The English Dramatists

JOHN MARSTON

VOLUME THE THIRD

THE WORKS

OF

JOHN MARSTON

EDITED BY

A. H. BULLEN, B.A.

IN THREE VOLUMES

VOLUME THE THIRD

LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
MDCCCLXXXVII

Two hundred copies of this Edition on Laid paper, medium 8vo, have been printed, viz., 120 for the English Market, and 80 for America. Each copy numbered as issued.

No. 30

CONTENTS OF VOL. III.

EASTWARD HO.

Eastward Hoe. As It was playd in the Black-friers. By The Children of her Maiesties Reuels. Made by Geo: Chapman. Ben: Jonson. Ioh: Marston. At London Printed for William Aspley. 1605. 4to.

STORY OF THE PLAY.

Master Touchstone, an honest goldsmith, has two daughters and two apprentices. The elder daughter, Gertrude, is proud, extravagant, and wanton; the younger, Mildred, is simple, thrifty, and modest. So with the apprentices: Quicksilver is a graceless unthrift, but Golding is a model of industry and sobriety. A needy knight, Sir Petronel Flash, who represents himself to be the owner of a castle, marries Gertrude; and Golding, released from his apprenticeship, marries Mildred. Sir Petronel’s aim is to acquire some land of which Gertrude is possessed, turn it into ready money, and take ship with some adventurous spirits for Virginia, leaving his wife to find her way to the imaginary castle. Quicksilver, who has been dismissed from Touchstone’s service for riotous living, introduces Sir Petronel to an old usurer, Security; and Gertrude signs a deed, by which her estate is conveyed into Security’s hands. The knight is in love with Security’s wife, Winifred, and is anxious to have her society on the voyage. He tells Security that he intends to run away with the wife of one Bramble, a lawyer, and Security enters heartily into the scheme. It is contrived by Sir Petronel and Quicksilver that on the eve of the voyage Security brings Winifred in disguise (imagining her to be Bramble’s wife) to a river-side tavern, where are gathered Sir Petronel, Quicksilver, Seagull (the captain of the ship which is to sail for Virginia), Bramble, and the knight’s fellow-passengers, Scapethrift and Spendall. After drinking heavily at the tavern, the company rises to take boat for Blackwall, where Sir Petronel’s ship lies. As there is a stormy wind blowing and the tide is against them, the watermen urge that it would be unsafe to venture; but the company insists in starting, and the result is that the boats—one driven one way, another another—are capsized, and the drunken occupants are soused in the Thames. Security swims ashore at Cuckold’s Haven; Winifred is rescued at St. Katherine’s; Quicksilver finds himself by the gallows at Wapping; Sir Petronel and Seagull are cast-up on the Isle of Dogs, which the cupshot knight takes to be a spot on the French coast. Quicksilver falls in with Sir Petronel and the two repair to London, where they are arrested at the suit of Touchstone and, after being examined before Golding (who has been appointed deputy to the alderman of his ward), are committed to the Counter. Here, having leisure to review their conduct, they become deeply penitent, and set a wholesome example to the rest of the prisoners. By Golding’s kind offices they are released from the Counter and are taken into the good graces of Touchstone, who has had convincing proof of their reformation. Gertrude, though she has been slower to express contrition, finally humbles her pride and is received back into favour. Quicksilver marries his cast mistress, Sindefy, and lives cleanly; Security takes back Winifred.

PROLOGUS.

Not out of envy, for there’s no effect
Where there’s no cause; nor out of imitation,
For we have evermore been imitated;[1]
Nor out of our contention to do better
Than that[2] which is opposed to ours in title,
For that was good; and better cannot be:
And for the title, if it seem affected,
We might as well have call’d it, “God[3] you good even:”
Only that eastward westwards still exceeds,
Honour the sun’s fair rising, not his setting.    10
Nor is our title utterly enforced,
As by the points we touch at you shall see.
Bear with our willing pains, if dull or witty,
We only dedicate it to the City.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[4]

Touchstone, a goldsmith.
Quicksilver, and Golding, apprentices to Touchstone.
Sir Petronel Flash, a shifty knight.
Security, an old usurer.
Bramble, a lawyer.
Seagull, a sea-captain.
Scapethrift, and Spendall, adventurers bound for Virginia.
Slitgut, a butcher’s apprentice.
Poldavy, a tailor.
Holdfast, and Wolf, officers of the Counter.
Hamlet, a footman.
Potkin, a tankard-bearer.
Drawer.

Mistress Touchstone.
Gertrude, and Mildred, her daughters.
Winifred, wife to Security.
Sindefy, mistress to Quicksilver.
Bettrice, a waiting-woman.
Mrs. Ford, Mrs. Gazer, Coachman, Page, Constables, Prisoners, &c.

Scene—London and Thames-side.

EASTWARD HO.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Goldsmiths’ Row.

Enter Master Touchstone and Quicksilver at several doors; Quicksilver with his hat, pumps, short sword and dagger, and a racket trussed up under his cloak. At the middle door, enter Golding, discovering a goldsmith’s shop, and walking short turns before it.

To. And whither with you now? what loose action are you bound for? Come, what comrades are you to meet withal? where’s the supper? where’s the rendezvous?

Qu. Indeed, and in very good sober truth, sir——

To. Indeed, and in very good sober truth, sir! Behind my back thou wilt swear faster than a French foot-boy, and talk more bawdily than a common midwife; and now “indeed and in very good sober truth, sir!” but if a privy search should be made, with what furniture are you rigged now? Sirrah, I tell thee, I am thy master, William Touchstone, goldsmith; and thou my prentice, Francis Quicksilver, and I will see whither you are running. Work upon that now.    14

Qu. Why, sir, I hope a man may use his recreation with his master’s profit.

To. Prentices’ recreations are seldom with their master’s profit. Work upon that now. You shall give up your cloak, though you be no alderman. Heyday! ruffians’-hall sword, pumps, here’s a racket indeed!

[Touchstone uncloaks Quicksilver.

Qu. Work upon that now.

To. Thou shameless varlet! dost thou jest at thy lawful master, contrary to thy indentures?    23

Qu. Why ’sblood, sir, my mother’s a gentlewoman, and my father a justice of peace and of Quorum; and though I am a younger brother and a prentice, yet I hope I am my father’s son; and by God’s lid, ’tis for your worship and for your commodity that I keep company. I am entertained among gallants, true;[5] they call me cousin Frank, right; I lend them moneys, good; they spend it, well. But when they are spent, must not they strive to get more, must not their land fly? and to whom? Shall not your worship ha’ the refusal? Well, I am a good member of the city, if I were well considered. How would merchants thrive, if gentlemen would not be unthrifts? How could gentlemen be unthrifts if their humours were not fed? How should their humours be fed but by white meat, and cunning secondings? Well, the city might consider us. I am going to an ordinary now: the gallants fall to play; I carry light gold with me; the gallants call, “Cousin Frank, some gold for silver;” I change, gain by it; the gallants lose the gold, and then call, “Cousin Frank, lend me some silver.” Why——    43

To. Why? I cannot tell. Seven-score pound art thou out in the cash; but look to it, I will not be gallanted out of my moneys. And as for my rising by other men’s fall, God shield me! did I gain my wealth by ordinaries? no: by exchanging of gold? no: by keeping of gallants’ company? no. I hired me a little shop, fought low, took small gain, kept no debt-book, garnished my shop, for want of plate, with good wholesome thrifty sentences; as, “Touchstone, keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee;” “Light gains makes heavy purses;” “’Tis good to be merry and wise.” And when I was wived, having something to stick to, I had the horn of suretyship ever before my eyes. You all know the device of the horn, where the young fellow slips in at the butt-end, and comes squeezed out at the buckall: and I grew up, and I praise providence, I bear my brows now as high as the best of my neighbours: but thou——well, look to the accounts; your father’s bond lies for you: seven-score pound is yet in the rear.    62

Qu. Why ’slid, sir, I have as good, as proper gallants’ words for it as any are in London—gentlemen of good phrase, perfect language, passingly behaved; gallants that wear socks and clean linen, and call me “kind cousin Frank,” “good cousin Frank,” for they know my father: and by God’s lid shall I not trust ’hem?—not trust?

Enter a Page as inquiring for Touchstone’s shop.

Go. What do ye lack, sir? What is’t you’ll buy, sir?

To. Ay, marry sir; there’s a youth of another piece. There’s thy fellow-prentice, as good a gentleman born as thou art: nay, and better meaned. But does he pump it, or racket it? Well, if he thrive not, if he outlast not a hundred such crackling bavins as thou art, God and men neglect industry.    75

Go. It is his shop, and here my master walks.

[To the Page.

To. With me, boy?

Pa. My master, Sir Petronel Flash, recommends his love to you, and will instantly visit you.

To. To make up the match with my eldest daughter, my wife’s dilling,[6] whom she longs to call madam. He shall find me unwillingly ready, boy. [Exit Page.] There’s another affliction too. As I have two prentices, the one of a boundless prodigality, the other of a most hopeful industry—so have I only two daughters: the eldest, of a proud ambition and nice wantonness; the other of a modest humility and comely soberness. The one must be ladified, forsooth, and be attired just to the court-cut and long tail.[7] So far is she ill-natured to the place and means of my preferment and fortune, that she throws all the contempt and despite hatred itself can cast upon it. Well, a piece of land she has; ’twas her grandmother’s gift; let her, and her Sir Petronel, flash out that; but as for my substance, she that scorns me, as I am a citizen and tradesman, shall never pamper her pride with my industry; shall never use me as men do foxes, keep themselves warm in the skin, and throw the body that bare it to the dunghill. I must go entertain this Sir Petronel. Golding, my utmost care’s for thee, and only trust in thee; look to the shop. As for you, Master Quicksilver, think of husks, for thy course is running directly to the prodigal’s hog’s-trough; husks, sirrah! Work upon that now.

[Exit Touchstone.

Qu. Marry faugh,[8] goodman flat-cap![9] ’sfoot! though I am a prentice I can give arms;[10] and my father’s a justice-a-peace by descent, and ’sblood——    106

Go. Fie, how you swear!

Qu. ’Sfoot, man, I am a gentleman, and may swear by my pedigree. God’s my life! Sirrah Golding, wilt be ruled by a fool? Turn good fellow, turn swaggering gallant, and let the welkin roar, and Erebus also.[11] Look not westward to the fall of Dan Phœbus, but to the east—Eastward-ho!

Where radiant beams of lusty Sol appear,
And bright Eous makes the welkin clear.

We are both gentlemen, and therefore should be no coxcombs: let’s be no longer fools to this flat-cap, Touchstone. Eastward, bully, this satin belly, and canvas-backed Touchstone: ’slife! man, his father was a maltman, and his mother sold gingerbread in Christchurch.[12]    121

Go. What would you ha’ me to do?

Qu. Why, do nothing, be like a gentleman, be idle; the curse of man is labour. Wipe thy bum with testones, and make ducks and drakes with shillings. What, Eastward-ho! Wilt thou cry, “what is’t ye lack?” stand with a bare pate, and a dropping nose, under a wooden pent-house, and art a gentleman? Wilt thou bear tankards, and mayst bear arms? Be ruled; turn gallant; Eastward-ho! ta, lirra, lirra, ro! “Who[13] calls Jeronimo? Speak, here I am.” God’s so! how like a sheep thou look’st: o’ my conscience, some cowherd begot thee, thou Golding of Golding-hall! Ha, boy?    133

Go. Go, ye are a prodigal coxcomb! I a cowherd’s son, because I turn not a drunken whore-hunting rake-hell like thyself!

Qu. Rake-hell! rake-hell!

[Offers to draw, and Golding trips up his heels and holds him.

Go. Pish, in soft terms, ye are a cowardly bragging boy. I’ll ha’ you whipt.

Qu. Whipt?—that’s good, i’faith! untruss me?    140

Go. No, thou wilt undo thyself. Alas! I behold thee with pity, not with anger: thou common shot-clog,[14] gull of all companies; methinks I see thee already walk-in Moorfields[15] without a cloak, with half a hat, without a band, a doublet with three buttons, without a girdle, a hose with one point, and no garter, with a cudgel under thine arm, borrowing and begging threepence.

Qu. Nay, ’slife! take this and take all; as I am a gentleman born, I’ll be drunk, grow valiant, and beat thee.

[Exit.

Go. Go, thou most madly vain, whom nothing can recover but that which reclaims atheists, and makes great persons sometimes religious—calamity. As for my place and life, thus I have read:—    154

Whate’er some vainer youth may term disgrace,
The gain of honest pains is never base;
From trades, from arts, from valour, honour springs,
These three are founts of gentry, yea, of kings.

Enter Gertrude, Mildred, Bettrice, and Poldavy, a tailor; Poldavy with a fair gown, Scotch farthingale and French-fall in his arms; Gertrude in a French head-attire, and citizen’s gown; Mildred sewing and Bettrice leading a monkey after her.[16]

Ge. For the passion of patience, look if Sir Petronel approach—that sweet, that fine, that delicate, that—for love’s sake tell me if he come. O sister Mill, though my father be a low-capped tradesman, yet I must be a lady; and I praise God my mother must call me madam. Does he come? Off with this gown, for shame’s sake, off with this gown: let not my knight take me in the city-cut in any hand: tear’t, pax on’t (does he come?) tear’t off. “Thus whilst she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake,” &c.[17]    167

Mi. Lord, sister, with what an immodest impatiency and disgraceful scorn do you put off your city ’tire; I am sorry to think you imagine to right yourself in wronging that which hath made both you and us.

Ge. I tell you I cannot endure it, I must be a lady: do you wear your coif with a London licket,[18] your stammel[19] petticoat with two guards,[20] the buffin[21] gown with the tuff-taffety cape, and the velvet lace. I must be a lady, and I will be a lady. I like some humours of the city-dames well: to eat cherries[22] only at an angel a pound, good; to dye rich scarlet, black, pretty; to line a grogram gown clean thorough with velvet, tolerable; their pure linen, their smocks of three pounds a smock, are to be borne withal. But your mincing niceries, taffeta pipkins, durance[23] petticoats, and silver bodkins—God’s my life, as I shall be a lady, I cannot endure it! Is he come yet? Lord, what a long knight ’tis! “And ever she cried, Shoot[24] home!” and yet I knew one longer; “And ever she cried, Shoot[24] home,” fa, la, ly, re, lo, la!

Mi. Well, sister, those that scorn their nest, oft fly with a sick wing.    188

Ge. Bow-bell!

Mi. Where titles presume to thrust before fit means to second them, wealth and respect often grow sullen, and will not follow. For sure in this, I would for your sake I spake not truth: Where ambition of place goes before fitness of birth, contempt and disgrace follow. I heard a scholar once say, that Ulysses, when he counterfeited himself mad, yoked cats[25] and foxes and dogs together to draw his plough, whiles he followed and sowed salt; but sure I judge them truly mad, that yoke citizens and courtiers, tradesmen and soldiers, a goldsmith’s daughter and a knight. Well, sister, pray God my father sow not salt too.    201

Ge. Alas! poor Mildred, when I am a lady, I’ll pray for thee yet, i’faith: nay, and I’ll vouchsafe to call thee sister Mill still; for though thou art not like to be a lady as I am, yet sure thou art a creature of God’s making; and mayest peradventure to be saved as soon as I (does he come?). “And ever and anon she doubled in her song.” Now, lady’s my comfort, what profane ape’s here? Tailor, Poldavy, prithee, fit it, fit it: is this a right Scot?[26] Does it clip close, and bear up round?    210

Po. Fine and stiffly, i’faith; ’twill keep your thighs so cool, and make your waist so small; here was a fault in your body, but I have supplied the defect, with the effect of my steel instrument, which, though it have but one eye, can see to rectify the imperfection of the proportion.

Ge. Most edifying tailor! I protest you tailors are most sanctified members, and make many crooked things go upright. How must I bear my hands? Light? light?    219

Po. O ay, now you are in the lady-fashion, you must do all things light. Tread light, light. Ay, and fall so: that’s the Court-amble.

[She trips about the stage.

Ge. Has the Court ne’er a trot?

Po. No, but a false gallop, lady.

Ge. And if she will not go to bed—

[Cantat.

Be. The knight’s come, forsooth.

Enter Sir Petronel, Master Touchstone, and Mistress Touchstone.

Ge. Is my knight come? O the Lord, my band! Sister, do my cheeks look well? Give me a little box o’ the ear, that I may seem to blush; now, now! So, there, there, there! here he is: O my dearest delight! Lord, Lord! and how does my knight?    231

To. Fie! with more modesty.

Ge. Modesty! why, I am no citizen now—modesty! Am I not to be married? y’are best to keep me modest, now I am to be a lady.

Sir Pe. Boldness is good fashion and courtlike.

Ge. Ay, in a country lady I hope it is, as I shall be. And how chance ye came no sooner, knight?

Sir Pe. ’Faith, I was so entertained in the progress with one Count Epernoum, a Welsh knight; we had a match at balloon[27] too with my Lord Whachum, for four crowns.    242

Ge. At baboon? Jesu! you and I will play at baboon in the country, knight.

Sir Pe. O, sweet lady! ’tis a strong play with the arm.

Ge. With arm or leg, or any other member, if it be a Court-sport. And when shall’s be married, my knight?

Sir Pe. I come now to consummate it, and your father may call a poor knight son-in-law.    250

M. To. Sir, ye are come; what is not mine to keep I must not be sorry to forego. A 100 li. land her grandmother left her, ’tis yours; herself (as her mother’s gift) is yours. But if you expect aught from me, know, my hand and mine eyes open together; I do not give blindly. Work upon that now.

Sir Pe. Sir, you mistrust not my means? I am a knight.

To. Sir, sir, what I know not, you will give me leave to say I am ignorant of.    260

Mist. To. Yes, that he is a knight; I know where he had money to pay the gentlemen-ushers and heralds their fees. Ay, that he is a knight, and so might you have been too, if you had been aught else than an ass, as well as some of your neighbours. And I thought you would not ha’ been knighted, as I am an honest woman, I would ha’ dubbed you myself. I praise God I have wherewithal. But as for your daughter——

Ge. Ay, mother, I must be a lady to-morrow; and by your leave, mother (I speak it not without my duty, but only in the right of my husband), I must take place of you, mother.    272

Mist. To. That you shall, lady-daughter, and have a coach as well as I too.

Ge. Yes, mother. But by your leave, mother (I speak it not without my duty, but only in my husband’s right), my coach-horses must take the wall of your coach-horses.

To. Come, come, the day grows low; ’tis supper-time; use my house; the wedding solemnity is at my wife’s cost; thank me for nothing but my [un]willing blessing; for I cannot feign, my hopes are faint. And, sir, respect my daughter; she has refused for you wealthy and honest matches, known good men, well-moneyed, better traded, best reputed.    284

Ge. Body-o’-truth! chittizens,[28] chittizens! Sweet knight, as soon as ever we are married, take me to thy mercy out of this miserable chitty; presently carry me out of the scent of Newcastle coal, and the hearing of Bow-bell; I beseech thee down with me, for God sake!

To. Well, daughter, I have read that old wit sings:—

The greatest rivers flow from little springs:
Though thou art full, scorn not thy means at first,
He that’s most drunk may soonest be athirst.

Work upon that now.    294

[All but Touchstone, Mildred, and Golding depart.

No, no! yond’ stand my hopes—Mildred, come hither, daughter. And how approve you your sister’s fashion? how do you fancy her choice? what dost thou think?

Mi. I hope as a sister, well.

To. Nay but, nay but, how dost thou like her behaviour and humour? Speak freely.    300

Mi. I am loth to speak ill; and yet I am sorry of this, I cannot speak well.

To. Well; very good, as I would wish; a modest answer. Golding, come hither; hither, Golding. How dost thou like the knight, Sir Flash? does he not look big? how likest thou the elephant? he says he has a castle in the country.

Go. Pray heaven, the elephant carry not his castle on his back.[29]    309

To. ’Fore heaven, very well! but seriously, how dost repute him?

Go. The best I can say of him is, I know him not.

To. Ha, Golding! I commend thee, I approve thee, and will make it appear my affection is strong to thee. My wife has her humour, and I will ha’ mine. Dost thou see my daughter here? She is not fair, well-favoured or so indifferent, which modest measure of beauty shall not make it thy only work to watch her, nor sufficient mischance to suspect her. Thou art towardly, she is modest; thou art provident, she is careful. She’s now mine; give me thy hand, she’s now thine. Work upon that now.    322

Go. Sir, as your son, I honour you; and as your servant, obey you.

To. Sayest thou so? Come hither, Mildred. Do you see yond’ fellow? he is a gentleman, though my prentice, and has somewhat to take too; a youth of good hope; well friended, well parted.[30] Are you mine? you are his. Work upon that now.    329

Mi. Sir, I am all yours; your body gave me life; your care and love, happiness of life; let your virtue still direct it, for to your wisdom I wholly dispose myself.

To. Say’st thou so? Be you two better acquainted. Lip her, lip her, knave. So, shut up shop; in. We must make holiday.

[Exeunt Golding and Mildred.

This match shall on, for I intend to prove
Which thrives the best, the mean or lofty love.
Whether fit wedlock vow’d ’twixt like and like,
Or prouder hopes, which daringly o’erstrike    340
Their place and means. ’Tis honest time’s expense,
When seeming lightness bears a moral sense.
Work upon that now.

[Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Goldsmiths’ Row.

