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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AMENDS FOR LADIES, by NATHANIEL FIELD
First Line: A wife the happiest state?
Last Line: She leads feesimple towards bold.
Alternate Author Name(s): Field, Nat
Subject(s): Fidelity; Marriage; Faithfulness; Constancy; Weddings; Husbands; Wives
First Line: A wife the happiest state?
Last Line: She leads feesimple towards bold.
Alternate Author Name(s): Field, Nat
Subject(s): Fidelity; Marriage; Faithfulness; Constancy; Weddings; Husbands; Wives
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
THE COUNT, Father of Lord FEESIMPLE.
LORD FEESIMPLE.
LORD PROUDLY.
SIR JOHN LOVEALL.
SUBTLE, his Friend.
INGEN, in love with Lady HONOUR.
FRANK, his younger Brother.
BOLD, in love with Lady BRIGHT.
WELLTRIED, his Friend.
SELDOM, a Citizen.
WHOREBANG, Roarer.
BOTS, Roarer.
TEARCHAPS, Roarer.
SPILLBLOOD, Roarer.
PITTS, Serjeant.
DONNER, Serjeant.
Parson, Page, Drawer, &c.
LADY HONOUR, a Maid. Sister of LORD PROUDLY, wife of Sir JOHN LOVEALL.
LADY PERFECT,
LADY BRIGHT, a Widow.
GRACE, Wife of SELDOM.
MOLL CUT-PURSE.
SCENE—LONDON.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—A Room in Sir JOHN LOVEALL'S House.
Enter LADY HONOUR, LADY PERFECT, and LADY BRIGHT.
LADY HON. A wife the happiest state?
It cannot be.
L. Per. Yes, such a wife as I, that have a man
As if myself had made him: such a one
As I may justly say, I am the rib
Belonging to his breast. Widow and maid,
Your lives compared to mine are miserable,
Though wealth and beauty meet in each of you.
Poor virgin, all thy sport is thought of love
And meditation of a man; the time
And circumstance, ere thou canst fix thy thoughts
On one thy fancy will approve.
L. Hon. That trouble
Already may be passed.
L. Per. Why, if it be,
The doubt he will not hold his brittle faith,
That he is not a compatible choice,
And so your noble friends will cross the match,
Doth make your happiness uncertain still;
Or, say you married him, what he would prove.
Can you compare your state, then, to a wife?
L. Hon. Nay, all the freedom that a virgin hath
Is much to be preferred. Who would endure
The humours of so insolent a thing
As is a husband? Which of all the herd
Runs not possessed with some notorious vice,
Drinking or whoring, fighting, jealousy,
Even of a page at twelve or of a groom
That rubs horse-heels? Is it not daily seen,
Men take wives but to dress their meat, to wash
And starch their linen: for the other matter
Of lying with them, that's but when they please:
And whatsoe'er the joy be of the bed,
The pangs that follow procreation
Are hideous, or you wives have gulled your husbands
With your loud shriekings and your deathful throes.
A wife or widow to a virgin's life!
L. Bright. Why should the best of you think ye enjoy
The roost^1^ and rule, that a free widow doth?
I am mine own commander, and the bliss
Of wooers and of each variety
Frequents me, as I were a maid. No brother
Have I to dice my patrimony away, as you,
My maiden-madam, may. No husband's death
Stand I in doubt on; for thanks be to Heaven,
If mine were good, the grievous loss of him
Is not to come; if he were bad, he's gone,
And I no more embrace my injury.
But be yours ill, you nightly clasp your hate;
Or good—why, he may die or change his virtue.
And thou, though single, hast a bed-fellow
As bad as the worst husband—thought of one;
And what that is men with their wives do do,
And long expectance till the deed be done.
A wife is like a garment used and torn:
A maid like one made up, but never worn.
L. Hon. A widow is a garment worn threadbare,
Selling at second-hand, like broker's ware.
But let us speak of things the present time
Makes happy to us, and see what is best.
I have a servant then, the crown of men,
The fountain of humanity, the prize
Of every virtue, moral and divine;
Young, valiant, learnèd, well-born, rich, and shaped,
As if wise Nature, when she fashioned him,
Had meant to give him nothing but his form;
Yet all additions are conferred on him,
That may delight a woman: this same youth
To me hath sacrificed his heart, yet I
Have checked his suit, laughed at his worthy service,
Made him the exercise of my cruelty,
Whilst constant as the sun, for all these clouds,
His love goes on.
Enter INGEN.
L. Bright. Peace, here's the man you name.
L. Per. Widow, we'll stand aside.
Ingen. Good morrow to the glory of our age,
The Lady Perfect and the Lady Bright,
[Meeting Lady PERFECT and Lady BRIGHT.^2^
The virtuous wife and widow; but to you,
The Lady Honour and my mistress,
The happiness of your wishes.
L. Hon. By this light,
I never heard one speak so scurvily,
Utter such stale wit, and pronounce so ill.
"But to you, my Lady Honour and my mistress,
The happiness of your wishes!"
Ingen. Stop your wit;
You would fain show these ladies, what a hand
You hold over your servant: 't shall not need;
I will express your tyranny well enough.
I have loved this lady since I was a child,
Since I could construe Amo: now she says
I do not love her, 'cause I do not weep,
Lay mine arms o'er my heart, and wear no garters,
Walk with mine eyes in my hat, sigh and make faces
For all the poets in the town to laugh at.
Pox o' this howling love! 'tis like a dog
Shut out at midnight. Must love needs be powdered,
Lie steeped in brine, or will it not keep sweet?
Is it like beef in summer?
L. Hon. Did you ever
Hear one talk fustian like a butcher thus?
Ingen. 'Tis foolish, this same telling folks we love:
It needs no words, 'twill show itself in deeds;
And did I take you for an entertainer,
A lady that will wring one by the finger,
Whilst on another's toes she treads, and cries
"By gad, I love but one, and you are he,"
Either of them thinking himself the man,
I'd tell you in your ear, put for the business,
Which granted or denied, "Madam, God be wi' ye."
L. Hon. Come, these are daily slanders that you raise
On our infirm and unresisting sex:
You never met, I'm sure, with such a lady.
Ingen. O, many, by this light. I've seen a chamber
Frequented like an office of the law:
Clients succeed at midnight one another,
Whilst the poor madam hath been so distressed
Which of her lovers to show most countenance to,
That her dull husband has perceived her wiles.
L. Hon. Nay, perhaps taught her: many of those husbands
Are base enough to live upon't.
Ingen. I have seen another of 'em
Cheat, by this light, at cards, and set her women
To talk to the gentlemen that played,
That, so distracted, they might oversee.
L. Hon. O, fie upon ye! I dare swear you lie.
Ingen. Do not, fair mistress; you will be forsworn.
L. Hon. You men are all foul-mouthed: I warrant, you
Talk thus of me and other ladies here
Because we keep the city.
Ingen. O, profane!
That thought would damn me. Will you marry yet?
L. Hon. No, I will never marry.
Ingen. Shall we then
Couple unlawfully? for indeed this marrying
Is but proclaiming what we mean to do;
Which may be done privately in civil sort,
And none the wiser; and by this white hand,
The rack, strappado, or the boiling boot^3^
Should never force me tell to wrong your honour.
L. Hon. May I believe this?
Ingen. Let it be your creed.
L. Hon. But if you should prove false? Nay, ne'er unhang
Your sword, except you mean to hang yourself.
Why, where have you been drinking? 'sfoot, you talk
Like one of these same rambling boys that reign
In Turnbull^4^ Street.
Ingen. How do you know?
L. Hon. Indeed, my knowledge is but speculative,
Not practice there; I have it by relation
From such observers as yourself, dear servant.
I must profess I did think well of thee,
But get thee from my sight, I never more
Will hear or see thee, but will hate thee deadly,
As a man-enemy, or a woman turned.
Ladies, come forth.
Re-enter Lady BRIGHT and Lady PERFECT.
See, sir, what courtesy
You have done to me: a strange praise of you
Had newly left my lips just as you entered,
And how you have deserved it with your carriage!
Villain! thou hast hurt mine honour to these friends,
For what can they imagine but some ill
Hath passed betwixt us by thy broad discourse?
Were my case theirs, by virgin chastity,
I should condemn them. Hence! depart my sight!
Ingen. Madam, but hear me. O, that these were men,
And durst but say or think you ill for this!
I have so good a cause upon my side
That I would cut their hearts out of their breasts,
And the thoughts out of them that injured you.
But I obey your hest, and for my penance
Will run a course never to see you more:
And now I lose you, may I lose the light,
Since in that beauty dwelt my day or night.
[Exit INGEN.
L. Bright. Is this the virtuous youth?
L. Per. Your happiness?
L. Bright. Wherein you thought your seat so far 'bove ours.
L. Hon. If one man could be good' this had been he.
See, here come all your suitors and your husband;
And, room for laughter! here's the Lord Feesimple.
What gentlewoman does he bring along?
Enter Sir JOHN LOVEALL, embracing SUBTLE; Lord FEE-SIMPLE, with
BOLD
disguised as a Waiting Gentlewoman, and WELLTRIED. WELLTRIED, Sir
JOHN,
and SUBTLE, talk with Lady PERFECT.
L. Fee. One-and-thirty good morrows to the fairest,
wisest, richest widow that ever conversation coped^5^ withal.
L. Bright. Threescore and two unto the wisest lord
That ever was trained in university.
L. Fee. O courteous, bounteous widow! she has out-bid me thirty-one
good morrows at a clap.
Well. But, my Lord Feesimple, you forget the business imposed on you.
L. Fee. Gentlewoman, I cry thee mercy; but 'tis a fault in all lords,
not in me only: we do use to swear by our honours, and as we are noble, to
despatch such a business for such a gentleman; and we are bound, even by the
same honours we swear by, to forget it in a quarter of an hour, and look as if
we had never seen the party when we meet next, especially if none of our
gentlemen have been considered.
Well. Ay, but all yours have, for you keep none, my lord: besides,
though it stands with your honour to forget men's businesses, yet it stands
not
with your honour if you do not do a woman's.
L. Fee. Why then, madam, so it is that I request your ladyship to
accept into your service this gentlewoman. For her truth and honesty I will be
bound; I have known her too long to be deceived.—This is the second time
I
have seen her. [Aside.
L. Hon. Why, how now, my lord! a preferrer of gentlewomen to service,
like an old knittingwoman? where hath she dwelt before?
L. Fee. She dwelt with young Bold's sister, he that is my corrival
^6^
in your love. She requested me to advance her to you, for you are a dubbed
lady;
so is not she yet.
Well. But now you talk of young Bold—when did you see him, lady?
L. Bright. Not this month, Master Welltried.
I did conjure him to forbear my sight;
Indeed, swore if he came, I'd be denied.
But 'tis strange you should ask for him: ye two
Were wont never to be asunder.
Well. Faith, madam, we never were together, but
We differed on some argument or other;
And doubting lest our discord might at length
Breed to some quarrel, I forbear him too.
L. Fee. He quarrel? Bold? hang him, if he durst have quarrelled, the
world knows he's within a mile of an oak has put him to't, and soundly. I
never
cared for him in my life, but to see his sister: he's an ass, pox! an arrant
ass; for do you think any but an arrant ass would offer to come a-wooing
where a
lord attempts? He quarrel!—he dares not quarrel.
Well. But he dares fight, my lord, upon my knowledge:
And rail no more, my lord, behind his back,
For if you do, my lord, blood must ensue. [Draws.
L. Fee. O, O, my honour dies! I am dead. [Swoons.
Well. Ud's light, what's the matter? wring him by the nose.
L. Bright. A pair of riding spurs, now, were worth gold.
L. Hon. Pins are as good. Prick him, prick him.
L. Fee. O, O!
L. Per. He's come again, lift him up.
All. How fares your lordship?
L. Fee. O friends, you have wronged my spirit to call it back:
I was even in Elysium at rest.
Well. But why, sir, did you swoon?
L. Fee. Well, though I die, Master Welltried, before all these I do
forgive you, because you were ignorant of my infirmity. O sir! is't not
up yet?
I die again! Put up, now, whilst I wink, or I do wink for ever.
Well. 'Tis up, my lord; ope your eyes: but I pray, tell me, is this
antipathy 'twixt bright steel and you natural, or how grew it.
L. Fee. I'll tell you, sir: anything bright and edged works thus
strongly with me. Your hilts, now, I can handle as boldly, look you else.
Sir John. Nay, never blame my lord, Master Welltried, for I know a
great many will swoon at the sight of a shoulder of mutton or a quarter of
lamb.
My lord may be excused, then, for a naked sword.
Well. This lord and this knight in dog-collars would make a fine
brace
of beagles.
L. Hon. But, on my faith, 'twas mightily overseen of your father, not
to bring you up to foils—or if he had bound you 'prentice to a cutler or
an
ironmonger.
L. Fee. Ha, pox! hang him, old gouty fool! He never brought me up to
any lordly exercise, as fencing, dancing, tumbling and such like; but,
forsooth,
I must write and read, and speak languages, and such base qualities, fit for
none but gentlemen. Now, sir, would I tell him, "Father, you are a
count, I am a
lord. A pox o' writing and reading, and languages! Let me be
brought up as I was
born."
Sub. But how, my lord, came you first not to endure the sight of steel
?
L. Fee. Why, I'll tell you, sir. When I was a child, an infant, an
innocent^7^—
L. Hon. 'Twas even now. [Aside.
L. Fee. I being in the kitchen, in my lord my father's house, the cook
was making minced pies: so, sir, I standing by the dresser, there lay a heap
of
plums. Here was he mincing: what did I, sir, being a notable little witty
coxcomb, but popped my hand just under his chopping-knife, to snatch some
raisins, and so was cut o'er the hand, and never since could I endure the
sight
of any edge-tool.
