Young Lo. I wonder sweet heart you will offer this, you do not understand these Gentlemen: I will be short and pithy: I had rather cast you off by the way of charge: these are Creatures, that nothing goes to the maintenance of but Corn and Water. I will keep these fellows just in the competencie of two Hens.
Wid. If you can cast it so Sir, you have my liking. If they eat less, I should not be offended: But how these Sir, can live upon so little as Corn and Water, I am unbelieving.
Young Lo. Why prethee sweet heart what's your Ale? is not that Corn and Water, my sweet Widow?
Wid. I but my sweet Knight where's the meat to this, and cloaths that they must look for?
Young Lo. In this short sentence Ale, is all included: Meat, Drink, and Cloth; These are no ravening Footmen, no fellows, that at Ordinaries dare eat their eighteen pence thrice out before they rise, and yet goe hungry to play, and crack more nuts than would suffice a dozen Squirrels; besides the din, which is damnable: I had rather rail, and be confin'd to a Boatmaker, than live amongst such rascals; these are people of such a clean discretion in their diet, of such a moderate sustenance, that they sweat if they but smell hot meat. Porredge is poison, they hate a Kitchin as they hate a Counter, and show 'em but a Feather-bed they swound. Ale is their eating and their drinking surely, which keeps their bodies clear, and soluble. Bread is a binder, and for that abolisht even in their Ale, whose lost room fills an apple, which is more airy and of subtiler nature. The rest they take is little, and that little is little easie: For like strict men of order, they do correct their bodies with a bench, or a poor stubborn table; if a chimny offer it self with some few broken rushes, they are in down: when they are sick, that's drunk, they may have fresh straw, else they do despise these worldly pamperings. For their poor apparel, 'tis worn out to the diet; new they seek none, and if a man should offer, they are angrie, scarce to be reconcil'd again with him: you shall not hear 'em ask one a cast doublet once in a year, which is modesty befitting my poor friends: you see their Wardrobe, though slender, competent: For shirts I take it, they are things worn out of their remembrance. Lousie they will be when they list, and mangie, which shows a fine variety: and then to cure 'em, a Tanners limepit, which is little charge, two dogs, and these; these two may be cur'd for 3. pence.
Wid. You have half perswaded me, pray use your pleasure: and my good friends since I do know your diet, I'le take an order, meat shall not offend you, you shall have Ale.
Capt. We ask no more, let it be, mighty Lady: and if we perish, then our own sins on us.
Young Lo. Come forward Gentlemen, to Church my boys, when we have done, I'le give you cheer in bowles. [Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima
Enter Elder Loveless.
Elder Lo. This senseless woman vexes me to th' heart, she will not from my memory: would she were a man for one two hours, that I might beat her. If I had been unhansome, old or jealous, 'thad been an even lay she might have scorn'd me; but to be young, and by this light I think as proper as the proudest; made as clean, as straight, and strong backt; means and manners equal with the best cloth of silver Sir i'th' kingdom: But these are things at some time of the Moon, below the cut of Canvas: sure she has some Meeching Rascal in her house, some Hind, that she hath seen bear (like another Milo) quarters of Malt upon his back, and sing with't, Thrash all day, and i'th' evening in his stockings, strike up a Hornpipe, and there stink two hours, and ne're a whit the worse man; these are they, these steel chin'd Rascals that undo us all. Would I had been a Carter, or a Coachman, I had done the deed e're this time.
Enter Servant.
Ser. Sir, there's a Gentleman without would speak with you.
Elder Lo. Bid him come in.
Enter Welford.
Wel. By your leave Sir.
Elder Lo. You are welcome, what's your will Sir?
Wel. Have you forgotten me?
Elder Lo. I do not much remember you.
Wel. You must Sir. I am that Gentleman you pleas'd to wrong, in your disguise, I have inquired you out.
Elder Lo. I was disguised indeed Sir if I wrong'd you, pray where and when?
Wel. In such a Ladies house, I need not name her.
Elder Lo. I do remember you, you seem'd to be a Sutor to that Lady?
Wel. If you remember this, do not forget how scurvily you us'd me: that was no place to quarrel in, pray you think of it; if you be honest you dare fight with me, without more urging, else I must provoke ye.