Touchstone, Quicksilver, Golding, and Mildred, sitting on either side of the stall.

To. Quicksilver, Master Francis Quicksilver, Master Quicksilver!

Enter Quicksilver.

Qu. Here, sir (ump).

To. So, sir; nothing but flat Master Quicksilver (without any familiar addition) will fetch you; will you truss my points, sir?

Qu. Ay, forsooth (ump).

To. How now, sir? the drunken hiccup so soon this morning?

Qu. ’Tis but the coldness of my stomach, forsooth.    10

To. What? have you the cause natural for it? y’are a very learned drunkard: I believe I shall miss some of my silver spoons with your learning. The nuptial night will not moisten your throat sufficiently, but the morning likewise must rain her dews into your gluttonous weasand.

Qu. An’t please you, sir, we did but drink (ump) to the coming off of the knightly bridegroom.

To. To the coming off an’ him?    19

Qu. Ay, forsooth, we drunk to his coming on (ump) when we went to bed; and now we are up, we must drink to his coming off: for that’s the chief honour of a soldier, sir; and therefore we must drink so much the more to it, forsooth (ump).

To. A very capital reason! So that you go to bed late, and rise early to commit drunkenness; you fulfil the scripture very sufficient wickedly, forsooth.

Qu. The knight’s men, forsooth, be still o’ their knees at it (ump), and because ’tis for your credit, sir, I would be loth to flinch.    30

To. I pray, sir, e’en to ’hem again then; y’are one of the separated crew, one of my wife’s faction, and my young lady’s, with whom, and with their great match, I will have nothing to do.

Qu. So, sir, now I will go keep my (ump) credit with ’hem, an’t please you, sir.

To. In any case, sir, lay one cup of sack more o’ your cold stomach, I beseech you.    38

Qu. Yes, forsooth.

[Exit Quicksilver.

To. This is for my credit! servants ever maintain drunkenness in their master’s house for their master’s credit; a good idle serving-man’s reason. I thank time the night is past; I ne’er waked to such cost; I think we have stowed more sorts of flesh in our bellies than ever Noah’s ark received; and for wine, why my house turns giddy with it, and more noise in it than at a conduit. Ay me! even beasts condemn our gluttony. Well, ’tis our city’s fault, which, because we commit seldom, we commit the more sinfully; we lose no time in our sensuality, but we make amends for it. O that we would do so in virtue, and religious negligences! But see here are all the sober parcels my house can show; I’ll eavesdrop, hear what thoughts they utter this morning.    54

Enter Golding and Mildred.

Go. But is it possible that you, seeing your sister preferred to the bed of a knight, should contain your affections in the arms of a prentice?

Mi. I had rather make up the garment of my affections in some of the same piece, than, like a fool, wear gowns of two colours, or mix sackcloth with satin.

Go. And do the costly garments—the title and fame of a lady, the fashion, observation, and reverence proper to such preferment—no more inflame you than such convenience as my poor means and industry can offer to your virtues?    65

Mi. I have observed that the bridle given to those violent flatteries of fortune is seldom recovered; they bear one headlong in desire from one novelty to another, and where those ranging appetites reign, there is ever more passion than reason: no stay, and so no happiness. These hasty advancements are not natural. Nature hath given us legs to go to our objects; not wings to fly to them.    73

Go. How dear an object you are to my desires I cannot express; whose fruition would my master’s absolute consent and yours vouchsafe me, I should be absolutely happy. And though it were a grace so far beyond my merit, that I should blush with unworthiness to receive it, yet thus far both my love and my means shall assure your requital: you shall want nothing fit for your birth and education; what increase of wealth and advancement the honest and orderly industry and skill of our trade will afford in any, I doubt not will be aspired by me; I will ever make your contentment the end of my endeavours; I will love you above all; and only your grief shall be my misery, and your delight my felicity.    87

To. Work upon that now. By my hopes, he wooes honestly and orderly; he shall be anchor of my hopes! Look, see the ill-yoked monster, his fellow!

Enter Quicksilver unlaced, a towel about his neck, in his flat-cap, drunk.

Qu. Eastward-ho! Holla, ye pampered jades of Asia![31]

To. Drunk now downright, o’ my fidelity!

Qu. (Ump).[32] Pull eo, pullo! showse, quoth the caliver.    95

Go. Fie, fellow Quicksilver, what a pickle are you in!

Qu. Pickle? pickle in thy throat; zounds, pickle! Wa, ha, ho! good-morrow, knight Petronel: morrow, lady goldsmith; come off, knight, with a counterbuff, for the honour of knighthood.

Go. Why, how now, sir? do ye know where you are?    102

Qu. Where I am? why, ’sblood! you jolthead, where I am!

Go. Go to, go to, for shame; go to bed and sleep out this immodesty: thou shamest both my master and his house.

Qu. Shame? what shame? I thought thou wouldst show thy bringing-up; and thou wert a gentleman as I am, thou wouldst think it no shame to be drunk. Lend me some money, save my credit; I must dine with the serving-men and their wives—and their wives, sirrah!    112

Go. E’en who you will; I’ll not lend thee threepence.

Qu. ’Sfoot; lend me some money; hast thou not Hiren here?[33]

To. Why, how now, sirrah? what vein’s this, ha?

Qu. Who cries on murther? Lady, was it you?[34] how does our master? pray thee cry Eastward-ho!

To. Sirrah, sirrah, y’are past your hiccup now; I see y’are drunk.    121

Qu. ’Tis for your credit, master.

To. And hear you keep a whore in town.

Qu. ’Tis for your credit, master.

To. And what you are out in cash, I know.

Qu. So do I; my father’s a gentleman. Work upon that now. Eastward-ho!

To. Sir, Eastward-ho will make you go Westward-ho:[35] I will no longer dishonest my house, nor endanger my stock, with your licence. There, sir, there’s your indenture; all your apparel (that I must know) is on your back, and from this time my door is shut to you: from me be free; but for other freedom, and the moneys you have wasted, Eastward-ho shall not serve you.    134

Qu. Am I free o’ my fetters? Rent, fly with a duck in thy mouth, and now I tell thee, Touchstone——

To. Good sir——

Qu. When[36] this eternal substance of my soul—

To. Well said; change your gold-ends[37] for your play-ends.    140

Qu. Did live imprison’d in my wanton flesh—

To. What then, sir?

Qu. I was a courtier in the Spanish Court, and Don Andrea was my name.

To. Good master Don Andrea, will you march?

Qu. Sweet Touchstone, will you lend me two shillings?

To. Not a penny.

Qu. Not a penny? I have friends, and I have acquaintance; I will piss at thy shop-posts, and throw rotten eggs at thy sign. Work upon that now.    150

[Exit staggering.

To. Now, sirrah, you! hear you? you shall serve me no more neither—not an hour longer.

Go. What mean you, sir?

To. I mean to give thee thy freedom, and with thy freedom my daughter, and with my daughter a father’s love. And with all these such a portion as shall make Knight Petronel himself envy thee! Y’are both agreed, are ye not?

Am. With all submission, both of thanks and duty.

To. Well then, the great Power of heaven bless and confirm you. And, Golding, that my love to thee may not show less than my wife’s love to my eldest daughter, thy marriage feast shall equal the knight’s and hers.    163

Go. Let me beseech you, no, sir; the superfluity and cold meat left at their nuptials will with bounty furnish ours. The grossest prodigality is superfluous cost of the belly; nor would I wish any invitement of states or friends, only your reverent[38] presence and witness shall sufficiently grace and confirm us.    169

To. Son to my own bosom, take her and my blessing. The nice fondling, my lady, sir-reverence, that I must not now presume to call daughter, is so ravished with desire to hansell her new coach, and see her knight’s Eastward Castle, that the next morning will sweat with her busy setting forth. Away will she and her mother, and while their preparation is making, ourselves, with some two or three other friends, will consummate the humble match we have in God’s name concluded. ’Tis to my wish, for I have often read,
Fit birth, fit age, keeps long a quiet bed.    180
’Tis to my wish; for tradesmen, well ’tis known,
Get with more ease than gentry keeps his own.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Room in Security’s house.

Security solus.

Sec. My privy guest, lusty Quicksilver, has drunk too deep of the bride-bowl; but with a little sleep, he is much recovered; and, I think, is making himself ready to be drunk in a gallanter likeness. My house is as ’twere the cave where the young outlaw hoards the stolen vails of his occupation; and here, when he will revel it in his prodigal similitude, he retires to his trunks, and (I may say softly) his punks; he dares trust me with the keeping of both; for I am Security itself; my name is Security, the famous usurer.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

Room in Security’s house.

Enter Quicksilver in his prentice’s coat and cap, his gallant breeches and stockings, gartering himself, Security following.

Qu. Come, old Security, thou father of destruction! th’ indented sheepskin is burned wherein I was wrapt; and I am now loose, to get more children of perdition into thy usurous bonds. Thou feed’st my lechery, and I thy covetousness; thou art pander to me for my wench, and I to thee for thy cozenages. Ka me, ka thee,[39] runs through court and country.

Sec. Well said, my subtle Quicksilver! These ka’s ope the doors to all this world’s felicity: the dullest forehead sees it. Let not master courtier think he carries all the knavery on his shoulders: I have known poor Hob, in the country, that has worn hob-nails on’s hoes, have as much villainy in’s head as he that wears gold buttons in’s cap.    14

Qu. Why, man, ’tis the London highway to thrift; if virtue be used, ’tis but as a scape to the net of villainy. They that use it simply, thrive simply, I warrant. Weight and fashion makes goldsmiths cuckolds.

Enter Sindefy, with Quicksilver’s doublet, cloak, rapier, and dagger.

Si. Here, sir, put off the other half of your prenticeship.

Qu. Well said, sweet Sin! Bring forth my bravery.
Now let my trunks shoot[40] forth their silks conceal’d.    22
I now am free, and now will justify
My trunks and punks. Avaunt, dull flatcap, then!
Via the curtain that shadow’d Borgia![41]
There lie, thou husk of my envassail’d state,
I, Sampson, now have burst the Philistines’ bands,
And in thy lap, my lovely Dalila,
I’ll lie, and snore out my enfranchised state.

When[42] Sampson was a tall young man,    30
His power and strength increased than;
He sold no more nor cup nor can;
But did them all despise.
Old Touchstone, now write to thy friends
For one to sell thy base gold-ends;
Quicksilver now no more attends
Thee, Touchstone.

But, dad, hast thou seen my running gelding dressed to-day?

Sec. That I have, Frank. The ostler a’th’ Cock dressed him for a breakfast.    41

Qu. What! did he eat him?

Sec. No, but he eat his breakfast for dressing him; and so dressed him for breakfast.

Qu. O witty age! where age is young in wit,
And all youths’ words have gray-beards full of it!

Sec. But alas, Frank! how will all this be maintained now? Your place maintained it before.    48

Qu. Why, and I maintained my place. I’ll to the court: another manner of place for maintenance, I hope, than the silly City! I heard my father say, I heard my mother sing an old song and a true: Thou art a she-fool, and know’st not what belongs to our male wisdom. I shall be a merchant, forsooth! trust my estate in a wooden trough as he does! What are these ships but tennis-balls for the winds to play withal? tossed from one wave to another; now under line, now over the house; sometimes brick-walled against a rock, so that the guts fly out again; sometimes strook under the wide hazard, and farewell, master merchant!    60

Si. Well, Frank, well: the seas you say, are uncertain: but he that sails in your Court seas shall find ’hem ten times fuller of hazard; wherein to see what is to be seen is torment more than a free spirit can endure; but when you come to suffer, how many injuries swallow you! What care and devotion must you use to humour an imperious lord, proportion your looks to his looks, smiles to his smiles; fit your sails to the winds of his breath!

Qu. Tush! he’s no journeyman in his craft that cannot do that.    71

Si. But he’s worse than a prentice that does it; not only humouring the lord, but every trencher-bearer, every groom, that by indulgence and intelligence crept into his favour, and by panderism into his chamber; he rules the roast; and when my honourable lord says it shall be thus, my worshipful rascal, the groom of his close stool, says it shall not be thus, claps the door after him, and who dares enter? A prentice, quoth you? ’Tis but to learn to live; and does that disgrace a man? He that rises hardly stands firmly; but he that rises with ease, alas! falls as easily.    82

Qu. A pox on you! who taught you this morality?

Sec. ’Tis ’long of this witty age, Master Francis. But, indeed, Mistress Sindefy, all trades complain of inconvenience, and therefore ’tis best to have none. The merchant, he complains and says, traffic is subject to much uncertainty and loss; let ’hem keep their goods on dry land, with a vengeance, and not expose other men’s substances to the mercy of the winds, under protection of a wooden wall (as Master Francis says); and all for greedy desire to enrich themselves with unconscionable gain, two for one, or so; where I, and such other honest men as live by lending money, are content with moderate profit; thirty or forty i’ th’ hundred, so we may have it with quietness, and out of peril of wind and weather, rather than run those dangerous courses of trading, as they do.    98

[Exit[43] Sindefy.

Qu. Ay, dad, thou may’st well be called Security, for thou takest the safest course.

Sec. ’Faith, the quieter, and the more contented, and, out of doubt, the more godly; for merchants, in their courses, are never pleased, but ever repining against heaven: one prays for a westerly wind, to carry his ship forth; another for an easterly, to bring his ship home, and at every shaking of a leaf[44] he falls into an agony, to think what danger his ship is in on such a coast, and so forth. The farmer, he is ever at odds with the weather: sometimes the clouds have been too barren; sometimes the heavens forget themselves; their harvests answer not their hopes; sometimes the season falls out too fruitful, corn will bear no price, and so forth. The artificer, he’s all for a stirring world: if his trade be too full, and fall short of his expectation, then falls he out of joint. Where we that trade nothing but money are free from all this; we are pleased with all weathers, let it rain or hold up, be calm or windy; let the season be whatsoever, let trade go how it will, we take all in good part, e’en what please the heavens to send us, so the sun stand not still, and the moon keep her usual returns, and make up days, months, and years.    121

Qu. And you have good security?

Sec. Ay, marry, Frank, that’s the special point.

Qu. And yet, forsooth, we must have trades to live withal; for we cannot stand without legs, nor fly without wings, and a number of such scurvy phrases. No, I say still, he that has wit, let him live by his wit; he that has none, let him be a tradesman.

Sec. Witty Master Francis! ’tis pity any trade should dull that quick brain of yours. Do but bring Knight Petronel into my parchment toils once, and you shall never need to toil in any trade, o’ my credit. You know his wife’s land?    133

Qu. Even to a foot, sir; I have been often there; a pretty fine seat, good land, all entire within itself.

Sec. Well wooded?

Qu. Two hundred pounds’ worth of wood ready to fell, and a fine sweet house, that stands just in the midst on’t, like a prick in the midst of a circle; would I were your farmer, for a hundred pound a year!

Sec. Excellent Master Francis! how I do long to do thee good! How I do hunger and thirst to have the honour to enrich thee! ay, even to die, that thou mightest inherit my living! even hunger and thirst! for o’ my religion, Master Francis, and so tell Knight Petronel, I do it to do him a pleasure.    146

Qu. Marry, dad! his horses are now coming up to bear down his lady; wilt thou lend him thy stable to set ’hem in?

Sec. ’Faith, Master Francis, I would be loth to lend my stable out of doors; in a greater matter I will pleasure him, but not in this.

Qu. A pox of your hunger and thirst! Well, dad, let him have money; all he could any way get is bestowed on a ship now bound for Virginia; the frame of which voyage is so closely conveyed that his new lady nor any of her friends know it. Notwithstanding, as soon as his lady’s hand is gotten to the sale of her inheritance, and you have furnished him with money, he will instantly hoist sail and away.    160

Sec. Now, a frank gale of wind go with him, Master Frank! we have too few such knight adventurers; who would not sell away competent certainties to purchase, with any danger, excellent uncertainties? your true knight venturer ever does. Let his wife seal to-day; he shall have his money to-day.

Qu. To-morrow she shall, dad, before she goes into the country; to work her to which action with the more engines, I purpose presently to prefer my sweet Sin here to the place of her gentlewoman; whom you (for the more credit) shall present as your friend’s daughter, a gentlewoman of the country, new come up with a will for awhile to learn fashions forsooth, and be toward some lady; and she shall buzz pretty devices into her lady’s ear; feeding her humours so serviceably (as the manner of such as she is, you know).    176

Sec. True, good Master Francis.

Re-enter Sindefy.

Qu. That she shall keep her port open to anything she commends to her.

Sec. O’ my religion, a most fashionable project; as good she spoil the lady, as the lady spoil her; for ’tis three to one of one side. Sweet Mistress Sin, how are you bound to Master Francis! I do not doubt to see you shortly wed one of the head-men[45] of our city.

Si. But, sweet Frank, when shall my father Security present me?    186

Qu. With all festination; I have broken the ice to it already; and will presently to the knight’s house, whither, my good old dad, let me pray thee, with all formality to man her.

Sec. Command me, Master Francis, I do hunger and thirst to do thee service. Come, sweet Mistress Sin, take leave of my Winifred, and we will instantly meet Frank, Master Francis, at your lady’s.

Enter Winifred above.

Wi. Where is my Cu there? Cu?

Sec. Ay, Winnie.    196

Wi. Wilt thou come in, sweet Cu?

Sec. Ay, Winnie, presently.

[Exeunt Security and Sindefy.

Qu. Ay, Winnie, quod he, that’s all he can do, poor man, he may well cut off her name at Winnie. O, ’tis an egregious pander! What will not an usurous knave be, so he may be rich? O, ’tis a notable Jew’s trump! I hope to live to see dogs’ meat made of the old usurer’s flesh, dice of his bones, and indentures of his skin; and yet his skin is too thick to make parchment, ’twould make good boots for a peter-man[46] to catch salmon in. Your only smooth skin to make fine vellum is your Puritan’s skin; they be the smoothest and slickest knaves in a country.    209

Enter Sir Petronel in boots, with a riding-wand.[47]

Pe. I’ll out of this wicked town as fast as my horse can trot! Here’s now no good action for a man to spend his time in. Taverns grow dead; ordinaries are blown up; plays are at a stand; houses of hospitality at a fall; not a feather waving, nor a spur jingling anywhere. I’ll away instantly.

Qu. Y’ad best take some crowns in your purse, knight, or else your Eastward Castle will smoke but miserably.

Pe. O, Frank! my castle? Alas! all the castles I have are built with air, thou know’st.    219

Qu. I know it, knight, and therefore wonder whither your lady is going.

Pe. ’Faith, to seek her fortune, I think. I said I had a castle and land eastward, and eastward she will, without contradiction; her coach and the coach of the sun must meet full butt. And the sun being outshined with her ladyship’s glory, she fears he goes westward to hang himself.

Qu. And I fear, when her enchanted castle becomes invisible, her ladyship will return and follow his example.

Pe. Oh, that she would have the grace! for I shall never be able to pacify her, when she sees herself deceived so.    232

Qu. As easily as can be. Tell her she mistook your directions, and that shortly yourself will down with her to approve it; and then clothe but her crouper in a new gown, and you may drive her any way you list. For these women, sir, are like Essex calves, you must wriggle ’hem on by the tail still, or they will never drive orderly.

Pe. But, alas! sweet Frank, thou knowest my ability will not furnish her blood with those costly humours.

Qu. Cast that cost on me, sir. I have spoken to my old pander, Security, for money or commodity; and commodity (if you will) I know he will procure you.    243

Pe. Commodity! Alas! what commodity?

Qu. Why, sir! what say you to figs and raisins?

Pe. A plague of figs and raisins, and all such frail[48] commodities! We shall make nothing of ’hem.

Qu. Why then, sir, what say you to forty pound in roasted beef?[49]

Pe. Out upon’t, I have less stomach to that than to the figs and raisins; I’ll out of town, though I sojourn with a friend of mine, for stay here I must not; my creditors have laid to arrest me, and I have no friend under heaven but my sword to bail me.    254

Qu. God’s me, knight, put ’hem in sufficient sureties, rather than let your sword bail you! Let ’hem take their choice, either the King’s Bench or the Fleet, or which of the two Counters they like best, for, by the Lord, I like none of ’hem.

Pe. Well, Frank, there is no jesting with my earnest necessity; thou know’st if I make not present money to further my voyage begun, all’s lost, and all I have laid out about it.    263

Qu. Why, then, sir, in earnest, if you can get your wise lady to set her hand to the sale of her inheritance, the bloodhound, Security, will smell out ready money for you instantly.

Pe. There spake an angel: to bring her to which conformity, I must feign myself extremely amorous; and alleging urgent excuses for my stay behind, part with her as passionately as she would from her foisting hound.[50]    272

Qu. You have the sow by the right ear, sir. I warrant there was never child longed more to ride a cock-horse or wear his new coat, than she longs to ride in her new coach. She would long for everything when she was a maid, and now she will run mad for ’hem. I lay my life, she will have every year four children; and what charge and change of humour you must endure while she is with child, and how she will tie you to your tackling till she be with child, a dog would not endure. Nay, there is no turnspit dog bound to his wheel[51] more servilely than you shall be to her wheel; for, as that dog can never climb the top of his wheel but when the top comes under him, so shall you never climb the top of her contentment but when she is under you.    286

Pe. ’Slight, how thou terrifiest me!