L. Bright. Indeed, they are not fit for you, my lord. And now you are
all so well satisfied in this matter, pray, ladies, how like you this my
gentlewoman?
L. Hon. In truth, madam, exceedingly well, I. If you be provided,
pray,
let me have her.
L. Per. It should be my request, but that I am full.
L. Bright. What can you do? What's her name, my lord?
L. Fee. Her name? I know not. What's her name,
Master Welltried?
Well. Her name? 'Slid, tell my lady your name.
Bold. Mistriss Mary Princox, forsooth.
L. Bright. Mistress Mary Princox. She has wit, I perceive that
already.
Methinks she speaks as if she were my lord's brood.
Bold. Brood, madam? 'Tis well known I am a gentlewoman. My
father was a
man of five hundred per annum, and he held something in capite too.
Well. So does my lord something.
L. Fee. Nay, by my troth, what I hold in capite is
worth little or
nothing.
Bold. I have had apt breeding, however my misfortune now makes me
submit myself to service; but there is no ebb so low but hath his tide again.
When our days are at worst, they will mend in spite of the frowning destinies,
for we cannot be lower than earth; and the same blind dame that hath cast her
blear eyes hitherto upon my occasions may turn her wheel, and at last wind
them
up with her white hand to some pinnacle that prosperously may flourish in the
sunshine of promotion.
L. Fee. O mouth, full of agility! I would give twenty marks now
to any
person that could teach me to convey my tongue (sans stumbling) with such
dexterity to such a period. For her truth and her honesty I am bound
before, but
now I have heard her talk, for her wit I will be bound body and goods.
L. Bright. Ud's light, I will not leave her for my hood. I never met
with one of these eloquent old gentlewomen before. What age are you, Mistress
Mary Princox?
Bold. I will not lie, madam. I have numbered fifty-seven summers, and
just so many winters have I passed.
Sub. But they have not passed you; they lie frozen in your face.
Bold. Madam, if it shall please you to entertain me, so; if not, I
desire you not to misconstrue my goodwill. There's no harm done; the door's as
big as it was, and your ladyship's own wishes crown your beauty with content.
As
for these frumping gallants, let them do their worst. It is not in man's power
to hurt me. 'Tis well known I come not to be scoffed. A woman may bear and
bear,
till her back burst. I am a poor gentlewoman, and since virtue hath
nowadays no
other companion but poverty, I set the hare's head unto the goose giblets, and
what I want one way, I hope I shall be enabled to supply the other.
L. Fee. An't please God, that thou wert not past children.
L. Bright. Is't even so, my lord? Nay, good Princox, do not cry. I do
entertain you. How do you occupy? What can you use?
Bold. Anything fit to be put into the hands of a gentlewoman.
L. Bright. What are your qualities?
Bold. I can sleep on a low stool. If your ladyship be talking in the
same room with any gentleman, I can read on a book, sing love-songs, look up
at
the loover light,^8^ hear and be deaf, see and be blind, be ever dumb to your
secrets, swear and equivocate, and whatsoever I spy, say the best.
L. Bright. O rare crone, how art thou endued! But why did Master
Bold's
sister put you away?
Bold. I beseech you, madam, to neglect that desire: though I know your
ladyship's understanding to be sufficient to partake, or take in, the greatest
secret can be imparted, yet—
L. Bright. Nay, prythee, tell the cause. Come, here's none but
friends.
Bold. Faith, madam, heigho! I was (to confess truly) a little foolish
in my last service to believe men's oaths, but I hope my example, though
prejudicial to myself, will be beneficial to other young gentlewomen in
service.
My mistress's brother (the gentleman you named even now—Master Bold),
having often attempted my honour, but finding it impregnable, vowed love and
marriage to me at the last. I, a young thing and raw, being seduced,
set my mind
upon him, but friends contradicting the match, I fell into a grievous
consumption; and upon my first recovery, lest the intended sacred
ceremonies of
nuptials should succeed, his sister, knowing this, thought it fit in her
judgment we should be farther asunder, and so put me out of her service.
All. Ha, ha, ha!
L. Bright. God-a-mercy for this discovery, i'faith.
O man, what art thou when thy cock is up?
Come, will your lordship walk in? 'tis dinner-time.
Enter SELDOM, hastily, with papers.
All. Who's this? who's this?
L. Hon. This is our landlord, Master Seldom, an
exceeding wise citizen,
a very sufficient understanding man, and exceeding rich.
All. Miracles are not ceased.
L. Bright. Good morrow, landlord. Where have you been sweating?
Sel. Good morrow to your honours: thrift is
industrious. Your ladyship
knows we will not stick to sweat for our pleasures; how much more ought we to
sweat for our profits; I am come from Master Ingen
this morning, who is married,
or to be married; and though your ladyship did not honour his nuptials with you
r
presence, he hath by me sent each of you a pair of gloves, and Grace Seldom,
my
wife, is not forgot. [Exit.
All. God give him joy, God give him joy.
[Exeunt all but Lady HONOUR, Lady PERFECT, Sir JOHN LOVEALL,
and SUBTLE.
L. Hon. Let all things most impossible change now!
O perjured man! oaths are but words, I see.
But wherefore should not we, that think we love
Upon full merit, that same worth once ceasing,
Surcease our love too, and find new desert?
Alas! we cannot; love's a pit which, when
We fall into, we ne'er get out again:
And this same horrid news which me assaults,
I would forget: love blanches blackest faults.
O, what path shall I tread for remedy
But darkest shades, where love with death doth lie!
[Aside and exit.
L. Per. Sir, I have often heard my husband speak
Of your acquaintance.
Sir John. Nay, my virtuous wife,
Had it been but acquaintance, this his absence
Had not appeared so uncouth: but we two
Were school-fellows together, born and nursed,
Brought up, and lived since, like the Gemini:
Had but one suck: the tavern or the ordinary,
Ere I was married, that saw one of us
Without the other, said we walked by halves.
Where, dear, dear friend, have you been all this while?
Sub. O most sweet friend, the world's so vicious,
That had I with such familiarity
Frequented you, since you were married,
Possessed and used your fortunes as before,
As in like manner you commanded mine,
The depraved thoughts of men would have proclaimed
Some scandalous rumours from this love of ours,
As saying mine reflected on your lady;
And what a wound had that been to our souls,
When only friendship should have been the ground
To hurt her honour and your confident peace,
Spite of mine own approved integrity?
Sir John. Wife, kiss him, bid him welcome: pox o' th' world!
Come, come, you shall not part from me in haste.
I do command thee use this gentleman
In all things like myself: if I should die,
I would bequeath him in my will to thee.
L. Per. Sir, you are most welcome, and let scandalous tongues
No more deter you: I dare use you, sir,
With all the right belonging to a friend,
And what I dare, I dare let all men see.
My conscience, rather than men's thoughts, be free.
Sir John. Will you look in? We'll follow you.
[Exit Lady PERFECT.
Now, friend,
What think you of this lady?
Sub. Why, sweet friend,
That you are happy in her: she is fair;
Witty, and virtuous, and was rich to you.
Can there be an addition to a wife?
Sir John. Yes, constancy; for 'tis not chastity
That lives remote, from all attempters free;
But there 'tis strong and pure, where all that woo
It doth resist, and turns them virtuous too.
Therefore, dear friend, by this, love's masculine kiss,
By all our mutual engagements passed,
By all the hopes of amity to come,
Be you the settler of my jealous thoughts,
And make me kill my fond suspect of her
By assurance that she is loyal, otherwise
That she is false; and then, as she's past cure,
My soul shall ever after be past care.
That you are fittest for this enterprise,
You must needs understand; since, prove she true
In this your trial, you (my dearest friend),
Whom only rather than the world besides,
I would have satisfied of her virtue, shall see^9^
And best conceal my folly. Prove she weak,
'Tis better you should know't than any man,
Who can reform her, and do me no wrong.
Chemical metals, and bright gold itself,
By sight are not distinguished, but by the test:
Thought makes good wives, but trial makes the best.
To the unskilful owner's eyes alike
The Bristow^10^ sparkles as the diamond,
But by a lapidary the truth is found—
Come, you shall not deny me.
Sub. Do not wrong
So fair a wife, friend, and so virtuous,
Whose good name is a theme unto the world:
Make not a wound with searching, where was none.
Misfortune still such projects doth pursue;
He makes a false wife that suspects a true.
Yet since you so importune, give me leave
To ruminate awhile, and I will straight
Follow, and give you an answer.
Sir John. You must do it. [Exit.
Sub. Assure yourself, dear coxcomb, I will do't,
Or strangely be denied. All's as I wished;
This was my aim, although I have seemed strange.
I know this fellow now to be an ass,
A most unworthy husband, though in view
He bear himself thus fair; she knows this too,
Therefore the stronger are my hopes to gain her;
And, my dear friend, that will have your wife tried,
I'll try her first, then trust her, if I can;
And, as you said most wisely, I hope to be
Both touchstone to your wife and lapidary. [Exit.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—Inside SELDOM'S Shop.
Enter SELDOM and his Wife GRACE.
MIS. SEL. Husband, these gloves are not fit for my wearing; I'll put 'em into
the shop, and sell 'em: you shall give me a plain pair for them.
Sel. This is wonderful, wonderful! this is thy sweet care and judgment in
all things: this goodness is not usual in our wives. Well, Grace Seldom, that
thou art fair is nothing, that thou art witty is nothing, that thou art a
citizen's wife is nothing; but, Grace, that thou art fair, that thou art
wellspoken, and that thou art witty, and that thou art a citizen's wife, and
that thou art honest, I say—and let any man deny it that can, it is
something, it is something; I say, it is Seldom's something, and for all the
sunshine of my joy, mine eyes must rain upon thee.
Enter MOLL. CUTPURSE,^11^ with a letter.
Moll. By your leave, Master Seldom, have you done the hangers I bespake
for the knight?
Mis. Sel. Yes, marry have I, Mistress hic^12^ and hæc,
I'll fetch 'em to you. [Exit.
Moll. Zounds! does not your husband know my name? if it had been
somebody
else, I would have called him cuckoldy slave.
Mis. Sel. If it had been somebody else, perhaps you might.
Moll. Well, I may be even with him; all's clear. Pretty rogue, I have
longed to know thee this twelve months, and had no other means but this to
speak
with thee. There's a letter to thee from the party.
Mis. Sel. What party?
Moll. The knight, Sir John Love-all.
Mis. Sel. Hence, lewd impudent!
I know not what to term thee, man or woman,
For, Nature, shaming to acknowledge thee
For either, hath produced thee to the world
Without a sex: some say thou art a woman,
Others a man: and many, thou art both
Woman and man, but I think rather neither,
Or man and horse, as the old centaurs were feigned.
Moll. Why, how now, Mistress What-lack-ye? are you so fine, with
a pox?
I have seen a woman look as modestly as you, and speak as sincerely, and
follow
the friars as zealously, and she has been as sound a jumbler as e'er
paid for't:
'tis true, Mistress Fi'penny, I have sworn to leave this letter.
Mis. Sel. D'ye hear, you Sword-and-target (to speak in your own key),
Mary Ambree,^13^ Long Meg,^14^
Thou that in thyself, methinks, alone
Look'st like a rogue and whore under a hedge;
Bawd, take your letter with you, and begone,
When next you come, my husband's constable,
And Bridewell is hard by: you've a good wit,
And can conceive—
Enter SELDOM, with hangers.
Look you, here are the hangers.
Moll. Let's see them.
Fie, fie! you have mistook me quite,
They are not for my turn. B'w'ye', Mistress Seldom.
[Exit.
Enter Lord PROUDLY.
Mis. Sel. Here's my Lord Proudly.
L. Proud. My horse, lackey! is my sister Honour above?
Sel. I think her ladyship, my lord, is not well, and keeps her
chamber.
L. Proud. All's one, I must see her: have the other ladies dined?
Mis. Sel. I think not, my lord
L. Proud. Then I'll take a pipe of tobacco here in your shop, if it
be
not offensive. I would be loth to be thought to come just at dinner-time.
[To
his Servant]
Garçon! fill, sirrah.
Enter Page, with a pipe of tobacco.
What said the goldsmith for the money?
[SELDOM, having fetched a candle, walks off to the other end of the
shop. Lord PROUDLY sits by GRACE.
Page. He said, my lord, he would lend no man money that he durst not
arrest.
L. Proud. How got that wit into Cheapside, trow?
He is a cuckold. Saw you my lady to-day? What says she? [Takes tobacco.
Page. Marry, my lord, she said her old husband had a great payment to
make this morning, and had not left her so much as a jewel.
L. Proud. A pox of her old cat's chaps! The teeth she had
Have made a transmigration into hair:
She hath a bigger beard than I, by this light.
[Whispers to GRACE.
Sel. This custom in us citizens is good:
Thus walking off, when men talk with our wives;
It shows us courteous and mannerly.
Some count it baseness; he's a fool that does so.
It is the highest point of policy,
Especially when we have virtuous wives.
Mis. Sel. Fie, fie! you talk uncivilly, my lord.
L. Proud. Uncivilly, mew,; can a lord talk uncivilly?
I think you, a finical taffata pipkin, may be proud I'll sit so near it.
Uncivilly, mew! [sure.
Mis. Sel. Your mother's cat has kittened in your mouth,
L. Proud. Prythee, but note yon fellow. Does he not walk and look as
if
he did desire to be a cuckold?
