Chapter 3

_Eug_. Not to marry a poore Gentleman?

_Mom_. Respect him not so; for as he is a Gentleman he is noble; as he is wealthily furnished with true knowledge, he is rich, and therein adorn'd with the exactest complements belonging to everlasting noblenesse.

_Eug_. Which yet will not maintaine him a weeke: Such kinde of noblenesse gives no cotes of honour nor can scarse gette a cote for necessity.

_Mom_. Then is it not substantiall knowledge (as it is in him) but verball, and fantasticall for _Omnia in illa ille complexu tenet_.

_Eug_. Why seekes he me then?

_Mom_. To make you joynt partners with him in all things, and there is but a little partiall difference betwixt you, that hinders that universall joynture: The bignesse of this circle held too neere our eye keepes it from the whole Spheare of the Sun; but could we sustaine it indifferently betwixt us, and it would then without checke of one beame appeare in his fulnes.

_Eug_. Good Vnckle be content, for now shall I never dreame of contentment.

_Mom_. I have more then done Lady, and had rather have suffer'd an alteration of my being, then of your Judgment; but (deere Neece) for your own honours sake repaire it instantly.

_Enter Hippolyta. Penelope. Iacke. Will_.

See heere comes the Ladies; make an Aprill day on't[18], deare love, and bee sodainly cheerefull. God save you, more then faire Ladies, I am glad your come, for my busines will have me gone presently.

_Hip_. Why my Lord _Momford_ I say? will you goe before Dinner?

_Mom_. No remedy, sweet Beauties, for which rudnesse I lay my hands thus low for your pardons.

_Pen_. O Courteous Lo. _Momford_![19]

_Mom_. Neece?----_Mens est quae sola quietos, Sola facit claros, mentemque honoribus ornat_.[20]

_Eug_. _Verus honos juvat, at mendax infamia terret_.[21]

_Mom_. Mine owne deare nephew?

_Cla_. What successe my Lord?

_Mom_. Excellent; excellent; come Ile tell thee all.--_Exeunt_.

_Hip_. Doe you heare Madam, how our youthes here have guld our three suiters?

_Eug_. Not I, Lady; I hope our suiters are no fit meat for our Pages.

_Pe_. No Madam, but they are fit sawce for any mans meat, Ile warrent them.

_Eug_. What's the matter _Hippolyta_?

_Hip_. They have sent the Knights to _Barnet_, Madam, this frosty morning to meet us there.

_Eug_. I'st true, youths? are Knights fit subjects for your knaveries?

_Will_. Pray pardon us, Madam, we would be glad to please anie body.

_Ia_. I indeed, Madam, and we were sure we pleased them highly, to tell them you were desirous of their company.

_Hip_. O t'was good, _Eugenia_, their livers were too hot, you know, and for temper sake they must needs have a cooling carde[22] plaid upon them.

_Wil_. And besides Madam we wood have them know that your two little Pages, which are lesse by halfe then two leaves, have more learning in them then is in all their three volumnes.

_Ia_. I yfaith _Will_, and put their great pagicall index to them, too.

_Hip_. But how will ye excuse your abuses, wags?

_Wil_. We doubt not, Madam, but if it please your Ladiship to put up their abuses.

_Ia_. Trusting they are not so deere to you, but you may.

_Wil_. We shall make them gladly furnishe their pockets with them.

_Hip_. Well, children and foules, agree as you will, and let the World know now, women have nothing to doe with you.

_Pe_. Come, Madam, I thinke your Dinner bee almost ready.

_Enter Tales, Kingcob_.

_Hip_. And see, here are two honourable guests for you, the Lord _Tales_, and sir _Cutberd Kingcob_.

_Ta_. Lacke you any guests, Madam?

_Eu_. I, my Lord, such guests as you.

_Hip_. Theres as common an answere, as yours was a question, my Lord.

_King_. Why? all things shood be common betwixt Lords, and Ladies, you know.

_Pe_. Indeed sir _Cutberd Kingcob_, I have heard, you are either of the familie of Love[23], or of no religion at all.

