Beaumont and Fletcher's Works. Volume 9

Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima

Enter Old Knight, and Sir Gregory

 
Old K.
Why now you take the course Sir Gregory Fop:
I could enforce her, and I list, but love
That's gently won, is a man's own for ever,
Have you prepar'd good Musick?
 
 
Sir Gr. As fine a noise, Uncle, as heart can wish.
 
 
O[l]d K. Why that's done like a Suitor,
They must be woo'd a hundred several ways,
Before you obtain the right way in a woman,
'Tis an odd creature, full of creeks and windings.
The Serpent has not more; for sh'as all his,
And then her own beside came in by her mother.
 
 
Sir Gr. A fearful portion for a man to venture on.
 
 
Old K. But the way found once by the wits of men,
There is no creature lies so tame agen.
 
 
Sir Gr. I promise you, not a house-Rabbit, Sir.
 
 
Old K. No sucker on 'em all.
 
 
Sir Gr. What a thing's that?
They're pretty fools I warrant, when they'r tame
As a man can lay his lips [to].
 
 
Old K. How were you bred, Sir?
Did you never make a fool of a Tenants daughter?
 
 
Sir Gr. Never i'faith, they ha' made some fools for me,
And brought 'em many a time under their aprons.
 
 
Old [K] They could not shew you the way plainlier, I think,
To make a fool again.
 
 
Sir Gr. There's fools enough, Sir,
'Less they were wiser.
 
 
Old K. This is wondrous rare,
Come you to London with a Maiden-head, Knight?
A Gentleman of your rank ride with a Cloak-bag?
Never an Hostess by the way to leave it with?
Nor Tapsters Sister? nor head-Ostlers Wife?
What no body?
 
 
Sir Gr. Well mock'd old Wit-monger,
I keep it for your Neece.
 
 
Old K. Do not say so for shame, she'll laugh at thee,
A wife ne'er looks for't, 'tis a batchelors penny,
He may giv't to a begger-wench, i'th' progress time,
And ne'er be call'd to account for't.
 

[Ex.

 
Sir Gr. Would I had known so much,
I could ha' stopt a beggers mouth by th' way.
 

Enter Page and Fidlers boy

 
That rail'd upon me, 'cause I'd give her nothing —
What, are they come?
 
 
Pag. And plac'd directly, Sir,
Under her window.
 
 
Sir Gr. What may I call you, Gentleman?
 
 
Boy. A poor servant to the Viol, I'm the Voice, Sir.
 
 
Sir Gr. In good time Master Voice?
 
 
Boy. Indeed good time does get the mastery.
 
 
Sir Gr. What Countreyman, Master Voice.
 
 
Boy. Sir, born at Ely, we all set up in El[y,]
But our house commonly breaks in Rutland-shire.
 
 
Sir Gr. A shrewd place by my faith, it may well break your voice,
It breaks many a mans back; come, set to your business.
 

SONG

 
Fain would I wake you, Sweet, but fear
I should invite you to worse chear;
In your dreams you cannot fare
Meaner than Musick; no compare;
None of your slumbers are compil'd
Under the pleasure makes a Child;
Your day-delights, so well compact,
That what you think, turns all to act:
I'd wish my life no better play,
Your dream by night, your thought by day.
Wake gently, wake,
Part softly from your dreams;
The morning flies
To your fair eyes,
To take her special beams.
 
 
Sir Gr. I hear her up, here Master Voice,
Pay you the Instruments, save what you can,
 

Enter Neece above

 
To keep you when you're crackt.
 

[Exit Boy.

 
Neece. Who should this be?
That I'm so much beholding to, for sweetness?
Pray Heaven it happens right.
 
 
Sir Gr. Good morrow, Mistriss.
 
 
Neece. An ill day and a thousand come upon thee.
 
 
Sir Gr. 'Light, that's six hundred more than any
Almanack has.
 
 
Neece. Comes it from thee? it is the mangiest Musick
That ever woman heard.
 
 
Sir Gr. Nay, say not so, Lady,
There's not an itch about 'em.
 
 
Neece. I could curse
My attentive powers, for giving entrance to't;
There is no boldness like the impudence
That's lockt in a fools bloud, how durst you do this?
In conscience I abus'd you as sufficiently
As woman could a man; insatiate Coxcomb,
The mocks and spiteful language I have given thee,
Would o' my life ha' serv'd ten reasonable men,
And rise contented too, and left enough for their friends.
Thou glutton at abuses, never satisfied?
I am perswaded thou devour'st more flouts
Than all thy body's worth, and still a hungred!
A mischief of that maw, prethee seek elsewhere,
Introth I am weary of abusing thee;
Get thee a fresh Mistriss, thou'st make work enough;
I do not think there's scorn enough in Town
To serve thy turn, take the Court-Ladies in,
And all their Women to 'em, that exceed 'em.
 
 
Sir Gr. Is this in earnest, Lady?
 
 
Neece. Oh unsatiable!
Dost thou count all this but an earnest yet?
I'd thought I'd paid thee all the whole sum, trust me;
Thou'lt begger my derision utterly
If thou stay'st longer, I shall want a laugh:
If I knew where to borrow a contempt
Would hold thee tack, stay and be hang'd, thou shouldst then:
But thou'st no conscience now to extort hate from me,
When one has spent all she can make upon thee;
Must I begin to pay thee hire again?
After I have rid thee twice? faith 'tis unreasonable.
 
 
Sir Gr. Say you so? I'll know that presently.
 

[Exit.

 
Neece. Now he runs
To fetch my Uncle to this musty bargain,
But I have better ware always at hand.
And lay by this still, when he comes to cheapen.
 

Enter Cuningam

 
Cun. I met the Musick now, yet cannot learn
What entertainment he receiv'd from her.
 
 
Nee. There's some body set already, I must to't, I see,
Well, well, Sir Gregory?
 
 
Cun. Hah, Sir Gregory?
 
 
Nee. Where e'er you come, you may well boast your conquest.
 
 
Cun. She's lost y'faith, enough, has fortune then
Remembred her great boy? she seldom fails 'em.
 
 
Nee. H' was the unlikeliest man at first, methought,
To have my love, we never met but wrangled.
 