Mis. Sel. But you do not look as if you could make him one. Now they
have dined, my lord.
Enter Lord FEESIMPLE and WELLTRIED.
L. Fee. God save your lordship.
L. Proud. How dost thou, coz? Hast thou got and more wit yet?
L. Fee. No, by my troth, I have
But little money with that little wit I have,
And the more wit ever the less money;
Yet as little as I have of either,
I would give something that I durst but quarrel:
I would not be abused thus daily as I am.
Well. Save you, my lord.
L. Proud. Good Master Welltried, you can inform me: pray, how ended
the
quarrel betwixt young Bold and the other gentleman?
Well. Why, very fairly my lord; on honourable terms. Young Bold was
injured and did challenge him, fought in the field, and the other gave him
satisfaction under his hand. I was Bold's second, and can show it here.
L. Proud. 'Tis strange there was no hurt done, yet I
The other gentleman far the better man. [hold
Well. So do not I.
L. Proud. Besides, they say the satisfaction that walks in the
ordinaries is counterfeit.
Well. He lies that says so, and I'll make it good.
And for I know my friend is out of town,
What man soever wrongs him is my foe.
I say he had full satisfaction,
Nay, that which we may call submission;
That the other sought peace first; and who denies this,
Lord, knight or gentleman: English, French or Scot,
I'll fight and prove it on him with my sword.
L. Fee. No, sweet Master Welltried, let's have no fighting, till (as
you have promised) you have rid me from this foolish fear, and taught me to
endure to look upon a naked sword.
Well. Well, and I'll be as good as my word.
L. Fee. But do you hear, cousin Proudly? They say my old father must
marry your sister Honour, and that he will disinherit me, and entail all his
lordships on her and the heir he shall beget on her body. Is't true or not?
L. Proud. There is such a report.
L. Fee. Why, then I pray God he may die an old cuckoldy slave.
O world, what art thou? where is parent's love?
Can he deny me for his natural child?
Yet see (O fornicator!) old and stiff,
Not where he should be, that's my comfort yet.
As for you, my lord, I will send to you as soon as I dare fight, and look upon
steel; which, Master Welltried, I pray let be with all possible speed.
L. Proud. What d'ye this afternoon?
L. Fee. Faith, I have a great mind to see Long Meg^15^ and the Ship
at
the Fortune.
L. Proud. Nay, i' faith, let's up and have a rest at primero.^16^
Well. Agreed, my lord; and toward the evening I'll carry you to the
company.
L. Fee. Well, no more words.
[Exeunt Lord PROUDLY, Lord FEESIMPLE, and WELLTRIED.
Mis. Sel. I wonder, sir, you will walk so, and let anybody sit
prating
to your wife. Were I a man, I'd thrust 'em out o' th' shop by the head and
shoulders.
Sel.^17^ There was no policy in that, wife; so should I lose
my custom.
Let them talk themselves weary, and give thee love tokens—still
I lose not
by it.
Thy chastity's impregnable, I know it.
Had I a dame, whose eyes did swallow youth,
Whose unchaste gulf together did take in
Masters and men, the footboys and their lords,
Making a gallimaufry^18^ in her blood,
I would not walk thus then: but, virtuous wife,
He that in chaste ears pours his ribald talk
Begets hate to himself, and not consent;
And even as dirt, thrown hard against a wall,
Rebounds and sparkles in the thrower's eyes,
So ill words, uttered to a virtuous dame,
Turn and defile the speaker with red shame. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Room in Sir JOHN LOVEALL'S House.
Enter Sir JOHN LOVEALL and Lady PERFECT.
Sir John. Zounds! you're a whore; though I entreat
Before his face, in compliment or so, [him fair
I not esteem him truly as this rush.
There's no such thing as friendship in the world,
And he that cannot swear, dissemble, lie,
Wants knowledge how to live, and let him die.
L. Per. Sir, I did think you had esteemed of him,
As you made show; therefore I used him well,
And yet not so, but that the strictest eye
I durst have made a witness of my carriage. [hand
Sir John. Plague o' your carriage! why, he kissed your
Looked babies in your eyes, and winked and pinked.^19^
'You thought I had esteemed him! 'Sblood, you whore,
Do not I know that you do know you lie?
When didst thou hear me say and mean one thing?
O, I could kick you now, and tear your face,
And eat thy breasts like udders.
L. Per. Sir, you may,
But if I know what hath deserved all this,
I am no woman: 'cause he kissed my hand
Unwillingly?
Sir John. A little louder, pray.
L. Per. You are a base fellow, an unworthy man,
As e'er poor gentlewoman matched withal.
Why should you make such show of love to any
Without the truth? thy beastly mind is like
Some decayed tradesman, that doth make his wife
Entertain those for gain he not endures.
Pish! swell and burst: I had rather with thy sword
Be hewed to pieces, than lead such a life.
Out with it, valiant sir: I hold you for
A drawer upon women, not on men.
I will no more conceal your hollow heart,
But e'en report you as you are in truth. [you whore
Sir John. This is called marriage. Stop your mouth,
L. Per. Thy mother was a whore, if I be one.
Sir John. You know there's company in the house.
Enter SUBTLE.
Sweet friend, what, have you writ your letter?
Sub. 'Tis done, dear friend: I have made you stay too
I fear you'll be benighted. [long;
Sir John. Fie! no, no.
Madam and sweetest wife, farewell; God bless us.
Make much of Master Subtle here, my friend. [Kisses her.
Till my return, which may be even as't happens,
According as my business hath success. [Exit.
Sub. How will you pass the time now, fairest mistress?
L. Per. In troth, I know not: wives without their husbands,
Methinks, are lowering days.
Sub. Indeed, some wives
Are like dead bodies in their husband's absence.
L. Per. If any wife be, I must needs be so,
That have a husband far above all men;
Untainted with the humours others have,
A perfect man, and one that loves you truly:
You see the charge he left of your good usage.
Sub. Pish! he's an ass, I know him; a stark ass,
Of a most barbarous condition,
False-hearted to his friend, rough unto you;
A most dissembling and perfidious fellow.
I care not if he heard me: this I know,
And will make good upon him with my sword,
Or any for him—for he will not fight.
L. Per. Fie, servant! you show small civility
And less humanity: d'ye requite
My husband's love thus ill? for what d'ye think
Of me, that you will utter to my face
Such harsh, unfriendly, slanderous injuries
Even of my husband? Sir, forbear, I pray,
My ears or your own tongue: I am no housewife
To hear my husband's merit thus depraved.
Sub. His merit is a halter, by this light.
You think he's out of town now; no such matter:
But gone aside, and hath importuned me
To try your chastity.
L. Per. It cannot be.
Alas! he is as free from jealousy,
And ever was, as confidence itself.
I know he loves me too-too heartily
To be suspicious or to prove my truth.
Sub. If I do feign in ought, ne'er may I purchase
The grace I hope for! and, fair mistress,
If you have any spirit, or wit, or sense,
You will be even with such a wretched slave.
Heaven knows I love you as the air I draw!
Think but how finely you may cuckold him,
And safely, too, with me, who will report
To him, that you are most invincible,
Your chastity not to be subdued by man.
L. Per. When you know I'm a whore?
Sub. A whore? fie! no;
That you have been kind, or so: your whore doth live
In Pickt-hatch,^20^ Turnbull Street.
L. Per. Your whore lives there! [Aside.
Well, servant, leave me to myself awhile:
Return anon; but bear this hope away,
'T shall be with you, if I at all do stray. [Exit SUBTLE.
Why, here's right worldly friendship! ye're well-met.
O men! what are you? why is our poor sex
Still made the degraded subjects in these plays
For vices, folly, and inconstancy;
When, were men looked into with such critical eyes
Of observation, many would be found
So full of gross and base corruption,
That none (unless the devil himself turned writer)
Could feign so badly to express them truly?
Some wives that had a husband now, like mine,
Would yield their honours up to any man:
Far be it from my thoughts! O, let me stand,
Thou God of marriage and chastity,
An honour to my sex! no injury
Compel the virtue of my breast to yield!
It's not revenge for any wife to stain
The nuptial bed, although she be yoked ill.
Who falls, because her husband so hath done,
Cures not his wound, but in herself makes one. [Exit.
SCENE III.—A Room in INGEN'S House.
Enter INGEN, reading a letter; he sits down in a chair and stamps with his
foot; a Servant enters.
Ingen. Who brought this letter?
Ser. A little Irish footboy, sir:
He stays without for an answer.
Ingen. Bid him come in. Lord!
What deep dissemblers are these females all.
How far unlike a friend this lady used me,
And here how like one mad in love she writes.
Enter Lady HONOUR, like an Irish Footboy, with a dart.^21^
So bless me, Heaven, but thou art the prettiest boy
That e'er ran by a horse! Hast thou dwelt long
With thy fair mistress?
L. Hon. I came but this morning, sir.
Ingen. How fares thy lady, boy?
L. Hon. Like to a turtle that hath lost her mate,
Drooping she sits; her grief, sir, cannot speak.
Had it a voice articulate, we should know
How and for what cause she suffers; and perhaps—
But 'tis unlikely—give her comfort, sir.
Weeping she sits, and all the sound comes from her,
Is like the murmur of a silvery brook,
Which her tears truly would make there about her,
Sat she in any hollow continent.
Ingen. Believe me, boy, thou hast a passionate tongue,
Lively expression, or thy memory
Hath carried thy lesson well away.
But wherefore mourns thy lady?
L. Hon. Sir, you know,
And would to God I did not know myself.
Ingen. Alas! it cannot be for love to me.
When last I saw her, she reviled me, boy,
With bitterest words, and wished me never more
To approach her sight: and for my marriage now
I do sustain it as a penance due
To the desert that made her banish me.
L. Hon. Sir, I dare swear, she did presume no words,
Nor dangers had been powerful to restrain
Your coming to her, when she gave the charge—
But are you married truly?
Ingen. Why, my boy,
Dost think I mock myself? I sent her gloves.
L. Hon. The gloves she has returned you, sir, by me,
And prays you give them to some other lady,
That you'll deceive next, and be perjured to.
Sure, you have wronged her: sir, she bad me tell you,
She ne'er thought goodness dwelt in many men,
But what there was of goodness in the world,
She thought you had it all; but now she sees
The jewel she esteemed is counterfeit;
That you are but a common man yourself—
A traitor to her and her virtuous love!
That all men are betrayers, and their breasts
As full of dangerous gulfs as is the sea,
Where any woman, thinking to find harbour,
She and her honour are precipitated,
And never to be brought with safety off.
Alas, my hapless lady desolate!
Distressed, forsaken virgin!
Ingen. Sure, this boy
Is of an excellent nature who, so newly
Ta'en to her service, feels his mistress' grief,
As he and they were old familiar friends.
Why weep'st thou gentle lad?
L. Hon. Who hath one tear,
And would not save't from all occasions,
From brothers' slaughters and from mothers' deaths,
To spend it here for my distressèd lady?
But; sir, my lady did command me beg
To see your wife, that I may bear to her
The sad report. What creature could make you
Untie the hand fast pledged unto her?
Ingen. Wife, wife, come forth! now, gentle boy, be judge,
Enter FRANK disguised as a Woman and masked. INGEN kisses him.
If such a face as this, being paid with scorn
By her I did adore, had not full power
To make me marry.
L. Hon. By the God of love,
She's a fair creature, but faith, should be fairer.
My lady, gentle mistress, one that thought
She had some interest in this gentleman,
(Who now is only yours) commanded me
To kiss your white hand, and to sigh and weep,
And wish you that content she should have had
In the fruition of her love you hold.
She bad me say, God give you joy, to both;
Yet this withal (if ye were married):
No one her footsteps ever more should meet,
Nor see her face but in a winding-sheet.
Frank. Alas, poor lady! faith, I pity her,
And, but to be i' th' same state, could forego
Anything I possess to ease her woe.
L. Hon. Love's blessing light upon thy gentle soul!
Men rail at women, mistress, but 'tis we
Are false and cruel, ten times more unkind;
You are smoother far and of a softer mind.
Sir, I have one request more.
Ingen. Gentle lad,
It must be one of a strange quality
That I deny thee: both thy form and mind
Inform me that thy nurture hath been better,
Than to betray thee to this present life.
L. Hon. 'Tis, that you would vouchsafe to entertain me.
My feet do tremble under me to bear
My body back unto my uncouth lady,
To assure her grief. What heart so hard would owe
A tongue to tell so sad a tale to her?
Alas! I dare not look upon her eyes,
Where wrongèd love sits like the basilisk,
And, sure, would kill me for my dire report:
Or rather should not I appear like death,
[Holding up the dart.
When every word I spake shot through her heart
More mortally than his unsparing dart?
Frank. Let me speak for the boy.
Ingen. To what end, love?
No, I will sue to him to follow me.
In troth, I love thy sweet condition,
And may live to inform thy lady of thee.
Come in; dry, dry thine eyes, respite thy woe;
The effects of causes crown or overthrow. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—Lady BRIGHT'S Lodgings.
Enter Lord PROUDLY, Lord FEESIMPLE, WELLTRIED, SELDOM, Lady BRIGHT, BOLD
still disguised as a Waiting-woman, pinning-in a ruff, Lady PERFECT.
L. Proudly. 'Slight, what should be become of her? you swear
She passed not forth of doors, and i'th' house she is not?
L. Bright. Did you not see her, Princox?
L. Proud. This same bawd
Has brought her letters from some younger brother,
And she is stolen away.
Bold. Bawd! I defy you.
Indeed, your lordship thinks you may make bawds
Of whom you please. I'll take my oath upon a book,
Since I met her in the necessary house i' th' morning,
I ne'er set eye on her.
