ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY
IN THE YEAR 1744.
FOURTH EDITION.
NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED
WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS,
AND NEW NOTES
BY
W. CAREW HAZLITT.
BENJAMIN BLOM, INC.
New York
A Woman is a Weather-cocke. A New Comedy, As it was acted before the King in White-Hall. And diuers times Priuately at the White-Friers, by the Children of her Maiesties Reuels. Written by Nat: Field. Si natura negat, faciat indagnatio [sic] versum. Printed at London, for Iohn Budge, and are to be sold at the great South doore of Paules, and at Brittaines Bursse. 1612. 4o.
The old copy is very carelessly printed, and nearly all the corruptions and mistakes were retained in the former edition (1828).
Considering the celebrity that Nathaniel Field has acquired in consequence of his connection with Massinger in writing "The Fatal Dowry," it is singular that the two plays in which he was unaided by any contemporary dramatist should not yet have been reprinted, if only to assist the formation of a judgment as to the probable degree of Massinger's obligation. "A Woman is a Weathercock" and its sequel, "Amends for Ladies," are the productions of no ordinary poet. In comic scenes Field excels Massinger, who was not remarkable for his success in this department of the drama; and in those of a serious character he may be frequently placed on a footing of equality.[1]
Reed was of opinion that Field the actor was not the same person who joined Massinger in "The Fatal Dowry," and who wrote the two plays above mentioned; but the discovery of Henslowe's MSS. shows that they were intimately connected in authorship and[4] misfortune. The joint letter of Nathaniel Field, Rob. Daborne, and Philip Massinger to Henslowe, soliciting a small loan to relieve them from temporary imprisonment, has been so often republished (see Malone's Shakespeare, by Boswell, iii. 337) that it is unnecessary to repeat it here.[2] Field, who penned the whole body of the letter, speaks in it of himself, both as an author and as an actor. It is without date, and Malone conjectured that it was written between 1612 and 1615. But from the Dedication to "A Woman is a Weathercock," we should conclude that in 1612 Field was not distressed for money. He there tells "any woman that hath been no weathercock" that he "cared not for forty shillings," the sum then usually given by the person to whom the play was inscribed. This assertion, perhaps, was only a vain boast, while the fact might be, either that he could not get anybody to patronise "so fameless a pen," or that, although he might not just at that moment be in want of "forty shillings," he might stand in need of it very soon afterwards, according to the customary irregular mode of living of persons of his pursuits and profession.
It might be inferred from a passage in the address "to the Reader," that "A Woman is a Weathercock"[3] [5]was written some time before it was printed; and from the dedication of the same play, we learn that Field's "Amends for Ladies," if not then also finished, was fully contemplated by the author under that title. An allusion to the Gunpowder Treason of 1605 is made in the first act of "A Woman is a Weathercock;" but it could not have been produced so early.
Nathaniel Field was originally one of the Children of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel. Malone tells us that he played in "Cynthia's Revels" in 1601; but we have it on the authority of Ben Jonson himself, in the folio of 1616, that that "comical satire" was acted in 1600. In 1601 Field performed in "The Poetaster," and in 1608 he appeared in "Epicæne," which purports to have been represented by the "Children of her Majesty's Revels," for so those of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel were then called. In 1600 Field was, perhaps, one of the younger children, for in 1609 all the names of the company but his own were changed, many no doubt having outgrown their situations. He was, therefore, evidently a very young man when he published his "Woman is a Weathercock" in 1612. Only one edition of it is known, but "Amends for Ladies" was twice published by the same stationer, viz., in 1618 and 1639. Mr Gifford conjectured very reasonably that Field had assisted Massinger in writing "The Fatal Dowry" before 1623.[4] He belonged to the Blackfriars company, and Fleckno speaks of him as a performer of great distinction.[5] According to the portrait[6] in Dulwich College, he had rather a feminine look, and early in his career undertook female parts, which he afterwards abandoned, and obtained much celebrity as the hero of Chapman's "Bussy d'Ambois," originally brought out in 1607. In a prologue to the edition of 1641, Field is spoken of as the player "whose action first did give it name." It has also been supposed that he was dead in 1641, because in the same prologue, it is asserted "Field is gone," but the expression is equivocal. The probability seems to be that he quitted the profession early, and in the address to "A Woman is a Weathercock," he gives a hint that he will only be heard of in it "for a year or two, and no more."[6]
"Amends for Ladies" will be found, on the whole, a superior performance to "A Woman is a Weathercock," and if the order of merit only had been consulted, it ought to have been first reprinted in this collection.
I did determine not to have dedicated my play to anybody, because forty shillings I care not for![7] and above few or none will bestow on these matters, especially falling from so fameless a pen as mine is yet. And now I look up, and find to whom my dedication is, I fear I am as good as my determination: notwithstanding, I leave a liberty to any lady or woman, that dares say she hath been no weathercock, to assume the title of patroness to this my book. If she have been constant, and be so, all I will expect from her for my pains is that she will continue so but till my next play be printed, wherein she shall see what amends I have made to her and all the sex,[8] and so I end my epistle without a Latin sentence.
N. F.
Reader, the saleman swears you'll take it very ill, if I say not something to you too. In troth, you are a stranger to me: why should I write to you? you never writ to me, nor I think will not answer my epistle. I send a comedy to you here, as good as I could then make; nor slight my presentation, because it is a play; for I tell thee, reader, if thou be'st ignorant, a play is not so idle a thing as thou art, but a mirror of men's lives and actions; nor, be it perfect or imperfect, true or false, is the vice or virtue of the maker. This is yet, as well as I can, qualis ego vel Cluvienus. Thou must needs have some other language than thy mother-tongue, for thou think'st it impossible for me to write a play, that did not use a word of Latin, though he had enough in him. I have been vexed with vile plays myself a great while, hearing many; now I thought to be even with some, and they should hear mine too. Fare thee well: if thou hast anything to say to me, thou know'st where to hear of me for a year or two, and no more, I assure thee.
N. F.
Enter Scudmore, as in his chamber in a morning, half-ready, reading a letter.
Enter Nevill.
Scud. Good morrow, sir: think I durst show it you.
Which Bellafront? rich Sir John Worldly's daughter?
Scud. She is the food, the sleep, the air I live by.
Nev. O heaven! we speak like gods and do like dogs.
Scud. What means my——
Enter Count Frederick, a tailor trussing him; attended by a page.
C. Fred. Is Sir John Worldly up, boy?
Boy. No, my Lord.
C. Fred. Is my bride up yet?
Boy. No.
C. Fred. No! and the morn so fair?
Enter Pendant.
Pen. Good morrow, my thrice honoured and heroic lord.
C. Fred. Thou'st a good tailor, and art very fine.
Pen. I thank your lordship.
Boy. Ay, you may thank his lordship indeed.
[Aside.
Tailor. A good jest, i' faith. Good morrow to
your lordship. A very good jest.
[Exit Tailor.
C. Fred. I wonder my invited guests are so tardy. What's o'clock?
Pen. Scarce seven, my lord.
C. Fred. Pendant, thou'lt make me doat upon myself.
Pen. Narcissus, by this hand, had far less cause.
C. Fred. How know'st thou that?
Boy. They were all one, my lord.
Enter Captain Pouts.
C. Fred. Good morrow, and good welcome, Captain Pouts.
C. Fred. But how haps it, Captain, that your intended marriage with my father-in-law's third daughter is not solemnised to-day?
Pen. My lord tells you true, Captain; it would have saved meat.
Capt. Pouts. Faith, I know not. Mistress Kate likes me not; she says I speak as if I had pudding in my mouth, and I answered her, if I had, it was a white pudding,[18] and then I was the better armed for a woman; for I had a case about me. So one laughed, and the other cried fie: the third said I was a bawdy captain; and there was all I could get of them.
C. Fred. See, boy, if they be up yet: maids are long liers, I perceive.
Boy. How if they will not admit me, my lord.
C. Fred. Why, should they not admit you, my lord, you cannot commit with 'em, my lord.
Boy. Marry, therefore, my lord.
[Exit Boy.
C. Fred. But what should be the reason of her so sudden alteration? she listened to thee once, ha?
Pen. Have you not heard, my lord, or do ye not know?
C. Fred. Not I, I swear.
Pen. Then you know nothing that is worth the knowing.
Capt. Pouts. That's certain: he knows you.
Pen. There's a young merchant, a late suitor, that deals by wholesale, and heir to land, well-descended, of worthy education, beholding to nature.
C. Fred. O, 'tis young Strange.
Capt. Pouts. Is't he that looks like an Italian tailor out of the lac'd wheel?[19] that wears a bucket on his head?
C. Fred. That is the man: yet believe me, captain, it is a noble sprightly citizen.
Capt. Pouts. Has he money?
C. Fred. Infinitely wealthy.
Capt. Pouts. Then, captain, thou art cast. Would I had gone to Cleveland! Worldly loves money better than I love his daughter. I'll to some company in garrison. Good bye.
C. Fred. 'Sfoot! he shall have my bond to do him good.
Capt. Pouts. A hundred, sir, were better.
Enter Old Sir Innocent Ninny, My Lady Ninny, Sir Abraham, and Mistress Wagtail.
C. Fred. Here's more guests.
Capt. Pouts. Is that man and wife?
[Count Frederick discoursing with Sir Innocent
and Lady: Abraham looking about.
Capt. Pouts. But did that little old dried neat's tongue, that eel-skin, get him?
Pen. So 'tis said, captain.
Capt, Pouts. Methinks he in his lady should show like a needle in a bottle of hay.
Pen. One may see by her nose what pottage she loves.
Capt. Pouts. Is your name Abraham? Pray, who dwells in your mother's backside,[20] at the sign of the aqua-vitæ bottle?
Pen. God's precious! Save you, Mistress Wagtail
[Pulls her by the sleeve.
Wag. Sweet Master Pendant.
Abra. Gentlemen, I desire your better acquaintance. You must pardon my father; he's somewhat rude, and my mother grossly brought up, as you may perceive.
C. Fred. Young Master Abraham! cry ye mercy, sir.
Sir Inn. Indeed, my lord, with much cost and labour we have got him knighted; and being knighted under favour, my lord, let me tell ye he'll prove a sore knight, as e'er run at ring. He is the one and only Ninny of our house.
Abra. Pish, pish, pish, pish!
C. Fred. D'ye hear how—
Pen. O my lord.
Capt. Pouts. I had well hoped she could not have spoke, she is so fat.
Abra. Sir Abraham thanks your honour, and I hope your lordship will consider the simplicity of parents: a couple of old fools, my lord, and I pray so take 'em.
Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!
Abra. I must be fain to excuse you here: you'll be needs coming abroad with me. If I had no more wit than you now, we should be finely laughed at.
Sir Inn. By'r lady, his worship says well: wife, we'll trouble him no longer. With your honour's leave, I'll in and see my old friend Sir John, your father that shall be.
L. Nin. I'll in, too, and see if your bride need no dressing.
[Exeunt Sir Innocent and lady.[21]
Capt. Pouts. Venison, my lord, venison.
Pen. I'faith, my lord, such venison as a bear is.
Capt. Pouts. Heart! she looks like a black
bombard[22] with a pint pot waiting upon it.
[Exit Mrs Wagtail.
C. Fred. What countrymen were your ancestors, Sir Abraham?
Abra. Countrymen! they were no countrymen: I scorn it. They were gentlemen all: my father is a Ninny, and my mother was a Hammer.
Capt. Pouts. You should be a knocker, then, by the mother's side.
Abra. I pray, my lord, what is yon gentleman? He looks so like a Saracen that, as I am a Christian, I cannot endure him.
C. Fred. Take heed what you say, sir; he's a soldier.
Pen. If you cross him, he'll blow you up with gunpowder.
Abra. In good faith, he looks as if he had had a hand in the treason.[23] I'll take my leave.
C. Fred. Nay, good Sir Abraham, you shall not leave us.
Pen. My lord shall be your warrant.
Abra. My lord shall be my warrant? Troth, I do not see that a lord's warrant is better than any other man's, unless it be to lay one by the heels. I shall stay here, and ha' my head broke,[25] and then I ha' my mends in my own hands; and then my lord's warrant will help me to a plaister, that's all.
C. Fred. Come, come; captain, pray shake the hand of acquaintance with this gentleman: he is in bodily fear of you.
Capt. Pouts. Sir, I use not to bite any man.
Abra. Indeed, sir, that would show you are no gentleman. I would you would bid me be covered. I am a knight. I was knighted o'purpose to come a-wooing to Mistress Lucida, the middle sister, Sir John Worldly's second daughter, and she said she would have me, if I could make her a lady, and I can do't now. O, here she comes.
Enter Sir John Worldly, Master Strange, Kate, and Lucida with a willow garland.
C. Fred. My bride will never be ready, I think. Here are the other sisters.
Pen. Look you, my lord: there's Lucida wears the willow garland for you, and will so go to church, I hear. And look you, captain, that's the merchant.
Sir J. Wor. You'll make her jointure of that five hundred, you say, that is your inheritance, Master Strange?
Strange. Sir, I will.
Sir J. Wor. Kate, do you love him?
Kate. Yes, faith, father, with all my heart.
Capt. Pouts. Sir.
Capt. Pouts. So, sir, so.
Sir J. Wor. There are brave wars.
Capt. Pouts. Where?
Capt. Pouts. Good, sir, good.
Capt. Pouts. Thou art an old[24] fellow. Are you a merchant, sir?
Strange. I shame not to say yes. Are you a soldier, sir?
Abra. A soldier, sir? O God! Ay, he is a captain.
Capt. Pouts. Right, sir: and as many are citizens that are no cuckolds——
Strange. So many are cuckolds that are no citizens. What ail you, sir, with your robustious looks?
Capt. Pouts. I would be glad to see for my money: I have paid for my standing.
Capt. Pouts. You are a peddler.
Strange. You are a pot-gun.
C. Fred. Fie, captain! You are to blame.
Pen. Nay, God's will! You are to blame indeed, if my lord say so.
Capt. Pouts. My lord's an ass, and you are another.
Capt. Pouts. Sirrah, I'll beat you with a pudding on the 'Change.
Kate. Why, captain, though ye be a man of war, you cannot subdue affection. You have no alacrity in your eye, and you speak as if you were in a dream. You are of so melancholy and dull a disposition, that on my conscience you would never get children; nay, nor on my body neither; and[28] what a sin were it in me, and a most pregnant sign of concupiscence, to marry a man that wants the mettle of generation, since that is the blessing ordained for marriage, procreation the only end of it. Besides, if I could love you, I shall be here at home, and you in Cleveland abroad—I among the bold Britons, and you among the hot-shots.
Kate. Ha! God-a-mercy, old Hieronimo.[25]
Abra. Yet she might love me for my lovely eyes.
C. Fred. Ay, but perhaps your nose she doth despise.
Abra. Yet might she love me for my dimpled chin.
Pen. Ay, but she sees your beard is very thin.
Abra. Yet might she love me for my proper body.
Strange. Ay, but she thinks you are an errant noddy.
Abra. Yet might she love me, 'cause I am an heir.
Sir J. Wor. Ay, but perhaps she doth not like your ware.
Abra. Yet might she love me in despite of all.
Luc. Ay, but indeed I cannot love at all.
Sir J. Wor. Well, Luce, respect Sir Abraham, I charge you.
Pen. Life! my lord; you had best marry 'em all three. They'll never be content else.
C. Fred. I think so, too.
Abra. Shall I but hope?
Luc. O, by no means. I cannot endure these round breeches: I am ready to swoon at them.
Kate. The hose are comely.
Luc. And then his left leg: I never see it, but I think on a plum-tree.
Abra. Indeed, there's reason there should be some difference in my legs, for one cost me twenty pounds more than the other.
Luc. In troth, both are not worth half the money.
C. Fred. I hold my life, one of them was broke, and cost so much the healing.
Pen. I know he is in love by his verse-vein.
Strange. He cannot hold out on't: you shall hear.
Enter Nevill, like a parson.
Enter Scudmore in tawny.
Scud. Are there two?
Nev. Yes, sir: the eldest marries Count Frederick.
Scud. O!
Scud. Sir, do but you refuse to join them.
Scud. Why, look thee; there is gold.
Nev. O, by no means.
Music. Enter Sir John Worldly, who meets the parson, and entertains him; Count Frederick, Bellafront, Strange, Katherine, Lucida with willow; Pendant, Sir Innocent Ninny, Lady Ninny, Mrs Wagtail, Sir Abraham melancholy. W. P.[28] walk gravely afore all softly on. Scudmore stands before, and a boy sings to the tuned music.
C. Fred. How now! who's this?
Pen. Young Scudmore.
Omnes. 'Tis young Scudmore!
Scud. Canst thou this holy church enter a bride, And not a corse, meeting these eyes of mine?
Luc. Sister, this is not well, and will be worse.
Scud. O, hold thy thunder fast!
C. Fred. What is the matter?
Pen. I'll ask, my lord. What is the matter, sir?
Pen. Pish! nothing else? set forward.
Nev. By your leave.
C. Fred. I say the word: do it.
Scud. You, my lord's fine fool!
Abra. Ay, he, sir?
Scud. No! nor you, my lord's fool's fool.
Sir Inn. 'Ware, boy: come back.
L. Nin. Come back, I say, Sir Abraham.
Kath. On my life, it is so.[30]
Loud music. Enter, as from the church, Sir John Worldly, Nevill, like the parson; Count Frederick, Bellafront, Strange, Katherine; Sir Innocent Ninny, Lady Ninny, Sir Abraham; Lucida, Wagtail, Pendant.
C. Fred. Sweet is the love purchas'd with difficulty.
Bel. Then, this cross accident doth relish ours.
Enter Captain Pouts.
Capt. Pouts. Are ye married?
C. Fred. Yes.
Capt. Pouts. The devil dance at your wedding! But for you, I have something else to say. Let me see: here are reasonable good store of people. Know, all my beloved brethren (I speak it in the face of the congregation), this woman I have lain with oftener——
Omnes. How!
L. Nin. Before God, you are a wicked fellow to speak on't in this manner, if you have.
Strange. Lain with her?
Sir J. Wor. Take your revenge by law.
Kath. This month or two?
C. Fred. I'll be your second, then.
Strange. You proffer too much honour, my good lord.
Pen. And I will be your third.
Luc. God-a-mercy, Nab, I'll ha' thee, and be but for thy manhood.
Sir Inn. Wife, my Lady Ninny, do you hear your son? He speaks seldom, but when he speaks——
Luc. He speaks proverbs, i' faith.
L. Nin. O, 'tis a pestilence knight, Mistress Lucida.
Luc. Ay, and a pocky.
Strange. Yes.
Enter Wagtail; the Page, stealing after her,
conceals himself.
Wag. What a stir is here made about lying with a gentlewoman! I have
been lain with a hundred, and a hundred times, and nothing has come
on't! but—hawk, hum! hawk, hum! O, O! Thus have I done for this
month or two—hawk, hum!
[Coughs and spits.]
Page. Ah! God's will, are you at it? You have acted your name too much, sweet Mistress Wagtail. This was wittily, though somewhat knavishly followed on me.
Wag. Umph! O' my conscience, I am peppered. Well, thou tumblest not for
nothing, for he dances as well that got thee, and plays as well on the
viol, and yet he must not father thee. I have better men. Let me
remember them, and here, in my melancholy, choose out one rich enough
to[43] reward this my stale virginity, or fit enough to marry my
little honesty. Hawk, hawk!
[Coughs and spits.]
Page. She has a shrewd reach, I see that. What a casting she keeps. Marry, my comfort is, we shall hear by and by who has given her the casting-bottle.
Wag. Hawk, hawk, hawk! bitter, bitter! Pray God, I hurt not the babe. Well, let me see, I'll begin with knights: imprimis, Sir John Do't-well and Sir William Burn-it.
Page. A hot knight, by my faith; Do't-well and Burn-it too.
Wag. For old Sir Innocent Ninny, my master, if I speak my conscience, look ye, I cannot directly accuse him. Much has he been about, but done nothing. Marry, for Sir Abraham, I will not altogether 'quit him. Let me see, there's four knights: now for gentlemen——
Page. And so she'll come down to the footmen.
Wag. Master Love-all, Master Liveby't, and Master Pendant. Hawk, hi'up, hi'up!
Page. By this light, I have heard enough. Shall I hold your belly too,
fair maid of the fashion?
[Comes forward.
Wag. What say ye, Jack Sauce?
Page. O fie, ill-mutton! you are too angry. Why, look ye; I am my lord's page, and you are my lady's gentlewoman: we should agree better; and I pray, whither are you riding with this burthen in your dosser.[33]
Wag. Why, sir, out of town. I hope 'tis not the first time you have seen a child carried out of town in a dosser for fear of the plague.
Page. You have answered me, I promise you: but who put it in, I pray?
Wag. Not you, sir, I know, by your asking.
Page. I, alas! I know that by my talent; for I remember thus much philosophy of my school-masters, ex nihilo nihil fit. But come, setting this duello of wit aside, I have overheard your confession and your casting about for a father, and in troth, in mere charity, came in to relieve you. In the scroll of beasts, horses and asses, that have fed upon this common of yours, you named one Pendant: faith, wench, let him be the father. He is a very handsome gentleman, I can tell you, in my lord's favour. I'll be both secret and your friend to my lord. Let it be him; he shall either reward thee bountifully, or marry thee.
Wag. Sir, you speak like an understanding young gentleman, and I acknowledge myself much bound to you for your counsel.
Pen. (Within). Will, Will!
Page. My lord hath sent him to call me. Now I hold a wager on't, if thou be'st not a fool, as most waiting-women are, thou'lt use him in his kind.
Enter Pendant.
Pen. Why, Will, I say! Go; my lord calls extremely.
Page. Did not I say so? Come, this is but a
trick to send me off, sir.
[Exit PAGE.
Wag. Do! what would you do? You have done too much already.
Pen. What's the matter?
Wag. I am with child by you.
Pen. By me? Why, by me? A good jest, i' faith.
Wag. You'll find it, sir, in earnest.
Pen. Why, do you think I am such an ass to believe nobody has meddled with you but I?
Pen. Pray, do not swear. I do not urge you to't. 'Swounds, now I am undone! You walk somewhat round. Sweetheart, has nobody been tampering with you else? Think on't, for by this light, I am not worth the estate of an apple-wife. I do live upon commending my lord, the Lord of Hosts knows it, and all the world besides. For me to marry thee will undo thee more,
Or worse shall I be; for look ye, Mistress Wagtail, I do live like a chameleon upon the air, and not like a mole upon the earth. Land I have none. I pray God send me a grave, when I am dead.
Wag. It's all one. I'll have you for your qualities.
Pen. For my good ones, they are altogether unknown, because they have not yet been seen, nor ever will be, for they have no being. In plain terms, as God help me, I have none.
Wag. How came you by your good clothes?
Pen. By undoing tailors; and then, my lord (like a snake) casts a suit every quarter, which I slip into: therefore thou art worse than mad if thou wilt cast away thyself upon me.
Wag. Why, what 'mends will you make me? can you give me some sum of money to marry me to some tradesman, as the play says?
Pen. No, by my troth. But tell me this, has not Sir Abraham been familiar with you?
Wag. Faith, not enough to make up a child.
Pen. Couldst be content to marry him?
Wag. Ay, by my troth, and thank ye, too.
Pen. Has he but kissed thee?
Wag. Yes; and something more beside that.
Enter Strange, knocking at a door.
Strange. Lies Captain Pouts here, pray?
Enter a Servingman.
Ser. Sir, he does.
Strange. I prythee, tell him here's a gentleman would speak with him.
Ser. What may I call your name, sir?
Strange. No matter for my name.
Ser. Troth, sir, the Captain is somewhat doubtful of strangers; and being, as most captains are, a little in debt, I know he will not speak with you, unless you send your name.
Enter Pouts above.
Capt. Pouts. Sir, I know your business. You are come to serve a warrant
or a citation: I will not speak with you; and get you gone quickly too,
or I may happen send a bullet through your mazzard.
[Exit.
Music. Enter with table-napkins, Count Frederick, Sir John Worldly, Nevill, Pendant, Sir Innocent Ninny, Lady Ninny, Sir Abraham. Servants with wine, plate, tobacco, and pipes.
C. Fred. Faith, you had; I must needs say so too.
Pen. And I must needs say as my lord says.
L. Nin. All we cannot get Mistress Katherine out of her chamber.
Sir J. Wor. O good old woman, she is top-shackled.
L. Nin. 'Tis pestilence sack and cruel claret: knight, stand to me, knight, I say: up, a cold stomach! give me my aqua-vitæ bottle.
Sir Inn. O Guiniver! as I am a justice of peace and quorum, 'twere a good deed to commit thee. Fie, fie, fie!
Abra. Why, alas! I cannot help this, and I should be hanged: she'll be as drunk as a porter. I'll tell you, my lord, I have seen her so be-piss the rushes, as she has danced at a wedding. Her belly and that aqua-vitæ bottle have almost undone my father. Well, I think in conscience she is not my natural-begotten mother.
Omnes. Ha, ha, ha!
Nev. Well said, my wise Sir Abraham.[34]
Nev. You can play well, my lord.
C. Fred. Who, I?
Pen. Who? my lord? the only player at primero i' the court.
Abra. I'd rather play at bowls.
Pen. My lord's for you for that, too: the only bowler in London that is not a churchwarden.
Nev. Can he fence well, too, Master Pendant?
Pen. Who? my lord? the only fencer in Christendom. He'll hit you.
Abra. He shall not hit me, I assure you, now.
Nev. Is he good at the exercise of drinking, sir?
Pen. Who? my lord? the only drunkard i' th' world—drinker, I would say.
Abra. God-a-mercy for that.
Nev. I would he heard him.
Abra. I know a better whoremaster than he.
Nev. O fie! no: none so good as my lord.
Pen. Hardly, by'r Lady, hardly.
C. Fred. How now! who's this?
Enter Scudmore, like a servingman, with a letter.
Sir J. Wor. What would you?
Scud. I would speak with the Lady Bellafront from the young Lady Lucy.
Sir J. Wor. You had best send in your letter; she is withdrawn.
Sir J. Wor. A trusty servant. That way leads you to her.
SCUD. Blessed fate!
[Scudmore passeth one door, and entereth the
other, where Bellafront sits asleep in a
chair, under a taffata canopy.
Scud. That letter, madam, tells you.
Scud. Can you read anything, then, in this face?
Scud. What canst thou say? art thou not married?
Bel. O, still retain her so! dear Scudmore, hear me.
Enter Sir Abraham Ninny, throwing down his bowl.
Enter Pendant.
Pen. I have lost my money, and Sir Abraham too. Yonder he sits at his muse, by heaven, drowned in the ocean of his love. Lord! how he labours, like a hard-bound poet whose brains had a frost in 'em. Now it comes.
Abra. I die, I sigh.
Pen. What, after you are dead? very good.
Abra. I die, I sigh, thou precious stony jewel.
Pen. Good; because she is hard-hearted.
Abra. Thy servant, Abraham, sends this foolish ditty.
Pen. You say true, in troth, sir.
Pen. Ty unto thee: well, if she do not pity both, 'tis pity she should live.
So; now I'll read it together.
Let me see, who shall I get now to set it to a dumpish note.
Pen. In good faith, I do not know; but nobody that is wise, I am sure of that. It will be an excellent matter sung to the knacking of the tongs. But to my business. God save thee, worthy and right worshipful Sir Abraham! what, musing and writing? O, this love will undo us all, and that made me prevent love, and undo myself. But what news of Mistress Lucida? ha! will she not come off, nor cannot you come on, little Abraham?
Abra. Faith, I have courted her, and courted her; and she does, as everybody else does, laughs at all I can do or say.
Pen. Laughs; why that's a sign she is pleased. Do you not know, when a woman laughs, she's pleased?
Abra. Ay, but she laughs most shamefully and most scornfully.
Pen. Scornfully! hang her, she's but a bauble.
Abra. She's the fitter for my turn, sir; for they will not stick to say, I am a fool, for all I am a knight.[40]
Pen. Love has made you witty, little Nab; but what a mad villain art thou, a striker, a fiftieth part of Hercules, to get one wench with child, and go a-wooing to another.
Abra. With child! a good jest, i' faith: whom have I got with child?
Pen. Why, Mistress Wagtail is with child, and will be deposed 'tis yours. She is my kinswoman, and I would be loth our house should suffer any disgrace in her; if there be law in England, which there should be, if we may judge by their consciences, or if I have any friends, the wench shall take no wrong. I cannot tell: I think my lord will stick to me.
Abra. D'ye hear? talk not to me of friends, law, or conscience: if your kinswoman say she is with child by me, your kinswoman is an errant whore. Od's will, have you nobody to put your gulls upon but knights? That Wagtail is a whore, and I'll stand to it.
Pen. Nay, you have stood to it already. But to call my cousin whore! you have not a mind to have your throat cut, ha' you?
Abra. Troth, no great mind, sir.
Pen. Recant your words, or die.
[Draws his sword.
Pen. But will you fight in this quarrel?
Abra. I am resolved.
Pen. Heart! I have pulled an old house over my head: here's like to be a
tall fray. I perceive a fool's valianter than a knave at all times.
Would I were well rid of him: I had as lief meet Hector, God knows, if
he dare fight at all: they are all one to me; or, to speak more
modernly, with one of the roaring boys.
[Aside.
Abra. Have you done your prayers?
Pen. Pray give me leave, sir: put up, an't please you. Are you sure my cousin Wagtail is a whore?
Abra. With sword in hand I do it not recant.
Pen. Well, it shall never be said Jack Pendant would venture his blood in a whore's quarrel. But, whore or no whore, she is most desperately in love with you: praises your head, your face, your nose, your eyes, your mouth: the fire of her commendations makes the pot of your good parts run over; and to conclude, if the whore have you not, I think the pond at Islington will be her bathing-tub, and give an end to mortal misery. But if she belie you——pray, put up, sir; she is an errant whore, and so let her go.
Abra. Does she so love me, say you?
Pen. Yes, yes: out of all question, the whore does love you abominable.
Pen. Ay, but hang her, whore; dallying will get no children.
Abra. Another whore, and draw! Where is the girl?
Enter Captain Pouts.
Capt. Pouts. I have played the melancholy ass, and partly the knave, in this last business, but as the parson said that got the wench with child, "'Tis done now, sir; it cannot be undone, and my purse or I must smart for it."
Enter Servant.
Ser. Your trunks are shipped, and the tide falls out about twelve to-night.
Capt. Pouts. I'll away. This law is like the basilisk, to see it first is the death on't.[41] This night and, noble London, farewell; I will never see thee more, till I be knighted for my virtues. Let me see, when shall I return? and yet I do not think, but there are a great many dubbed for their virtues; otherwise, how could there be so many poor knights?[42]
Enter Strange, like a soldier, amazedly.
What art thou? what's thy news?
Strange. 'Zoons; a man is fain to break open
doors, ere he can get in to you. I would speak with a general sooner.
Capt. Pouts. Sir, you may: he owes less, peradventure; or if more, he is more able to pay't. What art?
Strange. A soldier; one that lives upon this buff jerkin: 'twas made of Fortunatus's pouch; and these are the points I stand upon. I am a soldier.
Capt. Pouts. A counterfeit rogue you are.
Strange. As true a rogue as thyself. Thou wrong'st me. Send your man away: go to, I have strange and welcome business to impart. The merchant is dead for shame: let's walk into the fields: send away your man.
Capt. Pouts. How?
Capt. Pouts. Go, sirrah, and bespeak supper at the Bear, and provide
oars: I'll see Gravesend to-night.
[Exit Servant.
Strange. The gentlewoman will run mad after
you then. I'll tell you more: let's walk.
[Exeunt.
Enter Scudmore and Nevill.
Enter Captain Pouts, with a letter, and Strange, like a soldier.
Strange. O, these are Lambeth fields.
Strange. As dead as charity.
Capt. Pouts. This sounds not well.
Capt. Pouts. Whence this blood?
Strange. Thou rogue—far worse than rogues—thou slanderer!
Capt. Pouts. Thou worse than slanderous rogues; thou murderer!
Capt. Pouts. O, now I understand you, and you stand over me. My hurts are not mortal, but you have the better. If your name be Worldly, be thankful for your fortune.
Strange. Give me thy sword, or I will kill thee.
Capt. Pouts. Some wiser than some! I love my reputation well, yet I am not so valiant an ass but I love my life better. There's my sword.
Capt. Pouts. God-a-mercy. 'Zoons! methinks I see myself in Moorfields, upon a wooden leg, begging threepence.[53]
[Exit with Captain Pouts on his back.
Enter Pendant, and Mistress Wagtail with work, sewing a purse.
Pen. They say every woman has a springe to catch a woodcock: remember my
instructions, and let me see what a paradise thou canst bring this fool
into. Fifteen hundred a year, wench, will make us all merry; but a fool
to boot! why, we shall throw the house out at window. Let me see, there
are two things in this foolish, transitory world which should be
altogether regarded: profit and pleasure, or pleasure and profit—I
know not which to place first, for indeed they are twins, and were born
together. For profit, this marriage (God speed it!) marries you to it;
and for pleasure, if I help you not to that as cheap as any man in
England, call me cut.[54] And so remember my instructions, for I'll go
fetch Sir Abraham.
[Exit.
Wag. Your instructions! Nay, faith, you shall see I have as fruitful a brain as a belly: you shall hear some additions of my own. My fantasy even kicks like my bastard: well, boy, for I know thou art masculine, neither thy father nor thy mother had any feminine quality but one, and that was to take a good thing when it was proffered. When thou inherit'st land, strange both to thy father and grandfather, and rid'st in a coach, it may be thy father, an old footman, will be running by thy [70] side. But yonder comes the gentle knight and my squire.
Enter Sir Abraham and Pendant stealing.[55]
Pen. D'ye hear, Sir Abraham?
Abra. Yes, with standing tears.
Abra. Ay, but all this while she does not name me: she may mean somebody else.
Pen. Mean somebody else! you shall hear her name you by and by.
Wag. Courteous Sir Abraham.
Pen. La ye there!
Abra. Say not so, sweetheart.
Pen. Very good: d'ye mark that head likewise?
Abra. She has an excellent wit.
Pen. I'll now into her, sir: observe what follows. Now, turtle, mourning still for the party? for whom are you working that purse?
Abra. For me, I warrant her.
[Aside.]
Wag. What news, good cousin? I hope you have not revealed my love.
Pen. Yes, faith, I have acquainted the knight with all; and thou may'st be ashamed to abuse a gentleman so slanderously. He swears he ne'er lay with you.
Wag. Lie with me? alas! no, I say not so, nor no man living; but there was one night above the rest, that I dreamt he lay with me; and did you ne'er hear of a child begot in a dream.
Abra. By this light, that very night I dreamt
she lay with me.
[Aside.]
Pen. Ay, but Sir Abraham is no dreaming knight: in short, he contemns you, he scorns you at his heels.
Abra. By God, so he lies. I have the most ado to forbear, but that I would hear a little more.
Pen. And has sent this halter. You may hang yourself, or you may cut your throat: here's a knife, too.
Pen. Look, Sir Abraham in person comes to see you.
Wag. O, let me die, then, in his worship's arms!
Wag. O happy woman!
Abra. To supper let's, and merry be as may be.
Pen. Now, God send every wise knight such a lady.
[Exeunt.
Enter Bellafront.
Enter Lucida, with her willow garland on, and Katherine.
Enter Sir John Worldly with Servants, with torches and cudgels.
Ser. Yes, sir, she is awake, but she is scant sober: the first thing she called for was her aqua-vitæ bottle.
Sir J. Wor. Who is with her?
Ser. The good Sir Innocent and her gentlewoman.
Enter Nevill, Count, Pendant, and Sir Abraham,
in their masquing robes; Sir Abraham
gnawing on a capon's leg.
Nev. Soul! man, leave eating now: look, look! you have all dropped o' your suit.
Abra. O sir, I was in love to-day, and could not eat; but here's one knows the case is altered. Lend me but a handkerchief to wipe my mouth, and I ha' done.
Nev. Soul! how this rascal stays with the rest of our things.
Sir J. Wor. How now, son Count? what, ready, Master Nevill?
Nev. All ready, ready; only we tarry for our vizards and our caps: I put 'em to a knave to do,[62] because I would have 'em the better done.
Abra. If you put 'em to a knave, you are like to have 'em the worse done.
Nev. Your wit is most active: I called him knave in regard of his long stay, sir, not his work.
Abra. But, d'ye hear, Master Nevill? did you bespeak a vizard with a most terrible countenance for me?
Nev. A very devil's face: I fear nothing, but that it will fright the women.
Abra. I would it would. And a huge moustachio?[63]
Nev. A very Turk's.
Abra. Excellent!
C. Fred. But do you think he will come at all?
Omnes. O, there he is.
Scud. (Within). By your leave! stand back, by your leave!
Enter Scudmore, like a vizard-maker.
Nothing can be done to-night, if I enter not.
2d Ser. Stand back there, or I'll burn you.
Scud. 'Twere but a whorish trick, sir.
3d Ser. O sir, is't you? Heart! you will be kill'd.
Scud. Marry, God forbid, sir.
Scud. In good faith, I have been so troubled about this gentleman's scurvy face (I take it), 'tis wonderful.
Abra. Well, are you fitted now?
Nev. Fitted at all points,
C. Fred. Where are the caps?
Scud. Here, sir.
Pen. Let me see mine.
C. Fred. Come, help me on with mine.
Abra. This is a rare face to fright the maids i' th' country! Here now I'll pin my purse. Come, help me on.
Nev. So, so, away! mine being on, I'll follow you.
Omnes. Pray, make haste.
[Exeunt Sir John Worldly, Sir Abraham,
Count, Pendant.
Enter Count, Pendant, Sir Abraham, in their masquing robes.
C. Fred. Come, come! away for shame!
Scud. 'Tis such a tedious rascal. So ha' wi' ye.
[Exeunt masquers.
Sir J. Wor. Thou hast well fitted 'em, though thou mad'st 'em stay.
Nev. I forbid any man to mend 'em, sir. Good night unto your worship.
Sir J. Wor. Wilt not stay?
2d Ser. By your leave! by your leave! you'll let a man go out?
Sir J. Wor. Now, go with me, and let all in
that will.
[Exit Sir John Worldly with them, and run
in three or four.
Enter two or three, setting three or four chairs and four or five stools. Loud music; in which time enter Sir John Worldly, Sir Innocent, Bellafront, Lucida, Kate, my Lady Ninny, Mistress Wagtail. They seat themselves. Lady Ninny offers at two or three chairs; at last finds the great one; they point at her and laugh. As soon as she is set, she drinks of her bottle. The music plays, and they enter. After one strain of the music, Scudmore takes Bellafront, who seems unwilling to dance. Count takes Lucida; Pendant, Kate; Sir Abraham, Mistress Wagtail: Scudmore, as they stand (the other courting too), whispers as follows:—
Bel. Even to death.
Abra. 'Sfoot! Did you not know me by my purse?
Wag. I should ne'er have known you by that,[79] for you wear it on your head, and other folks in their pockets.
L. Nin. Which is my lord, I pray?
Sir Inn And where's Sir Abraham?
Sir J. Wor. He with the terrible visage.
[Music, and they dance the second strain, in which Scudmore goes away with Bellafront.
Omnes Spectatores. Good, very good!
[The other four dance another strain, honourand end.
C. Fred. But where's the bride and Nevill?
Omnes. Ha!
Abra. 'Ware tricks!
Sir J. Wor. O, there they come: it was their parts to do so.
Enter Scudmore unvizarded, Bellafront, with pistols and the right Parson.
C. Fred. This Nevill? This is Scudmore.
Omnes. How?
C. Fred. But here's my lady.
Scud. No, my gentlewoman.
Abra. 'Zoons! treason! I smell powder.
C. Fred. What riddle's this?
Sir Inn. 'Ware the last statute of two husbands.
Scud. and Bel. Pish!
Enter Nevill, like the Parson too.
Nev. No.
Pen. Married not you the earl?
Par. Bona fide, no.
Sir J. Wor. You did, then?
Nev. Yes.
C. Fred. I have the privilege, then?
Sir J. Wor. Right, you were married first.
Omnes. Nevill, whoop!
C. Fred. Heart! what a deal of knavery a priest's cloak can hide. If it be not one of the honestest, friendliest cozenages that 'ere I saw, I am no lord.
Kath. Life! I am not married, then, in earnest.
Nev. So, Mistress Kate, I kept you for myself.
Sir J. Wor. It boots not to be angry.
Sir Inn. and Lady. No, faith, Sir John.
Enter Strange, with Pouts on his back.
2d. Ser. Whither will you go with your calf on your back, sir?
Sir J. Wor. Now, more knavery yet?
Omnes. Yes, very well.
Kath. O sister, here's the villain slander'd me.
Strange. You see he cannot stand to't.
Abra. Is he hurt in the arm, too?
Strange. Yes.
Abra. Why, then, by God's-lid, thou art a base rogue. I knew I should live to tell thee so.
L. Nin. Sir Abraham, I say!
Omnes. Heaven is just.
Strange. Confess your slander, and I will, I swear.
Kath. O my divining spirit, he's gone to sea!
Omnes. How?
Omnes. How?
Sir J. Wor. God forbid!
Sir Inn. I will assist you.
C. Fred. But I pray, sir, how came you unto this knowledge?
Capt. Pouts. From his mouth.
Strange. Sir, do but hear me speak.
Sir J. Wor. Fetch officers!
Capt. Pouts. Go fetch a surgeon.
Strange. Sir, you are then too violent. I will bail her.
[Discovers himself.
Kath. O my dear Strange!
Sir J. Wor. My son!
Scud., Luc., Bel. Brother!
Omnes. Young Strange!
Strange. The way to cure lust is to bleed, I see.
C. Fred. Tell him all, Scudmore, whilst I go a-wooing again. Sir John, will you go along, and my two worshipful elders, I pray, be your witnesses. Priest, go not you away. Heart! I have so ruminated on a wife, that I must have one this night, or I shall run proud.[65]
[Nevill, Scudmore, Bellafront, Strange, Katherine, whisper in one part. Pendant, Sir Abraham, and Wagtail in another.
Mistress Lucida, you did once love me; if you do still, no more words, but give me your hand. Why are ye doubtful?
Abra. Ne'er look upon me, Mistress Lucida; time was, time is, and time's pass'd. I'll none of you now: I am otherwise provided.
Pen. Well spoken, brazen-head![66] now or never, Sir Abraham.
Sir Inn. How? how?
L. Nin. I hope you will not.
Abra. Ma'am, I am resolved: you have a humour of your aqua-vitæ bottle, why should not I have a humour in a wife?
Abra. Much on her? I know not what ye call [85]much making on her, I am sure I have made two on her.
Pen. And that an old man cannot do, I hope.
Nev. O thou beyond Lawrence of Lancashire.[67]
Sir Inn. Come, come, you shall not.
Par. Now truly I could ne'er stand drunk in my life.
Strange. Strange and most fortunate, we must have a new Tuck then.
C. Fred. Is it a match?
Luc. 'Tis done.
Amends for Ladies. A Comedie. As it was acted at the Blacke-Fryers, both by the Princes Servants, and the Lady Elizabeths. By Nat. Field. London: Printed by G. Eld, for Math. Walbancke, and are to be sold at his Shop at the new Gate of Grayes Inne, or at the old. 1618. 4o.
Amends for Ladies. With the merry prankes of Moll Cutpurse, Or, the humour of roaring: A Comedy full of honest mirth and wit. As it was Acted at the Blacke-Fryers both by the Princes Servants and the Lady Elizabeths. By Nath. Field. London, Printed by Io. Okes, for Math. Walbancke, and are to be sold at his Shop at Grayes-Inne Gate. 1639. 4o.
This excellent old comedy seems to have been deservedly popular on its performance by two different companies at the Black Friars Theatre before 1618, and it was twice printed. It is not easy to decide whether the comic or the serious scenes are the best; although the first are not without some of the coarseness which belonged to the manners of the age. The language is generally well-chosen. Some passages are of the higher order of poetry, and from them we may judge that Field was capable of writing other parts of "The Fatal Dowry" than those which Mr Gifford, in his just admiration of Massinger, was willing to assign to him. The characters are numerous, varied, and well-distinguished.
The object of the play was to vindicate the female sex, attacked in "Woman is a Weathercock;" and it is accomplished amply and happily in the persons of the Maid, Wife, and Widow. The plot is threefold, applying to each of them, but the incidents are interwoven with ingenuity, and concluded without confusion. In several of our old plays, husbands become, or endeavour to become, the instruments of the dishonour of their wives. Middleton was too fond of incidents of this odious kind, which are to be found in his "Chaste Maid in Cheapside," 1630, and in "Anything for a Quiet Life," 1662;[69] but in both cases the purpose of the husband was to profit by his own disgrace. In [90] Field's "Amends for Ladies," the husband only resorts to this expedient to put his wife's fidelity to the test. This portion of the play was borrowed, in several of its preliminary circumstances, from the novel of the "Curioso Impertinente" in "Don Quixote;" but it would not have accorded with Field's design of making amends to the fair sex that Subtle should have met with the same success as Lothario. The attempt of Bold in disguise upon the Widow was taken from an incident apparently well known about the date when the play was written, and referred to in it. The original of that part of the comedy which relates to Ingen and the Lady Honour has not been found, and perhaps it was the invention of the poet.