_Eug_. He may well be said to be of the family of love, he does so flow in the loves of poore over-throwne Ladies.

_King_. You speake of that I wood doe, Madam, but in earnest, I am now suing for a new Mistres; looke in my hand sweet Lady, and tell me what fortune I shall have with her.

_Eug_. Doe you thinke me a witch, Sir _Cutberd_?

_King_. Pardon me Madam, but I know you to bee learned in all things.

_Eug_. Come on, lets see.

_Hip_. He does you a speciall favour Lady, to give you his open hand, for tis commonly shut they say.

_King_. What find you in it, Madam?

_Eug_. Shut it now, and ile tell yee.

_King_. What now Lady?

_Eug_. Y'ave the worst hand that ever I saw Knight have; when tis open, one can find nothing in it, and when tis shut one can get nothing out ont.

_King_. The age of letting goe is past, Madam; we must not now let goe, but strike up mens heeles, and take am as they fall.

_Eug_. A good Cornish principle beleeve it sir _Cutberd_.

_Tales_. But I pray tell me, Lady _Penelope_, how entertaine you the love of my Cosen sir _Gyles Goosecappe_.

_Pene_. Are the _Goosecaps_ a kin to you, my Lord?

_Ta_. Even in the first degree, Madam. And, Sir _Gyles_, I can tell ye, tho he seeme something simple, is compos'd of as many good parts as any Knight in England.

_Hip_. He shood be put up for concealement then, for he shewes none of them.

_Pen_. Are you able to reckon his good parts, my Lord?

_Ta_. Ile doe the best I can, Lady; first, he danses as comely, and lightly as any man, for upon my honour, I have seene him danse upon Egges, and a has not broken them.

_Pene_. Nor crackt them neyther.

_Ta_. That I know not; indeed I wood be loath to lie though he be my kinsman, to speake more then I know by him.

_Eug_. Well, forth my Lord.

_Ta_. He has an excellent skill in all manner of perfumes, & if you bring him gloves from forty pence, to forty shillings a paire, he will tell you the price of them to two pence.

_Hip_. A pretty sweet quality beleeve me.

_Tales_. Nay Lady he will perfume you gloves himselfe most delicately, and give them the right Spanish Titillation.

_Pene_. Titillation what's that my Lord?

_Tal_. Why, Lady, tis a pretty kinde of terme new come up in perfuming, which they call a Titillation.

_Hip_. Very well expounded, my Lord; forth with your kinsmans parts I pray.

_Tal_. He is the best Sempster of any woman in England, and will worke you needle-worke-edgings, and _French_ purles, from an Angell to foure Angells a yarde.

_Eug_. That's pretious ware indeed.

_Tal_. He will worke you any flower to the life, as like it as if it grew in the very place, and being a delicate perfumer, he will give it you his perfect, and naturall savour.

_Hip_. This is wonderfull; forth, sweet Lord _Tales_.

_Tal_. He will make you flyes, and wormes, of all sorts most lively, and is now working a whole bed embrodred, with nothing but glowe wormes; whose lights a has so perfectly done, that you may goe to bed in the Chamber, doe any thing in the Chamber, without a Candle.

_Pene_. Never trust me, if it be not incredible; forth my good Lord.

_Tal_. He is a most excellent Turner, and will turne you wassel-bowles, and posset Cuppes caru'd with libberds faces, and Lyons heads with spouts in their mouths, to let out the posset Ale, most artificially.

_Eug_. Forth, good Lord _Tales_.

_Pene_. Nay, good my Lord no more; you have spoken for him thoroughly I warrant you.

_Hip_. I lay my life _Cupid_ has shot my sister in love with him out of your lips, my Lord.

_Eug_. Well, come in, my Lords, and take a bad Dinner with me now, and we will all goe with you at night to a better supper with the Lord and Lady _Furnifall_.

_King_. _Tale_. We attend you, honorable Ladies.

_Exeunt_.

_Actvs Tertii_.