Grace. She went not out of doors.
L. Proud. Sure, she has an invisible ring.
L. Fee. Marry, she's the honester woman, for some of their rings are
visible enough, the more shame for them, still say I. Let the pond at
Islington^22^' be searched: go to, there's more have drowned themselves for
love
this year than you are aware of.
L. Proud. Pish! you are a fool.
Well. 'Sheart; call him fool again.
L. Fee. By this light and I will, as soon as ever you have showed me
the Swaggerers.^23^
L. Per. Her clothes are all yonder, my lord.
Grace. And even those same she had on to-day.
L. Proud. Madam, where is your husband?
L. Per. Rid into the country.
L. Fee. O' my conscience, rid into France with your
All. Away, away; for shame! [sister.
L. Fee. Why, I hope she is not the first lady that has ran away with
other women's husbands.
Well. It may be she's stolen out to see a play.
L. Proud. Who should go with her, man?
L. Bright. Upon my life, you'll hear of her at Master Ingen's house:
some love passed betwixt them, and we heard that he was married to-day to
another.
L. Proud. 'Sheart! I'll go see. [Exit.
Well. Come to the Swaggerers.
L. Fee. Mercy upon me! a man or a —Lord now?
[Exeunt Lord FEESIMPLE and WELLTRIED.
All. Here's a coil^24^ with a lord and his sister.
L. Bright. Princox, hast not thou pinned in that ruff yet? ha! how tho
u
fumblest!
Bold. Troth, madam, I was ne'er brought up to it; 'tis chambermaid's
work, and I have ever lived gentlewoman, and been used accordingly.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.—SUBTLE'S Apartment.
Enter Sir JOHN LOVEALL and SUBTLE.
SUB. She's a rare wife, believe it sir: were all such,
We never should have false inheritors.
Sir John. Pish! friend, there is no woman in the world
Can hold out in the end, if youth
Met in one subject, do assault her aptly; [shape, wit,
For failing once, you must not faint, but try
Another way: the paths of women's minds
Are crooked and diverse; they have byways
To lead you to the palace of their pleasures,
And you must woo discreetly. First, observe
The disposition of her you attempt:
If she be spriteful and heroical,
Possess her that you are valiant, and have spirit:
Talk nothing but of beating every man,
That is your hindrance; though you do not do it,
Or dare not 'tis no matter. Be she free
And of a liberal soul, give bounteously
To all the servants; let your angels^25^ fly
About the room, although you borrowed 'em.
If she be witty, so must your discourse:
Get wit, what shift soe'er you make for it,
Though't cost you all your land; and then a song
Or two is not amiss, although you buy 'em:
There's many in the town will furnish you.
Sub. But still, I tell you, you must use her roughly.
Beat her black and blue, take all her clothes,
And give them to some punk^26^: this will be ground
For me to work upon.
Sir John. All this I have done.
I have left her now as bare that, should I die,
Her fortune, o' my conscience, would be
To marry some tobacco-man: she has nothing
But an old black-work waistcoat, which would serve
Exceeding well to set i' th' shop, and light
Pipes for the lousy footmen. And, sweet friend,
First here's a jewel to present her; then,
Here is a sonnet writ against myself,
Which as thine own thou shalt accost her with.
Farewell, and happy success attend thee! [Exit.
Sub. Ha, ha, ha!
[Reads] "Fairest, still wilt thou be true
To man so false to thee?
Did he lend a husband's due,
Thou didst owe him loyalty;
But will curses, wants and blows
Breed no change in thy white soul?
Be not a fool to thy first vows,
Since his first breach doth thy faith control.
No beauty else could be so chaste;
Think not thou honour'st woman then,
Since by thy conscience all disgraced
Are robbed of the dear loves of men.
Then grant me my desire, that vow to prove
A real husband, his adulterate love."
Took ever man more pains to be a cuckold!
O monstrous age, where men themselves we see,
Study and pay for their own infamy. [Exit.
SCENE II.—A Room in INGEN'S House.
Enter INGEN, Lady HONOUR, Lord PROUDLY, FRANK, attired like a Woman: INGE
N
and Lord PROUDLY, with their swords drawn.
L. Proud. Give me my sister! I'll have her forth thy heart.
Ingen. No earthly lord can pull her out of that,
Till he have plucked my heart first out. My lord,
Were't not inhospitable, I could wrong you here
In my own house. I am so full of woe
For your lost sister, that by all my joys
Hoped for in her, my heart weeps tears of blood:
A whiter virgin and a worthier
Had ne'er creation; Leda's swan was black
To her virginity and immaculate thoughts.
L. Proud. Where hast thou hid her? give her me again;
For, by the God of vengeance, be she lost,
The female hate shall spring betwixt our names
Shall never die, while one of either house
Survives: our children shall, at seven years old,
Strike knives in one another.
Ingen. Let hell gape
And take me quick, if I know where she is;
But am so charged with sorrow for her loss,
Being the cause of it (as no doubt I am),
That I had rather fall upon my sword
[Offering to kill himself.
Than breathe a minute longer.
Frank O sir! hold.
L. Proud. Thou shalt not need: I have a sword to bathe
In thy false blood, inhuman murderer.
L. Hon. Good sir, be pacified: I'll go, I'll run
Many a mile to find your sister out.
She never was so desperate of grace
By violence to rob herself of life,
And so her soul endanger. Comfort, sir;
She's but retired somewhere, on my life.
Ingen. Prythee, let me alone— [To FRANK.
Do I stand to defend that wretched life,
That is in doubt of hers? here, worthy lord,
Behold a breast framed of thy sister's love;
Hew it, for thou shalt strike but on a stock,
Since she is gone that was the cause it lived.
L. Proud. Out false dissembler! art not married?
Ingen. No; behold it is my younger brother dressed.
[Plucks off his head-tire.
A man, or woman, that hath gulled the world,
Intended for a happier event
Than this that followed, that she now is gone.
O fond experiments of simple man!
Fool to thy fate, since all thy project, meant
But mirth, is now converted unto death.
L. Hon. O, do not burst me, joy! that modesty
[Aside
Would let me show myself to finish all!
L. Proud. Nay, then thou hast my sister somewhere, villain!
'Tis plain now thou wilt steal thy marriage.
She is no match for thee, assure thyself.
If all the law in England or my friends
Can cross it, 't shall not be.
Ingen. Would 'twere so well,
And that I knew the lady to be safe!
Give me no ill-words. Sir, this boy and I
Will wander like two pilgrims till we find her.
If you do love her as you talk, do so:
The love or grief that is expressed in words,
Is slight and easy; 'tis but shallow woe
That makes a noise; deep'st waters stillest go.^27^
I love her better than thy parents did,
Which is beyond a brother.
L. Proud. Slave! thou liest.
Ingen. Zounds! [He is about to strike.
Frank. Kill him!
L. Hon. O, hold! Sir, you dishonour much your brother
To counsel him 'gainst hospitality
To strike in his own house.
Ingen. You, lord insolent, I will fight with you:
Take this as a challenge, and set your time.
L. Proud. Tomorrow morning, Ingen;
'Tis that I covet, and provoke thee for.
Frank. Will you not strike him now?
Ingen. No; my good boy
Is both discreet and just in his advice,
Thy glories are to last but for a day:
Give me thy hand;
To-morrow morning thou shalt be no lord.
L. Proud. To-morrow morning thou shalt not be at all.
Ingen. Pish! why should you think so? have not I arms,
A soul as bold as yours, a sword as true?
I do not think your honour in the field,
Without your lordship's liveries, will have odds.
L. Proud. Farewell, and let's have no excuses, pray.
[Exit.
Ingen. I warrant you. Pray, say your prayers tonight,
And bring no inkhorn w'ye, to set your hand to
A satisfactory recantation. [Exit.
L. Hon. O wretched maid! whose sword can I pray for?
But by the other's loss I must find death.
O odious brother, if he kill my love!
O bloody love, if he should kill my brother!
Despair on both sides of my discontent
Tells me no safety rests but to prevent. [Exit.
SCENE III.—Lady BRIGHT'S Lodgings.
Enter Lady BRIGHT and BOLD still disguised as a Woman.
L. Bright. What's o'clock, Princox?
Bold. Bedtime, an't please you, madam.
L. Bright. Come, undress me. Would God had made me a man!
Bold. Why, madam?
L. Bright. Because
I would have been in bed as soon as they.
We are so long unpinning and unlacing.
Bold. Yet many of us, madam, are quickly undone sometime: but herein
we
have the advantage of men, though they can be abed sooner than we, it's a
great
while, when they are abed, ere they can get up.
L. Bright. Indeed, if they be well-laid, Princox, one cannot get them
up in haste.
Bold. O God! madam, how mean you that? I hope you know, ill things
taken into a gentlewoman's ears are the quick corrupters of maiden modesty. I
would be loth to continue in any service unfit for my virgin estate, or where
the world should take any notice of light behaviour in the lady I follow; for,
madam, the main point of chastity in a lady is to build the rock of a good
opinion amongst the people by circumstances, and a fair show she must make.
Si
non caste, tamen caute, madam; and though wit be a wanton, madam, yet I
beseech your ladyship, for your own credit and mine, let the bridle of
judgment
be always in the chaps of it, to give it head or restrain it,
according as time
and place shall be convenient.
L. Bright. Precise and learned Princox, dost not thou go to
Blackfriars?^28^
Bold. Most frequently, madam, unworthy vessel that I am to partake or
retain any of the delicious dew that is there distilled.
L. Bright. But why should'st thou ask me what I meant e'en now? I
tell
thee, there's nothing uttered but carries a double sense, one good, one
bad; but
if the hearer apply it to the worst, the fault lies in his or her corrupt
understanding not in the speaker; for to answer to your Latin, pravis omnia
prava. Believe me, wench, if ill come into my fancy, I will purge it by
speech: the less will remain within. A pox of these nice-mouthed creatures! I
have seen a narrow pair of lips utter as broad a tale as can be bought for
money. Indeed, an ill tale unuttered is like a maggot in a nut, it spoils the
whitest kernel.
Bold. You speak most intelligently, madam.
L. Bright. Hast not done yet? Thou art an old fumbler, I perceive.
Methinks thou dost not do things like a woman.
Bold. Madam, I do my endeavour, and the best can do no more;
they that
could do better, it may be would not, and then 'twere all one. But rather than
be a burthen to your ladyship, I protest sincerely, I would beg my bread;
therefore I beseech you, madam, to hold me excused, and let my goodwill stand
for the action.
L. Bright. Let thy goodwill stand for the action? If goodwill would
do
it, there's many a lady in this land would be content with her own lord; and
thou can'st not be a burthen to me, without thou lie upon me, and that were
preposterous in thy sex. Take no exceptions at what I say. Remember you said
stand even now. There was a word for one of your coat, indeed!
Bold. I swear, madam, you are very merry. God send you good luck. Has
your ladyship no waters that you use at bedtime?
L. Bright. No in troth, Princox.
Bold. No complexion?
L. Bright. None but mine own, I swear. Didst thou ever use any?
Bold. No, indeed, madam; now and then a piece of scarlet, or so; a
little white and red ceruse; but, in troth, madam, I have an excellent receipt
for a nightmask, as ever you heard.
L. Bright. What is it?
Bold. Boar's grease one ounce; Jordan almonds, blanched and ground, a
quartern; red rosewater, half a pint; mare's urine, newly covered, half a
score
drops.
L. Bright. Fogh! no more of thy medicine, if thou lovest me. Few of ou
r
knight-errant, when they meet a lady-errant in a morning, would think her face
had lain so plastered all night. Thou hast had some apothecary to thy
sweetheart. But, leaving this face-physic (for, by my troth, it may make
others
have good ones, but it makes me a scurvy one), which of all the gallants in the
town wouldst thou make a husband of, if thou mightest have him for thy
choosing?
Bold. In troth, madam, but you'll say I speak blindly, but
let my love
stand aside—
L. Bright. I think it not fit, indeed, your love should stand in the
middle.
Bold. I say, Master Bold. O, do but mark him, madam; his
leg, his hand,
his body, and all his members stand in print.^29^
L. Bright. Out upon thee, Princox! No. Methinks.
Welltried's a handsome
fellow. I like not these starched gallants: masculine faces and masculine
gestures please me best.
Bold. How like you Master Pert?
L. Bright. Fie upon him! when he is in his scarlet clothes, he looks
like a man of wax, and I had as lief have a dog o'wax: I do not think but he
lies in a case o' nights. He walks as if he were made of gins^30^—as if
Nature had wrought him in a frame: I have seen him sit discontented a whole
play, because one of the purls of his band was fallen out of his reach to order
again.
Bold. Why, Bold, madam, is clean contrary.
L. Bright. Ay, but that's as ill: each extreme is alike vicious; his
careful carelessness is his study. He spends as much time to make himself
slovenly, as the other to be spruce. His garters hang over upon the calves of
his legs, his doublet unbuttoned, and his points untrussed;^31^ his hair in's
eyes like a drunkard, and his hat, worn on the hinder-part of his head, as if
he
cared more for his memory than his wit, makes him look as if he were
distracted.
Princox, I would have you lie with me: I do not love to lie alone.
Bold. With all my heart, madam.
L. Bright. Are you clean-skinned?
Bold. Clean-skinned, madam? there's a question! do you
think I have the
itch? I am an Englishwoman: I protest, I scorn the motion.
L. Bright. Nay, prithee, Princox, be not angry: it's a sign of honesty
,
I can tell you.
Bold. Faith, madam, I think 'tis but simple honesty that dwells at
the
sign of the scab.
