Chapter 3

_The Street_.

_Enter_ ANSELM _and_ FULLER.

FUL. Speak: in what cue, sir, do you find your heart, Now thou hast slept a little on thy love?

ANS. Like one that strives to shun a little plash Of shallow water, and (avoiding it) Plunges into a river past his depth: Like one that from a small spark steps aside, And falls in headlong to a greater flame.

FUL. But in such fires scorch not thyself, for shame! If she be fire, thou art so far from burning, That thou hast scarce yet warm'd thee at her face; But list to me, I'll turn thy heart from love, And make thee loathe all of the feminine sex. They that have known me, knew me once of name To be a perfect wencher: I have tried All sorts, all sects, all states, and find them still Inconstant, fickle, always variable. Attend me, man! I will prescribe a method, How thou shalt win her without all peradventure.

ANS. That would I gladly hear.

FUL. I was once like thee, A sigher, melancholy humorist, Crosser of arms, a goer without garters, A hatband-hater, and a busk-point[4] wearer, One that did use much bracelets made of hair, Rings on my fingers, jewels in mine ears, And now and then a wench's carcanet, Scarfs, garters, bands, wrought waistcoats, gold-stitch'd caps, A thousand of those female fooleries; but when I look'd into the glass of reason, straight I began to loathe that female bravery, And henceforth studied[5] to cry _Peccavi_ to the world.

ANS. I pray you, to your former argument: Prescribe a means to win my best-belov'd.

FUL. First, be not bashful, bar all blushing tricks: Be not too apish-female; do not come With foolish sonnets to present her with, With legs, with curtsies, congees, and such like: Nor with penn'd speeches, or too far-fetch'd sighs: I hate such antique, quaint formality.

ANS. O, but I cannot snatch[6] occasion: She dashes every proffer with a frown.

FUL. A frown, a fool! art thou afraid of frowns? He that will leave occasion for a frown, Were I his judge (all you his case bemoan), His doom should be ever to lie alone.

ANS. I cannot choose but, when a wench says nay, To take her at her word, and leave my suit.

FUL. Continue that opinion, and be sure To die a virgin chaste, a maiden pure. It was my chance once, in my wanton days, To court a wench; hark, and I'll tell thee how: I came unto my love, and she look'd coy, I spake unto my love, she turn'd aside, I touch'd my love, and 'gan with her to toy, But she sat mute, for anger or for pride; I striv'd and kiss'd my love, she cry'd _Away_! Thou wouldst have left her thus--I made her stay. I catch'd my love, and wrung her by the hand: I took my love, and set her on my knee, And pull'd her to me; O, you spoil my band, You hurt me, sir; pray, let me go, quoth she. I'm glad, quoth I, that you have found your tongue, And still my love I by the finger wrung. I ask'd her if she lov'd me; she said, No. I bad her swear; she straight calls for a book; Nay then, thought I, 'tis time to let her go, I eas'd my knee, and from her cast a look. She leaves me wond'ring at these strange affairs, And like the wind she trips me up the stairs. I left the room below, and up I went, Finding her thrown upon her wanton bed: I ask'd the cause of her sad discontent; Further she lies, and, making room, she said, Now, sweeting, kiss me, having time and place; So clings me to her with a sweet embrace.

ANS. Is't possible? I had not thought till now, That women could dissemble. Master Fuller, Here dwells the sacred mistress of my heart; Before her door I'll frame a friv'lous walk, And, spying her, with her devise some talk.

_Enter_ YOUNG MASTER ARTHUR, MISTRESS ARTHUR, OLD MASTER ARTHUR, OLD MASTER LUSAM, YOUNG MASTER LUSAM, _and_ PIPKIN.

FUL. What stir is this? let's step but out the way, And hear the utmost what these people say.

O. ART. Thou art a knave, although thou be my son. Have I with care and trouble brought thee up, To be a staff and comfort to my age, A pillar to support me, and a crutch To lean on in my second infancy, And dost thou use me thus? Thou art a knave.

O. LUS. A knave, ay, marry, and an arrant knave; And, sirrah, by old Master Arthur's leave, Though I be weak and old, I'll prove thee one.