Qu. Nay, hark you, sir; what nurses, what midwives, what fools, what physicians, what cunning women must be sought for (fearing sometimes she is bewitched, sometimes in a consumption), to tell her tales, to talk bawdy to her, to make her laugh, to give her glisters, to let her blood under the tongue and betwixt the toes; how she will revile and kiss you, spit in your face, and lick it off again; how she will vaunt you are her creature; she made you of nothing; how she could have had thousand mark jointures; she could have been made a lady by a Scotch knight, and never ha’ married him; she could have had ponados[52] in her bed every morning; how she set you up, and how she will pull you down: you’ll never be able to stand of your legs to endure it.    301

Pe. Out of my fortune, what a death is my life bound face to face to! The best is, a large time-fitted conscience is bound to nothing: marriage is but a form in the school of policy, to which scholars sit fastened only with painted chains. Old Security’s young wife is ne’er the further off with me.

Qu. Thereby lies a tale, sir. The old usurer will be here instantly, with my punk Sindefy, whom you know your lady has promised me to entertain for her gentlewoman; and he (with a purpose to feed on you) invites you most solemnly by me to supper.    312

Pe. It falls out excellently fitly: I see desire of gain makes jealousy venturous.

Enter Gertrude.

See, Frank, here comes my lady. Lord! how she views thee! she knows thee not, I think, in this bravery.

Ge. How now? who be you, I pray?

Qu. One Master Francis Quicksilver, an’t please your ladyship.

Ge. God’s my dignity! as I am a lady, if he did not make me blush so that mine eyes stood a-water. Would I were unmarried again!    322

Enter Security and Sindefy.

Where’s my woman, I pray?

Qu. See, madam, she now comes to attend you.

Sec. God save my honourable knight and his worshipful lady.

Ge. Y’are very welcome; you must not put on your hat yet.

Sec. No, madam; till I know your ladyship’s further pleasure, I will not presume.

Ge. And is this a gentleman’s daughter new come out of the country?    332

Sec. She is, madam; and one that her father hath a special care to bestow in some honourable lady’s service, to put her out of her honest humours, forsooth; for she had a great desire to be a nun, an’t please you.

Ge. A nun? what nun? a nun substantive? or a nun adjective?

Sec. A nun substantive, madam, I hope, if a nun be a noun. But I mean, lady, a vowed maid of that order.

Ge. I’ll teach her to be a maid of the order, I warrant you. And can you do any work belongs to a lady’s chamber?    343

Si. What I cannot do, madam, I would be glad to learn.

Ge. Well said; hold up, then; hold up your head, I say; come hither a little.

Si. I thank your ladyship.

Ge. And hark you, good man, you may put on your hat now; I do not look on you. I must have you of my faction now; not of my knight’s, maid.    351

Si. No, forsooth, madam, of yours.

Ge. And draw all my servants in my bow, and keep my counsel, and tell me tales, and put me riddles, and read on a book sometimes when I am busy, and laugh at country gentlewomen, and command anything in the house for my retainers; and care not what you spend, for it is all mine; and in any case be still a maid, whatsoever you do, or whatsoever any man can do unto you.

Sec. I warrant your ladyship for that.    360

Ge. Very well; you shall ride in my coach with me into the country, to-morrow morning. Come, knight, pray thee let’s make a short supper, and to bed presently.

Sec. Nay, good madam, this night I have a short supper at home waits on his worship’s acceptation.

Ge. By my faith, but he shall not go, sir; I shall swoon and he sup from me.

Pe. Pray thee, forbear; shall he lose his provision?

Ge. Ay, by-lady, sir, rather than I lose my longing. Come in, I say; as I am a lady, you shall not go.    370

Qu. I told him what a burr he had gotten.

Sec. If you will not sup from your knight, madam, let me entreat your ladyship to sup at my house with him.

Ge. No, by my faith, sir; then we cannot be abed soon enough after supper.

Pe. What a medicine is this! Well, Master Security, you are new married as well as I; I hope you are bound as well. We must honour our young wives, you know.

Qu. In policy, dad, till to-morrow she has sealed.

Sec. I hope in the morning yet your knighthood will breakfast with me?    381

Pe. As early as you will, sir.

Sec. I thank your good worship; I do hunger and thirst to do you good, sir.

Ge. Come, sweet knight, come; I do hunger and thirst to be abed with thee.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Security’s house.

Enter Sir Petronel, Quicksilver, Security, Bramble, and Winifred.

Pe. Thanks for your feast-like breakfast, good Master Security; I am sorry (by reason of my instant haste to so long a voyage as Virginia) I am without means by any kind amends to show how affectionately I take your kindness, and to confirm by some worthy ceremony a perpetual league of friendship betwixt us.

Sec. Excellent knight! let this be a token betwixt us of inviolable friendship. I am new married to this fair gentlewoman, you know; and by my hope to make her fruitful, though I be something in years, I vow faithfully unto you to make you godfather, though in your absence, to the first child I am blest withal; and henceforth call me gossip, I beseech you, if you please to accept it.    13

Pe. In the highest degree of gratitude, my most worthy gossip; for confirmation of which friendly title, let me entreat my fair gossip, your wife here, to accept this diamond, and keep it as my gift to her first child, wheresoever my fortune, in event of my voyage, shall bestow me.

Sec. How now, my coy wedlock;[53] I make you strange of so noble a favour? Take it, I charge you, with all affection, and, by way of taking your leave, present boldly your lips to our honourable gossip.    23

Qu. How venturous he is to him, and how jealous to others!

Pe. Long may this kind touch of our lips print in our hearts all the forms of affection. And now, my good gossip, if the writings be ready to which my wife should seal, let them be brought this morning before she takes coach into the country, and my kindness shall work her to despatch it.    31

Sec. The writings are ready, sir. My learned counsel here, Master Bramble the lawyer, hath perused them; and within this hour I will bring the scrivener with them to your worshipful lady.

Pe. Good Master Bramble, I will here take my leave of you then. God send you fortunate pleas, sir, and contentious clients!

Br. And you foreright winds, sir, and a fortunate voyage.

[Exit.

Enter a Messenger.

Me. Sir Petronel, here are three or four gentlemen desire to speak with you.    42

Pe. What are they?

Qu. They are your followers in this voyage, knight: Captain Seagull and his associates; I met them this morning, and told them you would be here.

Pe. Let them enter, I pray you; I know they long to be gone, for their stay is dangerous.

Enter Seagull, Scapethrift, and Spendall.

Sea. God save my honourable colonel!    49

Pe. Welcome, good Captain Seagull, and worthy gentlemen. If you will meet my friend Frank here, and me, at the Blue Anchor Tavern by Billingsgate this evening, we will there drink to our happy voyage, be merry, and take boat to our ship with all expedition.

Sp. Defer it no longer, I beseech you, sir; but as your voyage is hitherto carried closely, and in another knight’s name, so for your own safety and ours, let it be continued: our meeting and speedy purpose of departing known to as few as is possible, lest your ship and goods be attached.    60

Qu. Well advised, captain; our colonel shall have money this morning to despatch all our departures; bring those gentlemen at night to the place appointed, and, with our skins full of vintage, we’ll take occasion by the vantage,[54] and away.

Sp. We will not fail, but be there, sir.

Pe. Good morrow, good captain, and my worthy associates. Health and all sovereignty to my beautiful gossip; for you, sir, we shall see you presently with the writings.    70

Sec. With writings and crowns to my honourable gossip. I do hunger and thirst to do you good, sir.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An inn-yard.

Enter a Coachman in haste, in his frock, feeding.

Co. Here’s a stir when citizens ride out of town, indeed as if all the house were a-fire! ’Slight! they will not give a man leave to eat’s breakfast afore he rises.

Enter Hamlet, a footman, in haste.

Ha. What, coachman—my lady’s coach! for shame! her ladyship’s ready to come down.

Enter Potkin, a tankard-bearer.

Po. ’Sfoot! Hamlet, are you mad?[55] Whither run you now? you should brush up my old mistress!

Enter Sindefy.

Si. What, Potkin?—you must put off your tankard and put on your blue coat,[56] and wait upon Mistress Touchstone into the country.

[Exit.

Po. I will, forsooth, presently.

[Exit.

Enter Mistress Fond and Mistress Gazer.

Fo. Come, sweet Mistress Gazer, let’s watch here, and see my Lady Flash take coach.    13

Ga. O’ my word here’s a most fine place to stand in; did you see the new ship launched last day, Mistress Fond?

Fo. O God! and we citizens should lose such a sight!

Ga. I warrant here will be double as many people to see her take coach as there were to see it take water.

Fo. O she’s married to a most fine castle i’ th’ country, they say.    21

Ga. But there are no giants in the castle, are there?

Fo. O no: they say her knight killed ’hem all, and therefore he was knighted.

Ga. Would to God her ladyship would come away!

Enter Gertrude, Mistress Touchstone, Sindefy, Hamlet, Potkin.

Fo. She comes, she comes, she comes!

Ga. and Fo. Pray heaven bless your ladyship!

Ge. Thank you, good people. My coach, for the love of heaven, my coach! In good truth I shall swoon else.

Ha. Coach, coach, my lady’s coach!

[Exit.

Ge. As I am a lady, I think I am with child already, I long for a coach so. May one be with child afore they are married, mother?    33

Mist. T. Ay, by’r lady, madam; a little thing does that; I have seen a little prick no bigger than a pin’s head swell bigger and bigger, till it has come to an ancome;[57] and e’en so ’tis in these cases.

Enter Hamlet.

Ha. Your coach is coming, madam.

Ge. That’s well said. Now, heaven! methinks I am e’en up to the knees in preferment.    40

But a little higher, but a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, there lies Cupid’s fire!

Mist. T. But must this young man, an’t please you, madam, run by your coach all the way a-foot?

Ge. Ay, by my faith, I warrant him; he gives no other milk, as I have another servant does.

Mist. T. Alas! ’tis e’en pity, methinks; for God’s sake, madam, buy him but a hobby-horse; let the poor youth have something betwixt his legs to ease ’hem. Alas! we must do as we would be done to.    50

Ge. Go to, hold your peace, dame; you talk like an old fool, I tell you!

Enter Sir Petronel and Quicksilver.

Pe. Wilt thou be gone, sweet honey-suckle, before I can go with thee?

Ge. I pray thee, sweet knight, let me; I do so long to dress up thy castle afore thou comest. But I marle how my modest sister occupies herself this morning, that she cannot wait on me to my coach, as well as her mother.

Qu. Marry, madam, she’s married by this time to prentice Golding. Your father, and some one more, stole to church with ’hem in all the haste, that the cold meat left at your wedding might serve to furnish their nuptial table.    63

Ge. There’s no base fellow, my father, now; but he’s e’en fit to father such a daughter: he must call me daughter no more now: but “madam,” and “please you, madam;” and “please your worship, madam,” indeed. Out upon him! marry his daughter to a base prentice!

Mist. T. What should one do? Is there no law for one that marries a woman’s daughter against her will? How shall we punish him, madam?    71

Ge. As I am a lady, an’t would snow, we’d so pebble ’hem with snow-balls as they come from church; but, sirrah Frank Quicksilver.

Qu. Ay, madam.

Ge. Dost remember since thou and I clapt what-d’ye-call’ts in the garret?

Qu. I know not what you mean, madam.

Ge. His[58] head as white as milk, all flaxen was his hair;
But now he is dead, and laid in his bed,    80
And never will come again.
God be at your labour!

Enter Touchstone, Golding, Mildred, with rosemary.[59]

Pe. Was there ever such a lady?

Qu. See, madam, the bride and bridegroom!

Ge. God’s my precious! God give you joy, mistress. What lack you? Now out upon thee, baggage! My sister married in a taffeta hat! Marry, hang you! Westward with a wanion[60] t’ye! Nay, I have done wi’ ye, minion, then, i’faith; never look to have my countenance any more, nor anything I can do for thee. Thou ride in my coach, or come down to my castle! fie upon thee! I charge thee in my ladyship’s name, call me sister no more.    93

To. An’t please your worship, this is not your sister: this is my daughter, and she calls me father, and so does not your ladyship, an’t please your worship, madam.

Mist. T. No, nor she must not call thee father by heraldry, because thou makest thy prentice thy son as well as she. Ah! thou misproud prentice, darest thou presume to marry a lady’s sister?    100

Go. It pleased my master, forsooth, to embolden me with his favour; and though I confess myself far unworthy so worthy a wife (being in part her servant, as I am your prentice) yet (since I may say it without boasting) I am born a gentleman, and by the trade I have learned of my master (which I trust taints not my blood), able, with mine own industry and portion, to maintain your daughter, my hope is, heaven will so bless our humble beginning, that in the end I shall be no disgrace to the grace with which my master has bound me his double prentice.    111

To. Master me no more, son, if thou think’st me worthy to be thy father.

Ge. Son! Now, good Lord, how he shines! and you mark him, he’s a gentleman!

Go. Ay, indeed, madam, a gentleman born.

Pe. Never stand o’ your gentry, Master Bridegroom; if your legs be no better than your arms, you’ll be able to stand upright on neither shortly.    119

To. An’t please your good worship, sir, there are two sorts of gentlemen.

Pe. What mean you, sir?

To. Bold to put off my hat to your worship——

Pe. Nay, pray forbear, sir, and then forth with your two sorts of gentlemen.

To. If your worship will have it so, I say there are two sorts of gentlemen. There is a gentleman artificial, and a gentleman natural. Now though your worship be a gentleman natural: work upon that now.    129

Qu. Well said, old Touchstone; I am proud to hear thee enter a set speech, i’faith; forth, I beseech thee.

To. Cry your mercy, sir, your worship’s a gentleman I do not know. If you be one of my acquaintance, y’are very much disguised, sir.

Qu. Go to, old quipper; forth with thy speech, I say.    137

To. What, sir, my speeches were ever in vain to your gracious worship; and therefore, till I speak to you gallantry indeed, I will save my breath for my broth anon. Come, my poor son and daughter, let us hide ourselves in our poor humility, and live safe. Ambition consumes itself with the very show. Work upon that now.

Ge. Let him go, let him go, for God’s sake! let him make his prentice his son, for God’s sake! give away his daughter, for God’s sake! and when they come a-begging to us for God’s sake, let’s laugh at their good husbandry for God’s sake. Farewell, sweet knight, pray thee make haste after.    149

Pe. What shall I say?—I would not have thee go.

Qu.
Now,[61] O now, I must depart,
Parting though it absence move.

This ditty, knight, do I see in thy looks in capital letters.

What a grief ’tis to depart, and leave the flower that has my heart!
My sweet lady, and alack for woe, why, should we part so?

Tell truth, knight, and shame all dissembling lovers; does not your pain lie on that side?    158

Pe. If it do, canst thou tell me how I may cure it?

Qu. Excellent easily. Divide yourself in two halves, just by the girdlestead; send one half with your lady, and keep t’other yourself; or else do as all true lovers do—part with your heart, and leave your body behind. I have seen’t done a hundred times: ’tis as easy a matter for a lover to part without a heart from his sweetheart, and he ne’er the worse, as for a mouse to get from a trap and leave her [sic] tail behind him. See, here comes the writings.    168

Enter Security with a Scrivener.

Sec. Good morrow to my worshipful lady. I present your ladyship with this writing, to which if you please to set your hand with your knight’s, a velvet gown shall attend your journey, o’ my credit.

Ge. What writing is it, knight?

Pe. The sale, sweetheart, of the poor tenement I told thee of, only to make a little money to send thee down furniture for my castle, to which my hand shall lead thee.

Ge. Very well. Now give me your pen, I pray.

Qu. It goes down without chewing, i’faith.

Scr. Your worships deliver this as your deed?    180

Ambo. We do.

Ge. So now, knight, farewell till I see thee.

Pe. All farewell to my sweetheart!

Mist. T. God-b’w’y’, son knight.

Pe. Farewell, my good mother.

Ge. Farewell, Frank; I would fain take thee down if I could.

Qu. I thank your good ladyship; farewell, Mistress Sindefy.

[Exeunt.

Pe. O tedious voyage, whereof there is no end! What will they think of me?    191

Qu. Think what they list. They longed for a vagary into the country, and now they are fitted. So a woman marry to ride in a coach, she cares not if she ride to her ruin. ’Tis the great end of many of their marriages. This is not the first time a lady has rid a false journey in her coach, I hope.

Pe. Nay, ’tis no matter, I care little what they think; he that weighs men’s thoughts has his hands full of nothing. A man, in the course of this world, should be like a surgeon’s instrument—work in the wounds of others, and feel nothing himself. The sharper and subtler, the better.    203

Qu. As it falls out now, knight, you shall not need to devise excuses, or endure her outcries, when she returns; we shall now begone before, where they cannot reach us.

Pe. Well, my kind compeer, you have now the assurance we both can make you; let me now entreat you, the money we agreed on may be brought to the Blue Anchor, near to Billingsgate, by six o’clock; where I and my chief friends, bound for this voyage, will with feasts attend you.    213

Sec. The money, my most honourable compeer, shall without fail observe your appointed hour.

Pe. Thanks, my dear gossip. I must now impart
To your approved love, a loving secret;
As one on whom my life doth more rely
In friendly trust than any man alive.
Nor shall you be the chosen secretary    220
Of my affections for affection only:
For I protest (if God bless my return)
To make you partner in my actions’ gain
As deeply as if you had ventured with me
Half my expenses. Know then, honest gossip,
I have enjoy’d with such divine contentment
A gentlewoman’s bed whom you well know,
That I shall ne’er enjoy this tedious voyage,
Nor live the least part of the time it asketh,
Without her presence; so I thirst and hunger    230
To taste the dear feast of her company.
And if the hunger and the thirst you vow
As my sworn gossip, to my wishèd good
Be, as I know it is, unfeign’d and firm,
Do me an easy favour in your power.

Sec. Be sure, brave gossip, all that I can do,
To my best nerve, is wholly at your service:
Who is the woman, first, that is your friend?

Pe. The woman is your learned counsel’s wife,
The lawyer, Master Bramble; whom would you    240
Bring out this even in honest neighbourhood,
To take his leave with you, of me your gossip,
I, in the meantime, will send this my friend
Home to his house, to bring his wife disguised,
Before his face, into our company;
For love hath made her look for such a wile,
To free her from his tyrannous jealousy.
And I would take this course before another,
In stealing her away to make us sport,
And gull his circumspection the more grossly;    250
And I am sure that no man like yourself
Hath credit with him to entice his jealousy
To so long stay abroad as may give time
To her enlargement, in such safe disguise.

Sec. A pretty, pithy, and most pleasant project!
Who would not strain a point of neighbourhood
For such a point device? that as the ship[62]
Of famous Draco went about the world,
Will wind about the lawyer, compassing
The world himself; he hath it in his arms,    260
And that’s enough for him, without his wife.
A lawyer is ambitious, and his head
Cannot be praised nor raised too high,
With any fork of highest knavery.
I’ll go fetch her straight.

[Exit Security.

Pe. So, so. Now, Frank, go thou home to his house,
’Stead of his lawyer’s, and bring his wife hither,
Who, just like to the lawyer’s wife, is prison’d
With his[63] stern usurous jealousy, which could never
Be over-reach’d thus but with over-reaching.    270

Re-enter Security.

Sec. And, Master Francis, watch you th’ instant time
To enter with his exit: ’twill be rare,
Two fine horn’d beasts!—a camel and a lawyer!

Qu. How the old villain joys in villainy!

Sec. And hark you, gossip, when you have her here,
Have your boat ready, ship her to your ship
With utmost haste, lest Master Bramble stay you.
To o’er-reach that head that out-reacheth all heads,
’Tis a trick rampant!—’tis a very quiblin![64]
I hope this harvest to pitch cart with lawyers,    280
Their heads will be so forked. This sly touch
Will get apes to invent a number such.

[Exit.

Qu. Was ever rascal honey’d so with poison?
He that delights in slavish avarice,
Is apt to joy in every sort of vice.
Well, I’ll go fetch his wife, whilst he the lawyer’s.

Pe. But stay, Frank, let’s think how we may disguise her upon this sudden.    288

Qu. God’s me! there’s the mischief! But hark you, here’s an excellent device: ’fore God, a rare one! I will carry her a sailor’s gown and cap, and cover her, and a player’s beard.

Pe. And what upon her head?

Qu. I tell you, a sailor’s cap! ’Slight, God forgive me! what kind of figent[65] memory have you?

Pe. Nay, then, what kind of figent wit hast thou?
A sailor’s cap?—how shall she put it off
When thou present’st her to our company?

Qu. Tush, man, for that, make her a saucy sailor.    299

Pe. Tush, tush! ’tis no fit sauce for such sweet mutton,
I know not what t’ advise.

Re-enter Security with his wife’s gown.

Sec. Knight, knight, a rare device!

Pe. ’Swounds, yet again!

Qu. What stratagem have you now?

Sec. The best that ever. You talk of disguising?

Pe. Ay, marry, gossip, that’s our present care.

Sec. Cast care away then; here’s the best device
For plain Security (for I am no better)
I think, that ever lived: here’s my wife’s gown,
Which you may put upon the lawyer’s wife,    310
And which I brought you, sir, for two great reasons;
One is, that Master Bramble may take hold
Of some suspicion that it is my wife,
And gird me so perhaps with his law-wit;
The other (which is policy indeed)
Is, that my wife may now be tied at home,
Having no more but her old gown abroad,
And not show me a quirk, while I firk others.
Is not this rare?

Ambo. The best that ever was.

Sec. Am I not born to furnish gentlemen?    320

Pe. O my dear gossip!