SCAENA PRIMA.

_Enter Rudesby, Goosecappe_.

_Rud_. _Bullaker_.

_Bul_. I, Sir.

_Rud_. Ride, and catch the Captaines Horse.

_Bul_. So I doe Sir.

_Rud_. I wonder, Sir _Gyles_, you wood let him goe so, and not ride after him.

_Goos_. Wood I might never be mortall sir _Cutt_: if I rid not after him, till my horse sweat, so that he had nere a dry thread on him, and hollod, and hollod to him to stay him, till I had thought my fingers ends wood have gon off with hollowings; Ile be sworne to yee, & yet he ran his way like a _Diogenes_, and would never stay for us.

_Rud_. How shall wee doe to get the lame Captaine to London, now his horse is gone?

_Goos_. Why? he is but a lame jad neyther, Sir _Moyle_, we shall soone our'take him I warrent ye.

_Rud_. And yet thou saist thou gallopst after him as fast as thou coodst, and coodst not Catch him; I lay my life some Crabfish has bitten thee by the tongue, thou speakest so backward still.

_Goos_. But heres all the doubt, sir _Cutt_: if no body shoold catch him now, when he comes at London, some boy or other wood get uppe on him, and ride him hot into the water to wash him; Ile bee sworne I followed one that rid my Horse into the Thames, till I was up tooth knees hetherto; and if it had not beene for feare of going over shooes, because I am troubled with the rheume, I wood have taught him to wash my Horse when he was hot yfaith.

_Enter Fowleweathter_.

How now sweet Captaine, dost feele any ease in thy paine yet?

_Rud_. Ease in his paine quoth you, has good lucke if he feele ease in paine, I thinke, but wood any asse in the World ride downe such a Hill as High-gate is, in such a frost as this, and never light.

_Foul_. Cods precious, sir _Cutt_: your _Frenchman_ never lights I tell ye.

_Goos_. Light, sir _Cutt_! Slight, and I had my horse againe, theres nere a paltry English frost an them all shood make me light.

_Rud_. Goe too, you _French_ Zanies you, you will follow the _French_ steps so long, till you be not able to set one sound steppe oth ground all the daies of your life.

_Goos_. Why, sir _Cut_: I care not if I be not sound, so I be well, but we were justly plagu'd by this Hill, for following women thus.

_Foul_. I, and English women too, sir _Gyles_.

_Rud_. Thou art still prating against English women, I have seene none of the _French_ Dames, I confesse, but your greatest gallants, for men in _France_, were here lately,[24] I am sure, and me thinks there should be no more difference betwixt our Ladies, and theirs, then there is betwixt our Lords, and theirs, and our Lords are as farr byond them yfaith, for person, and Courtship, as they are beyond ours for phantasticality.

_Foul_. O Lord sir _Cut_. I am sure our Ladies hold our Lords tacke for Courtship, and yet the _French_ Lords put them downe; you noted it, sir _Gyles_.

_Goos_. O God sir, I stud, and heard it, as I sat ith presence.

_Rud_. How did they put them downe, I pray thee?

_Foul_. Why for wit, and for Court-ship Sir _Moile_.

_Rud_.[25] As how, good left-handed _Francois_.

_Foul_. Why Sir when _Monsieur Lambois_ came to your mistris the Lady _Hippolyta_ as she sate in the presence,--sit downe here good Sir _Gyles Goose-cappe_,--he kneeld me by her thus Sir, and with a most queint _French start_ in his speech of ah _bellissime_, I desire to die now, saies he, for your love that I might be buried here.

_Rud_. A good pickt-hatch[26] complement, by my faith; but I prethee what answer'd she.

_Foul_. She, I scorne to note that, I hope; then did he vie[27] it againe with an other hah.

_Rud_. That was hah, hah, I wood have put the third hah to it, if I had beene as my Mistris, and hah, hah, haht him out of the presence yfaith.

_Foul_. Hah, saies he, theis faire eyes, I wood not for a million they were in _France_, they wood renew all our civill-wars againe.

