bent to martial discipline is, Lay aside all those robes lie by thee; Crown thy arts with arms, they 'll beautify thee.

O worthy of worthiest name, adorn'd in this manner, Lead bravely thy forces on under war's warlike banner! O, mayst thou prove fortunate in all martial courses! Guide thou still by skill in arts and forces! Victory attend thee nigh, whilst fame sings loud thy powers; Triumphant conquest crown thy head, and blessings pour down showers!‹94›

FIRST PILGRIM. Here 's a strange turn of state! who would have thought So great a lady would have match'd herself Unto so mean a person— Yet the cardinal Bears himself much too cruel.

SECOND PILGRIM. They are banish'd.

FIRST PILGRIM. But I would ask what power hath this state Of Ancona to determine of a free prince—

SECOND PILGRIM. They are a free state, sir, and her brother show'd How that the Pope, fore-hearing of her looseness, Hath seiz'd into th' protection of the church The dukedom which she held as dowager.

FIRST PILGRIM. But by what justice—

SECOND PILGRIM. Sure, I think by none, Only her brother's instigation.

FIRST PILGRIM. What was it with such violence he took Off from her finger—

SECOND PILGRIM. 'Twas her wedding-ring; Which he vow'd shortly he would sacrifice To his revenge.

FIRST PILGRIM. Alas, Antonio! If that a man be thrust into a well, No matter who sets hand to 't, his own weight Will bring him sooner to th' bottom. Come, let 's hence. Fortune makes this conclusion general, All things do help th' unhappy man to fall. Exeunt.

Scene V‹95›

[Enter] DUCHESS, ANTONIO, Children, CARIOLA, and Servants

DUCHESS. Banish'd Ancona!

ANTONIO. Yes, you see what power Lightens in great men's breath.

DUCHESS. Is all our train Shrunk to this poor remainder—

ANTONIO. These poor men Which have got little in your service, vow To take your fortune: but your wiser buntings,‹96› Now they are fledg'd, are gone.

DUCHESS. They have done wisely. This puts me in mind of death: physicians thus, With their hands full of money, use to give o'er Their patients.

ANTONIO. Right the fashion of the world:›From decay'd fortunes every flatterer shrinks; Men cease to build where the foundation sinks.

DUCHESS. I had a very strange dream to-night.

ANTONIO. What was 't—

DUCHESS. Methought I wore my coronet of state, And on a sudden all the diamonds Were chang'd to pearls.

ANTONIO. My interpretation Is, you 'll weep shortly; for to me the pearls Do signify your tears.

DUCHESS. The birds that live i' th' field On the wild benefit of nature live Happier than we; for they may choose their mates, And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring.

[Enter BOSOLA with a letter]

BOSOLA. You are happily o'erta'en.

DUCHESS. From my brother—

BOSOLA. Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand your brother All love and safety.

DUCHESS. Thou dost blanch mischief, Would'st make it white. See, see, like to calm weather At sea before a tempest, false hearts speak fair To those they intend most mischief. [Reads.] 'Send Antonio to me; I want his head in a business.' A politic equivocation! He doth not want your counsel, but your head; That is, he cannot sleep till you be dead. And here 's another pitfall that 's strew'd o'er With roses; mark it, 'tis a cunning one: [Reads.] 'I stand engaged for your husband for several debts at Naples: let not that trouble him; I had rather have his heart than his money':- And I believe so too.

BOSOLA. What do you believe—

DUCHESS. That he so much distrusts my husband's love, He will by no means believe his heart is with him Until he see it: the devil is not cunning enough To circumvent us In riddles.

BOSOLA. Will you reject that noble and free league Of amity and love which I present you—

DUCHESS. Their league is like that of some politic kings, Only to make themselves of strength and power To be our after-ruin; tell them so.

BOSOLA. And what from you—

ANTONIO. Thus tell him; I will not come.

BOSOLA. And what of this—

ANTONIO. My brothers have dispers'd Bloodhounds abroad; which till I hear are muzzl'd, No truce, though hatch'd with ne'er such politic skill, Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies' will. I 'll not come at them.

BOSOLA. This proclaims your breeding. Every small thing draws a base mind to fear, As the adamant draws iron. Fare you well, sir; You shall shortly hear from 's. Exit.

DUCHESS. I suspect some ambush; Therefore by all my love I do conjure you To take your eldest son, and fly towards Milan. Let us not venture all this poor remainder In one unlucky bottom.

ANTONIO. You counsel safely. Best of my life, farewell. Since we must part, Heaven hath a hand in 't; but no otherwise Than as some curious artist takes in sunder A clock or watch, when it is out of frame, To bring 't in better order.

DUCHESS. I know not which is best, To see you dead, or part with you.-Farewell, boy: Thou art happy that thou hast not understanding To know thy misery; for all our wit And reading brings us to a truer sense Of sorrow.-In the eternal church, sir, I do hope we shall not part thus.

ANTONIO. O, be of comfort! Make patience a noble fortitude, And think not how unkindly we are us'd: Man, like to cassia, is prov'd best, being bruis'd.

DUCHESS. Must I, like to slave-born Russian, Account it praise to suffer tyranny— And yet, O heaven, thy heavy hand is in 't! I have seen my little boy oft scourge his top, And compar'd myself to 't: naught made me e'er Go right but heaven's scourge-stick.

ANTONIO. Do not weep: Heaven fashion'd us of nothing; and we strive To bring ourselves to nothing.-Farewell, Cariola, And thy sweet armful.-If I do never see thee more, Be a good mother to your little ones, And save them from the tiger: fare you well.

DUCHESS. Let me look upon you once more, for that speech Came from a dying father. Your kiss is colder Than that I have seen an holy anchorite Give to a dead man's skull.

ANTONIO. My heart is turn'd to a heavy lump of lead, With which I sound my danger: fare you well. Exeunt [ANTONIO and his son.]

DUCHESS. My laurel is all withered.

CARIOLA. Look, madam, what a troop of armed men Make toward us!

Re-enter BOSOLA [visarded,] with a Guard

DUCHESS. O, they are very welcome: When Fortune's wheel is over-charg'd with princes, The weight makes it move swift: I would have my ruin Be sudden.-I am your adventure, am I not—

BOSOLA. You are: you must see your husband no more.

DUCHESS. What devil art thou that counterfeit'st heaven's thunder—

BOSOLA. Is that terrible— I would have you tell me whether Is that note worse that frights the silly birds Out of the corn, or that which doth allure them To the nets— You have heark'ned to the last too much.

DUCHESS. O misery! like to a rusty o'ercharg'd cannon, Shall I never fly in pieces—-Come, to what prison—

BOSOLA. To none.

DUCHESS. Whither, then—

BOSOLA. To your palace.

DUCHESS. I have heard That Charon's boat serves to convey all o'er The dismal lake, but brings none back again.

BOSOLA. Your brothers mean you safety and pity.

DUCHESS. Pity! With such a pity men preserve alive Pheasants and quails, when they are not fat enough To be eaten.

BOSOLA. These are your children—

DUCHESS. Yes.

BOSOLA. Can they prattle—

DUCHESS. No: But I intend, since they were born accurs'd, Curses shall be their first language.

BOSOLA. Fie, madam! Forget this base, low fellow--

DUCHESS. Were I a man, I 'd beat that counterfeit face‹97› into thy other.

BOSOLA. One of no birth.

DUCHESS. Say that he was born mean, Man is most happy when 's own actions Be arguments and examples of his virtue.

BOSOLA. A barren, beggarly virtue.

DUCHESS. I prithee, who is greatest— Can you tell— Sad tales befit my woe: I 'll tell you one. A salmon, as she swam unto the sea. Met with a dog-fish, who encounters her With this rough language; 'Why art thou so bold To mix thyself with our high state of floods, Being no eminent courtier, but one That for the calmest and fresh time o' th' year Dost live in shallow rivers, rank'st thyself With silly smelts and shrimps— And darest thou Pass by our dog-ship without reverence—' 'O,' quoth the salmon, 'sister, be at peace: Thank Jupiter we both have pass'd the net! Our value never can be truly known, Till in the fisher's basket we be shown: I' th' market then my price may be the higher, Even when I am nearest to the cook and fire.' So to great men the moral may be stretched; Men oft are valu'd high, when they're most wretched.- But come, whither you please. I am arm'd 'gainst misery; Bent to all sways of the oppressor's will: There 's no deep valley but near some great hill. Exeunt.

Act IV

Scene I‹98›

[Enter] FERDINAND and BOSOLA

FERDINAND. How doth our sister duchess bear herself In her imprisonment—

BOSOLA. Nobly: I 'll describe her. She 's sad as one long us'd to 't, and she seems Rather to welcome the end of misery Than shun it; a behaviour so noble As gives a majesty to adversity: You may discern the shape of loveliness More perfect in her tears than in her smiles: She will muse for hours together; and her silence, Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake.

FERDINAND. Her melancholy seems to be fortified With a strange disdain.

BOSOLA. 'Tis so; and this restraint, Like English mastives that grow fierce with tying, Makes her too passionately apprehend Those pleasures she is kept from.

FERDINAND. Curse upon her! I will no longer study in the book Of another's heart. Inform her what I told you. Exit.

[Enter DUCHESS and Attendants]

BOSOLA. All comfort to your grace!

DUCHESS. I will have none. Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poison'd pills In gold and sugar—

BOSOLA. Your elder brother, the Lord Ferdinand, Is come to visit you, and sends you word, 'Cause once he rashly made a solemn vow Never to see you more, he comes i' th' night; And prays you gently neither torch nor taper Shine in your chamber. He will kiss your hand, And reconcile himself; but for his vow He dares not see you.

DUCHESS. At his pleasure.- Take hence the lights.-He 's come. [Exeunt Attendants with lights.]

[Enter FERDINAND]

FERDINAND. Where are you—

DUCHESS. Here, sir.

FERDINAND. This darkness suits you well.

DUCHESS. I would ask you pardon.

FERDINAND. You have it; For I account it the honorabl'st revenge, Where I may kill, to pardon.-Where are your cubs—

DUCHESS. Whom—

FERDINAND. Call them your children; For though our national law distinguish bastards›From true legitimate issue, compassionate nature Makes them all equal.

DUCHESS. Do you visit me for this— You violate a sacrament o' th' church Shall make you howl in hell for 't.

FERDINAND. It had been well, Could you have liv'd thus always; for, indeed, You were too much i' th' light:-but no more; I come to seal my peace with you. Here 's a hand Gives her a dead man's hand. To which you have vow'd much love; the ring upon 't You gave.

DUCHESS. I affectionately kiss it.

FERDINAND. Pray, do, and bury the print of it in your heart. I will leave this ring with you for a love-token; And the hand as sure as the ring; and do not doubt But you shall have the heart too. When you need a friend, Send it to him that ow'd it; you shall see Whether he can aid you.

DUCHESS. You are very cold: I fear you are not well after your travel.- Ha! lights!--O, horrible!

FERDINAND. Let her have lights enough. Exit.

DUCHESS. What witchcraft doth he practise, that he hath left A dead man's hand here— [Here is discovered, behind a traverse,‹99› the artificial figures of ANTONIO and his children, appearing as if they were dead.

BOSOLA. Look you, here 's the piece from which 'twas ta'en. He doth present you this sad spectacle, That, now you know directly they are dead, Hereafter you may wisely cease to grieve For that which cannot be recovered.

DUCHESS. There is not between heaven and earth one wish I stay for after this. It wastes me more Than were 't my picture, fashion'd out of wax, Stuck with a magical needle, and then buried In some foul dunghill; and yon 's an excellent property For a tyrant, which I would account mercy.

BOSOLA. What 's that—

DUCHESS. If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk, And let me freeze to death.

BOSOLA. Come, you must live.

DUCHESS. That 's the greatest torture souls feel in hell, In hell, that they must live, and cannot die. Portia,‹100› I 'll new kindle thy coals again, And revive the rare and almost dead example Of a loving wife.

BOSOLA. O, fie! despair— Remember You are a Christian.

DUCHESS. The church enjoins fasting: I 'll starve myself to death.

BOSOLA. Leave this vain sorrow. Things being at the worst begin to mend: the bee When he hath shot his sting into your hand, May then play with your eye-lid.

DUCHESS. Good comfortable fellow, Persuade a wretch that 's broke upon the wheel To have all his bones new set; entreat him live To be executed again. Who must despatch me— I account this world a tedious theatre, For I do play a part in 't 'gainst my will.

BOSOLA. Come, be of comfort; I will save your life.

DUCHESS. Indeed, I have not leisure to tend so small a business.

BOSOLA. Now, by my life, I pity you.

DUCHESS. Thou art a fool, then, To waste thy pity on a thing so wretched As cannot pity itself. I am full of daggers. Puff, let me blow these vipers from me. [Enter Servant] What are you—

SERVANT. One that wishes you long life.

DUCHESS. I would thou wert hang'd for the horrible curse Thou hast given me: I shall shortly grow one Of the miracles of pity. I 'll go pray;- [Exit Servant.] No, I 'll go curse.

BOSOLA. O, fie!

DUCHESS. I could curse the stars.

BOSOLA. O, fearful!

DUCHESS. And those three smiling seasons of the year Into a Russian winter; nay, the world To its first chaos.

BOSOLA. Look you, the stars shine still‹.›

DUCHESS. O, but you must Remember, my curse hath a great way to go.- Plagues, that make lanes through largest families, Consume them!-

BOSOLA. Fie, lady!

DUCHESS. Let them, like tyrants, Never be remembered but for the ill they have done; Let all the zealous prayers of mortified Churchmen forget them!-

BOSOLA. O, uncharitable!

DUCHESS. Let heaven a little while cease crowning martyrs, To punish them!- Go, howl them this, and say, I long to bleed: It is some mercy when men kill with speed. Exit.

[Re-enter FERDINAND]

FERDINAND. Excellent, as I would wish; she 's plagu'd in art.‹101› These presentations are but fram'd in wax By the curious master in that quality,‹102› Vincentio Lauriola, and she takes them For true substantial bodies.

BOSOLA. Why do you do this—

FERDINAND. To bring her to despair.

BOSOLA. Faith, end here, And go no farther in your cruelty: Send her a penitential garment to put on Next to her delicate skin, and furnish her With beads and prayer-books.

FERDINAND. Damn her! that body of hers. While that my blood run pure in 't, was more worth Than that which thou wouldst comfort, call'd a soul. I will send her masques of common courtezans, Have her meat serv'd up by bawds and ruffians, And, 'cause she 'll needs be mad, I am resolv'd To move forth the common hospital All the mad-folk, and place them near her lodging; There let them practise together, sing and dance, And act their gambols to the full o' th' moon: If she can sleep the better for it, let her. Your work is almost ended.

BOSOLA. Must I see her again—

FERDINAND. Yes.

BOSOLA. Never.

FERDINAND. You must.

BOSOLA. Never in mine own shape; That 's forfeited by my intelligence‹103› And this last cruel lie: when you send me next, The business shall be comfort.

FERDINAND. Very likely; Thy pity is nothing of kin to thee, Antonio Lurks about Milan: thou shalt shortly thither, To feed a fire as great as my revenge, Which nev'r will slack till it hath spent his fuel: Intemperate agues make physicians cruel. Exeunt.

Scene II‹104›

[Enter] DUCHESS and CARIOLA

DUCHESS. What hideous noise was that—

CARIOLA. 'Tis the wild consort‹105› Of madmen, lady, which your tyrant brother Hath plac'd about your lodging. This tyranny, I think, was never practis'd till this hour.

DUCHESS. Indeed, I thank him. Nothing but noise and folly Can keep me in my right wits; whereas reason And silence make me stark mad. Sit down; Discourse to me some dismal tragedy.

CARIOLA. O, 'twill increase your melancholy!

DUCHESS. Thou art deceiv'd: To hear of greater grief would lessen mine. This is a prison—

CARIOLA. Yes, but you shall live To shake this durance off.

DUCHESS. Thou art a fool: The robin-red-breast and the nightingale Never live long in cages.

CARIOLA. Pray, dry your eyes. What think you of, madam—

DUCHESS. Of nothing; When I muse thus, I sleep.

CARIOLA. Like a madman, with your eyes open—

DUCHESS. Dost thou think we shall know one another In th' other world—

CARIOLA. Yes, out of question.

DUCHESS. O, that it were possible we might But hold some two days' conference with the dead!›From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure, I never shall know here. I 'll tell thee a miracle: I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow: Th' heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass, The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad. I am acquainted with sad misery As the tann'd galley-slave is with his oar; Necessity makes me suffer constantly, And custom makes it easy. Who do I look like now—

CARIOLA. Like to your picture in the gallery, A deal of life in show, but none in practice; Or rather like some reverend monument Whose ruins are even pitied.

DUCHESS. Very proper; And Fortune seems only to have her eye-sight To behold my tragedy.-How now! What noise is that—

[Enter Servant]

SERVANT. I am come to tell you Your brother hath intended you some sport. A great physician, when the Pope was sick Of a deep melancholy, presented him With several sorts‹106› of madmen, which wild object Being full of change and sport, forc'd him to laugh, And so the imposthume‹107› broke: the self-same cure The duke intends on you.

DUCHESS. Let them come in.

SERVANT. There 's a mad lawyer; and a secular priest; A doctor that hath forfeited his wits By jealousy; an astrologian That in his works said such a day o' the month Should be the day of doom, and, failing of 't, Ran mad; an English tailor craz'd i' the brain With the study of new fashions; a gentleman-usher Quite beside himself with care to keep in mind The number of his lady's salutations Or 'How do you,' she employ'd him in each morning; A farmer, too, an excellent knave in grain,‹108› Mad 'cause he was hind'red transportation:‹109› And let one broker that 's mad loose to these, You'd think the devil were among them.

DUCHESS. Sit, Cariola.-Let them loose when you please, For I am chain'd to endure all your tyranny.

[Enter Madman]

Here by a Madman this song is sung to a dismal kind of music

O, let us howl some heavy note, Some deadly dogged howl, Sounding as from the threatening throat Of beasts and fatal fowl! As ravens, screech-owls, bulls, and bears, We 'll bell, and bawl our parts, Till irksome noise have cloy'd your ears And corrosiv'd your hearts. At last, whenas our choir wants breath, Our bodies being blest, We 'll sing, like swans, to welcome death, And die in love and rest.

FIRST MADMAN. Doom's-day not come yet! I 'll draw it nearer by a perspective,‹110› or make a glass that shall set all the world on fire upon an instant. I cannot sleep; my pillow is stuffed with a litter of porcupines.

SECOND MADMAN. Hell is a mere glass-house, where the devils are continually blowing up women's souls on hollow irons, and the fire never goes out.

FIRST MADMAN. I have skill in heraldry.

SECOND MADMAN. Hast—

FIRST MADMAN. You do give for your crest a woodcock's head with the brains picked out on 't; you are a very ancient gentleman.

THIRD MADMAN. Greek is turned Turk: we are only to be saved by the Helvetian translation.‹111›

FIRST MADMAN. Come on, sir, I will lay the law to you.

SECOND MADMAN. O, rather lay a corrosive: the law will eat to the bone.

THIRD MADMAN. He that drinks but to satisfy nature is damn'd.

FOURTH MADMAN. If I had my glass here, I would show a sight should make all the women here call me mad doctor.

FIRST MADMAN. What 's he— a rope-maker—

SECOND MADMAN. No, no, no, a snuffling knave that, while he shows the tombs, will have his hand in a wench's placket.‹112›

THIRD MADMAN. Woe to the caroche‹113› that brought home my wife from the masque at three o'clock in the morning! It had a large feather-bed in it.

FOURTH MADMAN. I have pared the devil's nails forty times, roasted them in raven's eggs, and cured agues with them.

THIRD MADMAN. Get me three hundred milch-bats, to make possets‹114› to procure sleep.

FOURTH MADMAN. All the college may throw their caps at me: I have made a soap-boiler costive; it was my masterpiece.

Here the dance, consisting of Eight Madmen, with music answerable thereunto; after which, BOSOLA, like an old man, enters.

DUCHESS. Is he mad too—

SERVANT. Pray, question him. I 'll leave you. [Exeunt Servant and Madmen.]

BOSOLA. I am come to make thy tomb.

DUCHESS. Ha! my tomb! Thou speak'st as if I lay upon my death-bed, Gasping for breath. Dost thou perceive me sick—

BOSOLA. Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sickness is insensible.

DUCHESS. Thou art not mad, sure: dost know me—

BOSOLA. Yes.

DUCHESS. Who am I—

BOSOLA. Thou art a box of worm-seed, at best but a salvatory‹115› of green mummy.‹116› What 's this flesh— a little crudded‹117› milk, fantastical puff-paste. Our bodies are weaker than those paper- prisons boys use to keep flies in; more contemptible, since ours is to preserve earth-worms. Didst thou ever see a lark in a cage— Such is the soul in the body: this world is like her little turf of grass, and the heaven o'er our heads like her looking-glass, only gives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison.

DUCHESS. Am not I thy duchess—

BOSOLA. Thou art some great woman, sure, for riot begins to sit on thy forehead (clad in gray hairs) twenty years sooner than on a merry milk-maid's. Thou sleepest worse than if a mouse should be forced to take up her lodging in a cat's ear: a little infant that breeds its teeth, should it lie with thee, would cry out, as if thou wert the more unquiet bedfellow.

DUCHESS. I am Duchess of Malfi still.

BOSOLA. That makes thy sleep so broken: Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But, look'd to near, have neither heat nor light.

DUCHESS. Thou art very plain.

BOSOLA. My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living; I am a tomb-maker.

DUCHESS. And thou comest to make my tomb—

BOSOLA. Yes.

DUCHESS. Let me be a little merry:-of what stuff wilt thou make it—

BOSOLA. Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion—

DUCHESS. Why, do we grow fantastical on our deathbed— Do we affect fashion in the grave—

BOSOLA. Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their tombs do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray up to heaven; but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the tooth-ache. They are not carved with their eyes fix'd upon the stars, but as their minds were wholly bent upon the world, the selfsame way they seem to turn their faces.

DUCHESS. Let me know fully therefore the effect Of this thy dismal preparation, This talk fit for a charnel.

BOSOLA. Now I shall:- [Enter Executioners, with] a coffin, cords, and a bell Here is a present from your princely brothers; And may it arrive welcome, for it brings Last benefit, last sorrow.

DUCHESS. Let me see it: I have so much obedience in my blood, I wish it in their veins to do them good.

BOSOLA. This is your last presence-chamber.

CARIOLA. O my sweet lady!

DUCHESS. Peace; it affrights not me.

BOSOLA. I am the common bellman That usually is sent to condemn'd persons The night before they suffer.

DUCHESS. Even now thou said'st Thou wast a tomb-maker.

BOSOLA. 'Twas to bring you By degrees to mortification. Listen.

Hark, now everything is still, The screech-owl and the whistler shrill Call upon our dame aloud, And bid her quickly don her shroud! Much you had of land and rent; Your length in clay 's now competent: A long war disturb'd your mind; Here your perfect peace is sign'd. Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping— Sin their conception, their birth weeping, Their life a general mist of error, Their death a hideous storm of terror. Strew your hair with powders sweet, Don clean linen, bathe your feet, And (the foul fiend more to check) A crucifix let bless your neck. 'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day; End your groan, and come away.

CARIOLA. Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers! Alas! What will you do with my lady—-Call for help!

DUCHESS. To whom— To our next neighbours— They are mad-folks.

BOSOLA. Remove that noise.

DUCHESS. Farewell, Cariola. In my last will I have not much to give: A many hungry guests have fed upon me; Thine will be a poor reversion.

CARIOLA. I will die with her.