L. Bright. Well, well, come to bed, and we'll talk further of all
these
matters. [Exit.
Bold. Fortune, I thank thee; I will owe thee eyes
For this good turn! now is she mine indeed.
Thou hast given me that success my project hoped.
Off, false disguise, that hast been true to me,
And now be Bold, that thou may'st welcome be. [Exit.
SCENE IV.—Inside a Tavern.
Enter WHOREBANG, BOTS, TEARCHAPS, and SPILLBLOOD with several
patches on
their faces; and Drawer.
Tear. Damn me, we will have more wine, sirrah, or we'll down into the
cellar, and drown thee in a butt of Malmsey, and hew all the hogsheads in
pieces.
Whore. Hang him, rogue! shall he die as honourable as the Duke of
Clarence? by this flesh, let's have wine, or I will cut thy head off, and have
it roasted and eaten in Pie Corner next Bartholomew-tide.^32^
Draw. Gentlemen, I beseech you consider where you are—Turnbull
Street—a civil place: do not disturb a number of poor gentlewomen. Master
Whorebang, Master Bots, Master Tearchaps, and Master Spillblood, the watch are
abroad.
Spill. The watch! why, you rogue, are not we kings of Turnbull?
Draw. Yes, marry are ye, sir: for my part, if you'll be quiet, I'll
have a sign made of ye, and it shall be called the four kings of Turnbull.
Bots. Will you fetch us wine?
Whore. And a whore, sirrah!
Draw. Why, what d'ye think of me? am I an infidel, a Turk, a pagan, a
Saracen? I have been at Bess Turnup's, and she swears all the gentlewomen went
to see a play at the Fortune,^33^ and are not come in yet, and she believes
they
sup with the players.
Tear. Damn me, we must kill all those rogues: we shall never keep a
whore honest for them.
Bots. Go your ways, sirrah. We'll have but a gallon apiece, and an
ounce of tobacco.
Draw. I beseech you, let it be but pottles.^34^
Spill. 'Sheart! you rogue. [Exit Drawer.
Enter WELLTRIED and Lord FEESIMPLE.
Whore. Master Welltried! welcome as my soul.
Enter Drawer with wine, plate and tobacco.
Bots. Noble lad, how dost thou?
Spill. As welcome as the tobacco and the wine, boy.
Tear. Damn me, thou art.
L. Fee. Bless me (save you gentlemen), they have not one face among
'em! I could wish myself well from them: I would I had put out something
upon my
return; I had as lief be at Barmuthoes.^35^
Well. Pray, welcome this gentleman.
Spill. Is he valiant? [Aside.
Well. Faith, he's a little faulty that way; somewhat of a bashful and
backward nature, yet I have brought him amongst you, because he hath a great
desire to be fleshed.
[Aside.
L. Fee. Yes, faith, sir, I have a great desire to be fleshed; now Master
Welltried said he would bring me to the only flesh-mongers in the town.
Well. Sir, he cannot endure the sight of steel. [Aside.
Whore. Not steel? zounds!
[Claps his sword over the table.
L. Fee. Now I am going! [Faints.
Bots. Here's to you, sir. I'll fetch you again with a cup of sack.
L. Fee. I pledge you, sir, and begin to you in a cup of claret.
Well. Hark you, my lord: what will you say if I make you beat all
these
out of the room? [Aside.
L. Fee. What will I say? why, I say it is impossible; 'tis not in
mortal
man. [Aside.
Well. Well, drink apace: if any brave you, outbrave him; I'll
second you.
They are a company of cowards, believe me. [Aside.
L. Fee. By this light, I would they were else: if I thought so, I would
be upon the jack^36^ of one of 'em instantly, that same little "Damn me." But,
Master Welltried, if they be not very valiant, or dare not fight, how came
they
by such cuts and gashes, and such broken faces. [Aside.
Well. Why, their whores strike 'em with cans and glasses, and
quart-pots:
if they have nothing by 'em, they strike 'em with the pox, and you know that
will lay one's nose as flat as the basket-hilt dagger. [Aside.
L. Fee. Well, let me alone. [Aside.
Tear. This bully dares not drink.
L. Fee. Dare I not, sir?
Well. Well said; speak to him, man.
L. Fee. You had best try me, sir.
Spill. We four will drink four healths to four of the seven deadly
sins, pride, drunkenness, wrath and lechery.
L. Fee. I'll pledge 'em, and I thank you; I know 'em all. Here's one.
Whore. Which of the sins.
L. Fee. By my troth even to pride.
Well. Why, well said; and in this do not you only pledge your
mistress's health, but all the women's in the world.
L. Fee. So: now this little cup to wrath, because he and I are
strangers.
Tear. Brave boy! damn me, he shall be a roarer.
L. Fee. Damn me, I will be a roarer, or't shall cost me a fall.
Bots. The next place that falls, pray, let him have it.
L. Fee. Well, I have two of my healths to drink yet—lechery and
drunkenness, which even shall go together.
Well. Why, how now, my lord, a moralist?
Bots. Damn me, art thou a lord? what virtues hast thou?
L. Fee. Virtues? enough to keep e'er a damn-me company in England:
methinks you should think it virtue enough to be a lord.
Whore. Will you not pledge these healths, Master Welltried? we'll
have
no observers.^37^
Well. Why, Monsieur Whorebang? I am no playmaker, and, for pledging
your healths, I love none of the four you drank to so well.
Spill. Zounds! you shall pledge me this.
Well. Shall I?
L. Fee. What's the matter? dost hear, Master Welltried, use thine own
discretion; if thou wilt not pledge him, say so, and let me see if e'er a
damn-
me of 'em all will force thee.
Spill. Puff! will your lordship take any tobacco? you lord with the
white face.
Bots. Heart! he cannot put it through his nose.
L. Fee. Faith, you have ne'er a nose to put it through; d'ye
hear? blow
your face, sirrah.
Tear. You'll pledge me, sir?
Well. Indeed, I will not.
L. Fee. Damn me, he shall not then.^38^
Tear. Lord, use your own words, "damn me" is mine; I am
known by it all
the town o'er, d'ye hear?
L. Fee. It is as free for me as you, d'ye hear, Patch?^39^
Tear. I have paid more for't.
Well. Nay, I'll bear him witness in a truth: his soul lies for't,^40^
my lord.
Spill. Welltried, you are grown proud since you got good clothes and
have followed your lord.
[Strikes him, and they scuffle.
Whore. I have known you lousy, Welltried.
Well. Roarer, you lie.
[They draw and fight; throw pots and stools.
Draw. O Jesu!
Whore., Bots, Tear., and Spill. Zounds! cleave or be cleft:
pell-mell:
slash arms and legs.
L. Fee. Heart! let me alone with 'em.
[They break off, and exeunt WHOREBANG, BOTS, TEARCHAPS and
SPILLBLOOD.
Well. Why, now thou art a worthy wight, indeed, a Lord of Lorn.^41^
L. Fee. I am a madman: look, is not that one of their
Well. Fie! no, my lord. [heads?
L. Fee. Damn me, but 'tis; I would not wish you to cross me
a'purpose:
if you have anything to say to me, so—I am ready.
Well. O brave lord! many a roarer thus is made by wine.
Come, it is one
of their heads, my lord.
L. Fee. Why so, then, I will have my humour. If you love me, let's go
break windows somewhere.
Well. Drawer, take your plate. For the reckoning there's some of
their
cloaks: I will be no shot-log to such.
Draw. God's blessing o' your heart for thus ridding the house of them.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—Lady BRIGHT'S Lodgings.
Enter Lady BRIGHT undressed, a sword in her hand; and BOLD in his
shirt,
as started from bed.
LADY BRIGHT. Uncivil man! if I should take thy life,
It were not to be weighed with thy attempt.
Thou hast for ever lost me.
Bold. Madam, why?
Can love beget loss? Do I covet you
Unlawfully? Am I an unfit man
To make a husband of? Send for a priest;
First consummate the match, and then to bed
Without more trouble.
L. Bright. No, I will not do't.
Bold. Why, you confessed to me (as your gentlewoman)
I was the man your heart did most affect;
That you did doat upon my mind and body.
L. Bright. So, by the sacred and inviolate knot
Of marriage, I do; but will not wed thee.
Bold. Why, yet enjoy me now. Consider, lady,
That little but blessed time I was in bed,
Although I lay as by my sister's side,
The world is apt to censure otherwise:
So, 'tis necessity that we marry now.
L. Bright. Pish! I regard not at a straw the world.
Fame from the tongues of men doth injury
Oftener than justice; and as conscience
Only makes guilty persons, not report,
(For show we clear as springs unto the world,
If our own knowledge do not make us so,
That is no satisfaction to ourselves),
So stand we ne'er so leprous to men's eye,
It cannot hurt heart-known integrity.
You have trusted to that fond opinion,
This is the way to have a widowhood,
By getting to her bed. Alas! young man,
Shouldst thou thyself tell thy companions
Thou hast dishonoured me (as you men have tongues
Forkèd and venomed 'gainst our subject sex);
It should not move me, that know 'tis not so:
Therefore depart. Truth be my virtuous shield.
Bold. Few widows would do thus.
L. Bright All modest would.
Bold. To be in bed, and in possession
Even of the mark I aimed at, and go off
Foiled and disgraced! Come, come, you'll laugh at me
Behind my back; publish I wanted spirit,
And mock me to the ladies; call me child,
Say you denied me but to try the heat
And zeal of my affection toward you,
Then clapped up with a rhyme; as for example—
He coldly loves retires for one vain trial,
For we are yielding when we make denial.
L. Bright. Servant, I make no question, from this time
You'll hold a more reverent opinion
Of some that wear long coats; and 'tis my pride
To assure you that there are amongst us good,
And with this continency. If you go away,
I'll be so far from thinking it defect,
That I will hold you worthiest of men.
Bold. 'Sheart! I am Tantalus: my longed-for fruit
Bobs at my lips, yet still it shrinks from me.
Have not I that, which men say never fails
To o'ercome any, opportunity?
Come, come; I am too cold in my assault.
By all the virtues that yet ever were
In man or woman, I with reverence
Do love thee, lady, but will be no fool
To let occasion slip her foretop from me.
L. Bright. You will fail this way too. Upon my knees
I do desire thee to preserve thy virtues,
And with my tears my honour: 'tis as bad
To lose our worths to them, or to deceive
Who have held worthy opinions of us,
As to betray trust. All this I implore
For thine own sake, not mine: as for myself,
If thou be'st violent, by this stupid night
And all the mischiefs her dark womb hath bred,
I'll raise the house; I'll cry a rape.
Bold. I hope
You will not hang me: that were murder, lady,
A greater sin than lying with me, sure.
L. Bright. Come, flatter not yourself with argument.
I will exclaim: the law hangs you, not I;
Or if I did, I had rather far confound
The dearest body in the world to me,
Than that that body should confound my soul.
Bold. Your soul? alas! mistress, are you so fond
To think her general destruction
Can be procured by such a natural act,
Which beasts are born to, and have privilege in?
Fie, fie! if this could be, far happier
Are insensitive^42^ souls in their creation
Than man, the prince of creatures. Think you, Heaven
Regards such mortal deeds, or punisheth
Those acts for which he hath ordainèd us?
L. Bright. You argue like an atheist; man is never
The prince of creatures, as you call him now,
But in his reason; fail that, he is worse
Than horse or dog, or beast of wilderness;
And 'tis that reason teacheth us to do
Our actions unlike them: then, that which you
Termed in them a privilege beyond us,
The baseness of their being doth express,
Compared to ours: horses, bulls and swine
Do leap their dams; because man does not so,
Shall we conclude his making^43^ happiless?
Bold. You put me down—yet will not put me down.
I am too gentle: some of you, I have heard,
Love not these words, but force; to have it done,
As they sing prick-song, even at the first sight.
L. Bright. Go to: keep off; by heaven and earth, I'll call else!
Bold. How, if nobody hear you?
L. Bright. If they do not,
I'll kill you with mine own hand; never stare:
Or failing that, fall on this sword myself.
Bold. O widow wonderful! if thou be'st not honest,
Now God forgive my mother and my sisters.
Think but how finely, madam, undiscovered
For ever I might live: all day your gentlewoman
To do you service, but all night your man
To do you service: newness of the trick,
If nothing else, might stir ye.
L. Bright. 'Tis a stale one,
And was done in the Fleet ten years ago.
Will you begone? the door is open for you.
Bold. Let me but tarry till the morning, madam,
To send for clothes. Shall I go naked home?
L. Bright. 'Tis best time now; it is but one o'clock,
And you may go unseen: I swear, by Heaven,
I would spend all the night to sit and talk w'ye,
If I durst trust you: I do love you so.
My blood forsakes my heart now you depart.
Bold. 'Sheart! will you marry me hereafter, then?
L. Bright. No, you are too young, and I am much too old;
Ay, and unworthy, and the world will say
We married not for love. Good morrow, servant. [Exit.
Bold. Why so: these women are the errantest jugglers in the world: the
wry-legged fellow is an ass to 'em. Well, I must have this widow, whate'er
come
on't. Faith, she has turned me out of her service very barely. Hark, what's
here? music?
Enter SUBTLE with a paper, and his Boy with a cloak.
Sub [Reads.] "Rise, lady mistress, rise,
The night hath tedious been;
No sleep hath fallen into my eyes,
Nor slumbers made me sin.
Is not she a saint, then say,
Thought of whom keeps sin away?
"Rise, madam rise and give me light,
Whom darkness still will cover,
And ignorance, darker than night,
Till thou smile on thy lover.
All want day, till thy beauty rise,
For the grey morn breaks from thine eyes!"^44^
Now sing it, sirrah. [The song is sung by the Boy.