 
Cun. A pox upon that wrangling, say I still,
I never knew it fail yet, where e'er't came;
It never comes but like a storm of hail,
'Tis sure to bring fine weather at the tail on't,
There's not one match 'mongst twenty made without it,
It fights i' th' tongue, but sure to agree i' th' haunches.
 
 
Nee. That man that should ha' told me when time was.
I should ha' had him, had been laught at piteously,
But see how things will change!
 
 
Cun. Here's a heart feels it – Oh the deceitful promises of love!
What trust should a man put i' th' lip of woman?
She kist me with that strength, as if sh'ad meant
To ha' set the fair print of her soul upon me.
 
 
Nee. I would ha' sworn 'twould ne'er ha been a match once.
 
 
Cun. I'll hear no more, I'm mad to hear so much,
Why should I aim my thoughts at better fortunes
Than younger brothers have? that's a Maid with nothing,
Or some old Soap-boilers Widow, without Teeth,
There waits my fortune for me, seek no farther.
 

[Ex. Cun.

Enter Old Knight, and Sir Gregory

 
Old K. You tell me things, Sir Gregory, that cannot be.
She will not, nor she dares not.
 
 
Sir Gr. Would I were whipt then.
 
 
Nee. I'll make as little shew of love, Sir Gregory,
As ever Woman did, you shall not know
You have my heart a good while.
 
 
Old K. Heard you that?
 
 
Nee. Man will insult so soon, 'tis his condition,
'Tis good to keep him off as long as we can,
I've much ado, I swear; and love i' th' end
Will have his course, let Maids do what they can,
They are but frail things till they end in man.
 
 
Old K. What say you to this, Sir?
 
 
Sir Gr. This is somewhat handsome.
 
 
Nee. And by that little wrangling that I fain'd,
Now I shall try how constant his love is,
Although't went sore against my heart to chide him.
 
 
Sir Gr. Alas poor Gentlewoman.
 
 
Old K. Now y'are sure of truth,
You hear her own thoughts speak.
 
 
Sir Gr. They speak indeed.
 
 
Old K. Go, you're a brainless Coax; a Toy, a Fop,
I'll go no farther than your name, Sir Gr[egory]
I'll right my self there; were you from this place,
You should perceive I'm heartily angry with you,
Offer to sow strife 'twixt my Neece and I?
Good morrow Neece, good morrow.
 
 
Nee. Many fair ones to you, Sir.
 
 
Old K. Go, you're a Coxcomb. How dost Neece this morning?
An idle shallow fool: sleep'st thou well, Girl?
Fortune may very well provide thee Lordships,
For honesty has left thee little manners.
 
 
Sir Gr. How am I bang'd o'both sides!
 
 
Old K. Abuse kindnesse? Will't take the air to day Neece?
 
 
Nee. When you please, Sir,
There stands the Heir behind you I must take,
(Which I'd as lieve take, as take him I swear.)
 
 
Old K. La' you; do you hear't continued to your teeth now?
A pox of all such Gregories; what a hand
 

[Neece lets fall her Scarfe.

 
Have I with you!
 
 
Sir Gr. No more y'feck, I ha' done, Sir:
Lady, your Scarf's fal'n down.
 
 
Nee. 'Tis but your luck, Sir,
And does presage the Mistriss must fall shortly,
You may wear it, and you please.
 
 
Old K. There's a trick for you,
You're parlously belov'd, you should complain.
 
 
Sir Gr. Yes, when I complain, Sir,
Then do your worst, there I'll deceive you, Sir.
 
 
Old K. You are a Dolt, and so I leave you, Sir.
 

[Exit.

 
Sir Gr. Ah sirrah, Mistriss were you caught, i'faith?
We overheard you all; I must not know
I have your heart, take heed o' that, I pray,
I knew some Scarf would come.
 
 
Nee. He's quite gone, sure:
Ah you base Coxcomb, couldst thou come again?
And so abus'd as thou wast?
 
 
Sir Gr. How?
 
 
Nee. 'Twould ha' kill'd
A sensible man, he would ha' gone to his chamber,
And broke his heart by this time.
 
 
Sir Gr. Thank you heartily.
 
 
Nee. Or fixt a naked Rapier in a Wall,
Like him that earn'd his Knighthood, e'r he had it,
And then refus'd upon't, ran up to th' hilts.
 
 
Sir Gr. Yes, let him run for me, I was never brought up to't,
I never profest running i' my life.
 
 
Nee. What art thou made on? thou tough villanous vermin.
Will nothing destroy thee?
 
 
Sir Gr. Yes, yes, assure your self
Unkind words may do much.
 
 
Nee. Why, dost thou want 'em?
I've e'en consum'd my spleen to help thee to 'em:
Tell me what sort of words they be would speed thee?
I'll see what I can do yet.
 
 
Sir Gr. I'm much beholding to you,
You're willing to bestow huge pains upon me.
 
 
Nee. I should account nothing too much to rid thee.
 
 
Sir Gr. I wonder you'd not offer to destroy me,
All the while your Uncle was here.
 
 
Neece. Why there thou betray'st thy house; we of the Old-Crafts
Were born to more wit than so.
 
 
Sir Greg. I wear your favor here.
 
 
Neece. Would it might rot thy arme off: if thou knewst
With what contempt thou hast it, what hearts bitterness,
How many cunning curses came along with it,
Thoud'st quake to handle it.
 
 
Sir Greg. A pox, tak't again then;
Who'd be thus plagu'd of all hands?
 
 
Neece. No, wear't still,
But long I hope thou shalt not, 'tis but cast
Upon thee, purposely to serve another
That has more right to't, as in some Countries they convey
Their treasure upon Asses to their friends;
If mine be but so wise, and apprehensive,
As my opinion gives him to my heart,
It stayes not long on thy desertless arme;
I'll make thee e'er I ha' done, not dare to wear
Any thing of mine, although I give't thee freely;
Kiss it you may, and make what shew you can,
But sure you carry't to a worthier Man,
And so good morrow to you.
 

[Exit.