DUCHESS. I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl Say her prayers ere she sleep. [Cariola is forced out by the Executioners.] Now what you please: What death—

BOSOLA. Strangling; here are your executioners.

DUCHESS. I forgive them: The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' th' lungs, Would do as much as they do.

BOSOLA. Doth not death fright you—

DUCHESS. Who would be afraid on 't, Knowing to meet such excellent company In th' other world—

BOSOLA. Yet, methinks, The manner of your death should much afflict you: This cord should terrify you.

DUCHESS. Not a whit: What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut With diamonds— or to be smothered With cassia— or to be shot to death with pearls— I know death hath ten thousand several doors For men to take their exits; and 'tis found They go on such strange geometrical hinges, You may open them both ways: any way, for heaven-sake, So I were out of your whispering. Tell my brothers That I perceive death, now I am well awake, Best gift is they can give or I can take. I would fain put off my last woman's-fault, I 'd not be tedious to you.

FIRST EXECUTIONER. We are ready.

DUCHESS. Dispose my breath how please you; but my body Bestow upon my women, will you—

FIRST EXECUTIONER. Yes.

DUCHESS. Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength Must pull down heaven upon me:- Yet stay; heaven-gates are not so highly arch'd As princes' palaces; they that enter there Must go upon their knees [Kneels].-Come, violent death, Serve for mandragora to make me sleep!- Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out, They then may feed in quiet. They strangle her.

BOSOLA. Where 's the waiting-woman—— Fetch her: some other strangle the children. [Enter CARIOLA] Look you, there sleeps your mistress.

CARIOLA. O, you are damn'd Perpetually for this! My turn is next; Is 't not so ordered—

BOSOLA. Yes, and I am glad You are so well prepar'd for 't.

CARIOLA. You are deceiv'd, sir, I am not prepar'd for 't, I will not die; I will first come to my answer,‹118› and know How I have offended.

BOSOLA. Come, despatch her.- You kept her counsel; now you shall keep ours.

CARIOLA. I will not die, I must not; I am contracted To a young gentleman.

FIRST EXECUTIONER. Here 's your wedding-ring.

CARIOLA. Let me but speak with the duke. I 'll discover Treason to his person.

BOSOLA. Delays:-throttle her.

FIRST EXECUTIONER. She bites and scratches.

CARIOLA. If you kill me now, I am damn'd; I have not been at confession This two years.

BOSOLA. [To Executioners.] When—‹119›

CARIOLA. I am quick with child.

BOSOLA. Why, then, Your credit 's saved. [Executioners strangle Cariola.] Bear her into the next room; Let these lie still. [Exeunt the Executioners with the body of CARIOLA.]

[Enter FERDINAND]

FERDINAND. Is she dead—

BOSOLA. She is what You 'd have her. But here begin your pity: Shows the Children strangled. Alas, how have these offended—

FERDINAND. The death Of young wolves is never to be pitied.

BOSOLA. Fix your eye here.

FERDINAND. Constantly.

BOSOLA. Do you not weep— Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out. The element of water moistens the earth, But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.

FERDINAND. Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.

BOSOLA. I think not so; her infelicity Seem'd to have years too many.

FERDINAND. She and I were twins; And should I die this instant, I had liv'd Her time to a minute.

BOSOLA. It seems she was born first: You have bloodily approv'd the ancient truth, That kindred commonly do worse agree Than remote strangers.

FERDINAND. Let me see her face Again. Why didst thou not pity her— What An excellent honest man mightst thou have been, If thou hadst borne her to some sanctuary! Or, bold in a good cause, oppos'd thyself, With thy advanced sword above thy head, Between her innocence and my revenge! I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits, Go kill my dearest friend, and thou hast done 't. For let me but examine well the cause: What was the meanness of her match to me— Only I must confess I had a hope, Had she continu'd widow, to have gain'd An infinite mass of treasure by her death: And that was the main cause,-her marriage, That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart. For thee, as we observe in tragedies That a good actor many times is curs'd For playing a villain's part, I hate thee for 't, And, for my sake, say, thou hast done much ill well.

BOSOLA. Let me quicken your memory, for I perceive You are falling into ingratitude: I challenge The reward due to my service.

FERDINAND. I 'll tell thee What I 'll give thee.

BOSOLA. Do.

FERDINAND. I 'll give thee a pardon For this murder.

BOSOLA. Ha!

FERDINAND. Yes, and 'tis The largest bounty I can study to do thee. By what authority didst thou execute This bloody sentence—

BOSOLA. By yours.

FERDINAND. Mine! was I her judge— Did any ceremonial form of law Doom her to not-being— Did a complete jury Deliver her conviction up i' the court— Where shalt thou find this judgment register'd, Unless in hell— See, like a bloody fool, Thou 'st forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for 't.

BOSOLA. The office of justice is perverted quite When one thief hangs another. Who shall dare To reveal this—

FERDINAND. O, I 'll tell thee; The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up, Not to devour the corpse, but to discover The horrid murder.

BOSOLA. You, not I, shall quake for 't.

FERDINAND. Leave me.

BOSOLA. I will first receive my pension.

FERDINAND. You are a villain.

BOSOLA. When your ingratitude Is judge, I am so.

FERDINAND. O horror, That not the fear of him which binds the devils Can prescribe man obedience!- Never look upon me more.

BOSOLA. Why, fare thee well. Your brother and yourself are worthy men! You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves, Rotten, and rotting others; and your vengeance, Like two chain'd-bullets, still goes arm in arm: You may be brothers; for treason, like the plague, Doth take much in a blood. I stand like one That long hath ta'en a sweet and golden dream: I am angry with myself, now that I wake.

FERDINAND. Get thee into some unknown part o' the world, That I may never see thee.

BOSOLA. Let me know Wherefore I should be thus neglected. Sir, I serv'd your tyranny, and rather strove To satisfy yourself than all the world: And though I loath'd the evil, yet I lov'd You that did counsel it; and rather sought To appear a true servant than an honest man.

FERDINAND. I 'll go hunt the badger by owl-light: 'Tis a deed of darkness. Exit.

BOSOLA. He 's much distracted. Off, my painted honour! While with vain hopes our faculties we tire, We seem to sweat in ice and freeze in fire. What would I do, were this to do again— I would not change my peace of conscience For all the wealth of Europe.-She stirs; here 's life:- Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mine Out of this sensible hell:-she 's warm, she breathes:- Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart, To store them with fresh colour.-Who 's there— Some cordial drink!-Alas! I dare not call: So pity would destroy pity.-Her eye opes, And heaven in it seems to ope, that late was shut, To take me up to mercy.

DUCHESS. Antonio!

BOSOLA. Yes, madam, he is living; The dead bodies you saw were but feign'd statues. He 's reconcil'd to your brothers; the Pope hath wrought The atonement.

DUCHESS. Mercy! Dies.

BOSOLA. O, she 's gone again! there the cords of life broke. O sacred innocence, that sweetly sleeps On turtles' feathers, whilst a guilty conscience Is a black register wherein is writ All our good deeds and bad, a perspective That shows us hell! That we cannot be suffer'd To do good when we have a mind to it! This is manly sorrow; These tears, I am very certain, never grew In my mother's milk. My estate is sunk Below the degree of fear: where were These penitent fountains while she was living— O, they were frozen up! Here is a sight As direful to my soul as is the sword Unto a wretch hath slain his father. Come, I 'll bear thee hence, And execute thy last will; that 's deliver Thy body to the reverend dispose Of some good women: that the cruel tyrant Shall not deny me. Then I 'll post to Milan, Where somewhat I will speedily enact Worth my dejection. Exit [with the body].

Act V

Scene I‹120›

[Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO

ANTONIO. What think you of my hope of reconcilement To the Arragonian brethren—

DELIO. I misdoubt it; For though they have sent their letters of safe-conduct For your repair to Milan, they appear But nets to entrap you. The Marquis of Pescara, Under whom you hold certain land in cheat,‹121› Much 'gainst his noble nature hath been mov'd To seize those lands; and some of his dependants Are at this instant making it their suit To be invested in your revenues. I cannot think they mean well to your life That do deprive you of your means of life, Your living.

ANTONIO. You are still an heretic‹122› To any safety I can shape myself.

DELIO. Here comes the marquis: I will make myself Petitioner for some part of your land, To know whither it is flying.

ANTONIO. I pray, do. [Withdraws.]

[Enter PESCARA] DELIO. Sir, I have a suit to you.

PESCARA. To me—

DELIO. An easy one: There is the Citadel of Saint Bennet, With some demesnes, of late in the possession Of Antonio Bologna,-please you bestow them on me.

PESCARA. You are my friend; but this is such a suit, Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take.

DELIO. No, sir—

PESCARA. I will give you ample reason for 't Soon in private:-here 's the cardinal's mistress.

[Enter JULIA]

JULIA. My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner, And should be an ill beggar, had I not A great man's letter here, the cardinal's, To court you in my favour. [Gives a letter.]

PESCARA. He entreats for you The Citadel of Saint Bennet, that belong'd To the banish'd Bologna.

JULIA. Yes.

PESCARA. I could not have thought of a friend I could rather Pleasure with it: 'tis yours.

JULIA. Sir, I thank you; And he shall know how doubly I am engag'd Both in your gift, and speediness of giving Which makes your grant the greater. Exit.

ANTONIO. How they fortify Themselves with my ruin!

DELIO. Sir, I am Little bound to you.

PESCARA. Why—

DELIO. Because you deni'd this suit to me, and gave 't To such a creature.

PESCARA. Do you know what it was— It was Antonio's land; not forfeited By course of law, but ravish'd from his throat By the cardinal's entreaty. It were not fit I should bestow so main a piece of wrong Upon my friend; 'tis a gratification Only due to a strumpet, for it is injustice. Shall I sprinkle the pure blood of innocents To make those followers I call my friends Look ruddier upon me— I am glad This land, ta'en from the owner by such wrong, Returns again unto so foul an use As salary for his lust. Learn, good Delio, To ask noble things of me, and you shall find I 'll be a noble giver.

DELIO. You instruct me well.

ANTONIO. Why, here 's a man now would fright impudence›From sauciest beggars.

PESCARA. Prince Ferdinand 's come to Milan, Sick, as they give out, of an apoplexy; But some say 'tis a frenzy: I am going To visit him. Exit.

ANTONIO. 'Tis a noble old fellow.

DELIO. What course do you mean to take, Antonio—

ANTONIO. This night I mean to venture all my fortune, Which is no more than a poor ling'ring life, To the cardinal's worst of malice. I have got Private access to his chamber; and intend To visit him about the mid of night, As once his brother did our noble duchess. It may be that the sudden apprehension Of danger,-for I 'll go in mine own shape,- When he shall see it fraight‹123› with love and duty, May draw the poison out of him, and work A friendly reconcilement. If it fail, Yet it shall rid me of this infamous calling; For better fall once than be ever falling.

DELIO. I 'll second you in all danger; and howe'er, My life keeps rank with yours.

ANTONIO. You are still my lov'd and best friend. Exeunt.

Scene II‹124›

[Enter] PESCARA and DOCTOR

PESCARA. Now, doctor, may I visit your patient—

DOCTOR. If 't please your lordship; but he 's instantly To take the air here in the gallery By my direction.

PESCARA. Pray thee, what 's his disease—

DOCTOR. A very pestilent disease, my lord, They call lycanthropia.

PESCARA. What 's that— I need a dictionary to 't.

DOCTOR. I 'll tell you. In those that are possess'd with 't there o'erflows Such melancholy humour they imagine Themselves to be transformed into wolves; Steal forth to church-yards in the dead of night, And dig dead bodies up: as two nights since One met the duke 'bout midnight in a lane Behind Saint Mark's church, with the leg of a man Upon his shoulder; and he howl'd fearfully; Said he was a wolf, only the difference Was, a wolf's skin was hairy on the outside, His on the inside; bade them take their swords, Rip up his flesh, and try. Straight I was sent for, And, having minister'd to him, found his grace Very well recover'd.

PESCARA. I am glad on 't.

DOCTOR. Yet not without some fear Of a relapse. If he grow to his fit again, I 'll go a nearer way to work with him Than ever Paracelsus dream'd of; if They 'll give me leave, I 'll buffet his madness out of him. Stand aside; he comes.

[Enter FERDINAND, CARDINAL, MALATESTI, and BOSOLA]

FERDINAND. Leave me.

MALATESTI. Why doth your lordship love this solitariness—

FERDINAND. Eagles commonly fly alone: they are crows, daws, and starlings that flock together. Look, what 's that follows me—

MALATESTI. Nothing, my lord.

FERDINAND. Yes.

MALATESTI. 'Tis your shadow.

FERDINAND. Stay it; let it not haunt me.

MALATESTI. Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine.

FERDINAND. I will throttle it. [Throws himself down on his shadow.]

MALATESTI. O, my lord, you are angry with nothing.

FERDINAND. You are a fool: how is 't possible I should catch my shadow, unless I fall upon 't— When I go to hell, I mean to carry a bribe; for, look you, good gifts evermore make way for the worst persons.

PESCARA. Rise, good my lord.

FERDINAND. I am studying the art of patience.

PESCARA. 'Tis a noble virtue.

FERDINAND. To drive six snails before me from this town to Moscow; neither use goad nor whip to them, but let them take their own time; -the patient'st man i' th' world match me for an experiment:- an I 'll crawl after like a sheep-biter.‹125›

CARDINAL. Force him up. [They raise him.]

FERDINAND. Use me well, you were best. What I have done, I have done: I 'll confess nothing.

DOCTOR. Now let me come to him.-Are you mad, my lord— are you out of your princely wits—

FERDINAND. What 's he—

PESCARA. Your doctor.

FERDINAND. Let me have his beard saw'd off, and his eye-brows fil'd more civil.

DOCTOR. I must do mad tricks with him, for that 's the only way on 't.-I have brought your grace a salamander's skin to keep you from sun-burning.

FERDINAND. I have cruel sore eyes.

DOCTOR. The white of a cockatrix's‹126› egg is present remedy.

FERDINAND. Let it be a new-laid one, you were best. Hide me from him: physicians are like kings,- They brook no contradiction.

DOCTOR. Now he begins to fear me: now let me alone with him.

CARDINAL. How now! put off your gown!

DOCTOR. Let me have some forty urinals filled with rosewater: he and I 'll go pelt one another with them.-Now he begins to fear me.-Can you fetch a frisk,‹127› sir—-Let him go, let him go, upon my peril: I find by his eye he stands in awe of me; I 'll make him as tame as a dormouse.

FERDINAND. Can you fetch your frisks, sir!-I will stamp him into a cullis,‹128› flay off his skin to cover one of the anatomies‹129› this rogue hath set i' th' cold yonder in Barber-Chirurgeon's-hall. -Hence, hence! you are all of you like beasts for sacrifice. [Throws the DOCTOR down and beats him.] There 's nothing left of you but tongue and belly, flattery and lechery. [Exit.]

PESCARA. Doctor, he did not fear you thoroughly.

DOCTOR. True; I was somewhat too forward.

BOSOLA. Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgment Hath fall'n upon this Ferdinand!

PESCARA. Knows your grace What accident hath brought unto the prince This strange distraction—

CARDINAL. [Aside.] I must feign somewhat.-Thus they say it grew. You have heard it rumour'd, for these many years None of our family dies but there is seen The shape of an old woman, which is given By tradition to us to have been murder'd By her nephews for her riches. Such a figure One night, as the prince sat up late at 's book, Appear'd to him; when crying out for help, The gentleman of 's chamber found his grace All on a cold sweat, alter'd much in face And language: since which apparition, He hath grown worse and worse, and I much fear He cannot live.

BOSOLA. Sir, I would speak with you.

PESCARA. We 'll leave your grace, Wishing to the sick prince, our noble lord, All health of mind and body.

CARDINAL. You are most welcome. [Exeunt PESCARA, MALATESTI, and DOCTOR.] Are you come— so.-[Aside.] This fellow must not know By any means I had intelligence In our duchess' death; for, though I counsell'd it, The full of all th' engagement seem'd to grow›From Ferdinand.-Now, sir, how fares our sister— I do not think but sorrow makes her look Like to an oft-dy'd garment: she shall now Take comfort from me. Why do you look so wildly— O, the fortune of your master here the prince Dejects you; but be you of happy comfort: If you 'll do one thing for me I 'll entreat, Though he had a cold tomb-stone o'er his bones, I 'd make you what you would be.

BOSOLA. Any thing; Give it me in a breath, and let me fly to 't. They that think long small expedition win, For musing much o' th' end cannot begin.

[Enter JULIA]

JULIA. Sir, will you come into supper—

CARDINAL. I am busy; leave me‹.›

JULIA [Aside.] What an excellent shape hath that fellow! Exit.

CARDINAL. 'Tis thus. Antonio lurks here in Milan: Inquire him out, and kill him. While he lives, Our sister cannot marry; and I have thought Of an excellent match for her. Do this, and style me Thy advancement.

BOSOLA. But by what means shall I find him out—

CARDINAL. There is a gentleman call'd Delio Here in the camp, that hath been long approv'd His loyal friend. Set eye upon that fellow; Follow him to mass; may be Antonio, Although he do account religion But a school-name, for fashion of the world May accompany him; or else go inquire out Delio's confessor, and see if you can bribe Him to reveal it. There are a thousand ways A man might find to trace him; as to know What fellows haunt the Jews for taking up Great sums of money, for sure he 's in want; Or else to go to the picture-makers, and learn Who bought‹130› her picture lately: some of these Happily may take.

BOSOLA. Well, I 'll not freeze i' th' business: I would see that wretched thing, Antonio, Above all sights i' th' world.

CARDINAL. Do, and be happy. Exit.

BOSOLA. This fellow doth breed basilisks in 's eyes, He 's nothing else but murder; yet he seems Not to have notice of the duchess' death. 'Tis his cunning: I must follow his example; There cannot be a surer way to trace Than that of an old fox.

[Re-enter JULIA, with a pistol]

JULIA. So, sir, you are well met.

BOSOLA. How Now!

JULIA. Nay, the doors are fast enough: Now, sir, I will make you confess your treachery.

BOSOLA. Treachery!

JULIA. Yes, confess to me Which of my women 'twas you hir'd to put Love-powder into my drink—

BOSOLA. Love-powder!

JULIA. Yes, when I was at Malfi. Why should I fall in love with such a face else— I have already suffer'd for thee so much pain, The only remedy to do me good Is to kill my longing.

BOSOLA. Sure, your pistol holds Nothing but perfumes or kissing-comfits.‹131› Excellent lady! You have a pretty way on 't to discover Your longing. Come, come, I 'll disarm you, And arm you thus: yet this is wondrous strange.

JULIA. Compare thy form and my eyes together, You 'll find my love no such great miracle. Now you 'll say I am wanton: this nice modesty in ladies Is but a troublesome familiar That haunts them.

BOSOLA. Know you me, I am a blunt soldier.

JULIA. The better: Sure, there wants fire where there are no lively sparks Of roughness.

BOSOLA. And I want compliment.

JULIA. Why, ignorance In courtship cannot make you do amiss, If you have a heart to do well.

BOSOLA. You are very fair.

JULIA. Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge, I must plead unguilty.

BOSOLA. Your bright eyes Carry a quiver of darts in them sharper Than sun-beams.

JULIA. You will mar me with commendation, Put yourself to the charge of courting me, Whereas now I woo you.

BOSOLA. [Aside.] I have it, I will work upon this creature.- Let us grow most amorously familiar: If the great cardinal now should see me thus, Would he not count me a villain—

JULIA. No; he might count me a wanton, Not lay a scruple of offence on you; For if I see and steal a diamond, The fault is not i' th' stone, but in me the thief That purloins it. I am sudden with you. We that are great women of pleasure use to cut off These uncertain wishes and unquiet longings, And in an instant join the sweet delight And the pretty excuse together. Had you been i' th' street, Under my chamber-window, even there I should have courted you.

BOSOLA. O, you are an excellent lady!

JULIA. Bid me do somewhat for you presently To express I love you.

BOSOLA. I will; and if you love me, Fail not to effect it. The cardinal is grown wondrous melancholy; Demand the cause, let him not put you off With feign'd excuse; discover the main ground on 't.

JULIA. Why would you know this—

BOSOLA. I have depended on him, And I hear that he is fall'n in some disgrace With the emperor: if he be, like the mice That forsake falling houses, I would shift To other dependance.

JULIA. You shall not need Follow the wars: I 'll be your maintenance.

BOSOLA. And I your loyal servant: but I cannot Leave my calling.

JULIA. Not leave an ungrateful General for the love of a sweet lady! You are like some cannot sleep in feather-beds, But must have blocks for their pillows.

BOSOLA. Will you do this—

JULIA. Cunningly.

BOSOLA. To-morrow I 'll expect th' intelligence.

JULIA. To-morrow! get you into my cabinet; You shall have it with you. Do not delay me, No more than I do you: I am like one That is condemn'd; I have my pardon promis'd, But I would see it seal'd. Go, get you in: You shall see my wind my tongue about his heart Like a skein of silk. [Exit BOSOLA.]

[Re-enter CARDINAL]

CARDINAL. Where are you—

[Enter Servants.]

SERVANTS. Here.

CARDINAL. Let none, upon your lives, have conference With the Prince Ferdinand, unless I know it.- [Aside] In this distraction he may reveal The murder. [Exeunt Servants.] Yond 's my lingering consumption: I am weary of her, and by any means Would be quit of.

JULIA. How now, my lord! what ails you—

CARDINAL. Nothing.

JULIA. O, you are much alter'd: Come, I must be your secretary, and remove This lead from off your bosom: what 's the matter—

CARDINAL. I may not tell you.

JULIA. Are you so far in love with sorrow You cannot part with part of it— Or think you I cannot love your grace when you are sad As well as merry— Or do you suspect I, that have been a secret to your heart These many winters, cannot be the same Unto your tongue—

CARDINAL. Satisfy thy longing,- The only way to make thee keep my counsel Is, not to tell thee.

JULIA. Tell your echo this, Or flatterers, that like echoes still report What they hear though most imperfect, and not me; For if that you be true unto yourself, I 'll know.

CARDINAL. Will you rack me—

JULIA. No, judgment shall Draw it from you: it is an equal fault, To tell one's secrets unto all or none.

CARDINAL. The first argues folly.

JULIA. But the last tyranny.

CARDINAL. Very well: why, imagine I have committed Some secret deed which I desire the world May never hear of.

JULIA. Therefore may not I know it— You have conceal'd for me as great a sin As adultery. Sir, never was occasion For perfect trial of my constancy Till now: sir, I beseech you--

CARDINAL. You 'll repent it.

JULIA. Never.

CARDINAL. It hurries thee to ruin: I 'll not tell thee. Be well advis'd, and think what danger 'tis To receive a prince's secrets. They that do, Had need have their breasts hoop'd with adamant To contain them. I pray thee, yet be satisfi'd; Examine thine own frailty; 'tis more easy To tie knots than unloose them. 'Tis a secret That, like a ling'ring poison, may chance lie Spread in thy veins, and kill thee seven year hence.

JULIA. Now you dally with me.

CARDINAL. No more; thou shalt know it. By my appointment the great Duchess of Malfi And two of her young children, four nights since, Were strangl'd.

JULIA. O heaven! sir, what have you done!

CARDINAL. How now— How settles this— Think you your bosom Will be a grave dark and obscure enough For such a secret—

JULIA. You have undone yourself, sir.

CARDINAL. Why—

JULIA. It lies not in me to conceal it.

CARDINAL. No— Come, I will swear you to 't upon this book.

JULIA. Most religiously.