_Goos_. That was not so good, me thinkes, Captaine.

_Rud_. Well iudgd, yfaith; there was a little wit in that, I must confesse, but she put him downe far, and aunswered him with a question, and that was whether he wood seeme a lover, or a jester? if a lover, a must tell her far more lykelier then those, or else she was far from believing them; if a Jester, she cood have much more ridiculous jests then his of twenty fooles, that followed the Court; and told him she had as lieve be courted with a brush faggot as with a Frenchman, that spent it selfe all in sparkes, and would sooner fire ones chimney then warme the house, and that such sparkes were good enough yet to set thatcht dispositions a fire, but hers was tild with sleight, and respected them as sleightly.

_Goos_. Why so Captaine, and yet you talke of your great Frenchmen; [would] to God little England had never knowne them _I_ may say.

_Foul_. What's the matter sir _Gyles_? are you out of love with Frenchmen now of a sodaine?

_Goos_. Slydd Captaine, wood not make one, Ile be sworne? Ile be sworne, they tooke away a mastie Dogge of mine by commission: now I thinke on't, makes my teares stand in my eyes with griefe, I had rather lost the dearest friend that ever _I_ lay withall in my life be this light; never stir if he fought not with great _Sekerson_[28] foure hours to one, foremost take up hindmost, and tooke so many loaves from him, that he sterud him presently: So at last the dog cood doe no more then a Beare cood doe, and the beare being heavie with hunger you know, fell upon the Dogge, broke his backe, and the Dogge never stird more.

_Rud_. Why thou saist the Frenchmen tooke him away.

_Goos_. Frenchmen, _I_, so they did too, but yet, and he had not bin kild, twood nere a greevd me.

_Foul_. O excellent unity of speech.

_Enter Will, and Iacke at seuerall Doores_.

_Will_. Save ye, Knights.

_Ia_. Save you, Captaine.

_Foul_. Pages, welcome my fine Pages.

_Rud_. Welcome, boyes.

_Goos_. Welcome, sweet _Will_, good _Iacke_.

_Foul_. But how chaunce you are so farre from London now pages? is it almost Dinner time?

_Wil_. Yes indeed Sir, but we left our fellowes to wait for once, and cood not chuse in pure love to your worships, but we must needs come, and meet you, before you mett our Ladies, to tell you a secret.

_Omnes_. A secret, what secret I pray thee?

_Ia_. If ever your worships say any thing, we are undone for ever.

_Omnes_. Not for a World beleeve it.

_Will_. Why then this it is; we over-heard our Ladies as they were talking in private say, they refus'de to meet you at _Barnet_ this morning of purpose, because they wood try which of you were most patient.

_Ia_. And some said you, Sir _Gyles_, another you Sir [_Cutt_] and the third you Captaine.

_Om_. This was excellent.

_Wil_. Then did they sweare one another not to excuse themselves to you by any meanes, that they might try you the better; now if they shall see you say nothing in the World to them what may come of it, when Ladies begin to try their suters once, I hope your wisedomes can judge a little.

_Foul_. O ho, my little knave, let us alone now yfaith; wood I might be Casheird, if I say any thing.

_Rud_. Faith, and I can forbeare my Tongue as well as another, I hope.

_Goos_. Wood I might be degraded, if I speake a word, Ile tell them I care not for loosing my labour.

_Foul_. Come Knights shall wee not reward the Pages?

_Rud_. Yes I prethee doe, sir _Gyles_ give the boyes something.

_Goos_. Never stirre, sir _Cutt_, if I have ever a groat about me but one three pence.

_Foul_. Well Knights ile lay out fors all; here, my fine Pages.

_Wil_. No in deed, ant please your worship.

_Foul_. O Pages, refuse a Gentlemans bounty?

_Ia_. Cry you mercy, Sir; thanke you sweet Captaine.

_Foul_. And what other newes is stirring, my fine villiacos.