The two editions of this play in 1618 and 1639 do not materially vary, although the difference between the title-pages might lead to the supposition that "the merry pranks of Moll Cutpurse" and the "humour of roaring" were new in the latter copy. It seldom happens that faith is to be put in attractive changes of title-pages. Middleton and Rowley's "Fair Quarrel" is, indeed, an instance to the contrary; for the edition of 1622 contains a good deal of curious matter connected with the manners of the times, promised in "the fore-front of the book," and not found in the copy of 1617. In "Amends for Ladies," Moll Cutpurse only appears in one scene. The variations between the impressions are errors of the press, some of which are important of their kind, and such as rendered a careful collation absolutely necessary.
It may here, perhaps, be worth while to place in one view the scanty and scattered information regarding Mary Frith (alias Moll Cutpurse), the Roaring Girl. She was a woman who commonly dressed like a man, and challenged several male opponents, bearing, during her life, the character of a bully, a thief, a bawd, a receiver of stolen goods, &c.[70] She appears to have been[91] the daughter of a shoemaker, born in 1584, dead in 1659, and buried in what is now called St Bride's Church. In February 1611-12, she did penance at Paul's Cross, but the letter mentioning this fact, which is in the British Museum, does not state for what offence. Among other daring exploits, she robbed, or assisted in robbing, General Fairfax on Hounslow Heath, for which she was sent to Newgate, but afterwards liberated without trial. The immediate cause of her death was a dropsy, and she seems then to have been possessed of property. She lived in her own house in Fleet Street, next the Globe Tavern, and left £20 that the conduit might run wine on the expected return of Charles II. Besides the comedy by Middleton and Dekker [printed in the works of Middleton], John Day wrote "a book of the mad pranks of Merry Moll of the Bankside." It was entered at Stationers' Hall in 1610, and perhaps the play of which she is the heroine was founded upon it. Another account of her life was printed in 1662, shortly after her decease. She is supposed to be alluded to by Shakespeare in "Twelfth Night," act i. sc. 3, and obtained such "bad eminence," in point of notoriety, that it is not surprising (according to the evidence of the authors of "The Witch of Edmonton," act v. sc. 1), that some of the dogs at Paris Garden, used in baiting bulls and bears, were named after her.
| Count, father of Lord Feesimple. |
| Lord Feesimple. |
| Lord Proudly. |
| Sir John Love-all, called Husband. |
| Subtle, his friend. |
| Ingen, in love with Lady Honour. |
| Frank, his younger brother. |
| Bold, in love with Lady Bright. |
| Welltried, his friend. |
| Seldom, a citizen. |
| Whorebang, } |
| Bots, } |
| } Roarers. |
| Tearchaps, } |
| Spillblood,} |
| Pitts,} |
| } Serjeants. |
| Donner,} |
| Page, Drawer, &c. |
| Lady Honour,} {Maid. |
| Lady Perfect,} called{Wife. |
| Lady Bright,} {Widow. |
| Grace Seldom. |
| Moll Cutpurse. |
Enter the Lady Honour, the Lady Perfect, the Lady Bright.
Maid.[72] A wife the happiest state? It cannot be.
Enter Ingen.
Wid. Peace, here's the man you name.
Wife. Widow, we'll stand aside.
Maid. O, fie upon ye! I dare swear you lie.
Ingen. Do not, fair mistress; you will be forsworn.
Maid. May I believe this?
Ingen. Let it be your creed.
Enter Widow, Wife.
Wid. Is this the virtuous youth?
Wife. Your happiness?
Wid. Wherein you thought your seat so far[78] 'bove ours.
Enter Husband, embracing Subtle; the Lord Feesimple, with young Bold like a waiting gentlewoman, and Welltried. Welltried, Husband, and Subtle, talk with Wife.
Fee. One-and-thirty good morrows to the fairest, wisest, richest widow that ever conversation coped withal.
Fee. O courteous, bounteous widow! she has outbid me thirty-one good morrows at a clap.
Well. But, my Lord Feesimple, you forget the business imposed on you.
Fee. Gentlewoman, I cry thee mercy; but 'tis a fault in all lords, not in me only: we do use to [100] swear by our honours, and as we are noble, to despatch such a business for such a gentleman; and we are bound, even by the same honours we swear by, to forget it in a quarter of an hour, and look as if we had never seen the party when we meet next, especially if none of our gentlemen have been considered.
Well. Ay, but all yours have, for you keep none, my lord: besides, though it stands with your honour to forget men's businesses, yet it stands not with your honour if you do not do a woman's.
Fee. Why then, madam, so it is that I request your ladyship to accept
into your service this gentlewoman. For her truth and honesty I will be
bound; I have known her too long to be deceived. This is the second time
I have seen her.
[Aside.]
Maid. Why, how now, my lord! a preferrer of gentlewomen to service, like an old knitting-woman? where hath she dwelt before?
Fee. She dwelt with young Bold's sister, he that is my corrival in your love. She requested me to advance her to you, for you are a dubbed lady; so is not she yet.
Well. But now you talk of young Bold—when did you see him, lady?
Fee. He quarrel? Bold? hang him, if he durst have quarrelled, the world knows he's within a mile of an oak has put him to't, and soundly. I never[101] cared for him in my life, but to see his sister: he's an ass, pox! an arrant ass; for do you think any but an arrant ass would offer to come a-wooing where a lord attempts? He quarrel!—he dares not quarrel.
Well. Ud's light, what's the matter? wring him by the nose.
Wid. A pair of riding spurs, now, were worth gold.
Maid. Pins are as good. Prick him, prick him.
Fee. O, O!
Wife. He's come again. Lift him up.
Omnes. How fares your lordship?
Well. But why, sir, did you swoon?
Fee. Well, though I die, Mister Welltried, before all these I do forgive you, because you were ignorant of my infirmity. O sir! is't not up yet? I die again! Put up, now, whilst I wink, or I do wink for ever.
Well. 'Tis up, my lord; ope your eyes: but I pray, tell me, is this antipathy 'twixt bright steel and you natural, or how grew it.
Fee. I'll tell you, sir: anything bright and edged works thus strongly with me. Your hilts, now, I can handle as boldly, look you else.
Hus.[79] Nay, never blame my lord, Master Welltried, [102] for I know a great many will swoon at the sight of a shoulder of mutton or a quarter of lamb. My lord may be excused, then, for a naked sword.
Well. This lord and this knight in dog-collars would make a fine brace of beagles.
Maid. But, on my faith, 'twas mightily over-seen of your father, not to bring you up to foils—or if he had bound you 'prentice to a cutler or an ironmonger.
Fee. Ha, pox! hang him, old gouty fool! He never brought me up to any lordly exercise, as fencing, dancing, tumbling, and such like; but, forsooth, I must write and read, and speak languages, and such base qualities, fit for none but gentlemen. Now, sir, would I tell him, "Father, you are a count, I am a lord. A pox o' writing and reading, and languages! Let me be brought up as I was born."
Sub. But how, my lord, came you first not to endure the sight of steel?
Fee. Why, I'll tell you, sir. When I was a child, an infant, an innocent[80]—
Maid. 'Twas even now.
[Aside.]
Fee. I being in the kitchen, in my lord my father's house, the cook was making minced pies: so, sir, I standing by the dresser, there lay a heap of plums. Here was he mincing: what did me I, sir, being a notable little witty coxcomb, but popped my hand just under his chopping-knife, to snatch some raisins, and so was cut o'er the hand, [103] and never since could I endure the sight of any edge-tool.
Wid. Indeed, they are not fit for you, my lord. And now you are all so well satisfied in this matter, pray, ladies, how like you this my gentlewoman?
Maid. In troth, madam, exceedingly well, I. If you be provided, pray, let me have her.
Wife. It should be my request, but that I am full.
Wid. What can you do? What's her name, my lord?
Fee. Her name? I know not. What's her name, Master Welltried?
Wel. Her name? 'Slid, tell my lady your name.
Bold. Mistress Mary Princox, forsooth.
Wid. Mistress Mary Princox. She has wit, I perceive that already. Methinks she speaks as if she were my lord's brood.
Bold. Brood, madam? 'Tis well known I am a gentlewoman. My father was a man of five hundred per annum, and he held something in capite too.
Wel. So does my lord something.
Fee. Nay, by my troth, what I hold in capite is worth little or nothing.
Bold. I have had apt breeding, however, my misfortune now makes me submit myself to service; but there is no ebb so low, but hath his tide again. When our days are at worst, they will mend in spite of the frowning destinies, for we cannot be lower than earth; and the same blind dame that hath cast her blear eyes hitherto upon my occasions may turn her wheel, and at last wind them up with her white hand to some pinnacle that prosperously may flourish in the sunshine of promotion.
Fee. O mouth, full of agility! I would give twenty marks now to any person that could teach me to convey my tongue (sans stumbling) with such dexterity to such a period. For her truth and her honesty I am bound before, but now I have heard her talk, for her wit I will be bound body and goods.
Wid. Ud's light, I will not leave her for my hood. I never met with one of these eloquent old gentlewomen before. What age are you, Mistress Mary Princox?
Bold. I will not lie, madam. I have numbered fifty-seven summers, and just so many winters have I passed.
Sub. But they have not passed you; they lie frozen in your face.
Bold. Madam, if it shall please you to entertain me, so; if not, I desire you not to misconstrue my goodwill. There's no harm done; the door's as big as it was, and your ladyship's own wishes crown your beauty with content. As for these frumping gallants, let them do their worst. It is not in man's power to hurt me. 'Tis well known I come not to be scoffed. A woman may bear and bear, till her back burst. I am a poor gentlewoman, and since virtue hath nowadays no other companion but poverty, I set the hare's head unto the goose giblets, and what I want one way, I hope I shall be enabled to supply the other.
Fee. An't please God, that thou wert not past children.
Wid. Is't even so, my lord? Nay, good Princox, do not cry. I do entertain you. How do you occupy? What can you use?
Bold. Anything fit to be put into the hands of a gentlewoman.
Wid. What are your qualities?
Bold. I can sleep on a low stool. If your ladyship be talking in the same room with any gentleman, I can read on a book, sing love-songs, look up at the loover light,[81] hear and be deaf, see and be blind, be ever dumb to your secrets, swear and equivocate, and whatsoever I spy, say the best.
Wid. O rare crone, how art thou endued! But why did Master Bold's sister put you away?
Bold. I beseech you, madam, to neglect that desire: though I know your ladyship's understanding to be sufficient to partake, or take in, the greatest secret can be imparted, yet——
Wid. Nay, prythee, tell the cause. Come, here's none but friends.
Bold. Faith, madam, heigho! I was (to confess truly) a little foolish in my last service to believe men's oaths, but I hope my example, though prejudicial to myself, will be beneficial to other young gentlewomen in service. My mistress's brother (the gentleman you named even now—Master Bold), having often attempted my honour, but finding it impregnable, vowed love and marriage to me at the last. I, a young thing and raw, being seduced, set my mind upon him, but friends contradicting the match, I fell into a grievous consumption; and upon my first recovery, lest the intended sacred ceremonies of nuptials should succeed, his sister, knowing this, thought it fit in her judgment we should be farther asunder, and so put me out of her service.
Omnes. Ha, ha, ha!
Enter hastily Seldom, with papers on his arm.
Omnes. Who's this? who's this?
Maid. This is our landlord, Master Seldom, an exceeding wise citizen, a very sufficient understanding man, and exceeding rich.
Omnes. Miracles are not ceased.
Wid. Good morrow, landlord. Where have you been sweating?
Sel. Good morrow to your honours: thrift is industrious. Your ladyship
knows we will not stick to sweat for our pleasures: how much more ought
we to sweat for our profits! I am come from Master Ingen this morning,
who is married, or to be married; and though your ladyship did not
honour his nuptials with your presence, he hath by me sent each of you a
pair of gloves, and Grace Seldom, my wife, is not forgot.
[Exit.
Omnes. God give him joy, God give him joy.
[Exeunt.[82]
Manent Husband, Wife, Subtle.
Enter Seldom [and] his wife Grace, working as in their shop.
Grace. Husband, these gloves are not fit for my wearing; I'll put 'em into the shop, and sell 'em: you shall give me a plain pair for them.
Sel. This is wonderful, wonderful! this is thy sweet care and judgment in all things: this goodness is not usual in our wives. Well, Grace Seldom, that thou art fair is nothing, that thou art well-spoken is nothing, that thou art witty is nothing, that thou art a citizen's wife is nothing; but, Grace, that thou art fair, that thou art well-spoken, that thou art witty, that thou art a citizen's wife, and that thou art honest, I say—and let any man deny it that can, it is something, it is something; I say, it is Seldom's something, and for all the sunshine of my joy, mine eyes must rain upon thee.
Enter Moll Cutpurse, with a letter.
Moll. By your leave, Master Seldom, have you done the hangers I bespake for the knight?
Sel. Yes, marry have I, Mistress hic and hæc;[88]
I'll fetch 'em to you.
[Exit.
Moll. Zounds! does not your husband know my name? if it had been somebody else, I would have called him cuckoldy slave.
Grace. If it had been somebody else, perhaps you might.
Moll. Well, I may be even with him; all's clear. Pretty rogue, I have longed to know thee [111] this twelve months, and had no other means but this to speak with thee. There's a letter to thee from the party.
Grace. What party?
Moll. The knight, Sir John Love-all.
Moll. Why, how now, Mistress What-lack-ye? are you so fine, with a pox? I have seen a woman look as modestly as you, and speak as sincerely, and follow the friars as zealously,[88] and she has been as sound a jumbler as e'er paid for't: 'tis true, Mistress Fi'penny, I have sworn to leave this letter.
Enter Seldom, with hangers.
Sel. Look you, here are the hangers.
Enter Lord Proudly.
Grace. Here's my Lord Proudly.
Proudly. My horse, lackey! is my sister Honour above?
Sel. I think her ladyship, my lord, is not well, and keeps her chamber.
Proudly. All's one, I must see her: have the other ladies dined?
Grace. I think not, my lord.
Proudly. Then I'll take a pipe of tobacco here in your shop, if it be not offensive. I would be loth to be thought to come just at dinner-time. [To his servant] Garçon! fill, sirrah.
Enter Page, with a pipe of tobacco.
What said the goldsmith for the money?
[Seldom, having fetched a candle, walks off at the other
end of the shop. Lord Proudly
sits by his wife.
Page. He said, my lord, he would lend no man money that he durst not arrest.
Proudly. How got that wit into Cheapside, trow? He is a cuckold. Saw you
my lady to-day? What says she?
[Takes tobacco.
Page. Marry, my lord, she said her old husband had a great payment to make this morning, and had not left her so much as a jewel.
Grace. Fie, fie! you talk uncivilly, my lord.
Proudly. Uncivilly, mew! Can a lord talk uncivilly? I think you, a finical taffata pipkin, may be proud I'll sit so near it. Uncivilly, mew!
Grace. Your mother's cat has kittened in your mouth, sure.
Proudly. Prythee, but note yon fellow. Does he not walk and look as if he did desire to be a cuckold?
Grace. But you do not look as if you could make him one. Now they have dined, my lord.
Enter Lord Feesimple and Welltried.
Fee. God save your lordship.
Proudly. How dost thou, coz? Hast thou got any more wit yet?
Well. Save you, my lord.
Proudly. Good Master Welltried, you can inform me: pray, how ended the quarrel betwixt young Bold and the other gentleman?
Well. Why, very fairly, my lord; on honourable terms. Young Bold was injured and did challenge him, fought in the field, and the other gave him satisfaction under his hand. I was Bold's second, and can show it here.
Well. So do not I.
Proudly. Besides, they say the satisfaction that walks in the ordinaries is counterfeit.
Fee. No, sweet Master Welltried, let's have no[115] fighting, till (as you have promised) you have rid me from this foolish fear, and taught me to endure to look upon a naked sword.
Well. Well, and I'll be as good as my word.
Fee. But do you hear, cousin Proudly? They say my old father must marry your sister Honour, and that he will disinherit me, and entail all his lordships on her and the heir he shall beget on her body. Is't true or not?
Proudly. There is such a report.
Proudly. What d'ye this afternoon?
Fee. Faith, I have a great mind to see Long Meg and the Ship at the Fortune.[90]
Proudly. Nay, i' faith, let's up and have a rest at primero.
Well. Agreed, my lord; and toward the evening I'll carry you to the company.
Fee. Well, no more words.
[Exeunt Lord Proudly, Lord Feesimple,
and Welltried.[91]
Grace. I wonder, sir, you will walk so, and let anybody sit prating to your wife. Were I a man, I'd thrust 'em out o' th' shop by the head and shoulders.
Sel. There were no policy in that, wife; so should I lose my custom. Let them talk themselves weary, and give thee love-tokens—still I lose not by it.
Enter Husband and Wife.
Hus. This is call'd marriage. Stop your mouth, you whore.
Wife. Thy mother was a whore, if I be one.
Hus. You know there's company in the house.
Enter Subtle.
Sweet friend, what, have you writ your letter?
Wife. When you know I'm a whore?
Enter Ingen, reading a letter; sits down in a chair, and stamps with his foot; to him a Servant.
Ingen. Who brought this letter?
Enter Maid, like an Irish footboy, with a dart,[94] gloves in her pocket, and a handkerchief.
Enter Ingen's Brother, like a woman, masked. Ingen kisses her.
Enter Lord Proudly, Lord Feesimple, Welltried, Seldom, Widow, Bold pinning in a ruff, Wife.
Grace. She went not out of doors.
Proudly. Sure, she has an invisible ring.
Fee. Marry, she's the honester woman, for some of their rings are visible enough, the more shame for them, still say I. Let the pond at Islington be searched: go to, there's more have drowned themselves for love this year than you are aware of.
Proudly. Pish! you are a fool.
Well. 'Sheart! call him fool again.
Fee. By this light, and I will, as soon as ever you have showed me the Swaggerers.[96]
Wife. Her clothes are all yonder, my lord.
Grace. And even those same she had on to-day.
Proudly. Madam, where is your husband?
Wife. Rid into the country.
Fee. O' my conscience, rid into France with your sister.
Omnes. Away, away; for shame!
Fee. Why, I hope she is not the first lady that has ran away with other women's husbands.
Well. It may be she's stolen out to see a play.
Proudly. Who should go with her, man?
Wid. Upon my life, you'll hear of her at Master [126] Ingen's house: some love pass'd betwixt them, and we heard that he was married to-day to another.
Proudly. 'Sheart! I'll go see.
[Exit Lord Proudly.
Well. Come to the Swaggerers.
Fee. Mercy upon me! a man or a—Lord now?
[Exeunt Lord Feesimple, Welltried.
Omnes. Here's a coil with a lord and his sister.
Wid. Princox, hast not thou pinned in that ruff yet? ha! how thou fumblest!
Bold. Troth, madam, I was ne'er brought up to it; 'tis chambermaid's
work, and I have ever lived gentlewoman, and been used accordingly.
[Exeunt.
Enter Husband and Subtle.
Enter Ingen, Maid, Lord Proudly, Brother like a woman: swords drawn.
Proudly. Give me my sister! I'll have her forth thy heart.
Enter Widow and Bold like Princox.
Wid. What's o'clock, Princox?
Bold. Bedtime, an't please you, madam.
Wid. Come, undress me. Would God had made me a man!
Bold. Why, madam?
Bold. Yet many of us, madam, are quickly undone sometime: but herein we have the advantage of men, though they can be abed sooner than we, it's a great while, when they are abed, ere they can get up.
Wid. Indeed, if they be well-laid, Princox, one cannot get them up again in haste.
Bold. O God! madam, how mean you that? I hope you know, ill things taken into a gentlewoman's ears are the quick corrupters of maiden modesty. I would be loth to continue in any service unfit for my virgin estate, or where the world should take any notice of light behaviour in the lady I follow; for, madam, the main point of chastity in a lady is to build the rock of a good opinion amongst the people by circumstances, and a fair show she must make. Si non caste, tamen caute, madam; and though wit be a wanton, madam, yet I beseech your ladyship, for your own credit[132] and mine, let the bridle of judgment be always in the chaps of it, to give it head or restrain it, according as time and place shall be convenient.
Wid. Precise and learned Princox, dost not thou go to Blackfriars?
Bold. Most frequently, madam, unworthy vessel that I am to partake or retain any of the delicious dew that is there distilled.
Wid. But why shouldst thou ask me, what I meant e'en now? I tell thee, there's nothing uttered but carries a double sense,[99] one good, one bad; but if the hearer apply it to the worst, the fault lies in his or her corrupt understanding, not in the speaker; for to answer your Latin, pravis omnia prava. Believe me, wench, if ill come into my fancy, I will purge it by speech: the less will remain within. A pox of these nice-mouthed creatures! I have seen a narrow pair of lips utter as broad a tale as can be bought for money. Indeed, an ill tale unuttered is like a maggot in a nut, it spoils the whitest kernel.
Bold. You speak most intelligently, madam.
Wid. Hast not done yet? Thou art an old fumbler, I perceive. Methinks thou dost not do things like a woman.
Bold. Madam, I do my endeavour, and the best can do no more; they that could do better, it may be would not, and then 'twere all one. But rather than be a burthen to your ladyship, I protest sincerely, I would beg my bread; therefore I beseech you, madam, to hold me excused, and let my goodwill stand for the action.
Wid. Let thy goodwill stand for the action? If goodwill would do it, there's many a lady in this land would be content with her old lord; and thou [133] canst not be a burthen to me, without thou lie upon me, and that were preposterous in thy sex. Take no exceptions at what I say. Remember you said stand even now. There was a word for one of your coat, indeed!
Bold. I swear, madam, you are very merry. God send you good luck. Has your ladyship no waters that you use at bedtime?
Wid. No, in troth, Princox.
Bold. No complexion!
Wid. None but mine own, I swear. Didst thou ever use any?
Bold. No, indeed, madam; now and then a piece of scarlet, or so; a little white and red ceruse; but, in troth, madam, I have an excellent receipt for a nightmask as ever you heard.
Wid. What is it?
Bold. Boar's grease one ounce; Jordan almonds, blanched and ground, a quartern; red rosewater, half a pint; mare's urine, newly covered, half a score drops.
Wid. Fogh! no more of thy medicine, if thou lovest me. Few of our knights-errant, when they meet a fair lady-errant in a morning, would think her face had lain so plastered all night. Thou hast had some apothecary to thy sweetheart. But, leaving this face-physic (for, by my troth, it may make others have good ones, but it makes me a scurvy one), which of all the gallants in the town wouldst thou make a husband of, if thou mightst have him for thy choosing?
Bold. In troth, madam, but you'll say I speak blindly, but let my love stand aside——
Wid. I think it not fit, indeed, your love should stand in the middle.
Bold. I say, Master Bold. O, do but mark him, madam; his leg, his hand, his body, and all his members stand in print.
Wid. Out upon thee, Princox! No. Methinks Welltried's a handsome fellow. I like not these starched gallants: masculine faces and masculine gestures please me best.
Bold. How like you Master Pert?
Wid. Fie upon him! when he is in his scarlet clothes, he looks like a man of wax, and I had as lief have a dog o' wax: I do not think but he lies in a case o' nights. He walks as if he were made of gins[100]—as if Nature had wrought him in a frame: I have seen him sit discontented a whole play, because one of the purls of his band was fallen out of his reach to order again.[101]
Bold. Why, Bold, madam, is clean contrary.
Wid. Ay, but that's as ill: each extreme is alike vicious; his careful carelessness is his study. He spends as much time to make himself slovenly, as the other to be spruce. His garters hang over upon the calves of his legs, his doublet unbuttoned, and his points untrussed; his hair in's eyes like a drunkard, and his hat, worn on the[102] hinder-part of his head, as if he cared more for his memory than his wit, makes him look as if he were distracted. Princox, I would have you lie with me: I do not love to lie alone.
Bold. With all my heart, madam.
Wid. Are you clean-skinned?
Bold. Clean-skinned, madam? there's a question! do you think I have the itch? I am an Englishwoman: I protest, I scorn the motion.
Wid. Nay, prythee, Princox, be not angry: it's a sign of honesty, I can tell you.
Bold. Faith, madam, I think 'tis but simple honesty that dwells at the sign of the scab.
Wid. Well, well, come to bed, and we'll talk further of all these
matters.
[Exit.
Enter Whorebang, Bots,[103] Tearchaps, Spillblood, and Drawer: several patches on their faces.
Tear. Damn me, we will have more wine, sirrah, or we'll down into the cellar, and drown thee in a butt of Malmsey, and hew all the hogsheads in pieces.
Whore. Hang him, rogue! shall he die as honourable as the Duke of Clarence? by this flesh, let's have wine, or I will cut thy head off, and have it roasted and eaten in Pie Corner next Bartholomew-tide.
Drawer. Gentlemen, I beseech you consider where you are—Turnbull Street—a civil place: do not disturb a number of poor gentlewomen. Master Whorebang, Master Bots, Master Tearchaps, and Master Spillblood, the watch are abroad.
Spill. The watch! why, you rogue, are not we kings of Turnbull?
Drawer. Yes, marry are ye, sir: for my part, if you'll be quiet, I'll have a sign made of ye, and it shall be called the four kings of Turnbull.
Bots. Will you fetch us wine?
Whore. And a whore, sirrah?
Drawer. Why, what d'ye think of me? am I an infidel, a Turk, a pagan, a Saracen? I have been at Bess Turnup's, and she swears all the gentlewomen went to see a play at the Fortune,[104] and are not come in yet, and she believes they sup with the players.
Tear. Damn me, we must kill all those rogues: we shall never keep a whore honest for them.
Bots. Go your ways, sirrah. We'll have but a gallon apiece, and an ounce of tobacco.
Drawer. I beseech you, let it be but pottles.[105]
Spill. 'Sheart! you rogue.
[Exit Drawer.
Enter Welltried and Lord Feesimple.
Whore. Master Welltried! welcome as my soul.
Enter Drawer, with wine, plate and tobacco.
Bots. Noble lad, how dost thou?
Spill. As welcome as the tobacco and the wine, boy.
Tear. Damn me, thou art.
Fee. Bless me (save you, gentlemen), they have not one face among 'em! I could wish myself well
from them: I would I had put out something upon my return; I had as lief be at Barmuthoes.[106]
Well. Pray, welcome this gentleman.
Spill. Is he valiant?
[Aside.
Well. Faith, he's a little faulty that way; somewhat of a bashful and
backward nature, yet I have brought him amongst you, because he hath a
great desire to be fleshed.
[Aside.
Fee. Yes, faith, sir, I have a great desire to be fleshed; now Master Welltried said he would bring me to the only fleshmongers in the town.
Well. Sir, he cannot endure the sight of steel.
[Aside.
Whore. Not steel? zounds!
[Claps his sword over the table.
Fee. Now I am going!
[Faints.
Bots. Here's to you, sir. I'll fetch you again with a cup of sack.
Fee. I pledge you, sir, and begin to you in a cup of claret.
Well. Hark you, my lord: what will you say if I make you beat all these
out of the room?
[Aside.
Fee. What will I say? why, I say it is impossible; 'tis not in mortal
man.
[Aside.]
Well. Well, drink apace: if any brave you,
outbrave him; I'll second you. They are a company
of cowards, believe me.
[Aside.]
Fee. By this light, I would they were else: if I thought so, I would be
upon the jack[107] of one of 'em instantly, that same little Damn me.
But, Master Welltried, if they be not very valiant, or dare not fight,
how came they by such cuts and gashes, and such broken faces?
[Aside.]
Well. Why, their whores strike 'em with cans and glasses, and
quart-pots: if they have nothing by 'em, they strike 'em with the pox,
and you know that will lay one's nose as flat as a basket-hilt dagger.
[Aside.]
Fee. Well, let me alone.
[Aside.]
Tear. This bully dares not drink.
Fee. Dare I not, sir?
Well. Well said; speak to him, man.
Fee. You had best try me, sir.
Spill. We four will drink four healths to four of the seven deadly sins, pride, drunkenness, wrath, and lechery.
Fee. I'll pledge 'em, and I thank you; I know 'em all. Here's one.
Whore. Which of the sins?
Fee. By my troth, even to pride.
Well. Why, well said; and in this do not you only pledge your mistress's health, but all the women's in the world.
Fee. So: now this little cup to wrath, because he and I are strangers.
Tear. Brave boy! damn me, he shall be a roarer.
Fee. Damn me, I will be a roarer, or't shall cost me a fall.
Bots. The next place that falls, pray, let him have it.
Fee. Well, I have two of my healths to drink yet—lechery and drunkenness, which even shall go together.
Well. Why, how now, my lord, a moralist?
Bots. Damn me, art thou a lord? what virtues hast thou?
Fee. Virtues? enough to keep e'er a damn-me company in England: methinks you should think it virtue enough to be a lord.
Whore. Will not you pledge these healths, Master Welltried? we'll have no observers.
Well. Why, Monsieur Whorebang? I am no playmaker[108], and, for pledging your healths, I love none of the four you drank to so well.
Spill. Zounds! you shall pledge me this.
Well. Shall I?
Fee. What's the matter? dost hear, Master Welltried, use thine own discretion; if thou wilt [140]not pledge him, say so, and let me see if e'er a damn-me of 'em all will force thee.
Spill. Puff! will your lordship take any tobacco? you lord with the white face.
Bots. Heart! he cannot put it through his nose.
Fee. Faith, you have ne'er a nose to put it through; d'ye hear I blow your face, sirrah.
Tear. You'll pledge me, sir?
Well. Indeed, I will not.
Fee. Damn me, he shall not then.[109]
Tear. Lord, use your own words, damn me is mine; I am known by it all the town o'er, d'ye hear?
Fee. It is as free for me as you, d'ye hear, Patch?[110]
Tear. I have paid more for't.
Well. Nay, I'll bear him witness in a truth: his soul lies for't,[111] my lord.
Spill. Welltried, you are grown proud since you got good clothes and
have followed your lord.
[Strikes, and they scuffle.
Whore. I have known you lousy, Welltried.
Well. Roarer, you lie.
[Draw and fight; throw pots and stools.
Drawer. O Jesu!
All Swaggerers. Zounds! cleave or be cleft: pell-mell: slash arms and legs.
Fee. Heart! let me alone with 'em.
[Break off, and exeunt all the Swaggerers.
Well. Why, now thou art a worthy wight, indeed, a Lord of Lorn.[112]
Fee. I am a madman: look, is not that one of their heads?
Well. Fie! no, my lord.
Fee. Damn me, but 'tis; I would not wish you to cross me a'purpose: if you have anything to say to me, so—I am ready.
Well. O brave lord! many a roarer thus is made by wine. Come, it is one of their heads, my lord.
Fee. Why so, then, I will have my humour. If you love me, let's go break windows somewhere.
Well. Drawer, take your plate. For the reckoning there's some of their cloaks: I will be no shot-log to such.
Drawer. God's blessing o' your heart for thus ridding the house of them.
[Exeunt.
Enter Widow undressed, a sword in her hand; and Bold in his shirt, as started from bed.
Bold. Few widows would do thus.
Wid. All modest would.
Wid. Go to: keep off; by heaven and earth, I'll call else!
Bold. How, if nobody hear you?
Bold. Why so: these women are the errantest jugglers in the world: the
wry-legged fellow is an ass to 'em. Well, I must have this widow,
what-e'er come on't. Faith, she has turned me out of her service very
barely. Hark, what's here? music?
Enter Subtle with a paper, and his Boy with a cloak.
Bold. What's that to you, sir? at a woman's labour?
Sub. Very good: I ne'er took you for a man-midwife[121] before.
Bold. The truth is, I have been up all night at
dice, and lost my clothes. Good morrow, Master Subtle. Pray God the
watch be broke up: I thank you for my music.
[Exit.
Sub. 'Tis palpable, by this air: her husband being abroad, Bold has lain with her, and is now conveyed out of doors. Is this the Lady Perfect, with a pox? The truth is, her virtuous chastity began to make me make a miracle of her still holding out to me, notwithstanding her husband's most barbarous usage of her; but now, indeed, 'tis no marvel, since another possesses her.
Enter Welltried, and Bold putting on his doublet; Feesimple asleep on a bed, as in Bold's chamber.
Well. You see, we made bold with your lodging: indeed, I did assure myself you were fast for this night.
Bold. But how the devil came this fool in your company?
Well. 'Sfoot, man, I carried him last night among the roarers to flesh him; and, by this light, he got drunk, and beat 'em all.
Bold. Why, then he can endure the sight of a drawn sword now?
Well. O God, sir, I think in my conscience he will eat steel shortly. I know not how his conversion will hold after this sleep; but, in an hour or two last night, he was grown such a little damn-me, that I protest I was afraid of the spirit that I[148] myself had raised in him. But this other matter—of your expulsion thus, mads me to the heart. Were you in bed with her?
Bold. In bed, by heaven.
Well. I'll be hanged, if you were not busy too soon: you should have let her slept first.
Bold. Zounds! man, she put her hand to my breasts, and swore I was no maid: now I, being eager to prove her words true, took that hint, and would violently have thrust her hand lower, when her thought, being swifter than my strength, made her no sooner imagine that she was betrayed, but she leaps out of the bed, whips me down a sword that hung by, and, as if fortitude and justice had met to assist her, spite of all argument, fair or foul, she forced me away.
Well. But is it possible thou shouldst have no more wit? wouldst thou come away upon any terms but sure ones, having night, her chamber, and herself naked in thine arms? By that light, if I had a son of fourteen, whom I had helped thus far, that had served me so, I would breech him.[122]
Bold. 'Sheart! what would you have me done?
Well. Have done? done? done twice at least.
Bold. Have played Tarquin, and ravished her?
Well. Pish! Tarquin was a blockhead: if he had had any wit and could have spoke, Lucrece had never been ravished; she would have yielded, I warrant thee, and so will any woman.
Bold. I was such an erroneous heretic to love and women as thou art, till now.
Well. God's precious! it makes me mad when I think on't. Was there ever such an absurd trick! now will she abuse thee horribly, say thou [149] art a faint-hearted fellow, a milksop, and I know not what, as indeed thou art.
Bold. Zounds! would you had been in my place.
Well. Zounds! I would I had, I would have so jumbled her honesty. Wouldst thou be held out at stave's end with words? dost thou not know a widow's a weak vessel, and is easily cast, if you close.
Bold. Welltried, you deal unfriendly.
Well. By this light, I shall blush to be seen in thy company.
Bold. Pray, leave my chamber.
Bots. 'Sblood! I as little for you.
Well. Why, fare you well.
Fee. [waking.] Why, Welltried, you rogue! what's that? a vision?
Bold. Why, how now, my lord? whom do you call rogue? The gentleman you name is my friend. If you were wise, I should be angry.
Fee. Angry with me? why, damn me, sir, and you be, out with your sword. It is not with me, I tell you, as it was yesterday; I am fleshed, man, I. Have you anything to say to me?
Bold. Nothing but this: how many do you think you have slain last night?
Fee. Why, five; I never kill less.
Bold. There were but four. My lord, you had best provide yourself and begone; three you have slain stark dead.
Fee. You jest!
Bold. It is most true. Welltried is fled.
Fee. Why, let the roarers meddle with me another time: as for flying, I scorn it; I killed 'em like a man. When did you ever see a lord hang for anything? We may kill whom we list. Marry, my conscience pricks me. Ah! plague a' this drink! what things it makes us do! I do no more remember this now than a puppy-dog.
O bloody lord, that art bedaub'd with gore!
Vain world, adieu, for I will roar no more.
Bold. Nay, stay, my lord: I did but try the tenderness of your conscience. All this is nothing so; but, to sweeten the tale I have for you, I foretold you this feigned mischance.
Fee. It is a tale belonging to the widow.
Bold. I think you are a witch.
Fee. My grandmother was suspected.
Bold. The widow has desired you by me to meet her to-morrow morning at
church in some unknown disguise, lest any suspect it; for, quoth she,
Long hath he held me fast in his moist hand,
Therefore I will be his in nuptial band.
Fee. Bold, I have ever taken you to be my friend. I am very wise now and valiant; if this[151] be not true, damn me, sir, you are the son of a whore, and you lie, and I will make it good with my sword.
Bold. I am whate'er you please, sir, if it be not true. I will go with you to the church myself. Your disguise I have thought on. The widow is your own. Come, leave your fooling.
Enter Maid, like the footboy; Seldom with Pitts and Donner, a couple of serjeants.
Sel. Dost thou serve the Lord Proudly?
Maid. Sir, I do.
Enter Lord Proudly, with a riding-rod.
2d Ser. Sir, we arrest you, though.
Proudly. At whose suit?
Sel. At mine, sir.
Sel. Into my house with him!
Maid. Away with him! away with him!
Enter Ingen looking on his sword, and bending it; his brother like a man.[129]
Enter Maid, like a footboy.
Enter Lord Proudly.
Enter Maid, like a footboy, running; Brother after her; Maid kneels betwixt them.
Bro. O noble lady!
Ingen. Most worthy pattern of all womenkind!
Enter Subtle, with Husband.
Sub. She is not to be cast.
Sub. Why, by my troth, I'll tell you, because you are my friend; otherwise you must note, it is a great hurt to the art of whoremastery to discover;[159] besides, the skill was never mine o' th' price.
Hus. Very good; on, sir.
Sub. At the first she was horrible stiff against me; then, sir, I took her by the hand, which I kissed.
Hus. Good, sir.
Sub. And I called her pretty rogue, and I thrust my finger betwixt her breasts, and I made lips. At last, I pulled her by the chin to me, and I kissed her.
Hus. Hum!—very good.
Sub. So at the first she kissed very strangely, close and untoward. Then said I to her, think but upon the wrongs, the intolerable wrongs, the rogue your husband does you.
Hus. Ay, that was very good: what said she to you then, sir?
Sub. Nay, I went on. First, quoth I, think how he hath used you—left you no means, given all your clothes to his punks; struck you, turned your grey eyes into black ones, but yet——
Hus. A pretty conceit!
Sub. Quoth I, these things are nothing in the rascal: think but what a base whoremaster the rascal is.
Hus. Did you call me rascal so often, are you sure?
Sub. Yes, and oftener; for, said I, none comes amiss to the rogue. I have known him, quoth I, do three lousy beggars under hedges in the riding of ten mile, and I swore this too.
Hus. 'Twas very well; but you did lie. On, pray.
Sub. Pish! one must lie a little. Now, sir, by this time she began to kiss somewhat more openly and familiarly, her resistance began to slacken, and my assault began to stiffen. The more her bulwark decayed, the more my battery fortified. At last,[160] sir, a little fumbling being passed to make the conquest more difficult, she perceiving my artillery[133] mounted, falls me flat upon her back, cries me out aloud—
Hus. Then came the hottest service. Forward with your tale, sir.
Sub. Nay,
Hus. Which is as much as to say I am a cuckold in all languages! But sure, 'tis not so? it is impossible my wife should yield.
Sub. Heyday! ev'n now it was impossible she should hold out, and now it
is impossible she should yield. Stay you but here, and be an ear-witness
to what follows. I'll fetch your wife. [Aside.] I know he will not
stay.
[Exit.
Enter Wife and Subtle.
Wife. What was that, good servant?
Sub. That you would lie with me.
Enter Husband.
Enter old Count, wrapped in furs; the Lady Honour, dressed like a bride; the Lord Proudly, Welltried, Bold, leading Feesimple like a lady masqued; Husband, Wife, Subtle, Widow; to them Brother, with a letter;[136] Seldom with his wife.
Bro. Yes, that I have—the fool, as some lords do.
Well. Set forward there.
Count. O, O, O! a pox o' this cold!
Well. A cold o' this pox, you might say, I am afraid.
Proudly. Look to my sister.
Bold. 'Sheart! the lady swoons.
Wife. Strong water there.
Fee. If strong breath would recover her, I am for her.
Well. I hope, friend, we shall have the better day.
Proudly. I'll fetch the parson and physician.
[Exit Lord Proudly.
Well. I thank your ladyship.
Fee. Look how the old ass, my father, stands: he looks like the bear in the play; he has killed the lady with his very sight.[137] As God help me, I have the most to do to forbear unmasking me, that I might tell him his own, as can be.
Bold. Fie! by no means. The widow comes towards you.
Count. O, O, O, O!
Fee. I thank you heartily.
Well. 'Sheart! speak smaller, man.
Fee. I thank you heartily.
Count. Faith, Master Welltried, troth is I love them well, but they love not me, um, um. You see what ill-luck I have with them, um, um. A pox o' this cold, still say I.
Well. Where got you this cold, my lord? it can get in nowhere, that I can see, but at your nostrils or eyes; all the other parts are so barricadoed with fur.
Fee. Sir, forbear: I have one bold enough to[166]
kiss my lips. O old coxcomb! kiss thine own natural son: 'tis worse than
a Justice's lying with his own daughter. But, Master Welltried, when
will the widow break this matter to me?
[Count sits in a chair, and falls asleep.
Well. Not till the very close of all: she dissembles it yet, because my lord, your father, is here, and her other suitor Bold.
Fee. That's all one; he's o' th' plot o' my side.
Enter Ingen, like a doctor: a Parson, Brother, Lord Proudly, Seldom, Mistress Seldom, Husband, Wife, and Subtle.
Wid. How cheers she, pray?
Wife. In troth, exceeding ill.
Mrs Sel. A very weak woman indeed she is, and surely I think cannot 'scape it.
Hus. Did you mark how she eyed the physician?
Wife. O God, ay, she is very loth to die.
Mrs Sel. Ay; that's ne'er the better sign, I can tell you.
Count. Um, um, um! I beshrew you for waking of me; now shall I have such a fit of coughing, um, um!—
Bold. O hapless wife, that shall have thee, that either must let thee sleep continually, or be kept waking herself by the cough.
Wid. You have a proper gentleman to your son, my lord: he were fitter for this young lady than you.
Well. D'ye mark that again?
Fee. O sweet widow!
Count. He a wife! he a fool's head of his own.
Fee. No, of my father's.
Count. What should he do with a —— um, um!
Wife. What, with a cough? why, he would spit, and that's more than you can do.
Proudly. Your bride, my lord, is dead.
Count. Marry, ev'n God be with her; grief will not help it: um, um, um!
Bro. A most excellent spouse.
Bold, Wid., Well., Fee. Heyday!
Hus., Wife, Sel., Mrs Sel., Sub. How now?
[Looking in at the window.
Fee. Look, look! the parson joins the doctor's hand and hers: now the doctor kisses her, by this light! [Omnes whoop.] Now goes his gown off. Heyday! he has red breeches on. Zounds! the physician is got o' th' top of her: belike, it is the mother she has. Hark! the bed creaks.[140]
Proudly. 'Sheart, the door's fast! break 'em open! We are betrayed.
[A curtain drawn, a bed discovered: Ingen with his sword in his hand and a pistol: the lady in her petticoat: the Parson.
Fee. Ay, sir; but you do not know what kindred she may have.
Omnes. Come, come, there is no remedy.
Ingen. Come, come, 'tis but getting of me knighted, my lord, and I shall become your brother well enough.
Omnes. Whoop! God give you joy.
Count. 'Slight! I am cosened of all sides; I had good hope of the widow myself; but now I see everybody leaves me, saving um, um, um!
Bold. Troth, my lord, and that will stick by you, I warrant.
Wid. But how, sir, shall we salve this gentlewoman?
Bold. Hang her, whore.
Well. Fie! you are too uncivil.
Fee. Whore in thy face, I do defy thy taunts.
Omnes. If he be so contented.
Count. With all my heart.
Bold. Then kiss your spouse.
Count. 'Sfoot! she has a beard. How now! my son?
Omnes. 'Tis the Lord Feesimple!
[Feesimple unmasks.
Fee. Father, lend me your sword. You and I are made a couple of fine fools, are we not? If I were not valiant now, and meant to beat 'em all, here would lie a simple disgrace upon us, a Feesimple one, indeed. Mark now, what I'll say to 'em. D'ye hear me, my masters? Damn me, ye are all the son of a whore, and ye lie, and I will[172] make it good with my sword. This is called roaring, father.
Sub. I'll not meddle with you, sir.
Proudly. You are my blood.
Well. And I flesh'd you, you know.
Bold. And I have a charge coming, I must not fight now.
Fee. Has either of you anything to say to me?
Hus. Not we, sir.
Bro. Yes, marry have I, sir.
Fee. Then I have nothing to say to you, for that's the fashion. Father, if you will come away with your cough, do. Let me see, how many challenges I must get writ. You shall hear on me, believe it.
Fee. Why, then, all friends. I thought you would not have had the manners to bid us stay dinner neither.
OR,
(1.) Greenes Tu quoque, Or, the Cittie Gallant. As it hath beene diuers times acted by the Queenes Maiesties Seruants. Written by Io. Cooke Gent. Printed at London for Iohn Trundle. 1614. 4°. Woodcut on title.