CARDINAL. Kiss it. [She kisses the book.] Now you shall never utter it; thy curiosity Hath undone thee; thou 'rt poison'd with that book. Because I knew thou couldst not keep my counsel, I have bound thee to 't by death.

[Re-enter BOSOLA]

BOSOLA. For pity-sake, hold!

CARDINAL. Ha, Bosola!

JULIA. I forgive you This equal piece of justice you have done; For I betray'd your counsel to that fellow. He over-heard it; that was the cause I said It lay not in me to conceal it.

BOSOLA. O foolish woman, Couldst not thou have poison'd him—

JULIA. 'Tis weakness, Too much to think what should have been done. I go, I know not whither. [Dies.]

CARDINAL. Wherefore com'st thou hither—

BOSOLA. That I might find a great man like yourself, Not out of his wits, as the Lord Ferdinand, To remember my service.

CARDINAL. I 'll have thee hew'd in pieces.

BOSOLA. Make not yourself such a promise of that life Which is not yours to dispose of.

CARDINAL. Who plac'd thee here—

BOSOLA. Her lust, as she intended.

CARDINAL. Very well: Now you know me for your fellow-murderer.

BOSOLA. And wherefore should you lay fair marble colours Upon your rotten purposes to me— Unless you imitate some that do plot great treasons, And when they have done, go hide themselves i' th' grave Of those were actors in 't—

CARDINAL. No more; there is A fortune attends thee.

BOSOLA. Shall I go sue to Fortune any longer— 'Tis the fool's pilgrimage.

CARDINAL. I have honours in store for thee.

BOSOLA. There are a many ways that conduct to seeming Honour, and some of them very dirty ones.

CARDINAL. Throw to the devil Thy melancholy. The fire burns well; What need we keep a stirring of 't, and make A greater smother—‹132› Thou wilt kill Antonio—

BOSOLA. Yes.

CARDINAL. Take up that body.

BOSOLA. I think I shall Shortly grow the common bier for church-yards.

CARDINAL. I will allow thee some dozen of attendants To aid thee in the murder.

BOSOLA. O, by no means. Physicians that apply horse-leeches to any rank swelling use to cut off their tails, that the blood may run through them the faster: let me have no train when I go to shed blood, less it make me have a greater when I ride to the gallows.

CARDINAL. Come to me after midnight, to help to remove That body to her own lodging. I 'll give out She died o' th' plague; 'twill breed the less inquiry After her death.

BOSOLA. Where 's Castruccio her husband—

CARDINAL. He 's rode to Naples, to take possession Of Antonio's citadel.

BOSOLA. Believe me, you have done a very happy turn.

CARDINAL. Fail not to come. There is the master-key Of our lodgings; and by that you may conceive What trust I plant in you.

BOSOLA. You shall find me ready. Exit CARDINAL. O poor Antonio, though nothing be so needful To thy estate as pity, yet I find Nothing so dangerous! I must look to my footing: In such slippery ice-pavements men had need To be frost-nail'd well, they may break their necks else; The precedent 's here afore me. How this man Bears up in blood! seems fearless! Why, 'tis well; Security some men call the suburbs of hell, Only a dead wall between. Well, good Antonio, I 'll seek thee out; and all my care shall be To put thee into safety from the reach Of these most cruel biters that have got Some of thy blood already. It may be, I 'll join with thee in a most just revenge. The weakest arm is strong enough that strikes With the sword of justice. Still methinks the duchess Haunts me: there, there!-'Tis nothing but my melancholy. O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup, That throws men down only to raise them up! Exit.

Scene III‹133›

[Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO. Echo (from the DUCHESS'S Grave)

DELIO. Yond 's the cardinal's window. This fortification Grew from the ruins of an ancient abbey; And to yond side o' th' river lies a wall, Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion Gives the best echo that you ever heard, So hollow and so dismal, and withal So plain in the distinction of our words, That many have suppos'd it is a spirit That answers.

ANTONIO. I do love these ancient ruins. We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history; And, questionless, here in this open court, Which now lies naked to the injuries Of stormy weather, some men lie interr'd Lov'd the church so well, and gave so largely to 't, They thought it should have canopied their bones Till dooms-day. But all things have their end; Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men, Must have like death that we have.

ECHO. Like death that we have.

DELIO. Now the echo hath caught you.

ANTONIO. It groan'd methought, and gave A very deadly accent.

ECHO. Deadly accent.

DELIO. I told you 'twas a pretty one. You may make it A huntsman, or a falconer, a musician, Or a thing of sorrow.

ECHO. A thing of sorrow.

ANTONIO. Ay, sure, that suits it best.

ECHO. That suits it best.

ANTONIO. 'Tis very like my wife's voice.

ECHO. Ay, wife's voice.

DELIO. Come, let us walk further from t. I would not have you go to the cardinal's to-night: Do not.

ECHO. Do not.

DELIO. Wisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrow Than time. Take time for 't; be mindful of thy safety.

ECHO. Be mindful of thy safety.

ANTONIO. Necessity compels me. Make scrutiny through the passages Of your own life, you 'll find it impossible To fly your fate.

ECHO. O, fly your fate!

DELIO. Hark! the dead stones seem to have pity on you, And give you good counsel.

ANTONIO. Echo, I will not talk with thee, For thou art a dead thing.

ECHO. Thou art a dead thing.

ANTONIO. My duchess is asleep now, And her little ones, I hope sweetly. O heaven, Shall I never see her more—

ECHO. Never see her more.

ANTONIO. I mark'd not one repetition of the echo But that; and on the sudden a clear light Presented me a face folded in sorrow.

DELIO. Your fancy merely.

ANTONIO. Come, I 'll be out of this ague, For to live thus is not indeed to live; It is a mockery and abuse of life. I will not henceforth save myself by halves; Lose all, or nothing.

DELIO. Your own virtue save you! I 'll fetch your eldest son, and second you. It may be that the sight of his own blood Spread in so sweet a figure may beget The more compassion. However, fare you well. Though in our miseries Fortune have a part, Yet in our noble sufferings she hath none. Contempt of pain, that we may call our own. Exeunt.

Scene IV‹134›

[Enter] CARDINAL, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN

CARDINAL. You shall not watch to-night by the sick prince; His grace is very well recover'd.

MALATESTI. Good my lord, suffer us.

CARDINAL. O, by no means; The noise, and change of object in his eye, Doth more distract him. I pray, all to bed; And though you hear him in his violent fit, Do not rise, I entreat you.

PESCARA. So, sir; we shall not.

CARDINAL. Nay, I must have you promise Upon your honours, for I was enjoin'd to 't By himself; and he seem'd to urge it sensibly.

PESCARA. Let our honours bind this trifle.

CARDINAL. Nor any of your followers.

MALATESTI. Neither.

CARDINAL. It may be, to make trial of your promise, When he 's asleep, myself will rise and feign Some of his mad tricks, and cry out for help, And feign myself in danger.

MALATESTI. If your throat were cutting, I 'd not come at you, now I have protested against it.

CARDINAL. Why, I thank you.

GRISOLAN. 'Twas a foul storm to-night.

RODERIGO. The Lord Ferdinand's chamber shook like an osier.

MALATESTI. 'Twas nothing put pure kindness in the devil To rock his own child. Exeunt [all except the CARDINAL].

CARDINAL. The reason why I would not suffer these About my brother, is, because at midnight I may with better privacy convey Julia's body to her own lodging. O, my conscience! I would pray now; but the devil takes away my heart For having any confidence in prayer. About this hour I appointed Bosola To fetch the body. When he hath serv'd my turn, He dies. Exit.

[Enter BOSOLA]

BOSOLA. Ha! 'twas the cardinal's voice; I heard him name Bosola and my death. Listen; I hear one's footing.

[Enter FERDINAND]

FERDINAND. Strangling is a very quiet death.

BOSOLA. [Aside.] Nay, then, I see I must stand upon my guard.

FERDINAND. What say to that— Whisper softly: do you agree to 't— So; it must be done i' th' dark; the cardinal would not for a thousand pounds the doctor should see it. Exit.

BOSOLA. My death is plotted; here 's the consequence of murder. We value not desert nor Christian breath, When we know black deeds must be cur'd with death.

[Enter ANTONIO and Servant]

SERVANT. Here stay, sir, and be confident, I pray; I 'll fetch you a dark lantern. Exit.

ANTONIO. Could I take him at his prayers, There were hope of pardon.

BOSOLA. Fall right, my sword!- [Stabs him.] I 'll not give thee so much leisure as to pray.

ANTONIO. O, I am gone! Thou hast ended a long suit In a minute.

BOSOLA. What art thou—

ANTONIO. A most wretched thing, That only have thy benefit in death, To appear myself.

[Re-enter Servant with a lantern]

SERVANT. Where are you, sir—

ANTONIO. Very near my home.-Bosola!

SERVANT. O, misfortune!

BOSOLA. Smother thy pity, thou art dead else.-Antonio! The man I would have sav'd 'bove mine own life! We are merely the stars' tennis-balls, struck and banded Which way please them.-O good Antonio, I 'll whisper one thing in thy dying ear Shall make thy heart break quickly! Thy fair duchess And two sweet children--

ANTONIO. Their very names Kindle a little life in me.

BOSOLA. Are murder'd.

ANTONIO. Some men have wish'd to die At the hearing of sad tidings; I am glad That I shall do 't in sadness.‹135› I would not now Wish my wounds balm'd nor heal'd, for I have no use To put my life to. In all our quest of greatness, Like wanton boys whose pastime is their care, We follow after bubbles blown in th' air. Pleasure of life, what is 't— Only the good hours Of an ague; merely a preparative to rest, To endure vexation. I do not ask The process of my death; only commend me To Delio.

BOSOLA. Break, heart!

ANTONIO. And let my son fly the courts to princes. [Dies.]

BOSOLA. Thou seem'st to have lov'd Antonio.

SERVANT. I brought him hither, To have reconcil'd him to the cardinal.

BOSOLA. I do not ask thee that. Take him up, if thou tender thine own life, And bear him where the lady Julia Was wont to lodge.-O, my fate moves swift! I have this cardinal in the forge already; Now I 'll bring him to th' hammer. O direful misprision!‹136› I will not imitate things glorious. No more than base; I 'll be mine own example.- On, on, and look thou represent, for silence, The thing thou bear'st.‹137› Exeunt.

Scene V‹138›

[Enter] CARDINAL, with a book

CARDINAL. I am puzzl'd in a question about hell; He says, in hell there 's one material fire, And yet it shall not burn all men alike. Lay him by. How tedious is a guilty conscience! When I look into the fish-ponds in my garden, Methinks I see a thing arm'd with a rake, That seems to strike at me. [Enter BOSOLA, and Servant bearing ANTONIO'S body] Now, art thou come— Thou look'st ghastly; There sits in thy face some great determination Mix'd with some fear.

BOSOLA. Thus it lightens into action: I am come to kill thee.

CARDINAL. Ha!-Help! our guard!

BOSOLA. Thou art deceiv'd; they are out of thy howling.

CARDINAL. Hold; and I will faithfully divide Revenues with thee.

BOSOLA. Thy prayers and proffers Are both unseasonable.

CARDINAL. Raise the watch! We are betray'd!

BOSOLA. I have confin'd your flight: I 'll suffer your retreat to Julia's chamber, But no further.

CARDINAL. Help! we are betray'd!

[Enter, above, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN]

MALATESTI. Listen.

CARDINAL. My dukedom for rescue!

RODERIGO. Fie upon his counterfeiting!

MALATESTI. Why, 'tis not the cardinal.

RODERIGO. Yes, yes, 'tis he: But, I 'll see him hang'd ere I 'll go down to him.

CARDINAL. Here 's a plot upon me; I am assaulted! I am lost, Unless some rescue!

GRISOLAN. He doth this pretty well; But it will not serve to laugh me out of mine honour.

CARDINAL. The sword's at my throat!

RODERIGO. You would not bawl so loud then.

MALATESTI. Come, come, let 's go to bed: he told us this much aforehand.

PESCARA. He wish'd you should not come at him; but, believe 't, The accent of the voice sounds not in jest: I 'll down to him, howsoever, and with engines Force ope the doors. [Exit above.]

RODERIGO. Let 's follow him aloof, And note how the cardinal will laugh at him. [Exeunt, above, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN.]

BOSOLA. There 's for you first, 'Cause you shall not unbarricade the door To let in rescue. Kills the Servant.

CARDINAL. What cause hast thou to pursue my life—

BOSOLA. Look there.

CARDINAL. Antonio!

BOSOLA. Slain by my hand unwittingly. Pray, and be sudden. When thou kill'd'st thy sister, Thou took'st from Justice her most equal balance, And left her naught but her sword.

CARDINAL. O, mercy!

BOSOLA. Now it seems thy greatness was only outward; For thou fall'st faster of thyself than calamity Can drive thee. I 'll not waste longer time; there! [Stabs him.]

CARDINAL. Thou hast hurt me.

BOSOLA. Again!

CARDINAL. Shall I die like a leveret, Without any resistance—-Help, help, help! I am slain!

[Enter FERDINAND]

FERDINAND. Th' alarum! Give me a fresh horse; Rally the vaunt-guard, or the day is lost, Yield, yield! I give you the honour of arms Shake my sword over you; will you yield—

CARDINAL. Help me; I am your brother!

FERDINAND. The devil! My brother fight upon the adverse party! He wounds the CARDINAL, and, in the scuffle, gives BOSOLA his death-wound. There flies your ransom.

CARDINAL. O justice! I suffer now for what hath former bin: Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

FERDINAND. Now you 're brave fellows. Caesar's fortune was harder than Pompey's; Caesar died in the arms of prosperity, Pompey at the feet of disgrace. You both died in the field. The pain 's nothing; pain many times is taken away with the apprehension of greater, as the tooth-ache with the sight of a barber that comes to pull it out. There 's philosophy for you.

BOSOLA. Now my revenge is perfect.-Sink, thou main cause Kills FERDINAND. Of my undoing!-The last part of my life Hath done me best service.

FERDINAND. Give me some wet hay; I am broken-winded. I do account this world but a dog-kennel: I will vault credit and affect high pleasures Beyond death.

BOSOLA. He seems to come to himself, Now he 's so near the bottom.

FERDINAND. My sister, O my sister! there 's the cause on 't. Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust. [Dies.]

CARDINAL. Thou hast thy payment too.

BOSOLA. Yes, I hold my weary soul in my teeth; 'Tis ready to part from me. I do glory That thou, which stood'st like a huge pyramid Begun upon a large and ample base, Shalt end in a little point, a kind of nothing.

[Enter, below, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN]

PESCARA. How now, my lord!

MALATESTI. O sad disaster!

RODERIGO. How comes this—

BOSOLA. Revenge for the Duchess of Malfi murdered By the Arragonian brethren; for Antonio Slain by this hand; for lustful Julia Poison'd by this man; and lastly for myself, That was an actor in the main of all Much 'gainst mine own good nature, yet i' the end Neglected.

PESCARA. How now, my lord!

CARDINAL. Look to my brother: He gave us these large wounds, as we were struggling Here i' th' rushes. And now, I pray, let me Be laid by and never thought of. [Dies.]

PESCARA. How fatally, it seems, he did withstand His own rescue!

MALATESTI. Thou wretched thing of blood, How came Antonio by his death—

BOSOLA. In a mist; I know not how: Such a mistake as I have often seen In a play. O, I am gone! We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves, That, ruin'd, yield no echo. Fare you well. It may be pain, but no harm, to me to die In so good a quarrel. O, this gloomy world! In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness, Doth womanish and fearful mankind live! Let worthy minds ne'er stagger in distrust To suffer death or shame for what is just: Mine is another voyage. [Dies.]

PESCARA. The noble Delio, as I came to th' palace, Told me of Antonio's being here, and show'd me A pretty gentleman, his son and heir.

[Enter DELIO, and ANTONIO'S Son]

MALATESTI. O sir, you come too late!

DELIO. I heard so, and Was arm'd for 't, ere I came. Let us make noble use Of this great ruin; and join all our force To establish this young hopeful gentleman In 's mother's right. These wretched eminent things Leave no more fame behind 'em, than should one Fall in a frost, and leave his print in snow; As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts, Both form and matter. I have ever thought Nature doth nothing so great for great men As when she 's pleas'd to make them lords of truth: Integrity of life is fame's best friend, Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end. Exeunt.

Notes

‹1› Malfi. The presence-chamber in the palace of the Duchess.

‹2› Prevent.

‹3› The same.

‹4› The reference is to the knightly sport of riding at the ring.

‹5› At the expense of.

‹6› Rolls of lint used to dress wounds.

‹7› Surgeons.

‹8› A small horse.

‹9› Ballasted.

‹10› A lively dance.

‹11› Throws into the shade.

‹12› At the point of.

‹13› Coaches.

‹14› Spy.

‹15› Cheats.

‹16› Spy.

‹17› Malfi. Gallery in the Duchess' palace.

‹18› Lustful.

‹19› Genesis xxxi., 31-42.

‹20› The net in which he caught Venus and Mars.

‹21› Housekeepers.

‹22› Produced.

‹23› Qq. read STRANGE.

‹24› Guess.

‹25› The phrase used to indicate that accounts had been examined and found correct.

‹26› Using words of present time; i.e., "I take," not "I will take."

‹27› Knot.

‹28› More firmly.

‹29› Of difficult disposition.

‹30› Malfi. An apartment in the palace of the Duchess.

‹31› Chief part.

‹32› Bullies (Hazlitt); lawyers (Vaughan).

‹33› Royal journey.

‹34› Turning a boat on its side for repairs.

‹35› Scabbed.

‹36› Empty.

‹37› Face-modeling (Sampson). "There's a plain statement of your practises."

‹38› Blue like those of a woman with child.

‹39› Scurf.

‹40› Person of highest influence.

‹41› Hysteria.

‹42› This year.

‹43› Clearly.

‹44› Youngster.

‹45› A hall in the same palace.

‹46› Crossness.

‹47› Always.

‹48› The meaner servants.

‹49› At once.

‹50› Cast his horoscope.

‹51› The court of the same palace.

‹52› Making an astrological calculation.

‹53› Going to the root of the matter.

‹54› Write.

‹55› i.e., on his handkerchief.

‹56› Addressing the lantern.

‹57› "The rest not considered."

‹58› A piece of news.

‹59› Cleverly contrived.

‹60› Rome. An apartment in the palace of the Cardinal.

‹61› Religious recluse.

‹62› Experienced.

‹63› Sick.

‹64› Medicinal.

‹65› Strong broth.

‹66› Another apartment in the same palace.

‹67› The mandrake was supposed to give forth shrieks when uprooted, which drove the hearer mad.

‹68› Unchaste.

‹69› Supposed to be a sign of folly.

‹70› Throw the hammer.

‹71› Boil to shreds. (Dyce.) Qq, TO BOIL.

‹72› Malfi. An apartment in the palace of the Duchess.

‹73› Wealth.

‹74› Lampoons.

‹75› Plowshares.

‹76› Spying.

‹77› Deceptions.

‹78› Soothing.

‹79› The bed-chamber of the Duchess in the same.

‹80› Qq. read SLIGHT.

‹81› Powder of orris-root.

‹82› Wheels of craft.

‹83› Certificate that the books were found correct.

‹84› The badge of a steward.

‹85› Spies.

‹86› Lot.

‹87› For Plutus.

‹88› Quick steps.

‹89› Miss.

‹90› Remains.

‹91› Profession.

‹92› An apartment in the Cardinal's palace at Rome.

‹93› A decorated horse-cloth, used only when the court is traveling.

‹94› The first quarto has in the margin: "The Author disclaims this Ditty to be his."

‹95› Near Loretto.

‹96› Small birds.

‹97› His vizard.

‹98› Malfi. An apartment in the palace of the Duchess.

‹99› Curtain.

‹100› The wife of Brutus, who died by swallowing fire.

‹101› By artificial means.

‹102› Profession.

‹103› Spying.

‹104› Another room in the lodging of the Duchess.

‹105› Band.

‹106› Bands.

‹107› Boil.

‹108› Punning on the two senses of "dye" and "corn."

‹109› From exporting his grain.

‹110› Optical glass.

‹111› The Geneva Bible.

‹112› Petticoat.

‹113› Coach.

‹114› A warm drink containing milk, wine, etc.

‹115› Receptacle.

‹116› A drug supposed to ooze from embalmed bodies.

‹117› Curdled.

‹118› Trial.

‹119› An exclamation of impatience.

‹120› Milan. A public place.

‹121› In escheat; here, in fee.

‹122› Disbeliever.

‹123› Fraught.

‹124› A gallery in the residence of the Cardinal and Ferdinand.

‹125› A dog which worries sheep.

‹126› A fabulous serpent that killed by its glance.

‹127› Cut a caper.

‹128› Broth.

‹129› Skeletons.

‹130› So Dyce. Qq. BROUGHT.

‹131› Perfumed sweetmeats for the breath.

‹132› Smoke.

‹133› A fortification.

‹134› Milan. An apartment in the residence of the Cardinal and Ferdinand.

‹135› Reality.

‹136› Mistake.

‹137› i.e., the dead body.

‹138› Another apartment in the same.

A New Way to Pay Old Debts by Philip Massinger

Introductory Note

PHILIP MASSINGER was born at Salisbury in 1584. Though the son of a Member of Parliament, he seems to have inherited no means, for the first notice we have of him after his leaving Oxford in 1606 is a petition addressed to Henslowe by him and two friends for a payment of five pounds on account, to get them out of prison.

After Beaumont retired from play-writing, Massinger became Fletcher’s chief partner, and there is evidence that there existed between them a warm friendship. All Massinger’s relations with his fellow authors of which we have record seem to have been pleasant; and the impression of his personality which one derives from his work is that of a dignified, hard-working, and conscientious man. He seems to have been much interested in public affairs, and he at times came into collision with the authorities on account of the introduction into his plays of more or less veiled allusions to political personages and events. He died in 1640.

The best known of Massinger’s works is “A New Way to Pay Old Debts,” which was probably acted for the first time in 1625. The popularity of the play is chiefly due to the principal characters, Sir Giles Overreach, a usurer and extortioner, drawn, however, on such magnificent lines as to rise far above the conventional miser of literature. Overreach is presented with great dramatic skill, the situations being chosen and elaborated so as to throw his figure into high relief; and though his villainy reaches the pitch of monstrosity, the illusion of life is preserved. Here, as elsewhere, Massinger’s sympathies are on the side of wholesome morals; and it was probably the powerful didactic tendency of the play and its fine rhetoric which, united with the impressiveness of the main figure, enabled it to hold the stage into the nineteenth century.

Dramatis Personae

LORD LOVELL, an English Lord.

SIR GILES OVERREACH, a cruel extortioner.

[FRANK] WELLBORN, a Prodigal.

[TOM] ALLWORTH, a young Gentleman, Page to Lord Lovell.

GREEDY, a hungry Justice of Peace.

MARRALL, a Term-Driver; a creature of Sir Giles Overreach.

ORDER [Steward],

AMBLE [Usher],

FURNACE [Cook],

WATCHALL [Porter], Servant to Lady Allworth.

WILLDO, a Parson.

TAPWELL, an Alehouse Keeper.

Three Creditors, Servants, &c.

LADY ALLWORTH, a rich Widow.

MARGARET, Daughter of Sir Giles Overreach.

FROTH, Wife of Tapwell.

Chambermaid.

Waiting Woman.

[SCENE—THE COUNTRY NEAR NOTTINGHAM]

Act I

Scene I

[ Enter ] WELLBORN [ in tattered apparel, ] TAPWELL, and FROTH 1

WELL. NO BOUSE— 2 nor no tobacco—

TAP. Not a suck, sir;

Nor the remainder of a single can

Left by a drunken porter, all night pall’d 3 too.