Sub. 'Sfoot, who's this? young Master Bold!
God save you; you are an early stirrer.
Bold. You say true, Master Subtle, I have been early up, But, as God
help me, I was never the near.^45^
Sub. Where have you been, sir?
Bold. What's that to you, sir? at a woman's labour.
Sub. Very good: I ne'er took you for a man-midwife before.
Bold. The truth is, I have been up all night at dice
and lost my clothes. Good morrow, Master Subtle. Pray God the watch be
broke up:
I thank you for my music. [Exit.
Sub. 'Tis palpable, by this air; her husband being abroad, Bold has lain
with her, and is now conveyed out of doors. Is this the Lady Perfect, with a
pox? The truth is, her virtuous chastity began to make me make a miracle of
her
still holding out to me, notwithstanding her husband's most barbarous usage of
her; but now, indeed, 'tis no marvel, since another possesses her.
Well, madam, I will go find out your cuckold;
I'll be revenged on you, and tell a tale
Shall tickle him. This is a cheat in love
Not to be borne: another to beguile
Me of the game I played for all this while. [Exit.
SCENE II.—BOLD'S Lodgings.
Enter WELLTRIED, and BOLD putting on his doublet; Lord FEESIMPLE
asleep on a bed.
Well. You see, we made bold with your lodging: indeed, I did assure
myself you were fast for this night.
Bold. But how the devil came this fool in your company?
Well. 'Sfoot, man, I carried him last night among the roarers to
flesh
him: and, by this light, he got drunk, and beat 'em all.
Bold. Why, then, he can endure the sight of a drawn sword now?
Well. O God, sir, I think in my conscience he will eat steel
shortly. I
know not how his conversion will hold after this sleep; but, in an hour or two
last night, he was grown such a little damnme, that I protest I was afraid of
the spirit that I myself had raised in him. But this other matter—of your
expulsion thus, mads me to the heart.
Were you in bed with her?
Bold. In bed, by Heaven.
Well. I'll be hanged, if you were not busy too soon: you should have
let her slept first.
Bold. Zounds! man, she put her hand to my breasts, and swore I was no
maid: now I, being eager to prove her words true, took that hint, and would
violently have thrust her hand lower, when her thought, being swifter than my
strength, made her no sooner imagine that she was betrayed, but she leaps out
of
the bed, whips me down a sword that hung by, and, as if fortitude and justice
had met to assist her, spite of all argument, fair or foul, she forced me
away.
Well. But is it possible thou shouldst have no more wit? wouldst thou
come away upon any terms but sure ones, having night, her chamber, and herself
naked in thine arms? By that light, if I had a son of fourteen, whom I had
helped thus far, that had served me so, I would breech him.
Bold. 'Sheart! what would you have me done?
Well. Have done? done? twice at least.
Bold. Have played Tarquin, and ravished her?
Well. Pish! Tarquin was a blockhead: if he had had any wit and could
have spoke, Lucrece had never been ravished; she would have yielded, I warrant
thee, and so will any woman.
Bold. I was such an erroneous heretic to love and women as thou art,
till now.
Well. God's precious! it makes me mad when I think on't. Was there
ever
such an absurd trick! now will she abuse thee horribly, say thou art a faint-
hearted fellow, a milksop, and I know not what, as indeed thou art.
Bold. Zounds! would you had been in my place.
Well. Zounds! I would I had, I would have so jumbled her honesty.
Wouldst thou be held out at stave's end with words? dost thou not know a
widow's
a weak vessel, and is easily cast, if you close.
Bold. Welltried, you deal unfriendly.
Well. By this light, I shall blush to be seen in thy company.
Bold. Pray, leave my chamber.
Well. Pox upon your chamber!
I care not for your chamber nor yourself,
More than you care for me.
Bold. 'Sblood! I as little for you.
Well. Why, fare you well.
Bold. Why, fare well. Yet, Welltried,^46^ I prythee, stay:
Thou know'st I love thee.
Well. 'Sheart! I love you as well;
But for my spleen or choler, I think I have
As much as you.
Bold. Well, friend,
This is the business you must do for me.
Repair unto the widow, where give out,
To-morrow morn I shall be married:
Invite her to the wedding. I have a trick
To put upon this lord, too, whom I made
My instrument to prefer me.
Well. What shall follow
I will not ask, because I mean to see't.
The jars 'twixt friends still keeps their friendship sweet.
[Exit.
L. Fee. [Waking.] Why, Welltried, you rogue! what's that? a vision?
Bold. Why, how now, my lord? whom do you call rogue? The gentleman
you
name is my friend. If you were wise, I should be angry.
L. Fee. Angry with me? why, damn me, sir, an you be, out with your
sword. It is not with me, I tell you, as
it was yesterday; I am fleshed, man, I. Have you anything to say to me?
Bold. Nothing but this: how many do you think you have slain last
night?
L. Fee. Why, five; I never kill less.
Bold. There were but four. My lord, you had best provide yourself and
begone; three you have slain stark dead.
L. Fee. You jest!
Bold. It is most true. Welltried is fled.
L. Fee. Why, let the roarers meddle with me another time: as for
flying, I scorn it; I killed 'em like a man. When did you ever see a lord hang
for anything? We may kill whom we list. Marry, my conscience pricks me. Ah?
plague a' this drink! what things it makes us do! I do no more remember this
now
than a puppy-dog.
O bloody lord, that art bedaubed with gore!
Vain world, adieu, for I will roar no more.
Bold. Nay, stay, my lord: I did but try the tenderness of your
conscience. All this is nothing so; but, to sweeten the tale I have for you, I
foretold you this feigned mischance.
L. Fee. It is a tale belonging to the widow.
Bold. I think you are a witch.
L. Fee. My grandmother was suspected.
Bold. The widow has desired you by me to meet her to-morrow at church
in some unknown disguise, lest any suspect it; for, quoth she,
Long hath he held me fast in his moist hand,
Therefore I will be his in nuptial band.
L. Fee. Bold, I have ever taken you to be my friend. I am very wise
now
and valiant; if this be not true, damn me, sir, you are the son of a whore,
and
you lie, and I will make it good with my sword.
Bold. I am whate'er you please, sir, if it be not true. I will go
with
you to the church myself. Your disguise I have thought on. The widow is your
own. Come, leave your fooling.
L. Fee. [Sings.]
If this be true, thou little boy Bold,
So true, as thou tell'st to me,
To-morrow morn, when I have the widow
My dear friend shalt thou be. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Street.
Enter Lady HONOUR as a Footboy; SELDOM with PITTS and DONNER,
two Serjeants.
L. Hon. Sir, 'tis most true, and in this shall you be
Unlike to other citizens, that arrest
To undo gentlemen: your clemency here,
Perchance, saves two lives: one from the other's sword,
The other from the law's. This morn they fight,
And though your debtor be a lord, yet should be
Miscarry, certainly your debt were lost.
Sel. Dost thou serve the Lord Proudly?
L. Hon. Sir, I do.
Sel. Well, such a boy as thou is worth more money
Than thy lord owes me. 'Tis not for the debt
I do arrest him, but to end this strife,
Which both may lose my money and his life.
Enter Lord PROUDLY, with a riding-rod.
L. Proud. My horse there! Zounds! I would not for the world
He should alight before me in the field;
My name and honour were for ever lost.
Sel. Good morrow to your honour. I do hear
Your lordship this fair morning is to fight,
And for your honour: did you never see
The play where the fat knight, hight Oldcastle,
Did tell you truly what his honour was?^47^
L. Proud. Why, how now, good man flatcap, what-d'ye-lack?^48^
Whom do you talk to, sirrah?
1st Ser. We arrest you.
L. Proud. Arrest me, rogue? I am a lord, ye curs,
A parliament man.
2nd Ser. Sir, we arrest you, though.
L. Proud. At whose suit?
Sel. At mine, sir.
L. Proud. Why, thou base rogue! did not I set thee up,
Having no stock but thy shop and fair wife?
Sel. Into my house with him!
L. Hon. Away with him! away with him!
L. Proud. A plot, a trick, by Heaven! See, Ingen's footboy:
'Tis by his master's means. O coward slave!
I'll put in ball, or pay the debt.
Sel. Ay, ay, ay; we'll talk with you within—thrust him in
[Exeunt.
Enter INGEN, looking on his sword, and bending it; and FRANK.
Ingen. If I miscarry, Frank I prythee see
All my debts paid: about five hundred pounds
Will fully satisfy all men: and my land,
And what I else possess, by Nature's right
And thy descent, Frank, I make freely thine.
Frank. I know you do not think I wish you dead
For all the benefit: besides, your spirt's
So opposite to counsel to avert
Your resolution, that I save my breath,
Which would be lost in vain, to expire and spend
Upon your foe, if you fall under him.
Ingen. Frank, I protest, you shall do injury
Upon my foe, and much disturbance too
Unto my soul departing, die I here
Fairly, and on my single enemy's sword,
If you should not let him go off untouched.
Now, by the master of thy life and mine,
I love thee, boy, beyond any example,
As well as thou dost me; but should I go
Thy second to the field, as thou dost mine,
And if thine enemy killed thee like a man,
I would desire never to see him more,
But he should bear himself off with those wounds
He had received from thee, from that time safe
And without persecution by the law;
For what hap is our foe's might be our own,
And no man's judgment sits in justice' place,
But weighing other men's as his own case.
Frank He has the advantage of you, being a lord;
For should you kill him, you are sure to die,
And by some lawyer with a golden tongue,
That cries for right (ten angels on his side),
Your daring meet him called presumption:
But kill he you, he and his noble friends
Have such a golden snaffle for the jaws
Of man-devouring Pythagorean law,
They'll rein her stubborn chaps even to her tail:
And (though she have iron teeth to meaner men),
So master her, that, who displeased her most,
She shall lie under like a tirèd jade;
For small boats on rough seas are quickly lost,
But ships ride safe, and cut the waves that tost.
Ingen. Follow what may, I am resolved, dear brother.
This monster valour, that doth feed on men,
Groans in me for my reputation.
This charge I give thee, too—if I do die,
Never to part from the young boy which late
I entertained, but love him for my sake.
And for my mistress, the Lady Honour,
Whom to deceive I have deceived myself,
If she be dead, pray God I may give up
My life a sacrifice on her brother's sword;
But if thou liv'st to see her, gentle brother:
If I be slain, tell her I died, because
I had transgressed against her worthy love—
This sword is not well-mounted; let's see thine.
Enter Lady HONOUR as a Footboy.
L. Hon. Your staying, sir, is in vain, for my Lord
Just at his taking horse to meet your here, [Proudly,
At Seldom's suit (the citizen) was arrested
Upon an action of two hundred pounds.
I saw it, sir; 'tis true.
Ingen. O scurvy lord!
It had been a cleanlier shift than this to have had
It hindered by command, he being a lord.
But I will find him.
Re-enter Lord PROUDLY.
L. Proud. You see, valiant sir, I have got loose
For all your stratagem. O rogue! are you there?
[Lord PROUDLY stabs Lady HONOUR.
Ingen. Most ignoble lord!
[INGEN stabs Lord PROUDLY in the left arm.
L. Proud. Coward! thou didst this,
That I might be disabled for the fight,
Or that thou mightst have some excuse to shun me,
But 'tis my left arm thou hast lighted on.
I have no second: here are three of you.
If all do murder me, your consciences
Will more than hang you, damn you. Come, prepare!
Ingen. Brother, walk off, and take the boy away.
Is he hurt much?
Frank. Nothing, or very little.
[Lord PROUDLY thrusts out Lady HONOUR,
who is accompanied by FRANK.
Ingen. I'll bind your wound up first: your loss of
May sooner make you faint. [blood
L. Proud. Ingen, thou art
A worthy gentleman: for this courtesy,
Go to, I'll save thy life. Come on, sir! [A pass or two.
I'll cut your codpiece point, sir, with this thrust,
And then down go your breeches.
Ingen. Your lordship's merry. [Another pass.
I had like to have spoiled your cutwork band.
Re-enter Lady HONOUR, running; FRANK after her; Lady HONOUR
kneels betwixt PROUDLY and INGEN.
L. Hon. O master, hold your hand! my lord, hold yours,
Or let your swords meet in this wretched breast!
Yet you are both well; what blood you have lost,
Give it as for the injury you did,
And now be friends.
L. Proud. 'Sheart! 'tis a loving rogue.
Ingen. Kind boy, stand up: 'tis for thy wound he
My wrong is yet unsatisfied. [bleeds;
L. Proud. Hence! away!
It is a sister's loss that whets my sword.
L. Hon. O, stay, my lord! behold your sister here.
[Discovers herself.
Bleeding by your hand: servant, see your mistress
Turned to thy servant, running by thy horse;
Whose meaning 'twas to have prevented this,
But all in vain.
Frank. O noble lady!
Ingen. Most worthy pattern of all womenkind!
L. Proud. Ingen, I am satisfied; put up your sword.
Sister, you must with me: I have a husband,
The Lord Feesimple's father, old, but rich.
This gentleman is no match for you: kneel not.
That portion of yours I have consumed!
Thus marrying, you shall never come to want.
L. Hon. O sweet my lord, my brother! do not force
To break my faith, or to a loathèd bed. [me
Ingen. Force you he shall not: brother bear her hence,
She is my wife, and thou shalt find my cause
Ten times improved now.
L. Proud. O, have at you, sir. [A pass.
L. Hon. Hold, hold, for Heaven's sake! was e'er wretched lady
Put to this hazard? Sir, let me speak
But one word with him, and I'll go with you,
And undergo whatever you command.