_Wil_. Marry Sir, they are invited to a great supper to night to your Lords house, Captaine, the Lord _Furnifall_, and there will be your great cosen Sir _Gyles Goosecappe_, the Lorde _Tales_, and your Vnckle, Sir _Cutt. Rudesby_, Sir _Cutbert Kingcob_.

_Foul_. The Lord _Tales_, what countriman is he?

_Ia_. A kentish Lord, sir; his ancestors came forth off Canterbury.

_Foul_. Out of Canterbury.

_Wil_. Indeed, Sir, the best _Tales_ in England are your Canterbury _Tales_, I assure ye.

_Rud_. The boy tels thee true Captaine.

_Ia_. He writes his name Sir, _Tales_, and he being the tenth sonne his Father had; his Father Christned him _Decem Tales_, and so his whole name is the Lord _Decem Tales_.

_Goos_. A my mortality the boy knowes more then I doe of our house.

_Rud_. But is the Ladie _Furnifall_ (Captaine) still of the same drinking humor she was wont to be?

_Foul_. Still of the same, Knight, and is never in any sociable veine till she be typsie, for in her sobriety she is madd, and feares my good little old Lord out of all proportion.

_Rud_.[29] And therefore, as I heare, he will earnestly invite guests to his house, of purpose to make his wife dronke, and then dotes on her humour most prophanely.

_Foul_. Tis very true Knight; we will suppe with them to night; and you shall see her; and now I thinke ont, ile tell you a thing Knights, wherein perhaps you may exceedingly pleasure me.

_Goos_. What's that, good Captaine?

_Foul_. I am desirous to helpe my Lord to a good merry Foole, and if I cood helpe him to a good merry one, he might doe me very much credit I assure ye.

_Rud_. Sbloud thou speakest to us as if we cood serue thy turne.

_Foul_. O _Fraunce_, Sir _Cutt_. your Frenchman wood not have taken me so, for a world, but because Fooles come into your companies many times to make you merry.

_Rud_. As thou doest.

_Goos_. Nay good sir _Cut_. you know fooles doe come into your companies.

_Rud_. I and thou knowst it too, no man better.

_Foul_. Beare off with Choller Sir _Gyles_.

_Wil_. But wood you helpe your Lord to a good foole so faine, Sir?

_Foul_. I, my good page exceeding faine.

_Ia_. You meane a wench, do you not, Sir? a foolish wench?

_Foul_. Nay I wood have a man foole, for his Lord; Page.

_Wil_. Does his Lord: love a foole, so well I pray?

_Foul_. Assure thy selfe, page, my Lord loves a foole, as he loves himselfe.

_Ia_. Of what degree wood you have your Foole Sir? for you may have of all manner of degrees.

_Foul_. Faith, I wood have him a good Emphaticall Foole, one that wood make my Lord laugh well, and I carde not.

_Wil_. Laugh well (um): then we must know this, Sir, is your Lord costive of laughter, or laxative of laughter?

_Foul_. Nay he is a good merry little Lord, and indeed sometimes Laxative of Laughter.

_Wil_. Why then sir the lesse wit will serue his Lordships turne, marry if he had bin costive of laughter he must have had two or three drams of wit the more in his foole, for we must minister according to the quantity of his Lord[ship's] humor, you know, and if he shood have as much witt in his foole being laxative of laughter, as if he were costive of Laughter, why he might laugh himselfe into an _Epilepsie_, and fall down dead sodainly, as many have done with the extremity of that passion; and I know your Lord cares for nothing, but the health of a Foole.

_Foul_. Thart ith right, my notable good page.

_Ia_. Why, and for that health, sir, we will warrant his Lordship, that if he should have all _Bacon_[30] _de sanitate tuenda_ read to him, it shood not please his Lordship so well as our Foole shall.

_Foul_. Remercy, my more then English pages.

_Goos_. A my word I have not seene pages have so much wit, that have never bin in _France_ Captaine.

_Foul_. Tis true indeed Sir _Gyles_, well then my almost french Elixers will you helpe my Lord to a Foole so fit for him as you say.