Froth. Not the dropping of the tap for your morning’s draught, sir:

’Tis verity, I assure you.

WELL. Verity, you brache! 4

The devil turn’d precisian! 5 Rogue, what am I—

TAP. Troth, durst I trust you with a looking-glass,

To let you see your trim shape, you would quit me

And take the name yourself.

WELL. How, dog!

TAP. Even so, sir.

And I must tell you, if you but advance

Your Plymouth cloak 6 you shall be soon instructed

There dwells, and within call, if it please your worship,

A potent monarch call’d the constable,

That does command a citadel called the stocks;

Whose guards are certain files of rusty billmen

Such as with great dexterity will hale

Your tatter’d, lousy——

WELL. Rascal! slave!

FROTH. No rage, sir.

TAP. At his own peril. Do not put yourself

In too much heat, there being no water near

To quench your thirst; and sure, for other liquor,

As mighty ale, or beer, they are things, I take it,

You must no more remember; not in a dream, sir.

WELL. Why, thou unthankful villain, dar’st thou talk thus!

Is not thy house, and all thou hast, my gift—

TAP. I find it not in chalk; and Timothy Tapwell

Does keep no other register.

WELL. Am not I he

Whose riots fed and cloth’d thee— Wert thou not

Born on my father’s land, and proud to be

A drudge in his house—

TAP. What I was, sir, it skills 7 not;

What you are, is apparent. Now, for a farewell,

Since you talk of father, in my hope it will torment you,

I’ll briefly tell your story. Your dead father,

My quondam master, was a man of worship,

Old Sir John Wellborn, justice of peace and quorum, 8

And stood fair to be custos rotulorum; 9

Bore the whole sway of the shire, kept a great house,

Reliev’d the poor, and so forth; but he dying,

And the twelve hundred a year coming to you,

Late Master Francis, but now forlorn Wellborn——

WELL. Slave, stop! or I shall lose myself.

FROTH. Very hardly:

You cannot out of your way.

TAP. But to my story:

You were then a lord of acres, the prime gallant,

And I your under-butler. Note the change now;

You had a merry time of’t: hawks and hounds,

With choice of running horses; mistresses

Of all sorts and all sizes, yet so hot,

As their embraces made your lordship melt;

Which your uncle, Sir Giles Overreach, observing,

(Resolving not to lose a drop of them,)

On foolish mortgages, statutes, and bonds,

For a while suppli’d your looseness, and then left you.

WELL. Some curate hath penn’d this invective, mongrel.

And you have studied it.

TAP. I have not done yet.

Your land gone, and your credit not worth a token

You grew a common borrower; no man scap’d

Your paper-pellets, 10 from the gentleman

To the beggars on highways, that sold you switches

In your gallantry.

WELL. I shall switch your brains out.

TAP. Where poor Tim Tapwell, with a little stock,

Some forty pounds or so, bought a small cottage;

Humbled myself to marriage with my Froth here,

Gave entertainment——

WELL. Yes, to whores and canters, 11

Clubbers by night.

TAP. True, but they brought in profit,

And had a gift to pay for what they call’d for,

And stuck not like your mastership. The poor income

I glean’d from them hath made me in my parish

Thought worthy to be scavenger, and in time

I may rise to be overseer of the poor;

Which if I do, on your petition, Wellborn,

I may allow you thirteen-pence a quarter.

And you shall thank my worship.

WELL. Thus, you dog-bolt,

And thus—— Beats and kicks him.

TAP. [to his wife.] Cry out for help!

WELL. Stir, and thou diest:

Your potent prince, the constable, shall not save you.

Hear me ungrateful hell-hound! Did not I

Make purses for you— Then you lick’d my boots,

And thought your holiday cloak too coarse to clean them.

’Twas I that, when I heard thee swear if ever

Thou couldst arrive at forty pounds thou wouldst

Live like an emperor, ’twas I that gave it

In ready gold. Deny this, wretch!

TAP. I must, sir;

For, from the tavern to the taphouse, all,

On forfeiture of their licenses, stand bound

Ne’er to remember who their best guests were,

If they grew poor like you.

WELL. They are well rewarded

That beggar themselves to make such cuckolds rich.

Thou viper, thankless viper! impudent bawd!—

But since you are grown forgetful, I will help

Your memory, and tread you into mortar,

Nor leave one bone unbroken. [Beats him again.]

TAP. Oh!

FROTH. Ask mercy.

Enter ALLWORTH

WELL. ’Twill not be granted.

ALL. Hold—for my sake, hold.

Deny me, Frank— They are not worth your anger.

WELL. For once thou hast redeem’d them from this sceptre; 12

But let ’em vanish, creeping on their knees,

And, if they grumble, I revoke my pardon.

FROTH. This comes of your prating, husband; you presum’d

On your ambling wit, and must use your glib tongue,

Though you are beaten lame for’t.

TAP. Patience, Froth;

There’s law to cure our bruises. They go off on their hands and knees.

WELL. Sent to your mother—

ALL. My lady, Frank, my patroness, my all!

She’s such a mourner for my father’s death,

And, in her love to him, so favours me,

That I cannot pay too much observance to her.

There are few such stepdames.

WELL. ’Tis a noble widow,

And keeps her reputation pure, and clear

From the least taint of infamy; her life,

With the splendour of her actions, leaves no tongue

To envy or detraction. Prithee tell me,

Has she no suitors—

ALL. Even the best of the shire, Frank,

My lord excepted; such as sue and send,

And send and sue again, but to no purpose;

Their frequent visits have not gain’d her presence.

Yet she’s so far from sullenness and pride,

That I dare undertake you shall meet from her

A liberal entertainment. I can give you

A catalogue of her suitors’ names.

WELL. Forbear it,

While I give you good counsel: I am bound to it.

Thy father was my friend, and that affection

I bore to him, in right descends to thee;

Thou art a handsome and a hopeful youth,

Nor will I have the least affront stick on thee,

If I with any danger can prevent it.

ALL. I thank your noble care; but, pray you, in what

Do I run the hazard—

WELL. Art thou not in love—

Put it not off with wonder.

ALL. In love, at my years!

WELL. You think you walk in clouds, but are transparent.

I have heard all, and the choice that you have made,

And, with my finger, can point out the north star

By which the loadstone of your folly’s guided;

And, to confirm this true, what think you of

Fair Margaret, the only child and heir

Of Cormorant Overreach— Does it blush and start,

To hear her only nam’d— Blush at your want

Of wit and reason.

ALL. You are too bitter, sir.

WELL. Wounds of this nature are not to be cur’d

With balms, but corrosives. I must be plain:

Art thou scarce manumis’d 13 from the porter’s lodge 14

And yet sworn servant to the pantofle, 15

And dar’st thou dream of marriage— I fear

’Twill be concluded for impossible

That there is now, or e’er shall be hereafter,

A handsome page or player’s boy of fourteen

But either loves a wench, or drabs love him;

Court-waiters not exempted.

ALL. This is madness.

Howe’er you have discover’d my intents,

You know my aims are lawful; and if ever

The queen of flowers, the glory of the spring,

The sweetest comfort to our smell, the rose,

Sprang from an envious briar, I may infer

There’s such disparity in their conditions

Between the goodness of my soul, the daughter,

And the base churl her father.

WELL. Grant this true,

As I believe it, canst thou ever hope

To enjoy a quiet bed with her whose father

Ruin’d thy state—

ALL. And yours too.

WELL. I confess it;

True; I must tell you as a friend, and freely,

That, where impossibilities are apparent,

’Tis indiscretion to nourish hopes.

Canst thou imagine (let not self-love blind thee)

That Sir Giles Overreach, that, to make her great

In swelling titles, without touch of conscience

Will cut his neighbour’s throat, and I hope his own too,

Will e’er consent to make her thine— Give o’er,

And think of some course suitable to thy rank,

And prosper in it.

ALL. You have well advis’d me.

But in the mean time you that are so studious

Of my affairs wholly neglect your own.

Remember yourself, and in what plight you are.

WELL. No matter, no matter.

ALL. Yes, ’tis much material.

You know my fortune and my means; yet something

I can spare from myself to help your wants.

WELL. How’s this—

ALL. Nay, be not angry; there’s eight pieces

To put you in better fashion.

WELL. Money from thee!

From a boy! A stipendiary! One that lives

At the devotion of a stepmother

And the uncertain favour of a lord!

I’ll eat my arms first. Howsoe’er blind Fortune

Hath spent the utmost of her malice on me—

Though I am vomited out of an alehouse,

And thus accoutred—know not where to eat,

Or drink, or sleep, but underneath this canopy 16—

Although I thank thee, I despise thy offer;

And as I in my madness broke my state

Without th’ assistance of another’s brain,

In my right wits I’ll piece it; at the worst,

Die thus and be forgotten.

ALL. A strange humour! Exeunt.

Note 1. Before Tapwell’s house.

Note 2. Booze, drink.

Note 3. Staled.

Note 4. Hound.

Note 5. Puritan.

Note 6. Cudgel.

Note 7. Matters.

Note 8. A select number of the more learned justices, whose presence was necessary to constitute the bench.

Note 9. Keeper of the county records.

Note 10. Acknowledgments of indebtedness.

Note 11. Whining beggars.

Note 12. I. e., his cudgel.

Note 13. Freed.

Note 14. Where servants used to be punished.

Note 15. Slipper.

Note 16. I. e., the sky.

Act I

Scene II

[ Enter ] ORDER, AMBLE, FURNACE, and WATCHALL 1

ORD. Set all things right, or, as my name is Order,

And by this staff of office that commands you,

This chain and double ruff, symbols of power,

Whoever misses in his function,

For one whole week makes forfeiture of his breakfast,

And privilege in the wine-cellar.

AMB. You are merry,

Good master steward.

FURN. Let him; I’ll be angry.

AMB. Why, fellow Furnace, ’tis not twelve o’clock yet,

Nor dinner taking up; then, ’tis allow’d,

Cooks, by their places, may be choleric.

FURN. You think you have spoke wisely, goodman Amble,

My lady’s go-before!

ORD. Nay, nay, no wrangling.

FURN. Twit me with the authority of the kitchen!

At all hours, and all places, I’ll be angry;

And thus provok’d, when I am at my prayers

I will be angry.

AMB. There was no hurt meant.

FURN. I am friends with thee; and yet I will be angry.

ORD. With whom—

FURN. No matter whom: yet, now I think on it,

I am angry with my lady.

WATCH. Heaven forbid, man!

ORD. What cause has she given thee—

FURN. Cause enough, master steward.

I was entertain’d by her to please her palate,

And, till she forswore eating, I perform’d it.

Now, since our master, noble Allworth, died,

Though I crack my brains to find out tempting sauces,

And raise fortifications in the pastry

Such as might serve for models in the Low Countries;

Which, if they had been practised at Breda,

Spinola might have thrown his cap at it, and ne’er took it 2—

AMB. But you had wanted matter there to work on.

FURN. Matter! with six eggs, and a strike 3 of rye meal,

I had kept the town till doomsday, perhaps longer.

ORD. But what’s this to your pet against my lady—

FURN. What’s this— Marry this: when I am three parts roasted

And the fourth part parboil’d, to prepare her viands,

She keeps her chamber, dines with a panada 4

Or water-gruel, my sweat never thought on.

ORD. But your art is seen in the dining-room.

FURN. By whom—

By such as pretend love to her, but come

To feed upon her. Yet, of all the harpies

That do devour her, I am out of charity

With none so much as the thin-gutted squire

That’s stolen into commission.

ORD. Justice Greedy—

FURN. The same, the same; meat’s cast away upon him,

It never thrives; he holds this paradox,

Who eats not well, can ne’er do justice well.

His stomach’s as insatiate as the grave,

Or strumpet’s ravenous appetites. Knocking.

WATCH. One knocks.

Enter ALLWORTH

ORD. Our late young master!

AMB. Welcome, sir.

FURN. Your hand;

If you have a stomach, a cold bake-meat’s ready.

ORD. His father’s picture in little.

FURN. We are all your servants.

AMB. In you he lives.

ALL. At once, my thanks to all;

This is yet some comfort. Is my lady stirring—

Enter LADY ALLWORTH, Waiting Woman, and Chambermaid

ORD. Her presence answers for us.

L. ALL. Sort those silks well.

I’ll take the air alone. Exeunt Waiting Woman and Chambermaid.

FURN. You air and air;

But will you never taste but spoon-meat more—

To what use serve I—

L. ALL. Prithee, be not angry;

I shall ere long: i’ the mean time, there is gold

To buy thee aprons, and a summer suit.

FURN. I am appeas’d, and Furnace now grows cool. 5

L. ALL. And, as I gave directions, if this morning

I am visited by any, entertain ’em

As heretofore; but say, in my excuse,

I am indispos’d.

ORD. I shall, madam.

L. ALL. Do, and leave them.

Nay, stay you, Allworth. Exeunt ORDER, AMBLE, FURNACE, and WATCHALL.

ALL. I shall gladly grow here,

To wait on your commands.

L. ALL. So soon turn’d courtier!

ALL. Style not that courtship, madam, which is duty

Purchas’d on your part.

L. ALL. Well, you shall o’ercome;

I’ll not contend in words. How is it with

Your noble master—

ALL. Ever like himself,

No scruple lessen’d in the full weight of honour.

He did command me, pardon my presumption,

As his unworthy deputy, to kiss

Your ladyship’s fair hands.

L. ALL. I am honour’d in

His favour to me. Does he hold his purpose

For the Low Countries—

ALL. Constantly, good madam;

But he will in person first present his service.

L. ALL. And how approve you of his course— You are yet

Like virgin parchment, capable of any

Inscription, vicious or honourable.

I will not force your will, but leave you free

To you own election.

ALL. Any form you please,

I will put on; but, might I make my choice,

With humble emulation I would follow

The path my lord marks to me.

L. ALL. ’Tis well answer’d,

And I commend your spirit. You had a father,

Blest be his memory! that some few hours

Before the will of Heaven took him from me,

Who did commend you, by the dearest ties

Of perfect love between us, to my charge;

And, therefore, what I speak, you are bound to hear

With such respect as if he liv’d in me.

He was my husband, and howe’er you are not

Son of my womb, you may be of my love,

Provided you deserve it.

ALL. I have found you,

Most honour’d madam, the best mother to me;

And, with my utmost strengths of care and service,

Will labour that you never may repent

Your bounties shower’d upon me.

L. ALL. I much hope it.

These were your father’s words: “If e’er my son

Follow the war, tell him it is a school

Where all the principles tending to honour

Are taught, if truly followed: but for such

As repair thither as a place in which

They do presume they may with license practise

Their lusts and riots, they shall never merit

The noble name of soldiers. To dare boldly,

In a fair cause, and for their country’s safety,

To run upon the cannon’s mouth undaunted;

To obey their leaders, and shun mutinies;

To bear with patience the winter’s cold

And summer’s scorching heat, and not to faint,

When plenty of provision fails, with hunger;

Are the essential parts make up a soldier,

Not swearing, dice, or drinking.”

ALL. There’s no syllable

You speak, but is to me an oracle,

Which but to doubt were impious.

L. ALL. To conclude:

Beware ill company, for often men

Are like to those with whom they do converse;

And, from one man I warn 6 you, and that’s Wellborn:

Not ’cause he’s poor, that rather claims your pity;

But that he’s in his manners so debauch’d,

And hath to vicious courses sold himself.

’Tis true, your father lov’d him, while he was

Worthy the loving; but if he had liv’d

To have seen him as he is, he had cast him off,

As you must do.

ALL. I shall obey in all things.

L. ALL. Follow me to my chamber, you shall have gold

To furnish you like my son, and still supplied,

As I hear from you.

ALL. I am still your creature. Exeunt.

Note 1. A room in Lady Allworth’s house.

Note 2. The siege of Breda by Spinola in 1624—5 was one of the great events of the time.

Note 3. Two bushels.

Note 4. Bread soaked in hot water and milk.

Note 5. Q. reads Cooke.

Note 6. Q. warn’d.

Act I

Scene III

[ Enter ] OVERREACH, GREEDY, ORDER, AMBLE, FURNACE, WATCHALL, and MARRALL 1

GREEDY. Not to be seen!

OVER. Still cloistered up! Her reason,

I hope, assures her, though she make herself

Close prisoner ever for her husband’s loss,

“Twill not recover him.

ORD. Sir, it is her will,

Which we, that are her servants, ought to serve,

And not dispute. Howe’er, you are nobly welcome;

And, if you please to stay, that you may think so,

There came, not six days since, from Hull, a pipe

Of rich Canary, which shall spend itself

For my lady’s honour.

GREEDY. Is it of the right race—

ORD. Yes, Master Greedy.

AMB. How his mouth runs o’er—

FURN. I’ll make it run, and run. Save your good worship!

GREEDY. Honest Master Cook, thy hand; again, how I love thee!

Are the good dishes still in being— Speak, boy.

FURN. If you have a mind to feed, there is a chine 2

Of beef, well seasoned.

GREEDY. Good!

FURN. A pheasant, larded.

GREEDY. That I might now give thanks for’t!

FURN. Other kickshaws.

Besides, there came last night, from the forest of Sherwood,

The fattest stag I ever cook’d.

GREEDY. A stag, man!

FURN. A stag, sir; part of it prepar’d for dinner,

And bak’d in puff-paste.

GREEDY. Puff-paste too! Sir Giles,

A ponderous chine of beef! a pheasant larded!

And red deer too, Sir Giles, and bak’d in puff-paste!

All business set aside, let us give thanks here.

FURN. How the lean skeletons rapt!

OVER. You know we cannot.

MAR. Your worships are to sit on a commission,

And if you fail to come, you lose the cause.

GREEDY. Cause me no causes. I’ll prove’t, for such dinner,

We may put off a commission: you shall find it

Henrici decimo quarto.

OVER. Fie, Master Greedy!

Will you lose me a thousand pounds for a dinner—

No more, for shame! We must forget the belly

When we think of profit.

GREEDY. Well, you shall o’er-rule me;

I could ev’n cry now.—Do you hear, Master Cook,

Send but a corner of that immortal pasty,

And I, in thankfulness, will, by your boy,

Send you—a brace of three-pences.

FURN. Will you be so prodigal—

Enter WELLBORN

OVER. Remember me to your lady. Who have we here—

WELL. You know me.

OVER. I did once, but now I will not;

Thou art no blood of mine. Avaunt, thou beggar!

If ever thou presume to own me more,

I’ll have thee cag’d and whipp’d.

GREEDY. I’ll grant the warrant.

Think of pie-corner, Furnace! [Exeunt OVERREACH, GREEDY, and MARRALL.

WATCH. Will you out, sir—

I wonder how you durst creep in.

ORD. This is rudeness.

And saucy impudence.

AMB. Cannot you stay

To be serv’d, among your fellows, from the basket, 3

But you must needs press into the hall—

FURN. Prithee, vanish

Into some outhouse, though it be the pigstye;

My scullion shall come to thee.

Enter ALLWORTH

WELL. This is rare:

Oh, here’s Tom Allworth. Tom!

ALL. We must be strangers;

Nor would I have you seen here for a million. Exit.

WELL. Better and better. He contemns me too!

Enter Waiting Woman and Chambermaid

WOMAN. Foh, what a smell’s here! What thing’s this—

CHAM. A creature

Made out of the privy; let us hence, for love’s sake,

Or I shall swoon.

WOMAN. I begin to feel faint already. [Exeunt Waiting Woman and Chambermaid.

WATCH. Will you know your way;

AMB. Or shall we teach it you,

By the head and shoulders—

WELL. No; I will not stir;

Do you mark, I will not: let me see the wretch

That dares attempt to force me. Why, you slaves,

Created only to make legs, 4 and cringe;

To carry in a dish, and shift a trencher;

That have not souls only to hope a blessing

Beyond black-jacks 5 or flagons; you, that were born

Only to consume meat and drink, and batten 6

Upon reversions!—who advances— Who

Shews me the way—

ORD. My lady!

Enter LADY ALLWORTH, Waiting Woman, and Chambermaid

CHAM. Here’s the monster.

WOMAN. Sweet madam, keep your glove to your nose.

CHAM. Or let me

Fetch some perfumes may be predominant;

You wrong yourself else.

WELL. Madam, my designs

Bear me to you.

L. ALL. To me!

WELL. And though I have met with

But ragged entertainment from your grooms here,

I hope from you to receive that noble usage

As may become the true friend of your husband,

And then I shall forget these.

L. ALL. I am amaz’d

To see and hear this rudeness. Dar’st thou think,

Though sworn, that it can ever find belief,

That I, who to the best men of this country

Deni’d my presence since my husband’s death,

Can fall so low as to change words with thee—

Thou son of infamy, forbear my house,

And know and keep the distance that’s between us;

Or, though it be against my gentler temper,

I shall take order you no more shall be

An eyesore to me.

WELL. Scorn me not, good lady;

But, as in form you are angelical,

Imitate the heavenly natures, and vouchsafe

At the least awhile to hear me. You will grant

The blood that runs in this arm is as noble

As that which fills your veins; those costly jewels,

And those rich clothes you wear, your men’s observance,

And women’s flattery, are in you no virtues,

Nor these rags, with my poverty, in me vices.

You have a fair fame, and, I know, deserve it;

Yet, lady, I must say, in nothing more

Than in the pious sorrow you have shewn

For your late noble husband.

ORD. How she starts!

FURN. And hardly can keep finger from the eye

To hear him nam’d.

L. ALL. Have you aught else to say—

WELL. That husband, madam, was once in his fortune

Almost as low as I; want, debts, and quarrels

Lay heavy on him: let it not be thought

A boast in me, though I say, I reliev’d him.

’Twas I that gave him fashion; mine the sword,

That did on all occasions second his;

I brought him on and off with honour, lady;

And when in all men’s judgments he was sunk,

And, in his own hopes, not to be buoy’d 7 up,

I stepp’d unto him, took him by the hand,

And set him upright.

FURN. Are not we base rogues,

That could forget this—

WELL. I confess, you made him

Master of your estate; nor could your friends,

Though he brought no wealth with him, blame you for it;

For he had a shape, and to that shape a mind

Made up of all parts, either great or noble:

So winning a behaviour, not to be

Resisted, madam.

L. ALL. ’Tis most true, he had.

WELL. For his sake, then, in that I was his friend,

Do not contemn me.

L. ALL. For what’s past excuse me,

I will redeem it. Order, give the gentleman

A hundred pounds.

WELL. No, madam, on no terms:

I will nor beg nor borrow sixpence of you,

But be suppli’d elsewhere, or want thus ever.

Only one suit I make, which you deny not

To strangers; and ’tis this. Whispers to her.

L. ALL. Fie! nothing else—

WELL. Nothing, unless you please to charge your servants

To throw away a little respect upon me.

L. ALL. What you demand is yours.

WELL. I thank you, lady.

Now what can be wrought out of such a suit

Is yet in supposition: I have said all;

When you please, you may retire.— [Exit LADY ALL.]

Nay, all’s forgotten; [To the Servants.]

And, for a lucky omen to my projects,

Shake hands, and end all quarrels in the cellar.

ORD. Agreed, agreed.

FURN. Still merry Master Wellborn. Exeunt.

Note 1. A hall in the same.

Note 2. Part of the back: ribs or sirloin.

Note 3. The basket of broken meats given in alms.

Note 4. Bow.

Note 5. A leathern beer can.

Note 6. Feed.

Note 7. Q. bung’d.

Act II

Scene I

Enter OVERREACH and MARRALL 1

OVER. He’s gone, I warrant thee; this commission crush’d him.