L. Proud. Do't quickly, for I love no whispering,
'Tis strange to see you, madam, with a sword!
You should have come hither in your lady's clothes.
L. Hon. Well, as you please, my lord: you are
Whatsoever before [witness,
Hath passed betwixt us, thus I do undo.
Were not I mad to think thou couldst love me,
That wouldst have slain my brother.
L. Proud. Say'st true, sister?
Ingen. O, thou fair creature! wilt thou be as false
As other ladies?
L. Hon. Thou art my example.
I'll kiss thee once: farewell for ever. Come, my lord,
Match me, with whom you please–a tumbler. [now
I must do this, else had they fought again.
L. Proud. Mine own best sister! Farewell Master Ingen. [Exit with
Lady HONOUR.
Frank. O ancient truth! to be denied of no man:
An eel by the tail's held surer than a woman. [Exeunt.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.—A Room in Sir JOHN LOVEALL'S House.
Enter SUBTLE, with Sir JOHN LOVEALL.
SUB. She is not to be cast.
Sir John. It cannot be:
Had you a wife, and I were in your case,
I would be hanged even at the chamber door,
Where I attempted, but I'd lay her flat.
Sub. Why, tell me truly, would it please you best,
To have her remain chaste or conquered?
Sir John. O friend, it would do me good at the heart
To have her overcome: she does so brag,
And stand upon her chastity, forsooth.
Sub. Why, then, in plain terms, sir, the fort is mine:
Your wife has yielded; "up tails" is her song.
The deed is done. Come now, be merry, man.
Sir John. Is the deed done indeed? Come, come, you jest.
Has my wife yielded? is "up tails" her song?
Faith, come to prose: how got you to the matter first, ha?
Pish! you are so bashful now—
Sub. Why, by my troth, I'll tell you, because you are my friend;
otherwise you must note, it is a great hurt to the art of whoremastery to
discover; besides, the skill was never mine o'th' price.
Sir John. Very good; on, sir.
Sub. At the first she was horrible stiff against me;
then, sir, I took her by the hand, which I kissed.
Sir John. Good, sir.
Sub. And I called her pretty rogue, and I thrust my finger betwixt
her
breasts, and I made lips. At last I pulled her by the chin to me, and I kissed
her.
Sir John. Hum!—very good.
Sub. So at the first she kissed very strangely, close and untoward.
Then said I to her, think but upon the wrongs, the intolerable wrongs, the
rogue
your husband does you.
Sir John. Ay, that was very good: what said she to you then, sir?
Sub. Nay, I went on. First, quoth I, think how he hath used
you—left you no means, given all your clothes to his punks^49^; struck
you,
turned your grey eyes into black ones, but yet—
Sir John. A pretty conceit!
Sub. Quoth I, these things are nothing in the rascal: think but
what a
base whoremaster the rascal is.
Sir John. Did you call me rascal so often, are you sure?
Sub. Yes, and oftener; for, said I, none come amiss to the rogue. I
have known him, quoth I, do three lousy beggars under hedges in the riding of
ten mile, and I swore this too.
Sir John. 'Twas very well; but you did lie. On pray.
Sub. Pish! one must lie a little. Now, sir, by this time she began to
kiss somewhat more openly and familiarly, her resistance began to slacken, and
my assault began to stiffen. The more her bulwark decayed, the more my battery
fortified. At last, sir, a little fumbling being passed to make the conquest
more difficult, she perceiving my artillery mounted, falls me flat upon her
back, cries me out aloud—
"Alas! I yield. Use me not roughly, friend;
My fort that, like Troy town, ten years hath stood
Besieged and shot at, did remain unwon;
But now 'tis conquered." So the deed was done.
Sir John. Then came the hottest service. Forward with your tale, sir.
Sub. Nay,
Cætera quis nescit? lassi requievimus ambo:
Proveniant medii sic mihi sæpe dies.^50^
Sir John. Which is as much as to say I am a cuckold in all languages!
But sure, 'tis not so? it is impossible my wife should yield.
Sub. Heyday! even now it was impossible she should hold out, and now
it
is impossible she should yield. Stay you but here, and be an ear-witness to
what
follows. I'll fetch your wife. [Aside] I know he will not stay.
[Exit.
Sir John. Good faith, sir, but he will.
I do suspect some knavery in this.
Here will I hide myself; when thought as gone,
If they do ought unfitting, I will call
Witness, and straightway sue for a divorce. [Exit.
Re-enter SUBTLE with Lady PERFECT.
Sub. I knew he would not stay. Now, noble mistress, I claim your
promise.
L. Per. What was that, good servant?
Sub. That you would lie with me.
L. Per. If with any man—
But, prithee, first consider with thyself,
If I should yield to thee, what a load thy conscience
Would bear about it; for I wish quick thunder
May strike me, if I yet have lost the truth,
Or whiteness of the hand I gave in church:
And 'twill not be thy happiness (as thou think'st)
That thou alone shouldst make a woman fall,
That did resist all else; but to thy soul
A bitter corrosive, that thou didst stain
Virtue that else had stood immaculate.
Nor speak I this as yielding unto thee,
For 'tis not in thy power, wert thou the sweet'st
Of nature's children and the happiest,
To conquer me, nor in mine own to yield;
And thus it is with every pious wife.
Thy daily railing at my absent husband
Makes me endure thee worse; for let him do
The most preposterous, ill-relishing things:
To me they seem good, since my husband does 'em.
Nor am I to revenge or govern him:
And thus it should be with all virtuous wives.
Sub. Pox o' this virtue and this chastity!
Do you not know, fair mistress, a young gentleman
About this town called Bold? Where did he lie
Last night, sweet mistress? O, O! are you catched?
I saw him slip out of the house this morn,
As naked as this truth; and for this cause
I have told your husband that you yielded to me,
And he I warrant you will blaze it thoroughly.
As good do now, then, as be thought to do.
L. Per. No, 'twill not be yet. Thou injurious man!
How wilt thou right me in my husband's thoughts,
That on a false surmise and spite hast told
A tale to breed incurable discontent?
Bold was that old wench that did serve the widow,
And thinking by this way to gain her love,
Missed of his purpose, and was thus cashiered;
Nor cares she to proclaim it to the world.
Sub. Zounds! I have wronged you, mistress, on my knees [Kneels.
I ask your pardon, and will nevermore
Attempt your purity, but neglect all things
Till that foul wrong I have bred in your knight
I have expelled, and set your loves aright.
Re-enter Sir JOHN LOVEALL.
Sir John. Which now is done already. Madam, wife
[Kneels.
Upon my knees with weeping eyes, heaved hands,
I ask thy pardon. O sweet, virtuous creature!
I prythee, break my head.
L. Per. Rise, rise, sir, pray.
You have done no wrong to me—at least, I think so:
Heaven hath prevented all my injury.
I do forgive, and marry you anew.
Come, we are all invited to the weddings:
The Lady Honour and the old rich count,
Young Bold unto another gentlewoman:
We and the widow are invited thither.
Embrace and love henceforth more really,
Not so like worldlings.
Sir John. Here then ends all strife.
Thus false friends are made true by a true wife. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Room in Lord PROUDLY'S House.
Enter the COUNT, wrapped in furs; Lady HONOUR, dressed like a Bride;
Lord PROUDLY, WELLTRIED, BOLD, leading Lord FEESIMPLE like a Lady
masqued; Sir JOHN LOVEALL, Lady PERFECT, SUBTLE, Lady BRIGHT; to them
FRANK, with a letter; SELDOM with his Wife.
Frank. Health and all joy unto this fair assembly.
My brother, who last tide is gone to France,
A branch of willow feathering his hat,
Bad me salute you, lady, and present you
With this same letter written in his blood.
He prays no man, for his sake, evermore
To credit woman, nor no lady ever
To believe man; so either sex shall rest
Uninjured by the other. This is all.
And this I have delivered.
L. Proud. Ay, and well.
You pronounce rarely, did you never play?
Frank. Yes, that I have—the fool, as some lords do.
Well. Set forward there.
Count. O, O, O! a pox o' this cold!
Well. A cold o' this pox, you might say, I'm afraid
L. Hon. How full of ghastly wounds this letter shows.
O, O! [Swoons.
L. Proud. Look to my sister.
Bold. 'Sheart! the lady swoons.
L. Per. Strong water there.
L. Fee. If strong breath would recover her, I am for her.
Count. Alas, good lady?—hum, hum, hum.
[Coughs perpetually.
Sub. He has fetched her again with coughing
L. Hon. Convey me to my bed; send for a priest
And a physician; your bride, I fear,
Instead of epithalamions shall need
A dirge or epitaph. O, lead me in:
My body dies for my soul's perjured sin.
[Exeunt Lady HONOUR, Lady PERFECT, Sir JOHN LOVEALL, SUBTLE,
SELDOM
and Mistress SELDOM.
Bold. Hymen comes towards us in a mourning robe.
Well. I hope, friend, we shall have the better day.
L. Proud. I'll fetch the parson and physician. [Exit.
Frank. They are both ready for you. [Exit.
Well. Madam, this is the gentlewoman
Who, something bashful, does desire your pardon,
That she does not unmask.
L. Bright. Good Master Welltried,
I would not buy her face; and for her manners,
If they were worse, they shall not displease me.
Well. I thank your ladyship.
L. Fee. Look how the old ass, my father, stands: he looks like
the bear
in the play; he has killed the lady with his very sight.^51^ As God help me, I
have the most to do to forbear unmasking me, that I might tell him his own, as
can be.
Bold. Fie! by no means. The widow comes toward
Count. O, O, O, O! [you,
L. Bright. Servant, God give you joy; and, gentle-
Or lady, as full joy I wish to you: [woman
Nor doubt that I will hinder you your love,
But here am come to do all courtesy
To your fair self, and husband that shall be.
L. Fee. I thank you heartily.
Well. 'Sheart! speak smaller, man.
L. Fee. I thank you heartily.
Count. You're going to this gear too, Master Bold? Um,
Bold. Not to your couching gear, [um, um!
My lord. Though I be not so old or rich
As your lordship, yet I love a young wench as well.
Well. As well as my lord? nay by my faith,
That you do not love a young wench as well as he:
I wonder you will be unmannerly to say so.
Count. Faith, Master Welltried, troth is I love them well, but they
love not me, um, um. You see what ill-luck I have with them, um, um. A pox o'
this cold, still say I.
Well. Where got you this cold, my lord? it can get in nowhere, that I
can see, but at your nostrils or eyes; all other parts are so barricadoed with
fur.
L. Fee. It got
In at his eyes, and made that birdlime there,
Where Cupid's wings do hang entangled.
Count. Is this your wife, that, um, um, um—shall be?
Master Bold, I'll be so bold as kiss her.
[Lady BRIGHT and BOLD whisper aside.
L. Fee. Sir, forbear: I have one bold enough to kiss my lips. O old coxcomb!
kiss thine own natural son; 'tis worse than a justice lying with his own
daughter. But, Master Welltried, when will the widow break this matter to me?
[The COUNT sits in a chair, and falls asleep.
Well. Not till the very close of all: she dissembles it yet, because my
lord, your father, is here, and her other suitor Bold.
L. Fee. That's all one; he's o' the plot o' my side.
L. Bright. 'Tis needless, Master Bold; but I will do
Anything you require to satisfy you.
Why should you doubt I will forbid the banns,
For so your friend here told me? I should rather
Doubt that you will not marry.
Bold. Madam, by Heaven,
As fully I am resolved to marry now,
And will too, if you do not hinder it,
As ever lover was: only because
The world has taken notice of some passage
'Twixt you and me, and then to satisfy
My sweetheart here, who (poor soul!) is afraid,
To have some public disgrace put upon her,
I do require some small thing at your hands.
L. Bright. Well, I will do it; and this profess besides;
Married, you shall as welcome be to me
As mine own brother; and yourself, fair lady,
Even as myself, both to my board and bed.
Well. Ah, ah! how like you that?
L. Fee. Now she begins.
Abundant thanks unto your widowhood.
Zounds! my father's asleep on's wedding day:
I wondered, where his cough was all this while.
Enter INGEN, like a Doctor: a Parson, FRANK, Lord PROUDLY, SELDOM,
Mistress SELDOM, Sir JOHN LOVEALL, Lady PERFECT and SUBTLE.
Ingen. I pray, forbear the chamber: noise does hurt
Her sickness I guess rather of the mind [her;
Than of her body, for her pulse beats well;
Her vital functions not decayed a whit,
But have their natural life and operation.
My lord, be cheered, I have an ingredient
About me shall make her well, I doubt not.
In, master parson: it shall be yours to^52^ pray;
The soul's physician should have still the way.
[Exit; the Parson shuts the door
L. Bright. How cheers she, pray?
L. Per. In troth, exceeding ill.
Mis. Sel. A very weak woman indeed she is, and surely I think cannot
'scape it.
Sir John. Did you mark how she eyed the physician?
L. Per. O God, ay, she is very loth to die.
Mis. Sel. Ay; that's ne'er the better sign, I can tell you.
Sub. And when the parson came to her, she turned
Away, and still let the physician hold
Her by the hand.
Bold. But see what thought the bridegroom takes,
My conscience knows, now, this is
A most preposterous match; yet for the commodity,
We wink at all inconveniency.
My lord! my lord!
Count. Um, um, um! I beshrew you for waking of me; now shall I have
such a fit of coughing,—um, um!
Bold. O hapless wife, that shall have thee, that either must let thee
sleep continually, or be kept waking herself by the cough.
L. Bright. You have a proper gentleman to your son, my lord: he were
fitter for this young lady than you.