(2.) Greenes Tu quoque, Or the Cittie Gallant ... Printed at London for Thomas Dewe and are to be sold at his Shop in Saint Dunstons Church-yard in Fleetstreet. 1622. 4°.
(3.) Greenes Tu Quoque, Or, the Cittie Gallant. As it hath beene divers times acted by the Queenes Majesties Servants. Written by Jo. Cooke Gent. Printed at London by M. Flesher. 4°.[143]
John Cook, the author of this play, is totally unknown. No contemporary writer has taken the least notice of him, nor has any biographer since given the slightest account of his life. All that we are informed of is, that he wrote the following dramatic performance. Langbaine,[144] and the writers since, ascribe the first title of it to the excellent performance of Thomas Green in the part of Bubble, whose universal repartee to all compliments is Tu quoque. Green was both a writer and actor,[145] and with great probability[146] is supposed to have
been a relation of Shakespeare's, and the person by whom he was introduced to the theatre. He was born at Stratford-upon-Avon, which is ascertained by the following lines,[147] spoken by him in one of the old comedies, in the character of a clown:—
This passage is quoted by Chetwood from the "Two Maids of Moreclack," where it is not to be found, though it seems to be a genuine extract; and the writer, by whom it was produced, had perhaps forgotten whence he transcribed it. Heywood, who published this play, says in the preface to it:—"As for Master Greene, all that I will speak of him (and that without flattery) is this: there was not an actor of his nature in his time of better ability in performance of what he undertook, more applauded by the audience, of greater grace at the court, or of more general love in the city." From this preface it appears Green was dead when it was written, and Oldys[148] says there are three epitaphs upon him in Braithwaite's "Remains after Death," 1618, by which it seems that he died after being newly arrived from sea.[149] He was the author of "A Poets Vision and a [177]Princes Glorie. Dedicated to the high and mightie Prince James, King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland," 4°, 1603; and some verses prefixed to [the reprint in octavo of] Drayton's poem on the Barons' Wars. I have seen only two editions of this comedy, one without a date, and the other in 1614, which I apprehend was about the time it was originally published. Chetwood, upon whom no dependence is to be had with respect to dates, asserts it was printed in 1599.[150] As it is said to have been acted by the Queen's servants, it probably appeared on the stage in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. [There is an entry in the office-book of the Master of the Revels under date of Twelfth Night, 1624, showing that "the masque being put off,
and the Prince only there, "Tu Quoque," by the Queen of Bohemia's servants, "was acted in its stead."[151]] Langbaine says it was revived after the Restoration at the theatre in Little Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.
"Green's Tu Quoque" is mentioned in "The World's Folly," by I. H., 1615, which contains a general attack on the stage. It would also seem, from the subsequent passage, as if Green the actor had performed the part of a baboon:—
"'Vos quoque' *[or, 'Tu quoque,' opposite the asterisk in the margin] and you also who, with Scylla-barking, Stentor-throated bellowings, flash-choaking squibbles of absurd vanities into the nosthrils of your spectators; barbarously diverting nature and defacing Gods owne image by metamorphosing humane shape *[Greenes Baboon in the margin opposite the asterisk] into bestiall forme."
To gratulate the love and memory of my worthy friend the author, and my entirely beloved fellow the actor, I could not choose, being in the way just when this play was to be published in print, but to prefix some token of my affection to either in the frontispiece of the book. For the gentleman that wrote it, his poem itself can better speak his praise than any oratory from me. Nor can I tell whether this work was divulged with his consent or no; but, howsoever, it hath passed the test of the stage with so general an applause, pity it were but it should likewise have the honour of the press. As for Master Green, all that I will speak of him (and that without flattery) is this (if I were worthy to censure), there was not an actor of his nature, in his time, of better ability in performance of what he undertook, more applauded by the audience, of greater grace at the court, or of more general love in the city: and so with this brief character of his memory I commit him to his rest.
Thomas Heywood.
| Sir Lionel Rash. |
| Old Geraldine. |
| Geraldine. |
| Will Rash. |
| Spendall. |
| Staines. |
| Bubble. |
| Longfield. |
| Balance. |
| Scattergood. |
| Ninnihammer. |
| Master Blank. |
| Pursenet. |
| Lodge. |
| Holdfast. |
| Fox. |
| Gatherscrap. |
| Baskethilt. |
| Sprinkle. |
| Prisoners. |
| Drawers, &c. |
| Women. |
| Gertrude. |
| Joyce. |
| Phillis. |
| Widow. |
| Sweatman, a bawd. |
| Nan Tickleman, a whore. |
A mercer's shop discovered, Gertrude working in it; Spendall walking by the shop. Master Balance walking over the stage. After him Longfield and Geraldine.
Spend. What lack you, sir? fair stuffs or velvets?
Bal. Good morrow, Frank.
Spend. Good morrow, Master Balance.
Gera. Save you, Master Longfield.
Long. And you, sir. What business draws you towards this end o' th' town?
Gera. Faith, no great serious affairs; only a stirring humour to walk, and partly to see the beauties of the city: but it may be you can instruct me. Pray, whose shop's this?
Long. Why, 'tis Will Rash's father's: a man you are well acquainted with.
Enter a Wench with a basket of linen.
Gera. As with yourself: and is that his sister?
Long. Marry, is it, sir?
Gera. Pray, let us walk: I would behold her better.
Wench. Buy some coifs, handkerchiefs, or very good bonelace, mistress?
Gert. None.
Wench. Will you buy any handkerchiefs, sir?
Spend. Yes. Have you any fine ones?
Wench. I'll show you choice: please you look, sir?
Spend. How now! what news?
Wench. Mistress Tickleman has sent you a letter, and expects your
company at night: and entreats you to send her an angel, whether you can
come, or whether you cannot.
[Spendall reads.
Sweet rascal; if your love be as earnest as your protestation, you will
meet me this night at supper: you know the rendezvous. There will be
good company; a noise of choice fiddlers;[153] a fine boy with an
excellent voice; very good songs, and bawdy; and, which is more, I do
purpose myself to be exceeding merry; but if you come not, I shall pout
myself sick, and not eat one bit to-night,
Your continual close friend,
Nan Tickleman.
I pray send me an angel by the bearer, whether ye can come, or whether ye cannot.
Spend. What's the price of these two?
Wench. Half a crown, in truth.
Spend. Hold thee; there's an angel, and commend me to my delight; tell
her I will not fail her, though I lose my freedom by't.
[Aside.
Wench. I thank you, sir. Buy any fine handkerchiefs?
[Exit Wench.
Long. You are taken, sir, extremely: what's the object?
Gera. She's wondrous fair.
Long. Nay, and your thoughts be on wenching, I'll leave you.
Spend. What lack you, gentlemen? fine stuffs, velvets, or satins? pray, come near.
Gera. Let me see a good satin.
Spend. You shall, sir. What colour?
Gera. Faith, I am indifferent. What colour most affects you, lady?
Gert. Sir!
Gera. Without offence, fair creature, I demand it.
Gert. You relish too much courtier, sir.
Long. What's the price of this?
Spend. Fifteen,[154] indeed, sir.
Long. You set a high rate on't; it had need be good.
Spend. Good! if you find a better i' th' town, I'll give you mine for nothing. If you were my own brother, I'd put it into your hands. Look upon't; 'tis close-wrought, and has an excellent gloss.
Long. Ay, I see't.
Spend. Pray, sir, come into the next room: I'll show you that of a lower price shall perhaps better please you.
Long. This fellow has an excellent tongue: sure, he was brought up in the Exchange.
Spend. Will you come in, sir?
Long. No; 'tis no matter, for I mean to buy none.
Gera. Prythee, walk in; what you bargain for, I'll discharge.
Long. Say so? fall to your work, I'll be your chapman.
[Exeunt Spendall, Longfield.
Gera. Why do you say I flatter?
Gera. Leave with me first some comfort.
Gert. What would you crave?
Gera. That which I fear you will not let me have.
Gert. You do not know my bounty. Say what 'tis?
Gera. No more, fair creature, than a modest kiss.
Enter Spendall and Longfield.
Spend. Will you have it for thirteen shillings and sixpence? I'll fall to as low a price as I can, because I'll buy your custom.
Long. How now, man? what, entranced?
Gera. Good sir, ha' you done?
Long. Yes, faith, I think as much as you, and 'tis just nothing. Where's the wench?
Gera. She's here, sir, here.
[Points to his heart.
Long. Ud's pity! unbutton, man, thou'lt stifle her else.
Gera. Nay, good sir, will you go?
Long. With all my heart; I stay but for you.
Spend. Do you hear, sir?
Long. What say you?
Spend. Will you take it for thirteen?
Long. Not a penny more than I bid.
[Exeunt Geraldine and Longfield.
Spend. Why, then, say you might have had a good bargain. Where's this boy to make up the wares? Here's some ten pieces opened, and all to no purpose.
Enter Boy.
Boy. O Frank! shut up shop, shut up shop!
Spend. Shut up shop, boy? Why?
Boy. My master is come from the court knighted, and bid us; for he says he will have the first year of the reign of his knighthood kept holiday: here he comes.
Enter Sir Lionel Rash.
Spend. God give your worship joy, sir.
Sir L. Rash. O Frank! I have the worship now in the right kind; the sword of my knighthood sticks still upon my shoulders, and I feel the blow in my purse; it has cut two leather bags asunder. But all's one, honour must be purchased. I will give over my city coat, and betake myself to the court jacket. As for trade, I will deal in't no longer; I will seat thee in my shop, and it shall be[186] thy care to ask men what they lack: my stock shall be summed up, and I will call thee to an account for it.
Enter Staines.
Staines. There is a devil has haunted me these three years, in likeness of an usurer: a fellow that in all his life never ate three groat loaves out of his own purse, nor ever warmed him but at other men's fires; never saw a joint of mutton in his own house these four-and-twenty years, but always cosened the poor prisoners, for he always bought his victuals out of the alms-basket; and yet this rogue now feeds upon capons, which my tenants send him out of the country; he is landlord, forsooth, over all my possessions. Well, I am spent;[187] and this rogue has consumed me. I dare not walk abroad to see my friends, for fear the serjeants should take acquaintance of me: my refuge is Ireland or Virginia:[155] necessity cries out, and I will presently to West Chester.
Enter Bubble.
Bub. Affection, sir, will burst out.
Staines. Thou hast been a faithful servant to me. Go to thy uncle, he'll give thee entertainment: tell him, upon the stony rock of his merciless heart my fortunes suffer shipwreck.
Bub. I will tell him he is an usuring rascal, and one that would do the commonwealth good if he were hanged.
Staines. Which thou hast cause to wish for; thou art his heir, my affectionate Bubble.
Bub. But, master, wherefore should we be parted?
Staines. Because my fortunes are desperate, thine are hopeful.
Bub. Why, but whither do you mean to go, master?
Staines. Why, to sea.
Bub. To sea! Lord bless us, methinks I hear of a tempest already. But what will you do at sea?
Staines. Why, as other gallants do that are spent, turn pirate.
Bub. O master, have the grace of Wapping [188] before your eyes, remember a high tide;[156] give not your friends cause to wet their handkerchiefs. Nay, master, I'll tell you a better course than so; you and I will go and rob my uncle; if we 'scape, we'll domineer together; if we be taken, we'll be hanged together at Tyburn; that's the warmer gallows of the two.
Enter Messenger.
Mes. By your leave, sir, whereabouts dwells one Master Bubble?
Bub. Do you hear, my friend? do you know Master Bubble, if you do see him?
Mes. No, in truth, do I not.
Bub. What is your business with Master Bubble?
Mes. Marry, sir, I come with welcome news to him.
Bub. Tell it, my friend: I am the man.
Mes. May I be assured, sir, that your name is Master Bubble?
Bub. I tell thee, honest friend, my name is Master Bubble, Master Bartholomew Bubble.
Mes. Why then, sir, you are heir to a million; for your uncle, the rich usurer, is dead.
Bub. Pray thee, honest friend, go to the next haberdasher's, and bid him send me a new melancholy hat, and take thou that for thy labour.
Mes. I will, sir.
[Exit.
Enter another Messenger hastily, and knocks.
Bub. Umh. umh, umh!
Staines. I would the news were true: see how my little Bubble is blown up with't!
Bub. Do you hear, my friend; for what do you knock there?
2D Mes. Marry, sir, I would speak with the worshipful Master Bubble.
Bub. The worshipful! and what would you do with the worshipful Master Bubble? I am the man.
2D Mes. I cry your worship mercy then: Master Thong, the belt-maker,
sent me to your worship, to give you notice that your uncle is dead, and
that you are his only heir.
[Exit.
Enter Master Blank.
Staines. Certainly this news is true; for see another: by this light, his scrivener! Now, Master Blank, whither away so fast?
Blank. Master Staines, God save you. Where is your man?
Staines. Why, look you, sir; do you not see him?
Blank. God save the right worshipful Master Bubble; I bring you heavy news with a light heart.
Bub. What are you?
Blank. I am your worship's poor scrivener.
Bub. He is an honest man, it seems, for he hath both his ears.
Blank. I am one that your worship's uncle committed some trust in for the putting out of his money, and I hope I shall have the putting out of yours.
Bub. The putting out of mine! Would you have the putting out of my money?
Blank. Yea, sir.
Bub. No, sir, I am old enough to put out my own money.
Blank. I have writings of your worship's.
Staines. As thou lov'st thy profit, hold thy tongue; thou and I will
confer.
[Aside.]
Bub. Do you hear, my friend? Can you tell me when and how my uncle died?
Blank. Yes, sir; he died this morning, and he was killed by a butcher.
Bub. How! by a butcher?
Blank. Yes indeed, sir; for going this morning into the market to cheapen meat, he fell down stark dead, because a butcher asked him four shillings for a shoulder of mutton.
Bub. How, stark dead! and could not aqua vitæ fetch him again?
Blank. No, sir; nor rosa solis neither; and yet there was trial made of both.
Bub. I shall love aqua vitæ and rosa solis the better while I live.
[Aside.
Staines. Will it please your worship to accept of my poor service? you know my case is desperate; I beseech you that I may feed upon your bread, though it be of the brownest, and drink of your drink, though it may be of the smallest; for I am humble in body and dejected in mind, and will do your worship as good service for forty shillings a year as another shall for three pounds.
Bub. I will not stand with you for such a matter, because you have been my master; but otherwise I will entertain no man without some knight's or lady's letter for their behaviour. Gervase, I take it, is your Christian name?
Staines. Yes, if it please your worship.
Bub. Well, Gervase, be a good servant, and you shall find me a dutiful
master; and because you have been a gentleman, I will entertain you for
my tutor in behaviour. Conduct me to my palace.
[Exeunt omnes.
Enter Geraldine, as in his study, reading.
Enter Will Rash and Longfield.
W. Rash. How now! what have we here? a sonnet and a satire, coupled together like my lady's dog and her monkey?
Gera. Prythee, away: by the deepest oath that can be sworn, thou shalt not read it; by our friendship I conjure thee! prythee, let go.
W. Rash. Now, in the name of Cupid, what want'st thou? a pigeon, a dove, a mate, a turtle? Dost thou love fowl, ha?
Prythee, let me know what she is thou lovest, that I may shun her if I should chance to meet her.
Long. Why, I'll tell you, sir, what she is, if you do not know.
W. Rash. No, not I, I protest.
Long. Why, 'tis your sister.
W. Rash. How! my sister?
Long. Yes, your eldest sister.
W. Rash. Now God bless the man: he had better choose a wench that has been bred and born in an alley: her tongue is a perpetual motion; thought is not so swift as it is; and, for pride, the woman that had her ruff poked by the devil is but a puritan to her.[158] Thou couldst never have fastened[193] thy affection on a worse subject; she'll flout
faster than a court waiting-woman in progress[159]; any man that comes in the way of honesty does she set her mark upon, that is, a villanous jest; for she is a kind of poetess, and will make ballads upon the calves of your legs. I prythee, let her alone, she'll never make a good wife for any man, unless it be a leather-dresser; for perhaps he in time may turn her.
Long. No more words, as you fear a challenge.
W. Rash. I may tell thee in thine ear, I am glad to hear what I do; I pray God send her no worse husband, nor he no worse wife.
Enter Spendall, Nan Tickleman, Sweatman, Pursenet, and a Drawer.
Spend. Here's a spacious room to walk in: sirrah, set down the candle, and fetch us a quart of ipocras[161], and so we'll part.
Sweat. Nay, faith, son, we'll have a pottle; let's ne'er be covetous in our young days.
Spend. A pottle, sirrah; do you hear?
Drawer. Yes, sir, you shall.
Spend. How now, wench! how dost?
Tickle. Faith, I am somewhat sick; yet I should be well enough if I had a new gown.
Spend. Why, here's my hand; within these three days thou shalt have one.
Sweat. And will you, son, remember me for a new forepart? by my troth, my old one is worn so bare, I am ashamed anybody should see't.
Spend. Why, did I ever fail of my promise?
Sweat. No, in sincerity, didst thou not.
Enter Drawer.
Drawer. Here's a cup of rich ipocras.
[Exit.
Spend. Here, sister, mother, and Master Pursenet: nay, good sir, be not so dejected; for, by this wine, to-morrow I will send you stuff for a new suit, and as much as shall line you a cloak clean through.
Purse. I thank you, and shall study to deserve——
Spend. Here, boy, fill, and hang that curmudgeon, that's good for nobody but himself.
Purse. Heroicly spoken, by this candle! 'tis pity thou wert not made a lord.
Spend. A lord? by this light, I do not think but to be Lord Mayor of London before I die, and have three pageants carried before me, besides a ship and an unicorn. 'Prentices may pray for that time; for whenever it happens, I will make another Shrove Tuesday[162] for them.
Enter Drawer.
Drawer. Young Master Rash has sent you a quart of Malaga[163].
Spend. Master Rash! zounds! how does he know that I am here?
Drawer. Nay, I know not, sir.
Spend. Know not! it comes through you and your rascally glib-tongued
companions. 'Tis my[197] master's son: a fine gentleman he is, and a
boon companion: I must go see him.
[Exit Spendall.
Sweat. Boy, fill us a cup of your malaga, we'll drink to Master Spendall in his absence: there's not a finer spirit of a citizen within the walls. Here, Master Pursenet, you shall pledge him.
Purse. I'll not refuse it, were it puddle: by Styx, he is a bountiful gentleman, and I shall report him so. Here, Mistress Tickleman, shall I charge you?
Tickle. Do your worst, serjeant: I'll pledge my young Spendall a whole sea, as they say: fa, la, la, la, la! Would the music were here again; I do begin to be wanton. Ipocras, sirrah, and a dry biscuit! Here, bawd, a carouse!
Sweat. Bawd, i' faith! you begin to grow light i' the head. I pray no more such words; for, if you do, I shall grow into distempers.
Tickle. Distempers! hang your distempers; be angry with me, and thou dar'st. I pray, who feeds you, but I? who keeps thy feather-beds from the brokers, but I? 'tis not your sausage-face, thick, clouted[164] cream-rampallion[165] at home, that snuffles in the nose like a decayed bagpipe.
Purse. Nay, sweet Mistress Tickleman, be concordant; reverence antiquity.
Enter Rash, Longfield, and Spendall.
Rash. Save you, sweet creatures of beauty, save you: how now, old Beelzebub, how dost thou?
Sweat. Beelzebub! Beelzebub in thy face!
Spend. Nay, good words, Mistress Sweatman: he's a young gallant; you must not weigh what he says.
Rash. I would my lamentable complaining lover had been here: here had been a supersedeas for his melancholy; and, i' faith, Frank, I am glad my father has turned over his shop to thee. I hope I, or any friend of mine, shall have so much credit with thee, as to stand in thy books for a suit of satin.
Spend. For a whole piece, if you please; any friend of yours shall command me to the last remnant.
Rash. Why, God-a-mercy, Frank; what, shall's to dice?
Spend. Dice or drink: here's forty crowns: as long as that will last—anything.
Rash. Why, there spoke a gingling boy.
Spend. A pox of money! 'tis but rubbish; and he that hoards it up is but a scavenger. If there be cards i' the house, let's go to primero.
Rash. Primero! why, I thought thou hadst not been so much gamester as to play at it.
Spend. Gamester! to say truth, I am none; but what is it I will not be in good company? I will fit myself to all humours; I will game with a gamester, drink with a drunkard, be civil with a citizen, fight with a swaggerer, and drab with a whoremaster.
Enter a Swaggerer, puffing.
Rash. An excellent humour, i' faith.
Long. Zounds! what have we here?
Spend. A land-porpoise, I think.
Rash. This is no angry, nor no roaring boy, but a blustering boy: now, Æolus defend us! what puffs are these?
Swag. I do smell a whore.
Drawer. O gentlemen, give him good words; he's one of the roaring boys.
Swag. Rogue!
Drawer. Here, sir.
Swag. Take my cloak, I must unbuckle; my pickled oysters work; puff, puff!
Spend. Puff, puff!
Swag. Dost thou retort—in opposition stand?
Spend. Out, you swaggering rogue! zounds, I'll kick him out of the room!
[Beats him away.
Tickle. Out, alas! their naked tools are out.
Spend. Fear not, sweetheart; come along with me.
[Exeunt omnes.
Enter Gertrude sola.
Enter Joyce.
Joyce. Now the boy with the bird-bolt[166] be praised! Nay, faith, sister, forward: 'twas an excellent passion.[167] Come, let's hear, what is he? If he be a proper man, and have a black eye, a smooth chin, and a curled pate, take him, wench; if my father will not consent, run away with him, I'll help to convey you.
Gert. You talk strangely, sister.
Joyce. Sister, sister, dissemble not with me, though you do mean to dissemble with your lover. Though you have protested to conceal your affection, by this tongue, you shall not; for I'll discover all, as soon as I know the gentleman.
Gert. Discover! what will you discover?
Joyce. Marry, enough, I'll warrant thee. First and foremost, I'll tell him thou read'st love-passions in print, and speakest every morning without book to thy looking-glass: next, that thou never sleepest till an hour after the bellman: that, as soon as thou art asleep, thou art in a dream, and in a dream thou art the kindest and comfortablest bed-fellow for kissings and embracings: by this hand, I cannot rest for thee: but our father——
Enter Sir Lionel.
Sir Lionel. How now! what are you two consulting on? On husbands? You think you lose time, I am sure; but hold your own a little, girls; it shall not be long ere I'll provide for you: and for you, Gertrude, I have bethought myself already.
Joyce. Nothing; but that I wish his Christian name were Water.[168]
Enter a Servant.
Joyce. Sister, sister!
Gert. What say you, sister?
Joyce. Shall I provide a cord?
Gert. A cord! what to do?
Joyce. Why, to let thee out at the window. Do not I know that thou wilt run away with the gentleman for whom you made the passion, rather than endure this same Bubble that my father talks of? 'Twere good you would let me be of your counsel, lest I break the neck of your plot.
Joyce. You say well, sister; but it is not good to linger out too long; continuance of time will take away any man's stomach in the world. I hope the next time that he comes to you I shall see him.
Gert. You shall.
Joyce. Why, go to then: you shall have my opinion of him. If he deserve
thee, thou shalt delay him no longer; for if you cannot find in your
heart to tell him you love him, I'll sigh it out for you. Come, we
little creatures must help one another.
[Exeunt.
Enter Geraldine.
Enter Gertrude and Joyce aloft.
Joyce. Do you hear, sir?
Gert. Why, sister, what will you do?
Joyce. By my maidenhead, an oath which I ne'er took in vain, either go down and comfort him, or I'll call him up and disclose all. What, will you have no mercy, but let a proper man, that might spend the spirit of his youth upon yourself, fall into a consumption? for shame, sister!
Gert. You are the strangest creature—what would you have me do?
Joyce. Marry, I would have you go to him, take him by the hand, and gripe him; say, You are welcome, I love you with all my heart, you are the man must do the feat; and take him about the neck, and kiss upon the bargain.
Gert. I'll lose his company for ever first.
Joyce. Do you hear, sir? here is a gentlewoman would speak with you.
Gert. Why, sister! pray, sister——
Joyce. One that loves you with all her heart, yet is ashamed to confess it.
Gert. Good sister, hold your tongue: I will go down to him.
Joyce. Do not jest with me; for, by this hand, I'll either get him up, or go down myself, and read the whole history of your love to him.
Gert. If you forbear to call, I will go down.
Joyce. Let me see your back, then; and hear you, do not use him scurvily: you were best unset all your tyrannical looks, and bid him lovingly welcome, or, as I live, I'll stretch out my voice again. Ud's foot, I must take some pains, I see, or we shall never have this gear cotten;[170] but, to say truth, the fault is in my melancholy monsieur; for if he had but half so much spirit as he has flesh, he might have boarded her by this. But see, yonder she marches; now a passion on his side of half an hour long: his hat is off already, as if he were begging one poor pennyworth of kindness.
Enter Gertrude below.
Gera. Shall I presume, fair mistress, on your hand to lay my unworthy lip?
Joyce. Fie upon him! I am ashamed to hear him; you shall have a country fellow at a maypole go better to his work. He had need to be constant, for he is able to spoil as many maids as he shall fall in love withal.
Gert. Sir, you profess love unto me; let me entreat you it may appear but in some small request.
Gera. Let me know it, lady, and I shall soon effect it.
Gera. I am gone, lady.
Joyce. Do you hear, sir?
Gera. Did you call?
Joyce. Look up to the window.
Gera. What say you, gentlewoman?
Gert. Nay, pray sir, go; it is my sister calls to hasten you.
Joyce. I call to speak with you; pray, stay a little.
Gera. The gentlewoman has something to say to me.
Gert. She has nothing. I do conjure you, as you love me, stay not.
[Exit Joyce.
Gera. The power of magic cannot fasten me; I am gone.
Enter Joyce below.
Gert. Yes, if you'll stay.
Joyce. If I stir a foot, hang me; you shall come together yourselves, and be naught. Do what you will; for if e'er I trouble myself again, let me want help in such a case when I need.
Gert. Nay, but prythee, sister, be not angry.
Joyce. I will be angry. Ud's foot! I cannot endure such foolery, I! Two bashful fools that would couple together, and yet ha' not the faces.
Gert. Nay, prythee, sweet sister!
Joyce. Come, come, let me go. Birds, that want the use of reason and speech, can couple together in one day; and yet you, that have both, cannot conclude in twenty.
Gert. Why, what good would it do you to tell him?
Joyce. Do not talk to me, for I am deaf to anything you say. Go, weep and cry.
Gert. Nay, but sister——
[Exeunt.
Enter Staines and Drawer with wine.
Drawer. I will, sir.
[Exit Drawer.
Staines. That I should live to be a servingman! a fellow which scalds his mouth with another man's porridge; brings up meat for other men's bellies, and carries away the bones for his own; changes his clean trencher for a foul one, and is glad of it. And yet did I never live so merry a life when I was my master's master as now I do, being man to my man. And I will stand to't, for all my former speeches, a servingman lives a better life than his master; and thus I prove it: The saying is, the nearer the bone the sweeter the flesh; then must the servingman needs eat the sweeter flesh, for he always picks the bones. And again, the proverb says, the deeper the sweeter. There has the servingman the advantage again, for he drinks still in the bottom of the pot. He fills his belly, and never asks what's to pay; wears broadcloth, and yet dares walk Watling Street,[171] without any fear of his draper. And for his colours, they are according to the season; in the summer, he is apparelled (for the most part) like the heavens, in blue; in winter, like the earth, in frieze.
Enter Bubble, Sir Lionel Longfield, and Sprinkle.
But see, I am prevented in my encomium. I could have maintained this theme this two hours.
Sir Lionel. Well, God rest his soul, he is gone, and we must all follow him.
Bub. Ay, ay, he's gone, Sir Lionel, he's gone,
Sir Lionel. Why, though he be gone, what then? 'Tis not you that can fetch him back again,[208] with all your cunning. It must be your comfort that he died well.
Bub. Truly, and so it is. I would to God I had e'en another uncle that would die no worse; surely I shall weep again, if I should find my handkerchief.
Long. How now! what are these, onions?
Bub. Ay, ay, Sir Lionel, they are my onions; I thought to have had them roasted this morning for my cold. Gervase, you have not wept to-day; pray, take your onions. Gentlemen, the remembrance of death is sharp, therefore there is a banquet within to sweeten your conceits. I pray, walk in, gentlemen, walk you in; you know I must needs be melancholy, and keep my chamber. Gervase, usher them to the banquet.
Staines. I shall, sir. Please you, Sir Lionel?
Sir Lionel. Well, Master Bubble, we'll go in and taste of your bounty.
In the meantime, you must be of good cheer.
[Gentlemen and Gervase go out.
Sprin. Sir.
Bub. Had the women puddings to their dole?[172]
Sprin. Yes, sir.
Bub. And how did they take 'em?
Sprin. Why, with their hands. How should they take 'em?
Bub. O thou Hercules of ignorance! I mean, how were they satisfied?
Sprin. By my troth, sir, but so-so; and yet some of them had two.
Bub. O insatiable women, whom two puddings would not satisfy! But
vanish, Sprinkle; bid your fellow Gervase come hither.
[Exit Sprinkle.
Enter Staines.
It is needful a gentleman should speak Latin sometimes, is it not, Gervase?
Staines. O, very graceful, sir; your most accomplished gentlemen are known by it.
Bub. Why, then will I make use of that little I have upon times and occasions. Here, Gervase, take this bag, and run presently to the mercer's; buy me seven ells of horse-flesh-coloured taffata, nine yards of yellow satin, and eight yards of[210] orange-tawny velvet. Then run to the tailor's, the haberdasher's, the sempster's, the cutler's, the perfumer's, and to all trades whatsoever, that belong to the making up of a gentleman; and, amongst the rest, let not the barber be forgotten: and look that he be an excellent fellow, and one that can snap his fingers with dexterity.[174]
Staines. I shall fit you, sir.
Bub. Do so, good Gervase: it is time my beard were corrected, for it is grown so saucy, as it begins to play with my nose.
Staines. Your nose, sir, must endure it; for it is in part the fashion.
Bub. Is it in fashion? why, then my nose shall endure it, let it tickle his worst.
Staines. Why, now y' are i' the right, sir; if you will be a true gallant, you must bear things resolute. As thus, sir; if you be at an ordinary, and chance to lose your money at play, you must not fret and fume, tear cards, and fling away dice, as your ignorant gamester or country-gentleman does; but you must put on a calm, temperate action, with a kind of careless smile in contempt of fortune, as not being able with all her engines to batter down one piece of your estate, that your means may be thought invincible. Never tell your money: nor what you have won, nor what you have lost. If a question be made, your answer must be: What I have lost, I have lost; what I have won, I have won. A close heart and free hand make a man admired: a testern or a shilling to a servant that brings you a glass of beer, binds [211] his hands to his lips: you shall have more service of him than his master; he will be more humble to you than a cheater before a magistrate.
Bub. Gervase, give me thy hand: I think thou hast more wit than I, that am thy master; and for this speech only I do here create thee my steward. I do long, methinks, to be at an ordinary: to smile at fortune, and to be bountiful. Gervase, about your business, good Gervase, whilst I go and meditate upon a gentleman-like behaviour. I have an excellent gait already, Gervase, have I not?
Staines. Hercules himself, sir, had never a better gait.
Bub. But despatch, Gervase: the satin and the velvet must be thought
upon, and the Tu quoque must not be forgotten; for whensoever I give
arms, that shall be my motto.
[Exit Bubble.
Staines. What a fortune had I thrown upon me when I preferred myself into this fellow's service! Indeed, I serve myself, and not him; for this gold here is my own, truly purchased: he has credit, and shall run i' th' books for't. I'll carry things so cunningly, that he shall not be able to look into my actions. My mortgage I have already got into my hands: the rent he shall enjoy awhile, till his riot constrain him to sell it; which I will purchase with his own money. I must cheat a little: I have been cheated upon. Therefore I hope the world will a little the better excuse me. What his uncle craftily got from me, I will knavishly recover of him. To come by it, I must vary shapes, and my first shift shall be in satin.
Enter Spendall, Pursenet, and a Boy with rackets.
Spend. A rubber, sirrah.
Boy. You shall, sir.
Spend. And bid those two men you said would speak with me come in.
Boy. I will, sir.
[Exit Boy.
Spend. Did I not play this set well?
Enter Blank and another.
Purse. Excellent well: by Phaeton, by Erebus, it went as if it had cut the line.
Blank. God bless you, sir.
Spend. Master Blank, welcome.
Blank. Here's the gentleman's man, sir, has brought the money.
Ser. Will't please you tell it, sir?
Spend. Have you the bond ready, Master Blank?
Blank. Yes, sir.
Blank. The thirteenth of the next month.
Spend. 'Tis well: here's light gold.
Ser. 'Twill be the less troublesome to carry.
Spend. You say well, sir; how much hast thou told?
Purse. In gold and silver, here is twenty pounds.
Blank. 'Tis right, Master Spendall, I'll warrant you.
Blank. You give this as your deed?
Spend. Marry do I, sir.
Blank. Pleaseth this gentleman to be a witness?
Spend. Yes, marry shall he. Pursenet, your hand.
Purse. My hand is at thy service, noble Brutus.
Spend. There's for your kindness, Master Blank.
Blank. I thank you, sir.
Blank. I'll take my leave of you.[176]
Spend. What, must you be gone too, Master Blank?
Blank. Yes, indeed, sir; I must to the Exchange.
[Exit.
Purse. The butcher and the baker then shall stay.
Spend. They must, till I am somewhat stronger pursed.
Purse. If this be all, I have my errand perfect.
[Exit Pursenet.
Spend. Here, sirrah, here's for balls; there's for yourself.
Boy. I thank your worship.
Spend. Commend me to your mistress.
[Exit.
Boy. I will, sir. In good faith, 'tis the liberall'st gentleman that
comes into our court: why, he cares no more for a shilling than I do for
a box o' th' ear, God bless him.
[Exit.
Enter Staines gallant, Longfield, and a Servant.
Staines. Sirrah, what o'clock is't?
Ser. Past ten, sir.
Staines. Here will not be a gallant seen this hour.
Ser. Within this quarter, sir, and less: they meet here as soon as at any ordinary in th' town.
Staines. Hast any tobacco?
Ser. Yes, sir.
Staines. Fill.
Long. Why, thou report'st miracles, things not to be believed: I protest to thee, hadst thou not unripped thyself to me, I should never have known thee.
Staines. I tell you true, sir; I was so far gone, that desperation knocked at my elbow, and whispered news to me out of Barbary.[177]
Long. This morning at his chamber; he'll be here.
Staines. Why, then, do thou give him my name and character, for my aim is wholly at my worshipful master.
Long. Nay, thou shalt take another into him: one that laughs out his life in this ordinary, thanks any man that wins his money: all the while his money is losing, he swears by the cross of this silver; and, when it is gone, he changeth it to the hilts of his sword.
Enter Scattergood and Ninnihammer.
Staines. He'll be an excellent coach-horse for my captain.
Scat. Save you, gallants, save you.
Long. How think you now? have I not carved him out to you?
Staines. Thou hast lighted me into his heart; I see him thoroughly.
Scat. Ninnihammer!
Nin. Sir.
Scat. Take my cloak and rapier also: I think it be early. Gentlemen, what time do you take it to be?
Staines. Inclining to eleven, sir.
Scat. Inclining! a good word. I would it were inclining to twelve, for by my stomach it should be high noon. But what shall we do, gallants? shall we to cards till our company come?
Long. Please you, sir.
Scat. Harry, fetch some cards; methinks 'tis an unseemly sight to see gentlemen stand idle. Please you to impart your smoke?
Long. Very willingly, sir.
Scat. In good faith, a pipe of excellent vapour.
Long. The best the house yields.
Scat. Had you it in the house? I thought it[217] had been your own: 'tis not so good now as I took it to be.[178] Come, gentlemen, what's your game?
Staines. Why, gleek; that's your only game.
Scat. Gleek let it be, for I am persuaded I shall gleek some of you. Cut, sir.
Long. What play we? twelvepence gleek?
Scat. Twelvepence? a crown: ud's foot! I will not spoil my memory for twelvepence.
Long. With all my heart.
Staines. Honour.
Scat. What is't, hearts?
Staines. The king! what say you?
Long. You must speak, sir.
Scat. Why, I bid thirteen.
Staines. Fourteen.
Scat. Fifteen.
Staines. Sixteen.
Long. Sixteen, seventeen.
Staines. You shall ha't for me.
Scat. Eighteen.
Long. Take it to you, sir.
Scat. Ud's life! I'll not be outbraved.
Staines. I vie it.
Long. I'll none of it.
Scat. Nor I.
Staines. Give me a murnival of aces and a gleek of queens.
Long. And me a gleek of knaves.
Scat. Ud's life! I'm gleeked this time.
Enter Will Rash.
Staines. Play.
W. Rash. Equal fortunes befall you, gallants.
Scat. Will Rash: well, I pray see what a vile game I have.
W. Rash. What's your game—gleek?
Scat. Yes, faith, gleek; and I have not one court card but the knave of clubs.
W. Rash. Thou hast a wild hand, indeed. Thy small cards show like a troop of rebels, and the knave of clubs their chief leader.
Scat. And so they do, as God save me: by the cross of this silver, he says true.
Enter Spendall.
Staines. Pray, play, sir.
Long. Honour.
W. Rash. How go the stocks, gentlemen? what's won or lost?
Staines. This is the first game.
Scat. Yes, this is the first game; but, by the cross of this silver, here's all of five pounds.
Spend. Good day to you, gentlemen.
W. Rash. Frank, welcome, by this hand; how dost, lad?
Spend. And how does thy wench, faith?
W. Rash. Why, fat and plump, like thy geldings; thou giv'st them both good provender, it seems. Go to, thou art one of the madd'st wags of a citizen i' th' town: the whole company talks of thee already.
Spend. Talk! why, let 'em talk; ud's foot! I pay scot and lot, and all manner of duties else, as well as the best of 'em. It may be they understand I keep a whore, a horse, and a kennel of hounds; what's that to them? no man's purse opens for it but mine own; and so long my hounds shall eat flesh, my horse bread, and my whore wear velvet.
W. Rash. Why, there spoke a courageous boy.
Spend. Ud's foot! shall I be confined all the days of my life to walk under a pent-house? No, I'll take my pleasure whilst my youth affords it.
Scat. By the cross of these hilts, I'll never play at gleek again, whilst I have a nose on my face: I smell the knavery of the game.
Spend. Why, what's the matter? who has lost?
Scat. Marry, that have I. By the hilts of my sword, I have lost forty crowns in as small time almost as a man might tell it.
Spend. Change your game for dice: we are a full number for Novem.[179]
Scat. With all my heart. Where's Master Ambush the broker? Ninnihammer.
Nin. Sir.
Scat. Go to Master Ambush, and bid him send me twenty marks upon this diamond.
Enter Bubble.
Nin. I will, sir.
Long. Look ye, to make us merrier, who comes here?
W. Rash. A fresh gamester? Master Bubble, God save you.
Bub. Tu quoque.
Staines. Save you, sir.
Bub. Et tu quoque.
Long. Good Master Bubble.
Bub. Et tu quoque.
Scat. Is your name Master Bubble?
Bub. Master Bubble is my name, sir.
Scat. God save you, sir.
Bub. Et tu quoque.
Scat. I would be better acquainted with you.
Bub. And I with you.
Scat. Pray, let us salute again.
Bub. With all my heart, sir.
Long. Behold yonder the oak and the ivy, how they embrace.
W. Rash. Excellent acquaintance! they shall be the Gemini.
Bub. Shall I desire your name, sir.
Scat. Master Scattergood.
Bub. Of the Scattergoods of London.
Scat. No indeed, sir. Of the Scattergoods of Hampshire.
Bub. Good Master Scattergood.
Staines. Come, gentlemen, here's dice.
Scat. Please you, advance to the table?
Bub. No indeed, sir.
Scat. Pray, will you go?
Bub. I will go, sir, over the world for your sake, but in courtesy I will not budge a foot.
Enter Ninnihammer.
Nin. Here is the cash you sent me for: and, Master Rash, here is a letter from one of your sisters.
Spend. I have the dice; set, gentlemen.
Long. From which sister?
W. Rash. From the madcap, I know by the hand.
Spend. For me, six.
Omnes. And six that.
Staines. Nine; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8: eighteen shillings.
Spend. What's yours, sir?
Scat. Mine's a baker's dozen. Master Bubble, tell your money.
Bub. In good faith, I am but a simple gamester, and do not know what to do.
Scat. Why, you must tell your money, and he'll pay you.
Bub. My money! I do know how much my money is, but he shall not pay me; I have a better conscience than so: what, for throwing the dice twice? i' faith, he should have but a hard bargain of it.
W. Rash. Witty rascal! I must needs away.
Long. Why, what's the matter?
W. Rash. Why, the lovers cannot agree: thou shalt along with me, and know all.
Long. But first let me instruct thee in the condition of this gentleman: whom dost thou take him to be?
W. Rash. Nay, he's a stranger, I know him not.
Long. By this light, but you do, if his beard were off: 'tis Staines.
W. Rash. The devil it is as soon! and what's his purpose in this disguise?
Long. Why, cheating; do you not see how he plays upon his worshipful master and the rest?
W. Rash. By my faith, he draws apace.
Spend. A pox upon these dice! give's a fresh bale.[180]
Bub. Ha, ha! the dice are not to be blamed; a
man may perceive this is no gentlemanly gamester, by his chafing. Do you hear, my friend? fill me a glass of beer, and there's a shilling for your pains.
Drawer. Your worship shall, sir.
W. Rash. Why, how now, Frank! what hast lost?
Spend. Fifteen pounds and upwards: is there never an honest fellow?
Amb. What, do you lack money, sir?
Spend. Yes, canst furnish me?
Amb. Upon a sufficient pawn, sir.
Spend. You know my shop; bid my man deliver you a piece of three-pile velvet, and let me have as much money as you dare adventure upon't.
Amb. You shall, sir.
Spend. A pox of this luck! it will not last [for] ever. Play, sir, I'll set you.
W. Rash. Frank, better fortune befall thee; and, gentlemen, I must take my leave, for I must leave you.
Scat. Must you needs be gone?
W. Rash. Indeed I must.
Bub. Et tu quoque?
Long. Yes, truly.
Scat. At your discretions, gentlemen.
W. Rash. Farewell.
[Exeunt Rash and Longfield.
Staines. Cry you mercy, sir. I am chanced with you all. Gentlemen: here I have 7, here 7, and here 10.
Spend. 'Tis right, sir, and ten that.
Bub. And nine that.
Staines. Two fives at all.
[Draws all.
Bub. One and five that.
Spend. Hum! and can a suit of satin cheat so grossly? By this light,
there's nought on one die but fives and sixes. I must not be thus
gulled.
[Aside.
Bub. Come, Master Spendall, set.
Spend. No, sir, I have done.
Scat. Why, then let us all leave, for I think dinner's near ready.
Drawer. Your meat's upon the table.
Scat. On the table! come, gentlemen, we do our stomachs wrong. Master Bubble, what have you lost.
Bub. That's no matter: what I have lost, I have lost; nor can I choose but smile at the foolishness of the dice.
Staines. I am but your steward, gentlemen; for after dinner I may restore it again.
Bub. Master Scattergood, will you walk in?
Scat. I'll wait upon you, sir. Come, gentlemen, will you follow?
[Exeunt. Spendall and Staines.
Staines. Yes, sir, I'll follow you.
Spend. Hear you, sir, a word.
Staines. Ten, if you please.
Spend. I have lost fifteen pounds.
Staines. And I have found it.
Staines. Dar'st thou resist? thou art no citizen.
Spend. I am a citizen.
Staines. I accept it: the meeting-place?
Spend. Beyond the Maze in Tuttle.[182]
Staines. What weapon?
Spend. Single rapier.
Staines. The time?
Spend. To-morrow.
Staines. The hour?
Spend. 'Twixt nine and ten.
Staines. 'Tis good; I shall expect you. Farewell.
Spend. Farewell, sir.
[Exeunt omnes.
Enter Will Rash, Longfield, and Joyce.
W. Rash. Why, I commend thee, girl; thou speak'st as thou think'st. Thy tongue and thy
heart are relatives; and thou wert not my sister, I should at this time fall in love with thee.
Joyce. You should not need, for, and you were not my brother, I should fall in love with you, for I love a proper man with my heart, and so does all the sex of us, let my sister dissemble never so much. I am out of charity with these nice and squeamish tricks. We were born for men, and men for us; and we must together.
W. Rash. This same plain-dealing is a jewel in thee.
Joyce. And let me enjoy that jewel, for I love plain-dealing with my heart.
W. Rash. Th' art a good wench, i' faith. I should never be ashamed to call thee sister, though thou shouldst marry a broom-man. But your lover, methinks, is over-tedious.
Enter Geraldine.
Joyce. No, look ye, sir; could you wish a man to come better upon his cue?[183] Let us withdraw.
W. Rash. Close, close, for the prosecution of the plot, wench. See, he prepares.
Joyce. Silence.
Enter Gertrude aloft.
Gert. Sir, your music is so good, that I must say I like it: but the bringer so ill-welcome, that I could be content to lose it. If you played for money, there 'tis; if for love, here's none; if for goodwill, I thank you, and, when you will, you may be gone.