Sec. Well hold, Master Francis; watch when the lawyer’s out, and put it in. And now I will go fetch him.

[Exit.

Qu. O my dad! he goes as ’twere the devil to fetch the lawyer; and devil shall he be, if horns will make him.

Pe. Why, how now, gossip? why stay you there musing?

Sec. A toy, a toy runs in my head, i’faith.    330

Qu. A pox of that head! is there more toys yet?

Pe. What is it, pray thee, gossip?

Sec. Why, sir, what if you should slip away now with my wife’s best gown, I having no security for it?

Qu. For that I hope, dad, you will take our words.

Sec. Ay, by th’ mass, your word—that’s a proper staff
For wise Security to lean upon!
But ’tis no matter, once I’ll trust my name
On your crack’d credits; let it take no shame.
Fetch the wench, Frank.

[Exit.

Qu. I’ll wait upon you, sir,    340
And fetch you over, you were ne’er so fetch’d.
Go to the tavern, knight; your followers
Dare not be drunk, I think, before their captain.

[Exit.

Pe. Would I might lead them to no hotter service
Till our Virginian gold were in our purses!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

The Blue Anchor, Billingsgate.

Enter Seagull, Spendall, and Scapethrift, in the Tavern, with a Drawer.

Sea. Come, drawer, pierce your neatest hogsheads, and let’s have cheer—not fit for your Billingsgate tavern, but for our Virginian colonel; he will be here instantly.

Dr. You shall have all things fit, sir; please you have any more wine?

Sp. More wine, slave! whether we drink it or no, spill it, and draw more.

Sea. Fill all the pots in your house with all sorts of liquor, and let ’hem wait on us here like soldiers in their pewter coats; and though we do not employ them now, yet we will maintain ’hem till we do.    12

Dr. Said like an honourable captain; you shall have all you can command, sir.

[Exit Drawer.

Sea. Come, boys, Virginia longs till we share the rest of her maidenhead.

Sp. Why, is she inhabited already with any English?

Sea. A whole country of English is there, man, bred of those that were left there in ’79;[66] they have married with the Indians, and make ’hem bring forth as beautiful faces as any we have in England; and therefore the Indians are so in love with ’hem, that all the treasure they have they lay at their feet.    23

Sca. But is there such treasure there, captain, as I have heard?

Sea. I tell thee, gold is more plentiful there than copper is with us; and for as much red copper as I can bring, I’ll have thrice the weight in gold. Why, man, all their dripping-pans and their chamber-pots are pure gold; and all the chains with which they chain up their streets are massy gold; all the prisoners they take are fettered in gold; and for rubies and diamonds, they go forth on holidays and gather ’hem by the seashore, to hang on their children’s coats, and stick in their caps, as commonly as our children wear saffron-gilt brooches and groats with holes in ’hem.    36

Sca. And is it a pleasant country withal?

Sea. As ever the sun shined on; temperate and full of all sorts of excellent viands: wild boar is as common there as our tamest bacon is here; venison as mutton. And then you shall live freely there, without sergeants, or courtiers, or lawyers, or intelligencers, only[67] a few industrious Scots, perhaps, who indeed are dispersed over the face of the whole earth. But as for them, there are no greater friends to Englishmen and England, when they are out on’t, in the world, than they are. And for my part, I would a hundred thousand of ’hem were there, for we are all one countrymen now, ye know, and we should find ten times more comfort of them there than we do here. Then for your means to advancement, there it is simple, and not preposterously mixed. You may be an alderman there, and never be scavenger: you may be a nobleman, and never be a slave. You may come to preferment enough, and never be a pander; to riches and fortune enough, and have never the more villainy nor the less wit. Besides,[68] there we shall have no more law than conscience, and not too much of either; serve God enough, eat and drink enough, and enough is as good as a feast.    59

Sp. God’s me! and how far is it thither?

Sea. Some six weeks’ sail, no more, with any indifferent good wind. And if I get to any part of the coast of Africa, I’ll sail thither with any wind; or when I come to Cape Finisterre, there’s a foreright wind continually wafts us till we come at Virginia. See, our colonel’s come.    66

Enter Sir Petronel with his followers.

Pe. Well met, good Captain Seagull, and my noble gentlemen! Now the sweet hour of our freedom is at hand. Come, drawer, fill us some carouses, and prepare us for the mirth that will be occasioned presently. Here will be a pretty wench, gentlemen, that will bear us company all our voyage.

Sea. Whatsoever she be, here’s to her health, noble colonel, both with cap and knee.

Pe. Thanks, kind Captain Seagull, she’s one I love dearly, and must not be known till we be free from all that know us. And so, gentlemen, here’s to her health.    78

Ambo. Let it come, worthy colonel; we do hunger and thirst for it.

Pe. Afore heaven! you have hit the phrase of one that her presence will touch from the foot to the forehead, if ye knew it.

Sp. Why, then, we will join his forehead with her health, sir; and Captain Scapethrift, here’s to ’hem both.

Enter Security and Bramble.

Sec. See, see, Master Bramble, ’fore heaven! their voyage cannot but prosper; they are o’ their knees for success to it!

Br. And they pray to god Bacchus.    90

Sec. God save my brave colonel, with all his tall captains and corporals. See, sir, my worshipful learned counsel, Master Bramble, is come to take his leave of you.

Pe. Worshipful Master Bramble, how far do you draw us into the sweet-briar of your kindness! Come, Captain Seagull, another health to this rare Bramble, that hath never a prick about him.

Sea. I pledge his most smooth disposition, sir. Come, Master Security, bend your supporters, and pledge this notorious health here.    101

Sec. Bend you yours likewise, Master Bramble; for it is you shall pledge me.

Sea. Not so, Master Security; he must not pledge his own health.

Sec. No, Master Captain?

Enter Quicksilver with Winny disguised.

Why, then, here’s one is fitly come to do him that honour.

Qu. Here’s the gentlewoman your cousin, sir, whom, with much entreaty, I have brought to take her leave of you in a tavern; ashamed whereof, you must pardon her if she put not off her mask.    112

Pe. Pardon me, sweet cousin; my kind desire to see you before I went, made me so importunate to entreat your presence here.

Sec. How now, Master Francis? have you honoured this presence with a fair gentlewoman?

Qu. Pray, sir, take you no notice of her, for she will not be known to you.

Sec. But my learned counsel, Master Bramble here, I hope he may know her.    121

Qu. No more than you, sir, at this time; his learning must pardon her.

Sec. Well, God pardon her for my part, and I do, I’ll be sworn; and so, Master Francis, here’s to all that are going eastward to-night towards Cuckold’s Haven;[69] and so to the health of Master Bramble.

Qu. I pledge it, sir. Hath it gone round, Captain?

Sea. It has, sweet Frank; and the round closes with thee.    130

Qu. Well, sir, here’s to all eastward and toward cuckolds, and so to famous Cuckold’s Haven, so fatally remembered.

[Surgit.

Pe. Nay, pray thee, coz, weep not; gossip Security.

Sec. Ay, my brave gossip.

Pe. A word, I beseech you, sir. Our friend, Mistress Bramble here, is so dissolved in tears, that she drowns the whole mirth of our meeting. Sweet gossip, take her aside and comfort her.    139

Sec. Pity of all true love, Mistress Bramble; what, weep you to enjoy your love? What’s the cause, lady? Is’t because your husband is so near, and your heart yearns to have a little abused him? Alas, alas! the offence is too common to be respected. So great a grace hath seldom chanced to so unthankful a woman, to be rid of an old jealous dotard, to enjoy the arms of a loving young knight, that when your prickless Bramble is withered with grief of your loss, will make you flourish afresh in the bed of a lady.    149

Enter Drawer.

Dr. Sir Petronel, here’s one of your watermen come to tell you it will be flood these three hours; and that ’twill be dangerous going against the tide, for the sky is overcast, and there was a porcpisce[70] even now seen at London Bridge, which is always the messenger of tempests, he says.

Pe. A porcpisce!—what’s that to th’ purpose? Charge him, if he love his life, to attend us; can we not reach Blackwall (where my ship lies) against the tide, and in spite of tempests? Captains and gentlemen, we’ll begin a new ceremony at the beginning of our voyage, which I believe will be followed of all future adventurers.    161

Sea. What’s that, good colonel?

Pe. This, Captain Seagull. We’ll have our provided supper brought aboard Sir Francis Drake’s ship,[71] that hath compassed the world; where, with full cups and banquets, we will do sacrifice for a prosperous voyage. My mind gives me that some good spirits of the waters should haunt the desert ribs of her, and be auspicious to all that honour her memory, and will with like orgies enter their voyages.    170

Sea. Rarely conceited! One health more to this motion, and aboard to perform it. He that will not this night be drunk, may he never be sober.

[They compass in Winifred, dance the drunken round, and drink carouses.

Br. Sir Petronel and his honourable captains, in these young services we old servitors may be spared. We only came to take our leaves, and with one health to you all, I’ll be bold to do so. Here, neighbour Security, to the health of Sir Petronel, and all his captains.

Sec. You must bend then, Master Bramble; so now I am for you. I have one corner of my brain, I hope, fit to bear one carouse more. Here, lady, to you that are encompassed there, and are ashamed of our company. Ha, ha, ha! by my troth, my learned counsel, Master Bramble, my mind runs so of Cuckold’s Haven to-night, that my head runs over with admiration.    186

Br. But is not that your wife, neighbour?

Sec. No, by my troth, Master Bramble. Ha, ha, ha! A pox of all Cuckold’s Havens, I say!

Br. O’ my faith, her garments are exceeding like your wife’s.

Sec. Cucullus non facit monachum, my learned counsel; all are not cuckolds that seem so, nor all seem not that are so. Give me your hand, my learned counsel; you and I will sup somewhere else than at Sir Francis Drake’s ship to-night. Adieu, my noble gossip.

Br. Good fortune, brave captains; fair skies God send ye!

Omnes. Farewell, my hearts, farewell!    199

Pe. Gossip, laugh no more at Cuckold’s Haven, gossip.

Sec. I have done, I have done, sir; will you lead, Master Bramble? Ha, ha, ha!

Pe. Captain Seagull, charge a boat.

Omnes. A boat, a boat, a boat!

[Exeunt all but Drawer.

Dr. Y’are in a proper taking indeed, to take a boat, especially at this time of night, and against tide and tempest. They say yet, “drunken men never take harm.” This night will try the truth of that proverb.    208

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Outside Security’s house.

Enter Security.

Sec. What, Winny!—wife, I say! out of doors at this time! where should I seek the gad-fly? Billingsgate, Billingsgate, Billingsgate! She’s gone with the knight, she’s gone with the knight; woe be to thee, Billingsgate! A boat, a boat, a boat! a full hundred marks for a boat![72]

[Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Cuckold’s Haven.

Enter Slitgut with a pair of ox-horns, discovering Cuckold’s Haven above.

Sl. All hail, fair haven of married men only! for there are none but married men cuckolds. For my part, I presume not to arrive here, but in my masters behalf (a poor butcher of East-cheap), who sends me to set up (in honour of Saint Luke) these necessary ensigns of his homage.[73] And up I got this morning, thus early, to get up to the top of this famous tree, that is all fruit and no leaves, to advance this crest of my master’s occupation. Up then; heaven and Saint Luke bless me, that I be not blown into the Thames as I climb, with this furious tempest. ’Slight! I think the devil be abroad, in likeness of a storm, to rob me of my horns! Hark how he roars! Lord! what a coil the Thames keeps! she bears some unjust burthen, I believe, that she kicks and curvets thus to cast it. Heaven bless all honest passengers that are upon her back now; for the bit is out of her mouth, I see, and she will run away with ’hem! So, so, I think I have made it look the right way; it runs against London Bridge, as it were, even full butt. And now let me discover from this lofty prospect, what pranks the rude Thames plays in her desperate lunacy. O me! here’s a boat has been cast away hard by. Alas, alas! see one of her passengers labouring for his life to land at this haven here! pray heaven he may recover it! His next land is even just under me; hold out yet a little, whatsoever thou art; pray, and take a good heart to thee. ’Tis a man; take a man’s heart to thee; yet a little further, get up a’ thy legs, man; now ’tis shallow enough. So, so, so! Alas! he’s down again. Hold thy wind, father: ’tis a man in a nightcap. So! now he’s got up again; now he’s past the worst: yet, thanks be to heaven, he comes towards me pretty and strongly.    33

Enter Security without his hat, in a nightcap, wet band, &c.

Sec. Heaven, I beseech thee, how have I offended thee! where am I cast ashore now, that I may go a righter way home by land? Let me see; O I am scarce able to look about me: where is there any seamark that I am acquainted withal?

Sl. Look up, father; are you acquainted with this mark?    40

Sec. What! landed at Cuckold’s Haven! Hell and damnation! I will run back and drown myself.

[He falls down.

Sl. Poor man, how weak he is! the weak water has washed away his strength.

Sec. Landed at Cuckold’s Haven! If it had not been to die twenty times alive, I should never have ’scaped death! I will never arise more; I will grovel here and eat dirt till I be choked; I will make the gentle earth do that, which the cruel water has denied me.    49

Sl. Alas! good father, be not so desperate! Rise, man; if you will I’ll come presently and lead you home.

Sec. Home! shall I make any know my home, that has known me thus abroad? How low shall I crouch away, that no eye may see me? I will creep on the earth while I live, and never look heaven in the face more.

[Exit creeping.

Sl. What young planet reigns now, trow,[74] that old men are so foolish? What desperate young swaggerer would have been abroad such a weather as this, upon the water? Ay me! see another remnant of this unfortunate shipwreck, or some other. A woman, i’faith, a woman; though it be almost at St. Katherine’s, I discern it to be a woman, for all her body is above the water, and her clothes swim about her most handsomely. O, they bear her up most bravely! has not a woman reason to love the taking up of her clothes the better while she lives, for this? Alas! how busy the rude Thames is about her! a pox o’ that wave! it will drown her, i’faith, ’twill drown her! Cry God mercy, she has ’scaped it—I thank heaven she has ’scaped it! O how she swims like a mermaid! some vigilant body look out and save her. That’s well said; just where the priest fell in, there’s one sets down a ladder, and goes to take her up. God’s blessing o’ thy heart, boy! Now take her up in thy arms and to bed with her; she’s up, she’s up! She’s a beautiful woman, I warrant her; the billows durst not devour her.    77

Enter the Drawer of the Blue Anchor,[75] with Winifred.

Dr. How fare you now, lady?

Wi. Much better, my good friend, than I wish; as one desperate of her fame, now my life is preserved.

Dr. Comfort yourself: that power that preserved you from death can likewise defend you from infamy, howsoever you deserve it. Were not you one that took boat late this night, with a knight and other gentlemen at Billingsgate?

Wi. Unhappy that I am, I was.    86

Dr. I am glad it was my good hap to come down thus far after you, to a house of my friend’s here in St. Katherine’s, since I am now happily made a mean to your rescue from the ruthless tempest, which (when you took boat) was so extreme, and the gentleman that brought you forth so desperate and unsober, that I feared long ere this I should hear of your shipwreck, and therefore (with little other reason) made thus far this way. And this I must tell you, since perhaps you may make use of it, there was left behind you at our tavern, brought by a porter (hired by the young gentleman that brought you), a gentlewoman’s gown, hat, stockings, and shoes; which if they be yours, and you please to shift you, taking a hard bed here in this house of my friend, I will presently go fetch you.    101

Wi. Thanks, my good friend, for your more than good news. The gown with all things bound with it are mine; which if you please to fetch as you have promised, I will boldly receive the kind favour you have offered till your return; entreating you, by all the good you have done in preserving me hitherto, to let none take knowledge of what favour you do me, or where such a one as I am bestowed, lest you incur me much more damage in my fame than you have done me pleasure in preserving my life. 110

Dr. Come in, lady, and shift yourself; resolve that nothing but your own pleasure shall be used in your discovery.

Wi. Thank you, good friend; the time may come, I shall requite you.

[Exeunt.

Slit. See, see, see! I hold my life, there’s some other a taking up at Wapping now! Look, what a sort of people cluster about the gallows there! in good troth it is so. O me! a fine young gentleman! What, and taken up at the gallows! Heaven grant he be not one day taken down there! O’ my life, it is ominous! Well, he is delivered for the time. I see the people have all left him; yet will I keep my prospect awhile, to see if any more have been shipwracked.    124

Enter Quicksilver, bareheaded.

Qu. Accursed that ever I was saved or born!
How fatal is my sad arrival here!
As if the stars and providence spake to me,
And said, “The drift of all unlawful courses
(Whatever end they dare propose themselves,
In frame of their licentious policies),    130
In the firm order of just destiny,
They are the ready highways to our ruins.”
I know not what to do; my wicked hopes
Are, with this tempest, torn up by the roots.
O! which way shall I bend my desperate steps,
In which unsufferable shame and misery
Will not attend them? I will walk this bank,
And see if I can meet the other relics
Of our poor shipwreck’d crew, or hear of them.
The knight, alas! was so far gone with wine,    140
And th’ other three, that I refused their boat,
And took the hapless woman in another,
Who cannot but be sunk, whatever fortune
Hath wrought upon the others’ desperate lives.

[Exit.

Enter Sir Petronel and Seagull, bareheaded.

Pe. Zounds! captain, I will tell thee, we are cast up o’ the coast of France. ’Sfoot! I am not drunk still, I hope. Dost remember where we were last night?

Sea. No, by my troth, knight, not I; but methinks we have been a horrible while upon the water and in the water.    150

Pe. Ay me! we are undone for ever! Hast any money about thee?

Sea. Not a penny, by Heaven!

Pe. Not a penny betwixt us, and cast ashore in France!

Sea. ’Faith, I cannot tell that; my brains nor mine eyes are not mine own yet.    157

Enter two Gentlemen.

Pe. ’Sfoot! wilt not believe me? I know’t by th’ elevation of the pole, and by the altitude and latitude of the climate. See, here comes a couple of French gentlemen; I knew we were in France; dost thou think our Englishmen are so Frenchified, that a man knows not whether he be in France or in England, when he sees ’hem? What shall we do? We must e’en to ’hem, and entreat some relief of ’hem. Life is sweet, and we have no other means to relieve our lives now but their charities.

Sea. Pray you, do you beg on ’hem then; you can speak French.    168

Pe. Monsieur, plaist il d’avoir pitie de nostre grande infortune. Je suis un poure chevalier d’Angleterre qui a souffri l’infortune de naufrage.

1st Gent. Un poure chevalier d’Angleterre?

Pe. Oui, monsieur, il est trop vray; mais vous sçaves bien nous sommes toutes subject à fortune.

2nd Gent. A poor knight of England?—a poor knight of Windsor, are you not? Why speak you this broken French when y’are a whole Englishman? On what coast are you, think you?

Pe. On the coast of France, sir.    179

1st Gent. On the coast of Dogs, sir; y’are i’th’ Isle o’ Dogs, I tell you, I see y’ave been washed in the Thames here, and I believe ye were drowned in a tavern before, or else you would never have took boat in such a dawning as this was. Farewell, farewell; we will not know you for shaming of you. I ken the man weel; he’s one of my thirty pound knights.[76]

2nd Gent. No, no, this is he that stole his knighthood o’ the grand day for four pound given to a page; all the money in’s purse, I wot well.

[Exeunt.

Sea. Death! colonel, I knew you were over-shot.    190

Pe. Sure I think now, indeed, Captain Seagull, we were something over-shot.

Enter Quicksilver.

What! my sweet Frank Quicksilver! dost thou survive to rejoice me? But what! nobody at thy heels, Frank? Ay me! what is become of poor Mistress Security?

Qu. ’Faith, gone quite from her name, as she is from her fame, I think; I left her to the mercy of the water.

Sea. Let her go, let her go! Let us go to our ship at Blackwall, and shift us.    199

Pe. Nay, by my troth, let our clothes rot upon us, and let us rot in them; twenty to one our ship is attached by this time! If we set her not under sail this last tide, I never looked for any other. Woe, woe is me! what shall become of us? The last money we could make, the greedy Thames has devoured; and if our ship be attached, there is no hope can relieve us.

Qu. ’Sfoot! knight, what an unknightly faintness transports thee! Let our ship sink, and all the world that’s without us be taken from us, I hope I have some tricks in this brain of mine shall not let us perish.    210

Sea. Well said, Frank, i’faith. O, my nimble-spirited Quicksilver! ’Fore God! would thou hadst been our colonel!

Pe. I like his spirit rarely; but I see no means he has to support that spirit.

Qu. Go to, knight! I have more means than thou art aware of. I have not lived amongst goldsmiths and goldmakers all this while, but I have learned something worthy of my time with ’hem. And not to let thee stink where thou stand’st, knight, I’ll let thee know some of my skill presently.    221

Sea. Do, good Frank, I beseech thee.

Qu. I will blanch copper so cunningly that it shall endure all proofs but the test: it shall endure malleation, it shall have the ponderosity of Luna, and the tenacity of Luna—by no means friable.

Pe. ’Slight! where learn’st thou these terms, trow?

Qu. Tush, knight! the terms of this art every ignorant quacksalver is perfect in; but I’ll tell you how yourself shall blanch copper thus cunningly. Take arsenic, otherwise called realga (which indeed is plain ratsbane); sublime ’hem three or four times, then take the sublimate of this realga, and put ’hem into a glass, into chymia, and let them have a convenient decoction natural, four-and-twenty hours, and he will become perfectly fixed; then take this fixed powder, and project him upon well-purged copper, et habebis magisterium.    237

Ambo. Excellent Frank, let us hug thee!