MAR. Your worships have the way on’t, and ne’er miss

To squeeze these unthrifts into air; and yet,

The chapfallen 2 justice did his part, returning

For your advantage the certificate,

Against his conscience, and his knowledge too,

With your good favour, to the utter ruin

Of the poor farmer.

OVER. ’Twas for these good ends

I made him a justice; he that bribes his belly,

Is certain to command his soul.

MAR. I wonder,

Still with your license, why, your worship having

The power to put this thin-gut in commission,

You are not in’t yourself—

OVER. Thou art a fool;

In being out of office I am out of danger;

Where, if a were a justice, besides the trouble,

I might or out of wilfulness or error

Run myself finely into a premunire, 3

And so become a prey to the informer.

No, I’ll have none of’t; ’tis enough I keep

Greedy at my devotion; so he serve

My purposes, let him hang or damn, I care not;

Friendship is but a word.

MAR. You are all wisdom.

OVER. I would be worldly wise; for the other wisdom,

That does prescribe us a well govern’d life,

And to do right to others as ourselves,

I value not an atom.

MAR. What course take you,

With your good patience, to hedge in the manor

Of your neighbour, Master Frugal— as ’tis said

He will nor sell, nor borrow, nor exchange;

And his land, lying in the midst of your many lordships,

Is a foul blemish.

OVER. I have thought on’t, Marrall,

And it shall take. I must have all men sellers,

And I the only purchaser.

MAR. ’Tis most fit, sir.

OVER. I’ll therefore buy some cottage near his manor,

Which done, I’ll make my men break ope his fences,

Ride o’er his standing corn, and in the night

Set fire on his barns, or break his cattle’s legs.

These trespasses draw on suits, and suits’ expenses,

Which I can spare, but will soon beggar him.

When I have harried him thus two or three year,

Though he sue in forma pauperis, in spite

Of all his thrift and care, he’ll grow behindhand.

MAR. The best I ever heard! I could adore you.

OVER. Then, with the favour of my man of law,

I will pretend some title. Want will force him

To put it to arbitrement; then, if he sell

For half the value, he shall have ready money,

And I possess his land.

MAR. ’Tis above wonder!

Wellborn was apt to sell, and needed not

These fine arts, sir, to hook him in.

OVER. Well thought on.

This varlet, Marrall, lives too long, to upbraid me

With my close cheat put upon him. Will nor cold

Nor hunger kill him—

MAR. I know not what to think on’t.

I have us’d all means; and the last night I caus’d

His host, the tapster, to turn him out of doors;

And have been since with all your friends and tenants,

And, on the forfeit of your favour, charg’d them,

Though a crust of mouldy bread would keep him from starving,

Yet they should not relieve him. This is done, sir.

OVER. That was something, Marrall; but thou must go further,

And suddenly, Marrall.

MAR. Where, and when you please, sir.

OVER. I would have thee seek him out, and, if thou canst,

Persuade him that ’tis better steal than beg;

Then, if I prove he has but robb’d a henroost,

Not all the world shall save him from the gallows.

Do any thing to work him to despair;

And ’tis thy masterpiece.

MAR. I will do my best, sir.

OVER. I am now on my main work with the Lord Lovell,

The gallant-minded, popular Lord Lovell,

The minion of the people’s love. I hear

He’s come into the country, and my aims are

To insinuate myself into his knowledge,

And then invite him to my house.

MAR. I have you;

This points at my young mistress.

OVER. She must part with

That humble title, and write honourable,

Right honourable, Marrall, my right honourable daughter,

If all I have, or e’er shall get, will do it.

I’ll have her well attended; there are ladies

Of errant knights decay’d and brought so low,

That for cast clothes and meat will gladly serve her.

And ’tis my glory, though I come from the city,

To have their issue whom I have undone,

To kneel to mine as bondslaves.

MAR. ’Tis fit state, sir.

OVER. And therefore, I’ll not have a chambermaid

That ties her shoes, or any meaner office,

But such whose fathers were right worshipful.

’Tis a rich man’s pride! there having ever been

More than a feud, a strange antipathy,

Between us and true gentry.

Enter WELLBORN

MAR. See, who’s here, sir.

OVER. Hence, monster! prodigy!

WELL. Sir, your wife’s nephew.

OVER. Avoid my sight! thy breath’s infectious, rogue!

I shun thee as a leprosy, or the plague.

Come hither, Marrall [Aside.]—this is the time to work him. Exit.

MAR. I warrant you, sir.

WELL. By this light I think he’s mad.

MAR. Mad! had you ta’en compassion on yourself,

You long since had been mad.

WELL. You have ta’en a course

Between you and my venerable uncle,

To make me so.

MAR. The more pale-spirited you.

That would not be instructed. I swear deeply——

WELL. By what—

MAR. By my religion.

WELL. Thy religion!

The devil’s creed:—but what would you have done—

MAR. Had there been but one tree in all the shire,

Nor any hope to compass a penny halter,

Before, like you, I had outliv’d my fortunes,

A withe had serv’d my turn to hang myself.

I am zealous in you cause; pray you hang yourself,

And presently, 4 as you love your credit.

WELL. I thank you.

MAR. Will you stay till you die in a ditch, or lice devour you———

Or, if you dare not do the feat yourself,

But that you’ll put the state to charge and trouble,

Is there no purse to be cut, house to be broken,

Or market-woman with eggs, that you may murder,

And so dispatch the business—

WELL. Here’s variety,

I must confess; but I’ll accept of none

Of all your gentle offers, I assure you.

MAR. Why, have you hope ever to eat again,

Or drink— or be the master of three farthings—

If you like not hanging, drown yourself! Take some course

For your reputation.

WELL. ’Twill not do, dear tempter,

With all the rhetoric the fiend hath taught you.

I am as far as thou art from despair;

Nay, I have confidence, which is more than hope,

To live, and suddenly, better than ever.

MAR. Ha! ha! these castles you build in the air

Will not persuade me to give or lend

A token to you.

WELL. I’ll be more kind to thee:

Come, thou shalt dine with me.

MAR. With you!

WELL. Nay more, dine gratis.

MAR. Under what hedge, I pray you— or a whose cost—

Are they padders 5 or abram-men 6 that are your consorts—

WELL. Thou art incredulous; but thou shalt dine

Not alone at her house, but with a gallant lady;

With me, and with a lady.

MAR. Lady! what lady—

With the Lady of the Lake, or queen of fairies—

For I know it must be an enchanted dinner.

WELL. With the Lady Allworth, knave.

MAR. Nay, now there’s hope

Thy brain is crack’d.

WELL. Mark there, with what respect

I am entertain’d.

MAR. With choice, no doubt, of dog-whips.

Why, dost thou ever hope to pass her porter—

WELL. ’Tis not far off, go with me; trust thine own eyes.

MAR. Troth, in my hope, or my assurance rather,

To see thee curvet 7 and mount like a dog in a blanket,

If ever thou presume to cross her threshold,

I will endure thy company.

WELL. Come along then. Exeunt.

Note 1. A room in Overreach’s house.

Note 2. Hollow-cheeked.

Note 3. A writ issued for the offense of acknowledging foreign authority within the realm, or some offense with the same penalties.

Note 4. At once.

Note 5. Footpads.

Note 6. Beggars pretending lunacy.

Note 7. Bound. The reference is to the game of tossing in a blanket.

Act II

Scene II

[ Enter ] ALLWORTH, Waiting Woman, Chambermaid, ORDER, AMBLE, FURNACE, and WATCHALL 1

WOMAN. Could you not command your leisure one hour longer—

CHAM. Or half an hour—

ALL. I have told you what my haste is:

Besides, being now another’s, not mine own,

Howe’er I much desire to enjoy you longer,

My duty suffers, if, to please myself,

I should neglect my lord.

WOMAN. Pray you do me the favour

To put these few quince-cakes into your pocket;

They are of mine own preserving.

CHAM. And this marmalade;

’Tis comfortable for your stomach.

WOMAN. And, at parting,

Excuse me if I beg a farewell from you.

CHAM. You are still before me. I move the same suit, sir. ALLWORTH kisses them severally.

FURN. How greedy these chamberers are of a beardless chin!

I think the tits 2 will ravish him.

ALL. My service

To both.

WOMAN. Our waits on you.

CHAM. And shall do ever.

ORD. You are my lady’s charge, be therefore careful

That you sustain your parts.

WOMAN. We can bear, I warrant you. Exeunt Waiting Woman and Chambermaid.

FURN. Here, drink it off; the ingredients are cordial,

And this the true elixir; it hath boil’d

Since midnight for you. ’Tis the quintessence

Of five cocks of the game, ten dozen of sparrows,

Knuckles of veal, potato-roots and marrow,

Coral and ambergris. Were you two years older,

And I had a wife, or gamesome mistress,

I durst trust you with neither. You need not bait

After this, I warrant you, though your journey’s long;

You may ride on the strength of this till to-morrow morning.

ALL. Your courtesies overwhelm me: I much grieve

To part from such true friends; and yet find comfort,

My attendance on my honourable lord,

Whose resolution holds to visit my lady,

Will speedily bring me back. Knocking at the gate.

MAR. (within.) Dar’st thou venture further—

WELL. (within.) Yes, yes, and knock again.

ORD. ’Tis he; disperse!

AMB. Perform it bravely.

FURN. I know my cue, ne’er doubt me. Exeunt [all but ALLWORTH].

[ Enter WATCHALL, ceremoniously introducing WELLBORN and MARRALL]

WATCH. Beast that I was, to make you stay! Most welcome;

You were long since expected.

WELL. Say so much

To my friend, I pray you.

WATCH. For your sake, I will, sir.

MAR. For his sake!

WELL. Mum; this is nothing.

MAR. More than ever

I would have believ’d, though I had found it in my primer.

ALL. When I have given you reasons for my late harshness,

You’ll pardon and excuse me; for, believe me,

Though now I part abruptly, in my service

I will deserve it.

MAR. Service! with a vengeance!

WELL. I am satisfied: farewell, Tom.

ALL. All joy stay with you! Exit.

Re-enter AMBLE

AMB. You are happily encounter’d; I yet never

Presented one so welcome as I know

You will be to my lady.

MAR. This is some vision.

Or, sure, these men are mad, to worship a dunghill;

It cannot be a truth.

WELL. Be still a pagan,

An unbelieving infidel; be so, miscreant,

And meditate on “blankets, and on dog-whips!”

Re-enter FURNACE

FURN. I am glad you are come; until I know your pleasure

I knew not how to serve up my lady’s dinner.

MAR. His pleasure! is it possible—

WELL. What’s thy will—

FURN. Marry, sir, I have some grouse, and turkey chicken,

Some rails 3 and quails, and my lady will’d me ask you

What kind of sauces best affect your palate,

That I may use my utmost skill to please it.

MAR. [Aside.] The devil’s enter’d this cook. Sauce for his palate!

That, on my knowledge, for almost this twelvemonth,

Durst wish but cheese-parings and brown bread on Sundays.

WELL. That way I like ’em best.

FURN. It shall be done, sir. Exit.

WELL. What think you of “the hedge we shall dine under—”

Shall we feed gratis—

MAR. I know not what to think;

Pray you make me not mad.

Re-enter ORDER

ORD. This place becomes you not;

Pray you walk, sir, to the dining room.

WELL. I am well here,

Till her ladyship quits her chamber.

MAR. Well here, say you—

’Tis a rare change! But yesterday you thought

Yourself well in a barn, wrapp’d up in peas-straw.

Re-enter Waiting Woman and Chambermaid

WOMAN. O! sir, you are wish’d for.

CHAM. My lady dreamt, sir, of you.

WOMAN. And the first command she gave, after she rose,

Was (her devotions done) to give her notice

When you approach’d here.

CHAM. Which is done, on my virtue.

MAR. I shall be converted; I begin to grow

Into a new belief, which saints nor angels

Could have won me to have faith in.

WOMAN. Sir, my lady!

Enter LADY ALLWORTH

L. ALL. I come to meet you, and languish’d till I saw you.

This first kiss is for form; I allow a second

To such a friend. [Kisses WELLBORN.]

MAR. To such a friend! Heaven bless me!

WELL. I am wholly yours; yet, madam, if you please

To grace this gentleman with a salute——

MAR. Salute me at his bidding!

WELL. I shall receive it

As a most high favour.

L. ALL. Sir, you may command me. [Advances to kiss MARRALL, who retires.]

WELL. Run backward from a lady! and such a lady!

MAR. To kiss her foot is, to poor me, a favour

I am unworthy of. Offers to kiss her foot.

L. ALL. Nay, pray you rise;

And since you are so humble, I’ll exalt you.

You shall dine with me to-day, at mine own table.

MAR. Your ladyship’s table! I am not good enough

To sit at your steward’s board.

L. ALL. You are too modest;

I will not be deni’d.

Re-enter FURNACE

FURN. Will you still be babbling

Till your meat freeze on the table— The old trick still;

My art ne’er thought on!

L. ALL. Your arm, Master Wellborn:—

Nay, keep us company. [To MARRALL.]

MAR. I was ne’er so graced. Exeunt WELLBORN, LADY ALLWORTH, AMBLE, MARRALL, Waiting Woman, [and Chambermaid].

ORD. So! we have play’d our parts, and are come off well;

But if I know the mystery, why my lady

Consented to it, or why Master Wellborn

Desir’d it, may I perish!

FURN. Would I had

The roasting of his heart that cheated him,

And forces the poor gentleman to these shifts!

By fire! for cooks are Persians, and swear by it,

Of all the griping and extorting tyrants

I ever heard or read of, I ne’er met

A match to Sir Giles Overreach.

WATCH. What will you take

To tell him so, fellow Furnace—

FURN. Just as much.

As my throat is worth, for that would be the price on’t.

To have a usurer that starves himself,

And wears a cloak of one and twenty years

On a suit of fourteen groats, bought of the hangman,

To grow rich, and then purchase, is too common;

But this Sir Giles feeds high, keeps many servants,

Who must at his command do any outrage;

Rich in his habit, vast in his expenses;

Yet he to admiration 4 still increases

In wealth and lordships.

ORD. He frights men out of their estates,

And breaks through all law-nets, made to curb ill men,

As they were cobwebs. No man dares reprove him.

Such a spirit to dare and power to do were never

Lodg’d so unluckily.

Re-enter AMBLE [ laughing ]

AMB. Ha! ha! I shall burst.

ORD. Contain thyself, man.

FURN. Or make us partakers

Of your sudden mirth.

AMB. Ha! ha! my lady has got

Such a guest at her table!—this term-driver, Marrall,

This snip of an attorney——

FURN. What of him, man—

AMB. The knave thinks still he’s at the cook’s shop in Ram Alley, 5

Where the clerks divide, and the elder is to choose;

And feeds so slovenly!

FURN. Is this all—

AMB. My lady

Drank to him for fashion sake, or to please Master Wellborn;

As I live, he rises, and takes up a dish

In which there were some remnants of a boil’d capon,

And pledges her in white broth!

FURN. Nay, ’tis like

The rest of his tribe.

AMB. And when I brought him wine,

He leaves his stool, and, after a leg or two,

Most humbly thanks my worship.

ORD. Risen already!

AMB. I shall be chid.

Re-enter LADY ALLWORTH, WELLBORN, and MARRALL

FURN. My lady frowns.

L. ALL. You wait well! [To AMBLE.]

Let me have no more of this; I observ’d your jeering:

Sirrah, I’ll have you know, whom I think worthy

To sit at my table, be he ne’er so mean,

When I am present, is not your companion.

ORD. Nay, she’ll preserve what’s due to her.

FURN. This refreshing

Follows your flux of laughter.

L. ALL. [To WELLBORN.] You are master

Of your own will. I know so much of manners,

As not to inquire your purposes; in a word,

To me you are ever welcome, as to a house

That is your own.

WELL. [Aside to MARRALL.] Mark that.

MAR. With reverence, sir,

An it like your worship.

WELL. Trouble yourself no further,

Dear madam; my heart’s full of zeal and service,

However in my language I am sparing.

Come, Master Marrall.

MAR. I attend your worship. Exeunt WELLBORN and MARRALL.

L. ALL. I see in your looks you are sorry, and you know me

An easy mistress. Be merry; I have forgot all.

Order and Furnace, come with me; I must give you

Further directions.

ORD. What you please.

FURN. We are ready. Exeunt.

Note 1. A room in Lady Allworth’s house.

Note 2. Wenches.

Note 3. Marsh birds.

Note 4. Marvellously.

Note 5. Off Fleet Street, famous for its restaurants.

Act II

Scene III

[The country near LADY ALLWORTH’S house]

[Enter] WELLBORN, and MARRALL [bare-headed]

WELL. I think I am in a good way.

MAR. Good! sir; the best way,

The certain best way.

WELL. There are casualties

That men are subject to.

MAR. You are above ’em;

And as you are already worshipful,

I hope ere long you will increase in worship,

And be right worshipful.

WELL. Prithee do not flout me:

What I shall be, I shall be. Is’t for your ease,

You keep your hat off—

MAR. Ease! an it like your worship!

I hope Jack Marrall shall not live so long,

To prove himself such an unmannerly beast,

Though it hail hazel-nuts, as to be cover’d

When your worship’s present.

WELL. Aside. Is not this a true roque,

That, out of mere hope of a future coz’nage, 1

Can turn thus suddenly— ’Tis rank already.

MAR. I know your worship’s wise, and needs no counsel,

Yet if, in my desire to do you service,

I humbly offer my advice, (but still

Under correction,) I hope I shall not

Incur your high displeasure.

WELL. No; speak freely.

MAR. Then, in my judgment, sir, my simple judgment,

(Still with your worship’s favour,) I could wish you

A better habit, for this cannot be

But much distasteful to the noble lady

(I say no more) that loves you; for, this morning,

To me, and I am but a swine to her,

Before the assurance of her wealth perfum’d you,

You savour’d not of amber. 2

WELL. I do now then!

MAR. This your baton hath got a touch of it.— Kisses the end of his cudgel.

Yet, if your please, for change, I have twenty pounds here,

Which, out of my true love, I’ll presently

Lay down at your worship’s feet; ’twill serve to buy you

A riding suit.

WELL. But where’s the horse—

MAR. My gelding

Is at your service; nay, you shall ride me,

Before your worship shall be put to the trouble

To walk afoot. Alas, when you are lord

Of this lady’s manor, as I know you will be,

You may with the lease of glebe land, called Knave’s-acre,

A place I would manure, 3 requite your vassal.

WELL. I thank thy love, but must make no use of it;

What’s twenty pounds—

MAR. ’Tis all that I can make, sir.

WELL. Dost thou think, though I want clothes, I could not have them,

For one word to my lady—

MAR. As I know not that!

WELL. Come, I will tell thee a secret, and so leave thee.

I will not give her the advantage, though she be

A gallant-minded lady, after we are married,

(There being no woman but is sometimes froward,)

To hit me in the teeth, and say, she was forc’d

To buy my wedding-clothes, and took me on

With a plain riding-suit, and an ambling nag.

No, I’ll be furnish’d something like myself,

And so farewell: for thy suit touching Knave’s-acre,

When it is mine, ’tis thine.

MAR. I thank your worship. Exit WELL.

How was I cozen’d 4 in the calculation

Of this man’s fortune! My master cozen’d too,

Whose pupil I am in the art of undoing men;

For that is our profession! Well, well, Master Wellborn,

You are of a sweet nature, and fit again to be cheated:

Which, if the Fates please, when you are possess’d

Of the land and lady, you, sans question, shall be.

I’ll presently think of the means. Walks by, musing.

Enter OVERREACH, [ speaking to a Servant within ]

OVER. Sirrah, take my horse.

I’ll walk to get me an appetite; ’tis but a mile,

And exercise will keep me from being pursy. 5

Ha! Marrall! Is he conjuring— Perhaps

The knave has wrought the prodigal to do

Some outrage on himself, and now he feels

Compunction in his conscience for’t: no matter,

So it be done. Marrall!

MAR. Sir.

OVER. How succeed we

In our plot on Wellborn—

MAR. Never better, sir.

OVER. Has he hang’d or drown’d himself—

MAR. No, sir, he lives;

Lives once more to be made a prey to you,

A greater prey than ever.

OVER. Art thou in thy wits—

If thou art, reveal this miracle, and briefly.

MAR. A lady, sir, is fall’n in love with him.

OVER. With him— What lady—

MAR. The rich lady Allworth.

OVER. Thou dolt! how dar’st thou speak this—

MAR. I speak truth.

And I do so but once a year, unless

It be to you, sir. We din’d with her ladyship,

I thank his worship.

OVER. His worship!

MAR. As I live, sir,

I din’d with him, at the great lady’s table,

Simple as I stand here; and saw when she kiss’d him,

And would, at his request, have kiss’d me too:

But I was not so audacious as some youths are,

That dare do anything, be it ne’er so absurd,

And sad after performance.

OVER. Why, thou rascal!

To tell me these impossibilities.

Dine at her table! and kiss him! or thee!——

Impudent varlet, have not I myself,

To whom great countesses’ doors have oft flew open,

Ten times attempted, since her husband’s death,

In vain, to see her, though I came-a suitor—

And yet your good solicitorship, and rogue Wellborn,

Were brought into her presence, feasted with her!——

But that I know thee a dog that cannot blush,

This most incredible lie would call up one

On thy buttermilk cheeks.

MAR. Shall I not trust my eyes, sir,

Or taste— I feel her good cheer in my belly.

OVER. You shall feel me, if you give not over, sirrah:

Recover your brains again, and be no more gull’d

With a beggar’s plot, assisted by the aids

Of serving-men and chambermaids, for beyond these

Thou never saw’st a woman, or I’ll quit you

From my employments.

MAR. Will you credit this yet—

On my confidence of their marriage, I offer’d Wellborn——

Aside. I would give a crown now I durst say “his worship”——

My nag and twenty pounds.

OVER. Did you so, idiot! Strikes him down.

Was this the way to work him to despair,

Or rather to cross me—

MAR. Will your worship kill me—

OVER. No, no; but drive the lying spirit out of you.

MAR. He’s gone.

OVER. I have done then: now, forgetting

Your late imaginary feast and lady,

Know, my Lord Lovell dines with me to-morrow.

Be careful nought be wanting to receive him;

And bid my daughter’s women trim her up,

Though they paint her, so she catch the lord, I’ll thank them.

There’s a piece for my late blows.

MAR. Aside. I must yet suffer:

But there may be a time——

OVER. Do you grumble—

MAR. No, sir. [Exeunt.]

Note 1. Cheating.

Note 2. Ambergris, a fashionable perfume.

Note 3. Cultivate.

Note 4. Cheated.

Note 5. Fat and short-winded.

Act III

Scene I

[ Enter LORD] LOVELL, ALLWORTH, and Servants 1

LOV. Walk the horses down the hill: something in private

I must impart to Allworth. Exeunt Servants.

ALL. O, my lord,

What a sacrifice of reverence, duty, watching,

Although I could put off the use of sleep,

And ever wait on your commands to serve them;

What dangers, though in ne’er so horrid shapes,

Nay death itself, though I should run to meet it,

Can I, and with a thankful willingness suffer!

But still the retribution will fall short

Of your bounties shower’d upon me.

LOV. Loving youth,

Till what I purpose be put into act,

Do not o’erprize it; since you have trusted me

With your soul’s nearest, nay, her dearest secret,

Rest confident ’tis in a cabinet lock’d

Treachery shall never open. I have found you

(For so much to your face I must profess,

Howe’er you guard your modesty with a blush for’t)

More zealous in your love and service to me

Than I have been in my rewards.

ALL. Still great ones,

Above my merit.