Gert. Sir, rest thus satisfied; my mind was never woman, never altered;
nor shall it now begin: so fare you well.
[Exit Gertrude.
W. Rash. 'Sfoot, she plays the terrible tyrannising Tamberlane over him.
This it is to turn Turk; from a most absolute, complete gentleman to a
most absurd, ridiculous, and fond lover.
[Aside.]
Long. O, when a woman knows the power and authority of her
eye!——
[Aside.]
Joyce. Fie upon her! she's good for nothing then, no more than a jade
that knows his own strength. The window is clasped; now, brother, [227]
pursue your project, and deliver your friend from the tyranny of my
domineering sister.
[Aside.]
W. Rash. Do you hear, you drunkard in love? Come into us, and be ruled. You would little think that the wench that talked so scurvily out of the window there is more enamoured on thee than thou on her. Nay, look you now: see if he turn not away, slighting our good counsel. I am no Christian if she do not sigh, whine, and grow sick for thee. Look you, sir: I will bring you in good witness against her.
Long. A good observation, by my faith.
Enter Gertrude above.
Gert. How now, brother; why call you with such terror?
Gera. I guess what you'd have me do.
Long. O, for a little blood to besprinkle him!
W. Rash. No matter for blood, I'll not suffer her to come near him till the plot have ta'en his full height.
Gera. A scarf o'er my face, lest I betray myself.
Enter Gertrude below.
W. Rash. Yonder lies Geraldine.
Gert. What now?
W. Rash. But one kiss—no more.
Gert. Why, then, no more.
W. Rash. No? I'll try that. [Aside.] Come, dead man, awake! up with your bag and baggage, and let's have no more fooling.
Gert. And lives my Geraldine?
Joyce. Spare me not: for wheresoever I set my[231] affection, although it be upon a collier, if I fall back, unless it be in the right kind, bind me to a stake, and let me be burned to death with charcoal.
W. Rash. Well, thou art a mad wench, and there's no more to be done at this time, but, as we brought you together, so to part you: you must not lie at rack and manger; there be those within that will forbid the banns: time must shake good-fortune by the hand before you two must be great; 'specially you, sister. Come, leave swearing.
Gert. Must we then part?
W. Rash. Must you part! why, how think you? ud's foot! I do think we
shall have as much to do to get her from him as we had to bring her to
him. This love of women is of strange quality, and has more tricks than
a juggler.
[Aside.]
Gert. But this, and then farewell.
Gera. Thy company[189] is heaven, thy absence hell.
Enter Spendall and Staines. Tothill Fields.
Enter Sir Lionel and a Servant.
Sir Lionel. Come, come, follow me, knave, follow me; I have the best nose i' the house, I think: either we shall have rainy weather, or the vault's unstopped. Sirrah, go see; I would not have my guests smell out any such inconvenience. Do you hear, sirrah Simon?
Ser. Sir.
Sir Lionel. Bid the kitchen-maid scour the sink, and make clean her backside, for the wind lies just upon't.
Ser. I will, sir.
Sir Lionel. And bid Anthony put on his white
fustian doublet, for he must wait to-day.
[Exit
Servant.] It doth me so much good to stir and talk, to place this and
displace that, that I shall need no apothecaries' prescriptions. I have
sent my daughter this morning as far as Pimlico,[190] to
[234]
fetch a draught of Derby ale,[191] that it may fetch a
colour in her cheeks: the puling harlotry looks so pale, and it is all
for want of a man, for so their mother would say (God rest her soul)
before she died.
[Exit.
Enter Bubble, Scattergood, Staines, and Servant.
Ser. Sir, the gentlemen are come already.
Sir Lionel. How, knave? the gentlemen?
Ser. Yes, sir: yonder they are.
Sir Lionel. God's precious! we are too tardy: let one be sent presently to meet the girls, and hasten their coming home quickly. How, dost thou stand dreaming! [Exit Servant.] Gentlemen, I see you love me, you are careful of your hour; you may be deceived in your cheer, but not in your welcome.
Bub. Thanks, and Tu quoque is a word for all.
Scat. A pretty concise room; Sir Lionel, where are your daughters?
Sir Lionel. They are at your service, sir, and forthcoming.
Bub. God's will, Gervase! how shall I behave myself to the gentlewomen?
Staines. Why, advance yourself toward them with a comely step; and in your salute be careful you strike not too high nor too low: and afterward, for your discourse, your Tu quoque will bear you out.
Bub. Nay, and that be all, I care not, for I'll set a good face on't, that's flat: and for my nether parts, let them speak for themselves. Here's a leg; and ever a baker in England show a better, I'll give him mine for nothing.
Staines. O, that's a special thing that I must caution you of.
Bub. What, sweet Gervase?
Staines. Why, for commending yourself: never, whilst you live, commend yourself; and then you shall have the ladies themselves commend you.
Bub. I would they would else.
Staines. Why, they will, I'll assure you, sir; and the more vilely you speak of yourself, the more will they strive to collaud you.
Enter Gertrude and Joyce.
Bub. Let me alone to dispraise myself: I'll make myself the errantest coxcomb within a whole country.
Bub. Is this the eldest, sir?
Sir Lionel. Yes, marry is she, sir.
Bub. I'll kiss the youngest first, because she likes me best.[192]
Scat. Marry, sir, and whilst you are there, I'll be here. [Kisses the elder.] O delicious touch! I think in conscience her lips are lined quite through with orange-tawny velvet.
Bub. They kiss exceeding well; I do not think but they have been brought up to't. I will begin to her, like a gentleman, in a set speech. Fair lady, shall I speak a word with you?
Joyce. With me, sir?
Joyce. Very good, sir.
Bub. Do—do—do.
Joyce. What do they do?
Bub. By my troth, lady, I do not know; for to say truth, I am a kind of an ass.
Joyce. How, sir? an ass?
Bub. Yes, indeed, lady.
Joyce. Nay, that you are not.
Joyce. Why, here's a gentleman, your friend, will not say so.
Bub. I' faith, but he shall: how say you, sir? Am not I an ass?
Bub. Pray, look upon me, lady.
Joyce. So I do, sir.
Bub. Ay, but look upon me well, and tell me if ever you saw any man look so scurvily as I do?
Joyce. By my faith, 'tis a pretty four-square leg.
Bub. Ah! now she comes to me. [Aside.] My behaviour! alas, alas! 'tis clownical; and my discourse is very bald—bald; you shall not hear me break a good jest in a twelvemonth.
Joyce. No, sir? why, now you break a good jest.
Bub. No, I want the bon jour and the Tu quoques which yonder gentleman has. There's a bob for him too. [Aside.] There's a gentleman, an you talk of a gentleman!
Joyce. Who, he? he's a coxcomb, indeed.
Bub. We are sworn brothers, in good faith, lady.
Enter Servant.
Scat. Yes, in truth, we are sworn brothers, and do mean to go both alike, and to have horses alike.
Joyce. And they shall be sworn brothers, too?
Scat. If it please them, lady.
Ser. Master Balance the goldsmith desires to speak with you.
Sir Lionel. Bid him come, knave.
Scat. I wonder, Sir Lionel, your son, Will Rash, is not here.
Sir Lionel. Is he of your acquaintance, sir?
Scat. O, very familiar: he struck me a box o' th' ear once, and from thence grew my love to him.
Enter Balance.
Sir Lionel. It was a sign of virtue in you, sir; but he'll be here at dinner. Master Balance, what makes you so strange? Come, you're welcome; what's the news?
Bal. None at all, sir; for he's already laid to be arrested by some that I know.
Enter Will Rash and Geraldine.
Sir Lionel. Go to; no more of this at this time. What, sir, are you come?
W. Rash. Yes, sir; and have made bold to bring a guest along.
Sir Lionel. Master Geraldine's son of Essex?
Gera. The same, sir.
Sir Lionel. You're welcome, sir; when will your father be in town?
Gera. 'Twill not be long, sir.
Sir Lionel. I shall be glad to see him when he comes.
Gera. I thank you, sir.
W. Rash. And how does my little Asinus and his Tu quoque, here? O, you pretty sweet-faced rogues! that for your countenances might be Alexander and Lodwick.[193] What says the old [240] man to you! will't be a match? shall we call brothers?
Scat. I' faith, with all my heart: if Mistress Gertrude will, we will be married to-morrow.
Bub. 'Sfoot, if Mistress Joyce will, we'll be married to-night.
W. Rash. Why, you courageous boys, and worthy wenches made out of wax! But what shall's do when we have dined? shall's go see a play?
Scat. Yes, faith, brother, if it please you: let's go see a play at the Globe.
Bub. I care not; any whither, so the clown have a part; for, i' faith, I am nobody without a fool.
Gera. Why, then, we'll go to the Red Bull: they say Green's a good clown.
Bub. Green! Green's an ass.
Scat. Wherefore do you say so?
Bub. Indeed, I ha' no reason; for they say he is as like me as ever he can look.
Scat. Well, then, to the Bull.
W. Rash. A good resolution!—continue it: nay, on.
Bub. Not before the gentlewomen; not I, never.
W. Rash. O, while you live, men before women: custom hath placed it so.
Bub. Why, then, custom is not so mannerly as I would be.
[Exeunt Bubble and Scattergood.
W. Rash. Farewell, Master Scattergood. Come, lover, you're too busy here. I must tutor ye: cast not your eye at the table on each other; my father will spy you without spectacles; he is a shrewd observer. Do you hear me?
Gera. Very well, sir.
W. Rash. Come, then, go we together; let the wenches alone. Do you see yonder fellow?
Gera. Yes; prythee, what is he?
Joyce. What mean you, sister?
Joyce. Nay, prythee, leave this jesting; I am out of the vein.[194]
Gert. Ay, but I am in. Go and speak to your lover.
Joyce. I'll first be buried quick.
Gert. How! ashamed? 'Sfoot, I trow, "if I had set my affection on a collier, I'd ne'er fall back, unless it were in the right kind: if I did, let me be tied to a stake, and burnt to death with charcoal."[195]
Joyce. Nay, then, we shall have't.
Gert. Yes, marry shall you, sister: will you speak to him?
Joyce. No.
Gert. Do you hear, sir? here's a gentlewoman would speak with you.
Joyce. Why, sister! I pray, sister——
Gert. One that loves you with all her heart, yet is ashamed to confess it.
Staines. Did you call, ladies?
Joyce. No, sir; here's no one called.
Gert. Yes, sir, 'twas I; I called to speak with you.
Joyce. My sister's somewhat frantic; there's no regard to be had unto her clamours. Will you yet leave? I' faith, you'll anger me.
Gert. Passion: "come back, fool; lover, turn again and kiss your bellyful; here's one will stand ye."[196]
Staines. What does this mean, trow?
Joyce. Yet is your humour spent?
Gert. Come, let me go: "birds that want the [243] use of reason and of speech can couple together in one day; and yet you, that have both, cannot conclude in twenty."[197] Now, sister, I am even with you, my venom is spit. As much happiness may you enjoy with your lover as I with mine. And droop not, wench, nor never be ashamed of him; the man will serve the turn, though he be wrapped in a blue coat, I'll warrant him; come.
Joyce. You are merrily disposed, sister.
[Exeunt wenches.
Enter Spendall, Sweatman, and Tickleman.
Tickle. Will my sweet Spendall be gone, then?
Spend. I must, upon promise; but I'll be here at supper: therefore, Mistress Sweatman, provide us some good cheer.
Sweat. The best the market will yield.
Spend. Here's twenty shillings; I protest I have left myself but a crown for my spending-money: for indeed I intend to be frugal, and turn good husband.
Tickle. Ay, marry will you; you'll to play again and lose your money, and fall to fighting; my very heart trembles to think on it; how, if you had been killed in the quarrel? of my faith, I had been but a dead woman.
Spend. Come, come, no more of this; thou dost but dissemble.
Spend. Away, away; prythee, no more. Farewell.
Spend. Thou art a loving rascal; farewell.
Sweat. You will not fail supper?
Spend. You have my word; farewell.
[Exit.
The street. Enter Serjeants.
1st Ser. Sir, we arrest you.
Spend. Arrest me! at whose suit?
2d Ser. Marry, there's suits enough against you, I'll warrant you.
1st Ser. Come, away with him.
Spend. Stay, hear me a word.
2d Ser. What do you say?
Sweatman's house. Another part of the street.
Enter Pursenet.
Tickle. How now, Pursenet? why com'st in such haste?
Tickle. How! his ware seized on? Thou dost but jest, I hope.
1st Ser. What say you, fellow Gripe, shall we take his forty shillings?
2d Ser. Yes, faith; we shall have him again within this week.
[Aside.
1st Ser. Well, sir, your forty shillings; and we'll have some compassion on you.
Ser. What, where the women are?
Spend. Yes, sir.
[They walk together to the house.
Sweat. Look yonder, if the ungracious rascal be not coming hither betwixt two serjeants: he thinks, belike, that we'll relieve him; let us go in and clap the doors against him.
Purse. It is the best course, Mistress Tickleman.
Ser. Zounds, do you mock us, to bring us to these women, that do not know you?
Sweat. Is he your prisoner, gentlemen?
Ser. Yes, marry is he.
Sweat. Out upon him, wicked villain, how he blasphemes!
Purse. He will be damn'd for turning heretic.
Sweat. Well, if men did rightly consider't, they should find that whores and bawds are profitable members in a commonwealth; for indeed, though we somewhat impair their bodies, yet we do good to their souls; for I am sure, we still bring them to repentance.
Purse. By Dis, and so we do.
Sweat. Come, come, will you dis before? thou art one of them that I
warrant thee will, be hanged, before thou wilt repent.
[Exeunt.
Enter Will Rash, Staines, and Geraldine.
W. Rash. Well, this love is a troublesome thing. Jupiter, bless me out of his fingers; there's no estate can rest for him: he runs through all countries, will travel through the Isle of Man in a minute; but never is quiet till he comes into Middlesex, and there keeps his Christmas: 'tis his habitation, his mansion, from whence he'll never out till he be fired.
Gera. Well, do not tyrannise too much, lest one day he make you know his deity, by sending a shaft out of a sparkling eye shall strike so deep into your heart, that it shall make you fetch your breath short again.
W. Rash. And make me cry, O eyes, no eyes, but two celestial stars![201] A pox on't, I'd as lief hear a fellow sing through the nose. How now, wench?
Enter Gertrude.
Gert. Keep your station: you stand as well for the encounter as may be: she is coming on; but as melancholy as a bass-viol in concert.
W. Rash. Which makes thee as sprightly as the treble. Now dost thou play thy prize: here's the honourable science, one against another. Do you hear, lover; the thing is done you wot of; you shall have your wench alone without any disturbance; now if you can do any good, why so; the silver game be yours; we'll stand by and give aim,[202] and halloo, if you hit the clout.
Staines. A task! what, to win a woman, and have opportunity? I would that were a task, i' faith, for any man that wears his wits about him. Give me but half an hour's conference with the coldest creature of them all; and if I bring her not into a fool's paradise, I'll pull out my tongue, and hang it at her door for a draw-latch. Ud's foot! I'd ne'er stand thrumming of caps for the matter; I'll quickly make trial of her. If she love to have her beauty praised, I'll praise it; if her wit, I'll commend it; if her good parts, I'll exalt them. No course shall 'scape me; for to whatsoever I saw her inclined, to that would I fit her.
W. Rash. But you must not do thus to her; for she's a subtle, flouting rogue, that will laugh you out of countenance, if you solicit her seriously. [250] No, talk me to her wantonly, slightly, and carelessly, and perhaps so you may prevail as much with her as wind does with a sail—carry her whither thou wilt, bully.
Enter Joyce.
Staines. Well, sir, I'll follow your instruction.
W. Rash. Do so: and see, she appears. Fall you two off from us; let us two walk together.
W. Rash. Sister, you're well met. Here's a gentleman desires to be acquainted with you.
Joyce. See, the servingman is turned a gentleman! That villanous wench,
my sister, has no mercy. She and my brother have conspired together to
play upon me; but I'll prevent their sport; for, rather than my tongue
shall have scope to speak matter to give them mirth, my heart shall
break.
[Aside.]
"By the faith of a soldier, lady, I do reverence the ground that you walk upon. I will fight with him that dares say you are not fair; stab him that will not pledge your health, and with a dagger pierce a vein,[204] to drink a full health to you; but it shall be on this condition, that you shall speak first." Ud's foot! if I could but get her to talk once half my labour were over; but I'll try her in another vein. "What an excellent creature is a woman without a tongue! but what a more excellent creature is a woman that has a tongue, and can hold her peace! but how much more excellent and fortunate a creature is that man that has that woman to his wife!" This cannot choose but mad her; and if anything make a woman talk, 'tis this. It will not do, though, yet. I pray God they have not gulled me. But I'll try once again—
Staines. Not a syllable. Night nor sleep is not more silent. She's as dumb as Westminster Hall in the long vacation.
W. Rash. Well, and what would you have me do?
Staines. Why, make her speak.
W. Rash. And what then?
Staines. Why, let me alone with her.
W. Rash. Ay, so you said before; give you but opportunity, and let you alone—you'd desire no more. But come, I'll try my cunning for you; see what I can do. How do you, sister? I am sorry to hear you are not well. This gentleman tells me you have lost your tongue; I pray, let's see. If you can but make signs whereabout you lost it, we'll go and look for't. In good faith, sister, you look very pale; in my conscience, 'tis for grief. Will you have any comfortable drinks sent for? This is not the way [Aside]; come, walk, seem earnest in discourse, cast not an eye towards her, and you shall see weakness work itself.
Staines. A cast suit, lady?
W. Rash. Well, what would you have me do?
Staines. Why, make her hold her tongue.
W. Rash. And what then?
Staines. Why, then, let me alone again.
W. Rash. This is very good, i' faith: first give thee but opportunity, and let thee alone; then make her but speak, and let thee alone; now make her hold her tongue, and then let thee alone[255] By my troth, I think I were best to let thee alone indeed: but come, follow me; the wild cat shall not carry it so away. Walk, walk, as we did.
Have I not been always a kind sister to you, and in signs and tokens showed it? Did I not send money to you at Cambridge, when you were but a freshman? wrought you purses and bands; and since you came to th' inns-o'-court, a fair pair of hangers? Have you not taken rings from me, which I have been fain to say I have lost when you had pawned them; and yet was never beholden to you for a pair of gloves?
Joyce. And yet you, to join with my sister against me, send one here to play upon me, whilst you laugh and leer, and make a pastime on me. Is this brotherly done? No, it is barbarous; and a Turk would blush to offer it to a Christian. But I will think on't, and have it written in my heart, when it hath slipped your memories.
W. Rash. When will your tongue be weary?
Joyce. Never.
[Here they two talk and rail what they list; and then Will Rash speaks to Staines.
[Here they all three, talk, and Joyce gives over, weeping, and Exit.
Enter Gertrude and Geraldine.
Gera. Alas! she's spent, i' faith: now the storm's over.
W. Rash. Ud's foot! I'll follow her, as long as I have any breath.
Gert. Nay, no more now, brother; you have no compassion; you see she cries.
Staines. If I do not wonder she could talk so long, I am a villain. She eats no nuts, I warrant her; 'sfoot, I am almost out of breath with that little I talked: well, gentle brothers, I might say (for she and I must clap hands upon't) a match for all this. Pray, go in; and, sister, salve the matter, collogue with her again, and all shall be well: I have a little business that must be thought upon, and 'tis partly for your mirth, therefore let me not (though absent) be forgotten: farewell.
W. Rash. We will be mindful of you, sir; fare you well.
Gera. How now, man! what, tired, tired?
W. Rash. Zounds, and you had talked as much as I did, you would be
tired, I warrant. What, is she gone in? I'll to her again, whilst my
tongue is warm: and if I thought I should be used to this exercise, I
would eat every morning an ounce of licorish.[207]
[Exeunt.
Enter Lodge, the master of the prison, and Holdfast, his man.
Lodge. Have you summed up those reckonings?
Hold. Yes, sir.
Lodge. And what is owing me?
Hold. Thirty-seven pound, odd money.
Lodge. How much owes the Frenchman?
Hold. A fortnight's commons.
Lodge. Has Spendall any money?
Hold. Not any, sir; and he has sold all his clothes.
Enter Spendall.
Hold. I will, sir. Master Spendall, my master has sent to you for money.
Spend. Money! why does he send to me? Does he think I have the philosopher's stone, or I can clip, or coin? How does he think I can come by money?
Hold. Faith, sir, his occasions are so great, that he must have money, or else he can buy no victuals.
Spend. Then we must starve, belike. Ud's foot, thou see'st I have nothing left that will yield me two shillings.
Hold. If you have no money, you'd best remove into some cheaper ward.
Spend. What ward should I remove in?
Hold. Why, to the twopenny ward; it's likeliest to hold out with your means; or, if you will, you may go into the hole, and there you may feed, for nothing.
Spend. Ay, out of the alms-basket, where charity appears in likeness of a piece of stinking fish, such as they beat bawds with when they are carted.
Hold. Why, sir, do not scorn it; as good men as yourself have been glad to eat scraps out of the alms-basket.
Enter Fox.
Hold. Well, sir, your malapertness will get you nothing.—Fox!
Fox. Here.
Hold. A prisoner to the hole: take charge of him, and use him as scurvily as thou canst. You shall be taught your duty, sir, I warrant you.
Hold. Well, sir, you may talk, but you shall
see the end, and who shall have the worst of it.
[Exit Holdfast.
Fox. Zounds, I think he's mad.
Fox. Who calls?
Enter Prisoner.
Pris. Here's the bread-and-meat-man come.
Fox. Well, the bread-and-meat-man may stay a little.
Pris. Yes, indeed, Harry, the bread-and-meat-man may stay; but you know our stomachs cannot stay.
Enter Gatherscrap with the basket.
Fox. Indeed your stomach is always first up.
Pris. And therefore by right should be first served: I have a stomach like aqua fortis, it will eat anything; O father Gatherscrap, here are excellent bits in the basket.
Fox. Will you hold your chaps farther? By and by, you'll drivel into the basket.
Pris. Perhaps it may do some good; for there may be a piece of powdered beef that wants watering.
Fox. Here, sir, here's your share.
Pris. Here's a bit indeed: what's this to a Gargantua stomach?
Fox. Thou art ever grumbling.
Pris. Zounds! it would make a dog grumble to want his victuals: I pray, give Spendall none; he came into the hole but yesternight.
Fox. What, do you refuse it?
Spend. I cannot eat, I thank you.
Pris. No, no, give it me, he's not yet seasoned for our company.
Fox. Divide it then amongst you.
[Exit Fox and Prisoner.
Enter Fox and Longfield.
Fox. Yonder's the man.
Long. Liberty.
Spend. Speak you this seriously?
Long. 'Tis not my practice to mock misery.
Long. In your good wishes you requite me amply.
Spend. All fees, you say, are paid? There's for your love.
Fox. I thank you, sir, and am glad you are releas'd.
[Exeunt.
Enter Bubble, gallanted.
Bub. How apparel makes a man respected! the very children in the street do adore me: for if a boy, that is throwing at his jack-a-lent,[210] chance to hit me on the shins, why, I say nothing but Tu quoque, smile, and forgive the child with a beck of my hand, or some such like token: so by that means I do seldom go without broken shins.
Enter Staines, like an Italian.
Staines. I am, sir, a perfect traveller, that have trampled over the face of the universe, and can speak Greek and Latin as promptly as my own natural language. I have composed a book, wherein I have set down all the wonders of the world that I have seen, and the whole scope of my journeys, together with the miseries and lousy fortunes I have endured therein.[211]
Bub. O Lord, sir, are you the man? give me your hand: how do ye? in good faith, I think I have heard of you.
Staines. No, sir, you never heard of me; I set this day footing upon the wharf; I came in with the last peal of ordnance, and dined this day in the Exchange amongst the merchants. But this is frivolous, and from the matter: you do seem to be one of our gentile spirits that do affect generosity: pleaseth you to be instituted in the nature, garb, and habit of the most exactest nation in the world, the Italian? whose language is sweetest, clothes neatest, and behaviour most accomplished. I am one that have spent much money, and time, which to me is more dear than money, in the observation of these things: and, now I am come, I will sit me down and rest; and make no doubt but to purchase and build, by professing this art or human science (as I may term it) to such honourable and worshipful personages as mean to be peculiar.
Bub. This fellow has his tongue at his fingers' ends. But, hark ye, sir; is your Italian the finest gentleman?
Staines. In the world, signior; your Spaniard is a mere bumbard to him: he will bounce, indeed, but he will burst. But your Italian is smooth [264] and lofty, and his language is cousin-german to the Latin.
Bub. Why, then he has his Tu quoque in his salute?
Staines. Yes, sir, for it is an Italian word as well as a Latin, and enfolds a double sense; for one way spoken, it includes a fine gentleman, like yourself; and another way it imports an ass, like whom you will.
Bub. I would my man Gervase were here, for he understands these things better than I. [Aside.] You will not serve?
Staines. Serve! no, sir; I have talked with the great Sophy.
Bub. I pray, sir, what's the lowest price of being Italianated?
Staines. Sir, if it please you, I will stand to your bounty: and, mark me, I will set your face like a grand signior's, and you shall march a whole day, until you come opunctly[212] to your mistress, and not disrank one hair of your physiognomy.
Bub. I would you would do it, sir; if you will stand to my bounty, I will pay you, as I am an Italian, Tu quoque.
Staines. Then, sir, I will first disburthen you of your cloak; you will be the nimbler to practise. Now, sir, observe me: go you directly to the lady to whom you devote yourself.
Bub. Yes, sir.
Staines. You shall set a good staid face upon the matter then. Your band is not to your shirt, is it?
Bub. No, sir, 'tis loose.
Staines. It is the fitter for my purpose. I will first remove your hat. It has been the fashion (as I have heard) in England to wear your hat thus, [265] in your eyes; but it is gross, naught, inconvenient, and proclaims with a loud voice that he that brought it up first stood in fear of serjeants. Your Italian is contrary: he doth advance his hat, and sets it thus.
Bub. Excellent well: I would you would set it on my head so.
Staines. Soft; I will first remove your band, and set it out of the reach of your eyes; it must lie altogether backward. So: your band is well.
Bub. Is it as you would have it?
Staines. It is as I would wish; only, sir, this I must caution you of, in your affront[213] or salute, never to move your hat; but here, here is your courtesy.
Bub. Nay, I warrant you; let me alone, if I perceive a thing once, I'll carry it away. Now, pray, sir, reach my cloak.
Staines. Never, whilst you live, sir.
Bub. No! what, do you Italians wear no cloaks!
Staines. Your signiors, never: you see I am unfurnished myself.
Enter Sir Lionel, Will Rash, Geraldine, Widow, Gertrude, and Joyce.
Bub. Say ye so? prythee, keep it, then. See! yonder's the company that I look for; therefore, if you will set my face of any fashion, pray do it quickly.
Staines. You carry your face as well as e'er an Italian in the world; only enrich it with a smile, and 'tis incomparable: and thus much more—at your first appearance, you shall perhaps strike your [266]acquaintance into an ecstasy, or perhaps a laughter; but 'tis ignorance in them, which will soon be overcome, if you persevere.
Bub. I will persevere, I warrant thee: only do thou stand aloof, and be not seen; because I would not have them think but I fetch it out of my own practice.
Staines. Do not you fear; I'll not be seen, I warrant you.
[Exit.
Wid. May I deserve this kindness of you, sir?
Bub. Save you, gentlemen. I salute you after the Italian fashion.
W. Rash. How! the Italian fashion? Zounds! he has dressed him rarely.
Sir Lionel. My son Bubble, I take it?
Joyce. Nay, that cannot be; for they say, they that are mad lose their
wits, and I am sure he had none to lose.
[Aside.]
Enter Scattergood.
W. Rash. T'other hobby-horse, I perceive, is not forgotten.[214]
Bub. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Scat. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Bub. Who has made him such a coxcomb, trow? An Italian Tu quoque?
Scat. I salute you according to the Italian fashion.
Bub. Puh! the Italian fashion! The tattered-demalian fashion he means.
Scat. Save you, sweet bloods, save you.
Sir Lionel. Why, but what jig is this?
Scat. Nay, if I know, father, would I were hanged. I am e'en as innocent as the child new-born.
Sir Lionel. Ay, but son Bubble, where did you two buy your felts?
Sir Lionel. Nay, I think you had it upon trust, for no man that has any shame in him would take money for it. Behold, sir.
Bub. Ha, ha, ha!
Sir Lionel. Nay, never do you laugh, for you're i' th' same block.
Bub. Is this the Italian fashion?
Bub. Et tu quoque. Are we both cosened? Then let's show ourselves brothers in adversity, and embrace.
Sir Lionel. What was he that cheated you?
Bub. Marry, sir, he was a knave that cheated me.
Scat. And I think he was no honest man that cheated me.
Sir Lionel. Do you know him again if you see him?
Enter Staines [in his own costume.]
Staines. Yes, sir, very well.
Bub. No, you do not see us very well, for we have been horribly abused. Never were Englishmen so gulled in Italian as we have been.
Staines. Why, sir, you have not lost your cloak and hat?
Bub. Gervase, you lie; I have lost my cloak and hat; and therefore you must use your credit for another.
Scat. I think my old cloak and hat must be glad to serve me till next quarter-day.
Scat. And I'll promise the next night they shall
not sleep for joy neither.
[Aside.]
Gera. Yes, sir.
Enter Spendall.
Gera. Sir, I thank you.
Spend. 'Tis bound unto you, sir.
Bub. And I have to talk with you too, Mistress Joyce. Pray, a word.
Joyce. What would you, sir?
Bub. Pray, let me see your hand. The line of your maidenhead is out. Now for your fingers. Upon which finger will you wear your wedding-ring?
Joyce. Upon no finger.
Joyce. What to do, sir?
Joyce. I'll meet thee like a ghost first.
Gert. How now, what matter have you fished out of that fool?
W. Rash. As how, for God's sake?
Joyce. To-morrow is the appointed wedding-day.
Gert. The day of doom, it is?
Gera. 'Twould be a dismal day indeed to some of us.
Joyce. Nay, brother, you will not leave us thus, I hope.
W. Rash. Why, what would you have me do? you mean to run away together: would you have me run with you, and so lose my inheritance? no, trudge, trudge with your backs to me, and your bellies to them. Away!
W. Rash. By my troth, and I think so too. You love one another in the way of matrimony, do you not?
Gera. What else, man?
W. Rash. What else, man? Why, 'tis a question to be asked; for I can assure you, there is another kind of love. But come, follow me; I[272] must be your good angel still: 'tis in this brain how to prevent my father and his brace of beagles; you shall none of you be bid to-night: follow but my direction, if I bring you not, To have and to hold, for better for worse, let me be held an eunuch in wit, and one that was never father to a good jest.
Gert. We'll be instructed by you.
Enter Sir Lionel, Will Rash, Scattergood, Bubble, Widow, Gertrude, Joyce, Phillis, and Servant.
Wid. The lodging, sir, might serve better guests.
Wid. Good rest to all.
Bub. Et tu quoque, forsooth.
Wid. Good night to both.
Enter Spendall.
Wid. How now! what makes this bold intrusion?
Spend. Pardon me, lady, I have business to you.
Spend. It does.
Wid. Then speak it, and be brief.
Wid. Of love?
Spend. Of love.
Wid. It is my maid.
Spend. No matter; do as I bid you: say, who's there?
Wid. Who's there?
Phil. (Within.) 'Tis I, forsooth.
Wid. Will you put up your naked weapon, sir?
Spend. You shall pardon me, widow, I must have you grant first.
Wid. You will not put it up?
Spend. Not till I have some token of your love.
Spend. Nay, I knew what I did when I came with my naked weapon in my hand; but come, unlace.
Spend. Thou art a good wench, i' faith; come, kiss upon't.
Enter Phillis.
Spend. Is this according to your oath?
Phil. Come, sir, I must search you.
Wid. Hast thou it, girl?
Phil. I have a paper here.
Enter Will Rash, Staines, Geraldine, Gertrude, Joyce, and a boy with a lanthorn.
W. Rash. Softly, boy, softly; you think you are upon firm ground; but it is dangerous. You'll never make a good thief, you rogue, till you learn to creep upon all four. If I do not sweat with going this pace! everything I see, methinks, should be my father in his white beard.
W. Rash. Well said, logic: sister, I pray, lay hold of him; for the man, I see, is able to give the watch an answer if they should come upon him with interrogatories.
Enter Spendall, Widow, and Phillis.
Zounds, we are discovered! boy, come up close, and use the property of your lanthorn. What dumb show should this be?
Gera. They take their way directly, [and] intend nothing against us.
Staines. Can you not discern who they are?
Joyce. One is Spendall.
Gert. The other is the widow, as I take it.
Staines. 'Tis true, and that's her maid before her.
W. Rash. What a night of conspiracy is here! more villany? there's another goodly mutton going: my father is fleeced of all; grief will give[280] him a box, i' faith—but 'tis no great matter; I shall inherit the sooner. Nay, soft, sir; you shall not pass so current with the matter, I'll shake you a little. Who goes there?
Spend. Out with the candle [Aside.]: who's that asks the question?
W. Rash. One that has some reason for't.
W. Rash. Pray, where do you dwell? Not in town, I hope?
Spend. Why, we dwell—zounds! where do we dwell? I know not where.
W. Rash. And you'll be married, you know not when—zounds, it were a Christian deed to stop thee in thy journey: hast thou no more spirit in thee, but to let thy tongue betray thee? Suppose I had been a constable, you had been in a fine taking, had you not?
W. Rash. Yes, here's four or five faces more, but ne'er an ill one, though never an excellent good one. Boy, up with your lanthorn of light, and show him his associates, all running away with the flesh, as thou art. Go, yoke together, you may be oxen one day, and draw altogether in a plough; go, march together, the parson stays for you; pay him royally. Come, give me the lanthorns, for you have light sufficient, for night has put off his black cap, and salutes the morn. Now farewell, my little children of Cupid, that walk by two and two, as if you went a-feasting: let me hear no more words, but be gone.
Spend. and Staines. Farewell.
Gert. and Joyce. Farewell, brother.
[Exeunt. Manet Will Rash.
W. Rash. Ay, you may cry farewell; but if my father should know of my
villany, how should I fare then? But all's one, I ha' done my sisters
good, my friends good, and myself good; and a general good is always to
be respected before a particular. There's eightscore pounds a year saved
by the conveyance of this widow. I hear footsteps: now, darkness, take
me into thy arms, and deliver me from discovery.
[Exit.
Enter Sir Lionel.
Sir Lionel. Lord, Lord, what a careless world is this! neither bride nor bridegroom ready; time to go to church, and not a man unroosted: this age has not seen a young gallant rise with a candle; we live drowned in feather-beds, and dream of no other felicity. This was not the life when I was a young man. What makes us so weak as we are now? A feather-bed. What so unapt for exercise? A feather-bed. What breeds such pains and aches in our bones? why, a feather-bed or a wench—or at least a wench in a feather-bed. Is it not a shame that an old man as I am should be up first, and in a wedding-day? I think, in my conscience, there's more mettle in lads of threescore than in boys of one-and-twenty.
Enter Baskethilt.
Why, Baskethilt!
Bas. Here, sir.
Sir Lionel. Shall I not be trussed to-day?
Bas. Yes, sir; but I went for water.
Sir Lionel. Is Will Rash up yet?
Bas. I think not, sir; for I heard nobody stirring in the house.
W. Rash. Why, 'tis not two a-clock yet.
Sir Lionel. Out, sluggish knave; 'tis nearer unto five:
The whole house has outslept themselves, as if they had drunk wild poppy. Sirrah, go you and raise the maids, and let them call upon their mistresses.
Bas. Well, sir, I shall.
[Exit.
Enter Scattergood and Bubble.
Scat. Did I eat any lettuce to supper last night, that I am so sleepy? I think it be daylight, brother Bubble.
Bub. What sayest thou, brother? heigh-ho!
Bub. As fast as a Kentish oyster. Surely I was begotten in a plum-tree, I ha' such a deal of gum about mine eyes.
[Enter Baskethilt.]
Now, sir, your haste?
Bas. Marry, sir, there are guests coming to accompany you to church.
Bub. Father Rash, be not so outrageous: we will go in and buckle ourselves all in good time. How now! what's this about my shins?
Enter Old Geraldine and Longfield.
Scat. Methought our shanks were not fellows: we have metamorphosed our stockings for want of splendour.
Bub. Pray, what's that splendour?
Scat. Why, 'tis the Latin word for a Christmas
candle.
[Exeunt.
Sir Lionel. O gentlemen, you love, you honour me. Welcome, welcome, good Master Geraldine; you have taken pains to accompany an undeserving friend.
Enter Phillis.
Phil. I know not, sir, whether they know what to do; but I am sure they have been at church well-nigh an hour. They were afraid you had got the start of them, which made them make such haste.
Phil. Yes, sir; why, she was the ringleader.
Enter Will Rash.
Enter Servant, with a cloak.
Enter Spendall, Staines, Geraldine, Widow, Gertrude, and Joyce.
W. Rash. Now have I a quartan ague upon me.
Sir Lionel. Why, how now! why come you from church to kneel thus publicly? what's the matter?
Gera. We kneel, sir, for your blessing.
Sir Lionel. How! my blessing? Master Geraldine, is not that your son?
Old Gera. Yes, sir; and that, I take it, is your daughter.
Staines. For a fatherly blessing too, sir.
Sir Lionel. Heyday! 'tis palpable, I am gull'd, and my sons Scattergood and Bubble fooled. You are married.
Spend. Yes, sir, we are married.
Sir Lionel. More villany! everything goes the wrong way.
Spend. We shall go the right way anon, I hope.
Enter Scattergood and Bubble.
Spend. Ecce signum! here's the wedding-ring t' affirm it.
Scat. Good-morrow, gentlemen.
Sir Lionel. Do you hear me; will you two go sleep again I take out the t'other nap; for you are both made coxcombs, and so am I.
Scat. How! coxcombs?
Sir Lionel. Yes, coxcombs.
Scat. Father, that word coxcomb goes against my stomach.
Bub. And against mine; a man might ha' digested a woodcock better.
Bub. How! married? I would see that man durst marry her.
Gera. Why, sir, what would you do?
Bub. Why, sir, I would forbid the banns.
Scat. And so would I.
Sir Lionel. Do you know that youth in satin? he's the pen that belongs to that inkhorn.
Bub. How! let me see; are not you my man Gervase?
Staines. Yes, sir.
Enter a Serjeant.
Bub. And have you married her?
Staines. Yes, sir.
Bub. And do you think you have us'd me well?
Staines. Yes, sir.
Bub. O intolerable rascal! I will presently be made a justice of peace, and have thee whipped. Go, fetch a constable.
Staines. Come, y' are a flourishing ass: serjeant, take him to thee, he has had a long time of his pageantry.
Sir Lionel. Sirrah, let him go; I'll be his bail for all debts which come against him.
Sir Lionel. Have you your mortgage in?
Staines. Yes, sir.
Sir Lionel. Why, you say well: my blessing fall upon you.
Wid. And upon us that love, Sir Lionel.
Staines. Serjeant, why dost not carry him to prison?
Ser. Sir Lionel Rash will bail him.
Ser. Come, sir, come, are you begging?
Bub. Tenterhook, let me go. I will take his worship's offer without wages, rather than come into your clutches again: a man in a blue coat may have some colour for his knavery; in the Compter he can have none.
Sir Lionel. But now, Master Scattergood, what say you to this?
Scat. Marry, I say, 'tis scarce honest dealing, for any man to coneycatch another man's wife: I protest we'll not put it up.
Staines. No! which we?
Scat. Why, Gertrude and I.
Staines. Gertrude! why, she'll put it up.
Scat. Will she?
Gera. Ay, that she will, and so must you.
Scat. Must I?
Gera. Yes, that you must.
(1.) Albumazar. A Comedy presented before the Kings Maiestie at Cambridge, the ninth of March, 1614. By the Gentlemen of Trinitie Colledge. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes for Walter Burre, and are to be sold at his Shop, in Pauls Church-yard. 1615. 4o.
(2.) Albumazar. A Comedy presented before the Kings Maiesty at Cambridge. By the Gentlemen of Trinity Colledge. Newly revised and corrected by a speciall Hand. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes. 1634. 4o.
[There is a third 4o printed in 1668, with an epilogue by Dryden.]
[John] Tomkis,[219] [or Tomkins, son of Thomas Tomkins, a celebrated musician of the reign of James I.], the author of this play, was of Trinity College, Cambridge.
[294] In what part of the kingdom he was born, and what became of him after he quitted the University, are all circumstances alike unknown. That no memorials should remain of a person to whom the world is obliged for a performance of so much merit as "Albumazar" is allowed to possess, cannot but create surprise, and at the same time will demonstrate that genius is not always sufficient to excite the attention of contemporaries or the curiosity of posterity. Dryden [whose ignorance of our earlier literature is well known] not only seems to have been unaware to whom the world owed this piece, but also the time in which it was first represented. He has without any authority asserted that Ben Jonson—
But in this particular he was certainly mistaken. The "Alchemist" was printed in 1612, and "Albumazar" was not performed until the year 1614, as will appear from the following particulars:—
"King James," says a writer in the Gentleman's Magazine for May 1756, p. 224, "made a progress to Cambridge" and other parts in the winter of the year 1614, as is particularly taken notice of by Rapin, vol. ii. p. 156, who observes that the play called 'Ignoramus' was then acted before his Majesty at Cambridge, and gave him infinite pleasure. I found in the library of Sir Edward Deering a minute in manuscript of what passed at Cambridge for the five days the king stayed there, which I shall here transcribe, for it accords perfectly with the account given by the historian, both of[295] the king's progress and the play entitled "Ignoramus," and at the same time will afford us the best light to the matter in hand:—
"On Tuesday the 7th of March 1614, was acted before the King, in Trinity College Hall—
"1. Æmilia: A Latin Comedy, made by Mr Cecill Johannis.
"On Wednesday night—
"2. Ignoramus the Lawyer[220]: Latine and part English. Composed by Mr Ruggle Clarensis.
"On Thursday—
"3. Albumazar the Astronomer, in English. By Mr Tomkis, Trinit.
"On Friday—
"4. Melanthe[221]: A Latin Pastoral. Made by Mr [S.] Brookes (mox doctor) Trinitatis.
"On the next Monday—
"5. The Piscatory, an English Comedy, was acted before the University, in King's College, which Master Fletcher[222] of that College had provided, if the King should have tarried another night."
Part of the above account is confirmed in a letter from John Chamberlain to Sir Dudley Carlton, at Turin, dated 16th March 1614, lately printed in "Miscellaneous State Papers, from 1501 to 1726," i. 395: "The King and Prince lay at Trinity College, where the plays were represented; and the hall so well ordered for room, that above 2000 persons were conveniently placed. The first night's entertainment was a comedy, and acted by St John's men, the chief part consisting of a counterfeit Sir Edward Ratcliffe, a foolish tutor of physic, which proved but a lean argument; and, though it were larded with pretty shows at the beginning and end, and with somewhat too broad speech for such a presence, yet it was still dry. The second night was a comedy of Clare Hall, with the help of two or three good actors from other houses, wherein David Drummond, in a hobby-horse, and Brakin the recorder of the town, under the name of Ignoramus,[223] a common lawyer, bare great parts. The thing was full of mirth and variety, with many excellent actors (among whom the Lord Compton's son, [224] though least, was not worst), but more than half marred with extreme length. The third night was an English comedy called Albumazar, of Trinity College's action and invention; but there was no great matter in it, more than one good clown's part. The last night was a Latin Pastoral, of the same house, excellently written, and as well acted,[297] which gave great contentment, as well to the King as to the rest."
After the Restoration, "Albumazar" was revived, and Mr Dryden wrote a prologue to it, which is printed in every edition of his works.
Although it does not appear to have been upon the list of acting plays, yet the reputation which it had obtained induced Mr Ralph to build upon it a comedy which, after ten years' application, was performed at Drury Lane in 1744, under the title of "The Astrologer." It was acted, however, only one night, when the receipts of the house amounted but to twenty-one pounds. On the second night, the manager was obliged to shut up his doors for want of an audience. (See advertisement prefixed to the play.)
It cannot be denied that "Albumazar" has not been a favourite play with the people in general. About the year 1748, soon after Mr Garrick became manager of Drury Lane Theatre, he caused it to be revived, and gave it every advantage which could be derived from the assistance of the best performers; but though admirably acted, it does not appear to have met with much success. It was again revived at the same theatre in 1773, with some alterations, and was again coldly received, though supported by the best comic performers of the times. The piece, on this revival, received some alterations from the pen of Mr Garrick, and was published in 8o, 1773.
| Albumazar,[225] an astrologer. |
| Ronca,} |
| Harpax, } thieves. |
| Furbo,} |
| Pandolfo, an old gentleman. |
| Cricca, his servant. |
| Trincalo, Pandolfo's farmer. |
| Armellina, Antonio's Maid. |
| Lelio, Antonio's son. |
| Eugenio, Pandolfo's son. |
| Flavia, Antonio's daughter. |
| Sulpitia, Pandolfo's daughter. |
| Bevilona, a courtesan. |
| Antonio, an old gentleman. |
Enter Albumazar, Harpax, Ronca.