Qu. Nay, this I will do besides. I’ll take you off twelvepence from every angel, with a kind of aquafortis, and never deface any part of the image.

Pe. But then it will want weight?

Qu. You shall restore that thus: Take your sal achime prepared, and your distilled urine, and let your angels lie in it but four-and-twenty hours, and they shall have their perfect weight again. Come on, now; I hold this is enough to put some spirit into the livers of you; I’ll infuse more another time. We have saluted the proud air long enough with our bare sconces. Now will I have you to a wench’s house of mine at London, there make shift to shift us, and after, take such fortunes as the stars shall assign us.    252

Ambo. Notable Frank, we will ever adore thee!

[Exeunt.

Enter Drawer, with Winifred new-attired.

Wi. Now, sweet friend, you have brought me near enough your tavern, which I desired I might with some colour be seen near, inquiring for my husband, who, I must tell you, stole[77] thither the last night with my wet gown we have left at your friend’s, which, to continue your former honest kindness, let me pray you to keep close from the knowledge of any: and so, with all vow of your requital, let me now entreat you to leave me to my woman’s wit and fortune.    262

Dr. All shall be done you desire; and so all the fortune you can wish for attend you.

[Exit Drawer.

Enter Security.

Sec. I will once more to this unhappy tavern before I shift one rag of me more; that I may there know what is left behind, and what news of their passengers. I have bought me a hat and band with the little money I had about me, and made the streets a little leave staring at my nightcap.

Wi. O, my dear husband! where have you been to-night? All night abroad at taverns! Rob me of my garments! and fare as one run away from me! Alas! is this seemly for a man of your credit, of your age, and affection to your wife?    275

Sec. What should I say?—how miraculously sorts this!—was not I at home, and called thee last night?

Wi. Yes, sir, the harmless sleep you broke; and my answer to you would have witnessed it, if you had had the patience to have stayed and answered me; but your so sudden retreat made me imagine you were gone to Master Bramble’s, and so rested patient and hopeful of your coming again, till this your unbelieved absence brought me abroad with no less than wonder, to seek you where the false knight had carried you.    285

Sec. Villain and monster that I was! how have I abused thee! I was suddenly gone indeed; for my sudden jealousy transferred me. I will say no more but this: dear wife, I suspected thee.

Wi. Did you suspect me?    290

Sec. Talk not of it, I beseech thee; I am ashamed to imagine it. I will home, I will home; and every morning on my knees ask thee heartily forgiveness.

[Exeunt.

[Slit.] Now will I descend my honourable prospect; the farthest seeing sea-mark of the world; no marvel, then, if I could see two miles about me. I hope the red tempest’s anger be now over-blown, which sure, I think, Heaven sent as a punishment for profaning holy Saint Luke’s memory[78] with so ridiculous a custom. Thou dishonest satire! farewell to honest married men, farewell to all sorts and degrees of thee! Farewell, thou horn of hunger, that call’st the inns o’ court to their manger! Farewell, thou horn of abundance, that adornest the headsmen of the commonwealth! Farewell, thou horn of direction, that is the city lanthorn! Farewell, thou horn of pleasure, the ensign of the huntsman! Farewell, thou horn of destiny, th’ ensign of the married man! Farewell, thou horn tree, that bearest nothing but stone-fruit!    309

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Goldsmiths’ Row.

Enter Touchstone.

To. Ha, sirrah! thinks my knight adventurer we can no point of our compass? Do we not know nor-north-east, north-east-and-by-east, east-and-by-north? nor plain eastward? Ha! have we never heard of Virginia? nor the Cavallaria? nor the Colonoria? Can we discover no discoveries? Well, mine errant Sir Flash, and my runagate Quicksilver, you may drink drunk,[79] crack cans, hurl away a brown dozen of Monmouth caps[80] or so, in sea ceremony to your bon voyage; but for reaching any coast, save the coast of Kent or Essex, with this tide, or with this fleet, I’ll be your warrant for a Gravesend toast. There’s that gone afore will stay your admiral,[81] and vice-admiral and rear-admiral, were they all (as they are) but one pinnace, and under sail, as well as a remora,[82] doubt it not; and from this sconce,[83] without either powder or shot. Work upon that now. Nay, and you’ll show tricks, we’ll vie[84] with you a little. My daughter, his lady, was sent eastward by land, to a castle of his, i’ the air (in what region I know not), and, as I hear, was glad to take up her lodging in her coach, she and her two waiting-women, her maid, and her mother, like three snails in a shell, and the coachman a-top on ’hem, I think. Since they have all found the way back again by Weeping Cross;[85] but I’ll not see ’hem. And for two on ’hem, madam and her malkin, they are like to bite o’ the bridle for William, as the poor horses have done all this while that hurried ’hem, or else go graze o’ the common. So should my Dame Touchstone too; but she has been my cross these thirty years, and I’ll now keep her to fright away sprites, i’faith. I wonder I hear no news of my son Golding. He was sent for to the Guildhall this morning betimes, and I marvel at the matter; if I had not laid up comfort and hope in him, I should grow desperate of all. See! he is come i’ my thought. How now, son? What news at the Court of Aldermen?    35

Enter Golding.

Go. Troth, sir, an accident somewhat strange, else it hath little in it worth the reporting.

To. What? it is not borrowing of money, then?

Go. No, sir; it hath pleased the worshipful commoners of the city to take me one i’ their number at presentation of the inquest——

To. Ha!

Go. And the alderman of the ward wherein I dwell to appoint me his deputy——

To. How?    45

Go. In which place I have had an oath administered me, since I went.

To. Now, my dear and happy son, let me kiss thy new worship, and a little boast mine own happiness in thee. What a fortune was it (or rather my judgment, indeed) for me, first to see that in his disposition which a whole city so conspires to second! Ta’en into the livery of his company the first day of his freedom! Now (not a week married) chosen commoner and alderman’s deputy in a day! Note but the reward of a thrifty course. The wonder of his time! Well, I will honour Master Alderman for this act (as becomes me), and shall think the better of the Common Council’s wisdom and worship while I live, for thus meeting, or but coming after me, in the opinion of his desert. Forward, my sufficient son! and as this is the first, so esteem it the least step to that high and prime honour that expects thee.

Go. Sir, as I was not ambitious of this, so I covet no higher place; it hath dignity enough, if it will but save me from contempt; and I had rather my bearing in this or any other office should add worth to it, than the place give the least opinion to me.    67

To. Excellently spoken! This modest answer of thine blushes, as if it said, I will wear scarlet shortly. Worshipful son! I cannot contain myself, I must tell thee; I hope to see thee one o’ the monuments of our city, and reckoned among her worthies to be remembered the same day with the Lady Ramsey[86] and grave Gresham, when the famous fable of Whittington and his puss shall be forgotten, and thou and thy acts become the posies for hospitals; when thy name shall be written upon conduits, and thy deeds, played i’ thy lifetime, by the best companies of actors,[87] and be called their get-penny.[88] This I divine. This I prophesy.    79

Go. Sir, engage not your expectation farther than my abilities will answer; I, that know mine own strengths, fear ’hem; and there is so seldom a loss in promising the least, that commonly it brings with it a welcome deceit. I have other news for you, sir.

To. None more welcome, I am sure?

Go. They have their degree of welcome, I dare affirm. The colonel and all his company, this morning putting forth drunk from Billingsgate, had like to have been cast away o’ this side Greenwich; and (as I have intelligence by a false brother) are come dropping to town like so many masterless men, i’ their doublets and hose, without hat, or cloak, or any other——    92

To. A miracle! the justice of Heaven! Where are they? let’s go presently and lay[89] for ’hem.

Go. I have done that already, sir, both by constables and other officers, who shall take ’hem at their old Anchor, and with less tumult or suspicion than if yourself were seen in’t—and under colour of a great press that is now abroad, and they shall here be brought afore me.    100

To. Prudent and politic son! Disgrace ’hem all that ever thou canst; their ship I have already arrested. How to my wish it falls out, that thou hast the place of a justicer upon ’hem! I am partly glad of the injury done to me, that thou may’st punish it. Be severe i’ thy place, like a new officer o’ the first quarter, unreflected. You hear how our lady is come back with her train, from the invisible castle?

Go. No; where is she?    109

To. Within; but I ha’ not seen her yet, nor her mother, who now begins to wish her daughter undubbed, they say, and that she had walked a foot-pace with her sister. Here they come; stand back.

Enter Mistress Touchstone, Gertrude, Mildred, and Sindefy.

God save your ladyship—save your good ladyship! Your ladyship is welcome from your enchanted castle, so are your beauteous retinue. I hear your knight errant is travelled on strange adventures. Surely, in my mind, your ladyship hath fished fair, and caught a frog, as the saying is.

Mist. T. Speak to your father, madam, and kneel down.    121

Ge. Kneel? I hope I am not brought so low yet; though my knight be run away, and has sold my land, I am a lady still.

To. Your ladyship says true, madam; and it is fitter and a greater decorum, that I should curtsey to you that are a knight’s wife, and a lady, than you be brought o’ your knees to me, who am a poor cullion[90] and your father.

Ge. Law!—my father knows his duty.    130

Mist. T. O child!

To. And therefore I do desire your ladyship, my good Lady Flash, in all humility, to depart my obscure cottage, and return in quest of your bright and most transparent castle, however presently concealed to mortal eyes. And as for one poor woman of your train here, I will take that order, she shall no longer be a charge unto you, nor help to spend your ladyship; she shall stay at home with me, and not go abroad, nor put you to the pawning of an odd coach-horse or three wheels, but take part with the Touchstone. If we lack, we will not complain to your ladyship. And so, good madam, with your damosel here, please you to let us see your straight backs in equipage; for truly here is no roost for such chickens as you are, or birds o’ your feather, if it like your ladyship.    146

Ge. Marry, fist[91] o’ your kindness! I thought as much. Come away, Sin, we shall as soon get a fart from a dead man,[92] as a farthing of courtesy here.

Mi. O, good sister!

Ge. Sister, sir reverence! Come away, I say, hunger drops out at his nose.

Go. O, madam, fair words never hurt the tongue.

Ge. How say you by that? You come out with your gold-ends now!

Mist. T. Stay, lady-daughter; good husband!    156

To. Wife, no man loves his fetters, be they made of gold. I list not ha’ my head fastened under my child’s girdle; as she has brewed, so let her drink, o’ God’s name. She went witless to wedding, now she may go wisely a-begging. It’s but honeymoon yet with her ladyship; she has coach-horses, apparel, jewels, yet left; she needs care for no friends, nor take knowledge of father, mother, brother, sister, or anybody. When those are pawned or spent, perhaps we shall return into the list of her acquaintance.    166

Ge. I scorn it, i’faith. Come, Sin.

Mist. T. O madam, why do you provoke your father thus?

[Exeunt Gertrude and Sindefy.

To. Nay, nay; e’en let pride go afore, shame will follow after, I warrant you. Come, why dost thou weep now? Thou art not the first good cow hast had an ill calf, I trust.

Enter Constable.

What’s the news with that fellow?

Go. Sir, the knight and your man Quicksilver are without; will you ha’ ’hem brought in?

To. O, by any means. [Exit Constable.] And, son, here’s a chair; appear terrible unto ’hem on the first interview. Let them behold the melancholy of a magistrate, and taste the fury of a citizen in office.    180

Go. Why, sir, I can do nothing to ’hem, except you charge ’hem with somewhat.

To. I will charge ’hem and recharge ’hem, rather than authority should want foil to set it off.

Go. No, good sir, I will not.

To. Son, it is your place; by any means——

Go. Believe it, I will not, sir.

Enter Sir Petronel, Quicksilver, Constable, Officers.

Pe. How misfortune pursues us still in our misery!

Qu. Would it had been my fortune to have been trussed up at Wapping[93] rather than ever ha’ come here!

Pe. Or mine, to have famished in the island!    191

Qu. Must Golding sit upon us?

Co. You might carry an M. under your girdle[94] to Master Deputy’s worship.

Go. What are those, Master Constable?

Co. An’t please your worship, a couple of masterless men I pressed for the Low Countries, sir.

Go. Why do you not carry ’hem to Bridewell, according to your order, they may be shipped away?

Co. An’t please your worship, one of ’hem says he is a knight; and we thought good to show him to your worship, for our discharge.    202

Go. Which is he?

Co. This, sir.

Go. And what’s the other?

Co. A knight’s fellow, sir, an’t please you.

Go. What! a knight and his fellow thus accoutred? Where are their hats and feathers, their rapiers and their cloaks?

Qu. O, they mock us.    210

Co. Nay, truly, sir, they had cast both their feathers and hats too, before we see ’hem. Here’s all their furniture, an’t please you, that we found. They say knights are now to be known without feathers, like cockerels by their spurs, sir.

Go. What are their names, say they?

To. Very well this. He should not take knowledge of ’hem in his place, indeed.

Co. This is Sir Petronel Flash.

To. How!    220

Co. And this, Francis Quicksilver.

To. Is’t possible? I thought your worship had been gone for Virginia, sir; you are welcome home, sir. Your worship has made a quick return, it seems, and no doubt a good voyage. Nay, pray you be covered, sir. How did your biscuit hold out, sir? Methought I had seen this gentleman afore—good Master Quicksilver! How a degree to the southward has changed you!

Go. Do you know ’hem, father? Forbear your offers a little, you shall be heard anon.    230

To. Yes, Master Deputy; I had a small venture with them in the voyage—a thing called a son-in-law, or so. Officers, you may let ’hem stand alone, they will not run away; I’ll give my word for them. A couple of very honest gentlemen. One of ’hem was my prentice, Master Quicksilver here; and when he had two year to serve, kept his whore and his hunting nag, would play his hundred pound at gresco,[95] or primero, as familiarly (and all o’ my purse) as any bright piece of crimson on ’hem all; had his changeable trunks of apparel standing at livery with his mare, his chest of perfumed linen, and his bathing-tubs, which when I told him of, why he!—he was a gentleman, and I a poor Cheapside groom. The remedy was, we must part. Since when, he hath had the gift of gathering up some small parcels of mine, to[96] the value of five hundred pound, dispersed among my customers, to furnish this his Virginia venture; wherein this knight was the chief, Sir Flash—one that married a daughter of mine, ladyfied her, turned two thousand pounds’ worth of good land of hers into cash within the first week, bought her a new gown and a coach; sent her to seek her fortune by land, whilst himself prepared for his fortune by sea; took in fresh flesh at Billingsgate, for his own diet, to serve him the whole voyage—the wife of a certain usurer called Security, who hath been the broker for ’hem in all this business. Please, Master Deputy, work upon that now.    257

Go. If my worshipful father have ended——

To. I have, it shall please Master Deputy.

Go. Well then, under correction——

To. Now, son, come over ’hem with some fine gird, as thus, “Knight, you shall be encountered,” that is, had to the Counter; or, “Quicksilver, I will put you into a crucible,” or so.

Go. Sir Petronel Flash, I am sorry to see such flashes as these proceed from a gentleman of your quality and rank; for mine own part, I could wish I could say I could not see them; but such is the misery of magistrates and men in place, that they must not wink at offenders. Take him aside; I will hear you anon, sir.    270

To. I like this well, yet; there’s some grace i’ the knight left—he cries.

Go. Francis Quicksilver, would God thou hadst turned quacksalver, rather than run into these dissolute and lewd courses! It is great pity; thou art a proper young man, of an honest and clean face, somewhat near a good one; God hath done his part in thee; but thou hast made too much, and been too proud of that face, with the rest of thy body; for maintenance of which in neat and garish attire, only to be looked upon by some light housewives, thou hast prodigally consumed much of thy master’s estate; and being by him gently admonished at several times, hast returned thyself haughty and rebellious in thine answers, thundering out uncivil comparisons, requiting all his kindness with a coarse and harsh behaviour; never returning thanks for any one benefit, but receiving all as if they had been debts to thee, and no courtesies. I must tell thee, Francis, these are manifest signs of an ill-nature; and God doth often punish such pride and outrecuidance[97] with scorn and infamy, which is the worst of misfortune. My worshipful father, what do you please to charge them withal? From the press I will free ’hem, Master Constable.    293

Co. Then I’ll leave your worship, sir.

Go. No, you may stay; there will be other matters against ’hem.

To. Sir, I do charge this gallant, Master Quicksilver, on suspicion of felony; and the knight as being accessary in the receipt of my goods.

Qu. O God, sir!    300

To. Hold thy peace, impudent varlet, hold thy peace! With what forehead or face dost thou offer to chop logic with me, having run such a race of riot as thou hast done? Does not the sight of this worshipful man’s fortune and temper confound thee, that was thy younger fellow in household, and now come to have the place of a judge upon thee? Dost not observe this? Which of all thy gallants and gamesters, thy swearers and thy swaggerers, will come now to moan thy misfortune, or pity thy penury? They’ll look out at a window, as thou ridest in triumph to Tyburn, and cry, “Yonder goes honest Frank, mad Quicksilver!” “He was a free boon companion, when he had money,” says one; “Hang him, fool!” says another; “he could not keep it when he had it!” “A pox o’ th’ cullion, his master,” says a third, “he has brought him to this;” when their pox of pleasure, and their piles of perdition, would have been better bestowed upon thee, that hast ventured for ’hem with the best, and by the clue of thy knavery brought thyself weeping to the cart of calamity.    320

Qu. Worshipful master!

To. Offer not to speak, crocodile; I will not hear a sound come from thee. Thou hast learnt to whine at the play yonder. Master Deputy, pray you commit ’hem both to safe custody, till I be able farther to charge ’hem.

Qu. O me! what an infortunate thing am I!

Pe. Will you not take security, sir?

To. Yes, marry, will I, Sir Flash, if I can find him, and charge him as deep as the best on you. He has been the plotter of all this; he is your enginer,[98] I hear. Master Deputy, you’ll dispose of these. In the meantime, I’ll to my lord mayor, and get his warrant to seize that serpent Security into my hands, and seal up both house and goods to the king’s use or my satisfaction.    335

Go. Officers, take ’hem to the Counter.

Qu. and Pe. O God!

To. Nay, on, on! you see the issue of your sloth. Of sloth cometh pleasure, of pleasure cometh riot, of riot comes whoring, of whoring comes spending, of spending comes want, of want comes theft, of theft comes hanging; and there is my Quicksilver fixed.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Gertrude’s lodging.

Enter Gertrude and Sindefy.

Ge. Ah, Sin! hast thou ever read i’ the chronicle of any lady and her waiting-woman driven to that extremity that we are, Sin?

Si. Not I, truly, madam; and if I had, it were but cold comfort should come out of books now.

Ge. Why, good faith, Sin, I could dine with a lamentable story, now. O[99] hone, hone, o no nera! &c. Canst thou tell ne’er a one, Sin?

Si. None but mine own, madam, which is lamentable enough: first to be stolen from my friends, which were worshipful and of good accompt, by a prentice, in the habit and disguise of a gentleman, and here brought up to London, and promised marriage, and now likely to be forsaken, for he is in possibility to be hanged!    14

Ge. Nay, weep not, good Sin; my Petronel is in as good possibility as he. Thy miseries are nothing to mine, Sin; I was more than promised marriage, Sin; I had it, Sin; and was made a lady; and by a knight, Sin; which is now as good as no knight, Sin. And I was born in London, which is more than brought up, Sin; and already forsaken, which is past likelihood, Sin; and instead of land i’ the country, all my knight’s living lies i’ the Counter, Sin; there’s his castle now!    24

Si. Which he cannot be forced out of, madam.

Ge. Yes, if he would live hungry a week or two. “Hunger,” they say, “breaks stone walls.” But he is e’en well enough served, Sin, that so soon as ever he had got my hand to the sale of my inheritance, run away from me, and I had been his punk, God bless us! Would the Knight o’ the Sun,[100] or Palmerin of England, have used their ladies so, Sin? or Sir Lancelot? or Sir Tristram?

Si. I do not know, madam.    34

Ge. Then thou know’st nothing, Sin. Thou art a fool, Sin. The knighthood nowadays are nothing like the knighthood of old time. They rid a-horseback; ours go a-foot. They were attended by their squires; ours by their lackeys. They went buckled in their armour; ours muffled in their cloaks. They travelled wildernesses and deserts; ours dare scarce walk the streets. They were still pressed to engage their honour; ours still ready to pawn their clothes. They would gallop on at sight of a monster; ours run away at sight of a sergeant. They would help poor ladies; ours make poor ladies.

Si. Ay, madam, they were knights of the Round Table at Winchester, that sought adventures; but these of the Square Table at ordinaries, that sit at hazard.[101]    48

Ge. True,[102] Sin, let him vanish. And tell me, what shall we pawn next?

Si. Ay, marry, madam, a timely consideration; for our hostess (profane woman!) has sworn by bread and salt she will not trust us another meal.

Ge. Let it stink in her hand then. I’ll not be beholding to her. Let me see, my jewels be gone, and my gowns, and my red velvet petticoat that I was married in, and my wedding silk stockings, and all thy best apparel, poor Sin! Good faith, rather than thou shouldst pawn a rag more, I’d lay my ladyship in lavender[103]—if I knew where.    60

Si. Alas, madam, your ladyship!

Ge. Ay,—why?—you do not scorn my ladyship, though it is in a waistcoat? God’s my life! you are a peat[104] indeed! Do I offer to mortgage my ladyship for you and for your avail, and do you turn the lip and the alas to my ladyship?