 
Sir Greg. Hu hum, ha hum;
I han't the spirit now to dash my brains out,
Nor the audacity to kill my self,
But I could cry my heart out, that's as good,
For so't be out, no matter which way it comes,
If I can dye with a fillip, or depart
At hot-cockles, What's that to any man?
If there be so much death that serves my turn there.
Every one knows the state of his own body,
No Carrion kills a Kite, but then agen
There's Cheese will choak a Daw; time I were dead I'faith,
If I knew which way without hurt or danger.
I am a Maiden-Knight, and cannot look
Upon a naked weapon with any modesty,
Else 'twould go hard with me, and to complain
To Sir Perfidious the old Knight agen,
Were to be more abus'd; perhaps he would beat me well,
But ne'er believe me.
 

Enter Cuningame

 
And few Men dye o' beating, that were lost too:
Oh, here's my friend, I'll make my moan to him.
 
 
Cun. I cannot tear her memory from my heart,
That treads mine down, was ever man so fool'd
That profest wit?
 
 
Sir Greg. O Cuningame?
 
 
Cun. Sir Gregory?
The choice, the Victor, the Towns happy Man?
 
 
Sir Greg. 'Snigs, What do'st mean? come I to thee for comfort, and do'st abuse me too?
 
 
Cun. Abuse you? How Sir?
With justifying your fortune, and your joyes?
 
 
Sir Greg. Pray hold your hand, Sir, I've been bob'd enough,
You come with a new way now; strike me merrily,
But when a man's sore beaten o' both sides already,
Then the least tap in jest goes to the guts on him;
Wilt ha the truth? I'm made the rankest ass
That e'er was born to Lordships.
 
 
Cun. What? No Sir?
 
 
Sir Greg. I had not thought my body could a yielded
All those foul scurvie names that she has call'd me,
I wonder whence she fetcht 'em?
 
 
Cun. Is this credible?
 
 
Sir Greg. She pin'd this Scarf upon me afore her Unckle,
But his back turn'd, she curst me so for wearing on't,
The very brawn of mine arme has ak'd ever since,
Yet in a manner forc't me to wear't still,
But hop't I should not long; if good luck serve
I should meet one that has more wit and worth
Should take it from me, 'twas but lent to me,
And sent to him for a token.
 
 
Cun. I conceit it, I know the Man
That lies in wait for't, part with't by all means,
In any case, you are way-laid about it.
 
 
Sir Greg. How Sir? way-laid?
 
 
Cun. Pox of a Scarf, say I,
I prize my friends life 'bove a million on 'em,
You shall be rul'd, Sir, I know more than you.
 
 
Sir Greg. If you know more than I, let me be rid on't,
'Lass, 'tis not for my wearing, so she told me.
 
 
Cun. No, no, give me't, the knave shall miss his purpose,
And you shall live.
 
 
Sir Greg. I would, as long as I could, Sir.
 
 
Cun. No more replyes, you shall, I'll prevent this,
Pompey shall march without it.
 
 
Sir Greg. What, is't he?
My Man that was?
 
 
Cun. Call him your deadly Enemy;
You give him too fair a name, you deal too nobly,
He bears a bloody mind, a cruel foe, Sir,
I care not if he heard me.
 
 
Sir Greg. But, Do you hear, Sir?
Can't sound with reason she should affect him?
 
 
Cun. Do you talk of reason? I never thought to have heard
Such a word come from you; reason in love?
Would you give that, no Doctor could e'er give?
Has not a Deputy married his Cook-maid?
An Aldermans Widow, one that was her turn-broach?
Nay, Has not a great Lady brought her Stable
Into her Chamber: lay with her Horse-keeper?
 
 
Sir Greg. Did ever love play such Jades tricks, Sir?
 
 
Cun. Oh thousands, thousands: Beware a sturdy Clown e're while you live, Sir;
'Tis like a huswifery in most Shires about us;
You shall ha' Farmers Widows wed thin Gentlemen,
Much like your self, but put'em to no stress;
What work can they do, with small trap-stick legs?
They keep Clowns to stop gaps, and drive in pegs,
A drudgery fit for Hindes, e'en back agen, Sir,
Your're safest at returning.
 
 
Sir Greg. Think you so, Sir?
 
 
Cun. But, How came this Clown to be call'd Pompey first?
 
 
Sir Greg. Push, one good-man Cæsar, a Pump-maker kersen'd him;
Pompey he writes himself, but his right name's Pumpey,
And stunk too when I had him, now he's crank.
 
 
Cun. I'm glad I know so much to quell his pride, Sir,
Walk you still that way, I'll make use of this,
To resolve all my doubts, and place this favor
On some new Mistriss, only for a try,
And if it meet my thoughts, I'll swear 'tis I.
 

[Exit.

 
Sir Greg. Is Pompey grown so malepert? so frampel?
The onely cutter about Ladies honors?
 

Enter Old Knight

 
And his blade soonest out?
 
 
O. K. Now, What's the news, Sir?
 
 
Sir Gre. I dare not say but good; oh excellent good, Sir.
 
 
O. K. I hope now you're resolv'd she loves you, Knight?
 
 
Sir Gr. Cuds me, What else Sir? that's not to do now.
 
 
O. K. You would not think how desperately you anger'd me,
When you bely'd her goodness; oh you vext me,
Even to a Palsey.
 
 
Sir Greg. What a thing was that Sir?
 

Enter Neece

 
Neece. 'Tis, that 'tis; as I have hope of sweetness, the Scarfe's gone;
Worthy wise friend, I doat upon thy cunning,
We two shall be well matcht, our Issue-male, sure
Will be born Counsellors; is't possible?
Thou shalt have another token out of hand for't;
Nay, since the way's found, pitty thou shouldst want, y'faith,
O my best joy, and dearest.
 
 
O. K. Well said, Neece,
So violent 'fore your Uncle? What will you do
In secret then?
 
 
Sir Greg. Marry call me slave, and rascal.
 
 
Neece. Your Scarfe – the Scarfe I gave you —
 
 
O. K. Mass that's true Neece,
I ne'er thought upon that; the Scarfe she gave you – Sir?
What dumb? No answer from you? the Scarfe?
 