Elder Lo. Sir I dare fight, but never for a woman, I will not have her in my cause, she's mortal, and so is not my anger: if you have brought a nobler subject for our Swords, I am for you; in this I would be loth to prick my Finger. And where you say I wrong'd you, 'tis so far from my profession, that amongst my fears, to do wrong is the greatest: credit me we have been both abused, (not by our selves, for that I hold a spleen, no sin of malice, and may with man enough be best forgoten,) but by that willfull, scornful piece of hatred, that much forgetful Lady: for whose sake, if we should leave our reason, and run on upon our sense, like Rams, the little world of good men would laugh at us, and despise us, fixing upon our desperate memories the never-worn out names of Fools and Fencers. Sir 'tis not fear, but reason makes me tell you; in this I had rather help you Sir, than hurt you, and you shall find it, though you throw your self into as many dangers as she offers, though you redeem her lost name every day, and find her out new honours with your Sword, you shall but be her mirth as I have been.
Wel. I ask you mercy Sir, you have ta'ne my edge off: yet I would fain be even with this Lady.
Elder Lo. In which I'le be your helper: we are two, and they are two: two Sisters, rich alike, only the elder has the prouder Dowry: In troth I pity this disgrace in you, yet of mine own I am senceless: do but follow my Counsel, and I'le pawn my spirit, we'l overreach 'em yet; the means is this—
Enter Servant.
Ser. Sir there's a Gentlewoma[n] will needs speak with you, I cannot keep her out, she's entred Sir.
Elder Lo. It is the waiting woman, pray be not seen: sirrah hold her in discourse a while: hark in your ear, go and dispatch it quickly, when I come in, I'le tell you all the project.
Wel. I care not which I have. [Exit Welford.
Elder Lo. Away, 'tis done, she must not see you: now Lady Guiniver what news with you?
Enter Abigal.
Abig. Pray leave these frumps Sir, and receive this letter.
Elder Lo. From whom good vanity?
Abig. 'Tis from my Lady Sir: Alas good soul, she cries and takes on!
Elder Lo. Do's she so good Soul? wou'd she not have a Cawdle? do's she send you with your fine Oratory goody Tully to tye me to believe again? bring out the Cat-hounds, I'le make you take a tree Whore, then with my tiller bring down your Gibship, and then have you cast, and hung up i'th' Warren.
Abig. I am no beast Sir, would you knew it.
Elder Lo. Wou'd I did, for I am yet very doubtful; what will you say now?
Abig. Nothing not I.
Elder Lo. Art thou a woman, and say nothing?
Abig. Unless you'l hear me with more moderation, I can speak wise enough.
Elder Lo. And loud enough? will your Lady love me?
Abig. It seems so by her letter, and her lamentations; but you are such another man.
Elder Lo. Not such another as I was, Mumps; nor will not be: I'le read her fine Epistle: ha, ha, ha, is not thy Mistress mad?
Abig. For you she will be, 'tis a shame you should use a poor Gentlewoman so untowardly; she loves the ground you tread on; and you (hard heart) because she jested with you, mean to kill her; 'tis a fine conquest as they say.
Elder Lo. Hast thou so much moisture in the Whitleather hide yet, that thou canst cry? I wou'd have sworn thou hadst been touchwood five year since; nay let it rain, thy face chops for a shower like a dry Dunghil.
Abig. I'le not indure this Ribauldry; farewel i'th' Devils name; if my Lady die, I'le be sworn before a Jury, thou art the cause on't.
Elder Lo. Do Maukin do, deliver to your Lady from me this: I mean to see her, if I have no other business: which before I'le want to come to her, I mean to go seek birds nests: yet I may come too: but if I come, from this door till I see her, will I think how to rail vildly at her; how to vex her, and make her cry so much, that the Physician if she fall sick upon't, shall find the cause to be want of Urine, and she remediless dye in her Heresie: Farewell old Adage, I hope to see the Boys make Potguns on thee.
Abig. Th'art a vile man, God bless my issue from thee.
Elder Lo. Thou hast but one, and that's in thy left crupper, that makes thee hobble so; you must be ground i'th' breach like a Top, you'I ne're spin well else: Farewell Fytchock. [Exeunt.
Enter Lady alone.
Lady. Is it not strange that every womans will should track out new wayes to disturb her self? if I should call my reason to account, it cannot answer why I keep my self from mine own wish, and stop the man I love from his; and every hour repent again, yet still go on: I know 'tis like a man, that wants his natural sleep, and growing dull would gladly give the remnant of his life for two hours rest; yet through his frowardness, will rather choose to watch another man, drowsie as he, than take his own repose. All this I know: yet a strange peevishness and anger, not to have the power to do things unexpected, carries me away to mine own ruine: I had rather die sometimes than not disgrace in public him whom people think I love, and do't with oaths, and am in earnest then: O what are we! Men, you must answer this, that dare obey such things as we command. How now? what newes?