Si. No, madam; but I make question who will lend anything upon it?    68

Ge. Who?—marry, enow, I warrant you, if you’ll seek ’hem out. I’m sure I remember the time when I would ha’ given one thousand pounds (if I had had it) to have been a lady; and I hope I was not bred and born with that appetite alone: some other gentle-born o’ the city have the same longing, I trust. And for my part, I would afford ’hem a penn’orth; my ladyship is little the worse for the wearing, and yet I would bate a good deal of the sum. I would lend it (let me see) for forty pound in hand, Sin; that would apparel us; and ten pound a year, that would keep me and you, Sin (with our needles); and we should never need to be beholding to our scurvy parents. Good Lord! that there are no fairies nowadays, Sin!    82

Si. Why, madam?

Ge. To do miracles, and bring ladies money. Sure, if we lay in a cleanly house, they would haunt it, Sin. I’ll try. I’ll sweep the chamber soon at night, and set a dish of water o’ the hearth. A fairy may come, and bring a pearl or a diamond. We do not know, Sin. Or, there may be a pot of gold hid o’ the backside,[105] if we had tools to dig for’t? Why may not we two rise early i’ the morning, Sin, afore anybody is up, and find a jewel i’ the streets worth a hundred pound? May not some great court-lady, as she comes from revels at midnight, look out of her coach as ’tis running, and lose such a jewel, and we find it? Ha?    95

Si. They are pretty waking dreams, these.

Ge. Or may not some old usurer be drunk overnight, with a bag of money, and leave it behind him on a stall? For God’s sake, Sin, let’s rise to-morrow by break of day, and see. I protest, law, if I had as much money as an alderman, I would scatter some on’t i’ th’ streets for poor ladies to find, when their knights were laid up. And, now I remember my song o’ the Golden Shower, why may not I have such a fortune? I’ll sing it, and try what luck I shall have after it.    105

“Fond fables tell of old,
How Jove in Danäe’s lap
Fell in a shower of gold,
By which she caught a clap;
O had it been my hap    110
(How ere the blow doth threaten),
So well I like the play,
That I could wish all day
And night to be so beaten.”

Enter Mistress Touchstone.

O here’s my mother! good luck, I hope. Ha’ you brought any money, mother? Pray you, mother, your blessing. Nay, sweet mother, do not weep.

Mist. T. God bless you! I would I were in my grave!    119

Ge. Nay, dear mother, can you steal no more money from my father? Dry your eyes, and comfort me. Alas! it is my knight’s fault, and not mine, that I am in a waistcoat, and attired thus simply.

Mist. T. Simply, ’tis better than thou deservest. Never whimper for the matter. Thou shouldst have looked before thou hadst leapt. Thou wert afire to be a lady, and now your ladyship and you may both blow at the coal, for aught I know. Self do, self have. The hasty person never wants woe, they say.    129

Ge. Nay, then, mother, you should ha’ looked to it. A body would think you were the older; I did but my kind, I. He was a knight, and I was fit to be a lady. ’Tis not lack of liking, but lack of living, that severs us. And you talk like yourself and a cittiner in this, i’faith. You show what husband you come on, I wis. You smell the Touchstone—he that will do more for his daughter, that he has married [to] a scurvy gold-end man[106] and his prentice, than he will for his t’other daughter, that has wedded a knight and his customer. By this light, I think he is not my legitimate father.    140

Si. O, good madam, do not take up your mother so!

Mist. T. Nay, nay, let her e’en alone. Let her ladyship grieve me still, with her bitter taunts and terms. I have not dole enough to see her in this miserable case, I—without her velvet gowns, without ribands, without jewels, without French-wires, or cheat-bread,[107] or quails, or a little dog, or a gentleman-usher, or anything, indeed, that’s fit for a lady——

Si. Except her tongue.    149

Mist. T. And I not able to relieve her, neither, being kept so short by my husband. Well, God knows my heart; I did little think that ever she should have had need of her sister Golding.

Ge. Why, mother, I ha’ not yet. Alas! good mother, be not intoxicate for me; I am well enough; I would not change husbands with my sister, I. The[108] leg of a lark is better than the body of a kite.

Mist. T. I know that: but——

Ge. What, sweet mother, what?

Mist. T. It’s but ill food when nothing’s left but the claw.    161

Ge. That’s true, mother. Ay me!

Mist. T. Nay, sweet lady-bird,[109] sigh not. Child, madam—why do you weep thus? Be of good cheer; I shall die if you cry, and mar your complexion thus.

Ge. Alas, mother, what should I do?

Mist. T. Go to thy sister’s, child; she’ll be proud thy ladyship will come under her roof. She’ll win thy father to release thy knight, and redeem thy gowns, and thy coach and thy horses, and set thee up again.    170

Ge. But will she get him to set my knight up too?

Mist. T. That she will, or anything else thou’lt ask her.

Ge. I will begin to love her if I thought she would do this.

Mist. T. Try her, good chuck,[110] I warrant thee.

Ge. Dost thou think she’ll do’t?

Si. Ay, madam, and be glad you will receive it.

Mist. T. That’s a good maiden; she tells you true. Come, I’ll take order for your debts i’ the alehouse.    180

Ge. Go, Sin, and pray for thy Frank, as I will for my Pet.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Goldsmiths’ Row.

Enter Touchstone, Golding, Wolf.

To. I will receive no letters, Master Wolf; you shall pardon me.

Go. Good father, let me entreat you.

To. Son Golding, I will not be tempted; I find mine own easy nature, and I know not what a well-penned subtle letter may work upon it; there may be tricks, packing, do you see? Return with your packet, sir.

Wo. Believe it, sir, you need fear no packing here; these are but letters of submission all.

To. Sir, I do look for no submission. I will bear myself in this like blind Justice. Work upon that now. When the sessions come they shall hear from me.    12

Go. From whom come your letters, Master Wolf?

Wo. And’t please you, sir, one from Sir Petronel, another from Francis Quicksilver, and a third from old Security, who is almost mad in prison. There are two to your worship; one from Master Francis, sir, another from the knight.

To. I do wonder, Master Wolf, why you should travail thus, in a business so contrary to kind, or the nature o’ your place: that you, being the keeper of a prison, should labour the release of your prisoners; whereas, methinks, it were far more natural and kindly in you to be ranging about for more, and not let these ’scape you have already under the tooth. But they say you Wolves, when you ha’ sucked the blood, once that they are dry, you ha’ done.    27

Wo. Sir, your worship may descant as you please o’ my name; but I protest I was never so mortified with any men’s discourse or behaviour in prison; yet I have had of all sorts of men i’ the kingdom under my keys; and almost of all religions i’ the land, as Papist, Protestant, Puritan, Brownist, Anabaptist, Millenary, Family-o’-Love, Jew, Turk, Infidel, Atheist, Good-Fellow, &c.

Go. And which of all these, thinks Master Wolf, was the best religion?    37

Wo. Troth, Master Deputy, they that pay fees best: we never examine their consciences farther.

Go. I believe you, Master Wolf. Good faith, sir, here’s a great deal of humility i’ these letters.

Wo. Humility, sir? Ay, were your worship an eyewitness of it you would say so. The knight will i’ the Knight’s Ward,[111] do what we can, sir; and Master Quicksilver would be i’ the Hole if we would let him. I never knew or saw prisoners more penitent, or more devout. They will sit you up all night singing of psalms and edifying the whole prison; only Security sings a note too high sometimes, because he lies i’ the Twopenny Ward, far off, and cannot take his tune. The neighbours cannot rest for him, but come every morning to ask what godly prisoners we have.    52

To. Which on ’hem is’t is so devout—the knight or the t’other?

Wo. Both, sir; but the young man especially. I never heard his like. He has cut his hair too. He is so well given, and has such good gifts, he can tell you almost all the stories of the Book of Martyrs, and speak you all the Sick Man’s Salve[112] without book.

To. Ay, if he had had grace—he was brought up where it grew, I wis. On, Master Wolf.    61

Wo. And he has converted one Fangs, a sergeant, a fellow could neither write nor read; he was called the Bandog o’ the Counter; and he has brought him already to pare his nails and say his prayers; and ’tis hoped he will sell his place shortly, and become an intelligencer.

To. No more; I am coming already. If I should give any farther care I were taken. Adieu, good Master Wolf. Son, I do feel mine own weaknesses; do not importune me. Pity is a rheum that I am subject to; but I will resist it. Master Wolf, fish is cast away that is cast in dry pools. Tell hypocrisy it will not do; I have touched and tried too often; I am yet proof, and I will remain so; when the sessions come they shall hear from me. In the meantime, to all suits, to all entreaties, to all letters, to all tricks, I will be deaf as an adder, and blind as a beetle, lay mine ear to the ground, and lock mine eyes i’ my hand, against all temptations.    78

[Exit.

Go. You see, Master Wolf, how inexorable he is. There is no hope to recover him. Pray you commend me to my brother knight, and to my fellow Francis; present ’hem with this small token of my love; tell ’hem, I wish I could do ’hem any worthier office; but in this, ’tis desperate: yet I will not fail to try the uttermost of my power for ’hem. And, sir, as far as I have any credit with you, pray you let ’hem want nothing; though I am not ambitious they should know so much.    87

Wo. Sir, both your actions and words speak you to be a true gentleman. They shall know only what is fit, and no more.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Compter.

Enter Holdfast and Bramble.

Ho. Who would you speak with, sir?

Br. I would speak with one Security, that is prisoner here.

Ho. Y’are welcome, sir. Stay there, I’ll call him to you. Master Security!

Enter Security.

Sec. Who calls?

Ho. Here’s a gentleman would speak with you.

Sec. What is he? Is’t one that grafts my forehead now I am in prison, and comes to see how the horns shoot up and prosper?    10

Ho. You must pardon him, sir; the old man is a little crazed with his imprisonment.

Sec. What say you to me, sir? Look you here.—My learned counsel, Master Bramble! cry you mercy, sir! When saw you my wife?

Br. She is now at my house, sir; and desired me that I would come to visit you, and inquire of you your case, that we might work some means to get you forth.    18

Sec. My case,[113] Master Bramble, is stone walls and iron grates; you see it, this is the weakest part on’t. And for getting me forth, no means but hang myself, and so to be carried forth, from which they have here bound me in intolerable bands.

Br. Why, but what is’t you are in for, sir?

Sec. For my sins, for my sins, sir, whereof marriage is the greatest. O, had I never married, I had never known this purgatory, to which hell is a kind of cool bath in respect; my wife’s confederacy, sir, with old Touchstone, that she might keep her jubilee and the feast of her new moon. Do you understand me, sir?    30

Enter Quicksilver.

Qu. Good sir, go in and talk with him. The light does him harm, and his example will be hurtful to the weak prisoners. Fie! father Security, that you’ll be still so profane! Will nothing humble you?

[Exeunt Security, Bramble, and Holdfast.[114]

Enter two Prisoners, with a Friend.

Fr. What’s he?

1st Pr. O, he is a rare young man! Do you not know him?

Fr. Not I. I never saw him, I can remember.

2nd Pr. Why, it is he that was the gallant prentice of London—Master Touchstone’s man.    40

Fr. Who?—Quicksilver?

1st Pr. Ay, this is he.

Fr. Is this he? They say he has been a gallant indeed.

1st Pr. O, the royallest fellow that ever was bred up i’ the city! He would play you his thousand pound a-night at dice; keep knights’ and lords’ company; go with them to bawdy-houses; had his six men in a livery; kept a stable of hunting-horses, and his wench in her velvet gown and her cloth of silver. Here’s one knight with him here in prison.    51

Fr. And how miserably he is changed!

1st Pr. O, that’s voluntary in him: he gave away all his rich clothes as soon as ever he came in here among the prisoners; and will eat o’ the basket,[115] for humility.

Fr. Why will he do so?

1st Pr. Alas, he has no hope of life! He mortifies himself. He does but linger on till the sessions.

2nd Pr. O, he has penned the best thing, that he calls his Repentance or his Last Farewell, that ever you heard. He is a pretty poet; and for prose—you would wonder how many prisoners he has helped out, with penning petitions for ’hem, and not take a penny. Look! this is the knight in the rug gown. Stand by.    64

Enter[116] Sir Petronel and Bramble.

Br. Sir, for Security’s case, I have told him. Say he should be condemned to be carted or whipt for a bawd, or so, why, I’ll lay an execution on him o’ two hundred pound; let him acknowledge a judgment, he shall do it in half an hour; they shall not at all fetch him out without paying the execution, o’ my word.    70

Pe. But can we not be bailed, Master Bramble?

Br. Hardly; there are none of the judges in town, else you should remove yourself (in spite of him) with a habeas corpus. But if you have a friend to deliver your tale sensibly to some justice o’ the town, that he may have feeling of it (do you see), you may be bailed; for as I understand the case, ’tis only done in terrorem; and you shall have an action of false imprisonment against him when you come out, and perhaps a thousand pound costs.    80

Enter Master Wolf.

Qu. How now, Master Wolf?—what news?—what return?

Wo. ’Faith, bad all: yonder will be no letters received. He says the sessions shall determine it. Only, Master Deputy Golding commends him to you, and with this token wishes he could do you other good.

Qu. I thank him. Good Master Bramble, trouble our quiet no more; do not molest us in prison thus, with your winding devices; pray you depart. For my part, I commit my cause to Him that can succour me; let God work His will. Master Wolf, I pray you let this be distributed among the prisoners, and desire ’hem to pray for us.    93

Wo. It shall be done, Master Francis.

1st Pr. An excellent temper!

2nd Pr. Now God send him good luck!

[Exeunt[117] two Prisoners and Friend.

Pe. But what said my father-in-law, Master Wolf?

Enter Holdfast.

Ho. Here’s one would speak with you, sir.

Wo. I’ll tell you anon, Sir Petronel; who is’t?

Ho. A gentleman, sir, that will not be seen.    100

Enter Golding.

Wo. Where is he? Master Deputy! your worship is welcome——

Go. Peace!

Wo. Away, sirrah!

[Exit[118] Bramble.

Go. Good faith, Master Wolf, the estate of these gentlemen, for whom you were so late and willing a suitor, doth much affect me; and because I am desirous to do them some fair office, and find there is no means to make my father relent so likely as to bring him to be a spectator of their miseries, I have ventured on a device, which is, to make myself your prisoner: entreating you will presently go report it to my father, and (feigning an action at suit of some third person) pray him by this token, that he will presently, and with all secrecy, come hither for my bail; which train, if any, I know will bring him abroad; and then, having him here, I doubt not but we shall be all fortunate in the event.    117

Wo. Sir, I will put on my best speed to effect it. Please you come in.

Go. Yes; and let me rest concealed, I pray you.

Wo. See here a benefit truly done, when it is done timely, freely, and to no ambition.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Goldsmiths’ Row.

Enter Touchstone, Mistress Touchstone, Gertrude, Mildred, Sindefy, and Winifred.

To. I will sail by you, and not hear you, like the wise Ulysses.

Mi. Dear father!

Mist. T. Husband!

Ge. Father!

Wi. and Si. Master Touchstone!

To. Away, sirens! I will immure myself against your cries, and lock myself up to your lamentations.

Mist. T. Gentle husband, hear me!

Ge. Father, it is I, father; my Lady Flash. My sister and I am friends.    11

Mi. Good father!

Wi. Be not hardened, good Master Touchstone!

Si. I pray you, sir, be merciful!

To. I am deaf; I do not hear you; I have stopped mine ears with shoemakers’ wax, and drunk Lethe and mandragora[119] to forget you. All you speak to me I commit to the air.

Enter Wolf.

Mi. How now, Master Wolf?

Wo. Where’s Master Touchstone? I must speak with him presently; I have lost my breath for haste.    21

Mi. What is the matter, sir? Pray all be well!

Wo. Master Deputy Golding is arrested upon an execution, and desires him presently to come to him, forthwith.

Mi. Ay me! do you hear, father?

To. Tricks, tricks, confederacy, tricks! I have ’hem in my nose—I scent ’hem!

Wo. Who’s that? Master Touchstone?

Mist. T. Why, it is Master Wolf himself, husband.    30

Mi. Father!

To. I am deaf still, I say. I will neither yield to the song of the siren nor the voice of the hyena,[120] the tears of the crocodile nor the howling o’ the Wolf. Avoid my habitation, monsters!

Wo. Why, you are not mad, sir? I pray you look forth, and see the token I have brought you, sir.

To. Ha! what token is it?

Wo. Do you know it, sir?

To. My son Golding’s ring! Are you in earnest, Master Wolf?    41

Wo. Ay, by my faith, sir. He is in prison, and required me to use all speed and secrecy to you.

To. My cloak, there (pray you be patient). I am plagued for my austerity. My cloak! At whose suit, Master Wolf?

Wo. I’ll tell you as we go, sir.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The Compter.

Enter two Prisoners and Friend.

Fr. Why, but is his offence such as he cannot hope of life?

1st Pr. Troth, it should seem so; and ’tis great pity, for he is exceeding penitent.

Fr. They say he is charged but on suspicion of felony yet.

2nd Pr. Ay, but his master is a shrewd fellow; he’ll prove great matter against him.

Fr. I’d as lieve as anything I could see his Farewell.

1st Pr. O, ’tis rarely written; why, Toby may get him to sing it to you; he’s not curious to anybody.    11

2nd Pr. O no! He would that all the world should take knowledge of his repentance, and thinks he merits in’t the more shame he suffers.

1st Pr. Pray thee, try what thou canst do.

2nd Pr. I warrant you he will not deny it, if he be not hoarse with the often repeating of it.

[Exit.

1st Pr. You never saw a more courteous creature than he is, and the knight too: the poorest prisoner of the house may command ’hem. You shall hear a thing admirably penned.    21

Fr. Is the knight any scholar too?

1st Pr. No, but he will speak very well, and discourse admirably of running horses and White-Friars, and against bawds; and of cocks; and talk as loud as a hunter, but is none.

Enter Wolf and Touchstone.

Wo. Please you, stay here; I’ll call his worship down to you.    28

[Exit Wolf.

Re-enter[121] Wolf with Golding, Quicksilver,
Sir Petronel, and Security.

1st Pr. See, he has brought him, and the knight too; salute him, I pray. Sir, this gentleman, upon our report, is very desirous to hear some piece of your Repentance.

Qu. Sir, with all my heart; and, as I told Master Toby, I shall be glad to have any man a witness of it. And the more openly I profess it, I hope it will appear the heartier, and the more unfeigned.

To. Who is this?—my man Francis, and my son-in-law?

Qu. Sir, it is all the testimony I shall leave behind me to the world, and my master that I have so offended.

Fr. Good, sir!    40

Qu. I writ it when my spirits were oppressed.

Pe. Ay, I’ll be sworn for you, Francis.

Qu. It is in imitation of Mannington’s,[122] he that was hanged at Cambridge, that cut off the horse’s head at a blow.

Fr. So, sir!

Qu. To the tune of “I wail in woe, I plunge in pain.”

Pe. An excellent ditty it is, and worthy of a new tune.

Qu. In Cheapside, famous for gold and plate,
Quicksilver I did dwell of late;    50
I had a master good and kind,
That would have wrought me to his mind.
He bade me still, Work upon that,
But, alas! I wrought I knew not what.
He was a Touchstone black, but true,
And told me still what would ensue;
Yet woe is me! I would not learn;
I saw, alas! but could not discern!

Fr. Excellent, excellent well!

Go. O let him alone: he is taken already.    60

Qu. I cast my coat and cap away,
I went in silks and satins gay;
False metal of good manners I
Did daily coin unlawfully.
I scorn’d my master, being drunk;
I kept my gelding and my punk;
And with a knight, Sir Flash by name,
Who now is sorry for the same,—

Pe. I thank you, Francis.

[Qu.] I thought by sea to run away,    70
But Thames and tempest did me stay.

To. This cannot be feigned, sure. Heaven pardon my severity! The ragged colt may prove a good horse.

Go. How he listens, and is transported! He has forgot me.

Qu. Still Eastward-ho was all my word:
But westward I had no regard,
Nor never thought what would come after,
As did, alas! his youngest daughter.
At last the black ox trod o’ my foot,[123]    80
And I saw then what long’d unto ’t;
Now cry I, “Touchstone, touch me still,
And make me current by thy skill.”

To. And I will do it, Francis.

Wo. Stay him, Master Deputy; now is the time: we shall lose the song else.

Fr. I protest it is the best that ever I heard.

Qu. How like you it, gentlemen?

All. O admirable, sir!

Qu. This stanze now following, alludes to the story of Mannington, from whence I took my project for my invention.    92

Fr. Pray you go on, sir.

Qu. O Mannington, thy stories show,
Thou cutt’st a horse-head off at a blow!
But I confess, I have not the force
For to cut off the head of a horse;
Yet I desire this grace to win,
That I may cut off the horse-head of Sin,
And leave his body in the dust    100
Of sin’s highway and bogs of lust,
Whereby I may take Virtue’s purse,
And live with her for better, for worse.

Fr. Admirable, sir, and excellently conceited!

Qu. Alas, sir!

To. Son Golding and Master Wolf, I thank you: the deceit is welcome, especially from thee, whose charitable soul in this hath shown a high point of wisdom and honesty. Listen, I am ravished with his repentance, and could stand here a whole prenticeship to hear him.    111

Fr. Forth, good sir.