 
Sir Greg. I was way-laid about it, my life threatned;
Life's life, Scarfe's but a Scarfe, and so I parted from't.
 
 
Neece. Unfortunate woman! my first favor too?
 
 
O. K. Will you be still an ass? no reconcilement
'Twixt you and wit? Are you so far fallen out,
You'l never come together? I tell you true,
I'm very lowsily asham'd on you,
That's the worst shame that can be;
Thus bayting on him: now his heart's hook't in,
I'll make him, e'er I ha' done, take her with nothing,
I love a man that lives by his wits alife;
Nay leave, sweet Neece, 'tis but a Scarfe, let it go.
 
 
Neece. The going of it never grieves me, Sir.
It is the manner, the manner —
 
 
Sir Greg. O dissembling Marmaset! If I durst speak,
Or could be believ'd when I speak,
What a tale could I tell, to make hair stand upright now!
 
 
Neece. Nay, Sir, at your request you shall perceive, Uncle,
With what renewing love I forgive this:
Here's a fair Diamond, Sir, I'll try how long
You can keep that.
 
 
Sir Greg. Not very long, you know't too,
Like a cunning witch as you are.
 
 
Neece. Y'are best let him ha' that too.
 
 
Sir Greg. So I were, I think, there were no living else,
I thank you, as you have handled the matter.
 
 
O. K. Why this is musical now, and Tuesday next
Shall tune your Instruments, that's the day set.
 
 
Neece. A match, good Uncle.
 
 
O. K. Sir, you hear me too?
 
 
Sir Greg. Oh very well, I'm for you.
 
 
Neece. What e'er you hear, you know my mind.
 

[Exeunt Old Knight and Neece.

 
Sir Gre. I, a – on't, too well, if I do not wonder how we two shall come together, I'm a Bear whelp? he talks of Tuesday next, as familiarly, as if we lov'd one another, but 'tis as unlikely to me, as 'twas seven year before I saw her; I shall try his cunning, it may be he has a way was never yet thought on, and it had need to be such a one, for all that I can think on will never do't; I look to have this Diamond taken from me very speedily, therefore I'll take it off o' my finger, for if it be seen, I shall be way-laid for that too.
 

[Exit.

Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima

Enter Old Knight, and Witty-pate

 
O. K.
Oh torture! torture! thou carriest a sting i'thy tail,
Thou never brought'st good news i'thy life yet,
And that's an ill quality, leave it when thou wilt.
 
 
Witty. Why you receive a blessing the wrong way, Sir,
Call you not this good newes? to save at once Sir
Your credit and your kinsmans life together;
Would it not vex your peace, and gaule your worth?
T'have one of your name hang'd?
 
 
O. K. Peace, no such words, boy.
 
 
Wit. Be thankful for the blessing of prevention then.
 
 
O. K. Le' me see, there was none hang'd out of our house since Brute,
I ha' search't both Stow, and Hollinshead.
 
 
Wit. O Sir.
 
 
O. K. I'll see what Polychronicon sayes anon too.
 
 
Wit. 'Twas a miraculous fortune that I heard on't.
 
 
O. K. I would thou'dst never heard on't.
 
 
Wit. That's true too,
So it had ne'er been done; to see the luck on't,
He was ev'n brought to Justice Aurums threshold,
There had flew'n forth a Mittimus straight for Newgate;
And note the fortune too, Sessions a Thursday,
Jury cull'd out a Friday, Judgment a Saturday,
Dungeon a Sunday, Tyburne a Munday,
Miseries quotidian ague, when't begins once,
Every day pulls him, till he pull his last.
 
 
O. K. No more, I say, 'tis an ill theam: where left you him?
 
 
Wit. He's i'th' Constables hands below i'th' Hall, Sir,
Poor Gentleman, and his accuser with him.
 
 
O. K. What's he?
 
 
Wit. A Judges Son 'tis thought, so much the worse too,
He'l hang his enemy, an't shall cost him nothing,
That's a great priviledge.
 
 
O. K. Within there?
 

Enter Servant

 
Ser. Sir?
 
 
O. K. Call up the folks i'th' Hall. I had such hope on him,
For a Scholar too, a thing thou ne'er wast fit for
Therefore erected all my joyes in him;
Got a Welch Benefice in reversion for him,
Dean of Cardigan, has his grace already,
He can marry and bury, yet ne'er a hair on's face;
 

Enter Credulous, Sir Ruinous (as a Constable,) and Lady Gentry (as a Man.)

 
Like a French Vicar, and, Does he bring such fruits to Town with him?
A Thief at his first lighting? Oh good den to you.
 
 
Wit. Nay, sweet Sir, you'r so vext now, you'l grieve him,
And hurt your self.
 
 
O. K. Away, I'll hear no counsel;
Come you but once in seven year to your Uncle,
And at that time must you be brought home too?
And by a Constable?
 
 
Wit. Oh speak low, Sir,
Remember your own credit, you profess
You love a Man o'wit, begin at home, Sir,
Express it i'your self.
 
 
Lady. Nay, Master Constable,
Shew your self a wise man, 'gainst your nature too.
 
 
Ruin. Sir, no Dish-porridgment, we have brought home
As good men as ye.
 
 
O. K. Out, a North-Brittain Constable, that tongue
Will publish all, it speaks so broad already;
Are you the Gentleman.
 
 
Lady. The unfortunate one, Sir,
That fell into the power of merciless Thieves,
Whereof this fellow, whom I'd call your kinsman,
As little as I could (for the fair reverence
I owe to fame and years) was the prime villain.
 
 
O.K. A wicked prime.
 
 
Wit. Nay, not so loud, sweet father.
 
 
Lad. The rest are fled, but I shall meet with 'em,
Hang one of 'em I will certain, I ha' swore it,
And 'twas my luck to light upon this first.
 
 
O.K. A Cambridge man for this? these your degrees, Sir?
Nine years at University for this fellowship?
 
 
Wit. Take your voice lower, dear Sir.
 
 
O.K. What's your loss, Sir?
 
 
Lady. That which offends me to repeat, the Money's whole, Sir,
'Tis i'th' Constables hands there, a seal'd hundred,
But I will not receive it.
 