Y. ART. Sir, though it be my father's pleasure thus To wrong me with the scorned name of knave, I will not have you so familiar, Nor so presume upon my patience.

O LUS. Speak, Master Arthur, is he not a knave?

O. ART. I say he is a knave.

O. LUS. Then so say I.

Y. ART. My father may command my patience; But you, sir, that are but my father-in-law, Shall not so mock my reputation. Sir, you shall find I am an honest man.

O. LUS. An honest man!

Y. ART. Ay, sir, so I say.

O. LUS. Nay, if you say so, I'll not be against it: But, sir, you might have us'd my daughter better, Than to have beat her, spurn'd her, rail'd at her Before our faces.

O. ART. Ay, therein, son Arthur, Thou show'dst thyself no better than a knave.

O. LUS. Ay, marry, did he, I will stand to it: To use my honest daughter in such sort, He show'd himself no better than a knave.

Y. ART. I say, again, I am an honest man; He wrongs me that shall say the contrary.

O. LUS. I grant, sir, that you are an honest man, Nor will I say unto the contrary: But wherefore do you use my daughter thus? Can you accuse her of unchastity, of loose Demeanour, disobedience, or disloyalty? Speak, what canst thou object against my daughter?

O. ART. Accuse her! here she stands; spit in her face, If she be guilty in the least of these.

MRS ART. O father, be more patient; if you wrong My honest husband, all the blame be mine, Because you do it only for my sake. I am his handmaid; since it is his pleasure To use me thus, I am content therewith, And bear his checks and crosses patiently.

Y. ART. If in mine own house I can have no peace, I'll seek it elsewhere, and frequent it less. Father, I'm now past one and twenty years; I'm past my father's pamp'ring, I suck not, Nor am I dandled on my mother's knee: Then, if you were my father twenty times, You shall not choose, but let me be myself. Do I come home so seldom, and that seldom Am I thus baited? Wife, remember this! Father, farewell! and, father-in-law, adieu! Your son had rather fast than feast with you. [_Exit_.

O. ART. Well, go to, wild-oats! spendthrift! prodigal! I'll cross thy name quite from my reck'ning book: For these accounts, faith, it shall scathe thee somewhat, I will not say what somewhat it shall be.

O. LUS. And it shall scathe him somewhat of my purse: And, daughter, I will take thee home again, Since thus he hates thy fellowship; Be such an eyesore to his sight no more: I tell thee, thou no more shalt trouble him.

MRS ART. Will you divorce whom God hath tied together? Or break that knot the sacred hand of heaven Made fast betwixt us? Have you never read, What a great curse was laid upon his head That breaks the holy band of marriage, Divorcing husbands from their chosen wives? Father, I will not leave my Arthur so; Not all my friends can make me prove his foe.

O. ART. I could say somewhat in my son's reproof.

O. LUS. Faith, so could I.

O. ART. But, till I meet him, I will let it pass.

O. LUS. Faith, so will I.

O. ART. Daughter, farewell! with weeping eyes I part; Witness these tears, thy grief sits near my heart.

O. LUS. Weeps Master Arthur? nay, then, let me cry; His cheeks shall not be wet, and mine be dry.

MRS ART. Fathers, farewell! spend not a tear for me, But, for my husband's sake, let these woes be. For when I weep, 'tis not for my own care, But fear, lest folly bring him to despair.

[_Exeunt_ O. ART. _and_ O. LUS.

Y. LUS. Sweet saint! continue still this patience, For time will bring him to true penitence. Mirror of virtue! thanks for my good cheer-- A thousand thanks.

MRS ART. It is so much too dear; But you are welcome for my husband's sake; His guests shall have best welcome I can make.

Y. LUS. Than marriage nothing in the world more common; Nothing more rare than such a virtuous woman. [_Exit_.

MRS ART. My husband in this humour, well I know, Plays but the unthrift; therefore it behoves me To be the better housewife here at home; To save and get, whilst he doth laugh and spend: Though for himself he riots it at large, My needle shall defray my household's charge. [_She sits down to work in front of the house_.