Qu. This is the last, and the Farewell.—
Farewell, Cheapside, farewell, sweet trade
Of Goldsmiths all, that never shall fade;
Farewell, dear fellow prentices all,
And be you warnèd by my fall:
Shun usurers, bawds, and dice, and drabs,
Avoid them as you would French scabs.
Seek not to go beyond your tether,    120
But cut your thongs unto your leather:
So shall you thrive by little and little,
’Scape Tyburn, Counters, and the Spital!

To. And ’scape them shalt thou, my penitent and dear Francis!

Qu. Master!

Pe. Father!

To. I can no longer forbear to do your humility right. Arise, and let me honour your repentance with the hearty and joyful embraces of a father and friend’s love. Quicksilver, thou hast eat into my breast, Quicksilver, with the drops of thy sorrow, and killed the desperate opinion I had of thy reclaim.    133

Qu. O, sir, I am not worthy to see your worshipful face!

Pe. Forgive me, father.

To. Speak no more; all former passages are forgotten; and here my word shall release you. Thank this worthy brother, and kind friend, Francis.—Master Wolf, I am their bail.

[A shout in the prison.

Sec. Master Touchstone! Master Touchstone!

To. Who’s that?

Wo. Security, sir.

Sec. Pray you, sir, if you’ll be won with a song, hear my lamentable tune too!    144

Song.

To. Bring him forth, Master Wolf, and release his bands. This day shall be sacred to mercy and the mirth of this encounter in the Counter. See, we are encountered with more suitors!

Enter Mistress Touchstone, Gertrude, Mildred,
Sindefy, Winifred, &c.

Save your breath, save your breath! All things have succeeded to your wishes: and we are heartily satisfied in their events.

Ge. Ah, runaway, runaway! have I caught you? And how has my poor knight done all this while?    161

Pe. Dear lady-wife, forgive me!

Ge. As heartily as I would be forgiven, knight. Dear father, give me your blessing, and forgive me too; I ha’ been proud and lascivious, father; and a fool, father; and being raised to the state of a wanton coy thing, called a lady, father; have scorned you, father, and my sister, and my sister’s velvet cap too; and would make a mouth at the city as I rid through it; and stop mine ears at Bow-bell. I have said your beard was a base one, father; and that you looked like Twierpipe the taberer; and that my mother was but my midwife.    172

Mist. T. Now, God forgi’ you, child madam!

To. No more repetitions. What else is wanting to make our harmony full?

Go. Only this, sir, that my fellow Francis make amends to Mistress Sindefy with marriage.

Qu. With all my heart.

Go. And Security give her a dower, which shall be all the restitution he shall make of that huge mass he hath so unlawfully gotten.    181

To. Excellently devised! a good motion![124] What says Master Security?

Sec. I say anything, sir, what you’ll ha’ me say. Would I were no cuckold!

Wi. Cuckold, husband? Why, I think this wearing of yellow[125] has infected you.    187

To. Why, Master Security, that should rather be a comfort to you than a corasive. If you be a cuckold, it’s an argument you have a beautiful woman to your wife; then you shall be much made of; you shall have store of friends, never want money; you shall be eased of much o’ your wedlock pain, others will take it for you. Besides, you being a usurer (and likely to go to hell), the devils will never torment you: they’ll take you for one o’ their own race. Again, if you be a cuckold, and know it not, you are an innocent; if you know it and endure it, a true martyr.    198

Sec. I am resolved, sir. Come hither, Winny.

To. Well, then, all are pleased, or shall be anon. Master Wolf, you look hungry, methinks; have you no apparel to lend Francis to shift him?

Qu. No, sir, nor I desire none; but here make it my suit, that I may go home through the streets in these, as a spectacle, or rather an example to the children of Cheapside.

To. Thou hast thy wish. Now, London, look about,
And in this moral see thy glass run out:
Behold the careful father, thrifty son,
The solemn deeds which each of us have done;    210
The usurer punish’d, and from fall so steep
The prodigal child reclaim’d, and the lost sheep.

EPILOGUS.

[Qu.] Stay, sir, I perceive the multitude are gather’d together to view our coming out at the Counter. See if the streets and the Fronts of the Houses be not thick with people, and the windows fill’d with ladies as on the solemn day of the pageant!
O may you find in this our pageant here
The same contentment which you came to seek,
And as that show but draws you once a year    220
May this attract you hither once a week.

[Exeunt omnes.

THE
INSATIATE COUNTESS.

The Insatiate Countesse. A Tragedie: Acted at White-Fryers. Written By Iohn Marston. London: Printed by T. S. for Thomas Archer, and are to be sold at his Shop in Popes-head-Pallace, neere the Royall-Exchange. 1613. 4to.

The Insatiate Countesse. A Tragedie: Acted at White-Fryers. Written By Iohn Marston. London, Printed by I. N. for Hugh Perrie, and are to be sould at his shop, at the signe of the Harrow in Brittaines-burse. 1631. 4to.

STORY OF THE PLAY.

Isabella, Countess of Suevia, being left a widow, proceeds with indecent haste to take a second husband, Roberto, Count of Cyprus. At a masqued dance given by the bridegroom’s friends on the day of the wedding, Isabella falls in love with one of the masquers, whom she discovers to be the Count of Massino [Messina?]. She sends him a letter in which she proffers her love and summons him to her presence. With her paramour she flies to Pavia, where she meets Massino’s friend Gniaca, Count of Gaza or Gazia [Gaeta?]. The Insatiate Countess immediately falls in love with Gniaca, who—though at first unwilling to wrong his friend—quickly yields to her blandishments. Returning from a hunting expedition Massino is denied admittance by Isabella. He gives vent to his indignation by penning bitter satirical verses, in which he proclaims to the world her inordinate lust. Enraged at this exposure, Isabella incites Gniaca to slay Massino. An encounter ensues between Gniaca and Massino, but after a few passes the combatants put up their weapons, hold a friendly colloquy, and part in peace. Isabella is furious and resolves to destroy both Gniaca and Massino. She employs the services of a Spanish colonel, Don Sago, who at first sight of her has been violently inflamed with passion. The colonel shoots Massino dead, is arrested, and, being brought before the Duke of Medina, makes full confession. Isabella is condemned to be beheaded. At the place of execution a strange friar requests that he may have private speech with her. The friar is Count Roberto, who has come to pronounce forgiveness, and bid a last farewell, to his erring wife.

There is also an underplot to the play. Rogero and Claridiana, between whom an hereditary feud exists, celebrate their marriage on the same day. As they return from the church an altercation arises between the bridegrooms, but by the intervention of friends they are at length induced to declare that they will lay aside their hatred. These professions are marked with little sincerity, for the new-made friends are intent upon cornuting one another. The wives, who are excellent friends, take counsel together and devise a scheme by which the husbands, while taking their lawful pleasure, imagine that they are tasting the sweets of adultery. Claridiana, announcing that he has gone to his farm in the country, repairs by appointment to the house of Rogero, where, under the impression that he is enjoying Rogero’s wife Thais, he lies with his own wife Abigail; and Rogero, under Claridiana’s roof lies with Thais in the belief that he is clipping Abigail. While these night-sports are in progress, Mendoza, nephew of the Duke Amago, holds a clandestine interview with the widowed Lady Lentulus. As he is mounting to her chamber, the rope-ladder breaks. Injured by the fall, he drags himself some distance from the house to a spot where he is discovered by the watch. It is supposed that he has met with foul play; a search is instituted; Rogero is discovered by the watch in the house of Claridiana, and Claridiana in the house of Rogero. Charged before the Duke Amago with the murder of Mendoza they declare themselves guilty—preferring to be hanged as murderers rather than to be derided as cuckolds. Mendoza, recovering from the effects of his fall, asserts (in order to save the honour of the Lady Lentulus) that he met his injuries in trying to steal some jewels from her house. The Duke, who is in a maze of wonder at the strange statements and confessions, condemns the three prisoners to be executed, hoping by this means to extort from them the truth. On the day fixed for the execution Thais and Abigail make an explanation to the Duke; and their husbands—finding that they have not been cuckolded—are glad to spare the hangman his labour. How Mendoza fares is not stated.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[126]

Amago, Duke of Venice.
Duke of Medina.
Roberto, Count of Cyprus.
Count Massino.
Guido, Count of Arsena.
Gniaca, Count of Gazia.
Mendoza Foscari, nephew to Amago.
Signior Mizaldus.
Claridiana.
Rogero.
Don Sago, a Spanish Colonel.
Cardinal.

Isabella, the Insatiate Countess.
Lady Lentulus, a widow.
Abigail, wife to Claridiana.
Thais, wife to Rogero.
Anna, waiting-woman to Isabella.
Senators, captain, lieutenant, soldiers, messenger, executioner, &c.

Scene—Venice and Pavia.

THE
INSATIATE COUNTESS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Venice.—Room in Isabella’s house.

Isabella, Countess of Suevia, discovered sitting at a table covered with black, on which stands two black tapers lighted, she in mourning.

Enter Roberto Count of Cyprus, Guido Count of Arsena, and Signior Mizaldus.

Miz. What should we do in this countess’s dark hole?
She’s sullenly retirèd as the turtle.
Every day has been
A black day with her since her husband died;
And what should we unruly members make[127] here?

Gui. As melancholy night masks up heaven’s face,
So doth the evening star present herself
Unto the careful shepherd’s gladsome eyes,
By which unto the fold he leads his flock.    9

Miz. Zounds! what a sheepish beginning is here? ’Tis said true love is simple; and it may well hold; and thou art a simple lover.

Rob. See how yond star, like beauty in a cloud,
Illumines darkness, and beguiles the moon
Of all her glory in the firmament!

Miz. Well said, man i’ the moon. Was ever such astronomers? Marry, I fear none of these will fall into the right ditch.

Rob. Madam.

Isa. Ha, Anna! what, are my doors unbarr’d?    20

Miz. I’ll assure you the way into your ladyship is open.

Rob. And God defend that any profane hand
Should offer sacrilege to such a saint!
Lovely Isabella, by this duteous kiss,
That draws part of my soul along with it,
Had I but thought my rude intrusion
Had waked the dove-like spleen harbour’d within you,
Life and my first-born should not satisfy
Such a transgression, worthy of a check;    30
But that immortals wink at my offence,
Makes me presume more boldly. I am come
To raise you from this so infernal sadness.

Isa. My lord of Cyprus, do not mock my grief.
Tears are as due a[128] tribute to the dead,
As fear to God, and duty unto kings,
Love to the just, or hate unto the wicked.

Rob. Surcease;
Believe it is a wrong unto the gods.[129]
They sail against the wind that wail the dead:    40
And since his heart hath wrestled with death’s pangs,
From whose stern cave none tracts a backward path,[130]
Leave to lament this necessary change,
And thank the gods, for they can give us good.

Isa. I wail his loss! Sink him ten cubits deeper,
I may not fear his resurrection.
I will be sworn upon the Holy Writ
I mourn thus fervent ’cause he died no sooner:
He buried me alive,
And mewed me up like Cretan Dædalus,    50
And with wall-ey’d[131] jealousy kept me from hope
Of any waxen wings to fly to pleasure;
But now his soul her Argus’ eyes hath closed,
And I am free as air. You of my sex,
In the first flow of youth, use you the sweets
Due to your proper beauties, ere the ebb
And long wane of unwelcome change shall come.
Fair women, play; she’s chaste whom none will have.
Here is a man of a most mild aspect,
Temperate, effeminate, and worthy love;    60
One that with burning ardor hath pursued me.
A donative he hath of every god:
Apollo gave him locks; Jove his high front;[132]
The god of eloquence his flowing speech;
The feminine deities strew’d all their bounties
And beauty on his face; that eye was Juno’s;
Those lips were hers[133] that won the golden ball;
That virgin-blush, Diana’s. Here they meet,
As in a sacred synod. My lords, I must intreat
A while your wish’d forbearance.

Gui.[134] and Miz. We obey you, lady.    70

[Exeunt Guido and Mizaldus.

Isa. My lord, with you I have some conference.
I pray, my lord, do you woo every lady
In this phrase you do me?

Rob. Fairest, till now
Love was an infant in my oratory.

Isa. And kiss thus too?

[Kisses him.

Rob. I never[135] was so kiss’d; leave thus to please;
Flames into flames, seas thou pour’st into seas!

Isa. Pray frown, my lord: let me see how many wives You’ll have.[136] Heigh ho! you’ll bury me, I see——

Rob. In the swan’s down, and tomb thee in mine arms!    80

Isa. Then folks shall pray in vain to send me rest.
Away, you’re such another meddling lord!

Rob. By heaven! my love’s as chaste as thou art fair,
And both exceed comparison. By this kiss,
That crowns me monarch of another world
Superior to the first, fair, thou shalt see
As unto heaven my love, so unto thee!

Isa. Alas!
Poor creatures, when we are once o’ the falling hand,
A man may easily come over us.    90
It is as hard for us to hide our love
As to shut sin from the Creator’s eyes.
I’faith, my lord, I had a month’s mind[137] unto you,
As tedious as a full-riped[138] maiden-head;
And, Count of Cyprus, think my love as pure
As the first opening of the blooms in May:
(You’re virtuous, man;[139] nay, let me not blush to say so:)
And see for your sake thus I leave to sorrow.
Begin this subtile conjuration with me,
And as this taper, due unto the dead,    100
I here extinguish, so my late-dead lord
I put out ever from my memory,
That his remembrance may not wrong our love,

[Puts out the taper.

As bold-faced women, when they wed another,
Banquet their husbands with their dead loves’ heads.

Rob. And as I sacrifice this to his ghost,
With this expire all corrupt thoughts of youth,
That fame-insatiate devil jealousy,
And all the sparks that may bring unto flame,
Hate betwixt man and wife, or breed defame.    110

[Puts out the other taper.

Re-enter[140] Mizaldus and Guido.

Miz.[141] Marry, amen. I say; madam, are you that were in for all day, now come to be in for all night? How now, Count Arsena?

Gui.[142] Faith, signior, not unlike the condemn’d malefactor,
That hears his judgment openly pronounced;
But I ascribe to fate. Joy swell your love;
Cypress and willow grace my drooping crest.

Rob. We do intend our hymeneal rites
With the next rising sun. Count Arsena,[143]
Next to our bride, the welcom’st to our feast.    120

[Exeunt Isabella and Roberto.

Gui. Sancta Maria! what think’st thou of this change?
A player’s passion I’ll believe hereafter,
And in a tragic scene weep for old Priam,[144]
When fell-revenging Pyrrhus with supposed
And artificial wounds mangles his breast,
And think it a more worthy act to me,
Than trust a female mourning o’er her love.
Naught that is done of woman shall me please,
Nature’s step-children, rather her disease.[145]

Miz. Learn of a well-composèd epigram    130
A woman’s love, and thus ’twas sung unto us;

The[146] tapers that stood on her husband’s hearse,
Isabel advances to a second bed:
Is it not wondrous strange for to rehearse
She should so soon forget her husband, dead
One hour? for if the husband’s life once fade,
Both love and husband in one grave are laid.

But we forget ourselves: I am for the marriage
Of Signior Claridiana and the fine Mistress Abigail.    139

Gui. I for his arch-foe’s wedding, Signior Rogero, and the spruce Mistress Thais: but see, the solemn rites are ended, and from their several temples they are come.

Miz. A quarrel, on my life!

Enter at one door Signior Claridiana, Abigail his wife, and the Lady Lentulus, with rosemary,[147] as from church; at the other door Signior Rogero, Thais his wife, and Mendoza Foscari, nephew to the Duke, from the bridal; they see one another, and draw; Guido and others step between them.

Clar. Good, my lord, detain me not; I will tilt at him.

Miz.[148] Remember, sir, this is your wedding-day,
And that triumph belongs only to your wife.

Rog. If you be noble, let me cut off his head.

Gui.[149] Remember, o’ the other side, you have a maiden-head of your own to cut off.    150

Rog. I’ll make my marriage-day like to the bloody bridal
Alcides by the fiery Centaurs had!

Tha. Husband, dear husband!

Rog. Away with these catterwallers!
Come on, sir.

Clar. Thou son of a Jew!

Gui. Alas, poor wench, thy husband’s circumcised!

Clar. Begot when thy father’s face was toward th’ east,
To show that thou would’st prove a caterpiller.
His Messias shall not save thee from me;    160
I’ll send thee to him in collops!

Gui. O fry not in choler so, sir!

Rog. Mountebank, with thy pedantical action—
Rimatrix, Bugloss,[150] Rhinoceros!

Men. Gentlemen, I conjure you
By the virtues of men!

Rog. Shall any broken quacksalver’s bastard oppose him to me in my nuptials? No; but I’ll show him better metal than e’er the gallemawfrey[151] his father used. Thou scum of his melting-pots, that wert christen’d in a crusoile[152] with Mercury’s water to[153] show thou wouldest prove a stinging aspis! for all thou spitt’st is aqua fortis, and thy breath is a compound of poison’s stillatory: if I get within thee, hadst thou the scaly hide of a crocodile, as thou art partly of his nature, I would leave thee as bare as an anatomy[154] at the second viewing.    176

Clar. Thou Jew of the tribe of Gad that, I were[155] sure, were there none here but thou and I, wouldst teach me the art of breathing; thou wouldst run like a dromedary!

Rog. Thou that art the tall’st man of Christendom when thou art alone; if thou dost maintain this to my face, I’ll make thee skip like an ounce.[156]

Men. Nay, good sir, be you still.

Rog. Let the quacksalver’s son be still:
His father was still, and still, and still again!    185

Clar. By the Almighty, I’ll study negromancy but I’ll be reveng’d!

Gui. Gentlemen, leave these dissensions;
Signior Rogero, you are a man of worth.

Clar. True, all the city points at him for a knave.    190

Gui. You are of like reputation, Signior Claridiana.
The hatred ’twixt your grandsires first began;
Impute it to the folly of that age:
These your dissensions may erect a faction
Like to the Capulets and the Montagues.[157]

Men. Put it to equal arbitration, choose your friends;
The senators will think ’em happy in ’t.

Rog.[158] I’ll ne’er embrace the smoke of a furnace, the quintessence of mineral or simples, or, as I may say more learnedly, nor the spirit of quicksilver.    200

Clar. Nor I, such a Centaur,—half a man, half an ass, and all a Jew!

Gui. Nay, then, we will be constables, and force a quiet. Gentlemen, keep ’em asunder, and help to persuade ’em.

[Exeunt[159] at one door Mizaldus and Claridiana; at another Guido and Rogero.

Men. Well, ladies, your husbands behave ’em as lustily on their wedding-days as e’er I heard any. Nay, lady-widow, you and I must have a falling; you’re of Signior Mizaldus’ faction, and I am your vowed enemy, from the bodkin to the pincase. Hark in your ear.    210

Abi. Well, Thais. O you’re a cunning carver;[160] we two, that any time these fourteen years have called sisters, brought and bred up together, that have told one another all our wanton dreams, talk’d all night long of young men, and spent many an idle hour; fasted upon the stones on St. Agnes’[161] night together, practised all the petulant amorousness that delights young maids, yet have you conceal’d not only the marriage, but the man: and well you might deceive me, for I’ll be sworn you never dream’d of him, and it stands against all reason you should enjoy him you never dream’d of.    221

Tha. Is not all this the same in you? Did you ever manifest your sweetheart’s nose, that I might nose him by’t? commended his calf or his nether lip? apparent signs that you were not in love, or wisely covered it. Have you ever said, such a man goes upright, or has a better gait than any of the rest, as indeed, since he is proved a magnifico, I thought thou would’st have put it into my hands whate’er ’t had been.    229

Abi. Well, wench, we have cross fates; our husbands such inveterate foes, and we such entire friends; but the best is we are neighbours, and our back arbors may afford visitation freely. Prithee, let us maintain our familiarity still, whatsoever thy husband do unto thee, as I am afraid he will cross it i’ the nick.

Tha. Faith, you little one, if I please him in one thing, he shall please me in all, that’s certain. Who shall I have to keep my counsel if I miss thee? who shall teach me to use the bridle when the reins are in mine own hand? what to long for? when to take physic? where to be melancholy? Why, we two are one another’s grounds,[162] without which would be no music.    242

Abi. Well said, wench; and the prick-song we use shall be our husbands.

Tha. I will long for swine’s-flesh o’ the first child.

Abi. Wilt ’ou, little Jew? And I to kiss thy husband upon the least belly-ache. This will mad ’em.

Tha. I kiss thee, wench, for that, and with it confirm our friendship.

Men. By these sweet lips, widow!    250

Lady Lent. Good my lord, learn to swear by rote;
Your birth and fortune makes my brain suppose
That, like a man heated with wines and lust,
She that is next your object is your mate,
Till the foul water have quench’d out the fire.
You, the duke’s kinsman, tell me I am young,
Fair, rich, and virtuous. I myself will flatter
Myself, till you are gone that are more fair,
More rich, more virtuous, and more debonair:
All which are ladders to an higher reach.    260
Who drinks a puddle that may taste a spring?
Who kiss a subject that may hug a king?

Men. Yes, the camel always drinks in puddle-water;
And as for huggings, read antiquities.
Faith, madam, I’ll board thee one of these days.

Lady Lent. Ay, but ne’er bed me, my lord. My vow is firm,
Since God hath called me to this noble state,
Much to my grief, of virtuous widow-hood,
No man shall ever come within my gates.