 
O.K. No? Not the Money, Sir,
Having confest 'tis all?
 
 
Lady. 'Tis all the Money, Sir,
But 'tis not all I lost, for when they bound me,
They took a Diamond hung at my shirt string,
Which fear of life made me forget to hide;
It being the sparkling witness of a Contract,
'Twixt a great Lawyers daughter and my self.
 
 
Wit. I told you what he was; What does the Diamond
Concern my Cozen, Sir?
 
 
Lady. No more did the Money,
But he shall answer all now.
 
 
Wit. There's your conscience,
It shewes from whence you sprung.
 
 
Lady. Sprung? I had leapt a Thief,
Had I leapt some of your alliance.
 
 
Wit. Slave!
 
 
Lady. You prevent me still.
 
 
O.K. 'Slid, Son, Are you mad?
 
 
Lady. Come, come, I'll take a legal course.
 
 
O.K. Will you undo us all? What's your demand, Sir?
Now we're in's danger too.
 
 
Lady. A hundred Mark, Sir,
I will not bait a doit.
 
 
Witty. A hundred Rascals.
 
 
Lady. Sir, find 'em out in your own blood, and take 'em.
 
 
Wit. Go take your course, follow the Law, and spare not.
 
 
O. K. Does fury make you drunk? know you what you say?
 
 
Wit. A hundred dogs dungs, do your worst.
 
 
O. K. You do I'm sure; Whose loud now?
 
 
Wit. What his own asking?
 
 
O. K. Not in such a case?
 
 
Wit. You shall have but threescore pound; spite a your teeth,
I'll see you hang'd first.
 
 
O. K. And what's seven pound more man?
That all this coyle's about? stay, I say, he shall ha't.
 
 
Wit. It is your own, you may do what you please with it;
Pardon my zeal, I would ha' sav'd you money;
Give him all his own asking?
 
 
O. K. What's that to you, Sir?
Be sparing of your own, teach me to pinch
In such a case as this? go, go, live by your wits, go.
 
 
Wit. I practise all I can.
 
 
O. K. Follow you me, Sir,
And, Master Constable, come from the knave,
And be a witness of a full recompence.
 
 
Wit. Pray stop the Constables mouth, what ere you do Sir.
 
 
O. K. Yet agen? as if I meant not to do that my self,
Without your counsel? As for you, precious kinsman,
Your first years fruits in Wales shall go to rack for this,
You lie not in my house, I'll pack you out,
And pay for your lodging rather.
 

[Exeunt Knight, Ruin, and Lady.

 
Witty. Oh fie Cozen,
These are ill courses, you a Scholar too?
 
 
Cred. I was drawn into't most unfortunately,
By filthy deboist company.
 
 
Wit. I, I, I.
'Tis even the spoil of all our youth in England.
What were they Gentlemen?
 
 
Cred. Faith so like some on 'em,
They were ev'n the worse agen.
 
 
Wit. Hum.
 
 
Cred. Great Tobacco [swivers],
They would go near to rob with a pipe in their mouths.
 
 
Wit. What, no?
 
 
Cred. Faith leave it Cozen, because my Rascals use it.
 
 
Wit. So they do meat and drink, must worthy Gentlemen
Refrain their food for that? an honest man
May eat of the same Pig some Parson dines with,
A Lawyer and a fool feed of one Woodcock,
Yet one ne'er the simpler, t'other ne'er the wiser;
'Tis not meat, drink, or smoak, dish, cup, or pipe,
Co-operates to the making of a Knave,
'Tis the condition makes a slave, a slave,
There's London Philosophy for you; I tell you Cozen,
You cannot be too cautelous, nice, or dainty,
In your society here, especially
When you come raw from the University,
Before the World has hard'ned you a little,
For as a butter'd loaf is a Scholars breakfast there,
So a poach't Scholar is a cheaters dinner here,
I ha' known seven of 'em supt up at a Meale.
 
 
Cred. Why a poacht Scholar?
 
 
Wit. 'Cause he powres himself forth,
And all his secrets, at the first acquaintance,
Never so crafty to be eaten i'th' shell,
But is outstript of all he has at first,
And goes down glib, he's swallowed with sharp wit,
Stead of Wine Vinegar.
 
 
Cred. I shall think, Cozen,
O' your poach't Scholar, while I live.
 

Enter Servant

 
Serv. Master Credulous,
Your Uncle wills you to forbear the House,
You must with me, I'm charg'd to see you plac'd
In some new lodging about Theeving Lane,
What the conceit's, I know not, but commands you
To be seen here no more, till you hear further.
 
 
Cred. Here's a strange welcome, Sir.
 
 
Wit. This is the World, Cozen;
When a Man's fame's once poyson'd, fare thee well Lad.
 

[Exit Cred. and Servant.

 
This is the happiest cheat I e'er claim'd share in,
It has a two-fold fortune, gets me coyne,
And puts him out of grace, that stood between me,
My fathers Cambridge Jewel, much suspected
To be his Heir, now there's a bar in's hopes.
 

Enter Ruinous, and Lady Gentry

 
Ruin. It chinks, make haste.
 
 
Lady. The Goat at Smithfield Pens.
 

Enter Cunningame

 
Wit. Zo, zo, zufficient. Master Cuningame?
I never have ill luck when I meet a wit.
 
 
Cun. A Wit's better to meet, than to follow then,
For I ha' none so good I can commend yet,
But commonly men unfortunate to themselves,
Are luckiest to their friends, and so may I be.
 
 
Wit. I run o'er so much worth, going but in haste from you,
All my deliberate friendship cannot equal.
 
 
Cun. 'Tis but to shew, that you can place sometimes,
 

Enter Mirabell

 
Your modesty a top of all your virtues. [Exit Wit.
This Gentleman may pleasure me yet agen;
I am so haunted with this broad-brim'd hat,
Of the last progress block, with the young hat-band,
Made for a sucking Devil of two years old,
I know not where to turn my self.
 
 
Mir. Sir?
 
 
Cun. More torture?
 
 
Mir. 'Tis rumor'd that you love me.
 