Enter Abigal.
Abi. Faith Madam none worth hearing.
Lady. Is he not come?
Abi. No truly.
Lady. Nor has he writ?
Abigal. Neither. I pray God you have not undone your self.
Lady. Why, but what saies he?
Abi. Faith he talks strangely.
Lady. How strangely?
Abi. First at your Letter he laught extremely.
Lady. What, in contempt?
Abi. He laught monstrous loud, as he would die, and when you wrote it I think you were in no such merry mood, to provoke him that way: and having done he cried Alas for her, and violently laught again.
Lady. Did he?
Abi. Yes, till I was angry.
Lady. Angry, why? why wert thou angry? he did doe but well, I did deserve it, he had been a fool, an unfit man for any one to love, had he not laught thus at me: you were angry, that show'd your folly; I shall love him more for that, than all that ere he did before: but said he nothing else?
Abi. Many uncertain things: he said though you had mockt him, because you were a woman, he could wish to do you so much favour as to see you: yet he said, he knew you rash, and was loth to offend you with the sight of one, whom now he was bound not to leave.
Lady. What one was that?
Abi. I know not, but truly I do fear there is a making up there: for I heard the servants, as I past by some, whisper such a thing: and as I came back through the hall, there were two or three Clarks writing great conveyances in hast, which they said were for their Mistris joynture.
Lady. 'Tis very like, and fit it should be so, for he does think, and reasonably think, that I should keep him with my idle tricks for ever ere he be married.
Abi. At last he said, it should go hard but he would see you for your satisfaction.
Lady. All we that are called Women, know as well as men, it were a far more noble thing to grace where we are grace't, and give respect there where we are respected: yet we practise a wilder course, and never bend our eyes on men with pleasure, till they find the way to give us a neglect: then we, too late, perceive the loss of what we might have had, and dote to death.
Enter Martha.
Mar. Sister, yonder's your Servant, with a Gentlewoman with him.
Lady. Where?
Mar. Close at the door.
Lady. Alas I am undone, I fear he is be[t]roth'd, What kind of woman is she?
Mar. A most ill favoured one, with her Masque on: And how her face should mend the rest I know not.
La. But yet her mind was of a milder stuff than mine was.
Enter Elder Loveless, and Welford in Womans apparel.
Lady. Now I see him, if my heart swell not again (away thou womans pride) so that I cannot speak a gentle word to him, let me not live.
Elder Lo. By your leave here.
Lady. How now, what new trick invites you hither? Ha'you a fine device again?
Elder Lo. Faith this is the finest device I have now: How dost thou sweet heart?
Wel. Why very well, so long as I may please You my dear Lover. I nor can, nor will Be ill when you are well, well when you are ill.
Elder Lo. O thy sweet temper! what would I have given, that Lady had been like thee: seest thou her? that face (my love) join'd with thy humble mind, had made a wench indeed.
Wel. Alas my love, what God hath done, I dare not think to mend. I use no paint, nor any drugs of Art, my hands and face will shew it.
La. Why what thing have you brought to shew us there? do you take mony for it?
Elder Lo. A Godlike thing, not to be bought for mony: 'tis my Mistris: in whom there is no passion, nor no scorn: what I will is for law; pray you salute her.
Lady. Salute her? by this good light, I would not kiss her for half my wealth.
Elder Lo. Why? why pray you? You shall see me do't afore you; look you.
Lady. Now fie upon thee, a beast would not have don't. I would not kiss thee of a month to gain a Kingdom.
Elder Lo. Marry you shall not be troubled.
Lady. Why was there ever such a Meg as this? Sure thou art mad.
Elder Lo. I was mad once, when I lov'd pictures; for what are shape and colours else, but pictures? in that tawnie hide there lies an endless mass of vertues, when all your red and white ones want it.
Lady. And this is she you are to marry, is't not?
Elder Lo. Yes indeed is't.
Lady. God give you joy.
Elder Lo. Amen.
Wel. I thank yo[u], as unknown for your good wish. The like to you when ever you shall wed.
Elder Lo. O gentle Spirit!
Lady. You thank me? I pray Keep your breath nearer you, I do not like it.
Wel. I would not willingly offend at all, Much less a Lady of your worthie parts.
Elder Lo. Sweet, Sweet!
La. I do not think this woman can by nature be thus, Thus ugly; sure she's some common Strumpet, Deform'd with exercise of sin?
Wel. O Sir believe not this, for Heaven so comfort me as I am free from foul pollution with any man; my honour ta'ne away, I am no woman.