Men. Wilt thou ram up thy porch-hold? O widow, I perceive    270
You’re ignorant of the lover’s legerdemain!
There is a fellow that by magic will assist
To murder princes invisible; I can command his spirit.
Or what say you to a fine scaling-ladder of ropes?
I can tell you I am a mad wag-halter;
But by the virtue I see seated in you,
And by the worthy fame is blazon’d of you;
By little Cupid, that is mighty nam’d,
And can command my looser follies down,
I love, and must enjoy, yet with such limits    280
As one that knows enforcèd marriage
To be the Furies’ sister. Think of me.

Abig. and Tha. Ha, ha, ha!

Men. How now, lady? does the toy take you, as they say?

Abi. No, my lord; nor do we take your toy, as they say.
This is a child’s birth that must not be delivered before a man,
Though your lordship might be a midwife for your chin.

Men. Some bawdy riddle, is ’t not? You long till ’t be night.    290

Tha. No, my lord, women’s longing comes after their marriage night. Sister, see you be constant now.

Abi. Why, dost think I’ll make my husband a cuckold?
O here they come!

Enter at several doors Mizaldus[163] with Claridiana; Guido, with Rogero, at another door; Mendoza meets them.

Men. Signior Rogero, are you yet qualified?

Rog. Yes; does any man think I’ll go like a sheep to the slaughter? Hands off, my lord; your lordship may chance come under my hands. If you do, I shall show myself a citizen, and revenge basely.    299

Clar. I think, if I were receiving the Holy Sacrament,
His sight would make me gnash my teeth terribly.
But there’s the beauty without parallel,[164]
In whom the Graces and the Virtues meet!
In her aspect mild Honour sits and smiles;
And who looks there, were it the savage bear
But would derive new nature from her eyes?
But to be reconciled simply for him,
Were mankind to be lost again, I’d let it,
And a new heap of stones should stock the world.
In heaven and earth this power beauty hath—    310
It inflames temperance and temp’rates wrath.
Whate’er thou art, mine art thou, wise or chaste;
I shall set hard upon thy marriage-vow,
And write revenge high in thy husband’s brow
In a strange character.—You may begin, sir.

Men. Signior Claridiana, I hope Signior Rogero thus employed me about a good office: ’twere worthy Cicero’s tongue, a famous oration now; but friendship, that is mutually embraced of the gods,
And is Jove’s usher to each sacred synod,    320
Without the which he could not reign in heaven,—
That over-goes my admiration, shall not
Under-go my censure!
These hot flames of rage, that else will be
As fire midst your nuptial jollity,
Burning the edge off from[165] the present joy,
And keep you wake to terror.

Clar. I have not yet swallowed the rhimatrix nor the onocentaur—the rhinoceros[166] was monstrous!

Gui. Sir, be you of the more flexible nature, and confess an error.    331

Clar. I must; the gods of love command,
And that bright star her eye, that guides my fate.—
Signior Rogero, joy, then, Signior Rogero!

Rog. Signior, sir? O devil!

Tha. Good husband, show yourself a temperate man!
Your mother was a woman, I dare swear—
No tiger got you, nor no bear was rival
In your conception—you seem like the issue
The painters limn leaping from Envy’s mouth,    340
That devours all he meets.

Rog. Had the last, or the least syllable
Of this more than immortal eloquence
Commenced to me when rage had been so high
Within my blood that it o’er-topt my soul,
Like to the lion when he hears the sound
Of Dian’s bowstring in some shady wood,
I should have couch’d my lowly limb on earth
And held my silence a proud sacrifice.

Clar. Slave, I will fight with thee at any odds;    350
Or name an instrument fit for destruction,
That e’er[167] was made to make away a man,
I’ll meet thee on the ridges of the Alps,[168]
Or some inhospitable wilderness,
Stark-naked, at push of pike, or keen curtle-axe,
At Turkish sickle, Babylonian saw,
The ancient hooks of great Cadwallader,
Or any other heathen invention!

Tha. O God bless the man!

Lady Len. Counsel him, good my lord!    360

Men. Our tongues are weary, and he desperate.
He does refuse to hear. What shall we do?

Clar. I am not mad—I can hear, I can see, I can feel!
But a wise rage in man, wrong’d[169] past compare,
Should be well nourish’d, as his virtues are.
I’d have it known unto each valiant sprite,[170]
He wrongs no man that to himself does right.
Catzo,[171] I ha’ done; Signior Rogero, I ha’ done!

Gui. By heaven!
This voluntary reconciliation, made    370
Freely and of itself, argues unfeign’d
And virtuous knot of love. So, sirs, embrace!

Rog. Sir, by the conscience of a Catholic man,
And by our mother Church, that binds
And doth atone in amity with God
The souls of men, that they with men be one,
I tread into the centre all the thoughts
Of ill in me toward you, and memory
Of what from you might aught disparage me;
Wishing unfeignedly it may sink low,    380
And, as untimely births, want power to grow.

Men. Christianly said! Signior, what would you have more?

Clar. And so I swear. You’re honest, onocentaur!

Gui. Nay, see now! Fie upon your turbulent spirit!
Did he doo ’t in this form?

Clar. If you think not this sufficient, you shall command me to be reconciled in another form—as a rhimatrix or a rhinoceros.[172]

Men. ’Sblood! what will you do?    389

Clar. Well, give me your hands first: I am friends with you, i’faith. Thereupon I embrace you, kiss your wife, and God give us joy!

[To Thais.

Tha. You mean me and my husband?

Clar. You take the meaning better than the speech, lady.

Rog. The like wish I, but ne’er can be the like,
And therefore wish I thee.

Clar. By this bright light, that is deriv’d from thee——

Tha. So, sir, you make me a very light creature!

Clar. But that thou art a blessèd angel, sent
Down from the gods t’ atone mortal men,    400
I would have thought deeds beyond all men’s thoughts,
And executed more upon his corps.
O let him thank the beauty of this eye,
And not his resolute swords or destiny.

Gui. What say’st thou, Mizaldus? Come, applaud this jubilee,
A day these hundred years before not truly known
To these divided factions.

Clar. No, nor this day had it been falsely born,
But that I mean to sound it with his horn.    409

Miz. I liked the former jar better. Then they show’d like men and soldiers, now like cowards and lechers.

Gui. Well said, Mizaldus; thou art like the bass viol in a consort,—let the other instruments[173] wish and delight in your highest sense, thou art still grumbling.

Clar. Nay, sweet, receive it [gives a letter to Thais[174]], and in it my heart:
And when thou read’st a moving syllable,
Think that my soul was secretary to ’t.
It is your love, and not the odious wish
Of my revenge in styling him a cuckold,
Makes me presume thus far. Then read it, fair,    420
My passion’s ample, as your[175] beauties are.

Tha.[176] Well, sir, we will not stick with you.

Gui. And, gentlemen, since it hath hapt so fortunately,
I do entreat we may all meet to-morrow
In some heroic masque, to grace the nuptials
Of the most noble Count of Cyprus.[177]

Men. Who does the young count marry?

Gui. O, sir,
Who but the very heir of all her sex,
That bears the palm of beauty from ’em all?
Others, compared to her, show like faint stars    430
To the full moon of wonder in her face:—
The Lady Isabella, the late widow
To the deceased and noble Viscount Hermus.

Men. Law you there, widow, there’s one of the last edition,
Whose husband yet retains in his cold trunk
Some little airing of his noble guest;[178]
Yet she a fresh bride as the month of May.

Lady Len. Well, my lord, I am none of these
That have my second husband bespoke;
My door shall be a testimony of it;    440
And but these noble marriages incite me,
My much abstracted presence should have show’d it.
If you come to me, hark in your ear, my lord,
Look your ladder of ropes be strong,
For I shall tie you to your tackling.

Gui. Gentlemen, your answer to the masque.

Omnes. Your honour leads: we’ll follow.

Rog. Signior Claridiana.

Clar. I attend you, sir.

Tha.[179] You’ll be constant?    450

[Exeunt all but Claridiana.

Clar. Above the adamant; the goat’s blood[180] shall not break me.
Yet shallow fools and plainer moral men,
That understand not what they undertake,
Fall in their own snares or come short of vengeance.
No; let the sun view with an open face,
And afterward shrink in his blushing cheeks,
Ashamed and cursing of the fix’d decree,
That makes his light bawd to the crimes of men.
When I have ended what I now devise,
Apollo’s oracle shall swear me wise.    460
Strumpet his wife! branch my false-seeming friend!
And make him foster what my hate begot,
A bastard, that, when age and sickness seize him,
Shall be a corsive[181] to his griping heart.
I’ll write to her; for what her modesty
Will not permit, nor my adulterate forcing,
That blushless herald shall not fear to tell.
Rogero shall know yet that his foe’s a man,
And, what is more, a true Italian!

[Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Venice.—Hall in Roberto’s house.

Enter Roberto, Lord Cardinal, Isabella, Lady Lentulus, Abigail, and Thais. Lights.

Rob. My grave Lord Cardinal, we congratulate,
And zealously do entertain your love,
That from your high and divine contemplation
You have vouchsafed to consummate a day
Due to our nuptials. O may this knot you knit—
This individual Gordian grasp of hands,
In sight of God so fairly intermixt—
Never be sever’d, as Heaven smiles at it,
By all the darts shot by infernal Jove!
Angels of grace, Amen, Amen, say to ’t!    10
Fair lady-widow, and my worthy mistress,
Do you keep silence for a wager?

Tha. Do you ask a woman that question, my lord, when she enforcedly pursues what she’s forbidden? I think, if I had been tied to silence, I should have been worthy the cucking-stool ere this time.

Rob. You shall not be my orator, lady, that pleads thus for your self.

Enter a Servant.[182]

Ser. My lord, the masquers are at hand.

Rob. Give them kind entertainment.—Some worthy friends of mine, my lord, unknown to me, too lavish of their loves, bring their own welcome in a solemn masque.    23

Abi. I am glad there’s noblemen in the masque, with our husbands to overrule them; they had shamed us all[183] else.

Tha. Why? for why, I pray?

Abi. Why?—marry, they had come in with some city show else; hired a few tinsel coats, at the vizard-makers, which would ha’ made them look for all the world like bakers in their linen bases[184] and mealy vizards, new come from boulting. I saw a show once at the marriage of Magnificero’s daughter, presented by Time, which Time was an old bald thing, a servant: ’twas the best man; he was a dyer, and came in likeness of the rainbow, in all manner of colours, to show his art; but the rainbow smelt of urine so we were all afraid the property was changed, and look’d for a shower. Then came in after him, one that, it seem’d, feared no colours[185]—a grocer that had trimm’d up himself handsomely: he was justice, and show’d reasons[186] why. And I think this grocer—I mean this justice—had borrowed a weather-beaten balance from some justice of a conduit, both which scales were replenish’d with the choice of his ware. And the more liberally to show his nature, he gave every woman in the room her handful.    46

Tha. O great act of justice! Well, and my husband come cleanly off with this, he shall ne’er betray his weakness more, but confess himself a citizen hereafter, and acknowledge their wit, for alas! they come short.

Enter in the Masque, the Count of Massino,[187] Mendoza, Claridiana, and Torch-bearers. They deliver their shields to their several mistresses—that is to say, Mendoza to the Lady Lentulus; Claridiana to Thais;[188] to Isabella, Massino; to Abigail, Rogero.

Isa. Good my lord, be my expositor.

[To the Cardinal.

Car. The sun setting, a man pointing at it:
The motto, Senso tamen ipse calorem.
Fair bride, some servant of yours, that here imitates
To have felt the heat of love bred in your brightness,
But setting thus from him by marriage;
He only here acknowledgeth your power,
And must[189] expect beams of a morrow-sun.

Lady Len. Lord Bridegroom, will you interpret me?

Rob. A sable shield: the word,[190] Vidua spes.    60
What—the forlorn hope, in black, despairing?
Lady Lentulus, is this the badge of all your suitors?

Lady Len. Ay, by my troth, my lord, if they come to me.

Rob. I could give it another interpretation. Methinks this lover has learn’d of women to deal by contraries; if so, then here he says, the widow is his only hope.

Lady Len. No; good my lord, let the first stand.

Rob. Inquire of him, and he’ll resolve the doubt.

Abi. What’s here?—a ship sailing nigh her haven?
With good ware belike: ’tis well ballast.    70

Tha. O this your device smells of the merchant. What’s your ship’s name, I pray? The Forlorn Hope?

Abi. No; The Merchant Royal.

Tha. And why not Adventurer?

Abi. You see no likelihood of that: would it not fain be in the haven? The word, Ut tangerem portum. Marry, for aught I know; God grant it. What’s there?

Tha. Mine’s an azure shield: marry, what else? I should tell thee more than I understand; but the word is, Aut pretio, aut precibus.    80

Abi. Ay, ay, some common-council device.

[They take the women, and dance the first change.

Men. Fair widow, how like you this change?

Lady Len. I chang’d too lately to like any.

Men. O your husband! you wear his memory like a death’s-head.
For Heaven’s love, think of me as of the man
Whose dancing days you see are not yet done.

Lady Len. Yet you sink a-pace,[191] sir.

Men. The fault’s in my upholsterer, lady.

Rog. Thou shalt as soon find Truth telling a lie,    90
Virtue a bawd, Honesty a courtier,
As me turn’d recreant to thy least design.
Love makes me speak, and he makes love divine.

Abi.[192] Would Love could make you so! but ’tis his guise
To let us surfeit ere he ope our eyes.

Tha.[193] You grasp my hand too hard, i’faith, fair sir.

[Claridiana holds her by the hand.

Clar. Not as you grasp my heart, unwilling wanton.
Were but my breast bare and anatomised,
Thou shouldst behold there how thou torturest it;
And as Apelles limn’d the Queen of Love,    100
In her right hand grasping a heart in flames,
So may I thee, fairer, but crueller.

Tha.[193] Well, sir, your vizor gives you colour for what you say.

Clar. Grace me to wear this favour; ’tis a gem
That vails to your eyes, though not to the eagle’s,
And in exchange give me one word of comfort.

Tha.[193] Ay, marry: I like this wooer well:
He’ll win’s pleasure out o’ the stones.

[The second change, Isabella falls in love with Massino;[194] when[195] they change she speaks.

Isa. Change is no robbery; yet in this change    110
Thou robb’st me of my heart. Sure Cupid’s here,
Disguisèd like a pretty torch-bearer,
And makes his brand a torch, that with more sleight
He may entrap weak women. Here the sparks
Fly, as in Ætna from his father’s anvil.
O powerful boy!
My heart’s on fire, and unto mine eyes
The raging flames ascend like to two beacons,
Summoning my strongest powers; but all too late;
The conqueror already opes the gate.    120
I will not ask his name.

Abi. You dare put it into my hands.

Rog.[196] Zounds,[197] do you think I will not?

Abi. Then thus: to-morrow (you’ll be secret, servant)—

Rog. All that I do, I’ll do in secret.

Abi. My husband goes to Maurano[198] to renew the farm he has.

Rog. Well, what time goes the jakes-farmer?

Abi. He shall not be long out, but you shall put in, I warrant you. Have a care that you stand just i’ the nick about six o’clock in the evening; my maid shall conduct you up. To save mine honour, you must come up darkling, and to avoid suspicion.    133

Rog. Zounds! hoodwink’d! and if you’ll open all, sweet lady——

Abi. But if you fail to do ’t——

Rog. The sun shall fail the day first.

Abi. Tie this ring fast, you may be sure to know.
You’ll brag of this, now you have brought me to the bay.

Rog. Pox o’ this masque! would ’twere done! I might
To my apothecary’s for some stirring meats!    141

Tha. Methinks, sir, you should blush e’en through your vizor.
I have scarce patience to dance out the rest.

Clar.[199] The worse my fate, that ploughs a marble quarry:
Pygmalion, yet thy image was more kind,
Although thy love[200] not half so true as mine.
Dance they that list, I sail against the wind.

Tha. Nay, sir, betray not your infirmities,
You’ll make my husband jealous by and by.
We will think of you, and that presently.    150

Mass.[201] The spheres ne’er danced unto a better tune.
Sound music there!

[The third change ended, ladies fall off.

Isa. ’Twas music that he spake.

Rob. Gallants, I thank you, and begin a health
To your mistresses!

Three or four. Fair thanks, Sir Bridegroom.

Isa. [Aside.] He speaks not to this pledge; has he no mistress?
Would I might choose one for him! but ’t may be
He doth adore a brighter star than we.

Rob. Sit, ladies, sit; you have had standing long.

[Massino[202] dances a Levalto or a Galliard, and in the midst of it falleth into the Bride’s lap, but straight leaps up and danceth it out.

Men. Bless the man! sprightly and nobly done!

Tha. What, is your ladyship hurt?

Isa. O no, an easy fall.    160
[Aside.] Was I not deep enough, thou god of lust,
But I must further wade! I am his now,
As sure as Juno’s Jove’s! Hymen, take flight,
And see not me, ’tis not my wedding night.

[Exit Isabella.

Car. The bride’s departed, discontent it[203] seems.

Rob. We’ll after her. Gallants, unmasque I pray,
And taste a homely banquet, we entreat.

[Exeunt Roberto, Cardinal, and lights.

Clar. Candied[204] eringoes, I beseech thee.

Men. Come, widow, I’ll be bold to put you in.
My lord, will you have a sociate?    170

[Exeunt Thais, Lady Lentulus, Abigail, and Mendoza.

Mass.[205] Good gentlemen, if I have any interest in you,
Let me depart unknown; ’tis a disgrace
Of an eternal memory.

Rog.[206] What, the fall, my lord?—as common a thing as can be. The stiffest man in Italy may fall between a woman’s legs.

Clar. Would I had changed places with you, my lord—would it had been my hap!

Mass. What cuckold laid his horns in my way?
Signior Claridiana, you were by the lady when I fell:
Do you think I hurt her?    181

Clar. You could not hurt her, my lord, between the legs.

Mass. What was ’t I fell withal?

Rog. A cross-point, my lord.

Mass. Cross-point, indeed.
Well, if you love me, let me hence unknown;
The silence yours, the disgrace mine own.

[Exeunt Claridiana and Rogero.[207]

Enter Isabella with a gilt goblet, and meets Massino.[208]

Isa. Sir, if wine were nectar, I’d[209] begin a health
To her that were most gracious in your eye:    190
Yet deign, as simply ’tis the gift of Bacchus,
To give her pledge that drinks. This god of wine
Cannot inflame me more to appetite,
Though he be co-supreme[210] with mighty Love,
Than thy fair shape.

Mass. Zounds! she comes to deride me.

Isa. That kiss shall serve
To be a pledge, although my lips should starve.—
[Aside.] No trick to get that vizor from his face?

Mass. I will steal hence, and so conceal disgrace.

Isa. Sir, have you left naught behind?    200

Mass. Yes, Lady,[211] but the fates will not permit
(As gems once lost are seldom or never found)
I should convey it with me. Sweet, good-night!
[Aside.] She bends to me: there’s my fall again.

[Exit.

Isa. He’s gone! That lightning that a while doth strike
Our eyes with amaz’d brightness, and on a sudden
Leaves us in prison’d darkness! Lust, thou art high;
My similes[212] may well come from the sky.
Anna, Anna!

Enter Anna.

Anna. Madam, did you call?    209

Isa. Follow yond stranger; prithee learn his name.
We may hereafter thank him. [Exit Anna.] How I dote!
Is he not a god
That can command what other men would win
With the hard’st advantage? I must have him,
Or, shadow-like, follow his fleeting steps.
Were I as Daphne, and he followed chase,
(Though I rejected young Apollo’s love,
And like a dream beguile his wand’ring steps;)
Should he pursue me through the neighbouring grove,
Each cowslip-stalk should trip a willing fall,    220
Till he were mine, who till then am his thrall.
Nor will I blush, since worthy is my chance:[213]
’Tis said that Venus with a satyr slept;
And how much short came she of my fair aim!
Then, Queen of Love, a precedent I’ll be,
To teach fair women learn to love of me.
Speak, music: what’s his name?

Enter Anna.

Anna. Madam, it was the worthy Count Massino.

Isa. Blest be thy tongue! The worthy count indeed,
The worthiest of the worthies. Trusty Anna,    230
Hast thou pack’d up those monies, plate, and jewels
I gave direction for?

Anna. Yes, madam; I have truss’d up them, that many a proper man has been truss’d up for.

Isa. I thank thee. Take the wings of night,
Beloved secretary, and post with them to Pavia;[214]
There furnish up some stately palace
Worthy to entertain the king of love:
Prepare it for my coming and my love’s.
Ere Phœbus’ steeds once more unharness’d be,    240
Or ere he sport with his belovèd Thetis,
The silver-footed goddess of the sea,
We will set forward. Fly like the northern wind,
Or swifter, Anna,—fleet like to my mind.

Anna. I am just of your mind, madam. I am gone.

[Exit Anna.

Isa. So to the house of death the mourner goes,
That is bereft of what his soul desired,
As I to bed—I to my nuptial bed,
The heaven on earth: so to thought-slaughters went
The pale Andromeda, bedew’d with tears.    250
When every minute she expected gripes
Of a fell monster, and in vain bewail’d
The act of her creation. Sullen Night,
That look’st with sunk eyes on my nuptial bed,
With ne’er a star that smiles upon the end,
Mend thy slack pace, and lend the malcontent,
The hoping lover, and the wishing bride,
Beams that too long thou shadowest: or, if not,
In spite of thy fix’d front, when my loath’d mate
Shall struggle in due pleasure for his right,    260
I’ll think ’t my love, and die in that delight!

[Exit.