 
Cun. A my troth Gentlewoman,
Rumor's as false a knave as ever pist then,
Pray tell him so from me; I cannot fain
With a sweet Gentlewoman, I must deal down right.
 
 
Mir. I heard, though you dissembled with my Aunt, Sir,
And that makes me more confident.
 
 
Cun. There's no falshood,
But payes us our own some way, I confess
I Fain'd with her, 'twas for a weightier purpose,
But not with thee, I swear.
 
 
Mir. Nor I with you then,
Although my Aunt enjoyn'd me to dissemble,
To right her splene, I love you faithfully.
 
 
Cun. Light, this is worse than 'twas.
 
 
Mir. I find such worth in you,
I cannot, nay I dare not dally with you,
For fear the flame consume me.
 
 
Cun. Here's fresh trouble,
This drives me to my conscience, for 'tis foul
To injure one that deals directly with me.
 
 
Mir. I crave but such a truth from your love, Sir,
As mine brings you, and that's proportionable.
 
 
Cun. A good Geometrician, 'shrew my heart;
Why are you out o'your wits, pretty plump Gentlewoman,
You talk so desperately? 'tis a great happiness,
Love has made one on's wiser than another,
We should be both cast away else;
Yet I love gratitude, I must requite you,
I shall be sick else, but to give you me,
A thing you must not take, if you mean to live,
For a' my troth I hardly can my self;
No wise Physitian will prescribe me for you.
Alass, your state is weak, you had need of Cordials,
Some rich Electuary, made of a Son an Heir,
An elder brother, in a Cullisse, whole,
'Tmust be some wealthy Gregory, boyl'd to a Jelly,
That must restore you to the state of new Gowns,
French Ruffs, and mutable head-tires.
 
 
Mir. But, Where is he, Sir?
One that's so rich will ne'er wed me with nothing.
 
 
Cun. Then see thy Conscience, and thy wit together,
Would'st thou have me then, that has nothing neither?
What say you to Fop Gregory the first, yonder?
Will you acknowledge your time amply recompenc'd?
Full satisfaction upon loves record?
Without any more suit, if I combine you?
 
 
Mir. Yes, by this honest kiss.
 
 
Cun. You're a wise Clyent,
To pay your fee before-hand, but all do so,
You know the worst already, that's the best too.
 
 
Mir. I know he's a fool.
 
 
Cun. You'r shrewdly hurt then;
This is your comfort, your great wisest Women
Pick their first Husband still out of that house,
And some will have 'em to chuse, if they bury twenty.
 
 
Mir. I'm of their minds, that like him for a [first] Husband,
To run youths race with [him], 'tis very pleasant,
But when I'm old, I'd alwayes wish for a wiser.
 
 
Cun. You may have me by that time:
For this first business,
Rest upon my performance.
 
 
Mir. With all thankfulness.
 
 
Cun. I have a project you must aid me in too.
 
 
Mir. You bind me to all lawful action, Sir.
 
 
Cun. Pray wear this Scarf about you.
 
 
Mir. I conjecture now —
 
 
Cun. There's a Court Principle for't, one office must help another;
As for example, for your cast o' Manchits out o'th' Pantry,
I'll allow you a Goose out o'th' Kitchin.
 
 
Mir. 'Tis very sociably done, Sir, farewel performance,
I shall be bold to call you so.
 
 
Cun. Do, sweet confidence,
 

Enter Sir Gregory

 
If I can match my two broad brim'd hats;
'Tis he, I know the Maggot by his head;
Now shall I learn newes of him, my precious chief.
 
 
Sir Greg. I have been seeking for you i'th' bowling-Green,
Enquir'd at Nettletons, and Anthonies Ordinary,
T'ha's vext me to the heart, look, I've a Diamond here,
And it cannot find a Master.
 
 
Cun. No? That's hard y'faith.
 
 
Sir Greg. It does belong to some body, a – on him,
I would he had it, do's but trouble me,
And she that sent it, is so waspish too,
There's no returning to her till't be gone.
 
 
Cun. Oh, ho, ah sirrah, are you come?
 
 
Sir Greg. What's that friend?
 
 
Cun. Do you note that corner sparkle?
 
 
Sir Greg. Which? which? which Sir?
 
 
Cun. At the West end o'th' Coller.
 
 
Sir Greg. Oh I see't now.
 
 
Cun. 'Tis an apparent mark; this is the stone, Sir,
That so much blood is threatned to be shed for.
 
 
Sir Greg. I pray.
 
 
Cun. A tun at least.
 
 
Sir Greg. They must not find't i'me then, they must
Goe where 'tis to be had.
 
 
Cun. 'Tis well it came to my hands first, Sir Gregory,
I know where this must go.
 
 
Sir Greg. Am I discharg'd on't?
 
 
Cun. My life for yours now.
 

[Draws.

 
Sir Greg. What now?
 
 
Cun. 'Tis discretion, Sir,
I'll stand upon my Guard all the while I ha't.
 
 
Sir Greg. 'Troth thou tak'st too much danger on thee still,
To preserve me alive.
 
 
Cun. 'Tis a friends duty, Sir,
Nay, by a toy that I have late thought upon,
I'll u[n]dertake to get your Mistriss for you.
 
 
Sir Greg. Thou wilt not? Wilt?
 
 
Cun. Contract her by a trick, Sir,
When she least thinks on't.
 
 
Sir Greg. There's the right way to't,
For if she think on't once, shee'l never do't.
 
 
Cun. She does abuse you still then?
 
 
Sir Greg. A – damnably,
Every time worse than other; yet her Uncle
Thinks the day holds a Tuesday; say it did, Sir,
She's so familiarly us'd to call me Rascal,
She'll quite forget to wed me by my own name,
And then that Marriage cannot hold in Law, you know.
 
 
Cun. Will you leave all to me?
 
 
Sir Greg. Who should I leave it to?
 
 
Cun. 'Tis our luck to love Neeces; I love a Neece too.
 
 
Sir Greg. I would you did y'faith.
 
 
Cun. But mine's a kind wretch.
 
 
Sir Greg. I marry Sir, I would mine were so too.
 
 
Cun. No rascal comes in her mouth.
 