FUL. Now, Master Anselm, to her, step not back; Bustle yourself, see where she sits at work; Be not afraid, man; she's but a woman, And women the most cowards seldom fear: Think but upon my former principles, And twenty pound to a drachm,[7] you speed.

ANS. Ay, say you so?

FUL. Beware of blushing, sirrah, Of fear and too much eloquence! Rail on her husband, his misusing her, And make that serve thee as an argument, That she may sooner yield to do him wrong. Were it my case, my love and I to plead, I have't at fingers' ends: who could miss the clout, Having so fair a white, such steady aim. This is the upshot: now bid for the game.

[ANSELM _advances_.

ANS. Fair mistress, God save you!

FUL. What a circumstance Doth he begin with; what an ass is he, To tell her at the first that she is fair; The only means to make her to be coy! He should have rather told her she was foul, And brought her out of love quite with herself; And, being so, she would the less have car'd, Upon whose secrets she had laid her love. He hath almost marr'd all with that word fair. [_Aside_.[8]]

ANS. Mistress, God save you!

FUL. What a block is that, To say, God save you! is the fellow mad? Once to name God in his ungodly suit.

MRS ART. You are welcome, sir. Come you to speak with me Or with my husband? pray you, what's your will?

FUL. She answers to the purpose; what's your will? O zounds, that I were there to answer her.

ANS. Mistress, my will is not so soon express'd Without your special favour, and the promise Of love and pardon, if I speak amiss.

FUL. O ass! O dunce! O blockhead! that hath left The plain broad highway and the readiest path, To travel round about by circumstance: He might have told his meaning in a word, And now hath lost his opportunity. Never was such a truant in love's school; I am asham'd that e'er I was his tutor.

MRS ART. Sir, you may freely speak, whate'er it be, So that your speech suiteth with modesty.

FUL. To this now could I answer passing well.

ANS. Mistress, I, pitying that so fair a creature--

FUL. Still fair, and yet I warn'd the contrary.

ANS. Should by a villain be so foully us'd, As you have been--

FUL. _As you have been_--ay, that was well put in!

ANS. If time and place were both convenient[9]-- Have made this bold intrusion, to present My love and service to your sacred self.

FUL. Indifferent, that was not much amiss.

MRS ART. Sir, what you mean by service and by love, I will not know; but what you mean by villain, I fain would know.

ANS. That villain is your husband, Whose wrongs towards you are bruited through the land. O, can you suffer at a peasant's hands, Unworthy once to touch this silken skin, To be so rudely beat and buffeted? Can you endure from such infectious breath, Able to blast your beauty, to have names Of such impoison'd hate flung in your face?

FUL. O, that was good, nothing was good but that; That was the lesson that I taught him last.

ANS. O, can you hear your never-tainted fame Wounded with words of shame and infamy? O, can you see your pleasures dealt away, And you to be debarr'd all part of them, And bury it in deep oblivion? Shall your true right be still contributed 'Mongst hungry bawds, insatiate courtesans? And can you love that villain, by whose deed Your soul doth sigh, and your distress'd heart bleed?

FUL. All this as well as I could wish myself.

MRS ART. Sir, I have heard thus long with patience; If it be me you term a villain's wife, In sooth you have mistook me all this while, And neither know my husband nor myself; Or else you know not man and wife is one. If he be call'd a villain, what is she, Whose heart and love, and soul, is one with him? 'Tis pity that so fair a gentleman Should fall into such villains' company. O, sir, take heed, if you regard your life, Meddle not with a villain or his wife. [_Exit_.

FUL. O, that same word villain hath marr'd all.

ANS. Now where is your instruction? where's the wench? Where are my hopes? where your directions?

FUL. Why, man, in that word villain you marr'd all. To come unto an honest wife, and call Her husband villain! were he[10] ne'er so bad, Thou might'st well think she would not brook that name For her own credit, though no love to him. But leave not thus, but try some other mean; Let not one way thy hopes make frustrate clean.

ANS. I must persist my love against my will; He that knows all things, knows I prove this will.

_Exeunt_.