_Wil_. As fit, Ile warrant you Captaine, as if he were made for him, and he shall come this night to supper, and foole where his Lord: sits at table.

_Foul_. Excellent fit, faile not now, my sweet pages.

_Ia_. Not for a world, sir, we will goe both and seeke him presently.

_Foul_. Doe so my good wagges.

_Wil_. Save you Knights.

_Ia_. Save you Captaine. _Exeunt_.

_Foul_. Farewell, my pretty knaves; come, Knights, shall we resolve to goe to this Supper?

_Rud_. What else?

_Goos_. And let's provide torches for our men to sit at dore withall, Captaine.

_Foul_. That we will, I warrent you, sir _Giles_.

_Rud_. Torches? why the Moone will shine, man.

_Goos_. The Moone, sir _Cut_: I scorne the Moone yfaith. Slydd, sometimes a man shall not get her to shine, and if he wood give her a couple of Capons, and one of them must be white too. God forgive me, I cud never abide her since yesterday, she seru'd me such a tricke tother night.

_Rud_. What tricke, sir _Gyles_?

_Goos_. Why sir _Cut_. cause the daies be mortall, and short now you know, and I love daie light well; I thought it went away faster than it needed, and run after it into _Finsbury_-fieldes ith calme evening to see the wind-Mils goe; and even as I was going over a Ditch the Moone by this light of purpose runnes me behind a Cloud, and lets me fall into the Ditch by Heaven.

_Rud_. That was ill done in her, indeed sir _Gyles_.

_Goos_. Ill done sir _Cut_? Slydd a man may beare, and beare, but, and she have noe more good manners, but to make every blacke slovenly Cloud a pearle in her eye I shall nere love English Moone againe, while I live, Ile be sworne to ye.

_Foul_. Come, Knights, to London: Horse, Horse, Horse.

_Rud_. In what a case he is with the poor English Moone, because the _French_ Moones (their Torches) will be the lesse in fashion, and I warrent you the Captaine will remember it too: tho he say nothing, he seconds his resolute chase so, and follows him, Ile lay my life you shall see them the next cold night, shut the Mooneshine out of their Chambers, and make it lie without Doores all night. I discredit my wit with their company, now I thinke on't, plague a god on them; Ile fall a beating on them presently.

[_Exit_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Lord Momford, and Clarence. Clarence, Horatio_.

_Cla_. Sing good _Horatio_, while I sigh, and write. According to my master _Platos_ minde, The soule is musicke, and doth therefore joy In accents musicall, which he that hates With points of discord is together tyed, And barkes at _Reason_, Consonant in sense. Divine _Eugenia_, beares the ocular forme Of musicke, and of _Reason_, and presents The soule exempt from flesh in flesh inflam'd[31]; Who must not love her then, that loves his soule? To her I write; my friend, the starre[32] of friends Will needs have my strange lines greet her strange eies And for her sake ile power my poore Soule forth In floods of inke; but did not his kinde hand Barre me with violent grace, I wood consume In the white flames of her impassionate love, Ere my harsh lipps shood vent the odorous blaze. For I am desperate of all worldly joyes, And there was never man so harsh to men. When I am fullest of digested life I seeme a livelesse _Embrion_ to all, Each day rackt up in night-like Funerall. Sing, good _Horatio_, whilst I sigh, and write.

_Canto.

The Letter.

Suffer him to love that suffers not loving; my love is without passion, and therefore free from alteration._

Prose is too harsh, and Verse is Poetry. Why shood I write; then? merrit[33] clad in inke Is but a mourner, and as good as naked. I will not write, my friend shall speake for me. Sing one stave more, my good _Horatio_.

_Canto_.

I must remember I know whom I love A dame of learning, and of life exempt From all the idle fancies of her Sex, And this, that to an other dame wood seeme Perplext and foulded in a rudelesse[34] vaile, Will be more cleere then ballads to her eye. Ile write, if but to satisfie my friend. Your third staunce sweet _Horatio_, and no more.

_Canto_.