 
Sir Greg. Troth, and mine has little else in hers.
 
 
Cun. Mine sends me tokens,
All the World knows not on.
 
 
Sir Greg. Mine gives me tokens too, very fine tokens,
But I dare not wear 'em.
 
 
Cun. Mine's kind in secret.
 
 
Sir Greg. And there mine's a hell-cat.
 
 
Cun. We have a day set too.
 
 
Sir Greg. 'Slid, so have we man,
But there's no sign of ever coming together.
 
 
Cun. I'll tell thee who 'tis, the old womans Neece.
 
 
Sir Greg. Is't she?
 
 
Cun. I would your luck had been no worse for mildness;
But mum, no more words on't to your Lady.
 
 
Sir Greg. Foh!
 
 
Cun. No blabbing, as you love me.
 
 
Sir Greg. None of our blood
Were ever bablers.
 
 
Cun. Prethee convey this Letter to her,
But at any hand let not your Mistriss see't.
 
 
Sir Greg. Yet agen Sir?
 
 
Cun. There's a Jewel in't,
The very art would make her doat upon't.
 
 
Sir Greg. Say you so?
And she shall see't for that trick only.
 
 
Cun. Remember but your Mistriss, and all's well.
 
 
Sir Greg. Nay, if I do not, hang me.
 

[Exit.

 
Cun. I believe you;
This is the onely way to return a token,
I know he will do't now, 'cause he's charg'd to'th' contrary.
He's the nearest kin to a Woman, of a thing
Made without substance, that a man can find agen,
Some Petticoat begot him, I'll be whipt else,
Engendring with an old pair of paund hose,
Lying in some hot chamber o'er the Kitchin:
Very steame bred him,
He never came where Rem in Re e'er grew;
The generation of a hundred such
Cannot make a man stand in a white sheet,
For 'tis no act in Law, nor can a Constable
Pick out a bawdy business for Bridewell in't;
 

Enter Clown (as a Gallant.)

 
A lamentable case, he's got with a Mans Urine, like a Mandrake.
How now? hah? What prodigious bravery's this?
A most preposterous Gallant, the Doublet sits
As if it mock't the breeches.
 
 
Clow. Save you, Sir.
 
 
Cun. H'as put his tongue in the fine suit of words too.
 
 
Clow. How does the party?
 
 
Cun. Takes me for a Scrivener. Which of the parties?
 
 
Clow. Hum, simplicity betide thee —
I would fain hear of the party; I would be loath to go
Farther with her; honor is not a thing to be dallied withall,
No more is reputation, no nor fame, I take it, I must not
Have her wrong'd when I'm abroad; my party is not
To be compell'd with any party in an oblique way;
'Tis very dangerous to deal with Women;
May prove a Lady too, but shall be nameless,
I'll bite my tongue out, e'er it prove a Traitor.
 
 
Cun. Upon my life I know her.
 
 
Clow. Not by me,
Know what you can, talk a whole day with me,
Y'are ne'er the wiser, she comes not from these lips.
 
 
Cun. The old Knights Neece.
 
 
Clow. 'Slid he has got her, pox of his heart that told him,
Can nothing be kept secret? let me entreat you
To use her name as little as you can, though.
 
 
Cun. 'Twill be small pleasure, Sir, to use her name.
 
 
Clow. I had intelligence in my solemn walks,
'Twixt Paddington and Pancridge, of a Scarfe,
Sent for a token, and a Jewel follow'd,
But I acknowledge not the receipt of any,
How e'er 'tis carried, believe me, Sir,
Upon my reputation I receiv'd none.
 
 
Cun. What, neither Scarfe nor Jewel?
 
 
Clow. 'Twould be seen
Some where about me, you may well think that,
I have an arme for a Scarfe, as others have,
An Ear, to hang a Jewel too, and that's more
Then some men have, my betters a great deal,
I must have restitution, where e'er it lights.
 
 
Cun. And reason good.
 
 
Clow. For all these tokens, Sir,
Pass i' my name.
 
 
Cun. It cannot otherwise be.
 
 
Clow. Sent to a worthy friend.
 
 
Cun. I, that's to thee.
 
 
Clow. I'm wrong'd under that title.
 
 
Cun. I dare sware thou art,
'Tis nothing but Sir Gregories circumvention,
His envious spite, when thou'rt at Paddington,
He meets the gifts at Pancridge.
 
 
Clow. Ah false Knight?
False both to honor, and the Law of Arms?
 
 
Cun. What wilt thou say if I be reveng'd for thee?
Thou sit as Witness?
 
 
Clow. I should laugh in state then.
 
 
Cun. I'll fob him, here's my hand.
 
 
Clow. I shall be as glad as any Man alive, to see him well fob'd, Sir; but now you talk of fobbing, I wonder the Lady sends not for me according to promise? I ha' kept out o' Town these two dayes, a purpose to be sent for; I am almost starv'd with walking.
 
 
Cun. Walking gets men a stomach.
 
 
Clow. 'Tis most true, Sir, I may speak it by experience, for I ha' got a stomach six times, and lost it agen, as often as a traveller from Chelsy shall lose the sight of Pauls, and get it agen.
 
 
Cun. Go to her, Man.
 
 
Clow. Not for a Million, enfringe my oath? there's a toy call'd a Vow, has past between us, a poor trifle, Sir; Pray do me the part and office of a Gentleman, if you chance to meet a Footman by the way, in Orange tawny ribbands, running before an empty Coach, with a Buzard i'th' Poop on't, direct him and his horses toward the new River by Islington, there they shall have me looking upon the Pipes, and whistling.
 

[Exit Clow.

 
Cun. A very good note; this love makes us all Monkeyes, But to my work: 'Scarfe first? and now a Diamond? these should be sure signs of her affections truth; Yet I'll go forward with my surer proof:
 

[Exit.

Enter Neece, and Sir Gregory

 
Neece. Is't possible?
 
 
Sir Greg. Nay, here's his Letter too, there's a fine Jewel in't,
Therefore I brought it to you.
 
 
Neece. You tedious Mongril! Is't not enough
To grace thee, to receive this from thy hand,
A thing which makes me almost sick to do,
But you must talk too?
 