LOV. Such your gratitude calls ’em;

Nor am I of that harsh and rugged temper

As some great men are tax’d with, who imagine

They part from the respect due to their honours

If they use not all such as follow ’em,

Without distinction of their births, like slaves.

I am not so condition’d; I can make

A fitting difference between my footboy

And a gentleman by want compell’d to serve me.

ALL. ’Tis thankfully acknowledg’d; you have been

More like a father to me than a master.

Pray you, pardon the comparison.

LOV. I allow it:

And, to give you assurance I am pleas’d in’t,

My carriage and demeanour to your mistress,

Fair Margaret, shall truly witness for me

I can command my passions.

ALL. ’Tis a conquest

Few lords can boast of when they are tempted—Oh!

LOV. Why do you sigh— Can you be doubtful of me—

By that fair name I in the wars have purchas’d,

And all my actions, hitherto untainted,

I will not be more true to mine own honour

Than to my Allworth!

ALL. As you are the brave Lord Lovell,

Your bare word only given is an assurance

Of more validity and weight to me

Than all the oaths, bound up with imprecations,

Which, when they would deceive, most courtiers practise;

Yet being a man, (for, sure, to style you more

Would relish of gross flattery,) I am forc’d,

Against my confidence of your worth and virtues,

To doubt, nay, more, to fear.

LOV. So young, and jealous!

ALL. Were you to encounter with a single foe,

The victory were certain; but to stand

The charge of two such potent enemies,

At once assaulting you, as wealth and beauty,

And those too seconded with power, is odds

Too great for Hercules.

LOV. Speak your doubts and fears,

Since you will nourish them, in plainer language,

That I may understand them.

ALL. What’s your will,

Though I lend arms against myself, (provided

They may advantage you,) must be obeyed.

My much-lov’d lord, were Margaret only fair,

The cannon of her more than earthly form,

Though mounted high, commanding all beneath it,

And ramm’d with bullets of her sparkling eyes,

Of all the bulwarks that defend your senses

Could batter none, but that which guards your sight.

But when the well-tun’d accents of her tongue

Make music to you, and with numerous 2 sounds

Assault your hearing, (such as if Ulysses,

Now liv’d again, howe’er he stood the Syrens,

Could not resist,) the combat must grow doubtful

Between your reason and rebellious passions.

Add this too; when you feel her touch, and breath

Like a soft western wind when it glides o’er

Arabia, creating gums and spices;

And, in the van, the nectar of her lips,

Which you must taste, bring the battalia on,

Well arm’d, and strongly lin’d 3 with her discourse,

And knowing manners, to give entertainment;—

Hippolytus himself would leave Diana,

To follow such a Venus.

LOV. Love hath made you

Poetical, Allworth.

ALL. Grant all these beat off,

Which if it be in man to do, you’ll do it,

Mammon, in Sir Giles Overreach, steps in

With heaps of ill-got-gold, and so much land,

To make her more remarkable, as would tire

A falcon’s wings in one day to fly over.

O my good lord! these powerful aids, which would

Make a mis-shapen negro beautiful,

(Yet are but ornaments to give her lustre,

That in herself is all perfection,) must

Prevail for her. I here release your trust;

’Tis happiness enough for me to serve you

And sometimes, with chaste eyes, to look upon her.

LOV. Why, shall I swear—

ALL. O, by no means, my lord;

And wrong not so your judgment to the world

As from your fond indulgence to a boy,

Your page, your servant, to refuse a blessing

Divers great men are rivals for.

LOV. Suspend

Your judgment till the trial. How far is it

To Overreach’s house—

ALL. At the most, some half hour’s riding;

You’ll soon be there.

LOV. And you the sooner freed

From your jealous fears.

ALL. O that I durst but hope it! Exeunt.

Note 1. The country near Overreach’s house.

Note 2. Rhythmical.

Note 3. Reinforced.

Act III

Scene II

[ Enter ] OVERREACH, GREEDY, and MARRALL 1

OVER. Spare for no cost; let my dressers crack with the weight

Of curious viands.

GREEDY. “Store indeed’s no sore,” sir.

OVER. That proverb fits your stomach, Master Greedy.

And let no plate be seen but what’s pure gold,

Or such whose workmanship exceeds the matter

That it is made of; let my choicest linen

Perfume the room, and, when we wash, the water,

With precious powders mix’d, so please my lord,

That he may with envy wish to bathe so ever.

MAR. ’Twill be very chargeable.

OVER. Avaunt, you drudge!

Now all my labour’d ends are at the stake,

It’s a time to think of thrift— Call in my daughter. [Exit MARRALL.]

And, Master Justice, since you love choice dishes,

And plenty of them——

GREEDY. As I do, indeed, sir,

Almost as much as to give thanks for ’em.

OVER. I do confer that providence, 2 with my power

Of absolute command to have abundance,

To your best care.

GREEDY. I’ll punctually discharge it,

And give the best directions. Now am I,

In mine own conceit, a monarch; at the least,

Arch-president of the boil’d, the roast, the bak’d;

For which I will eat often, and give thanks

When my belly’s brac’d up like a drum, and that’s pure justice. Exit.

OVER. It must be so. Should the foolish girl prove modest,

She may spoil all; she had it not from me,

But from her mother; I was ever forward,

As she must be, and therefore I’ll prepare her.

[ Enter ] MARGARET

Alone—and let your women wait without.

MARG. Your pleasure, sir—

OVER. Ha! this is a neat dressing!

These orient pearls and diamonds well plac’d too!

The gown affects me not, it should have been

Embroider’d o’er and o’er with flowers of gold;

But these rich jewels and quaint fashion help it.

And how below— since oft the wanton eye,

The face observ’d, descends unto the foot,

which being well proportion’d, as yours is,

Invites as much as perfect white and red,

Though without art. How like you your new woman,

The Lady Downfall’n—

MARG. Well, for a companion;

Not as a servant.

OVER. Is she humble, Meg,

And careful too, her ladyship forgotten—

MARG. I pity her fortune.

OVER. Pity her! trample on her.

I took her up in an old tamin 3 gown,

(Even starv’d for want of twopenny chops,) to serve thee;

And if I understand she but repines

To do thee any duty, though ne’er so servile,

I’ll pack her to her knight, where I have lodg’d him,

Into the Counter, 4 and there let them howl together.

MARG. You know your own ways; but for me, I blush

When I command her, that was once attended

With persons not inferior to myself

In birth.

OVER. In birth! why, art thou not my daughter,

The blest child of my industry and wealth—

Why, foolish girl, was’t not to make thee great

That I have run, and still pursue, those ways

That hale down curses on me, which I mind not—

Part with these humble thoughts, and apt 5 thyself

To the noble state I labour to advance thee;

Or, by my hopes to see thee honourable,

I will adopt a stranger to my heir,

And throw thee from my care. Do not provoke me.

MARG. I will not, sir; mould me which way you please.

Re-enter GREEDY

OVER. How! interrupted!

GREEDY. ’Tis matter of importance.

The cook, sir, is self-will’d, and will not learn

From my experience. There’s a fawn brought in, sir,

And, for my life, I cannot make him roast it

With a Norfolk dumpling in the belly of it;

And, sir, we wise men know, without the dumpling

’Tis not worth three pence.

OVER. Would it were whole in thy belly,

To stuff it out! Cook it any way; prithee, leave me.

GREEDY. Without order for the dumpling—

OVER. Let it be dumpl’d

Which way thou wilt; or tell him, I will scald him

In his own caldron.

GREEDY. I had lost my stomach

Had I lost my mistress dumpling; I’ll give thanks for’t. [Exit.]

OVER. But to our business, Meg; you have heard who dines here—

MARG. I have, sir.

OVER. ’Tis an honourable man;

A lord, Meg, and commands a regiment

Of soldiers, and, what’s rare, is one himself,

A bold and understanding one; and to be

A lord, a and good leader, in one volume,

Is granted unto few but such as rise up

The kingdom’s glory.

Re-enter GREEDY

GREEDY. I’ll resign my office,

If I be not better obey’d.

OVER. ’Slight, art thou frantic—

GREEDY. Frantic! ’Twould make me frantic, and stark mad,

Were I not a justice of peace and quorum too,

Which this rebellious cook cares not a straw for.

There are a dozen of woodcocks——

OVER. Make thyself

Thirteen, the baker’s dozen.

GREEDY. I am contented,

So they may be dress’d to my mind; he has found out

A new device for sauce, and will not dish ’em

With toasts and butter. My father was a tailor,

And my name, though a justice, Greedy Woodcock;

And, ere I’ll see my lineage so abus’d,

I’ll give up my commission.

OVER. [loudly.] Cook!—Rogue, obey him!

I have given the word, pray you now remove yourself

To a collar of brawn, 6 and trouble me no further.

GREEDY. I will, and meditate what to eat at dinner. Exit.

OVER. And as I said, Meg, when this gull 7 disturb’d us,

This honourable lord, this colonel,

I would have thy husband.

MARG. There’s too much disparity

Between his quality and mine, to hope it.

OVER. I more than hope’t, and doubt not to effect it.

Be thou no enemy to thyself, my wealth

Shall weigh his titles down, and make you equals.

Now for the means to assure him thine, observe me:

Remember he’s a courtier, and a soldier,

And not to be trifled with; and, therefore, when

He comes to woo you, see you do not coy it:

This mincing modesty has spoil’d many a match

By a first refusal, in vain after hop’d for.

MARG. You’ll have me, sir, preserve the distance that

Confines a virgin—

OVER. Virgin me no virgins!

I must have you lose that name, or you lose me.

I will have you private—start not—I say, private;

If thou art my true daughter, not a bastard,

Thou wilt venture alone with one man, though he came

Like Jupiter to Semele, and come off, too;

And therefore, when he kisses you, kiss close.

MARG. I have heard this is the strumpet’s fashion, sir,

Which I must never learn.

OVER. Learn any thing,

And from any creature that may make thee great;

From the devil himself.

MARG. [Aside.] This is but devilish doctrine!

OVER. Or, if his blood grow hot, suppose he offer

Beyond this, do not you stay till it cool,

But meet his ardour; if a couch be near,

Sit down on’t, and invite him.

MARG. In your house,

Your own house, sir! For Heaven’s sake, what are you then—

Or what shall I be, sir—

OVER. Stand not on form;

Words are no substances.

MARG. Though you could dispense

With your own honour, cast aside religion,

The hopes of Heaven, or fear of hell, excuse me,

In worldly policy, this is not the way

To make me his wife; his whore, I grant it may do.

My maiden honour so soon yielded up,

Nay, prostituted, cannot but assure him

I, that am light to him, will not hold weight

Whene’er 8 tempted by others; so, in judgment,

When to his lust I have given up my honour,

He must and will forsake me.

OVER. How! forsake thee!

Do I wear a sword for fashion— or is this arm

Shrunk up or wither’d— Does there live a man

Of that large list I have encounter’d with

Can truly say I e’er gave inch of ground

Not purchas’d with his blood that did oppose me—

Forsake thee when the thing is done! He dares not.

Give me but proof he has enjoy’d thy person,

Though all his captains, echoes to his will,

Stood arm’d by his side to justify the wrong,

And he himself in the head of his bold troop,

Spite of his lordship, and his colonelship,

Or the judge’s favour, I will make him render

A bloody and a strict account, and force him,

By marrying thee, to cure thy wounded honour!

I have said it.

Re-enter MARRALL

MAR. Sir, the man of honour’s come,

Newly alighted.

OVER. In, without reply;

And do as I command, or thou art lost. Exit MARGARET.

Is the loud music I gave order for

Ready to receive him—

MAR. ’Tis, sir.

OVER. Let them sound

A princely welcome. [Exit MARRALL.] Roughness awhile leave me;

For fawning now, a stranger to my nature,

Must make way for me.

Loud music. Enter LORD LOVELL, GREEDY, ALLWORTH, and MARRALL

LOV. Sir, you meet your trouble.

OVER. What you are pleas’d to style so is an honour

Above my worth and fortunes.

ALL. [Aside.] Strange, so humble.

OVER. A justice of peace, my lord. Presents GREEDY to him.

LOV. Your hand, good sir.

GREEDY. [Aside.] This is a lord, and some think this a favour;

But I had rather have my hand in my dumpling.

OVER. Room for my lord.

LOV. I miss, sir, your fair daughter

To crown my welcome.

OVER. May it please my lord

To taste a glass of Greek wine first, and suddenly

She shall attend my lord.

LOV. You’ll be obey’d, sir. Exeunt all but OVERREACH.

OVER. ’Tis to my wish: as soon as come, ask for her!

Why, Meg! Meg Overreach.—

[Re-enter MARGARET]

How! tears in your eyes

Hah! dry ’em quickly, or I’ll dig ’em out.

Is this a time to whimper— Meet that greatness

That flies into thy bosom, think what ’tis

For me to say, “My honourable daughter;”

And thou, when I stand bare, to say, “Put on;”

Or, “Father, you forget yourself.” No more:

But be instructed, or expect——he comes.

Re-enter LORD LOVELL, GREEDY, ALLWORTH, and MARRALL

A black-brow’d girl, my lord,

LOV. As I live, a rare one. They salute.

ALL. [Aside.] He’s ta’en already: I am lost.

OVER. [Aside.] That kiss

Came twangling off, I like it.—Quit the room. [Exeunt all but OVERREACH, LOVELL, and MARGARET.

A little bashful, my good lord, but you,

I hope, will teach her boldness.

LOV. I am happy

In such a scholar: but——

OVER. I am past learning,

And therefore leave you to yourselves.—Remember. Aside to MARGARET and exit.

LOV. You see, fair lady, your father is solicitous,

To have you change the barren name of virgin

Into a hopeful wife.

MARG. His haste, my lord,

Holds no power o’er my will.

LOV. But o’er your duty.

MARG. Which forc’d too much, may break.

LOV. Bend rather, sweetest.

Think of your years.

MARG. Too few to match with yours:

And choicest fruits too soon pluck’d, rot and wither.

LOV. Do you think I am old—

MARG. I am sure I am too young.

LOV. I can advance you.

MARG. To a hill of sorrow,

Where every hour I may expect to fall,

But never hope firm footing. You are noble,

I of a low descent, however rich;

And tissues match’d with scarlet 9 suit but ill.

O, my good lord, I could say more, but that

I dare not trust these walls.

LOV. Pray you, trust my ear then.

Re-enter OVERREACH [ behind ], listening

OVER. Close at it! whispering! this is excellent!

And, by their postures, a consent on both parts.

Re-enter GREEDY behind

GREEDY. Sir Giles, Sir Giles!

OVER. The great fiend stop that clapper!

GREEDY. It must ring out, sir, when my belly rings noon.

The bak’d-meats are run out, the roasts turn’d powder.

OVER. I shall powder you.

GREEDY. Beat me to dust, I care not;

In such a cause as this, I’ll die a martyr.

OVER. Marry, and shall, you barathrum 10 of the shambles! Strikes him.

GREEDY. How! strike a justice of peace! ’Tis petty treason,

Edwardi quinto: but that you are my friend,

I would commit you without bail or mainprize 11

OVER. Leave your bawling, sir, or I shall commit you

Where you shall not dine-to-day. Disturb my lord,

When he is in discourse!

GREEDY. Is’t a time to talk

When we should be munching!

LOV. Hah! I heard some noise

OVER. Mum, villain; vanish! Shall we break a bargain

Almost made up— Thrusts GREEDY off.

LOV. Lady, I understand you,

And rest most happy in your choice, believe it;

I’ll be a careful pilot to direct

Your yet uncertain bark to a port of safety.

MARG. So shall your honour save two lives, and bind us

Your slaves for ever.

LOV. I am in the act rewarded,

Since it is good; howe’er, you must put on

An amorous carriage towards me to delude

Your subtle father.

MARG. I am prone to that.

LOV. Now break we off our conference.—Sir Giles!

Where is Sir Giles— [OVERREACH comes forward.]

Re-enter ALLWORTH, MARRALL, and GREEDY

OVER. My noble lord; and how

Does your lordship find her—

LOV. Apt, Sir Giles, and coming;

And I like her the better.

OVER. So do I too.

LOV. Yet should we take forts at the first assault,

’Twere poor in the defendant; I must confirm her

With a love-letter or two, which I must have

Deliver’d by my page, and you give way to’t.

OVER. With all my soul:—a towardly gentleman!

Your hand, good Master Allworth; know my house

Is ever open to you.

ALL. [Aside.] ’Twas shut till now.

OVER. Well done, well done, my honourable daughter!

Thou’rt so already. Know this gentle youth,

And cherish him, my honourable daughter.

MARG. I shall, with my best care. Noise within, as of a coach.

OVER. A coach!

GREEDY. More stops

Before we go to dinner! O my guts!

Enter LADY ALLWORTH and WELLBORN

L. ALL. If I find welcome,

You share in it; if not, I’ll back again,

Now I know your ends; for I come arm’d for all

Can be objected.

LOV. How! the Lady Allworth!

OVER. And thus attended! LOVELL salutes LADY ALLWORTH, LADY ALLWORTH salutes MARGARET.

MAR. No, “I am a dolt!

The spirit of lies had ent’red me!”

OVER. Peace, Patch; 12

’Tis more than wonder! an astonishment

That does possess me wholly!

LOV. Noble lady,

This is a favor, to prevent 13 my visit,

The service of my life can never equal.

L. ALL. My lord, I laid wait for you, and much hop’d

You would have made my poor house your first inn:

And therefore doubting that you might forget me,

Or too long dwell here, having such ample cause,

In this unequall’d beauty, for your stay,

And fearing to trust any but myself

With the relation of my service to you,

I borrow’d so much from my long restraint

And took the air in person to invite you.

LOV. Your bounties are so great, they rob me, madam,

Of words to give you thanks.

L. ALL. Good Sir Giles Overreach. Salutes him.

—How dost thou, Marrall— Lik’d you my meat so ill,

You’ll dine no more with me—

GREEDY. I will, when you please,

And it like 14 your ladyship.

L. ALL. When you please, Master Greedy;

If meat can do it, you shall be satisfied.

And now, my lord, pray take into your knowledge

This gentleman; howe’er his outside’s coarse. Presents WELLBORN.

His inward linings are as fine and fair

As any man’s; wonder not I speak at large:

And howsoe’er his humour carries him

To be thus accoutred, or what taint soever,

For his wild life, hath stuck upon his fame,

He may, ere long, with boldness, rank himself

With some that have contemn’d him. Sir Giles Overreach,

If I am welcome, bid him so.

OVER. My nephew!

He has been too long a stranger. Faith you have,

Pray let it be mended. LOVELL confers aside with WELLBORN.

MAR. Why, sir, what do you mean—

This is “rogue Wellborn, monster, prodigy,

That should hang or drown himself;” no man of worship,

Much less your nephew.

OVER. Well, sirrah, we shall reckon

For this hereafter.

MAR. I’ll not lose my jeer,

Though I be beaten dead for’t.

WELL. Let my silence plead

In my excuse, my lord, till better leisure

Offer itself to hear a full relation

Of my poor fortunes.

LOV. I would hear, and help ’em.

OVER. Your dinner waits you.

LOV. Pray you lead, we follow.

L. ALL. Nay, you are my guest; come, dear Master Wellborn. Exeunt all but GREEDY.

GREEDY. “Dear Master Wellborn!” so she said; Heaven! Heaven!

If my belly would give me leave, I could ruminate

All day on this: I have granted twenty warrants

To have him committed, from all prisons in the shire,

To Nottingham gaol; and now, “Dear Master Wellborn!”

And, “My good nephew!”—but I play the fool

To stand here prating, and forget my dinner.

Re-enter MARRALL

Are they set, Marrall—

MAR. Long since; pray you a word, sir.

GREEDY. No wording now.

MAR. In troth, I must, My master,

Knowing you are his good friend, makes bold with you,

And does entreat you, more guests being come in

Than he expected, especially his nephew,

The table being full too, you would excuse him,

And sup with him on the cold meat.

GREEDY. How! no dinner,

After all my care—

MAR. ’Tis but a penance for

A meal; besides, you broke your fast.

GREEDY. That was

But a bit to stay my stomach. A man in commission

Give place to a tatterdemalion!

MAR. No bug 15 words, sir;

Should his worship hear you——

GREEDY. Lose my dumpling too,

And butter’d toasts, and woodcocks!

MAR. Come, have patience.

If you will dispense a little with your worship,

And sit with the waiting women, you’ll have dumpling,

Woodcock, and butter’d toasts too.

GREEDY. This revives me:

I will gorge there sufficiently.

MAR. This is the way, sir. Exeunt.

Note 1. A room in Overreach’s house.

Note 2. Responsibility for providing.

Note 3. A coarse cloth.

Note 4. One of the London prisons.

Note 5. Fit.

Note 6. Neck of a boar.

Note 7. Fool.

Note 8. So Gifford. Q. when he is.

Note 9. Silks matched with woolen.

Note 10. Gulf: here, insatiable glutton.

Note 11. A writ commanding the sheriff to take bail.

Note 12. Fool.

Note 13. Anticipate.

Note 14. If it please.

Note 15. Terrifying.

Act III

Scene III

[ Enter ] OVERREACH, as from dinner 1

OVER. She’s caught! O women!—she neglects my lord,

And all her compliments appli’d to Wellborn!

The garments of her widowhood laid by,

She now appears as glorious as the spring,

Her eyes fix’d on him, in the wine she drinks,

He being her pledge, she sends him burning kisses,

And sits on thorns, till she be private with him.

She leaves my meat to feed upon his looks,

And if in our discourse he be but nam’d,

From her a deep sigh follows. And why grieve I

At this— It makes for me; if she prove his,

All that is hers is mine, as I will work him.

Enter MARRALL

MAR. Sir, the whole board is troubled at your rising.

OVER. No matter, I’ll excuse it. Prithee, Marrall,

Watch an occasion to invite my nephew

To speak with me in private.

MAR. Who! “The rogue

The lady scorned to look on”—

OVER. You are a wag.

Enter LADY ALLWORTH and WELLBORN

MAR. See, sir, she’s come, and cannot be without him.

L. ALL. With your favour, sir, after a plenteous dinner,

I shall make bold to walk a turn or two,

In your rare garden.

OVER. There’s an arbour too,

If your ladyship please to use it.

L. ALL. Come, Master Wellborn. Exeunt LADY ALLWORTH and WELLBORN.

OVER. Grosser and grosser! Now I believe the poet

Feign’d not, but was historical, when he wrote

Pasiphaë was enamour’d of a bull:

This lady’s lust’s more monstrous.—My good lord,

Enter LORD LOVELL, MARGARET, and the rest

Excuse my manners.

LOV. There needs none, Sir Giles,

I may ere long say father, when it pleases

My dearest mistress to give warrant to it.

OVER. She shall seal to it, my lord, and make me happy.

Re-enter WELLBORN and LADY ALLWORTH

MARG. My lady is return’d.

L. ALL. Provide my coach,

I’ll instantly away. My thanks, Sir Giles,

For my entertainment.

OVER. ’Tis your nobleness

To think it such.

L. ALL. I must do you a further wrong

In taking away your honourable guest.

LOV. I wait on you, madam; farewell, good Sir Giles.

L. ALL. Good Mistress Margaret! Nay, come, Master Wellborn,

I must not leave you behind; in sooth, I must not.

OVER. Rob me not, madam, of all joys at once;

Let my nephew stay behind, He shall have my coach,

And, after some small conference between us,

Soon overtake your ladyship.

L. ALL. Stay not long, sir.

LOV. This parting kiss: [Kisses MARGARET] you shall every day hear from me

By my faithful page.

ALL. ’Tis a service I am proud of. Exeunt LORD LOVELL, LADY ALLWORTH, ALLWORTH, and MARRALL.