Elder Lo. Arise my dearest Soul; I do not credit it. Alas, I fear her tender heart will break with this reproach; fie that you know no more civility to a weak Virgin. 'Tis no matter Sweet, let her say what she will, thou art not worse to me, and therefore not at all; be careless.
Wel. For all things else I would, but for mine honor; Me thinks.
Elder Lo. Alas, thine honour is not stain'd, Is this the business that you sent for me about?
Mar. Faith Sister you are much to blame, to use a woman, whatsoe're she be, thus; I'le salute her: You are welcome hither.
Wel. I humbly thank you.
Elder Lo. Milde yet as the Dove, for all these injuries. Come shall we goe, I love thee not so ill to keep thee here a jesting stock. Adue to the worlds end.
Lady. Why whither now?
Elder Lo. Nay you shall never know, because you shall not find me.
Lady. I pray let me speak with you.
Elder Lo. 'Tis very well: come.
Lady. I pray you let me speak with you.
Elder Lo. Yes for another mock.
Lady. By Heaven I have no mocks: good Sir a word.
Elder Lo. Though you deserve not so much at my hands, yet if you be in such earnest, I'le speak a word with you; but I beseech you be brief: for in good faith there's a Parson and a licence stay for us i'th' Church all this while: and you know 'tis night.
Lady. Sir, give me hearing patiently, and whatsoever I have heretofore spoke jestingly, forget: for as I hope for mercy any where, what I shall utter now is from my heart, and as I mean.
Elder Lo. Well, well, what do you mean?
Lady. Was not I once your Mistress, and you my Servant?
Elder Lo. O 'tis about the old matter.
Lady. Nay good Sir stay me out; I would but hear you excuse your self, why you should take this woman, and leave me.
Elder Lo. Prethee why not, deserves she not as much as you?
Lady. I think not, if you will look With an indifferency upon us both.
Elder Lo. Upon your faces, 'tis true: but if judiciously we shall cast our eyes upon your minds, you are a thousand women of her in worth: she cannot swound in jest, nor set her lover tasks, to shew her peevishness, and his affection, nor cross what he saies, though it be Canonical. She's a good plain wench, that will do as I will have her, and bring me lusty Boys to throw the Sledge, and lift at Pigs of Lead: and for a Wife, she's far beyond you: what can you do in a houshold to provide for your issue, but lye i' bed and get 'em? your business is to dress you, and at idle hours to eat; when she can do a thousand profitable things: she can do pretty well in the Pastry, and knows how Pullen should be cram'd, she cuts Cambrick at a thread, weaves Bone-lace, and quilts Balls; and what are you good for?
Lady. Admit it true, that she were far beyond me in all respects, does that give you a licence to forswear your self?
Elder Lo. Forswear my self, how?
Lady. Perhaps you have forgotten the innumerable oaths you have utter'd in disclaiming all for Wives but me: I'le not remember you: God give you joy.
Elder Lo. Nay but conceive me, the intent of oaths is ever understood: Admit I should protest to such a friend, to see him at his Lodging to morrow: Divines would never hold me perjur'd if I were struck blind, or he hid him where my diligent search could not find him: so there were no cross act of mine own in't. Can it be imagined I mean to force you to Marriage, and to have you whether you will or no?
Lady. Alas you need not. I make already tender of my self, and then you are forsworn.
Elder Lo. Some sin I see indeed must necessarily fall upon me, as whosoever deals with Women shall never utterly avoid it: yet I would chuse the least ill; which is to forsake you, that have done me all the abuses of a malignant Woman, contemn'd my service, and would have held me prating about Marriage, till I had been past getting of Children: then her that hath forsaken her Family, and put her tender body in my hand, upon my word—
Lady. Which of us swore you first to?
Elder Lo. Why to you.
Lady. Which oath is to be kept then?
Elder Lo. I prethee do not urge my sins unto me, Without I could amend 'em.
Lady. Why you may by wedding me.
Elder Lo. How will that satisfie my word to her?
Lady. 'Tis not to be kept, and needs no satisfaction, 'Tis an error fit for repentance only.
Elder Lo. Shall I live to wrong that tender hearted Virgin so? It may not be.
Lady. Why may it not be?
Elder Lo. I swear I would rather marry thee than her: but yet mine honesty?
Lady. What honesty? 'Tis more preserv'd this way: Come, by this light, servant, thou shalt, I'le kiss thee on't.
Elder Lo. This kiss indeed is sweet, pray God no sin lie under it.