Well. D'ye mark that again?
L. Fee. O sweet widow!
Count. He a wife! he a fool's head of his own.
L. Fee. No, of my father's.
Count. What should he do with a—um, um!
L. Per. What, with a cough? why, he would spit, and that's more than
you can do.
L. Proud. Your bride, my lord, is dead.
Count. Marry, even God be with her; grief will not help it: um, um,
um!
Frank. A most excellent spouse.
L. Proud. How fares she, master doctor?
Zounds! what's here?
Bold, L. Bright, Well., L. Fee. Heyday!
Sir John, Sel., Mis. Sel., Sub. How now?
[Looking in at the window.
L. Fee. Look, look! the parson joins the doctor's hand and hers: now
the
doctor kisses her, by this light! [All whoop.] Now goes his gown off.
Heyday! he has red breeches on. Zounds! the physician is got o' the top of
her:
belike, it is the mother^53^ she has. Hark! the bed creaks.
L. Proud. 'Sheart, the door's fast! break 'em open!
We are betrayed.
Frank. No breaking open doors: he that stirs first,
[Draws and holds out a pistol.
I'll pop a leaden pill into his guts,
Shall purge him quite away. No haste, good friends:
When they have done what's fit, you shall not need
To break the door; they'll open it themselves.
[A curtain is drawn and a bed discovered: INGEN with his sword
in
his hand and a pistol: Lady HONOUR in her petticoat: the Parson.
L. Proud. Thy blood, base villain, shall answer this.
[Lord PROUDLY and INGEN sit back to back.
I'll dye thy nuptial bed in thy heart's gore.
Ingen. Come, come, my lord; 'tis not so easily done.
You know it is not. For this my attempt
Upon your sister, before God and man
She was my wife, and ne'er a bedrid goat
Shall have my wench to get diseases on.
L. Proud. Well may'st thou term her so, that has con-
Even with her will to be dishonoured. [sented
Ingen. Not so, yet have I lain with her—
L. Hon. But first,
Witness this priest, we both were married.
Par. True it is, Domine;
Their contract's run into a marriage,
And that, my lord, into a carriage.
L. Proud. I will undo thee, priest.
Par. It is too late. I am undone
Already by wine and tobacco. I defy thee,
Thou temporal lord: perdy, thou never shalt
Keep me in jail, and hence springs my reason:
My act is neither felony nor treason.
L. Fee. Ay, sir; but you do not know what kindred she may have.
All. Come, come, there is no remedy.
L. Per. And weigh't right,
In my opinion, my honoured lord,
And everybody's else, this is a match,
Fitter ten thousand times than your intent.
All. Most certain 'tis.
L. Bright. Besides, this gentleman
Your brother-in-law's well parted and fair-meaned;
And all this come about (you must conceive)
By your own sister's wit, as well as his.
Ingen. Come, come, 'tis but getting of me knighted, my lord, and I
shall become your brother well enough.
L. Proud. Brother, your hand. Lords may have projects still,
But there's a greater Lord will have his will.
Bold. This is despatch. Now, madam, is the time,
For I long to be at it. Your hand, sweetheart.
L. Fee. Now, boys. [witness
L. Bright. My lord and gentlemen, I crave your
To what I now shall utter. 'Twixt this gentleman
And myself, there have been some love passages
Which here I free him, and take this lady—^54^
Well. La ye! and pray him take this lady.
L. Bright. Which with a mother's love I give to him,
And wish all joy may crown their marriage.
Bold. Nay, madam, yet she is not satisfied.
[Gives her a ring, which she puts on her thumb.
L. Bright. Further, before ye all I take this ring,
As an assumpsit, by the virtue of which
I bind myself in all my lands and goods,
That in his choice I'll be no hindrance;
Or by forbidding banns, or claiming him
Myself for mine, but let the match go on
Without my check, which he intendeth now:
And once again I say, I bind myself.
Bold. Then, once again I say, widow, thou'rt mine!
Priest, marry us: this match I did intend:
Ye all are witnesses; if thou hinder it,
Widow, your lands and goods are forfeit mine.
L. Bright. Ha! nay, take me too, since there's no
Your widow (without goods) sells scurvily. [remedy.
All. Whoop! God give you joy.
Count. 'Slight! I am cosened of all sides; I had good hope of the
widow
myself; but now I see everybody leaves me, saving,—um, um, um! [ warrant.
Bold. Troth, my lord, and that will stick by you, I
L. Bright. But how, sir, shall we salve this gentle-
Bold. Hang her, whore. [woman?
Well. Fie! you are too uncivil.
L. Fee. Whore in thy face, I do defy thy taunts.
Bold. Nay, hold, fair lady: now I think upon't,
The old count has no wife; let's make a match.
All. If he be so contented.
Count. With all my heart.
Bold. Then kiss your spouse.
Count. 'Sfoot! she has a beard. How now! my son?
All. 'Tis the Lord Feesimple. [Lord FEE. unmasks.
L. Fee. Father, lend me your sword. You and I are made a couple of fine
fools, are we not? If I were not valiant now, and meant to beat 'em all, here
would lie a simple disgrace upon us, a Fee-simple one, indeed. Mark now, what
I'll say to 'em. D'ye hear me, my masters? Damn me, ye are all the son of a
whore, and ye lie, and I will make it good with my sword. This is called
roaring, father.
Sub. I'll not meddle with you, sir.
L. Proud. You are my blood.
Well. And I fleshed you, you know. [now.
Bold. And I have a charge coming, I must not fight
L. Fee. Has either of you anything to say to me?
Sir John. Not we, sir.
L. Fee. Then have I something to say to you.
Have you anything to say to me?
Frank. Yes, marry have I, sir.
L. Fee. Then I have nothing to say to you, for that's the fashion.
Father, if you will come away with your cough, do. Let me see, how many
challenges I must get writ. You shall hear on me, believe it.
L. Proud. Nay, we'll not now part angry: stay the feasts,
That must attend the weddings. You shall stay.
L. Fee. Why, then, all friends. I thought you would not have had the
manners to bid us stay dinner neither.
Sir John. Then all are friends: and lady-wife, I crown
Thy virtues with this wreath, that't may be said,
There's a good wife.
Bold. A widow.
Ingen. And a maid.
[They set garlands on the heads of Lady PERFECT, Lady BRIGHT,
and Lady HONOUR.
L. Per. Yet mine is now approved the happiest life,
Since each of you hath changed to be a wife. [Exeunt.
^FOOTNOTES^
^1^ Collier reads "rest."
^2^ They retire soon afterwards, but the exit is not
marked—Collier.
^3^ A variation, perhaps, on the "Scotch boot," mentioned in Woman is
a
Weathercock.
^4^ Variously spelt Turnbull and Turnbole, the proper name being
Turnmill
Street. It was near Clerkenwell Green, and a noted resort of thieves,
ruffians,
etc.
^5^ Encountered.
^6^ A partner in affection.
^7^ i.e. A fool
^8^ i.e. Skylight.
^9^ The old copies read "be," but by changing to "sec," and putting the
full stop after "folly," Mr. Hazlitt has made excellent sense of the lines.
^10^ A brilliant stone resembling diamond, found at St. Vincent's Rocks
near Bristol, and once much used for cheap jewellery.
^11^ The "Roaring Girl," of Middleton and Dekker (in which play she
appears to much greater advantage than here), and a well-known character. Her
real name was Mary Frith. She was born in 1584, and died somewhere about 1659.
She commonly wore man's clothes and was alike bully, thief, bawd, and receiver
of stolen goods. She assisted to rob General Fairfax on Hounslow Heath, and in
Feb. 1611–12, did penance at St. Paul's Cross for some offence of which
no
record exists. Her notoriety was such that some of the dogs used for baiting
bulls and bears in Paris Garden were called after her. At her death she left
£20 for the conduit to run with wine on the anticipated restoration of
Charles II. Dyce in his Middleton, vol. ii., pp. 429-31, gives a sketch of
her life, and quotes a number of references to her from contemporary works;
amongst them the supposed allusion in Twelfth Night, I., iii. 137.
^12^ i.e. Because she is dressed as a man.
^13^ Often referred to as a typical Virago, e.g., by Ben Jonson,
The
Silent Woman, IV., i. A ballad entitled "Mary Ambree," is given in Percy's
Reliques. Possibly she is alluded to in Butler's couplet:
"A bold Virago, stout and tall
As Joan of France, or English Mall."
Hudibras, Part I., ii., 367.
^14^ Is Long Meg of Westminster, also a masculine lady of great
notoriety,
and after whom a cannon in Dover Castle, and a large flag-stone in
the cloisters
of Westminster Abbey are still called.—Collier. See post p. 437,
respecting a play of this name.
^15^ It is tolerably evident that two plays (one called Long Meg, and
the other The Ship), and not one with a double title, are here intended to
be spoken of. This may seem to disprove Malone's assertion (Shakespeare by
Boswell, iii. 334), that only one piece was represented on one day. By
Henslowe's Diary it appears that Longe Mege of Westminster was performed
at
Newington in February 1594, and, according to Field, it must have continued
for
some time popular. Nothing is known of a dramatic piece of that date called
The Ship. It may have been only a jig, often given at the conclusion of
plays.—Collier.
^16^ A game at cards.
^17^ Seldom's theories as given in the following speech remind one of the
courtier's Song of the Citizen in the Fatal Dowry, IV. ii.; possibly the
scene in which the song occurs was by Field.
^18^ A dish of several kinds of meat, mixed. Here the term is used
metaphorically to signify a jumble.
^19^ Peeped.
^20^ The "Vestals of Pict-hatch," (The Alchemist, II. i.,) are often
referred to. See also Merry Wives of Windsor, II. u, etc.
^21^ It seems to have been the custom to employ the Irish as lackeys or
footmen at this period. R. Brathwaite, in his Time's Curtaine Drawne,
1621,
speaking of the attendants of a courtier, mentions "two Irish lacquies"
as among
them. The "dart" which, according to this play, and Middleton and Rowley's
Faire Quarrel (edit. 1622), they carried, was perhaps intended as an
indication of the country from which they came, as being part of the
accoutrements of the native Irish.—Collier.
^22^ See note ante p. 386.
^23^ i.e. The "Kings of Turnbull" who appear in the next Act, scene
iv.
^24^ Bother.
^25^ The gold coins so named.
^26^ Prostitute.
^27^ A different version of this proverb occurs in Henry VI.
Part II.,
III., i. 53.
^28^ Compare Act II., i., "follow the friars." In The Alchemist, I.,
i., Face is a captain "whom not a Puritan in Blackfriars will trust." That
Blackfriars, in spite of the theatre being there, was a common residence of
the
Puritans many references prove.
^29^ Occurs in much the same sense in A Woman is a Weathercock, I.,
ii.—"this doublet sets in print my lord."
^30^ A gin is a perpendicular wooden axle with projecting arms.
^31^ i.e. With the tagged points of his hose or breeches unlaced.
^32^ In allusion to the cooks' shops of this well-known locality and to
the special provision they made at the time of Bartholomew Fair. It will be
remembered that the Great Fire of London ended at Pie Corner, Smithfield.
^33^ i.e. The theatre of that name in Golding Lane, Cripplegate. See
the volume of Dekker's plays in "The Mermaid Series," for a view and a full
account of it.
^34^ i.e. Half gallons.
^35^ He means that he wishes he had "insured" his return as he would as
willingly be at the Bermudas.—Collier. The Bermudas (or Streights)
was
a slang name for parts of the town frequented by bullies and swaggerers
such as
appear in this scene.
^36^ The jack, properly, is a coat of mail, but it here means a buff
jacket or jerkin worn by soldiers or pretended soldiers.—Collier.
^37^ i.e. Whorebang is afraid that Welltried and his friend are
writers who have come to the tavern merely for the purpose of making
notes for a
play; his remark is explained by Welltried's answer.
^38^ In both the old copies this remark is erroneously given to
Tearchaps.—Collier.
^39^ The common name for the domestic fool.
^40^ i.e. Lies in pawn.
^41^ The hero of an early heroic ballad.—Hazlitt.
^42^ Hazlitt's alteration of the old reading "sensitive."
^43^ i.e. Mating.
^44^ Compare the song in The Fatal Dowry, Act II.
^45^ An allusion to the proverb.—Hazlitt.
^46^ Hazlitt's correction; it is less abrupt than the old reading, "Why
farewell you. Welltried, I prythee stay."
^47^ This passage has been adduced by Dr. Farmer to show that
Falstaff was
originally called by Shakespeare Oldcastle, according to the
tradition mentioned
by Rowe, and supported by Fuller in his "Worthies," and by other authorities.
The point is argued at great length in Malone's Shakespeare by Boswell, xvi.
410, et seq., and the decisions of the learned have been various; but the
balance of evidence is undoubtedly in favour of the opinion that Shakespeare
made the change, perhaps to avoid the confusion of his very original character
with the mere fat buffoon of the old play of Henry V., a point not
adverted
to in the discussion. Field's testimony seems tolerably
decisive.—Collier.
^48^ "Flatcap" and "What-d'ye-lack" were cant names for citizens and
apprentices.
^49^ Loose women.
^50^ Ovid, "Amor." lib. i. el. 5, 25-6.
^51^ This refers, no doubt, to the scene in the old "most
pleasant comedy
of Mucedorus," 1598, when Amadine is pursued by the
bear.—Collier.
^52^ This makes better sense than the old reading "I pray.'
^53^ An hysterical fit.
^54^ This is closer to the old copies than Mr.
Hazlitt's reading, and the
sense seems to me to be equally good. Perhaps with the words "take this lady,"
she leads Feesimple towards Bold.
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