Ron. Read on this lecture, wise Albumazar.
Ron. Most philosophical Albumazar!
Har. I thought these parts had lent and borrowed mutual.
Har. Who is't? speak quickly.
Ron. Where, good Albumazar?
Enter Furbo.
Then Furbo sings this song.
Ronca, Pandolfo, Cricca.
Cri. Sir, y' are too old.
Ronca, Pandolfo.
Ron. Of vulgar men and houses.
Pan. Whose lodging's this? is't not the astrologer's?
Pan. Are you your master's countryman?
Ron. Yes; why ask you?
Pan. Then must I get an interpreter for your language.
Pan. In London.
Ron. Ha' you found the glass within that chamber?
Pan. Yes.
Ron. What see you?
Pan. The price?
Pan. Nothing.
Ron. Tis music 'twixt the acts. What now?
Pan. Nothing.
Ron. And now?
Pan. 'Tis gone, give me't again. O, do not so.
Ron. What hear you now?
Ron. Sir, this is called an autocousticon.[252]
Cricca, Pandolfo, Ronca.
Ron. One minute brings him.
Cri. What 'strologer?
Ron. Albumazarro Meteoroscopico.
Cri. A name of force to hang him without trial.
Cri. Or he or some of his confederates.
Albumazar, Ronca, Pandolfo, Cricca.
Cri. And sends y' a present from the head of Aries.[257]
Pan. Just as you say't. Cricca, admire and wonder.
Cri. Not I.
Enter Harpax and Furbo.
Fur. Come, do thy worst; thrust sure, or die.
Cri. Save me, Albumazar.
Fur. And thus, and thus, and thus.
Cri. Master, I die, I die.
Albumazar, Pandolfo, Cricca.
Cri. O, O!
Pan. What ails thee, Cricca?
Pan. What! dead, and speak'st?
Cri. Only there's left a little breath to tell you.
Pan. Why, where art hurt?
Cri. A surgeon, good sir, a surgeon.
Alb. Stand up, man, th' hast no harm; my life for thine.
Pan. Th' art well, th' art well.
Pan. Now to our business. On, good Albumazar.
Pan. Is't certain?
Alb. Certain.
Pan. That, that; ye have hit it, most divine Albumazar.
Pan. You bind me to your service.
Pandolfo, Cricca.
Pan. Are there no arches o'er our heads? Look, Cricca.
Cri. None but the arch of heaven, that cannot fall.
Pan. I do. Let's in.
[Exeunt.
Trincalo, Armellina.
Trin. He that saith I am not in love, he lies de cap-a-pie; for I am idle, choicely neat in my clothes, valiant, and extreme witty. My meditations are loaded with metaphors, songs, and sonnets; not a cur shakes his tail but I sigh out a passion:[272] thus do I to my mistress; but, alas! I kiss the dog, and she kicks me. I never see a young wanton filly, but say I, there goes Armellina; nor a lusty strong ass, but I remember myself, and sit down to consider what a goodly race of mules would inherit, if she were willing: only I want utterance—and that's a main mark of love too.
Arm. Trincalo, Trincalo!
Trin. O, 'tis Armellina! Now, if she have the wit to begin, as I mean she should, then will I confound her with compliments drawn from the [328]plays I see at the Fortune and Red Bull,[273] where I learn all the words I speak and understand not.
Arm. Trincalo, what price bears wheat and saffron, that your band's so stiff and yellow?[274]— [329]not a word? Why, Trincalo, what business in town? how do all at Totnam? grown mute? What do you bring from the country?
Trin. There 'tis. Now are my floodgates drawn, and I'll surround her. [Aside.] What have I brought? sweet bit of beauty, a hundred thousand salutations o' th' elder-house to your most illustrious honour and worship.
Arm. To me these titles! Is your basket full of nothing else?
Trin. Full of the fruits of love, most resplendent lady: a present to your worthiness from your worship's poor vassal Trincalo.
Arm. My life on't, he scrap'd these compliments from his cart the last load he carried for the progress.[275] What ha' you read, that makes you grow so eloquent?
Trin. Sweet madam, I read nothing but the lines of your ladyship's countenance; and desire only to kiss the skirts of your garment, if you vouchsafe me not the happiness of your white hands.
Arm. Come, give's your basket, and take it.
Trin. O, sweet! now will I never wash my mouth after, nor breathe but at my nostrils, lest I lose the taste of her finger. Armellina, I must tell you a secret, if you'll make much on't.
Arm. As it deserves. What is't?
Trin. I love you, dear morsel of modesty, I love; and so truly, that I'll make you mistress of my thoughts, lady of my revenues, and commit all my movables into your hands; that is, I'll give you an earnest kiss in the highway of matrimony.
Arm. Is this the end of all this business?
Trin. This is the end of all business, most beautiful, and most-worthy-to-be-most beautiful, lady.
Arm. Hence, fool, hence!
[Exit.
Trin. Why, now she knows my meaning, let it work. She put up the fruit in her lap, and threw away the basket: 'tis a plain sign she abhors the words, and embraces the meaning.
Pandolfo, Trincalo.
Trin. Like a lean horse t' a fresh and lusty pasture.
Pan. What rent dost pay me for thy farm at Totnam?
Trin. Ten pound, and find it too dear a pennyworth.
Trin. T' Antonio's form! Was not Antonio a gentleman?
Pan. Yes, and my neighbour; that's his house.
Pan. Art resolv'd?
Albumazar, Pandolfo, Ronca, Trincalo.
Ron. Good, good! a rich beginning: good!—what's next?
Pan. 'Tis true.
Ron. To furnish out our banquet.
Pan. All shall be done with expedition.
Alb. And when your man's transform'd, the chain you promis'd.
Pan. My hand: my deeds shall wait upon my promise.
Alb. Lead then with happy foot to view the chamber.
Trincalo, Cricca.
Cri. Yes: but I had rather want it. Adieu.
Trin. Albumazar——
Cri. Farewell.
Trin. Albumazar——
Cri. Prythee.
Albumazar, Pandolfo, Trincalo.[293]
Pandolfo, Trincalo.
Lelio, Eugenio, Cricca.
Lel. But were't not better, Cricca,
Eugenio, Cricca, Flavia.
Fla. Life of my soul, well met.
Eug. How is't, my dearest Flavia?
Sulpitia, Flavia.
Fla. True; and, I think, the same that trouble you.
Fla. 'Tis so. Witness your brother Eugenio, and the rotten carcase of Pandolfo. Had I a hundred hearts, I should want room to entertain his love and the other's hate.
Sul. I could say as much, were't not sin to slander the dead. Miserable wenches! How have we offended our fathers, that they should make us the price of their dotage, the medicines of their griefs, that have more need of physic ourselves? I must be frostbitten with the cold of your dad's winter, that mine may thaw his old ice with the spring of your sixteen. I thank my dead mother, that left me a woman's will in her last testament. That's all the weapons we poor girls can use, and with that will I fight 'gainst father, friends, and kindred, and either enjoy Lelio, or die in the field in his quarrel.
Fla. Sulpitia, you are happy that can withstand your fortune with so merry a resolution.
Sul. Why should I twine mine arms to cables,[306] and sigh my soul to air? Sit up all night like a watching-candle,[307] and distil my brains through my [353]eyelids. Your brother loves me, and I love your brother; and where these two consent, I would fain see a third to hinder us.
Fla. Alas! our sex is most wretched, nursed up from infancy in continual slavery. No sooner able to prey for ourselves, but they brail and hud us[308] so with sour awe of parents, that we dare not offer to bate[309] at our own desires. And whereas it becomes men to vent their amorous passions at their pleasure, we (poor souls) must rake up our affections in the ashes of a burnt heart, not daring to sigh without excuse of the spleen or fit of the mother.
Sul. I plainly will profess my love of Lelio. 'Tis honest, chaste, and stains not modesty. Shall I be married to Antonio, that hath been a soused sea-fish these three months? And if he be alive, comes home with as many impairs as a hunting gelding or a fallen pack-horse. No, no; I'll see him freeze to crystal first. In other things, good father, I am your most obedient daughter, but in this a pure woman. 'Tis your part to offer—mine to refuse, if I like not. Lelio's a handsome gentleman, young, fresh, rich, and well-fashioned; and him will Sulpitia have, or die a maid. And, i' faith, the temper of my blood tells me I never was born to so cold a misfortune. Fie, Flavia! fie, wench! [labour] no more with tears and sighs; cheer up. Eugenio, to my knowledge, loves you, and you shall have him; I say, you shall have him.
Fla. I doubt not of his love, but know no[354] means how he dares work against so great a rival. Your father, in a spleen, may disinherit him.
Sul. And give't to whom? H' has none but him and me. What though he doat awhile upon your beauty, he will not prove unnatural to his son. Go to your chamber. My genius whispers in my ear, and swears this night we shall enjoy our loves, and with that hope farewell.
Fla. Farewell, Sulpitia.
[Exeunt.
Pandolfo, Cricca.
Albumazar, Pandolfo, Cricca.
Alb. The complete circle of a natural day.
Cri. A natural day! are any days unnatural?
Pan. [Returning.] Help, help! thieves, thieves! neighbours, I am robb'd: thieves, thieves!
Cri. What a noise make you, sir.
Cri. Why, this is bravely feign'd; continue, sir.
Pan. Lay all the goldsmiths, keepers, marshals, bailiffs.
Cri. What, in good earnest?
Pan. Fool, in accursed earnest.
Cri. You gull me, sure.
Albumazar, Ronca, Harpax, Furbo.
Albumazar, Trincalo.
Trincalo, Ronca.
Ron. Here, sir.
Trin. Is the gold good? for mine was good I lent you.
Trin. Farewell, good servant; ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I know not so much as
his name! Ten pound! This change is better than my birth; for, in all
the years of my yeomanry, I could never yoke two crowns, and now I have
herded ten fair twenty-shilling pieces. Now will I go to this
astrologer, and hire him to turn my cart to a caroch, my four jades to
two pair of Dutch mares, my Mistress Armellina to a lady, my ploughboy
Dick to two garded footmen[321]. Then will I hurry
myself to the mercer's books, wear rich clothes, be called Tony by a
great man, sell my lands, pay no debts, hate citizens, and beat
Serjeants: and when all fails, sneak out of Antonio with a twopenny
looking-glass, and turn as true Trincalo as ever.
Harpax, Trincalo.
Har. Signior Antonio, welcome.
Har. Sir, as I live, ten twenty-shilling pieces.
Trin. Dangers at sea, I find, have hurt my memory.
Ronca, Trincalo.
Trin. I thank you, sir.
Ron. I thank you.
Ron. What's your pleasure, sir?
Trin. Show me your hand.
Ron. Here 'tis.
Trin. But where's th' other?
Ron. Why, here.
Trin. But I mean, where's your other hand?
Ron. Think you me the giant with a hundred hands?
Trin. Give me your right.
Ron. My right?
Trin. Your left.
Ron. My left?
Trin. Now both.
Re-enter Ronca, disguised.
Furbo, Bevilona, Trincalo.
Furbo sings this song.
Trin. Whom do you talk withal, fair gentlewoman?
Trin. Why, are you married?
Bev. Have you forgot my husband, an angry roarer?
Trin. O, I remember him: but if he come?
Ron. There's one within my kitchen, ready-strung: go in.
Bevilona and Trincalo; to them Ronca.
Ron. 'Tis I.
Bev. Your name?
Ron. Thomas ap William ap Morgan ap Davy ap Roger, &c.
Trin. Spinola's camp's broke loose: a troop of soldiers!
Bev. O me! my husband! O me, wretch! 'tis my husband.
Trin. One man, and wear so many names!
Bev. Be patient but a little; I come instantly.
Trin. Ha' you no trunk nor chest to hide me?
Bev. In, in, there's none.
Ron. Who now? is the ass pass'd?
Bev. I tunn'd him up, ha, ha, ha! I fear he'll fall aworking.
Bev. There still.
Ron. Out with it quickly: I must have it fill'd.
Bev. Not to-day, good sir; to-morrow will serve as well.
Ron. Out with it quickly: I must have it fill'd.
Bev. Not to-day, good sir; to-morrow will serve as well.
Ron. I must ha't now.
Bev. 'Tis more than I can carry.
Bev. Fetch't out yourself.
Ron. So, so; now shake it; so, so.
Trin. O! I am drown'd! I drown!
Ron. When comes this hollow sound?
Trin. I drown! I smother!
Ron. Sir, I believe you.
Ron. Sir, for your sake.
Bev. I thank you.
[Antonio solus.]
Enter Cricca.
Ant. What say'st thou?
Ant. I understand you not. Hands off.
Ant. I not so much as know him.
Cri. Dar'st thou deny't to me?
Enter Pandolfo.
Pan. What means this noise? O Cricca! what's the matter?
Ant. Whom should I look and speak like, but myself?
Cri. Good still!
Ant. To me these terms?
Pan. Come, I'll not lose my plate.
Flavia, Armellina, Antonio.
Fla. Armellina.
Arm. Mistress.
Fla. Is the door fast?
Arm. Yes, as an usurer's purse.
Ant. Let me come in.
Arm. Soft, soft, sir; y' are too hasty.
Ant. Quickly, or else——
Lelio, Antonio, Armellina.
Lel. Armellina, whom do you draw your tongue upon so sharply?
Trincalo, and Bevilona dressing him.
[Bev.] Your worship, sir, had ever a sickly constitution, and I fear much more now, since your long travel. As you love me, off with these wet things, and put on the suit you left with me, before you went to Barbary. Good sir, neglect not your health; for, upon my experience, there is nothing worse for the rheum than to be drenched in a musty hogshead.
[Trin.] Pretty soul! such another speech would have drawn off my legs and arms, as easily as hose and doublet. Had I been Trincalo, I'd have sworn th' had cheated: but, fie! 'tis base and clownish to suspect, and ['tis] a gentleman's freeness to part with a cast suit. Now to the business: I'll into my own house, and first bestow Armellina upon Trincalo; then try what can be done for Pandolfo: for 'tis a rule I want t' observe, first do your own affairs, and next your master's. This word master makes me doubt I am not changed as I should be. But all's one: I'll venture, and do something worthy Antonio's name while I have it.
Antonio, Trincalo.
Ant. Th' unfortunate possessor of this house.
Trin. Thou liest, base sycophant, my worship owes[332] it.
Trin. 'Long as Antonio possess'd it
Ant. Which Antonio?
Trin. Antonio Anastasio.
Trin. What boldness madded thee to steal my name?
Ant. Sir, heat of wine.
Lelio, Cricca, Trincalo.
Cri. Sir, what amazement's this? Why wonder you?
Lel. See'st thou not Trincalo and Antonio?
Cri. O, strange! they're both here.
Trin. Cricca, where's Trincalo? Dost see him here?
Cri. Yes, and as rank an ass as e'er he was.
Lel. O, didst feel him?
Trin. Ay, with a pox.
Trin. I feel it, as I am Antonio.
Cri. Fool! who loves Armellina?
Trin. 'Tis I, 'tis I.
Cri. Antonio never lov'd his kitchen-maid.
Cricca, Lelio, Antonio.
Trincalo, Lelio.
Armellina, Trincalo.
Arm. His name?
Trin. 'Tis Tom Trincalo of Totnam.
Arm. Signior Pandolfo's lusty farmer?
Trin. That's he.
Trin. Look upon me, and see him.
Arm. I say I see Antonio, and none other.
Lelio, Cricca.
Lelio, Sulpitia.
Lel. Give me but leave.
Albumazar, Ronca, Furbo, Harpax.
Ron. No, not a silver spoon.
Fur. Nor cover of a trencher-salt.[346]
Har. Nor table-napkin.
Alb. At least restore the ten pound in gold I lent you.
Ron. Do, if thou long'st to see thy own anatomy.
Alb. This treachery persuades me to turn honest.
Cricca, Pandolfo.
Pan. What news of him?
Cri. Enter'd as owner in Antonio's house——
Pan. On.
Pan. Quickly, good Cricca!
Cri. And hath sent me in haste to bid you——
Pan. What?
Cri. Come with your son Eugenio——
Pan. And then?
Pandolfo.
Antonio, Pandolfo, Lelio, Eugenio.
Ant. Signior Pandolfo! welcome.
Lel. Your servant, sir.
Pandolfo, Antonio.
Ant. Safe.
Pan. They come. Keep state, keep state, or all's discover'd.
Antonio, Pandolfo, Eugenio, Lelio, Flavia, Sulpitia.
Fla. Content.
Sul. Content.
Lel. Sir, I swear no less.
Eug. Nor I.
Fla. The selfsame oath binds me.
Sul. And me the same.
Pandolfo.
Trincalo drunk, but something recovered.
Trin. Welcome, old trusty Trincalo; good farmer, welcome! Give me thy hand; we must not part hereafter. Fie, what a trouble 'tis to be out of a man's self! If gentlemen have no pleasure but what I felt to-day, a team of horses shall not drag me out of my profession. There's nothing amongst them but borrowing, compounding for half their debts, and have their purse cut for the rest; cozened by whores, frighted with husbands, washed in wet hogsheads, cheated of their clothes, and falling in cellars for conclusion.
Pandolfo at the window, Trincalo.
Trin. You kill me, sir.
Pan. Have patience.
Trin. Pray you, sir!
Trin. Why, when was I your judge?
Pan. Just now here.
Trin. Ha, ha, ha!
[Whilst Trincalo laughs and lets fall the staff,
Pandolfo recovers it, and beats him.
Pan. Canst thou deny it?
Pan. Is not this true?
Trin. Ha, ha, ha!
Pan. Answer me.
Trin. Ha, ha, ha wan!
Pan. Was't not thus?
Pan. O me, what's this?
Trin. Truth itself.
Pan. Was't not thou that gav'st the sentence?
Pan. I am sorry for't; excuse me.
Trin. I am sorry I can't[357] excuse you. But I pardon you.
Pan. O me! O me!
Trin. What ails you, sir? what ails you?
Pan. 'Tis to small purpose. In, and hold thy peace.
[Exit Trincalo.
Cricca, Pandolfo.
Trincalo, Cricca.
Trin. Ha!
Cri. Come in.
Trin. I'll follow.
[Spoken by Trincalo].
The Hogge hath lost his Pearle. A Comedy. Divers times Publicely acted, by certaine London Prentices. By Robert Tailor. London, Printed for Richard Redmer, and are to be solde at the West-dore of Paules at the of the Starre. 1614. 4o.
Robert Tailor, the author of this play, is entirely unknown[360]. The title-page of it says it was divers times publicly acted by certain London Prentices; and Sir Henry Wotton[361], in a letter to Sir Edmund Bacon, dated 1612-13, gives the following account of its first performance: "On Sunday last at night, and no longer, some sixteen Apprentices (of what sort you shall guess by the rest of the Story), having secretly learnt a new play without book, intituled, The Hog hath lost His Pearl; took up the White Fryers for their Theater: and having invited thither (as it should seem) rather their Mistresses than their Masters, who were all to enter per buletini for a note of distinction from ordinary Comedians. Towards the end of the Play, the sheriffs (who by chance had heard of it) came in (as they say) and carried some six or seven of them to perform the last Act at Bridewel; the rest are fled. Now it is strange to hear how sharp-witted the City is, for they will needs have Sir John Swinerton, the Lord Major, be meant by the Hog, and the late Lord Treasurer by the Pearl."[362]
| Old Lord Wealthy. | |
| Young Lord, his son. | |
| Maria, his daughter. | |
| Carracus, } Albert, } | two gentlemen, near friends. |
| Lightfoot, a country gentleman. | |
| Haddit, a youthful gallant. | |
| Hog, an usurer. | |
| Rebecca, his daughter. | |
| Peter Servitude, his man. | |
| Atlas, a porter. | |
| A Priest. | |
| A Player. | |
| A Servingman. | |
| A Nurse. |
Enter Lightfoot, a country gentleman, passing over the stage, and knocks at the other door.
Light. Ho! who's within here?
Enter Atlas, a porter.
Atlas. Ha' ye any money to pay, you knock with such authority, sir?
Light. What if I have not? may not a man knock without money, sir?
Atlas. Seldom; women and servants will not put it up so, sir.
Light. How say you by that, sir? but, I prythee, is not this one Atlas's house, a porter?
Atlas. I am the rent-payer thereof.
Light. In good time, sir.
Atlas. Not in good time neither, sir, for I am behind with my landlord a year and three-quarters at least.
Light. Now, if a man would give but observance to this fellow's prating, he would weary his ears sooner than a barber. Do y' hear, sir? lies there not one Haddit, a gentleman, at this house?
Atlas. Here lies such a gentleman, sir, whose clothes (were they not greasy) would bespeak him so.
Light. Then I pray, sir, when your leisure shall permit, that you would vouchsafe to help me to the speech of him.
Atlas. We must first crave your oath, sir, that you come not with intent to molest, perturb, or endanger him; for he is a gentleman, whom it hath pleased fortune to make her tennis-ball of, and therefore subject to be struck by every fool into hazard.
Light. In that I commend thy care of him, for which friendship here's a slight reward; tell him a countryman of his, one Lightfoot, is here, and[364] [he] will not any way despair of his safety.
Atlas. With all respect, sir; pray, command my house.
[Exit Atlas.
Light. So now I shall have a sight of my cousin gallant: he that hath consumed £800 a year in as few years as he hath ears on his head: he that was wont never to be found without three or four pair of red breeches running before his horse or coach: he that at a meal hath had more several kinds than, I think, the ark contained: he that was admired by niters[365] for his robes of [431] gallantry, and was indeed all that an elder brother might be—prodigal; yet he, whose unthriftiness kept many a house, is now glad to keep house in a house that keeps him, the poor tenant of a porter. And see his appearance! I'll seem strange to him.
Enter Haddit, in poor array.
Had. Cousin Lightfoot, how dost? welcome to the city.
Light. Who calls me cousin? where's my cousin Haddit? he's surely putting on some rich apparel for me to see him in. I ha' been thinking all the way I came up, how much his company will credit me.
Had. My name is Haddit, sir, and your kinsman, if parents may be trusted; and therefore you may please to know me better when you see me next.
Light. I prythee, fellow, stay: is it possible thou shouldst be he? why, he was the generous spark of men's admiration.
Light. O, by your versifying I know you now, sir: how dost? I knew thee not at first, thou'rt very much altered.
Had. Faith, and so I am, exceeding much since you saw me last—about £800 a year; but let it pass, for passage[366] carried away the most part of it: a plague of fortune.
Light. Thou'st more need to pray to Fortune than curse her: she may be kind to thee when thou art penitent: but that, I fear, will be never.
Had. O, no, if she be a woman, she'll ever love those that hate her. But, cousin, thou art thy father's first-born; help me but to some means, and I'll redeem my mortgag'd lands, with a wench to boot.
Light. As how, I pray thee?
Had. Marry thus: Hog the usurer hath one only daughter.
Light. Is his name Hog? It fits him exceeding well; for as a hog in his lifetime is always devouring, and never commodious in aught till his death; even so is he, whose goods at that time may be put to many good uses.
Had. And so I hope they shall before his death. This daughter of his did, and I think doth, love me; but I, then thinking myself worthy of an empress, gave but slight respect unto her favour, for that her parentage seemed not to equal my high thoughts, puffed up——
Light. With tobacco, surely.
Had. No; but with as bad a weed—vainglory.
Light. And you could now be content to put your lofty spirits into the lowest pit of her favour. Why, what means will serve, man? 'Sfoot, if all I have will repair thy fortune, it shall fly at thy command.
Had. Thanks, good coz, the means shall not be great, only that I may first be clad in a generous outside, for that is the chief attraction that draws female affection. Good parts, without habiliments of gallantry, are no more set by in these times than a good leg in a woollen stocking. No, 'tis a glistering presence and audacity brings women into fool's felicity.
Light. You've a good confidence, coz; but what do ye think your brave outside shall effect?
Had. That being had, we'll to the usurer, where you shall offer some slight piece of land to mortgage, and if you do it to bring ourselves into cash, it shall be ne'er the farther from you, for here's a project will not be frustrate of this purpose.
Light. That shall be shortly tried. I'll instantly go seek for a habit
for thee, and that of the richest too; that which shall not be subject
to the scoff of any gallant, though to the accomplishing thereof all my
means go. Alas! what's a man unless he wear good clothes?
[Exit Lightfoot.
Had. Good speed attend my suit! Here's a never-seen nephew kind in distress; this gives me more cause of admiration than the loss of thirty-five settings together at passage. Ay, when 'tis performed—but words and deeds are now more different than puritans and players.
Enter Atlas.
Atlas. Here's the player would speak with you.
Had. About the jig I promised him. My pen and ink! I prythee, let him in, there may be some cash rhymed out of him.
Enter Player.
Player. The Muses assist you, sir: what, at your study so early?
Had. O, chiefly now, sir: for Aurora Musis amica.
Player. Indeed, I understand not Latin, sir.
Had. You must then pardon me, good Master Change-coat; for I protest unto you, it is so much my often converse that, if there be none but women in my company, yet cannot I forbear it.
Player. That shows your more learning, sir; but, I pray you, is that small matter done I entreated for?
Had. A small matter! you'll find it worth Meg of Westminster,[367] although it be but a bare jig.
Player. O Lord, sir, I would it had but half the taste of garlic.[368]
Had. Garlic stinks to this; if it prove that you have not more whores than e'er garlic had, say I am a boaster of my own works, disgrace me on the open stage, and bob me off with ne'er a penny.
Player. O Lord, sir, far be it from us to debar any worthy writer of his merit; but I pray you, sir, what is the title you bestow upon it?
Had. Marry, that which is full as forcible as garlic: the name of it is, Who buys my four ropes of hard onions? by which four ropes is meant, four several kind of livers; by the onions, hangers-on—as at some convenient time I will more particularly inform you in so rare a hidden and obscure mystery.
Player. I pray, let me see the beginning of it. I hope you have made no dark sentence in't; for, I'll assure you, our audience commonly are very simple, idle-headed[369] people, and if they should hear what they understand not, they would quite forsake our house.
Had. O, ne'er fear it; for what I have writ is both witty to the wise, and pleasing to the ignorant: for you shall have those laugh at it far more heartily that understand it not, than those that do.
Player. Methinks the end of this stave is a foot too long.
Had. O no, sing it but in tune, and I dare warrant you.
Had. Fie! no; the dismembering of a rhyme to bring in reason shows the more efficacy in the writer.
Player. Well, as you please; I pray you, sir, what will the gratuity be? I would content you as near hand as I could.
Had. So I believe. [Aside.] Why, Master Change-coat, I do not suppose we shall differ many pounds; pray, make your offer: if you give me too much, I will, most doctor-of-physic-like, restore.
Player. You say well; look you, sir, there's a brace of angels, besides much drink of free-cost, if it be liked.
Had. How, Master Change-coat! a brace of angels, besides much drink of free-cost, if it be liked! I fear you have learned it by heart; if you have powdered up my plot in your sconce, you may home, sir, and instruct your poet over a pot of ale the whole method on't. But if you do so juggle, look to't. Shrove-Tuesday[371] is at hand, and I have some acquaintance with bricklayers and plasterers.
Player. Nay, I pray, sir, be not angry; for as I am a true stage-trotter, I mean honestly; and look ye, more for your love than otherwise, I give you a brace more.
Had. Well, good words do much; I cannot now be angry with you, but see henceforward you do like him that would please a new-married wife, show your most at first, lest some other come between you and your desires; for I protest, had you not suddenly shown your good-nature, another should have had it, though it had been for nothing.
Player. Troth, I'm sorry I gave you such cause of impatiency; but you shall see hereafter, if your invention take, I will not stand off for a brace more or less, desiring I may see your works before another.
Had. Nay, before all others; and shortly expect a notable piece of matter, such a jig whose tune, with the natural whistle of a carman, shall be more ravishing to the ears of shopkeepers than a whole consort of barbers at midnight.
Player. I am your man for't; I pray you, command all the kindness belongs to my function, as a box for your friend at a new play, although I procure the hate of all my company.
Had. No, I'll pay for it rather; that may breed a mutiny in your whole house.
Player. I care not, I ha' played a king's part any time these ten years; and if I cannot command such a matter, 'twere poor, faith.
Had. Well, Master Change-coat, you shall now leave me, for I'll to my study; the morning hours are precious, and my Muse meditates most upon an empty stomach.
Player. I pray, sir, when this new invention is produced, let me not be forgotten.
Had. I'll sooner forget to be a jig-maker. [Exit Player.] So, here's four angels I little dreamt of. Nay, and there be money to be gotten by foolery, I hope fortune will not see me want. Atlas, Atlas!
Enter Atlas.
What, was my country coz here since?
Atlas. Why, did he promise to come again, seeing how the case stood wi' ye?
Had. Yea, and to advance my downfallen fortunes, Atlas.
Atlas. But ye are not sure he meant it ye, when he spake it.
Had. No, nor is it in man to conjecture rightly the thought by the tongue.
Atlas. Why, then, I'll believe it when I see it. If you had been in prosperity when he had promised you this kindness——
Had. I had not needed it.
Atlas. But being now you do, I fear you must go without it.
Had. If I do, Atlas, be it so: I'll e'en go write this rhyme over my bed's head—
and so I'll set up my rest. But see, Atlas, here's a little of that that damns lawyers; take it in part of a further recompense.
Atlas. No, pray keep it; I am conceited of your[439] better fortunes, and therefore will stay out that expectation.
Had. Why, if you will, you may; but the surmounting of my fortunes is as much to be doubted as he whose estate lies in the lottery—desperate.
Atlas. But ne'er despair. 'Sfoot, why should not you live as well as a thousand others that wear change of taffata, whose means were never anything?
Had. Yes, cheating, theft and panderising, or, maybe, flattery: I have maintained some of them myself. But come, hast aught to breakfast?
Atlas. Yes, there's the fag-end of a leg of mutton.
Had. There cannot be a sweeter dish; it has cost money the dressing.
Atlas. At the barber's, you mean.
[Exeunt.
Enter Albert solus.
[Albert ascends; and, being on the top of the
ladder, puts out the candle.
Alb. If I do not do so, then hate me ever.
Mar. I do believe thee, and will hate thee never.
[Exeunt.
Enter Carracus.
Albert descending from Maria.
Maria. But do not stay. What, if you find not Albert?
Alb. I'll then return alone to fetch you hence.
Enter Carracus.
Alb. Whate'er you are that call, you know my name.
Car. Ay, and thy heart, dear friend.
Car. As how, I prythee, Albert?
Alb. Then you must call, for so I said I would.
Car. Maria.
Maria. Is your friend Albert with you?
Alb. Yes, and your servant, honoured lady.
Enter Hog the usurer; with Peter Servitude, trussing his points.
Hog. What, hath not my young Lord Wealthy been here this morning?
P. Ser. No, in very deed, sir; he is a towardly young gentleman; shall he have my young mistress, your daughter, I pray you, sir?
Hog. Ay, that he shall, Peter; she cannot be matched to greater honour and riches in all this country: yet the peevish girl makes coy of it, she had rather affect a prodigal; as there was Haddit, one that by this time cannot be otherwise than hanged, or in some worse estate; yet she would have had him: but I praise my stars she went without him, though I did not without his lands. 'Twas a rare mortgage, Peter.
P. Ser. As e'er came in parchment: but see, here comes my young lord.
Enter Young Lord Wealthy.
Y. Lord W. Morrow, father Hog; I come to tell you strange news; my sister is stol'n away to-night, 'tis thought by necromancy. What necromancy is, I leave to the readers of the "Seven Champions of Christendom."[375]
Hog. But is it possible your sister should be stolen? sure, some of the household servants were confederates in't.
Y. Lord W. Faith, I think they would have confessed, then; for I am sure my lord and father hath put them all to the bastinado twice this morning already: not a waiting-woman, but has been stowed, i' faith.
P. Ser. Trust me, he says well for the most part.
Hog. Then, my lord, your father is far impatient.
Y. Lord W. Impatient! I ha' seen the picture of Hector[375] in a haberdasher's shop not look half so furious; he appears more terrible than wildfire at a play. But, father Hog, when is the time your daughter and I shall to this wedlock-drudgery?
Hog. Troth, my lord, when you please; she's at your disposure, and I
rest much thankful that your lordship will so highly honour me. She
shall have a good portion, my lord, though nothing in respect of your
large revenues. Call her in, Peter; tell her my most respected Lord
[448]
Wealthy is here, to whose presence I will now commit her [Exit Peter];
and I pray you, my lord, prosecute the gain of her affection with the
best affecting words you may, and so I bid good morrow to your lordship.
[Exit Hog.
Y. Lord W. Morrow,[377] father Hog. To prosecute the gain of her affection with the best affecting words; as I am a lord, a most rare phrase! well, I perceive age is not altogether ignorant, though many an old justice is so.
Enter Peter Servitude.
How now, Peter, is thy young mistress up yet?
P. Ser. Yes, indeed, she's an early stirrer; and I doubt not hereafter but that your lordship may say, she's abroad before you can rise.
Y. Lord W. Faith, and so she may, for 'tis long ere I can get up, when I go foxed to bed. But, Peter, has she no other suitors besides myself?
P. Ser. No, and it like your lordship; nor is it fit she should.
Y. Lord W. Not fit she should? I tell thee, Peter, I would give away as much as some knights are worth, and that's not much, only to wipe the noses of some dozen or two of gallants, and to see how pitifully those parcels of men's flesh would look, when I had caught the bird which they had beaten the bush for.
P. Ser. Indeed, your lordship's conquest would have seemed the greater.
Y. Lord W. Foot, as I am a lord, it angers me to the guts, that nobody hath been about her.
P. Ser. For anything I know, your lordship may go without her.
Y. Lord W. An' I could have enjoyed her to some pale-faced lover's distraction, or been envied for my happiness, it had been somewhat.
Enter Rebecca, Hog's daughter.
But see where she comes! I knew she had not power enough to stay another sending for. O lords! what are we? our names enforce beauty to fly, being sent for. [Aside.] Morrow, pretty Beck: how dost?
Reb. I rather should enquire your lordship's health, seeing you up at such an early hour. Was it the toothache, or else fleas disturbed you?
Y. Lord W. Do you think I am subject to such common infirmities? Nay, were I diseased, I'd scorn but to be diseased like a lord, i' faith. But I can tell you news, your fellow virgin-hole player,[378] my sister, is stolen away to-night.
Reb. In truth. I am glad on't; she is now free from the jealous eye of a father. Do not ye suspect, my lord, who it should be that has carried her away?
Y. Lord W. No, nor care not; as she brews, so let her bake; so said the ancient proverb. But, lady, mine that shall be, your father hath wished[379] me to appoint the day with you.
Reb. What day, my lord?
Y. Lord W. Why, of marriage; or as the learned historiographer[380] writes, Hymen's holidays, or nuptial ceremonious rites.
Reb. Why, when would you appoint that, my lord?
Y. Lord W. Why, let me see, I think the tailor may despatch all our vestures in a week: therefore, it shall be directly this day se'ennight.
P. Ser. God give you joy!
Reb. Of what, I pray, you impudence? This fellow will go near to take his oath that he hath seen us plight faiths together; my father keeps him for no other cause than to outswear the truth. My lord, not to hold you any longer in a fool's paradise, nor to blind you with the hopes I never intend to accomplish, know, I neither do, can, or will love you.
Y. Lord W. How! not love a lord? O indiscreet young woman! Indeed, your
father told me how unripe I should find you: but all's one, unripe fruit
will ask more shaking before they fall than those that are; and my
conquest will seem the greater still.
[Aside.]
P. Ser. Afore God, he is a most unanswerable lord, and holds her to't, i' faith.
Y. Lord W. Nay, you could not have pleased me better, than seeing you so invincible, and of such difficult attaining to. I would not give a pin for the society of a female that should seem willing; but give me a wench that hath disdainful looks;
Reb. The fool's well-read in vice. [Aside.] My lord, I hope you hereafter will no farther insinuate in the course of your affections; and, for the better withdrawing from them, you may please to know, I have irrevocably decreed never to marry.
Y. Lord W. Never to marry! Peter, I pray bear witness of her words that, when I have attained her, it may add to my fame and conquest.
Reb. Yes, indeed, an't like your lordship.
Y. Lord W. Nay, ye must think, Beck, I know how to woo; ye shall find no bashful university-man of me.
Reb. Indeed, I think y' had ne'er that bringing up. Did you ever study, my lord?
Y. Lord W. Yes, faith, that I have, and, the last week too, three days and a night together.
Reb. About what, I pray?
Y. Lord W. Only to find out why a woman, going on the right side of her husband in the daytime, should lie on his left side at night; and, as I am a lord, I never knew the meaning on't till yesterday. Malapert, my father's butler, being a witty jackanapes, told me why it was.
Reb. By'r Lady, my lord, 'twas a shrewd study, and I fear hath altered the property of your good parts; for, I'll assure you, I loved you a fortnight ago far better.
Y. Lord W. Nay, 'tis all one, whether you do or no: 'tis but a little more trouble to bring ye about again; and no question, but a man may do't, I am he. 'Tis true, as your father said, the black ox hath not trod upon that foot of yours.
Reb. No, but the white calf hath; and so I leave your lordship.
[Exit Rebecca.
Y. Lord W. Well, go thy ways, th' art as witty a marmalade-eater as ever I conversed with. Now, as I am a lord, I love her better and better; I'll home and poetise upon her good parts presently. Peter, here's a preparative to my farther applications; and, Peter, be circumspect in giving me diligent notice what suitors seem to be peeping.
P. Ser. I'll warrant you, my lord, she's your own; for I'll give out to all that come near her that she is betrothed to you; and if the worst come to the worst, I'll swear it.
Enter Old Lord Wealthy, solus.
Enter Young Lord Wealthy.
Y. Lord W. Sir, I cannot find my sister.
Y. Lord W. How, father! is it not possible that wisdom should be found out by ignorance? I pray, then, how do many magnificoes come by it?
Y. Lord W. Then wisdom must sit as mute as learning among many courtiers. But, father, I partly suspect that Carracus hath got my sister.
O. Lord W. With child, I fear, ere this.
Y. Lord W. By'r Lady, and that may be true. But, whether he has or no, it's all one: if you please, I'll take her from under his nose, in spite on's teeth, and ask him no leave.
Y. Lord W. Troth, and I wish so too; for, in my mind, he's a gentleman of a good house, and speaks true Latin.
Y. Lord W. I am sure my sister will be glad to hear it, and I cannot blame her; for she'll then enjoy that with quietness which many a wench in these days does scratch for.
Enter Haddit, in his gay apparel, making him ready, and with him Lightfoot.
Had. By this light, coz, this suit does rarely! The tailor that made it may hap to be saved, an't be but for his good works: I think I shall be proud of 'em, and so I was never yet of any clothes.
Light. How! not of your clothes? why then you were never proud of anything, for therein chiefly consisteth pride; for you never saw pride pictured but in gay attire.
Had. True; but, in my opinion, pride might as well be portrayed in any other shape, as to seem to be an affecter of gallantry, being the causes thereof are so several and divers. As, some are proud of their strength, although that pride cost them the loss of a limb or two by over-daring; likewise, some are proud of their humour, although in that humour they be often knocked for being so; some are proud of their drink, although that liquid operation cause them to wear a nightcap three weeks after; some are proud of their good parts, although they never put them to better uses than the enjoying of a common strumpet's company, and are only made proud by the favour of a waiting-woman; others are proud——
Light. Nay, I prythee, coz, enough of pride; but when do you intend to go yonder to Covetousness the usurer, that we may see how near your plot will take for the releasing of your mortgaged lands?
Had. Why, now presently; and, if I do not accomplish my projects to a wished end, I wish my fortunes may be like some scraping tradesman, that never embraceth true pleasure till he be threescore and ten.
Light. But say Hog's daughter, on whom all your hopes depend, by this be betrothed to some other.
Had. Why, say she were; nay more, married to another, I would be ne'er the farther from effecting my intents. No, coz, I partly know her inward disposition; and, did I but only know her to be womankind, I think it were sufficient.
Light. Sufficient for what?
Had. Why, to obtain a grant of the best thing she had, chastity. Man, 'tis not here as 'tis with you in the country, not to be had without father's and mother's goodwill; no, the city is a place of[456] more traffic, where each one learns by example of their elders to make the most of their own, either for profit or pleasure.
Light. 'Tis but your misbelieving thoughts make you surmise so: if women were so kind, how haps you had not by their favours kept yourself out of the claws of poverty?
Had. O, but, coz, can a ship sail without water? had I had but such a suit as this to set myself afloat, I would not have feared sinking. But come, no more of need; now to the usurer: and though
Light. But then yourself must able be in giving.
[Exeunt.
Enter Albert, solus.
Enter Servingman.
Ser. To what intent d'ye knock, sir?
Alb. Because I would be heard, sir: is the master of this house within?
Ser. Yes, marry is he, sir: would you speak with him?
Ser. Both are exceeding well, sir.
Alb. I'm truly glad on't: farewell, good friend.
Ser. I pray you, let's crave your name, sir; I may else have anger.
Alb. You may say one Albert, riding by this way, only inquired their health.
Enter Carracus, driving his man before him.
Car. Hence, thou untutor'd slave!
[Exit Servant.
Enter Maria.
Car. At what time, fairest?
Maria. As if you knew not! why d'ye make't so strange?
Enter Nurse and Servants.
O nurse! see here, Maria says she'll die.
Nurse. Marry, God forbid! O mistress, mistress, mistress! she has breath yet; she's but in a trance: good sir, take comfort, she'll recover by and by.
Car. No, no, she'll die, nurse, for she said she would, an' she had not said so, 't had been another matter; but you know, nurse, she ne'er told a lie: I will believe her, for she speaks all truth.
Enter Nurse, weeping.
Car. 'Tis dead, indeed! how did you know 'twas so, nurse?
Nurse. What, sir?
Enter Maria in page's apparel.
Enter Young Lord Wealthy.
Y. Lord W. Ho, you three-foot-and-a-half! Why, page, I say! 'Sfoot, he
is vanished as suddenly as a dumb show.[384] If a lord had lost his way
now, so he had been served. But let me see: as I take it, this is the
house of Carracus. A very fair building, but it looks as if 'twere dead;
I can see no breath come out of the chimneys. But I[465] shall know
the state on't by and by, by the looks of some servingman. What ho,
within here!
[Beats at the door.
Enter Servant.
Y. Lord W. Yes, indeed, now you have made your appearance. Is thy living-giver within, sir?
Ser. You mean my master, sir?
Y. Lord W. You have hit it, sir, praised be your understanding. I am to have conference with him; would you admit my presence?
Ser. Indeed, sir, he is at this time not in health, and may not be disturbed.
Y. Lord W. Sir, if he were in the pangs of childbed, I'd speak with him.
Enter Carracus.
Car. Upon what cause, gay man?
Y. Lord W. 'Sfoot, I think he be disturbed indeed; he speaks more commanding than a constable at midnight. Sir, my lord and father, by me (a lord) hath sent these lines enclosed, which show his whole intent.
Y. Lord W. Is your master a statesman, friend?
Ser. Alas! no, sir; he understands not what he speaks.
Y. Lord W. Ay, but when my father dies, I am to be called in for one myself, and I hope to bear the place as gravely as my successors have done before me.
Y. Lord W. Why, now I understand you, sir: that Maria is my sister, by whose conjunction you are created brother to me a lord.
Car. But, brother lord, we cannot go this journey.
Y. Lord W. Content, sir.
Ser. Madmen and fools agree.
[Aside Exeunt.
Enter Haddit and Rebecca.
Reb. When you have got this prize, you mean to lose me.
Had. Nay, prythee, do not think so. If I do not marry thee this instant night, may I never enjoy breath a minute after! By heaven, I respect not his pelf thus much, but only that I may have wherewith to maintain thee.
Reb. O, but to rob my father, though he be bad, the world will think ill of me.
Had. Think ill of thee! Can the world pity[467] him that ne'er pitied any? besides, since there is no end of his goods nor beginning of his goodness, had not we as good share his dross in his lifetime, as let controversy and lawyers devour it at his death?
Reb. You have prevailed. At what hour is't you intend to have entrance into his chamber?
Had. Why, just at midnight; for then our apparition will seem most fearful. You'll make a way that we may ascend up like spirits?
Reb. I will; but how many have you made instruments herein?
Had. Faith, none but my cousin Lightfoot and a player.
Reb. But may you trust the player?
Had. O, exceeding well. We'll give him a speech he understands not. But, now I think on't, what's to be done with your father's man Peter?
Reb. Why, the least quantity of drink will lay him dead asleep. But hark, I hear my father coming. Soon in the evening I'll convey you in.
Had. Till when, let this outward ceremony be a true pledge of our inward affections. [Kisses her. Exit Rebecca.] Lo, this goes better forward than the plantation in Virginia: but see, here comes half the West Indies, whose rich mines this night I mean to be ransacking.
Enter Hog, Lightfoot, and Peter.