Lady. There is no sin at all, try but another.
Wel. O my heart!
Mar. Help Sister, this Lady swounds.
Elder Lo. How do you?
Wel. Why very well, if you be so.
Elder Lo. Since a quiet mind lives not in any Woman, I shall do a most ungodly thing. Hear me one word more, which by all my hopes I will not alter, I did make an oath when you delai'd me so, that this very night I would be married. Now if you will go without delay, suddenly, as late as it is, with your own Minister to your own Chapel, I'le wed you and to bed.
Lady. A match dear servant.
Elder Lo. For if you should forsake me now, I care not, she would not though for all her injuries, such is her spirit. If I be not ashamed to kiss her now I part, may I not live.
Wel. I see you go, as slily as you think to steal away: yet I will pray for you; all blessings of the world light on you two, that you may live to be an aged pair. All curses on me if I do not speak what I do wish indeed.
Elder Lo. If I can speak to purpose to her, I am a villain.
Lady. Servant away.
Mar. Sister, will you Marry that inconstant man? think you he will not cast you off to morrow, to wrong a Lady thus, lookt she like dirt, 'twas basely done. May you ne're prosper with him.
Wel. Now God forbid. Alas I was unworthy, so I told him.
Mar. That was your modesty, too good for him. I would not see your wedding for a world.
Lady. Chuse chuse, come Younglove.
[Exit La. Elder Lo. and Young.
Mar. Dry up your eyes forsooth, you shall not think we are all such uncivil beasts as these. Would I knew how to give you a revenge.
Wel. So would not I: No let me suffer truly, that I desire.
Mar. Pray walk in with me, 'tis very late, and you shall stay all night: your bed shall be no worse than mine; I wish I could but do you right.
Wel. My humble thanks: God grant I may but live to quit your love. [Exeunt.
Enter Young Loveless and Savil.
Young Lo. Did your Master send for me Savil?
Sav. Yes, he did send for your worship Sir.
Young Lo. Do you know the business?
Sav. Alas Sir, I know nothing, nor am imployed beyond my hours of eating. My dancing days are done Sir.
Young Lo. What art thou now then?
Sav. If you consider me in little, I am with your worships reverence Sir, a Rascal: one that upon the next anger of your Brother, must raise a sconce by the high way, and sell switches; my wife is learning now Sir, to weave inkle.
Young Lo. What dost thou mean to do with thy Children Savil?
Sav. My eldest boy is half a Rogue already, he was born bursten, and your worship knows, that is a pretty step to mens compassions. My youngest boy I purpose Sir to bind for ten years to a G[ao]ler, to draw under him, that he may shew us mercy in his function.
Young Lo. Your family is quartered with discretion: you are resolved to Cant then: where Savil shall your scene lie?
Sav. Beggers must be no chusers. In every place (I take it) but the stocks.
Young Lo. This is your drinking, and your whoring Savil, I told you of it, but your heart was hardened.
Sav. 'Tis true, you were the first that told me of it I do remember yet in tears, you told me you would have Whores, and in that passion Sir, you broke out thus; Thou miserable man, repent, and brew three Strikes more in a Hogshead. 'Tis noon e're we be drunk now, and the time can tarry for no man.
Young Lo. Y'are grown a bitter Gentleman. I see misery can clear your head better than Mustard, I'le be a sutor for your Keys again Sir.
Sav. Will you but be so gracious to me Sir? I shall be bound.
Young Lo. You shall Sir To your bunch again, or I'le miss foully.
Enter Morecraft.
Mor. Save you Gentleman, save you.
Young Lo. Now Polecat, what young Rabets nest have you to draw?
Mor. Come, prethee be familiar Knight.
Young Lo. Away Fox, I'le send for Terriers for you.
Mor. Thou art wide yet: I'le keep thee companie.
Young Lo. I am about some business; Indentures, If ye follow me I'le beat you: take heed, A[s] I live I'le cancel your Coxcomb.
Mor. Thou art cozen'd now, I am no usurer: What poor fellow's this?
Savil. I am poor indeed Sir.
Mor. Give him mony Knight.
Young Lo. Do you begin the offering.
Mor. There poor fellow, here's an Angel for thee.
Young Lo. Art thou in earnest Morecraft?
Mor. Yes faith Knight, I'le follow thy example: thou hadst land and thousands, thou spendst, and flungst away, and yet it flows in double: I purchased, wrung, and wierdraw'd, for my wealth, lost, and was cozen'd: for which I make a vow, to trie all the waies above ground, but I'le find a constant means to riches without curses.