OVER. Daughter, to your chamber.— Exit MARGARET.

—You may wonder, nephew,

After so long an enmity between us,

I should desire your friendship.

WELL. So I do, sir;

’Tis strange to me.

OVER. But I’ll make it no wonder;

And what is more, unfold my nature to you.

We worldly men, when we see friends and kinsmen

Past hopes sunk in their fortunes, lend no hand

To lift ’em up, but rather set our feet

Upon their heads, to press ’em to the bottom;

As, I must yield, 2 with you I practis’d it:

But, now I see you in a way to rise,

I can and will assist you. This rich lady

(And I am glad of ’t) is enamour’d of you;

’Tis too apparent, nephew.

WELL. No such thing:

Compassion rather, sir.

OVER. Well, in a word,

Because your stay is short, I’ll have you seen

No more in this base shape; nor shall she say

She married you like a beggar, or in debt.

WELL. Aside. He’ll run into the noose, and save my labour.

OVER. You have a trunk of rich clothes, not far hence,

In pawn; I will redeem ’em; and that no clamour

May taint your credit for your petty debts,

You shall have a thousand pounds to cut ’em off,

And go a free man to the wealthy lady.

WELL. This done, sir, out of love, and no ends else——

OVER. As it is, nephew.

WELL. Binds me still your servant.

OVER. No compliments; you are staid for. Ere you have supp’d

You shall hear from me. My coach, knaves, for my nephew.

To-morrow I will visit you.

WELL. Here’s an uncle

In a man’s extremes! How much they do belie you,

That say you are hard-hearted!

OVER. My deeds, nephew,

Shall speak my love; what men report I weigh not. Exeunt.

Note 1. Another room in Overreach’s house.

Note 2. Admit.

Act IV

Scene I

[ Enter LORD] LOVELL and ALLWORTH 1

LOV. ’Tis well; give me my cloak; I now discharge you

From further service. Mind your own affairs;

I hope they will prove successful.

ALL. What is blest

With your good wish, my lord, cannot but prosper.

Let aftertimes report, and to your honour,

How much I stand engag’d, for I want language

To speak my debt; yet if a tear or two

Of joy, for your much goodness, can supply

My tongue’s defects, I could——

LOV. Nay, do not melt:

This ceremonial thanks to me’s superfluous.

OVER. (within.) Is my lord stirring—

LOV. ’Tis he! oh, here’s your letter. Let him in.

Enter OVERREACH, GREEDY, and MARRALL

OVER. A good day to my lord!

LOV. You are an early riser,

Sir Giles.

OVER. And reason, to attend your lordship.

LOV. And you, too, Master Greedy, up so soon!

GREEDY. In troth, my lord, after the sun is up,

I cannot sleep, for I have a foolish stomach

That croaks for breakfast. With your lordship’s favour,

I have a serious question to demand

Of my worthy friend Sir Giles.

LOV. Pray you use your pleasure.

GREEDY. How far, Sir Giles, and pray you answer me

Upon your credit, hold you it to be

From your manor-house, to this of my Lady’s Allworth’s—

OVER. Why, some four mile.

GREEDY. How! four mile, good Sir Giles——

Upon your reputation, think better;

For if you do abate but one half-quarter

Of five, you do yourself the greatest wrong

That can be in the world; for four miles riding

Could not have rais’d so huge an appetite

As I feel gnawing on me.

MAR. Whether you ride,

Or go afoot, you are that way still provided,

An it please your worship.

OVER. How now, sirrah— Prating

Before my lord! No difference! Go to my nephew,

See all his debts discharg’d, and help his worship

To fit on his rich suit.

MAR. [Aside.] I may fit you too.

Toss’d like a dog still! Exit.

LOV. I have writ this morning

A few lines to my mistress, your fair daughter.

OVER. ’Twill fire her, for she’s wholly yours already.—

Sweet Master Allworth, take my ring; ’twill carry you

To her presence, I dare warrant you; and there plead

For my good lord, if you shall find occasion.

That done, pray ride to Nottingham, get a licence,

Still by this token. I’ll have it dispatch’d,

And suddenly, my lord, that I may say,

My honourable, nay, right honourable daughter.

GREEDY. Take my advice, young gentleman, get your breakfast;

’Tis unwholesome to ride fasting. I’ll eat with you,

And eat to purpose.

OVER. Some Fury’s in that gut:

Hungry again! Did you not devour, this morning,

A shield of brawn, and a barrel of Colchester oysters—

GREEDY. Why, that was, sir, only to scour my stomach,

A kind of a preparative. Come, gentleman,

I will not have you feed like the hangman of Flushing,

Alone, while I am here.

LOV. Haste your return.

ALL. I will not fail, my lord.

GREEDY. Nor I, to line

My Christmas coffer. Exeunt GREEDY and ALLWORTH.

OVER. To my wish: we are private.

I come not to make offer with my daughter

A certain portion,—that were poor and trivial:

In one word, I pronounce all that is mine,

In lands or leases, ready coin or goods,

With her, my lord, comes to you; nor shall you have

One motive to induce you to believe

I live too long, since every year I’ll add

Something unto the heap, which shall be yours too.

LOV. You are a right kind father.

OVER. You shall have reason

To think me such. How do you like this seat—

It is well wooded, and well water’d, the acres

Fertile and rich; would it not serve for change,

To entertain your friends in a summer progress—

What thinks my noble lord—

LOV. ’Tis a wholesome air,

And well-built pile; and she that’s mistress of it,

Worthy the large revenue.

OVER. She the mistress!

It may be so for a time: but let my lord

Say only that he likes it, and would have it

I say, ere long ’tis his.

LOV. Impossible.

OVER. You do conclude too fast, not knowing me,

Nor the engines 2 that I work by. ’Tis not alone

The Lady Allworth’s lands, for those once Wellborn’s

(As by her dotage on him I know they will be,)

Shall soon be mine; but point out any man’s

In all the shire, and say they lie convenient

And useful for your lordship, and once more

I say aloud, they are yours.

LOV. I dare not own

What’s by unjust and cruel means extorted;

My fame and credit are more dear to me,

Than so to expose them to be censur’d by

The public voice.

OVER. You run, my lord, no hazard.

Your reputation shall stand as fair,

In all good men’s opinions, as now;

Nor can my actions, though condemn’d for ill,

Cast any foul aspersion upon yours.

For, though I do contemn report myself

As a mere sound, I still will be so tender

Of what concerns you, in all points of honour,

That the immaculate whiteness of your fame,

Nor your unquestioned integrity,

Shall e’er be sullied with one taint or spot

That may take from your innocence and candour. 3

All my ambition is to have my daughter

Right honourable, which my lord can make her:

And might I live to dance upon my knee

A young Lord Lovell, born by her unto you,

I write nil ultra 4 to my proudest hopes.

As for possessions and annual rents,

Equivalent to maintain you in the port

Your noble birth and present state requires,

I do remove that burthen from your shoulders,

And take it on mine own: for, though I ruin

The country to supply your riotous waste,

The scourge of prodigals, want, shall never find you.

LOV. Are you not frighted with the imprecations

And curses of whole families, made wretched

By your sinister practices—

OVER. Yes, as rocks are,

When foamy billows split themselves against

Their flinty ribs; or as the moon is mov’d,

When wolves, with hunger pin’d, howl at her brightness.

I am of a solid temper, and, like these,

Steer on a constant course. With mine own sword,

If called into the field, I can make that right,

Which fearful enemies murmur’d at as wrong.

Now, for these other piddling complaints

Breath’d out in bitterness; as when they call me

Extortioner, tyrant, cormorant, or intruder

On my poor neighbour’s right, or grand incloser

Of what was common, to my private use;

Nay, when my ears are pierc’d with widows’ cries.

And undone orphans wash with tears my threshold,

I only think what ’tis to have my daughter

Right honourable; and ’tis a powerful charm

Makes me insensible of remorse, or pity,

Or the least sting of conscience.

LOV. I admire

The toughness of your nature.

OVER. ’Tis for you,

My lord, and for my daughter, I am marble;

Nay more, if you will have my character

In little, I enjoy more true delight

In my arrival to my wealth these dark

And crooked ways, than you shall e’er take pleasure

In spending what my industry hath compass’d.

My haste commands me hence; in one word, therefore,

Is it a match—

LOV. I hope, that is past doubt now.

OVER. Then rest secure; not the hate of all mankind here,

Nor fear of what can fall on me hereafter,

Shall make me study aught but your advancement

One story higher: an earl! if gold can do it.

Dispute not my religion, nor my faith;

Though I am borne thus headlong by my will,

You may make choice of what belief you please,

To me they are equal; so, my lord, good morrow. Exit.

LOV. He’s gone—I wonder how the earth can bear

Such a portent! I, that have liv’d a soldier,

And stood the enemy’s violent charge undaunted,

To hear this blasphemous beast am bath’d all over

In a cold sweat: yet, like a mountain, he

(Confirm’d in atheistical assertions)

Is no more shaken than Olympus 5 is

When angry Boreas loads his double head

With sudden drifts of snow.

Enter LADY ALLWORTH, Waiting Woman, and AMBLE

L. ALL. Save you, my lord!

Disturb I not your privacy—

LOV. No, good madam;

For your own sake I am glad you came no sooner,

Since this bold bad man, Sir Giles Overreach,

Made such a plain discovery of himself,

And read this morning such a devilish matins,

That I should think it a sin next to his

But to repeat it.

L. ALL. I ne’er press’d my lord,

On others’ privacies; yet, against my will,

Walking, for health’ sake, in the gallery

Adjoining to your lodgings, I was made

(So vehement and loud he was) partaker

Of his tempting offers.

LOV. Please you to command

Your servants hence, and I shall gladly hear

Your wiser counsel.

L. ALL. ’Tis, my lord, a woman’s,

But true and hearty;—wait in the next room,

But be within call; yet not so near to force me

To whisper my intents.

AMB. We are taught better

By you, good madam.

W. WOM. And well know our distance.

L. ALL. Do so, and talk not; ’twill become your breeding. Exeunt AMBLE and WOMAN.

Now, my good lord; if I may use my freedom,

As to an honour’d friend——

LOV. You lessen else

Your favour to me.

L. ALL. I dare then say thus:

As you are noble (howe’er common men

Make sordid wealth the object and sole end

Of their industrious aims) ’twill not agree

With those of eminent blood, who are engag’d

More to prefer 6 their honours than to increase

The state left to them by their ancestors,

To study large additions to their fortunes,

And quite neglect their births:—though I must grant,

Riches, well got, to be a useful servant,

But a bad master.

LOV. Madam, ’tis confessed;

But what infer you from it—

L. ALL. This, my lord;

That as all wrongs, though thrust into one scale,

Slide of themselves off when right fills the other

And cannot bide the trial; so all wealth,

I mean if ill-acquir’d, cemented to honour

By virtuous ways achiev’d, and bravely purchas’d,

Is but as rubbish pour’d into a river,

(Howe’er intended to make good the bank,)

Rendering the water, that was pure before,

Polluted and unwholesome. I allow

The heir of Sir Giles Overreach, Margaret,

A maid well qualified and the richest match

Our north part can make boast of; yet she cannot,

With all that she brings with her, fill their mouths,

That never will forget who was her father;

Or that my husband Allworth’s lands, and Wellborn’s,

(How wrung from both needs now no repetition,)

Were real motives that more work’d your lordship

To join your families, than her form and virtues:

You may conceive the rest.

LOV. I do, sweet madam,

And long since have consider’d it. I know,

The sum of all that makes a just man happy

Consists in the well choosing of his wife:

And there, well to discharge it, does require

Equality of years, of birth, of fortune;

For beauty being poor, and not cried up

By birth or wealth, can truly mix with neither.

And wealth, where there such difference in years,

And fair descent, must make the yoke uneasy:—

But I come nearer.

L. ALL. Pray you do, my lord.

LOV. Were Overreach’s states thrice centupl’d, his daughter

Millions of degrees much fairer than she is,

Howe’er I might urge precedents to excuse me,

I would not so adulterate my blood

By marrying Margaret, and so leave my issue

Made up of several pieces, one part scarlet,

And the other London blue. In my own tomb

I will inter my name first.

L. ALL. Aside. I am glad to hear this.——

Why then, my lord, pretend your marriage to her—

Dissimulation but ties false knots

On that straight line by which you, hitherto,

Have measur’d all your actions.

LOV. I make answer,

And aptly, with a question. Wherefore have you,

That, since your husband’s death, have liv’d a strict

And chaste nun’s life, on the sudden given yourself

To visits and entertainments— Think you, madam,

’Tis not grown public conference— 7 Or the favours

Which you too prodigally have thrown on Wellborn

Being too reserv’d before, incur not censure—

L. ALL. I am innocent here; and, on my life, I swear

My ends are good.

LOV. On my soul, so are mine

To Margaret; but leave both to the event:

And since this friendly privacy does serve

But as an offer’d means unto ourselves,

To search each other farther, you having shewn

Your care of me, I my respect to you,

Deny me not, but still in chaste words, madam,

An afternoon’s discourse.

L. ALL. So I shall hear you. [Exeunt.]

Note 1. A room in Lady All worth’s house.

Note 2. Devices.

Note 3. Stainlessness.

Note 4. Nothing beyond.

Note 5. Apparently a slip for “Parnassus.”

Note 6. Promote.

Note 7. Gossip.

Act IV

Scene II

[ Enter ] TAPWELL and FROTH 1

TAP. Undone, undone! this was your counsel, Froth.

FROTH. Mine! I defy thee. Did not Master Marrall

(He has marr’d all, I am sure) strictly command us,

On pain of Sir Giles Overreach’ displeasure,

To turn the gentleman out of doors—

TAP. ’Tis true;

But now he’s his uncle’s darling, and has got

Master Justice Greedy, since he fill’d his belly,

At his commandment, to do anything.

Woe, woe to us!

FROTH. He may prove merciful.

TAP. Troth, we do not deserve it at his hands.

Though he knew all the passages of our house,

As the receiving of stolen goods, and bawdry,

When he was rogue Wellborn no man would believe him,

And then his information could not hurt us;

But now he is right worshipful again.

Who dares but doubt his testimony— Methinks,

I see thee, Froth, already in a cart,

For a close 2 bawd, thine eyes ev’n pelted out

With dirt and rotten eggs; and my hand hissing,

If I scape the halter, with the letter R 3

Printed upon it.

FROTH. Would that were the worst!

That were but nine days’ wonder: as for credit,

We have none to lose, but we shall lose the money

He owes us, and his custom; there’s the hell on’t.

TAP. He has summon’d all his creditors by the drum,

And they swarm about him like so many soldiers

On the pay day: and has found out such A New Way

To Pay His Old Debts, as ’tis very likely

He shall be chronicled for it!

FROTH. He deserves it

More than ten pageants. But are you sure his worship

Comes this way, to my lady’s—

A cry within: Brave master Wellborn!

TAP. Yes:—I hear him.

FROTH. Be ready with your petition, and present it

To his good grace.

Enter WELLBORN in a rich habit, [ followed by MARRALL,] GREEDY, ORDER, FURNACE, and Creditors; TAPWELL kneeling, delivers his bill of debt

WELL. How’s this! petition’d to— 4——

But note what miracles the payment of

A little trash, and a rich suit of clothes,

Can work upon these rascals! I shall be,

I think, Prince Wellborn.

MAR. When your worship’s married,

You may be—I know what I hope to see you.

WELL. Then look thou for advancement.

MAR. To be known

Your worship’s bailiff, is the mark I shoot at.

WELL. And thou shalt hit it.

MAR. Pray you, sir, despatch

These needy followers, and for my admittance, 5

Provided you’ll defend me from Sir Giles,

Whose service I am weary of, I’ll say something

You shall give thanks for.

WELL. Fear me not, Sir Giles.

GREEDY. Who, Tapwell— I remember thy wife brought me

Last new-year’s tide, a couple of fat turkeys.

TAP. And shall do every Christmas, let your worship

But stand my friend now.

GREEDY. How! with Master Wellborn—

I can do anything with him on such terms.—

See you this honest couple; they are good souls

As ever drew out faucet; have they not

A pair of honest faces—

WELL. I o’erheard you,

And the bribe he promis’d. You are cozen’d in them;

For, of all the scum that grew rich by my riots,

This, for a most unthankful knave, and this,

For a base bawd and whore, have worst deserv’d me,

And therefore speak not for ’em. By your place

You are rather to do me justice. Lend me your ear:

—Forget his turkeys, and call in his license,

And, at the next fair, I’ll give you a yoke of oxen

Worth all his poultry.

GREEDY. I am chang’d on the sudden

In my opinion! Come near; nearer, rascal.

And, now I view him better, did you e’er see

One look so like an archknave— His very countenance,

Should an understanding judge but look upon him,

Would hang him, though he were innocent.

TAP. FROTH. Worshipful sir.

GREEDY. No, though the great Turk came, instead of turkeys,

To beg my favour, I am inexorable.

Thou hast an ill name: besides thy musty ale,

That hath destroy’d many of the king’s liege people,

Thou never hadst in thy house, to stay men’s stomachs,

A piece of Suffolk cheese or gammon of bacon,

Or any esculent, as the learned call it,

For their emolument, but sheer drink only.

For which gross fault I here do damn thy license,

Forbidding thee ever to tap or draw;

For instantly, I will, in mine own person,

Command the constable to pull down thy sign,

And do it before I eat.

FROTH. No mercy—

GREEDY. Vanish!

If I shew any, may my promis’d oxen gore me!

TAP. Unthankful knaves are ever so rewarded. Exeunt GREEDY, TAPWELL, and FROTH.

WELL. Speak; what are you—

1ST CRED. A decay’d vintner, sir,

That might have thriv’d, but that your worship broke me

With trusting you with muscadine 6 and eggs,

And five pound suppers, with your after drinkings,

When you lodg’d upon the Bankside.

WELL. I remember.

1ST CRED. I have not been hasty, nor e’er laid to arrest you;

And therefore, sir——

WELL. Thou art an honest fellow,

I’ll set thee up again; see his bill paid.—

What are you—

2ND CRED. A tailor once, but now mere botcher. 7

I gave you credit for a suit of clothes,

Which was all my stock, but you failing in payment,

I was remov’d from the shopboard, and confin’d

Under a stall.

WELL. See him paid;—and botch no more.

2ND CRED. I ask no interest, sir.

WELL. Such tailors need not;

If their bills are paid in one and twenty year,

They are seldom losers.—O, I know thy face, [To 3RD CREDITOR.]

Thou wert my surgeon. You must tell no tales;

Those days are done. I will pay you in private.

ORD. A royal gentleman!

FURN. Royal as an emperor!

He’ll prove a brave master; my good lady knew

To choose a man.

WELL. See all men else discharg’d;

And since old debts are clear’d by a new way,

A little bounty will not misbecome me;

There’s something, honest cook, for thy good breakfasts;

And this, for your respect: [To ORDER] take’t, ’tis good gold,

And I able to spare it.

ORD. You are too munificent.

FURN. He was ever so.

WELL. Pray you, on before.

3RD CRED. Heaven bless you!

MAR. At four o’clock; the rest know where to meet me. Exeunt ORDER, FURNACE, and Creditors.

WELL. Now, Master Marrall, what’s the weighty secret

You promis’d to impart—

MAR. Sir, time nor place

Allow me to relate each circumstance,

This only, in a word: I know Sir Giles

Will come upon you for security

For his thousand pounds, which you must not consent to.

As he grows in heat, as I am sure he will,

Be you but rough, and say he’s in your debt

Ten times the sum, upon sale of your land;

I had a hand in’t (I speak it to my shame)

When you were defeated 8 of it.

WELL. That’s forgiven.

MAR. I shall deserve ’t. Then urge him to produce

The deed in which you pass’d it over to him,

Which I know he’ll have about him, to deliver

To the Lord Lovell, with many other writings,

And present monies; I’ll instruct you further,

As I wait on your worship. If I play not my prize

To your full content, and your uncle’s much vexation,

Hang up Jack Marrall.

WELL. I rely upon thee. Exeunt.

Note 1. Before Tapwell’s house.

Note 2. Secret.

Note 3. For “Rogue.”

Note 4. Q. too.

Note 5. Appointment.

Note 6. Wine from muscadel grapes.

Note 7. Repairer.

Note 8. Robbed.

Act IV

Scene III

Enter ALLWORTH and MARGARET 1

ALL. Whether to yield the first praise to my lord’s

Unequall’d temperance or your constant sweetness

That I yet live, my weak hands fasten’d on

Hope’s anchor, spite of all storms of despair,

I yet rest doubtful.

MARG. Give it to Lord Lovell;

For what in him was bounty, in me’s duty,

I make but payment of a debt to which

My vows, in that high office regist’red,

Are faithful witnesses.

ALL. ’Tis true, my dearest:

Yet, when I call to mind how many fair ones

Make wilful shipwreck of their faiths, and oaths

To God and man, to fill the arms of greatness,

And you rise up [no] 2 less than a glorious star,

To the amazement of the world,—hold out

Against the stern authority of a father,

And spurn at honour, when it comes to court you;

I am so tender of your good, that faintly,

With your wrong, I can wish myself that right

You yet are pleas’d to do me.

MARG. Yet, and ever.

To me what’s title, when content is wanting—

Or wealth, rak’d up together with much care,

And to be kept with more, when the heart pines

In being dispossess’d of what it longs for

Beyond the Indian mines— or the smooth brow

Of a pleas’d sire, that slaves me to his will,

And, so his ravenous humour may be feasted

By my obedience, and he see me great,

Leaves to my soul nor faculties nor power

To make her own election—

ALL. But the dangers

That follow the repulse——

MARG. To me they are nothing;

Let Allworth love, I cannot be unhappy.

Suppose the worst, that, in his rage, he kill me,

A tear or two, by you dropt on my hearse

In sorrow for my fate, will call back life

So far as but to say, that I die yours;

I then shall rest in peace: or should he prove

So cruel, as one death would not suffice

His thirst of vengeance, but with ling’ring torments

In mind and body I must waste to air,

In poverty join’d with banishment; so you share

In my afflictions, which I dare not wish you,

So high I prize you, I could undergo ’em

With such a patience as should look down

With scorn on his worst malice.

ALL. Heaven avert

Such trials of your true affection to me!

Nor will it unto you, that are all mercy,

Shew so much rigour: but since we must run

Such desperate hazards, let us do our best

To steer between them.

MARG. Your lord’s ours, and sure;

And, though but a young actor, second me

In doing to the life what he has plotted.

Enter OVERREACH [ behind. ]

The end may yet prove happy. Now, my Allworth— [Seeing her father.]

ALL. To your letter, and put on a seeming anger.

MARG. I’ll pay my lord all debts due to his title;

And when with terms, not taking from his honour,

He does solicit me, I shall gladly hear him.

But in this peremptory, nay, commanding way,

To appoint a meeting, and, without my knowledge,

A priest to tie the knot can ne’er be undone

Till death unloose it, is a confidence

In his lordship will deceive him.

ALL. I hope better,

Good lady.

MARG. Hope, sir, what you please: for me

I must take a safe and secure course; I have

A father, and without his full consent,

Though all lords of the land kneel’d for my favour,

I can grant nothing.

OVER. I like this obedience: [Comes forward.]

But whatsoe’er my lord writes, must and shall be

Accepted and embrac’d. Sweet Master Allworth,

You shew yourself a true and faithful servant

To your good lord; he has a jewel of you.

How! frowning, Meg— Are these looks to receive

A messenger from my lord— What’s this— Give me it.

MARG. A piece of arrogant paper, like th’ inscriptions.