Hog. Then you'll seal for this small lordship, you say? To-morrow your money shall be rightly told up for you to a penny.
Light. I pray, let it, and that your man may set contents upon every bag.
Had. Indeed, by that we may know what we steal, without labour for the telling on't over.[468] [Aside.] How now, gentlemen, are ye agreed upon the price of this earth and clay?
Hog. Yes, faith, Master Haddit, the gentleman your friend here makes me pay sweetly for't; but let it go, I hope to inherit heaven, if it be but for doing gentlemen pleasure.
Hog. Peter!
P. Ser. Anon, sir.
Hog. I wonder how Haddit came by that gay suit of clothes; all his means were consumed long since.
P. Ser. Why, sir, being undone himself, he lives by the undoing, or (by Lady!) it may be by the doing, of others—or peradventure both. A decayed gallant may live by anything, if he keep one thing safe.
Hog. Gentlemen, I'll to the scrivener's, to cause these writings to be drawn.
Light. Pray do, sir; we'll now leave you till the morning.
Hog. Nay, you shall stay dinner; I'll return presently. Peter, some beer
here for these worshipful gentlemen.
[Exeunt Hog and Peter.
Had. We shall be bold, no doubt; and that, old penny-father, you'll confess by to-morrow morning.
Light. Then his daughter is certainly thine, and condescends to all thy wishes?
Had. And yet you would not once believe it; as if a female's favour could not be obtained by any but he that wears the cap of maintenance;
Light. Well, thou hast got one deserves the bringing home with trumpets, and falls to thee as miraculously as the £1000 did to the tailor. Thank your good fortune. But must Hog's man be made drunk?
Had. By all means; and thus it shall be effected: when he comes in with beer, do you upon some slight occasion fall out with him, and if you give him a cuff or two, it will give him cause to know you are the more angry, then will I slip in and take up the matter, and, striving to make you two friends, we'll make him drunk.
Light. It's done in conceit already. See where he comes.
Enter Peter.
P. Ser. Wilt please you to taste a cup of September beer, gentlemen?
Light. Pray, begin: we'll pledge you, sir.
P. Ser. It's out, sir.
Light. Then my hand is in, sir. [Lightfoot cuffs him.] Why goodman Hobby-horse, if we out of our gentility offered you to begin, must you out of your rascality needs take it?
Had. Why, how now, sirs, what's the matter?
P. Ser. The gentleman here falls out with me upon nothing in the world but mere courtesy.
Had. By this light, but he shall not; why, cousin Lightfoot!
P. Ser. Is his name Lightfoot? a plague on him, he has a heavy hand.
Enter Young Lord Wealthy.
Y. Lord W. Peace be here; for I came late enough from a madman.
Had. My young lord, God save you.
Y. Lord W. And you also: I could speak it in Latin, but the phrase is common.[385]
Had. True, my lord, and what's common ought not much to be dealt withal; but I must desire your help, my lord, to end a controversy here between this gentleman my friend and honest Peter who, [Aside] I dare be sworn, is as ignorant as your lordship.
Y. Lord W. That I will; but, my masters, this much I'll say unto you—if so be this quarrel may be taken up peaceably without the endangering of my own person, well and good: otherwise I will not meddle therewith, for I have been vexed late enough already.
Had. Why then, my lord, if it please you, let me, being your inferior, decree the cause between them.
Y. Lord W. I do give leave or permit.
Had. Then thus I will propound a reasonable motion; how many cuffs, Peter, did this gentleman out of his fury make thee partaker of.
P. Ser. Three, at the least, sir.
Had. All which were bestowed upon you for beginning first, Peter.
P. Ser. Yes, indeed, sir.
Had. Why then, hear the sentence of your suffering. You shall both down into Master Hog's cellar, Peter; and whereas you began first to him, so shall he there to you; and as he gave you three cuffs, so shall you retort off, in defiance of him, three black-jacks, which if he deny to pledge, then the glory is thine, and he accounted by the wise discretion of my lord here a flincher.
Omnes. A reasonable motion.
Y. Lord W. Why so; this is better than being among madmen yet.
Had. Were you so lately with any, my lord?
Y. Lord W. Yes, faith; I'll tell you all in the cellar, how I was taken for an ambassador; and being no sooner in the house, but the madman[471] carries me up into the garret for a spy, and very roundly bad me untruss; and, had not a courteous servingman conveyed me away whilst he went to fetch whips, I think in my conscience, not respecting my honour, he would have breech'd me.[386]
Had. By Lady, and 'twas to be fear'd; but come, my lord, we'll hear the rest in the cellar.
Enter Albert in the woods.
Enter Maria, like a page.
The Writing.
Enter Albert, like a hermit.
Enter Carracus.
Enter Albert.
Enter Maria.
Enter Satyrs, dance, et exeunt.
Enter Albert [and Carracus.]
Enter Hog in his chamber, with Rebecca laying down his bed, and, seeming to put the keys under his bolster, conveyeth them into her pocket.
The Player appears.
Hog. Then I must make to him obeisance thus?
Light. [Aside.] So, now practise standing, though it be nothing agreeable to your Hog's age. Let me see, among these writings is my nephew Haddit's mortgage; but in taking that it may breed suspect on us; wherefore this box of jewels will stand far better, and let that alone. It is now break of day, and near by this the marriage is confirmed betwixt my cousin and great Crœsus's friend's daughter here, whom I will now leave to his most weighty cogitations.
Hog. Let me now ruminate to myself why Crœsus should be so great a favourer to me. And yet to what end should I desire to know? I think it is sufficient it is so. And I would he had been so sooner, for he and his spirits would have saved me much labour in the purchasing of wealth; but then indeed it would have been the confusion of two or three scriveners which, by my means, have been properly raised. But now imagine this only [491] a trick, whereby I may be gulled! But how can that be? Are not my doors locked? Have I not seen with my own eyes the ascending of the spirits? Have I not heard with my own ears the invocation wherewith they were raised? Could any but spirits appear through so firm a floor as this is? 'Tis impossible. But hark! I hear the spirit Ascarion coming with my gold. O bountiful Crœsus! I'll build a temple to thy mightiness!
Enter Young Lord Wealthy and Peter Servitude.
Y. Lord W. O Peter, how long have we slept upon the hogshead?
P. Ser. I think a dozen hours, my lord, and 'tis nothing. I'll undertake to sleep sixteen, upon the receipt of two cups of muskadine.[398]
Y. Lord W. I marvel what's become of Haddit and Lightfoot!
P. Ser. Hang 'em, flinchers; they slunk away as soon as they had drank as much as they were able to carry, which no generous spirit would ha' done, indeed.
Y. Lord W. Yet I believe Haddit had his part, for, to my thinking, the cellar went round with him when he left us. But are we come to a bed yet? I must needs sleep.
P. Ser. Come softly by any means, for we are now upon the threshold of
my master's chamber, through which I'll bring you to Mistress Rebecca's
lodging. Give me your hand, and come very nicely.
[Peter falls into the hole.
Y. Lord W. Where art, Peter?
P. Ser. O, O!
Y. Lord W. Where's this noise, Peter? canst tell?
Hog. I hear the voice of my adopted son-in-law.
Y. Lord W. Why, Peter, wilt not answer me?
P. Ser. O, my Lord above, stand still; I'm fallen down at least thirty fathom deep. If you stand not still till I recover, and have lighted a candle, you're but a dead man.
Hog. I am robb'd, I am undone, I am deluded! Who's in my chamber?
Y. Lord W. 'Tis I, the lord your son, that shall be; upon my honour, I came not to rob you.
Hog. I shall run mad! I shall run mad!
Y. Lord W. Why, then, 'tis my fortune to be terrified with madmen.
Enter Peter Servitude, with a candle.
P. Ser. Where are you, my lord?
Hog. Here, my lady. Where are you, rogue, when thieves break into my house?
P. Ser. Breaking my neck in your service—a plague on't!
Y. Lord W. But are you robbed, indeed, father Hog? Of how much, I pray?
Hog. Of all, of all! See here, they have left me nothing but two or three rolls of parchment; here they came up like spirits, and took my silver, gold, and jewels. Where's my daughter?
P. Ser. She's not in the house, sir. The street-doors are wide open.
Y. Lord W. Nay, 'tis no matter where she is now. She'll scarce be worth a thousand pound, and that's but a tailor's prize.[399]
Hog. Then you'll not have her, sir?
Y. Lord W. No, as I hope to live in peace.
Hog. Why, be't so, be't so; confusion cannot come in a fitter time on all of us. O bountiful Crœsus! how fine thy shadow hath devoured my substance!
P. Ser. Good my lord, promise him to marry his daughter, or he will be mad presently, though you never intend to have her.
Y. Lord W. Well, father Hog, though you are undone, your daughter shall not be, so long as a lord can stand her in any stead. Come, you shall with me to my lord and father, whose warrants we will have for the apprehending of all suspicious livers; and, though the labour be infinite, you must consider your loss is so.
Hog. Come, I'll do anything to gain my gold.
P. Ser. Till which be had, my fare will be but cold.
[Exeunt.
Enter Haddit, Rebecca, Lightfoot, and Priest.
Had. Now, Master Parson, we will no further trouble you; and, for the tying of our true love-knot, here's a small amends.
Had. O, by no means; I prythee, friend, good morrow.
Had. Why, then, to me, sir John.
Priest. To all a kind good-morrow.
[Exit Priest.
Had. A most fine vicar; there was no other means to be rid of him. But why are you so sad, Rebecca?
Had. Nay, be not grieved for that which should rather give you cause of content; for 'twill be a means to make him abandon his avarice, and save a soul almost incurable. But now to our own affairs: this marriage of ours must not yet be known, lest it breed suspicion. We will bring you, Rebecca, unto Atlas's house, whilst we two go unto the old Lord Wealthy's, having some acquaintance with his son-in-law Carracus, who I understand is there; where no question but we shall find your father proclaiming his loss: thither you shall come somewhat after us, as it were to seek him; where I doubt not but so to order the matter, that I will receive you as my wife from his own hands.
Reb. May it so happy prove!
Light. Amen, say I; for, should our last trick be known, great Crœsus's shade would have a conjured time on't.
Had. 'Tis true, his castle of adamant would scarce hold him; but come, this will be good cause for laughter hereafter.
Enter Old Lord Wealthy, with Carracus, Maria, and Albert.
Enter Young Lord Wealthy, Hog, and Peter.
Maria. You may see, brother, unlooked-for guests prove often troublesome.
Y. Lord W. Well, but is your husband there any quieter than he was?
Car. Sir, I must desire you to forget all injuries, if, in not being myself, I offered you any.
Alb. I'll see that peace concluded.
O. Lord W. Was it you, son, that cried so loud for justice?
Y. Lord W. Yes, marry was it, and this the party to whom it appertains.
Hog. O, my most honoured lord, I am undone, robbed, this black night, of all the wealth and treasure which these many years I have hourly laboured for.
O. Lord W. And who are those have done this outrage to you?
Hog. O, knew I that, I then, my lord, were happy.
O. Lord W. Come you for justice then, not knowing 'gainst whom the course of justice should extend itself? Nor yet suspect you none?
Hog. None but the devil.
Y. Lord W. I thought he was a cheater, e'er since I heard two or three Templars[400] swear at dice, the last Christmas, that the devil had got all.
Enter Haddit and Lightfoot.
Had. My kind acquaintance, joy to thy good success.
Car. Noble and freeborn Haddit, welcome.
Light. Master Hog, good day.
Hog. [Good day], for I have had a bad night on't.
Light. Sickness is incident to age: what, be the writings ready to be sealed we entreated last day?
Hog. Yes, I think they are; would the scrivener were paid for making them.
Light. He shall be so, though I do't myself. Is the money put up, as I appointed?
Hog. Yes, 'tis put up: confusion seize the receivers!
Light. Heaven bless us all! what mean you, sir?
Light. Marry, God forbid! after what manner, I pray?
Had. Robb'd! by whom, or how?
Light. O, there's the grief: he knows not whom to suspect.
Had. The fear of hell o'ertake them, whosoe'er they be. But where's your daughter? I hope she is safe.
Enter Rebecca.
Hog. Thank heaven, I see she's now so. Where hast thou been, my girl?
Reb. Alas! sir, carried by amazement I know not where; pursued by the robbers, forced to fly amazed, affrighted, through the city streets, to seek redress; but that lay fast asleep in all men's houses, nor would lend an ear to the distressed.
Hog. It is.
Omnes. We are all willing.
Hog. Then, in the presence of you all, I give my daughter freely to this gentleman as wife; and to show how much I stand affected to him, for dowry with her, I do back restore his mortgaged lands; and, for their loves, I vow ever hereafter to detest, renounce, loathe, and abhor all slavish avarice,
Omnes. A bless'd conversion.
P. Ser. A good night to all.
[Exeunt omnes.
The Heire. A Comedie. As it was acted by the Company of the Revels. 1620. Written by T. M. London, Printed by Augustine Mathewes, for Thomas Iones, and are to be sold at his shop in S. Dunstans Church-yard in Fleetstreet. 1633. 4o.[404]
Thomas May was the son of Sir Thomas May, of Mayfield, in the county of Sussex, Knight, a gentleman of an ancient and honourable family.[405] He was born in the year 1595, and received his early education in the neighbourhood of his birthplace; thence he was removed to Sidney-Sussex College in Cambridge, and took the degree of B.A. in 1612. On the 6th of August 1615, he was admitted into the society of Gray's-Inn, and soon after became celebrated for his poetical performances.
Lord Clarendon,[406] with whom he was intimately acquainted, says "that his father spent the fortune which he was born to, so that he had only an annuity [504] left him not proportionable to a liberal education; yet, since his fortune could not raise his mind, he brought his mind down to his fortune by a great modesty and humility in his nature, which was not affected, but very well became an imperfection in his speech, which was a great mortification to him, and kept him from entering upon any discourse but in the company of his very friends. His parts of nature and art were very good, as appears by his translation of Lucan (none of the easiest work of that kind), and more by his Supplement to Lucan which, being entirely his own, for the learning, the wit and the language, may be well looked upon as one of the best epic poems in the English language. He writ some other commendable pieces of the reign of some of our kings. He was cherished by many persons of honour, and very acceptable in all places; yet (to show that pride and envy have their influences upon the narrowest minds, and which have the greatest semblance of humility) though he had received much countenance, and a very considerable donative from the king, upon his majesty's refusing to give him a small pension,[407] which he had designed and promised to another very ingenious person, whose qualities he thought inferior to his own, he fell from his duty and all his former friends, and prostituted himself to the vile office[408] of celebrating the infamous acts of those who were in rebellion against the king; which he did so meanly, that he seemed to all men to have lost his wits when he left his honesty, and shortly after died miserable and neglected, and deserves to be forgotten."
He died suddenly on the night of the 13th of November 1650, after having drank his cheerful bottle as usual. The cause of his death is said to have arisen from the tying of his nightcap too close under his chin, which occasioned a suffocation when he turned himself about.
He was buried, by appointment of the Parliament, in a splendid manner, in the south aisle of Westminster Abbey, where a monument to his memory was erected, with a Latin inscription thereon, composed by Marchemont Needham, which remained there until the Restoration, when it was destroyed, and his body dug up, and buried in a large pit belonging to St Margaret's Church, with many others who had been interred in the abbey during the Interregnum.
He was the author of the following dramatic pieces—
1. "The Tragedy of Antigone the Theban princesse." 8o. 1631.
2. "The Heire: a Comedy: acted by the Company of the Revels, 1620." 4o. 1633.
3. "The Tragedy of Julia Agrippina, Empress of Rome." 12o. 1639. 12o. 1654.
4. "The Tragedy of Cleopatra, Queen of Ægypt." 12o. 1639. 12o. 1654.
5. "The Old Couple: a Comedy." 4o. 1658.
He also wrote "The reign of king Henry the Second," and "The victorious reign of Edward the Third,"[409] both in English verse; and translated, besides [506]Lucan, the "Georgics" of Virgil, the "Epigrams" of Martial, the "Icon Animorum" by Barclay, and the verses in the "Argenis" of the same author. He likewise was the author of "The History of the Parliament of England, which began November 3, 1640, with a short and necessary view of some precedent years." Folio. 1647.[410]
The following inscription[411] was made upon him by one of the Cavalier party, which he had abused—
[A MS. note in one of the former editions says: "This comedy is full of most palpable imitations of Shakespeare and others, but it is very pleasingly, and even elegantly, written in many parts."]
| The King. |
| Virro, an old rich count. |
| Polymetes, an old lord. |
| Eugenio, his son. |
| Leocothoe, his daughter. |
| Roscio, his man. |
| Euphues, another lord. |
| Philocles, his son. |
| Clerimont, a gentleman, friend to Philocles. |
| Franklin, an old rich gentleman. |
| Luce,[412] his daughter. |
| Francisco, a young man. |
| Alphonso. |
| Shallow, a foolish gentleman. |
| Nicanor, a courtier. |
| Matho, a lawyer. |
| Psectas,[413] a waiting gentlewoman. |
| A Parson. |
| A Sumner. |
| A Constable and Watch. |
| Servants. |
| Scene, Sicily. |
UPON HIS COMEDY, THE HEIR.
Enter Polymetes, Roscio.
Pol. Roscio,
Ros. My lord.
Enter Servant.
Ser. My lord, Count Virro is come to see you.
Enter Count Virro.
Vir. Is your lord asleep?
Ros. 'Fore heaven, he does it rarely!
[Aside.
Vir. But, sir, remember yourself, remember your daughter; let not your grief for the dead make you forget the living, whose hopes and fortunes depend upon your safety.
Pol. O my good lord, you never had a son.
Ros. Unless they were bastards, and for them no doubt but he has done as
other lords do.
[Aside.
Ros. How stands my young lady affected to him?
Pol. There's all the difficulty; we must win her to love him. I doubt the peevish girl will think him too old; he's well near fifty. In this business I must leave somewhat to thy wit and care: praise him beyond all measure.
Ros. Your lordship ever found me trusty.
Pol. If thou effect it, I will make thee happy.
[Exeunt.
Enter Philocles, Clerimont.
Cler. True, but I have an antidote, and I can teach it thee.
Phil. When I have need on't, I'll desire it.
Cler. And 'twill be worth thy learning, when thou shalt see the tyranny of that same scurvy[519] boy, and what fools he makes of us. Shall I describe the beast?
Phil. What beast?
Cler. A lover.
Phil. Do.
Cler. Then, to be brief, I will pass over the opinion of your ancient fathers, as likewise those strange loves spoken of in the authentic histories of chivalry, Amadis de Gaul, Parismus, the Knight of the Sun, or the witty knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, where those brave men, whom neither enchantments, giants, windmills, nor flocks of sheep, could vanquish, are made the trophies of triumphing love.
Phil. Prythee, come to the matter.
Cler. Neither will I mention the complaints of Sir Guy for the fair Felice, nor the travels of Parismus for the love of the beauteous Laurana; nor, lastly, the most sad penance of the ingenious knight Don Quixote upon the mountains of Sierra Morena,[418] moved by the unjust disdain of the lady Dulcina del Toboso. As for our modern authors, I will not so much as name them; no, not that excellent treatise of Tully's love, written by the master of art.[419]
Phil. I would thou wouldst pass over this passing over of authors, and speak thine own judgment.
Cler. Why, then, to be brief, I think a lover looks like an ass.
Phil. I can describe him better than so myself.[520] He looks like a man that had sitten up at cards all night, or a stale drunkard wakened in the midst of his sleep.
Cler. But, Philocles, I would not have thee see this lady; she has a bewitching look.
Phil. How darest thou venture, man? What strange medicine hast thou found? Ovid ne'er taught it thee. I doubt I guess thy remedy for love: go to a bawdy-house or so, is it not?
Cler. Faith, and that's a good way, I can tell you; we younger brothers are beholden to it. Alas! we must not fall in love, and choose whom we like best; we have no jointures for them, as you blessed heirs can have.
Phil. Well, I have found you, sir. And prythee, tell me how gettest thou wenches?
Cler. Why, I can want no panders. I lie in the constable's house.
Phil. Well, I will see her then.
[Exeunt.
Enter Franklin, Francisco, and Luce gravida.[420]
Franc. I must obey, and will. Dear Luce, be constant.
Luce. Till death.
[Exit Francisco.
Frank. Here's a fine wedding towards! The bridegroom, when he comes for his bride, shall find her great with child by another man! Passion-a-me, minion, how have you hid it so long?
Luce. Fearing your anger, sir, I strove to hide it.
Frank. Hide it one day more, then, or be damned. Hide it till Shallow be married to thee, and then let him do his worst.
Luce. Sir, I should too much wrong him.
Frank. Wrong him! there be great ladies have done the like; 'tis no news to see a bride with child.
Luce. Good sir.
Frank. Then be wise; lay the child to him: he's a rich man, t'other's a beggar.
Luce. I dare not, sir.
Frank. Do it, I say, and he shall father it.
Luce. He knows he never touched me, sir.
Frank. That's all one; lay it to him, we'll out-face him 'tis his: but hark! he is coming, I hear the music. Swear thou wilt do thy best to make him think 'tis his, only for this time; swear quickly.
Luce. I do.
Frank. Go, step aside, and come when thy cue is; thou shalt hear us
talk.
[Luce aside.
Enter Shallow, with music.
Shal. Morrow, father.
Frank. Son bridegroom, welcome; you have been looked for here.
Shal. My tailor a little disappointed me; but is my bride ready?
Frank. Yes, long ago; but you and I will talk a little. Send in your music.
Shal. Go, wait within. [Exit music.] And tell me, father, did she not think it long till I came?
Frank. I warrant her, she did; she loves you not a little.
Shal. Nay, that I dare swear; she has given me many tastes of her affection.
Frank. What, before you were married?
Shal. I mean in the way of honesty, father.
Frank. Nay, that I doubt; young wits love to be trying, and, to say truth, I see not how a woman can deny a man of your youth and person upon those terms: you'll not be known on't now.
Shal. I have kissed her, or so.
Frank. Come, come; I know you are no fool, I should think you a very ass—nay, I tell you plainly, I should be loth to marry my daughter to you—if I thought you had not tried her in so long acquaintance: but you have tried her, and she, poor soul, could not deny you.
Shal. Ha, ha, he!
Frank. Faith, tell me, son, 'tis but a merry question: she's yours.
Shal. Upon my virginity, father——
Frank. Swear not by that, I'll ne'er believe you.
Shal. Why, then, as I am a gentleman, I never did it, that I remember.
Fran. That you remember! O, is't thereabouts?
Luce. He'll take it upon him presently.
[Aside.
Fran. You have been so familiar with her, you have forgot the times: but did you never come in half fuddled, and then in a kind humour— cœtera quis nescit?
Shal. Indeed I was wont to serve my mother's maids so, when I came half foxed, as you said, and then next morning I should laugh to myself.
Frank. Why, there it goes; I thought to have chid you, son Shallow; I knew what you had done; 'tis too apparent: I would not have people take notice of it; pray God she hide her great belly, as she goes to church to-day.
Shal. Why, father, is she with child?
Frank. As if you knew not that! fie, fie! leave your dissembling now.
Shal. Sure, it cannot be mine.
Frank. How's this; you would not make my daughter a whore, would you?
This is but to try if you can stir my choler: you wits have strange
tricks, do things over night when you are merry, and then deny 'em. But
stay, here she comes alone; step aside, she shall not see us.
[They step aside.
Shal. She's with child indeed; it swells.
Frank. You would not believe me. 'Tis a good wench: she does it
handsomely.
[Aside.
Luce. But yet I know, if thou hadst been thyself, thou wouldst ne'er have offered it; 'twas drink that made thee.
Shal. Yes, sure, I was drunk when I did it, for I had forgot it. I lay my life 'twill prove a girl, because 'twas got in drink.
Luce. I am ashamed to see anybody.
Frank. Alas, poor wretch! go comfort her. Luce!
Shal. Sweetheart! nay, never be ashamed. I was a little too hasty, but I'll make thee amends; we'll be married presently.
Frank. Be cheery, Luce; you were man and wife before; it wanted but the ceremony of the church, and that shall be presently done.
Shal. Ay, ay, sweetheart, as soon as may be.
Frank. But now I think on't, son Shallow, your wedding must not be public, as we intended it.
Shal. Why so?
Frank. Because I would not have people take notice of this fault: we'll go to church, only we three, the minister and the clerk—that's witnesses enough; so, the time being unknown, people will think you were married before.
Shal. But will it stand with my worship to be married in private?
Frank. Yes, yes; the greatest do it, when they have been nibbling beforehand; there is no other way to save your bride's credit.
Shal. Come, let's about it presently.
Frank. This is closed up beyond our wishes.
[Exeunt.
Manet Luce.
Enter Philocles, and Clerimont at the window.
Leu. Psectas!
Psec. Madam.
Phil. I'll tell thee when I have done: hast thou pen and ink in thy chamber?
Cler. Yes, there is one upon the table. I'll stay here at the window, and watch whether she stay or not. What a sudden change is this!
Leu. He needs not, he is rich enough; unless he should break in knavery, as some of our merchants do nowadays.
Psec. Break promise, madam, I mean; and that he will not for your sake: you know his business.
Cler. What, is the letter done already? I see these lovers have nimble inventions; but how will you send it?
Phil. Hard by her.
Cler. I think you would not hit her with such stones as this; lady, look to yourself, now it comes to proof.
Phil. But prythee, tell me, what dost thou think this letter may do?
Cler. See, what a wonder it strikes 'em in, how it should come.
Phil. She'll wonder more to see what man it comes from.
Cler. I like her well, she is not afraid to open it. She starts; stay, mark her action when she has read the letter.
She reads.
Psec. I'll not be wanting.
Leu. Here comes my father; he must not see this.
Psec. No, nor your t'other sweetheart, he is with him yonder.
Enter Polymetes, Virro, Roscio.
Enter Servant.
Enter Eugenio, disguised.
Pol. Admit him. Now, friend, your business with me.
Ser. If you be the Lord Polymetes.
Pol. The same.
Ros. Think it done, my lord.
Pol. Leucothoë,[426] come hither.
Leu. Pity is show'd to men in misery.
Vir. And so am I, if not reliev'd by you.
Leu. 'Twere pride in me, my lord, to think it so.
Vir. I am your beauty's captive.
Manet Eugenio solus.
Enter Francisco, Sumner.[427]
Franc. This will make good work for you in the spiritual court; Shallow is a rich man.
Sum. Those are the men we look for; there's somewhat to be got: the court has many businesses at this time, but they are little worth; a few waiting-women got with child by servingmen or so, scarce worth citing.
Franc. Do not their masters get 'em with child sometimes?
Sum. Yes, no doubt; but they have got a trick to put 'em off upon the men, and for a little portion save their own credits; besides, these private marriages are much out of our way, we cannot know when there is a fault.
Franc. Well, these are no starters; I warrant you, Shallow shall not deny it; and for the wench,[536] she need not confess it, she has a mark that will betray her.
Sum. I thank you, sir, for your good intelligence, I hope 'tis certain.
Franc. Fear not that. Is your citation ready?
Sum. I have it here.
Franc. Well, step aside, and come when I call;
I hear 'em coming.
[Exit Sumner.
Enter Franklin, Shallow, Luce, Parson.
Frank. Set forward there. Francisco, what make you here?
Frank. Yours, saucebox?
Franc. Do your worst, I fear not; I was contracted to her.
Frank. What witness have you?
Shal. What an ass is this to talk of contracting! He that will get a wench must make her bigger, as I have done, and not contract.
Franc. Sir, you are abus'd.
Shal. Why so?
Shal. A good jest, i' faith! make me believe that!
Frank. A sumner! we are all betray'd.
Enter Sumner.
Shal. Do you mean me, sir?
Sum. Gallants, farewell; my writ shall be obey'd?
Frank. Sumner, it shall.
[Exit Sumner.
Par. I'll take my leave, there's nothing now for me to do.
[Exit Parson.
Franc. Farewell, good master parson.
Shal. You are very bold with me, sir.
Franc. Let me have news what happens, dearest Luce.
Luce. Else let me die.
[Exit Francisco.
Frank. This was your doing, Luce; it had been impossible he should e'er have known the time so truly else; but I'll take an order next time for your blabbing.
Shal. What's the matter, father?
Frank. We may thank you for it; this was your haste, that will now shame us all; you must be doing afore your time!
Shal. 'Twas but a trick of youth, father.
Frank. And therefore now you must e'en stand in a white sheet for all to gaze at.
Shal. How! I would be loth to wear a surplice now. 'Tis a disgrace the house of the Shallows never knew.
Frank. All the hope is, officers may be bribed; and so they will. 'Twere a hard world for us to live in else.
Shal. You say true, father; if 'twere not for corruption, every poor
rascal might have justice as well as one of us, and that were a shame.
[Exeunt Shallow and Luce.
Enter Philocles, Psectas.
Enter Polymetes, Roscio, Eugenio, and Psectas.
Eug. As your own breast, my lord?
Ros. This was well found out, my lord: you now have means to take your enemy.
Ros. What course do you intend to ruin him?
Pol. Why, kill him presently.
Pol. Should I then let him go, when I have caught him?
Ros. Yes, sir; to catch him faster, and more safely.
Pol. How should that be? Speak, man.
Pol. Thou art my oracle, dear Roscio.
Enter Psectas.
Enter Philocles and Leucothoë.
Pol. You may be deceived, though; you have no such great reason to thank
your stars, if you knew all.
[Aside.
Leu. And this mine.
Pol. Nay, to't again; your sweet meat shall have sour sauce.
Phil. Why, dearest, is thy love so quickly cold?
Leu. O no, we'll meet.
Phil. Where, dearest?
Pol. Ah, sirrah! this gear goes well. God-a-mercy, girl, for thy intelligence! Why, this is as much as a man could desire—the time, place, and everything. I warrant 'em, they pass no further. Well, go thou in and wait upon thy mistress; she's melancholy till she see her sweetheart again; but when she does, she shall not see him long. Not a word of what's passed among us, for your life.
Psec. I warrant you, my lord.
[Exit.
Pol. I'll not so much as show an angry look or any token that I know of any of their proceedings. But, Roscio, we must lay the place strongly. If they should 'scape us, I were prettily fooled now, after all this.
Ros. Why, 'tis impossible, my lord; we'll go strong enough: besides, I think it fit we took an officer along with us, to countenance it the better.
Pol. Thou sayest well; go, get one. I'll go myself along with you too; I love to see sport, though I am old. You'll go along with us too, sir?
Eug. Ay, sir; you shall command my service when you are ready.
Eugenio solus.
Eug. Well, I like my sister's choice; she has taken a man whose very looks and carriage speak him worthy: besides, he is noble, his fortune's [546] sufficient, they both love each other. What can my father more desire, that he gapes so after this old count, that comes for the estate, as t'other, upon my soul, does not, but pure, spotless love? But now his plot is for revenge upon his old enemy. Fie, fie! 'tis bloody and unchristian; my soul abhors such acts. This match may rather reconcile our houses, and I desire, where worth is, to have friendship as, on my soul, 'tis there. Well, Philocles, I hope to call thee brother. Somewhat I'll do. I'll go persuade Count Virro not to love her. I know the way, and I'll but tell him truth—her brother lives; that will cool his love quickly. But soft! here comes the count, as fit as may be.
Enter Virro.
Vir. She loves me not yet, but that's no matter. I shall have her; her father says I shall, and I dare take his word. Maids are quickly overruled. Ha, ha! methinks I am grown younger than I was by twenty years. This fortune cast upon me is better than Medea's charm to make an old man young again, to have a lord's estate freely bestowed, and with it such a beauty as would warm Nestor's blood, and make old Priam lusty. Fortune, I see thou lovest me now. I'll build a temple to thee shortly, and adore thee as the greatest deity. Now, what are you?
Eug. A poor scholar, my lord; one that am little beholding to fortune.
Vir. So are most of your profession. Thou shouldst take some more thriving occupation. Be a judge's man; they are the bravest nowadays, or a cardinal's pander—that were a good profession, and gainful.
Eug. But not lawful, my lord.
Vir. Lawful! that cardinal may come to be pope, and then he could pardon thee and himself too.
Eug. My lord, I was brought up a scholar, and I thank you for your counsel, my lord: I have some for you, and therefore I came.
Vir. For me! what, I prythee?
Eug. 'Tis weighty, and concerns you near.
Vir. Speak, what is't?
Eug. My lord, you are to marry old Polymetes's daughter.
Vir. And heir.
Eug. No heir, my lord; her brother is alive.
Vir. How! thou art mad.
Eug. My lord, what I speak is true; and to my knowledge his father gives it out in policy to marry his daughter the better; to hook in suitors, and specially aimed at you, thinking you rich and covetous; and now he has caught you.
Vir. But dost thou mock me?
Eug. Let me be ever miserable if I speak not truth: as sure as I am here, Eugenio lives; I know it, and know where he is.
Vir. Where, prythee?
Eug. Not a day's journey hence, where his father enjoined him to stay till your match, and sends word to him of this plot: besides, I overheard the old lord and his man Roscio laughing at you for being caught thus.
Vir. Why, wert thou at the house then?
Eug. Yes, but had scurvy entertainment, which I have thus revenged.
Vir. Beshrew my heart, I know not what to think on't. 'Tis like enough: this lord was always cunning beyond measure, and it amazed me that he should grow so extreme kind to me on the sudden, to offer me all this. Besides, this fellow is so confident, and on no ends of cosenage, that I[548] can see. Well, I would fain enjoy her—the wench is delicate; but I would have the estate too, and not be gulled. What shall I do? Now, brains, if ever you will, help your master.
Eug. Irus,[430] my lord.
Vir. Your name, as well as your attire, speaks you poor.
Eug. I am so.
Vir. And very poor.
Eug. Very poor.
Vir. Would you not gladly take a course to get money, and a great sum of money?
Eug. Yes, gladly, if your lordship would but show me the way.
Vir. Hark ye.[431]
Eug. O, my lord, conscience!
Vir. Fie! never talk of conscience; and for law, thou art free; for all men think him dead, and his father will be ashamed to follow it, having already given him for dead; and then, who can know it? Come, be wise, five hundred crowns I'll give.
Eug. Well, 'tis poverty that does it, and not I: when shall I be paid?
Vir. When thou hast done it.
Eug. Well, give me your hand for it, my lord.
Vir. Thou shalt.
Eug. In writing, to be paid when I have poisoned him; and think it done.
Vir. Now thou speak'st like thyself: come in, I'll give it thee.
Eug. And this shall stop thy mouth for ever, count.
[Exeunt.
Leucothoë [in male attire] sola.
Enter Philocles and Clerimont.
Leu. I know no cause; but I would fain be gone.
Phil. Whither, sweet?
Phil. O, fear not, love!
[Draws.
Enter Polymetes, Roscio, Eugenio, and Officers.
Pol. Upon 'em, officers, yonder they are.
Phil. Thieves! villains!
Pol. So, keep 'em fast; we'll have 'em faster shortly; and for you, minion, I'll tie a clog about your neck for running away any more.
Leu. Yet do but hear me, father.
Eug. It shall, my lord; I'll be an Argus: none shall come here, I
warrant you. My very heart bleeds to see two such lovers, so faithful,
parted so. I must condemn my father; he's too cruel in this action; and,
did not nature forbid it, I could rail at him—to wreak his
long-fostered malice against Lord Euphues thus upon his son, the
faithful lover of his own daughter, and upon her. For should it come to
pass, as he expects it shall, I think it would kill her too, she takes
it so. See in what strange amazement now she stands! her grief has spent
itself so far, that it has left her senseless. It grieves me thus to see
her; I can scarce forbear revealing of myself to her, but that[553] I keep it for a better occasion,
when things shall answer better to my purpose. Lady!
Leu. What are you?
Leu. All service is too late, my hopes are desperate.
Eug. Come, let's away.
[Exeunt.
Enter Francisco, reading a letter.
Enter Alphonso.
Enter Virro and Polymetes.
Pol. Why, now, my lord, you are nearer to her love than ever you were yet; your rival by this accident shall be removed out of the way; for before the scornful girl would never fancy any man else.
Vir. I conceive you, sir.
Pol. I laboured it for your sake as much as for my own, to remove your rival and my enemy: you have your love, and I have my revenge.
Vir. I shall live, my lord, to give you thanks. But 'twill be after a
strange manner, if Irus has despatched what he was hired to: then, my
kind lord, I shall be a little too cunning for you.
[Aside.
Pol. My lord, you are gracious with the king.
Vir. I thank his majesty, I have his ear before another man.
Pol. Then see no pardon be granted; you may stop anything; I know Euphues will be soliciting for his son.
Vir. I warrant you, my lord, no pardon passes whilst I am there; I'll be a bar betwixt him and the king. But hark! the king approaches.
Enter King, with Attendants.
Ambo. Health to your majesty.
Vir. I thank your majesty; but the marriage[558] that I intended is stolen to my hand, and by another.
King. Stolen! how, man?
King. No reason but the law should have its course.
Enter Euphues.
Euph. Pardon, dread sovereign, pardon for my son.
King. Your son, Lord Euphues! what is his offence?
Enter Leucothoë.
Leu. Mercy, my sovereign! mercy, gracious king!
King. Your life is not in question.
Vir. Where the devil hath his mind been all this while? Perhaps he heard none of us neither; we may e'en tell our tales again.
Pol. No, sure, he heard us; but 'tis very strange.
Enter Polymetes, Virro, Euphues, &c.
Pol. Amen.
Vir. Pardon us, my lord, we were wrong'd.
Pol. And sought redress but by a lawful course.
King. Well, leave me alone.
Vir. Farewell, my liege. Now let him chafe alone.
Pol. Now we have our ends.
[Exeunt.
Enter Nicanor.
Nic. Sir!
Nic. 'Tis called the Taxes of the Apostolical Chancery.[434]
King. Is there a price for any sin set down?
Re-enter Nicanor.
Nic. Yes, sir.
King. Read; I would know the price of perjury.
Nic. I shall find it quickly; here's an index. [566] [He reads.] Imprimis. For murder of all kinds, of a clergyman, of a layman, of father, mother, son, brother, sister, wife——
King. Read till you come at perjury.
Nic. Item, for impoisoning, enchantments, witchcraft, sacrilege, simony, and their kind and branches.
Item, pro lapsu carnis, fornication, adultery, incest without any exception or distinction; for sodomy, brutality, or any of that kind.
Enter Matho and Nicanor.
Matho. Health to my sovereign!
King. And what will be the issue of the law?
Matho. None, my lord.
King. Surely there may; speak, man: I'll give thee double fees.
Matho. It cannot be, my liege; the statute is plain.
Enter Constable and Watch.[435]
Con. Come, fellow-watchmen, for now you are my fellows.
1st Watch. It pleases you to call us so, master constable.
Con. I do it to encourage you in your office—it is a trick that we commanders have: your great captains call your soldiers fellow-soldiers to encourage them.
2d Watch. Indeed, and so they do. I heard master curate reading a story-book t'other day to that purpose.
Con. Well, I must show now what you have to do, for I myself, before I came to this prefermity, was as simple as one of you: and, for your better destruction, I will deride my speech into two parts. First, what is a watchman? Secondly, what is the office of a watchman? For the first, if any man ask me what is a watchman, I may answer him, he is a man, as others are; nay, a tradesman, as a vintner, a tailor, or the like, for they have long bills.
3d Watch. He tells us true, neighbour, we have bills[436] indeed.
Con. For the second, what is his office? I answer, he may, by virtue of his office, reprehend any [570] person or persons that walk the streets too late at a seasonable hour.
4th Watch. May we indeed, master constable?
Con. Nay, if you meet any of those rogues at seasonable hours, you may, by virtue of your office, commit him to prison, and then ask him whither he was going.
1st Watch. Why, that's as much as my lord mayor does.
Con. True, my lord mayor can do no more than you in that point.
2d Watch. But, master constable, what, if he should resist us?
Con. Why, if he do resist, you may knock him down, and then bid him stand, and come before the constable. So now I think you are sufficiently instructed concerning your office. Take your stands: you shall hear rogues walking at these seasonable hours, I warrant you: stand close.
Enter Eugenio.
Eug. Now do I take as much care to be apprehended as others do to 'scape the watch: I must speak to be overheard, and plainly too, or else these dolts will never conceive me.
Con. Hark, who goes by?
Eug. O my conscience, my conscience! the terror of a guilty conscience!
Con. How, conscience talks he of! he's an honest man, I warrant him: let him pass.
2d Watch. Ay, ay, let him pass. Good night, honest gentleman.
Eug. These are wise officers, I must be plainer yet. That gold, that cursed gold, that made me poison him—made me poison Eugenio.
Con. How, made me poison him! he's a knave, I warrant him.
3d Watch. Master constable has found him already.
Con. I warrant you, a knave cannot pass me. Go, reprehend him; I'll take his excommunication myself.
1st Watch. Come afore the constable.
2d Watch. Come afore the constable.
Con. Sirrah, sirrah, you would have 'scaped, would you? No, sirrah, you shall know the king's officers have eyes to hear such rogues as you. Come, sirrah, confess who it was you poisoned. He looks like a notable rogue.
1st Watch. I do not like his looks.
2d Watch. Nor I.
Con. You would deny it, would you, sirrah? We shall sift you.
Eug. Alas, master constable! I cannot now deny what I have said: you overheard me; I poisoned Eugenio, son to Lord Polymetes.
1st Watch. O rascal!
2d Watch. My young landlord!
Con. Let him alone, the law shall punish him; but, sirrah, where did you poison him?
Eug. About a day's journey hence; as he was coming home from Athens, I met him, and poisoned him.
Con. But, sirrah, who set you a-work? Confess—I shall find out the whole nest of these rogues—speak.
Eug. Count Virro hired me to do it.
Con. O lying rascal!
1st Watch. Nay, he that will steal will lie.
2d Watch. I'll believe nothing he says.
3d Watch. Belie a man of worship!
4th Watch. A nobleman!
Con. Away with him, I'll hear no more. Remit him to prison. Sirrah, you
shall hear of these things to-morrow, where you would be loth to hear
them. Come, let's go.
[Exeunt.
Enter Franklin, Shallow, Luce, Francisco in a parson's habit, and a true Parson otherwise attired.
Manet Franklin.
Enter Francisco, Parson, Shallow, Luce.
Luce. I ever scorned thy folly, and hated thee; though sometimes afore my father I would make an ass of thee.
Shal. O women, monstrous women! little does her father know who has married her.
Luce. Yes, he knows the parson married me, and you can witness that.
Franc. And he shall know the parson will lie with her.
Shal. Well, parson, I will be revenged on all thy coat: I will not plough an acre of ground for you to tithe, I'll rather pasture my neighbour's cattle for nothing.
Par. O, be more charitable, sir; bid God give them joy.
Shal. I care not greatly if I do: he is not the first parson that has taken a gentleman's leavings.
Franc. How mean you, sir?
Shal. You guess my meaning. I hope to have good luck to horse flesh, now she is a parson's wife?
Franc. You have lain with her, then, sir.
Shal. I cannot tell you that; but if you saw a woman with child without lying with a man, then perhaps I have not.
Luce. Impudent coxcomb! Barest thou say that ever thou layest with me? Didst thou ever so much as kiss my hand in private?
Shal. These things must not be spoken of in company.
Luce. Thou know'st I ever hated thee.
Shal. But when you were i' th' good humour, you would tell me another tale.
Luce. The fool is mad; by heaven, my Francisco, I am wronged!
[He discovers himself.
Franc. Then I must change my note. Sirrah, unsay what you have spoken; swear here before the parson and myself you never touched her, or I'll cut thy throat: it is Francisco threatens thee.
Shal. I am in a sweet case, what should I do now? Her father thinks I have lain with her: if I deny it, he'll have a bout with me: if I say I have, this young rogue will cut my throat.
Franc. Come, will you swear?
Shal. I would I were fairly off; I would lose my wench with all my heart. I swear.
Franc. So now thou art free from any imputation that his tongue can
stick upon thee.
[To Luce.]
Enter Franklin.
Frank. Well, now I see 'tis done.
Shal. Here's one shall talk with you.
Frank. God give you joy, son Shallow.
Franc. I thank you, father.
Frank. How's this, Francisco in the parson's habit?
Franc. I have married her, as you bad me, sir; but this was the truer parson of the two: he tied the knot, and this gentleman is our witness.
Frank. I am undone! strumpet, thou hast betrayed thyself to beggary, to shame besides, and that in open court: but take what thou hast sought: hang, beg, and starve, I'll never pity thee.
Luce. Good sir!
Shal. I told you what would come on't.
Frank. How did your wisdom lose her?
Shal. E'en as you see; I was beguiled, and so were you.
Frank. Francisco, take her; thou seest the portion thou art like to have.
Franc. 'Tis such a portion as will ever please me: but for her sake be not unnatural.
Luce. Do not reject me, father.
Franc. But for the fault that she must answer for, or shame she should
endure in court, behold her yet an untouched virgin. Cushion, come
forth; here, Signior Shallow, take your child unto you, make much of it,
it may prove as wise as the father.
[He flings the cushion at him.