 
Sir Greg. I ha' done.
 
 
Neece. Fall back,
Yet backer, backer yet, you unmannerly puppy,
Do you not see I'm going about to read it?
 
 
Sir Greg. Nay, these are golden dayes, now I stay by't,
She was wont not to endure me in her sight at all,
The World mends, I see that.
 
 
Neece. What an ambiguous Superscription's here!
To the best of Neeces. Why that title may be mine,
And more than her's:
Sure I much wrong the neatness of his art;
'Tis certain sent to me, and to requite
My cunning in the carriage of my Tokens,
Us'd the same Fop for his.
 
 
Sir Greg. She nodded now to me, 'twill come in time.
 
 
Neece. What's here? an entire Rubye, cut into a heart,
And this the word, Istud Amoris opus?
 
 
Sir Greg. Yes, yes, I have heard him say, that love is the best stone-cutter.
 
 
Neece. Why thou sawcy issue of some travelling Sow-gelder,
What makes love in thy mouth? Is it a thing
That ever will concern thee? I do wonder
How thou dar'st think on't! hast thou ever hope
To come i' the same roome where lovers are;
And scape unbrain'd with one of their velvet slippers?
 
 
Sir Greg. Love tricks break out I see, and you talk of slippers once,
'Tis not far off to bed time.
 
 
Neece. Is it possible thou canst laugh yet?
I would ha' undertook to ha' kill'd a spider
With less venome far, than I have spit at thee.
 
 
Sir Greg. You must conceive,
A Knight's another manner a piece of flesh.
 
 
Neece. Back, Owles-face.
 
 
Within. O. K. Do, do.
 
 
Neece. 'Tis my Unckles voice, that.
Why keep you so far off, Sir Gregory?
Are you afraid, Sir, to come near your Mistriss?
 
 
Sir Greg. Is the proud heart come down? I lookt for this still.
 
 
Neece. He comes not this way yet: Away, you dog-whelp,
Would you offer to come near me, though I said so?
I'll make you understand my mind in time;
[Your running] greedily, like a hound to his breakfast,
That chops in head and all to beguile his fellows;
I'm to be eaten, Sir, with Grace and leisure,
Behaviour and discourse, things that ne'er trouble you;
After I have pelted you sufficiently,
I tro you will learn more manners.
 
 
Sir Greg. I'm wondring still when we two shall come together?
Tuesday's at hand, but I'm as far off, as I was at first, I swear.
 

Enter Gardianess

 
Gard. Now Cuningame, I'll be reveng'd at large:
Lady, what was but all this while suspition,
Is truth, full blown now, my Neece wears your Scarfe.
 
 
Neece. Hah?
 
 
Gard. Do but follow me, I'll place you instantly
Where you shall see her courted by Cuningame.
 
 
Neece. I go with greediness; we long for things
That break our hearts sometimes, there's pleasures misery,
 

[Exeunt Neece and Gard.

 
Sir Greg. Where are those gad-flies going? to some Junket now;
That some old bumble-bee toles the young one forth
To sweet meats after kind, let 'em look to't,
The thing you wot on be not mist or gone,
I bring a Maiden-head, and I look for one.
Which is only a Puppet so drest.
 

[Exit.

Enter Cunningame (in discourse with a Mask't Gentlewoman in a broad hat, and scarf'd,) Neece at another door

 
Cun. Yes, yes.
 
 
Neece. Too manifest now, the Scarfe and all.
 
 
Cun. It cannot be, you're such a fearful soul.
 
 
Neece. I'll give her cause of fear e'er I part from her.
 
 
Cun. Will you say so? Is't not your Aunts desire too?
 
 
Neece. What a dissembling croane's that! she'l forswear't now.
 
 
Cun. I see my project takes, yonder's the grace on't.
 
 
Neece. Who would put confidence in wit again,
I'm plagu'd for my ambition, to desire
A wise Man for a husband, and I see
Fate will not have us go beyond our stint,
We are allow'd but one dish, and that's Woodcock,
It keeps up wit to make us friends and servants of,
And thinks any thing's good enough to make us husbands;
Oh that Whores hat o' thine, o' the riding block,
A shade for lecherous kisses.
 
 
Cun. Make you doubt on't?
Is not my love of force?
 
 
Neece. Yes, me it forces
To tear that sorcerous strumpet from th' imbraces.
 
 
Cun. Lady?
 
 
Neece. Oh thou hast wrong'd the exquisit'st love —
 
 
Cun. What mean you, Lady?
 
 
Neece. Mine, you'l answer for't.
 
 
Cun. Alas, What seek you?
 
 
Neece. Sir, mine own with loss.
 
 
Cun. You shall.
 
 
Neece. I never made so hard a bargain.
 
 
Cun. Sweet Lady?
 
 
Neece. Unjust man, let my wrath reach her,
As you owe virtue duty;
 

[Cun. falls on purpose.

 
Your cause trips you,
Now Minion, you shall feel what loves rage is,
Before you taste the pleasure; smile you false, Sir?
 
 
Cun. How can I chuse? to see what pains you take,
Upon a thing will never thank you for't.
Neece. How?
Cun. See what things you women be, Lady,
When cloaths are taken for the best part of you?
This was to show you, when you think I love you not,
How y'are deceiv'd still, there the Moral lies,
'Twas a trap set to catch you, and the only bait
To take a Lady nibling, is fine clothes;
Now I dare boldly thank you for your love,
I'm pretty well resolv'd in't by this fit,
For a jealous ague alwayes ushers it.
 
 
Neece. Now blessings still maintain this wit of thine,
And I have an excellent fortune coming in thee,
Bring nothing else I charge thee.
 
 
Cun. Not a groat I warrant ye.
 
 
Neece. Thou shalt be worthily welcome, take my faith for't,
Next opportunity shall make us.
 
 
Cu[n]. The old Gentlewoman has fool'd her revenge sweetly.
 
 
Neece. 'Lass, 'tis her part, she knows her place so well yonder;
Alwayes when Women jumpe upon threescore,
Love shoves e'm from the chamber to the door.
 
 
Cun. Thou art a precious she-wit.
 

[Exeunt.