OVER. Reads. “Fair mistress, from your servant learn all joys

That we can hope for, if deferr’d, prove toys; 3

Therefore this instant, and in private, meet

A husband, that will gladly at your feet

Lay down his honours, tend’ring them to you

With all content, the church being paid her due.”

—Is this the arrogant piece of paper— Fool!

Will you still be one— In the name of madness what

Could his good honour write more to content you—

Is there aught else to be wish’d, after these two,

That are already offer’d; marriage first,

And lawful pleasure after: what would you more—

MARG. Why, sir, I would be married like your daughter;

Not hurried away i’ th’ night I know not whither,

Without all ceremony; no friends invited

To honour the solemnity.

ALL. An’t please your honour,

For so before to-morrow I must style you,

My lord desires this privacy, in respect

His honourable kinsmen are afar off,

And his desires to have it done brook not

So long delay as to expect 4 their coming;

And yet he stands resolv’d, with all due pomp,

As running at the ring, plays, masques, and tilting,

To have his marriage at court celebrated,

When he has brought your honour up to London.

OVER. He tells you true; ’tis the fashion, on my knowledge:

Yet the good lord, to please your peevishness,

Must put it off, forsooth! and lose a night,

In which perhaps he might get two boys on thee.

Tempt me no further, if you do, this goad [Points to his sword.]

Shall prick you to him.

MARG. I could be contented,

Were you but by, to do a father’s part,

And give me in the church.

OVER. So my lord have you,

What do I care who gives you— Since my lord

Does purpose to be private, I’ll not cross him.

I know not, Master Allworth, how my lord

May be provided, and therefore there’s a purse

Of gold, ’twill serve this night’s expense; to-morrow

I’ll furnish him with any sums. In the mean time,

Use my ring to my chaplain; he is benefic’d

At my manor of Gotham, and call’d Parson Willdo:

’Tis no matter for a licence, I’ll bear him out in’t.

MARG. With your favour, sir, what warrant is your ring—

He may suppose I got that twenty ways,

Without your knowledge; and then to be refus’d

Were such a stain upon me!—If you pleas’d, sir,

Your presence would do better.

OVER. Still perverse!

I say again, I will not cross my lord;

Yet I’ll prevent 5 you too.—Paper and ink, there!

ALL. I can furnish you.

OVER. I thank you, I can write then. Writes on his book.

ALL. You man, if you please, put out the name of my lord,

In respect he comes disguis’d, and only write,

“Marry her to this gentleman.”

OVER. Well advis’d.

’Tis done; away;—(MARGARET kneels.) My blessing, girl— Thou hast it.

Nay, no reply, be gone.—Good Master Allworth,

This shall be the best night’s work you ever made.

ALL. I hope so, sir. Exeunt ALLWORTH and MARGARET.

OVER. Farewell!—Now all’s cocksure:

Methinks I hear already knights and ladies

Say, Sir Giles Overreach, how is it with

Your honourable daughter— Has her honour

Slept well to-night— or, will her honour please

To accept this monkey, dog, or paraquit, 6

(This is state in ladies), or my eldest son

To be her page, and wait upon her trencher—

My ends, my ends are compass’d—then for Wellborn

And the lands; were he once married to the widow——

I have him here—I can scarce contain myself,

I am so full of joy, nay, joy all over. Exit.

Note 1. A room in Overreach’s house.

Note 2. Inserted by Dodsley.

Note 3. Trifles.

Note 4. Wait for.

Note 5. Anticipate your objections.

Note 6. Parrot.

Act V

Scene I

[ Enter LORD] LOVELL, LADY ALLWORTH, and AMBLE 1

L. ALL. By this you know how strong the motives were

That did, my lord, induce me to dispense

A little, with my gravity, to advance,

In personating some few favours to him,

The plots and projects of the down-trod Wellborn.

Nor shall I e’er repent, although I suffer

In some few men’s opinions for’t, the action;

For he that ventur’d all for my dear husband

Might justly claim an obligation from me

To pay him such a courtesy; which had I

Coyly or over-curiously 2 denied,

It might have argu’d me of little love

To the deceased.

LOV. What you intended, madam,

For the poor gentleman hath found good success;

For, as I understand, his debts are paid,

And he once more furnish’d for fair employment:

But all the arts that I have us’d to raise

The fortunes of your joy and mine, young Allworth,

Stand yet in supposition, though I hope well;

For the young lovers are in wit more pregnant

Than their years can promise; and for their desires,

On my knowledge, they are equal.

L. ALL. As my wishes

Are with yours, my lord; yet give me leave to fear

The building, though well grounded: to deceive

Sir Giles, that’s both a lion and a fox

In his proceedings, were a work beyond

The strongest undertakers; not the trial

Of two weak innocents.

LOV. Despair not, madam:

Hard things are compass’d oft by easy means;

And judgment, being a gift deriv’d from Heaven,

Though sometimes lodg’d i’ the hearts of worldly men,

That ne’er consider from whom they receive it,

Forsakes such as abuse the giver of it.

Which is the reason that the politic

And cunning statesman, that believes he fathoms

The counsels of all kingdoms on the earth,

Is by simplicity oft over-reach’d.

L. ALL. May he be so! Yet, in his name to express it,

Is a good omen.

LOV. May it to myself

Prove so, good lady, in my suit to you!

What think you of the motion—

L. ALL. Troth, my lord,

My own unworthiness may answer for me;

For had you, when that I was in my prime,

My virgin flower uncropp’d, presented me

With this great favour; looking on my lowness

Not in a glass of self-love, but of truth,

I could not but have thought it as a blessing

Far, far beyond my merit.

LOV. You are too modest,

And undervalue that which is above

My title, or whatever I call mine.

I grant, were I a Spaniard, to marry

A widow might disparage me; but being

A true-born Englishman, I cannot find

How it can taint my honour: nay, what’s more,

That which you think a blemish is to me

The fairest lustre. You already, madam,

Have given sure proofs how dearly you can cherish

A husband that deserves you; which confirms me,

That, if I am not wanting in my care

To do you service, you’ll be still the same

That you were to your Allworth: in a word,

Our years, our states, our births are not unequal,

You being descended nobly, and alli’d so;

If then you may be won to make me happy,

But join your lips to mine, and that shall be

A solemn contract.

L. ALL. I were blind to my own good,

Should I refuse it; [Kisses him] yet, my lord, receive me

As such a one, the study of whose whole life

Shall know no other object but to please you.

LOV. If I return not, with all tenderness,

Equal respect to you, may I die wretched!

L. ALL. There needs no protestation, my lord,

To her that cannot doubt.—

Enter WELLBORN, [ handsomely apparelled ]

You are welcome, sir.

Now you look like yourself.

WELL. And will continue

Such in my free acknowledgment, that I am

Your creature, madam, and will never hold

My life mine own, when you please to command it.

LOV. It is a thankfulness that well becomes you.

You could not make choice of a better shape

To dress your mind in.

L. ALL. For me, I am happy

That my endeavours prosper’d. Saw you of late

Sir Giles, your uncle—

WELL. I heard of him, madam,

By his minister, Marrall; he’s grown into strange passions

About his daughter. This last night he look’d for

Your lordship at his house, but missing you,

And she not yet appearing, his wise head

Is much perplex’d and troubl’d.

LOV. It may be,

Sweetheart, my project took.

L. ALL. I strongly hope.

OVER. [within.] Ha! find her, booby, thou huge lump of nothing,

I’ll bore thine eyes out else.

WELL. May it please your lordship,

For some ends of mine own, but to withdraw

A little out of sight, though not of hearing,

You may, perhaps, have sport.

LOV. You shall direct me. Steps aside.

Enter OVERREACH, with distracted looks, driving in MARRALL before him, [with a box] 3

OVER. I shall sol fa you, rogue!

MAR. Sir, for what cause

Do you use me thus—

OVER. Cause, slave! Why, I am angry,

And thou a subject only fit for beating,

And so to cool my choler. Look to the writing;

Let but the seal be broke upon the box

That hast slept in my cabinet these three years,

I’ll rack thy soul for’t.

MAR. Aside. I may yet cry quittance,

Though now I suffer, and dare not resist.

OVER. Lady, by your leave, did you see my daughter lady—

And the lord her husband— Are they in your house—

If they are, discover, that I may bid ’em joy;

And, as an entrance to her place of honour,

See your ladyship be on her left hand, and make curtsies

When she nods on you; which you must receive

As a special favour.

L. ALL. When I know, Sir Giles,

Her state requires such ceremony, I shall pay it;

But in the meantime, as I am myself,

I give you to understand, I neither know

Nor care where her honour is.

OVER. When you once see her

Supported, and led by the lord her husband,

You’ll be taught better.——Nephew.

WELL. Sir.

OVER. No more—

WELL. ’Tis all I owe you.

OVER. Have you redeem’d rags

Made you thus insolent—

WELL. [in scorn.] Insolent to you!

Why, what are you, sir, unless in your years,

At the best, more than myself—

OVER. [Aside.] His fortune swells him:

’Tis rank 4 he’s married.

L. ALL. This is excellent!

OVER. Sir, in calm language, though I seldom use it,

I am familiar with the cause that makes you

Bear up thus bravely; there’s a certain buzz

Of a stol’n marriage, do you hear— of a stol’n marriage,

In which, ’tis said, there’s somebody hath been cozen’d;

I name no parties.

WELL. Well, sir, and what follows—

OVER. Marry, this; since you are peremptory. Remember,

Upon mere hope of your great match, I lent you

A thousand pounds: put me in good security,

And suddenly, by mortgage or by statute,

Of some of your new possessions, or I’ll have you

Dragg’d in your lavender robes 5 to the gaol. You know me,

And therefore do not trifle.

WELL. Can you be

So cruel to your nephew, now he’s in

The way to rise— Was this the courtesy

You did me “in pure love, and no ends else”—

OVER. End me no ends! Engage the whole estate,

And force you spouse to sign it, you shall have

Three or four thousand more, to roar and swagger

And revel in bawdy taverns.

WELL. And beg after;

Mean you not so—

OVER. My thoughts are mine, and free.

Shall I have security—

WELL. No, indeed you shall, not,

Nor bond, nor bill, nor bare acknowledgment;

Your great looks fright not me.

OVER. But my deeds shall.

Outbrav’d! Both draw.

L. ALL. Help, murder! murder!

Enter Servants

WELL. Let him come on,

With all his wrongs and injuries about him,

Arm’d with his cut-throat practices to guard him;

The right that I bring with me will defend me,

And punish his extortion.

OVER. That I had thee

But single in the field!

L. ALL. You may; but make not

My house your quarrelling scene.

OVER. Were’t in a church,

By Heaven and Hell, I’ll do’t!

MAR. Now put him to

The shewing of the deed. [Aside to WELLBORN.]

WELL. This rage is vain, sir;

For fighting, fear not, you shall have your hands full,

Upon the least incitement; and whereas

You charge me with a debt of a thousand pounds,

If there be law, (howe’er you have no conscience,)

Either restore my land, or I’ll recover

A debt, that’s truly due to me from you,

In value ten times more than what you challenge.

OVER. I in thy debt! O impudence! did I not purchase

The land left by thy father, that rich land,

That had continued in Wellborn’s name

Twenty descents; which, like a riotous fool,

Thou didst make sale of it— Is not here inclos’d

The deed that dost confirm it mine—

MAR. Now, now!

WELL. I do acknowledge none; I ne’er pass’d over

Any such land. I grant, for a year or two

You had it in trust; which if you do discharge,

Surrend’ring the possession, you shall ease

Yourself and me of chargeable suits in law,

Which, if you prove not honest, as I doubt it,

Must of necessity follow.

L. ALL. In my judgment,

He does advise you well.

OVER. Good! good! Conspire

With you new husband, lady; second him

In his dishonest practices; but when

This manor is extended 6 to my use,

You’ll speak in an humbler key, and sue for favour.

L. ALL. Never: do not hope it.

WELL. Let despair first seize me.

OVER. Yet, to shut up thy mouth, and make thee give

Thyself the lie, the loud lie, I draw out

The precious evidence; if thou canst forswear

Thy hand and seal, and make a forfeit of Opens the box, [and displays the bond.]

Thy ears to the pillory, see! here’s that will make

My interest clear—ha!

L. ALL. A fair skin of parchment.

WELL. Indented, I confess, and labels too;

But neither wax nor words. How! thunderstruck—

Not a syllable to insult with— My wise uncle,

Is this your precious evidence— Is this that makes

Your interest clear—

OVER. I am o’erwhelm’d with wonder!

What prodigy is this— What subtle devil

Hath raz’d out the inscription, the wax

Turned into dust— The rest of my deeds whole

As when they were deliver’d, and this only

Made nothing! Do you deal with witches, rascal—

There is a statute 7 for you, which will bring

Your neck in an hempen circle; yes, there is;

And now ’tis better thought for, cheater, know

This juggling shall not save you.

WELL. To save thee,

Would beggar the stock of mercy.

OVER. Marrall!

MAR. Sir.

OVER. Flattering him. Though the witnesses are dead, your testimony

Help with an oath or two: and for thy master,

Thy liberal master, my good honest servant,

I know thou wilt swear anything, to dash

The cunning sleight: besides, I know thou art

A public notary, and such stand in law

For a dozen witnesses: the deed being drawn too

By thee, my careful Marrall, and delivered

When thou were’t present, will make good my title.

Wilt thou not swear this—

MAR. I! No, I assure you:

I have a conscience not sear’d up like yours;

I know no deeds.

OVER. Wilt thou betray me—

MAR. Keep him

From using of his hands, I’ll use my tongue,

To his no little torment.

OVER. Mine own varlet

Rebel against me!

MAR. Yes, and uncase 8 you too.

“The idiot, the patch, the slave, the booby,

The property fit only to be beaten

For your morning exercise,” your “football,” or

“The unprofitable lump of flesh,” your “drudge,”

Can now anatomise you, and lay open

All your black plots, and level with the earth

Your hill of pride, and, with these gabions 9 guarded

Unload my great artillery, and shake,

Nay pulverize, the walls you think defend you.

L. ALL. How he foams at the mouth with rage!

WELL. To him again.

OVER. O that I had thee in my gripe, I would tear thee

Joint after joint!

MAR. I know you are a tearer,

But I’ll have first your fangs par’d off, and then

Come nearer to you; when I have discover’d, 10

And made it good before the judge, what ways

And devilish practices you us’d to cozen

With an army of whole families, who yet live,

And but enrolled for soldiers, were able

To take in 11 Dunkirk.

WELL. All will come out.

L. ALL. The better.

OVER. But that I will live, rogue, to torture thee,

And make thee wish, and kneel in vain, to die,

These swords that keep thee from me should fix here,

Although they made my body but one wound,

But I would reach thee.

LOV. Aside. Heaven’s hand is in this;

One bandog 12 worry the other!

OVER. I play the fool,

And make my anger but ridiculous:

There will be a time and place, there will be, cowards,

When you shall feel what I dare do,

WELL. I think so:

You dare do any ill, yet want true valour

To be honest, and repent.

OVER. They are words I know not,

Nor e’er will learn. Patience, the beggar’s virtue,

Enter GREEDY and PARSON WILLDO

Shall find no harbour here:—after these storms

At length a calm appears. Welcome, most welcome!

There’s comfort in thy looks. Is the deed done—

Is my daughter married— Say but so, my chaplain,

And I am tame.

WILLDO. Married! Yes, I assure you.

OVER. Then vanish all sad thoughts! There’s more gold for thee.

My doubts and fears are in the titles drown’d

Of my honourable, my right honourable daughter.

GREEDY. Here will 13 be feasting! At least for a month,

I am provided: empty guts, croak no more.

You shall be stuff’d like bagpipes, not with wind,

But bearing 14 dishes.

OVER. Instantly be here— Whispering to WILLDO.

To my wish! to my wish! Now you that plot against me,

And hop’d to trip my heels up, that contemn’d me,

Think on’t and tremble.—Loud music—They come! I hear the music.

A lane there for my lord!

WELL. Think sudden heat

May yet be cool’d, sir.

OVER. Make way there for my lord!

Enter ALLWORTH and MARGARET

MARG. Sir, first your pardon, then your blessing, with

Your full allowance of the choice I have made.

As ever you could make use of your reason, Kneeling.

Grow not in passion; since you may as well

Call back the day that’s past, as untie the knot

Which is too strongly fasten’d: not to dwell

Too long on words, this is my husband.

OVER. How!

ALL. So I assure you; all the rites of marriage,

With every circumstance, are past. Alas! sir,

Although I am no lord, but a lord’s page,

Your daughter and my lov’d wife mourns not for it;

And, for right honourable son-in-law, you may say,

Your dutiful daughter.

OVER. Devil! are they married—

WILLDO. Do a father’s part, and say, Heaven give ’em joy!

OVER. Confusion and ruin! Speak, and speak quickly,

Or thou art dead.

WILLDO. They are married.

OVER. Thou hadst better

Have made a contract with the king of fiends,

Than these:—my brain turns!

WILLDO. Why this rage to me—

Is not this your letter, sir, and these the words—

“Marry her to this gentleman.”

OVER. It cannot—

Nor will I e’er believe it, ’s death! I will not;

That I, that in all passages I touch’d

At worldly profit have not left a print

Where I have trod for the most curious search

To trace my footsteps, should be gull’d by children,

Baffl’d and fool’d, and all my hopes and labours

Defeated and made void.

WELL. As it appears,

You are so, my grave uncle.

OVER. Village nurses

Revenge their wrongs with curses; I’ll not waste

A syllable, but thus I take the life

Which, wretched, I gave to thee. Offers to kill MARGARET.

LOV. [coming forward.] Hold, for your own sake!

Though charity to your daughter hath quite left you,

Will you do an act, though in your hopes lost here,

Can leave no hope for peace or rest hereafter—

Consider; at the best you are but a man,

And cannot so create your aims, but that

They may be cross’d.

OVER. Lord! thus I spit at thee,

And at thy counsel; and again desire thee,

And as thou art a soldier, if thy valour

Dares shew itself where multitude and example

Lead not the way, let’s quit the house, and change

Six words in private.

LOV. I am ready.

L. ALL. Stay, sir,

Contest with one distracted!

WELL. You’ll grow like him,

Should you answer his vain challenge.

OVER. Are you pale—

Borrow his help, though Hercules call it odds,

I’ll stand against both as I am, hemm’d in thus.

Since, like a Libyan lion in the toil,

My fury cannot reach the coward hunters,

And only spends itself, I’ll quit the place.

Alone I can do nothing; but I have servants

And friends to second me; and if I make not

This house a heap of ashes (by my wrongs,

What I have spoke I will make good!) or leave

One throat uncut,—if it be possible,

Hell, add to my afflictions! Exit.

MAR. Is’t not brave sport—

GREEDY. Brave sport! I am sure it has ta’en away my stomach;

I do not like the sauce.

ALL. Nay, weep not, dearest,

Though it express your pity; what’s decreed

Above, we cannot alter.

L. ALL. His threats move me

No scruple, madam.

MAR. Was it not a rare trick,

An it please your worship, to make the deed nothing—

I can do twenty neater, if you please

To purchase and grow rich; for I will be

Such a solicitor and steward for you,

As never worshipful had.

WELL. I do believe thee;

But first discover the quaint 15 means you us’d

To raze out the conveyance—

MAR. They are mysteries

Not to be spoke in public: certain minerals

Incorporated in the ink and wax—

Besides, he gave me nothing, but still fed me

With hopes and blows; but that was the inducement

To this conundrum. If it please your worship

To call to memory, this mad beast once caus’d me

To urge you or to drown or hang yourself;

I’ll do the like to him, if you command me.

WELL. You are a rascal! He that dares be false

To a master, though unjust, will ne’er be true

To any other. Look not for reward

Or favour from me; I will shun thy sight

As I would do a basilisk’s. Thank my pity,

If thou keep thy ears; howe’er, I will take order

Your practice shall be silenc’d.

GREEDY. I’ll commit him,

If you’ll have me, sir.

WELL. That were to little purpose;

His conscience be his prison. Not a word,

But instantly be gone.

ORD. Take this kick with you.

AMB. And this.

FURN. If that I had my cleaver here,

I would divide your knave’s head.

MAR. This is the haven

False servants still arrive at. Exit.

Re-enter OVERREACH

L. ALL. Come again!

LOV. Fear not, I am your guard.

WELL. His looks are ghastly.

WILLDO. Some little time I have spent, under your favours,

In physical studies, and if my judgment err not,

He’s mad beyond recovery: but observe him,

And look to yourselves.

OVER. Why, is not the whole world

Include in yourself— To what use then

Are friends and servants— Say there were a squadron

Of pikes, lin’d through with shot, when I am mounted

Upon my injuries, shall I fear to charge them—

No: I’ll through the battalia, and, that routed, Flourishing his sword sheathed. 16

I’ll fall to execution.—Ha! I am feeble:

Some undone widow sits upon mine arm,

And takes away the use of’t; and my sword,

Glu’d to my scabbard with wrong’d orphans’ tears,

Will not be drawn. Ha! what are these— Sure, hangmen,

That come to bind my hands, and then to drag me

Before the judgment-seat: now they are new shapes,

And do appear like Furies, with steel whips

To scourge my ulcerous soul. Shall I then fall

Ingloriously, and yield— No; spite of Fate,

I will be forc’d to hell like to myself.

Though you were legions of accursed spirits,

Thus would I fly among you. [Rushes forward and flings himself on the ground.]

WELL. There’s no help;

Disarm him first, then bind him.

GREEDY. Take a mittimus, 17

And carry him to Bedlam.

LOV. How he foams!

WELL. And bites the earth!

WILLDO. Carry him to some dark room,

There try what art can do for his recovery.

MARG. O my dear father! They force OVERREACH off.

ALL. You must be patient, mistress.

LOV. Here is a precedent to teach wicked men,

That when they leave religion, and turn atheists,

Their own abilities leave them. Pray you take comfort,

I will endeavour you shall be his guardians

In his distractions: and for your land, Master Wellborn,

Be it good or ill in law, I’ll be an umpire

Between you, and this, th’ undoubted heir

Of Sir Giles Overreach. For me, here’s the anchor

That I must fix on.

ALL. What you shall determine,

My lord, I will allow of.

WELL. ’Tis the language

That I speak too; but there is something else

Beside the repossession of my land,

And payment of my debts, that I must practise.

I had a reputation, but ’twas lost

In my loose course; and until I redeem it

Some noble way, I am but half made up.

It is a time of action; if your lordship

Will please to confer a company upon me

In your command, I doubt not in my service

To my king and country but I shall do something

That may make me right again.

LOV. Your suit is granted,

And you lov’d for the motion.

WELL. [coming forward.] Nothing wants then

But your allowance—

Note 1. A room in Lady Allworth’s house.

Note 2. Fastidiously.

Note 3. In Q. after “took,” above.

Note 4. Obvious.

Note 5. Clothes in pawn were said to be “laid up in lavender.”

Note 6. Seized.

Note 7. The law against witchcraft.

Note 8. Flay.

Note 9. Wicker baskets filled with earth used to protect soldiers when digging trenches.

Note 10. Revealed.

Note 11. Capture.

Note 12. Fierce watchdog.

Note 13. Q. will I.

Note 14. Solid.

Note 15. Crafty.

Note 16. Q. unsheathed.

Note 17. A writ of committal.

The Epilogue

But your allowance, and in that our all

Is comprehended; it being known, nor we,

Nor he that wrote the comedy, can be free,

Without your manumission; which if you

Grant willingly, as a fair favour due

To the poet’s and our labours, (as you may,

For we despair not, gentlemen, of the play,)

We jointly shall profess your grace hath might

To teach us action, and him how to write. [Exeunt.]

FINIS

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6/26/2007