Frank. This is more strange than t'other: ah, Luce! wert thou so subtle to deceive thyself and me? Well, take thy fortune, 'tis thine own choice.
Franc. Sir, we can force no bounty from you, and therefore must rest content with what your pleasure is.
Enter Euphues, Alphonso.
Alph. Yonder he is, my lord; that's he in the parson's habit; he is thus disguised about the business I told you of. Lysandro, see your noble father.
Luce. Is my Francisco noble?
Frank. Lord Euphues' son! I am amaz'd.
Euph. I hear, Lysandro, that you are married.
Franc. Yes, my lord; this is my bride, the daughter and heir of this rich gentleman. 'Twas only she that, when my state was nothing, my poor self and parentage unknown, vouchsafed to know me—nay, grace me with her love, her constant love.
Franc. Now wants but your consent.
Frank. Well, Luce, thy choice has proved better than we expected; but
this cloud of grief has dimmed our mirth, but will, I hope, blow over.
Heaven grant it may! And, Signior Shallow, though you have missed what
my love meant you once, pray be my guest.
Shal. I thank you, sir; I'll not be strange.
[Exeunt.
The Court.—Enter King, Nicanor.
Enter three Judges, Virro, Polymetes, Euphues, Francisco, Leucothoë, Clerimont, Roscio.
1st Judge. Bring forth the prisoner: where are the witnesses?
Pol. Here, my lords. I am the wronged party,[578] and the fact my man here, besides the officers that took them, can justify.
2d Judge. That's enough.
Enter Philocles, with a guard.
Cler. 'Tis brave and resolute.
Enter Constable, leading Eugenio.
How now, who's that you have brought there?
Vir. Irus is taken.
2d Judge. What's his offence?
Con. Murder.
Watch. No, Master Constable, 'twas but poisoning of a man.
Con. Go, thou art a fool.
Vir. I am undone for ever; all will out.
3d Judge. What proofs have you against him?
Con. His own profession, if it please your honour.
3d Judge. And that's an ill profession—to be a murderer. Thou meanest he has confessed the fact.
Con. Yes, my lord, he cannot deny it.
1st Judge. Did he not name the party who it was that he had poisoned?
Con. Marry, with reverence be it spoken, it was Eugenio, my Lord Polymetes' son.
Pol. How's this?
1st Judge. He died long since at Athens.
2d Judge. Hired by whom?
Eug. By Count Virro; there he stands.
Eug. Please it your lordship, I may relate the manner?
3d Judge. Do.
1st Judge. This is his hand.
3d Judge. Sure as I live, I have seen warrants from him with just these characters.
3d Judge. Besides, methinks this fellow's tale is likely.
Vir. Vile cosener! cheating lord! dissembler!
All. How! lives?
Pol. My son, welcome from death.
2d Judge. 'Tis very strange!
Pol. Let us conclude within.
King. Stay, and take my joy with you.
[The King speaks from above.
Euph. His majesty is coming down: let us attend.
Enter King.
FINIS.
[1] Mr Gifford, with that zeal for the author under his hands which always distinguished him (and without a single reference to Field's unassisted comedies which, in fact, have remained unnoticed by everybody), attributes to Field, in "The Fatal Dowry," all that he thinks unworthy his notion of Massinger. We are to recollect, however, that Field continued one of the Children of the Revels as late as 1609, and that when "A Woman is a Weathercock" was printed in 1612, he must have been scarcely of age.
[2] Two other letters from Field to Henslowe are printed for the first time in Malone's Shakespeare, by Boswell, xxi. 395 and 404. One is subscribed "Your loving and obedient son," and the other "Your loving son," and both request advances of money; the first on a play, in the writing of which Field was engaged with Robert Daborne, and the second, in consequence of Field having been "taken on an execution of £30." They have no dates, but others with which they are found are in 1613.
[3] It is tolerably clear that the drama was written in 1609. See the allusion to the war in Cleveland, as then going on, at p. 28.
[4] Mr Gifford also states (Massinger, i. 67), that he joined Heminge and Condell in the publication of the folio Shakespeare of 1623.
[5] Ben Jonson, in his "Bartholomew Fair," act v. sc. 3, couples him with Burbage, and speaks of him as the "best actor" of the day. This play was produced in 1614.
[6] Taylor the Water-poet, in his "Wit and Mirth," introduces a supposed anecdote of "Master Field the player," which is only a pun upon the word post, and that not made by Field. Taylor had it, probably, from some earlier collection of jokes, and the compiler of Hugh Peters' Jests, 1660, had it from Taylor, and told it of his hero.
[7] Malone, in his "History of the Stage," quotes this passage to show that such was, in Field's day, the ordinary price of the dedication of a play. Malone's Shakespeare, by Boswell, iii. 164.
[8] Referring to his "Amends for Ladies," first printed in 1618, and afterwards in 1639.
[9] It was not unusual for elder poets to call the younger their sons. Ben Jonson allowed this title to Randolph, Howell, and others. Field also subscribes himself to old Henslowe the manager, "your loving son."
[10] An allusion (one out of hundreds in our old plays) to "The Spanish Tragedy," act iii., where Hieronimo finds a letter, and taking it up, exclaims—
[11] [Advice.]
[12] [Old copy, again.]
[13] [Old copy, doubt on.]
[14] [Old copy, as.]
[15] Cotgrave tells us that "piccadilles are the several divisions or pieces fastened together about the brim of the collar of a doublet." They are mentioned over and over again in old plays, as by Field himself (probably) in "The Fatal Dowry," act iv. sc. 1: "There's a shoulder-piece cut, and the base of a pickadille in puncto." A pickadel is spoken of in "Northward Ho!" sig. D 3, as part of the dress of a female. See Gifford's Ben Jonson, v. 55, for the origin and application of the word.
[16] A place notorious for prostitutes, often mentioned.
[17] [Ordered them to be made, not being a poet or verse writer himself. Old copy, commend.]
[18] [Usually, a kind of sausage; but here it seems to have an indelicate sense, which may be readily conjectured.]
[19] From this passage it should seem that Italian tailors in Field's time wore peculiarly wide and stiff ruffs, like a wheel of lace round their necks. Nothing on the point is to be found in R. Armin's "Italian Taylor and his Boy," 1609. The Tailor in "Northward Ho!" 1607, sig. D 3, speaks of "a Cathern (Katherine) wheel farthingale," but the farthingale was a hoop for the petticoats.
[20] [Backyard usually, but here the phrase seems to mean rather a house in the rear.]
[21] The old stage direction here is only Exit Inno.
[22] Bombard strictly means a piece of artillery, but it was metaphorically applied to large vessels containing liquor: in this sense it may be frequently found in Shakespeare and other dramatists of his day.
[23] i.e., The gunpowder treason of 5th Nov. 1605.
[24] [Meaning, a character. Old is frequently used in this sort of sense.]
[25] Sir Abraham quotes from "The Spanish Tragedy," and Kate detects his plagiarism; [but the passage in that drama is itself a quotation. See vol. v. p. 36.]
[26] Or "Pancras parson," a term of contempt for the convenient clergymen of that day.
[27] The old copy reads, And give up breathing to cross their intent.
[28] What is the meaning of these initials must be left to the conjecture of the reader: perhaps waits playing, in reference to the attendant musicians.
[29] i.e., All but Kate, Strange, and Scudmore enter the church. Strange and Kate follow immediately, and leave Scudmore solus.
[30] [Referring to what Strange has said a little before, not to Scudmore's speech, which is spoken aside.]
[31] [Gossamers.]
[32] [Old copies and former edits., still given, which appears to be meaningless. The word substituted is not satisfactory, but it is the most likely one which has occurred to me, and the term is employed by our old playwrights rather more widely than at present.]
[33] Dosser is used for a basket generally, but as it means strictly a pannier for the back (from the Fr. dossier), it is here used very inappropriately with reference to the burden Mrs Wagtail carries before her. We have it in the modern sense of pannier in "The Merry Devil of Edmonton"—
[34] This remark, and a question below, in the old copy are given to Luce; but Lucida is not upon the stage, and could not be there, as Scudmore afterwards enters, pretending to be the bearer of a letter from her. The name of Nevill has been substituted for Luce, and at least there is no impropriety in assigning what is said to him. Two other speeches, attributed to her, obviously belong to Sir Abraham.
[35] The exclamations of the bowlers, whom Sir Abraham has just quitted.
[36] [Addressing Cupid.]
[37] The French phrase is avaler le bonnet, i.e., to lower the bonnet. The etymology of avaler is disputed; but our vale, or as it is usually spelt, vail, is from avaler.
[38] This was probably a hit at the sort of "worsted conceits" in plays represented at the old Newington theatre, which appears at one time to have been under the management of Philip Henslowe.
[39] There is a blank in this line in the old copy. Sir Abraham seems as fastidious as most versifiers, and it will be observed, that in reading over his "sonnet" he makes a variety of alterations. Perhaps the blank was left to show that he could not fill it up to his satisfaction, not liking the line as it stood, when he first committed it to paper—
[40] Alluding to the bauble or truncheon, usually with a head carved at the top of it, part of the insignia of the ancient licensed fool or jester.
[41] Should we not read "is the death on us," or "of us?"
[42] This is one out of innumerable hits, in our old dramatists, at the indiscriminate creation of knights by James I. Their poverty was a constant subject of laughter. See Ben Jonson's "Alchemist," act ii.; Chapman's "Monsieur d'Olive," act i., and "Widows' Tears," act iv.; Barry's "Ram Alley," act i.; and Middleton's "Mad World, my Masters," act i., &c. Field's satire is as pungent as that of the best of them.
[43] The word spirit in our old poets was often pronounced as one syllable, and hence, in fact, the corruption sprite. This line is not measure without so reading it.
[44] This is the first line of Scudmore's answer; but in the old copy that and the eighteen lines following it are given to Nevill.
[45] [Old copy, then.]
[46] See note to "Hamlet," act i. sc. 2, for a collection of instances in which resolve means dissolve. Probably the latest example is to be found in Pope's "Homer"—
In some recent editions it has been thought an improvement to alter resolves to dissolves.
[47] [Old copy, under-born fortunes under their merits.]
[48] [Old copy reads—
[49] [Old copy, a.]
[50] The old word for engineer: so in Heywood's "Edward IV., Part II.," 1600, sig. M 3—
[51] A well-known instrument of torture.
[52] Dekker, in his "Bellman of London," sig. H 2, explains foist to be a pickpocket; and instances of the use of it in this sense, and as a rogue and cheater, may be found in many of our old writers.
[53] It will be recollected that Brainworm, in "Every Man in his Humour," is represented upon a wooden leg, begging in Moorfields, like an old soldier. [See further in Hazlitt's "Popular Poetry," iv. 38-40.]
[54] This passage, among others, is quoted by Steevens in a note to "Twelfth Night," to show that cut, which also means a horse, was employed as a term of abuse. In "Henry IV., Part I.," Falstaff, for the same purpose, uses horse as synonymous with cut: "Spit in my face, and call me horse."
[55] [i.e., Furtively.]
[56] [An allusion to the romance entitled "The Mirror of Knighthood."]
[57] She has just referred to the well-known work "The Mirror of Knighthood," and by Bevis she means Bevis of Hampton. Arundel was the name of his horse, and Morglay of his sword. Morglay is often used for a sword in general.
[58] In the old copy it is printed pinkanies, and from what follows it seems that the expression has reference to the redness of Sir Abraham's eyes from soreness. The following passage is to the same effect: "'Twould make a horse break his bridle to hear how the youth of the village will commend me: 'O the pretty little pinking nyes of Mopsa!' says one: 'O the fine fat lips of Mopsa!' says another."— Day's "Isle of Gulls," 1606, sig. D 4.
Shakespeare ("Antony and Cleopatra," act ii. sc. 7), speaks of "plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne;" and Lodge, in "The Wounds of Civil War," has pinky neyne, [vii. 167.] In both these instances drinking is supposed to have occasioned the redness.
[59] [See post.]
[60] The difficulty of concealing love has been the origin of a humorous proverb in Italian. In Pulci's "Morgante Maggiore," iv. 38, Rinaldo thus taunts the most sentimental of the Paladins, Oliver, when he becomes enamoured of Florisena—
[See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, p. 269.]
Franco Sacchetti, in his sixteenth novel, expressly tells us that it was a proverb. Perchè ben dice il proverbio, che l'amore e la tossa non si puo celare mai.
[61] The question
is given in the old 4o to Scudmore, but it belongs to Sir John Worldly. Scudmore is not on the stage.
[62] Old copy, doing.
[63] Old copy, moustachios.
[64] [The old copy and Collier give this speech to Strange.]
[65] [In the sense of hot, salacious.]
[66] An allusion to the well-known story of Friar Bacon and his brazen head, which spoke three times, but was not attended to by his man Miles. See Greene's "Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay," [in Dyce's edits, of Greene, and the prose narrative in Thoms's Collection, 1828.]
[67] A boisterous, clownish character in the play of "The Lancashire Witches," by Heywood and Brome. It was not printed until 1634. Either Lawrence was a person who figured in that transaction, and whose name is not recorded, or (which is not impossible) the play was written very long before it was printed.
[68] Perhaps the play originally ended with a song by a boy, in which the rest joined chorus.
[69] [Although the printed copies bear the date here given, the plays in question were written many years before, Middleton having probably died in 1626.]
[70] She is the "honest Moll" alluded to by City-wit in R. Brome's "Court Beggar," act ii. sc. 1, to whom he is to go for the recovery of his purse, after he had had his pocket picked while looking at the news in the window of "the Coranto shop." He afterwards states that she "dea private for the recovery of such goods."
[71] Neither of the old editions has a list of characters prefixed.
[72] The Lady Honour is called Maid, the Lady Perfect Wife, and the Lady Bright Widow.
[73] The 2d edit. reads excellent for insolent.
[74] Edits., rest.
[75] They retire soon afterwards, but the exit is not marked.
[76] In his "Woman is a Weathercock," Field has already mentioned these instruments of torture in conjunction with some others, and to a similar import: what he here calls the boiling boot he there terms the Scotch boot; but they were probably the same thing, in the one case, hot oil or water supplying the place of wedges in the latter instance.
[77] Turnbull Street was sometimes spelt Turnball Street, and sometimes (as Field himself gives it in another part of this play) Turnbole Street. It was situated between Cow Cross and Clerkenwell Green, and is celebrated by many of our old dramatists as the residence of ruffians, thieves, and prostitutes. Its proper name was Turnmill Street. See Stow's "Survey," 1599, p. 12.
[78] The later copy spoils the measure by omitting the words so far.
[79] Elsewhere in this play he is merely called Husband, though before this speech in the old copies Knight is inserted. It afterwards appears that such is his rank.
[80] The word innocent was used of old sometimes as synonymous with fool, as in the following passage—
—"Int. of the Four Elements" [i. 42].
[81] i.e., Skylight, [See vol. viii. p. 320].
[82] That is, all but Lady Honour, Lady Perfect, the Husband, and Subtle.
[83] Ought we not rather to read—
[84] The second 4o reads consist.
[85] [Old copies, be.]
[87] In reference to her female sex and male attire.
[88] These words contain an allusion to Blackfriars as a common residence of the Puritans. The Widow subsequently refers to the same circumstance, when in act iii. she asks Bold: "Precise and learned Princox, dost thou not go to Blackfriars." That Blackfriars, although the play-house was there, was crowded with Puritans may be proved by many authorities.
[89] Two celebrated English heroines. The achievements of Mary Ambree at the siege of Ghent, in 1584, are celebrated in a ballad which goes by her name in Percy's "Reliques," ii. 239, edit. 1812. She is mentioned by Fletcher, Ben Jonson, and many other dramatists; some of whom were her contemporaries. Dr Percy conjectured that the "English Mall" of Butler was the same female soldier, but he probably alluded to Mall or Moll Cutpurse who forms a character in this play. Long Meg is Long Meg of Westminster, also a masculine lady of great notoriety, and after whom a cannon in Dover Castle, and a large flagstone in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey are still called. Her life and "merry pranks" were detailed in a pamphlet dated in [1582], and reprinted [from a later edition] in 1816. It is conjectured that she was dead in 1594, but she is often spoken of in our old writers. It will be seen by a subsequent note that Long Meg was the heroine of a play which has not survived.
[90] It is tolerably evident that two plays (one called "Long Meg," and the other "The Ship"), and not one with a double title, are here intended to be spoken of. This may seem to disprove Malone's assertion ("Shakespeare" by Boswell, iii. 304), that only one piece was represented on one day. By Henslowe's Diary it appears that "Longe Mege of Westminster" was performed at Newington in February 1594, and, according to Field, it must have continued for some time popular. Nothing is known of a dramatic piece of that date called "The Ship." It may have been only a jig, often given at the conclusion of plays. [Compare p. 136.]
[91] The second edition misprints this stage direction, Enter Lord.
[92] A noted and often-mentioned purlieu, the resort and residence of prostitutes, &c. See "Merry Wives of Windsor," act i. sc. 2, where enough, and more than enough, is said upon the subject. Turnbull Street has been already mentioned.
[93] [i.e., Worldly.]
[94] It seems to have been the custom to employ the Irish as lackeys or footmen at this period. R. Brathwaite, in his "Time's Curtaine Drawne," 1621, speaking of the attendants of a courtier, mentions "two Irish lacquies" as among them. The dart which, according to this play, and Middleton and Rowley's "Faire Quarrel" (edit. 1622), they carried, was perhaps intended as an indication of the country from which they came, as being part of the accoutrements of the native Irish: thus, in the description of the dumb show preceding act ii. of "The Misfortunes of Arthur," we find the following passage: "After which there came a man bareheaded with long black shagged hair down to his shoulders, apparaled with an Irish jacket and shirt, having an Irish dagger by his side and a dart in his hand" [iv. 279]. The shirt in our day seldom forms part of the dress of the resident Irish. [George Richardson] wrote a tract called "The Irish Footman ['s Poetry," 1641, in defence of Taylor the Water-poet.]
[95] The second 4o has it the effects of pauses, which, if not nonsense, is very like it.
[96] [i.e., The roaring boys, who are introduced a little later in the play.]
[97] [Old copy, wants, and.]
[98] [Old copy, no.]
[99] Both the old copies read, that carries a double sense, but it is clearly a misprint.
[100] The Widow means that Master Pert walks as if he were made of wires, and gins were usually composed of wire.
[101] So in "The Fatal Dowry," Liladam exclaims, "Uds light! my lord, one of the purls of your band is, without all discipline, fallen out of his rank," act ii. sc. 2. These little phrases may assist in tracing the authorship of different parts of a play by distinct authors.
[102] [Old copy, his.]
[103] [This name, given to one of the roarers, is a corruption of pox. We often meet with the form in the old plays.]
[104] The Fortune Theatre [in Golden Lane] was built in 1599 by Edward Allen, the founder of Dulwich College, at an expense of £520, and in the Prologue of Middleton and Dekker's "Roaring Girl" it is called "a vast theatre." It was eighty feet square, and was consumed by fire in 1621.
[105] A pottle was half a gallon.
[106] He means that he wishes he had insured his return, as he would as willingly be at the Bermudas, or (as it was then called) "The Isle of Devils." In a note on "the still vexed Barmoothes" ("Tempest," act i. sc. 2), it is shown that the Bermudas was a cant name for the privileged resort of such characters as Whorebang and his companions.
The notions entertained by our ancestors of the Bermudas is distinctly shown in the following extract from Middleton's "Anything for a Quiet Life," 1662, act v.; [Dyce's edit., iv. 499.] Chamlet is troubled with a shrewish wife, and is determined to leave England and go somewhere else. He says—
[107] "The jack, properly, is a coat of mail, but it here means a buff jacket or jerkin worn by soldiers or pretended soldiers."
[108] These words have reference, perhaps, to Middleton and Rowley's curious old comedy of manners, "A Faire Quarrel," 1617 and 1622. The second edition contains "new additions of Mr Chaugh, and Trimtram's roaring." These two persons, empty pretenders to courage, set up a sort of academy for instruction in the art and mystery of roaring or bullying, and much of the piece is written in ridicule of it and its riotous professors. Whorebang calls these playmakers observers, as if suspecting that Welltried and Feesimple came among them for the purpose of making notes for a play. In Webster and Rowley's "Cure for a Cuckold," 1661, act iv. sc. 1, there is another allusion to the "Faire Quarrel," where Compass uses the words Tweak and Bronstrops, adding, "I learnt that name in a play." Chaugh and Trimtram, in the "Faire Quarrel," undertake also to give lessons in the cant and slang of the time. In other respects, excepting as a picture of the manners of the day, that play possesses little to recommend it.
[109] In both the old copies this remark is erroneously given to Tearchaps.
[110] Patch and fool are synonymous in old writers. Feesimple alludes also to the patch on the face of Tearchaps.
[111] That is, his soul lies in pawn for employing the oath.
[112] [The hero of an early heroic ballad so called. See Hazlitt, in v.]
[113] The second edit. reads, as your a gentlewoman, but Bold means that the Widow confessed to him when he was disguised as her gentlewoman. The first edit. warrants this interpretation.
[114] [He refers to the common proverb. See Hazlitt, p. 191-2; and Dodsley, x. 306.]
—Shakespeare's "Lucrece," [Dyce's edit, 1868, viii. 312.]
[116] [Old copy, sensitive.]
[117] [Mating.]
[118] [Old copy, you and I.]
[119] The concluding thought of this pretty song has been in request by many poets of all countries: Eustachio Manfredi has carried it to an extreme that would seem merely absurd, but for the grace of the expression of his sonnet, Il primo albor non appariva ancora. Appended to "The Fatal Dowry" is "a dialogue between a man and a woman" which commences with it, and which we may therefore assign to Field.
[120] [An allusion to the proverb.]
[121] Man omitted in the second edit.
[122] Flog him.
[123] [Edits., you. Welltried.]
[124] [Edits., meant.]
[125] [These lines appear to be taken from some song of "Little Boy Blue."]
[126] This passage has been adduced by Dr Farmer to show that Falstaff was originally called by Shakespeare Oldcastle, according to the tradition mentioned by Rowe, and supported by Fuller in his "Worthies," and by other authorities. The point is argued at great length in Malone's Shakespeare by Boswell, xvi. 410, et seq., and the decisions of the learned have been various; but the balance of evidence is undoubtedly in favour of the opinion that Shakespeare made the change, perhaps to avoid the confusion of his very original character with the mere fat buffoon of the old play of "Henry V.," a point not adverted to in the discussion. Field's testimony seems tolerably decisive.
[127] Citizens and apprentices were called in derision flatcaps and what-d'ye-lacks in reference to their dress and occupation.
[128] [Edits., fair shop and wife.]
[129] [i.e., a servant.]
[130] Will satisfy all men, in the second edition.
[131] [Edits., means it.]
[132] [Edits., in.]
[133] Readiness, second edit.
[134] Ovid. "Amor." lib. i. el. 5.
[135] In the old copies, by an error, act v. is said again to begin here; it is in fact the second scene of the last act.
[136] The old stage direction states that Subtle enters, with a letter, but the words have been misplaced, and should have followed Brother, who delivers it to the Lady Honour.
[137] This refers, no doubt, to the scene in the old "most pleasant comedy of 'Mucedorus,'" 1598, when Amadine is pursued by the bear, [vii. 208.]
[138] Old copies, couching.
[139] Edits., I.
[140] In the margin, opposite what Feesimple says, are inserted the words Pistols for Bro., meaning merely to remind the keeper of the properties that at this point it was necessary that Frank, the brother, should be provided with pistols.
[141] [Edits., For.]
[142] Old copies read—
[143] This edition, without a date, was obviously printed after that of 1614, although it has been hitherto placed first on the list of editions, as if it might be that mentioned by Chetwood, and supposed to have been published in 1599.—Collier. [Mr Collier does not cite the 4o of 1622.]
[144] P. 73.
[145] He was an actor at the Red Bull Theatre, as appears by a rather curious scene in the course of this play, where Green is spoken of by name—
There seems every probability that the play when originally produced had some other title, until the excellence of Green's performance, and his mode of delivering Tu quoque, gave it his name. It could scarcely be brought out in the first instance under the appellation of "Green's 'Tu Quoque,'" before it was known how it would succeed, and how his acting would tell in the part of Bubble. In this respect perhaps Langbaine was mistaken.—Collier. [It appears likely that the title under which the piece was originally brought on the stage was simply The City Gallant.]
[146] "Attempt to Ascertain the Order of Shakespeare's Plays," by Mr Malone, p. 275. [See Dyce's "Shakespeare," 1868, i. 114, 115. There seems to be some confusion between two persons of the name of Green, living at this time, one an actor and the author of a little poem printed in 1603, the other a relation to Shakespeare, and clerk to the corporation of Stratford.]
[147] "The British Theatre," p. 9.
[148] MSS. additions to Langbaine, p. 73.
[149] The following are the epitaphs mentioned by Oldys, from Braithwaite's Remains—
—"Remains after Death," 8vo. 1618, Sig. G 5.
[150] Heywood speaks of it as "just published in print." The date of his epistle "to the Reader," however, may be older than 1614, the year of the earliest printed copy now known.—Collier. [Heywood merely says that he was "in the way just when this play was to be published in print."]
[151] [Mr Collier's addition.]
[152] Probably William Rowley.
[153] See note 76 to "The Ordinary," [vol. xii.]
[154] [i.e., shillings. See the next page.]
[155] At the time this play was written, the same endeavours were used, and the same lures thrown out, to tempt adventurers to migrate to each of these places.
[156] Pirates are always hanged at Execution Dock, Wapping; and at the moment when the tide is at the [ebb].—Steevens.
The following passage is from Stow's "Survey," vol. ii. b. 4, p. 37, edit. 1720: "From this Precinct of St Katharine to Wappin in the Wose, and Wappin it self, the usual Place of Execution for hanging of Pirates and Sea-Rovers at the low-Water Mark, there to remain till three Tides had overflowed them, was never a House standing within these Forty Years (i.e., from the year 1598), but (since the Gallows being after removed further off) is now a continual Street, or rather a filthy straight Passage, with Lanes and Alleys of small Tenements or Cottages, inhabited by Saylors and Victuallers along by the River of Thames almost to Radcliff, a good Mile from the Tower."
[158] The story here alluded to (for the notice of which I am obliged to the kindness of Mr Steevens) is to be found in Stubbes's "Anatomie of Abuses," 1595, p. 43. The reader will excuse the length of the quotation. "But amongst many other fearful examples of Gods wrath against pride, I would wish them to set before their eies the fearful judgment of God showed upon a gentlewoman of Antwerpe of late, even the 27 of Maie, 1582, the fearful sound whereof is blowne through all the world, and is yet fresh in every mans memory. This gentlewoman, being a very rich merchantmans daughter, upon a time was invited to a bridal or wedding, which was solemnised in that towne, against which day she made great preparation for the pluming of herself in gorgeous aray: that as her body was most beautiful, faire, and proper, so her attire in every respect might be answerable to the same. For the accomplishment whereof, she curled her haire, she died her lockes, and laid them out after the best manner: she colloured her face with waters and ointments; but in no case could she get any (so curious and dainty she was) that could startch and set her ruffes and neckerchers to her minde: wherefore she sent for a couple of laundresses, who did the best they could to please her humors, but in any wise they could not: then fell she to sweare and teare, to curse and ban, casting the ruffes under feete, and wishing that the devill might take her when shee did weare any neckerchers againe. In the meane time (through the sufferance of God) the devill transforming himselfe into the shape of a young man, as brave and proper as she in every point, in outward appearance, came in, faining himself to be a woer or sutor unto her: and seeing her thus agonized, and in such a pelting chafe, he demaunded of her the cause thereof, who straight way told him (as women can conceal nothing that lieth upon their stomacks) how she was abused in the setting of her ruffes; which thing being heard of him, he promissed to please her mind, and so tooke in hande the setting of her ruffes, which he performed to her great contentation and liking; insomuch as she, looking herselfe in a glasse (as the devill bad her) became greatly inamoured with him. This done, the young man kissed her, in the doing whereof, hee writh her neck in sunder, so she dyed miserably; her body being straight waies changed into blew and black colours, most ugglesome to beholde, and her face (which before was so amorous) became most deformed and fearfull to looke upon. This being knowne in the cittie, great preparation was made for her buriall, and a rich coffin was provided, and her fearfull body was laid therein, and covered very sumptuously. Foure men immediately assayed to lift up the corpes, but could not moove it; then sixe attempted the like, but could not once stirre it from the place where it stood. Whereat the standers by marvelling, caused the coffin to be opened to see the cause thereof: where they found the body to be taken away, and a blacke catte, very leane and deformed, sitting in the coffin, setting of great ruffes, and frizling of haire, to the greate feare and woonder of all the beholders."—Reed. [Stubbes was fond of these examples. Compare "Shakespeare Society's Papers," iv. 71-88.]
[159] i.e., During the Court's progress, when the king or queen visited the different counties.—Steevens.
[160] i.e., Licentiously.
[161] A wine mentioned in the metrical romance of the "Squyr of Low Degre"—
—Steevens. [See Hazlitt's "Popular Poetry," ii. 51.]
[162] Shrove Tuesday was formerly a holiday for apprentices. So in Ben Jonson's "Epicæne," act i. sc. 1, it is said of Morose, "he would have hanged a pewterer's 'prentice on a Shrove Tuesday's riot, for being o' that trade, when the rest were quit."
On Shrove Tuesday in the County of Sussex (and I suppose in many others) apprentices are always permitted to visit their families or friends, to eat pancakes, &c. This practice is called shroving. "Apollo Shroving" is the name of an old comedy, written by a schoolmaster in Suffolk [William Hawkins], to be performed by his scholars on Shrove Tuesday, Feb. 6, 1626-7.
See note 6 to "The Hog hath lost his Pearl," post. The custom in London, I believe, is almost abolished; it is, however, still retained in many parts of the kingdom. [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," by Hazlitt, i. 47, where it is said] that "at Newcastle upon Tyne the great bell of St Nicholas' Church is tolled at twelve o'clock at noon on this day; shops are immediately shut up, offices closed, and all kinds of business ceases; a sort of little carnival ensuing for the remaining part of the day." Again: the custom of frying pancakes (in turning of which in the pan there is usually a good deal of pleasantry in the kitchen) is still retained in many families in the north, but seems, if the present fashionable contempt of old custom continues, not likely to last another century. The apprentices whose particular holiday this day is now called, and who are on several accounts so much interested in the observation of it, ought, with that watchful jealousy of their ancient rights and liberties (typified here by pudding and play) which becomes young Englishmen, to guard against every infringement of its ceremonies, and transmit them entire and unadulterated to posterity! [A copious account of this subject will be found in "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," i. 37-54.]
[163] [Edits., here and below, Mal go.]
[164] [Clotted].
[165] A term of vulgar abuse. So Falstaff says, "Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fustilarian!"—"2d Part of Henry IV." act ii. sc. i. See also Mr Steevens's note on the passage.
[166] i.e., Cupid. "The bird-bolt," Mr Steevens observes (note on "Much Ado about Nothing," act i. sc. 1), "is a short, thick arrow, without point, and spreading at the extremity so much as to leave a flat surface, about the breadth of a shilling. Such are to this day in use to kill rooks with, and are shot from a cross-bow."
[167] A passion was formerly a name given to love-poems of the plaintive species. Many of them are preserved in the miscellanies of the times. See in "England's Helicon," 1600, "The Shepherd Damon's Passion," and others.
[168] [A common form of Walter in old plays and poetry. Joyce intends, of course, a jeu-de-mot.]
[169] [This passage seems to fix with tolerable clearness the meaning of the word caroch and the kind of vehicle which was intended. Compare Nares, 1859, in v.]
[170] [i.e., This business succeed.]
[171] This street, Stow observes, in his time, was inhabited by wealthy drapers, retailers of woollen cloths, both broad and narrow, of all sorts, more than any one of the city.
[172] "Dole was the term for the allowance of provision given to the poor in great families" (Mr Steevens's note to "The Winter's Tale," act i. sc. 1). See also the notes of Sir John Hawkins and Mr Steevens to "The First Part of King Henry IV.," act ii. sc. 2. Of this kind of charity we have yet some remains, particularly, as Dr Ducarel observes, "at Lambeth Palace, where thirty poor persons are relieved by an alms called the DOLE, which is given three times a week to ten persons at a time, alternately; each person then receiving upwards of two pounds weight of beef, a pitcher of broth, a half quartern loaf, and twopence in money. Besides this dole, there are always, on the days it is given at least thirty other pitchers, called by-pitchers, brought by other neighbouring poor, who partake of the remaining broth, and the broken victuals that is at that time distributed. Likewise at Queen's College in Oxford, provisions are to this day frequently distributed to the poor at the door of their hall, under the denomination of a DOLE."—[Ducarel's] "Anglo-Norman Antiquities, considered in a Tour through part of Normandy," p. 81.
[173] Fine.
[174] So in Ben Jonson's "Epicæne," act i. sc. 2, one of the negative qualities which Morose approved in Cutbeard was that he had not the knack with his shears or his fingers, which, says Clerimont, "in a barber, he (Morose) thinks so eminent a virtue, as it has made him chief of his council."
[175] The spirit of enterprise which had been raised and encouraged in the reign of Elizabeth was extremely favourable to the reputation of those adventurers who sought to mend their fortunes by encountering difficulties of any kind in a foreign country. Stukeley and the Sherleys appear to have been held in great estimation by the people in general. The former was a dissolute wretch, born in Devonshire, who squandered away his property in riot and debauchery; then left the kingdom, and signalised his valour at the battle fought at Alcazar in Barbary, in August 1578, where he was killed. See an account of him in a ballad, published in Evans's "Collection," 1777, ii. 103; also the old play [by Peele] entitled, "The Battle of Alcazar, with the death of Captain Stukeley," 4°, 1594. Of the Sherleys there were three brothers, Sir Anthony, Sir Robert, and Mr. Robert; Sir Anthony was one of those gallant spirits who went to annoy the Spaniards in their West Indian settlements during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. He afterwards travelled to Persia, and returned to England in the quality of ambassador from the Sophy, in 1612. The next year he published an account of his travels. He was by the emperor of Germany raised to the dignity of a count; and the king of Spain made him admiral of the Levant Sea. He died in Spain after the year 1630. Sir Robert was introduced to the Persian court by his brother Sir Anthony; and was also sent ambassador from the Sophy to James I., but did not arrive until the accession of his successor; when, on his first audience with the king (February, 1626), the Persian ambassador, then resident in England, in the king's presence, snatched the letters which were brought by him out of his hands, tore them to pieces, and struck him a blow on the face; at the same time declaring him an impostor and the letters forgeries. Charles, being unable to discover the truth of these charges, sent both the ambassadors back to Persia, with another from himself; but all three died in the course of the voyage. The eldest brother was unfortunate.
[176] [In the edits, this passage is thus exhibited—
[177] Alluding to Stukeley's desperate condition when he quitted England. [I think it alludes to nothing of the kind, but to the numerous pamphlets which were printed about this time on the state of Barbary, and Staines's idea of emigrating there and enlisting as a soldier. A MS. note in former edit, says, in fact: "i.e., suggested to me the necessity of making my fortune in Barbary, being no longer able to stay here."]
[178] [A hit. Scattergood thought it was some superior tobacco brought by Longfield from home.]
[179] [See Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," 1868, v. Novum, and "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 323. Edits., Novum (a common corruption).]
[180] A bale of dice is the same as a pair of dice. So in Ben Jonson's "New Inn," act i. sc. 3—
And in Marston's "What You Will," act iii. sc. 1—
[181] Thus we learn from Melvil's Memoirs, p. 165, edit. 1735, that the Laird of Grange offered to fight Bothwell, who answered that he was neither earl nor lord, but a baron, and so was not his equal. The like answer made he to Tullibardine. Then my Lord Lindsey offered to fight him, which he could not well refuse. But his heart failed him, and he grew cold on the business.—Reed.
[182] i.e., Tothill Fields.—Steevens.
[183] A cue, in stage cant, is the last words of the preceding speech, and serves as a hint to him who is to speak next. See Mr Steevens's note on "A Midsummer's Night's Dream," act iii. sc. 1. [But here it means the plot which has been concerted between Geraldine and the others (including Joyce), for inducing Gertrude to relent.]
[184] [Edits., his.]
[185] Query, Tax.—Gilchrist.
[186] [Old copy, that.]
[187] [Rash must be supposed to have conferred with Geraldine, and to have arranged with him the device, which they here proceed to execute.]
[188] [Geraldine is to feign death.]
[190] At Hoxton. There is a tract entitled, "Pimlyco, or, Runne Red Cap. 'Tis a Mad World at Hogsdon," 1609.
By the following passage in "The Alchemist," act v. sc. 2, it seems as though Pimlico had been the name of a person famous as the seller of ale—
—[Gifford's edit., 1816, v. 164.]
Pimlico, near Westminster, was formerly resorted to on the same account as the former at Hoxton.
[191] Derby ale has ever been celebrated for its excellence. Camden, speaking of the town of Derby, observes that "its present reputation is for the assizes for the county, which are held here, and from the excellent ale brewed in it." In 1698 Ned Ward published a poem entitled, "Sots' Paradise, or the Humours of a Derby Alehouse; with a Satire upon Ale."
[192] i.e., Pleases me. See note to "Cornelia" [v. 188.]
[193] Henslowe, in his Diary, mentions a play [by Martin Slaughter] called "Alexander and Lodwicke," under date of 14th Jan. 1597, and in Evans's "Collection of Old Ballads," 1810, there is a ballad with the same title, and no doubt upon the same story.—Collier. [It is the same tale as "Amis and Amiloun." See Hazlitt's "Shakespeare's Library," 1875, introd. to "Pericles."]
[198] [The author had a well-known passage in Shakespeare in his recollection when he wrote this. The edits, read—
[199] [Edits., men.]
[200] [i.e., The pox.]
[201] Reed observes: "A parody on a line from 'The Spanish Tragedy'—
on which Mr Collier writes: "If a parody be intended, it is not a very close one. The probability is, that the line is quoted by Rash from some popular poem of the day."
It would be just as reasonable to call the following opening of a sonnet by Sir P. Sidney a parody upon a line in the "Spanish Tragedy"—
In fact, it was a common mode of expression at the time. Thus in "Albumazar," we have this exclamation—
[202] See note to "Cornelia," [v. 225.]
[203] These lines are taken from Marlowe's "Hero and Leander," 4° 1600, sig. B 3, [or Dyce's Marlowe, iii. 15.]
[204] Again, in "Cynthia's Revels," act v. sc. 3: "From stabbing of arms, flapdragons, healths, whiffs, and all such swaggering humours, good Mercury defend us," [edit. 1816, ii. 380.]
This custom continued long after the writing of this play. The writer of "The Character of England" [Evelyn], 1659, p. 37, speaking of the excessive drinking then in use, adds, "Several encounters confirmed me that they were but too frequent, and that there was a sort of perfect debauchees, who style themselves Hectors; that, in their mad and unheard-of revels, pierce their own veins, to quaff their own blood, which some of them have drunk to that excess that they have died of the intemperance."—Reed.
[205] Alluding to the story of Friar Bacon's brazen head.—Collier.
[206] The colour of servants' clothes.
[207] ["This is a most spirited and clever scene, and would act capitally."—MS. note in one of the former edits.]
[208] [Edits., are.]
[209] [Edits., and.]
[210] A Jack o' Lent was a puppet which was thrown at in Lent, like Shrovetide cocks. See Mr Steevens's notes on "The Merry Wives of Windsor," act iii. sc. 3, and act v. sc. 5.
[211] The whole of this scene seems levelled at Coriat.—Gilchrist.
[212] Opportunely.—Steevens.
[213] Meeting. So in "Hamlet," act iii. sc. 1—
[214] An allusion, probably, to some old ballad. "Hamlet," act iii. sc. 2, refers to the same, and appears to repeat the identical line, which is also introduced in "Love's Labour's Lost," act iii. sc. 1. Bishop Warburton observes that "amongst the country May-games there was an hobby-horse which, when the puritanical humour of those times opposed and discredited these games, was brought by the poets and ballad-makers, as an instance of the ridiculous zeal of the sectaries" (Note to "Hamlet.") See also Mr Steevens's note on the same passage.
Again, in Massinger's "Very Woman," act iii. sc. 1—
The hobby-horse was also introduced into the Christmas diversions, as well as the May-games. In "A True Relation of the Faction begun at Wisbich, by Fa. Edmonds, alias Weston, a Jesuite," 1595, &c., 4o, 1601, p. 7, is the following passage: "He lifted up his countenance, as if a new spirit had bin put into him, and tooke upon him to controll and finde fault with this and that (as the comming into the hall of a hobby-horse in Christmas), affirming that he would no longer tolerate these and those so grosse abuses, but would have them reformed."
Whatever the allusion in the text be, the same is also probably made in Drue's "Dutchess of Suffolk," 1631—
—Sig. C 4.—Gilchrist.
[215] See Dyce's Middleton, ii. 169.
[216] This line very strongly resembles another in "The Merchant of Venice:"
—Steevens.
[217] ["Is this the origin of epilogues by the characters?"—MS. note in former edit.]
[218] ["This is a very lively and pleasant comedy; crude and careless, but full of life, humour, &c."—MS. note in former edit.]
[219] This is the name given to the author of "Albumazar" in the MS. of Sir Edward Deering. I am, however, of opinion that it should be written Tomkins, and that he is the same person who is addressed by Phineas Fletcher by the names of Mr Jo. Tomkins, in a copy of verses, wherein he says—
—"Poetical Miscellanies," printed at the end of "The Purple Island," 1633, p. 69.
If this conjecture is allowed to be founded in probability, the author of "Albumazar" may have been John Tomkins, bachelor of music, who, Wood says, "was one of the organists of St Paul's Cathedral, and afterwards gentleman of the Chapel Royal, then in high esteem for his admirable knowledge in the theoretical and practical part of his faculty. At length, being translated to the celestial choir of angels, on the 27th Sept. an. 1626, aged 52, was buried in the said cathedral." It may be added that Phineas Fletcher, who wrote a play to be exhibited in the same week with "Albumazar," celebrates his friend Tomkins's skill in music as well as poetry.
[220] I have seen no earlier edition of this play than one in 12o, 1630—"Ignoramus Comœdia coram Regia Majestate Jacobi Regis Angliæ, &c. Londini Impensis, I.S. 1630." The names of the original actors are preserved in the Supplement to Granger's "Biographical History of England," p. 146.
[221] "Melanthe, fabula pastoralis, acta cum Jacobus, Magnæ Brit. Franc. et Hiberniæ Rex, Cantabrigiam suam nuper inviserat, ibidemque musarum atque animi gratia dies quinque commoraretur. Egerunt Alumni Coll. San. et individuæ Trinitatis Cantabrigiæ, 1615."
[222] This was Phineas Fletcher, son of Dr Giles Fletcher, and author of "The Purple Island," an allegorical poem, 4o, 1633; "Locustæ vel Pietas Jesuitica," 4o, 1627; "Piscatory Eclogues;" and other pieces. The play above-mentioned was, I believe, not published until 1631, when it appeared under the title of "Sicelides, a Piscatory, as it hath beene acted in King's College, in Cambridge."
[223] The list printed by Mr Granger assigns this part to Mr Perkinson, of Clare Hall.
[224] Mr Compton of Queen's College performed the part of Vince. See Granger.
[225] "Albumazar" is the name of a famous Persian astrologer viz., Abu ma shar.—"Universal History," v. 413; Collier's "Dictionary," in voce.—Pegge.
[226] It is observed by the writer in the Gentleman's Magazine, 1756, p. 225, that "the exercises of the University were not only performed in Latin; but the plays, written in this and the former reign, for the entertainment of the Court, whenever it removed, either to Oxford or Cambridge, were generally composed in that language. Thus 'Æmilia,' 'Ignoramus,' and 'Melanthe,' all acted at the same time with 'Albumazar,' were in Latin. Both King James and Queen Elizabeth were Latinists."
[227] This play seems to have been planned on "L'Astrologo" of Giam Battista della Porta.—Pegge.
Battista Porta was the famous physiognomist of Naples. His play was printed at Venice in 1606. See Mr Steevens's note on "Timon of Athens," act iv. sc. 3.
[228] The Spartans held stealing lawful, and encouraged it as a piece of military exercise; but punished it very severely if it was discovered. See Stanyan's "Grecian History," i. 80.
[229] Mr Sale (p. 30 of "Preliminary Discourse to his Translation of the Koran," 4o edit.) says, "The frequent robberies committed by these people on merchants and travellers have rendered the name of an Arab almost infamous in Europe: this they are sensible of, and endeavour to excuse themselves by alleging the hard usage of their father Ishmael who, being turned out of doors by Abraham, had the open plains and deserts given him by God for his patrimony, with permission to take whatever he could find there; and, on this account, they think they may, with a safe conscience, indemnify themselves as well as they can, not only on the posterity of Isaac, but also on everybody else; always supposing a sort of kindred between themselves and those they plunder. And in relating their adventures of this kind, they think it sufficient to change the expression, and, instead of I robbed a man of such or such a thing, to say, I gained it. We must not, however, imagine that they are the less honest for this among themselves, or towards those whom they receive as friends; on the contrary, the strictest probity is observed in their camp, where everything is open, and nothing ever known to be stolen."
[230] The wanderers are the planets, called by the Greeks planetæ, from their moving or wandering, and by the Latins, from the same notion, stellæ errantes; as on the contrary the fixed stars are termed by them stellæ inerrantes. The character appropriated by astronomers and astrologers to the planet Mercury, is this ☿, which may be imagined to contain in it something of the characters of all the other planets ♄♃ ♂ ☉ ♀ ☽. The history of the heathen deities, whose names were assigned to the several planets, is full of tricks and robberies, to say no worse, as is remarked by the apologetical fathers, who are perpetually inveighing against them on that account; and to this mythological history the poet here alludes.—Pegge.
[231] Phantasia of Memphis, as Ptolemeus Hephestion tells us, in Photius, Cod. 190. See Fabricius "Biblioth," gr. i. p. 152. This comes excellently well out of the mouth of such a consummate villain as Albumazar.—Pegge.
See also Blackwell's "Inquiry into the Life and Writings of Homer," 1736, p. 135.
[232] So Shakespeare, in "Timon of Athens," act iv. sc. 3—
See also the 19th Ode of Anacreon.
[233] A settle is a wooden bench with a back to it, and capable of holding several people. These kind of seats are only to be found in ancient halls, or the common drinking-rooms in the country.—Steevens.
[234] [Edits., profit.]
[235] Edits., smoothest. The versification of this play in general is regular and without hemistiches, were the measure properly attended to.
[236] [Steevens's emendation. Edits, have—
[237] The quartos read, by the height of stars, but the rhyme requires the alteration.—Collier.
[238] Closely is privately, as in act iii. sc. 1—
Again, in "The Spanish Tragedy"—
And again, ibid.—
—Pegge.
[239] [Blushing.]
[240] Alluding to the custom of the harbingers, who in the royal progresses were wont to mark the lodgings of the several officers of the Court. For Flavia should therefore be in italics. We now commonly write harbinger with the first vowel; but the ancients applied the second, which is more agreeable to the etymology. See Junius v. Harbour.—Pegge.
To this explanation I shall only add that the office of harbinger remains to this day, and that the part of his duty above alluded to was performed in the latter part of the 17th century. Serjeant Hawkins, in his life of Bishop Ken, observes that when, on the removal of the Court to pass the summer at Winchester, that prelate's house, which he held in the right of his prebend, was marked by the harbinger for the use of Mrs Eleanor Gwyn, he refused to grant her admittance; and she was forced to seek for lodgings in another place.—Reed.
[241] The 4o of 1615 reads—
[242] [Edits., two.]
[243] A term of astrology.—Pegge.
"Ascendant in astrology denotes the horoscope, or the degree of the ecliptic which rises upon the horizon at the time of the birth of any one. This is supposed to have an influence on his life and fortune, by giving him a bent to one thing more than another."—Chambers's Dictionary.
[244] [Entrance to a house.]
[245] Cornelius Agrippa, on "The Vanitie and Uncertaintie of Artes and Sciences," 4o, 1569, p. 55, mentions Apollonius: "They saie that Hierome made mention thereof, writinge to Paulinus, where he saithe, that Apollonius Tianeus was a magitien, or a philosopher, as the Pithagoreans were." He is also noticed among those who have written on the subject of magic. Apollonius was born at Tyana about the time our Saviour appeared in the world. He died at the age of near or quite 100 years, in the reign of Nerva. By the enemies of Christianity he was reported to have worked miracles in the same manner as the Founder of our religion, and in the works of Dr Henry More is inserted a parallel between them. The degree of credit which the pagan miracles are entitled to is very clearly shown in Dr Douglas's learned work, entitled, "The Criterion, or Miracles Examined," 8o, 1757, p. 53. See a further account of Apollonius in Blount's translation of "The Two First Books of Philostratus, concerning the Life of Apollonius Tyaneus," fol., 1680, and Tillemont's "Account of the Life of Apollonius Tyaneus," translated by Dr Jenkin, 8o, 1702.
[246] Telescope.
[247] A stroke of satire in regard to cuckoldom: there are others afterwards in this act.—Pegge.
[248] Coriat the traveller.
[249] Before the rebuilding of St Paul's Cathedral, the wall at Gloucester, here alluded to, was much more celebrated than it is at present. Camden, in his "Britannia," i. 275, edit. 1722, speaking of it, says: "Beyond the quire, in an arch of the church, there is a wall, built with so great artifice, in the form of a semicircle with corners, that if any one whisper very low at one end, and another lay his ear to the other end, he may easily hear every syllable distinct."
[250] [In the edits, this direction is made part of the text.]
[251] Alluding to the following passage in the Amphitruo of Plautus, where the night is lengthened, that Jupiter may continue the longer with Alcmena. Mercury says—
—"Prolog. Amphitr." 112.—Pegge.
[252] An instrument to aid and improve the sense of hearing.
[253] [Edits., A cousticon. Autocousticon is] a repetition, by way of admiration, of the word in the preceding line; for it is plain it was not intended by the poet that Pandolfo should blunder through ignorance, because he has it right in the next scene, and Ronca has never repeated the word in the interim.—Pegge.
[254] The flap or cover of the windpipe.—Steevens. Ronca here blunders comicé, and on purpose; for the epiglottis is the cover or lid of the larynx, and has no connection with the ear.—Pegge.
[255] i.e., In spite of his head.—Steevens.
[256] Galileo, the inventor of the telescope, was born February 19, 1564, according to some writers, at Pisa, but more probably at Florence. While professor of mathematics at Padua, he was invited by Cosmo the Second, Duke of Tuscany, to Pisa, and afterwards removed to Florence. During his residence at the latter place, he ventured to assert the truth of the Copernican system; which gave so much offence to the Jesuits that, by their procurement, he was ever after harassed by the Inquisition. He suffered very frequent and long imprisonments on account of his adherence to the opinions he had formed, and never obtained his liberty without renouncing his sentiments, and undertaking not to defend them either by word or writing. His assiduity in making discoveries at length proved fatal to him. It first impaired his sight, and at length totally deprived him of it. He died at Arcetre, near Florence, January 8, 1642, N. S., in the 78th year of his age, having been for the last three years of his life quite blind. See a comparison between him and Bacon in Hume's "History of England," vi. 133, 8o, edit. 1763.
[257] [A horn.]
[258] To the great Mogul's country, who was then called Maghoore.—Howes' "Continuation of Stowe's Chronicle," p. 1003, where he esteems it a corruption to call him Mogul.
[259] [Edits, give this and next two lines, down to return, to Ronca.]
[260] There was an opinion pretty current among Christians that the Mahometans were in expectation of their prophet's return; and what gave occasion to that was the 16th sign of the resurrection, the coming of the Mohdi or director; concerning whom Mahomet prophesied that the world should not have an end till one of his own family should govern the Arabians, whose name should be the same with his own name, and whose father's name should also be the same with his father's name, and who should fill the earth with righteousness. Sale's "Preliminary Discourse to the Koran," 4o, edit. 82.
[261] [Edits., gorgon.]
[262] [Edits., Upon.]
[263] Terms of astrology meaning, be they inhabited by the best and most fortunate planets.—Pegge.
[264] A book of astronomy, in use among such as erect figures to cast men's nativities, by which is shown how all the planets are placed every day and hour of the year.
[265] i.e., Juggling or deceiving.
[266] So in Jeffrey of Monmouth's History, 1718, p. 264, Merlin changes Uther, Ulfin, and himself, into the shapes of Gorlois, Jordan of Tintagel, and Bricet, by which means Uther obtains the possession of Igerna, the wife of Gorlois.—Pegge.
[267] People of rank and condition generally wore chains of gold at this time. Hence Trincalo says that, when he was a gentleman, he would
—Pegge. Many instances of this fashion are to be met with in these volumes. The Lord Mayor and Aldermen of London wear chains of gold on public days at this time.
[268] Belonging to a sundial.—Johnson's Dictionary.
[269] Azimuths, called also vertical circles, are great circles intersecting each other in the zenith and nadir, and cutting the horizon at right angles, in all the points thereof.—Chambers's Dictionary.
[270] An Arabic word, written variously by various authors, and signifies a circle drawn parallel to the horizon. It is generally used in the plural, and means a series of parallel circles, drawn through the several degrees of the meridian.—Johnson's Dictionary.
[271] See Bishop Wilkins's "Voyage to the Moon," p. 110.—Pegge.
[272] See note to "Green's Tu quoque," p. 200.
[273] Two playhouses. The Fortune belonged to the celebrated Edward Alleyn, and stood in Whitecross Street. The Red Bull was situated in St John Street.
[274] This alludes to the fashion then much followed, of wearing bands washed and dyed with yellow starch. The inventress of them was Mrs Turner, a woman of an infamous character; who, being concerned in the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury, was executed at Tyburn in a lawn ruff of her favourite colour. "With her," says Howell, in his "Letters," p. 19, edit. 1754, "I believe that yellow starch, which so much disfigured our nation, and rendered them so ridiculous and fantastic, will receive its funeral." And of the same opinion was Sir Simonds D'Ewes who, in [his "Autobiography," edit. Halliwell, p. 79], says, "Mrs Turner had first brought upp that vaine and foolish use of yellow starch, ... and therefore, when shee was afterwards executed at Tiburne, the hangman had his bande and cuffs of the same couler, which made many, after that day, of either sex, to forbeare the use of that coulered starch, till at last it grew generallie to bee detested and disused." This execution happened in the year 1615; but the reformation predicted by Howell, and partly asserted by D'Ewes to have happened, was not the consequence, as will appear from the following passage, extracted from a pamphlet called "The Irish Hubbub, or the English Hue and Crie," by Barnaby Rich, 4o, 1622, p. 40: "Yet the open exclamation that was made by Turner's wife at the houre of her death, in the place where shee was executed, cannot be hidden, when, before the whole multitude that were there present, she so bitterly protested against the vanitie of those yellow starcht bands, that her outcries (as it was thought) had taken such impression in the hearts of her hearers, that yellow starcht bands would have been ashamed (for ever after to have shewed themselves about the neckes, either of men that were wise, or women that were honest) but we see our expectations have failed us, for they beganne even then to be more generall than they were before." Again, p. 41: "You knowe tobacco is in great trading, but you shall be merchants, and onely for egges: for whereas one pipe of tobacco will suffice three or four men at once; now ten or twenty eggs will hardly suffice to starch one of these yellow bands: a fashion that I thinke shortly will be as conversant amongst taylors, tapsters, and tinkers, as now they have brought tobacco. But a great magistrate, to disgrace it, enjoyned the hangman of London to become one of that fraternitie, and to follow the fashion; and, the better to enable him, he bestowed of him some benevolence to pay for his laundry: and who was now so briske, with a yellow feather in his hat, and a yellow starcht band about his necke, walking in the streets of London, as was master hangman? so that my young masters, that have sithence fallen into that trimme, they doe but imitate the hangman's president, the which, how ridiculous a matter it is, I will leave to themselves to thinke on." And that the fashion prevailed some years after Mrs Turner's death may be proved from Sir Simon D'Ewes's relation of the procession of King James from Whitehall to the Parliament House, Westminster, 30th January 1620 [i.e., 1621]: "In the king's short progresse from Whitehall to Westminster, these passages following were accounted somewhat remarkable—And fourthlie, that, looking upp to one window, as he passed, full of gentlewomen or ladies, all in yellow bandes, he cried out aloud, 'A pox take yee, are yee ther?' at which, being much ashamed, they all withdrew themselves suddenlie from the window."
[275] When the king visited the different parts of the country.
When the court made those excursions, which were called Progresses, to the seats of the nobility and gentry, waggons and other carriages were impressed for the purpose of conveying the king's baggage, &c.—Pegge.
This privilege in the crown was continued until the civil wars in the reign of Charles the First, and had been exercised in a manner very oppressive to the subject, insomuch that it frequently became the object of Parliamentary complaint and regulation. During the suspension of monarchy it fell into disuse, and King Charles II at the Restoration consented, for a consideration, to relinquish this as well as all other powers of purveyance and pre-emption. Accordingly, by stat. 12, Car. II. c. xxiv. s. 12, it was declared that no officer should in future take any cart, carriage, or other thing, nor summon or require any person to furnish any horses, oxen, or other cattle, carts, ploughs, wains, or other carriages, for any of the royal family, without the full consent of the owner. An alteration of this act was made the next year, wherein the rates were fixed which should be paid on these occasions, and other regulations were made for preventing the abuse of this prerogative.
[276] A burlesque on the speech of Hieronimo in "The Spanish Tragedy." See also note to "Green's Tu quoque," and the addition to it [xi. 248.]
[278] Pounded. See note to "The Ordinary," act v. sc. 4, [vol. xii.]
[279] [Edits., appear speck and span gentlemen.] Speck and span new is a phrase not yet out of use; span new occurs in Chaucer's "Troilus and Creseide," bk. iii. l. 1671—
This is thought a phrase of some difficulty. It occurs in Fuller's "Worthies," Herefordshire, p. 40, where we read of spick and span new money. A late friend of mine was willing to deduce it from spinning, as if it were a phrase borrowed from the clothing art, quasi new spun from the spike or brooche. It is here written speck and span, and in all cases means entire. I deem it tantamount to every speck and every span, i.e., all over.—Pegge.
In "Hudibras," Part I. c. 3, l. 397, are these lines—
Upon which Dr Grey has this note: "Mr Ray observes ('English Proverbs,' 2d edit. p. 270), that this proverbial phrase, according to Mr Howel, comes from spica, an ear of corn: but rather, says he, as I am informed from a better author, spike is a sort of nail, and spawn the chip of a boat; so that it is all one as to say, every chip and nail is new. But I am humbly of opinion that it rather comes from spike, which signifies a nail, and a nail in measure is the 16th part of a yard; and span, which is in measure a quarter of a yard, or nine inches; and all that is meant by it, when applied to a new suit of clothes, is that it has been just measured from the piece by the nail and span." See the expression in Ben Jonson's "Bartholomew Fair," act iii. sc. 5. [See Nares, edit. 1859; Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869; and Wedgwood's "Dictionary of English Etymology," all in v.]
[280] [Edits., Hilech.] The name of Ursa Major in Greek.—Pegge.
[281] A famous Indian philosopher (Fabricius, p. 281); but why he terms him a Babylonian I cannot conceive.—Pegge.
[282] See [Suckling's Works, by Hazlitt, ii. 4.]
[283] I believe this word should be Artenosoria, the doctrine of Antidotes; unless we should read Artenasoria in allusion to Tallicotius and his method of making supplemental noses, referred to by Butler in "Hudibras."—Pegge.
[284] Coskinomancy is the art of divining by a sieve.—Pegge.
[285] It was not known then, I presume, that Venus had her increase and decrease.—Pegge.
[286] The Greek word for Plenilunium.—Pegge.
[287] All people then wore bands.—Pegge.
[288] i.e., Bottles out of which liquid perfumes were anciently cast or thrown.—Steevens. They are mentioned in "Lingua," [ix. 419.]
[289] See note to the "Antiquary," [act iv. sc. 1, vol. xiii.]
[290] These, and what follows are terms of falconry; flags, in particular, are the second and baser order of feathers in the hawk's wing (Chambers's "Dictionary").—Pegge.
[291] The sear is the yellow part between the beak and the eyes of the hawk.—Pegge.
[292] They usually carried the keys of their cabinets there.—Pegge.
[293] The first 4o inserts the name of Cricca for that of Trincalo, which is decidedly wrong.—Collier.
[294] An instrument chiefly used for taking the altitude of the pole, the sun, or stars, at sea.
[295] A name given to such instruments as are used for observing and determining the distances, magnitudes, and places of the heavenly bodies.
[296] A term to express the points or horns of the moon, or other luminary.
[297] With astrologers, is a temporary power they imagine the planets have over the life of any person.
[298] The centre of the sun. A planet is said to be in cazimi when it is not above 70 degrees distant from the body of the sun.
[299] [Old copy, And.]
[300] Sir Thomas Wyat, in his celebrated letter to John Poines, has a passage much in point—
—Collier.
[301] Almuten, with astronomers, is the lord of a figure, or the strongest planet in a nativity. Alchochoden is the giver of life or years, the planet which bears rule in the principal places of an astrological figure when a person is born; so that his life may be expected longer or shorter, according to the station, &c., of this planet.
[302] "To impe," says Blount, "is a term most usual among falconers, and is when a feather in a hawkes wing is broken, and another piece imped or graffed on the stump of the old." "Himp or imp, in the British language, is surculus a young graffe or twig; thence impio, the verb to innoculate or graff. Hence the word to imp is borrowed by the English; first, surely, to graff trees, and thence translated to imping feathers." See also Mr Steevens's note on "King Richard II.," act ii. sc. 1.
[303] Me is omitted in the two quartos.—Collier.
[304] To, the sign of the infinitive, is often omitted, and the verse requires it should be expunged here.—Pegge. Both the quartos read as in the text.—Reed.
[305] Mr Reed allowed this line to stand—
The restoration of the true reading also restores the grammar of the passage.—Collier.
[306] The same thought occurs in Shakespeare's "Love's Labour's Lost," act iv. sc. 3—
[307] Mr Steevens, in his note to "King Richard III.," act v. sc. 3, observes there was anciently a particular kind of candle, called a watch because, being marked out into sections, each of which was a certain portion of time in burning, it supplied the place of the more modern instrument by which we measure the hours. He also says these candles are represented with great nicety in some of the pictures of Albert Durer.
[308] These words, as here printed, may be the pure language of falconry, like bate, which follows, and signifies to flutter. Yet I suspect that for brail we should read berail, and for hud us, hood us.
[309] Latham calls it bat, and explains it to be "when a hawke fluttereth with her wings, either from the pearch, or the man's fist, striving, as it were, to flie away or get libertie."
[310] "Heirlooms are such goods and personal chattels as, contrary to the nature of chattels, shall go by special custom to the heir, along with the inheritance, and not to the executor of the last proprietor. The termination, loom, is of Saxon original, in which language it signifies a limb or member of the inheritance."—Blackstone's "Commentaries," ii. 427.
[311] In act i. sc. 7, he says that it cost two hundred pounds.
[312] i.e., Body.
[313] Properties are whatever little articles are wanted for the actors, according to their respective parts, dresses and scenes excepted. The person who delivers them out is to this day called the property man. See Mr Steevens's note to "Midsummer Night's Dream," act i. sc. 2.
[314] The late ingenious Mr Robert Dodsley, whose modest merit is well known to those who were acquainted with him, had little skill in our ancient language, and therefore permitted many uncommon terms to be exchanged for others, to the no small detriment of the scenes which he undertook to publish. We had here a proof of the unpardonable licence, where a word of no meaning, soak, was given instead of a technical term belonging to falconry, in the language of which the present metaphor is carried on. A young hawk, like a young deer, was called a soar or soare: so that the brown soar feathers are the remains of its first plumage, or such feathers as resemble it in colour. These birds are always mewed while they were moulting, to facilitate the growth of fresh plumes, more strong and beautiful than those which dropped off. Without this restoration and explanation, the passage before us is unintelligible.—Steevens.
Latham, in his book of falconry, says: "A sore hawke, is from the first taking of her from the eiry, till she have mewed her feathers." The error introduced into the play by Mr Dodsley is continued by Mr Garrick who, in his alteration, reads brown soak feathers.
Trincalo has already used a phrase that seems to be equivalent, in act ii. sc. 4, where he says—
See the explanatory notes, where flags are called "the baser order of feathers," and sear, we are told, is "the yellow part between the beak and the eyes of the hawk." After all, sear may be a misprint for soar, and this would make the resemblance in the two passages the stronger.—Collier.
[315] The metaphor is taken from a cock, who in his pride prunes himself, that is, picks off the loose feathers to smooth the rest. See notes by Dr Johnson and Mr Steevens to "First Part of King Henry IV.," act i. sc. 1.
The previous metaphors and phrases are from falconry, and probably the allusion is meant to be continued here: a hawk may be said to prune itself sleek just as well as a cock.—Collier.
[316] See a translation of Apuleius's "Golden Asse," by William Adlington, 4o, 1566.
[317] The 4o of 1615 omits was.—Collier.
[318] This appears to be the same as if, in modern language, he had said, I stand at so many, a term still used at the game of commerce, and once perhaps current at many others; for it is not very certain at what particular game the deluded Trincalo supposes himself to be playing.—Steevens.
The terms in the text appear to have been used at primero. I believe, therefore, Trincalo imagines himself to be playing at that game. It appears from a passage in "Nugæ Antiquæ," that fifty-five was esteemed a number which might safely be relied on. See note to "Lingua," [ix. 387, 388.]
[319] See note to "The City Nightcap," [act iv. sc. 4, vol. xiii.; and Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," v. Haggard.]
[320] "Stooping," says Latham, "is when a hawke, being upon her wings at the height of her pitch, bendeth violently down to strike the fowle, or any other prey." So in "The Alchymist," act v. sc. 5—
Again, Milton, in "Paradise Lost," bk. xi. 1. 185.
[321] i.e., Two footmen in garded or laced liveries. So in "The Merchant of Venice," act ii. sc. 2—
—Steevens.
[322] i.e., Embraced me.
[323] [Old copy, and.]
[324] The two stanzas decrease and then increase, after the manner of wings. See the Greek poet Simmias Rhodius.—Pegge.
[325] [Old copy, his.]
[326] Hitherto the reading has been—
The true word and the measure have been restored from the old copy.—Collier.
[327] Threatens in both the editions. Pegge suggested sweetens.
[328] See note to "The Spanish Tragedy," [v. 95.]
[329] The quartos read this word.
[330] The whole of what follows, to the word away, is given in the 4o of 1615 as part of the speech of Antonio.—Collier.
[331] A parody on the speech of the Ghost of Andrea, in "The Spanish Tragedy."
[332] i.e., Owns. See note to "Cornelia," [v. 232.]
[333] [Edits., Of.]
[334] It appears from Segar ("Honour, Military and Civil," fol. 1602, p. 122), that a person of superior birth might not be challenged by an inferior, or, if challenged, might refuse the combat. Alluding to this circumstance, Cleopatra says—
—Act ii. sc. 5.
[335] This seems intended to ridicule some of the punctilios of duelling, and probably the author had in his mind the following passage in Ferne's "Blazon of Gentrie," 1586, p. 319: "But if it so happen that the defendour is lame of a legge, or of an arme, or that hee bee blinde of an eye, he may take such armes and weapons, as be most fitte for his owne bodye; and he shall offer such to the approover as shall impeache the like member, or part of the approovers bodye from his dutye and office in the combate, so that he shall be deprived of the use of that member in the combate, even as wel as the defender is through his infirmity of lamenes, or other defect of nature."
[336] Duellists being punished by law in England, it has been usual for them to go over to Calais, as one of the nearest ports of France, to decide their quarrel out of the reach of justice. Trincalo is pleasant on this subject.—Steevens.
This custom is mentioned in an epigram in Samuel Rowlands's "Good Newes and Bad Newes," 1622, sig. F 2—
[337] i.e., Three. A metaphor taken from the game at cards called Gleek, where a gleek of knaves is three.—Pegge.
[338] It is observed by Mr Steevens, that "it was formerly the fashion to kiss the eyes, as a mark of extraordinary tenderness." See note to "The Winter's Tale," act iv. sc. 3, where several instances are produced.
Again, in Marston's "Dutch Courtesan," act ii. sc. 1—
[339] Hitherto printed by Mr Reed—
a reading not supported by the old copies, which have it young.—Collier.
[340] It must be supposed that Armellina brings a looking-glass, as desired.—Collier.
[341] Dr Grey observes from Tackius, that a toad, before she engages with a spider, will fortify herself with some of this plant; and that if she comes off wounded, she cures herself afterwards with it. Mr Steevens says it is a blood-stauncher, and was formerly applied to green wounds. See note on "Romeo and Juliet," act i. sc. 2.
[342] See note [at p. 364 suprâ.]
[343] i.e., Far-fetched. See note to "Gammer Gurton's Needle," [iii. 223.]
[344] Shrewd or witty sayings. See Florio's "Dictionary."
[345] i.e., Proverbs; a referendo, because it is often repeated. See Stevens's "Spanish Dictionary," 1705.
[346] The salt-cellar which used to be set on tables was generally large. Sometimes, however, a smaller sort would be used, and then several were employed, which were set nearer the trenchers, and therefore called trencher-salts, as here.—Pegge.
[347] [Compare p. 302.]
[348] A term of falconry. Latham says, "It is taken for the fowle which is flowne at and slaine at any time."
[349] This is a term of the chase. Gascoigne, in his book of hunting, 1575, p. 242, enumerates it among "other generall termes of the hart and his properties. When he (the hart) is foamy at the mouth, we saye that he is embost." So in "The Shoemakers' Holiday; or, The Gentle Craft," 1610, sig. C 3—
See also Mr Steevens's note to "All's Well that Ends Well," act iii. sc. 6.
[350] St Paul's, at this time, was constantly open, and the resort equally of the busy and the idle. A contemporary writer thus describes Paul's Walke: It "is the land's epitome, or you may call it the lesser ile of Great Brittaine. It is more than this, the whole world's map, which you may here discerne in it's perfect'st motion, justling and turning. It is a heape of stones and men, with a vast confusion of languages; and, were the steeple not sanctified, nothing liker Babel. The noyse in it is like that of bees, a strange humming or buzze, mixt of walking, tongues, and feet. It is a kind of still roare, or loud whisper. It is the great exchange of all discourse, and no busines whatsoever but is here stirring and afoot. It is the synod of all pates politicke, joynted and laid together in the most serious posture; and they are not halfe so busie at the Parliament. It is the anticke of tailes to tailes, and backes to backes, and for vizards, you need goe no further than faces. It is the market of young lecturers, whom you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the generall mint of all famous lies, which are here, like the legends popery first coyned and stampt in the church. All inventions are emptyed here, and not few pockets. The best signe of a temple in it is, that it is the theeves sanctuary, which robbe more safely in the croud then a wildernesse, whilst every searcher is a bush to hide them. It is the other expence of the day, after playes, taverne, and a baudy house, and men have still some oathes left to sweare here. It is the eares brothell, and satisfies their lust and ytch. The visitants are all men, without exceptions; but the principall inhabitants and possessors are stale knights, and captaines out of service; men of long rapiers and breeches, which after all turne merchants here, and trafficke for newes. Some make it a preface to their dinner, and travell for a stomacke: but thriftier men make it their ordinarie, and boord here verie cheape. Of all such places it is least haunted with hobgoblins, for if a ghost would walke more, he could not."—Earle's "Microcosmographie," 1628.
[351] The division of this scene is not marked in the old copies, but it is decidedly right, and the numbers of the scenes in the quartos are from two to four, omitting three.—Collier.
[352] [Old copy, powr'd.]
[353] Pandolfo's name is omitted in the quartos before the following lines, which are certainly meant to be spoken by him.—Collier.
[354] i.e., Because you know—a very common mode of expression.
[355] i.e., When you are declining like the sun, which sets in the west.—Steevens.
[356] The instances are very numerous throughout this play where Mr Dodsley, and after him Mr Reed, omitted syllables, and thereby spoiled the measure: thus this line ran till now—
instead, of discontentment.
[357] Old copy, must.
[358] A corruption of corragio! Ital. courage! a hortatory exclamation.—Steevens.
A cant word, meaning a good round sum of money. "Canting Dictionary," in voce.—Pegge.
[359] Thus in "A Woman Kill'd with Kindness," 1607, the first scene we have, on a wager being laid—
—Collier.
[360] In addition to this play, Robert Tailor was author of "Sacred Hymns," 4o, 1615.—Gilchrist. [No. This was a different person. But the author of the present play has some complimentary lines before Taylor the Water-poet's "Whipping and Snipping of Abuses," 1614.]
[361] "Reliquiæ Wottonianæ," fourth edit., 1685, p. 402.
[362] [A story perhaps originating in Swinnerton's name.] W. Smith dedicates his "Hector of Germaine; or, The Palsgrave Prince Elector," 1615, "To the right worshipfull the great Favourer of the Muses, Syr John Swinnerton, Knight, sometimes Lord Mayor of this honourable Cittie of London." He adds that the play was expressly written for citizens.—Collier.
[363] i.e., The play of that name attributed to Shakespeare. Perhaps a sneer was designed. To say that a dramatic piece was fortunate, is not to say that it was deserving; and why of all the pieces supposed to be written by our great author was this particularised?—Steevens.
There is good reason to dispute this interpretation of the word fortunate, but Mr Steevens seems to have discovered many sneers at Shakespeare that were never intended. Mr Malone, quoting the two last lines from the above prologue, observes: "By fortunate I understand highly successful," and he is warranted in this understanding by the following passage directly in point, which he might have quoted from lines prefixed by Richard Woolfall to Lewis Sharpe's "Noble Stranger," 1640—
—Collier.
Malone, after quoting a passage from "Pymlico or Runne Red-cap," 1609, disputes the notion that a sneer at "Pericles" was intended by Tailor. It appears that "Pericles" drew crowds, and that it was as successful as a play called "Shore." See Malone's Shakespeare, xxi. p. 4, edit. 1821.—Idem (additional notes to Dodsley).
[364] The pronoun he seems wanting here, but the old 4o omits it.—Collier.
[365] If this be not a corrupted, it must be an affected, word, coined from the Latin word niteo, to shine or be splendid. He was admired by those who shone most in the article of dress.—Steevens.
So in Marston's "Satires," printed with "Pygmalion," 1598—
Niters, however, may be a corruption of niflers. Chaucer uses nifles for trifles. See "Sompnour's Tale," Tyrwhitt's edit. v. 7342—
[Knights would be a bold emendation, and perhaps not very successful.]
[366] "Passage is a game at dice to be played at but by two, and it is performed with three dice. The caster throws continually till he hath thrown dubblets under ten, and then he is out and loseth; or dubblets above ten, and then he passeth and wins."—Compleat Gamester, 1680, p. 119.
[367] A play called "Long Meg of Westminster," according to Henslowe, was performed at Newington by the Lord Admiral's and Lord Chamberlain's men, the 14th February 1594; and a ballad on the same subject was entered on the Stationers' books in the same year. Meg of Westminster is mentioned in "The Roaring Girl."—Gilchrist.
The play of "Long Meg" is mentioned in Field's "Amends for Ladies," 1618, with another called "The Ship," as being played at the Fortune theatre. Feesimple says, "Faith, I have a great mind to see 'Long Meg' and 'The Ship' at the Fortune," which would seem to show in opposition to Mr Malone's opinion (see Malone's Shakespeare by Boswell, iii. 304), that more than one piece was played on the same occasion. Long Meg of Westminster's "pranks" were detailed in a tract published in [1582], and reprinted in the "Miscellanea Antiqua Anglicana." The introduction contains some further notices of this conspicuous damsel.—Collier.
[368] Perhaps this was the title of some play or ballad that was very successful, though it is not easy to explain the allusion. Dekker, in his "If it be not good, the Devil is in it," seems to refer to the same piece to nearly the same purpose. Scumbroth observes, "No, no, if fortune favoured me, I should be full; but fortune favours nobody but garlick, nor garlick neither now, yet she hath strong reason to love it; for though garlick made her smell abominably in the nostrils of the gallants, yet she had smelt and stunk worse but for garlick." It may be, that such a play was produced at the Fortune theatre, and met with general approbation.
This conjecture is supported by the following passage from "The World's Folly; or, A Warning-Peece Discharged upon the Wickedness thereof," by I. H., 1615: "I will not particularize those blitea dramata, (as Laberius tearmes another sort), those Fortune-fatted fooles and Times Ideots, whose garbe is the Tootheache of witte, the Plague-sore of Judgement, the Common-sewer of Obscœnities, and the very Traine-powder that dischargeth the roaring Meg (not Mol) of all scurrile villainies upon the Cities face; who are faine to produce blinde * Impudence ['Garlicke' inserted in the margin, against the asterisk] to personate himselfe upon their stage, behung with chaynes of garlicke, as an antidote against their owne infectious breaths, lest it should kill their Oyster-crying Audience."—Collier.
[369] [So in old copy, but query, addle-headed.]
[370] This was one of the cries of London at the time: "Buy my rope of onions—white Sir Thomas's onions." It was also liable to the hypercriticism of the player. What St Thomas had to do with onions does not appear; but the saint here meant was perhaps St Thomas of Trunnions—
—"Apius and Virginia," 1575, sig. E 2. These lines are spoken by Haphazard, the Vice, and are used as if the expression were proverbial.
[371] Shrove-Tuesday was a holiday for apprentices and working people, as appears by several contemporary writers. So in Dekker's "Seven Deadly Sinnes of London," 1606, p. 35: "They presently (like prentises upon Shrove-Tuesday) take the lawe into their owne handes, and doe what they list."
[372] The omission of the preposition by Mr Reed spoiled the metre of the line.—Collier.
[373] So in "Hamlet," act ii. sc. 2: "To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia." See the notes of Mr Theobald, Dr Johnson, and Mr Steevens, thereon. [See also Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," 1868, in voce.]
[374] [Old copy, hides.]
[375] A very popular book, which is still reprinted.
[376] Hector is one of the Seven Worthies. He appears as such in "Love's Labour's Lost." Nothing was once more common than the portraits of these heroes; and therefore they might have found their way occasionally into shops which we know to have been anciently decorated with pictures for the amusement of some customers whilst others were served. Of the Seven Worthies, the Ten Sibyls, and the Twelve Cæsars, I have seen many complete sets in old halls and on old staircases.—Steevens.
[377] The 4o reads Moreover. The alteration was made by Mr Reed.—Collier.
[378] A designed play on the word virginal, a spinnet.—Steevens.
[379] Desired or recommended.
[380] This was Samuel Daniel, who was an historian as well as a poet. The work above alluded to is probably "Hymen's Triumph," a pastoral tragi-comedy, acted at the Queen's Court in the Strand, at the nuptials of Lord Roxburgh.
[381] The 4o has it all-afflicted wrath.—Collier.
[382] The old copy has it portion, which is most likely wrong.—Collier.
[383] Old copy, had.
[384] i.e., One of those inexplicable dumb shows ridiculed by "Hamlet." See edition of Shakespeare 1778, x. p. 284.—Steevens.
[385] Alluding to the use of it in Cooke's "City Gallant," commonly called "Green's Tu quoque," printed in the present volume.
[386] i.e., Whipped me.
[387] The 4o reads His.
[388] The 4o has it literally thus—
which Mr Reed altered to cast a veil, &c.; but ought we not rather to read—
—Collier.
[389] [Old copy, them brats.]
[390] These four lines, which decidedly belong to Maria, in the old copy are assigned to Albert, and form a part of what he says before.—Collier.
[391] The idea of these answers from an echo seems to have been taken from Lord Stirling's "Aurora," 4o, 1604, sig. K 4. One of the triumvirate, Pope, Gay, or Arbuthnot, but which of them is not known, in a piece printed in Swift's "Miscellanies," may have been indebted for the same thought to either Lord Stirling or the present writer.
Since this note was written, I find nothing was more common than these answers of echoes in the works of contemporary and earlier writers. Many instances might be produced. Amongst others, those who can be pleased with such kind of performances may be referred to Sir P. Sidney's "Arcadia," or Lodge's "Wounds of Civil War," 1594, act iii. The folly of them is admirably ridiculed by the author of "Hudibras."—Reed.
[392] [Edit., Of.]
[393] A dance.
[394] [Old copy, him.]
[395] Verstegan, in his "Restitution of Decayed Intelligence," 1634, p. 126, gives the following account of the origin of this term: "As this Lady (i.e., Rowena) was very beautiful, so was she of a very comely deportment, and Hingistus, having invited King Vortiger to a supper at his new-builded castle, caused that after supper she came foorth of her chamber into the King's presence, with a cup of gold filled with wine in her hand, and making in very seemly manner a low reverence unto the King, sayd, with a pleasing grace and countenance, in our ancient language, Waes heal hlaford Cyning, which is, being rightly expounded according to our present speech, Be of health, Lord King, for as was is our verbe of the preterimperfect tense, or preterperfect tense, signifying have bin, so was being the same verb in the imperative mood, and now pronounced wax, is as much as to say grow, be, or become; and waes-heal, by corruption of pronunciation, afterwards became to be wassaile. The King not understanding what shee said, demaunded it of his chamberlaine, who was his interpreter, and when he knew what it was, he asked him how he might againe answer her in her owne language, whereof being informed, he sayd unto her Drinc heal, that is to say, Drink health."—See also a note to "The Ordinary," in vol. xii.
[396] Didst in the old copy, where these lines are printed as a stage direction.
[398] Or muscadel. A kind of wine so called, because for sweetness and smell it resembles musk. "From Bosco Helerno we soon came to Montefiascone, standing upon a hill. It's a bishop's seate, and famous for excellent Muscatello wine," &c.—Lassells' "Voiage of Italy," 8o, 1670, 244.—Gilchrist.
[399] [Referring to some tale of the day. Compare p. 468.]
[400] See note to "A Match at Midnight," act i. sc. i. (vol. xiii.)
[401] Æneas.
[402] [Meaning Hog.]
[403] If it like is a very common old expression for if it please; but Mr Reed allowed it to be altered to the vulgarism of if it's liked.
[404] There are two title-pages to this comedy in the year 1633, but they are both the same edition. The one has the words the second impression upon it; the other is without them; but in all other respects they are precisely similar. Whether the performance did not sell well in the first instance, and the stationer resorted to this expedient to get rid of copies remaining on hand, must be matter of conjecture only.—Collier.
[405] "Thomas May, father of the poet, purchased Mayfield Place, in Sussex (formerly an archiepiscopal palace, and afterwards the seat of the Greshams), of Henry Neville, of Billingbere, Berks, in 1597. He was knighted at Greenwich, July 3, 1603, and died 1616. He was father to Thomas May, the celebrated poet and historian, by whom Mayfield was aliened from the family in 1617: his mother, Joan May, and cousin, Richard May, of Islington, gent. joining with him in the conveyance to John Baker, Esq., whose descendants have ever since enjoyed it."—Nichols's "Leicestershire," iii. 156, note.—Gilchrist.
[406] Life, edit. 1759, p. 35.
[407] Some writers suppose he was disgusted that Sir William Davenant was appointed to succeed Ben Jonson as poet laureate, in the year 1637.
[408] He was appointed to the post of Historiographer by the Parliament.
[409] This poem was dedicated to Charles I. in 1635; hence it appears that he wrote it by command of the king. "Those defects," he says, "whatsoever they be, can be imputed only to insufficiency, for neither was there argument wanting nor yet endeavour, since I had the actions of a great king to require my skill, and the command of a greater king to oblige my care."—Collier.
[410] Thomas May has a complimentary poem prefixed to Pilkinton's "Tournament of Tottenham," &c. 4o. 1631.—Gilchrist.
[411] The subsequent lines are found in "Wit's Recreations," 1641—
Of course this was before (as Lord Clarendon expresses it) "he fell from his duty."—Collier.
[412] The author calls her Luce throughout, which the modern editor changed to Lucy. As a matter of taste, Lucy may be preferable to Luce; but the author ought to be allowed to judge for himself, and sometimes the measure of the lines has been spoiled by the needless alteration.—Collier.
[413] i.e., Vituperator, which answers to her character. Former editions read Psecas.—Pegge.
[414] "Carew was the younger brother of a good family, and of excellent parts, and had spent many years of his youth in France and Italy; and, returning from travel, followed the court, which the modesty of that time disposed men to do sometime, before they pretended to be of it; and he was very much esteemed by the most eminent persons in the court, and well looked upon by the king himself, some years before he could obtain to be sewer to the king; and when the king conferred that place upon him, it was not without the regret even of the whole Scotch nation, which united themselves in recommending another gentleman to it; and of so great value were those relations held in that age, when majesty was beheld with the reverence it ought to be. He was a person of a pleasant and facetious wit, and made many poems, especially in the amorous way, which, for the sharpness of the fancy, and the elegancy of the language in which that fancy was spread, were at least equal, if not superior, to any of that time; but his glory was, that after fifty years of his life, spent with less severity or exactness than it ought to have been, he died with the greatest remorse for that license, and with the greatest manifestation of Christianity, that his best friends could desire."—"Life of Clarendon," edit. 1759, i. 36. He died in the year 1639. [But see Hazlitt's edit. of Carew, Introductory Memoir.]
[415] ["A celebrated political register, as Mr Chalmers aptly terms it, which was now much used. Mention of it is made by almost all the writers of Jonson's age. As it treated of contemporary events, treaties, sieges, &c., in a dead language, it was necessarily driven to the use of unknown and unwarranted terms."—Gifford's Ben Jonson, ii. 530, note.]
Cleveland, in the "Character of a London Diurnal," 1644, says: "The original sinner of this kind was Dutch, Gallo-belgicus the Protoplast: and the Modern Mercuries but Hans en Kelders." Some intelligence given by Mercurius Gallo-belgicus is mentioned in Carew's "Survey of Cornwall," p. 126, originally published in 1602. Dr Donne, in his verses upon Thomas Coryat's "Crudities," 1611, says—
[416] See the "Spanish Tragedy," vol. v.
[417] Penelope.
[418] In the 4o, 1633, it stands Sienna Morenna, and so Mr Reed allowed it to remain.—Collier.
[419] The work here mentioned is entitled "Tullies Love, wherein is discovered the prime of 'Ciceroes youth,' &c. &c., by Robert Greene. In artibus magister." I have seen no earlier edition of it than that in 1616.—Steevens. [It was first printed in 1589.]
[420] The situation of Luce is expressed after her name in the old copy by the word gravida, and there seems no reason for omitting it. The conclusion of the play shows the necessity of making her condition obvious.—Collier.
[421] The original edition reads sick, which Mr Reed changed to fickle.—Collier.
[422] [Portrait, likeness.]
[423] [Bristling; Lat. horridus.]
[424] [Old copy, That I was.]
[425] [Old copy, were not.]
[426] [Old copy, Psectas.]
[427] Or Sompner, now called an apparitor. He is an officer, whose proper business and employment are to attend the spiritual court, to receive such commands as the judge shall please to issue forth; to convene and cite the defendants into court; to admonish or cite the parties in the production of witnesses, and the like; and to make due return of the process by him executed.
[428] i.e., Trustiness or fidelity, or perhaps we should read truth.—Pegge. [Trust is right, and should not be altered. It is a common form of expression.]
[429] i.e., Hinder it.
[430] [The name of the beggar in the "Odyssey" slain by Ullysses.]
[431] Virro here whispers the supposed Irus, and makes the proposition for killing Eugenio.—Collier.
[432] See the "Old Couple," act ii., where May has borrowed from this passage the same sentiment—
[433] i.e., Clerimont.—Pegge.
[434] This book, entitled "The Tax of the Roman Chancery," which has been several times translated into English, was first published at Rome in the year [1471]. It furnishes the most flagrant instances of the abominable profligacy of the Roman court at that time. Among other passages in it are the following: "Absolutio a lapsu carnis super quocunque actu libidinoso commisso per clericum, etiam cum monialibus, intra et extra septa monasterii; aut cum consanguineis vel affinibus, aut filia spirituali, aut quibusdam aliis, sive ab unoquoque de per se, sive simul ab omnibus absolutio petatur cum dispensatione ad ordines et beneficia, cum inhibitione tur. 36. duc. 3. Si vero cum illis petatur absolutio etiam a crimine commisso contra naturam, vel cum brutis, cum dispensatione ut supra, et cum inhibitione tur. 90. duc. 12. car. 16. Si vero petatur tantum absolutio a crimine contra naturam, vel cum brutis, cum dispensatione et inhibitione, turon 36. duc. 9. Absolutio pro moniali qui se permisit pluries cognosci intra vel extra septa monasterii, cum rehabilitate ad dignitates illius ordinis etiam abbatialem, turon 36. duc. 9." In the edition of Bois le Duc there is "Absolutio pro eo, qui interfecit patrem, matrem, sororem, uxorem.....g. 5. vel. 7." See Bayle, art. Banck.
[435] This Constable and Watch are poor imitations of Shakespeare's Dogberry, &c., in "Much Ado about Nothing."—Steevens.
[436] A pun upon the word bills is here intended, by confounding the bills of tradesmen with the bills or arms formerly carried by watchmen. Thus in [Munday's] curious old comedy, obviously translated from the Italian, with some adaptations to English customs, called the "Two Italian Gentlemen," we meet with the following direction:—"Enter Fedele with Pedante, and with them two watchmen with bills," act iv. sc. 5, sig. F 2.—Collier.
[437] [An uncommon form of expression, equivalent to the French phrase a bientôt.]
[438] I think we should read go.—Pegge. The syllable to is more than is required either for the sense or the measure.—Collier. [The original has to, as stated; but we should read too, i.e., if my life be too mean a sacrifice, &c.]
Transcriber notes:
P.21 footnote 19: Taken out the extra 'g' in 'farthinggale'.
P.324 footnote 266: 'Tintagol' needs to be 'Tintagel'. Changed.
Tintagel is the peninsula on the northern Cornwall coast reference.
Fixed various punctuation problems.